When a Man Loves a Woman

According to the 1991 Michael Bolton song:

"When a man loves a woman

Can't keep his mind on nothin' else

He'd trade the world

For the good thing he's found

If she is bad, he can't see it

She can do no wrong

And turn his back on his best friend

If he puts her down...

When a man loves a woman

Deep down in his soul

She can bring him such misery

If she is playing him for a fool

He's the last one to know..."

Jim was probably the most considerate man that I knew. I don't think he ever forgot a major celebratory event. He never left the toilet seat up, he loved to buy flowers, he was always complimentary saying things like "You really know how to sport a bikini," and "You're as beautiful as the first day I met you!" He was careful with his language, always had a big smile on his face, and could fuck like a jungle cat on Viagra®. Yes Jim was all of the above for the woman he loved.

Unfortunately the woman Jim loved was his mistress, Stephanie Crowell. I, his wife, Lisa Langley, on the other hand was more like a servant who kept his house clean, made dinner, and ran errands for him despite the fact that my work hours were as long as his were.

It wasn't always this way. In High School and college I was the "it" girl who was sought after by many. Jim considered himself lucky to have landed me when we got married; I guess he no longer did.

A legitimate question is why did I put up with it?

The answer to that question is complicated, but revolves mostly upon my poor self-image, which is a result of the fact that I put on a significant amount of weight since I married Jim when I was 21 and he was 22. At 21 I weighed 127 pounds despite my ample D cup boobs; at 25 I weighed 161, and it wasn't muscle or desirable curves; I was dumpy. My weight gain was a result of my sister and favorite cousin both dying, the first company I worked for out of college going bankrupt, and Jim's affair with Stephanie which started when he was incapable of providing emotional support for me when my sister died and he fled to Stephanie while I put on weight.

In view of my weight gain, the deaths of those close to me, and Jim's cheating -- which he wasn't too subtle about -- I was depressed. The only thing going for me was that my new job was challenging and financially rewarding, and it seemed to be the only thing keeping me sane. I don't know how long I would have gone on like that but for a fortuitous meeting in a deli close to my office one Thursday.

I was getting my normal turkey Rueben sandwich when I literally bumped into Phil Whitaker. Phil is a guy I knew in High School that I was friendly with, although we never actually dated one-on-one; I think that he was too shy to ask me out. As I recall some kids and teachers in school didn't like him because he was no-bullshit; he said only what he really felt and didn't sugar coat things. That was never a problem for me. Phil is good-looking and as I recall our senior year in High School he was voted most likely to have a successful career in business.

"Hi Lisa," he said after staring at me for a few seconds. It took a while for him to recognize me due to my weight gain and hang dog look -- I was always smiley and perky as the "it girl" in High School.

"Hi Phil," I forced smiled. "I thought that you had moved away."

"I moved back about six months ago for some good business opportunities. Mind if I join you for lunch once our orders are ready?"

"No -- I'd like that," I replied, this time with my smile not forced.

As Phil ate his roast beef sandwich and I ate my turkey Rueben we played catchup for ten or fifteen minutes. Then, after a pregnant pause Phil stared into my soul and said "Why are you depressed, and what can I do to help."

I forced a chuckle and replied "I guess you haven't changed since High School as far as your directness is concerned."

"I sure haven't -- spill," he countered.

"It's a long story and I need to get back to work," I mumbled, trying to avoid any unpleasant conversation.

"Well, since I'm divorced and have nothing to do tonight why don't we meet and discuss it -- it can't take longer than three hours, can it?"

"You're serious?" I inquired.

"As a heart attack," he responded. "There is no way you would have a hang dog look and be thirty pounds overweight if there isn't a significant problem and I care enough to want to help."

Like I said, he never minced words.

I knew that Jim would likely be with his floozy Stephanie so to myself I said "Why not?" To Phil I said "Where would you like to meet?"

"At one of the Planet Fitness franchises that I own; we can make it the one closest to your house. Where do you live?"

"I live in the closest Northern suburb on Delaney Street."

"Great, you're probably no further than two miles from my facility on Borden Parkway; here's a card with the address and phone number," he said after fishing through a bunch of cards in his blazer inside pocket and pulling out one with the Planet Fitness location that was, indeed, only about a mile from my house. "See you there at 6:30 tonight," he said. Then without further ado he stood up, squeezed my right hand, and took off.

As expected late that afternoon I got a typically cryptic message from Jim saying that he had to "work late," i. e. fuck Stephanie, so nothing at all would interfere with me meeting Phil.

I got to Planet Fitness on Borden Parkway about 6:20 and went up to the reception desk where a well-put-together young black woman was minding the desk. "Hi," I said "my name is Lisa Langley; I'm here to see Phil Whitaker."

"Oh, hi Lisa," she smiled, "I'm Amanda. Phil called and said he'd be a few minutes late but that I should make you feel at home."

"Oh -- nice," I smiled.

"So how do you know Phil?" she asked.

"We went to High School together," I replied.

"Was he the smartest and most charming guy in school, like he is now?" she grinned.

"Close to it," I responded. "Does Phil own this place?"

"He sure does, two other locations mid-town and in a southern suburb, and a few other businesses too, I'm told. He's got to be the most successful 28 year old in the entire area," Amanda answered.

"How is he as a boss?"

"He's great; he pays above market, treats everyone well, makes sure employee morale is high, but," then she giggled, "if you're a fuck-up he'll tell you to your face, give you one chance to reform, and then fire your ass. I like that in a guy, decisive and no-bullshit."

It seemed that Amanda was quite enamored with Phil -- and why not, he was a good-looking successful guy.

Amanda and I chatted for another five minutes or so -- she greeted about six or seven regulars who walked in during that time briefly interrupting our conversation when she did so -- and then Phil walked in. When he did the faces of Amanda and two other female employees -- who I guessed were physical trainers -- got big smiles. He greeted all three with a smile of his own and called them by their full names, and then he greeted me.

"Sorry I'm late..." he said to me, about to give me an explanation.

"No explanation necessary," I cut him off.

"OK, let's go to my office then," he replied. He turned to Amanda and said "Amanda please don't let anyone interrupt us unless it's an actual emergency."

"Got it Phil," she replied. I got the feeling that Amanda didn't consider me a threat because of my thirty + pounds of excess weight, so she smiled at me. We went into Phil's office -- which had glass walls so anyone could look in. I guess that he wanted his employees to know that he had no illicit meetings.

After handing me a bottle of Perrier and making sure that I was comfortably seated Phil got right to the point. "OK, Lisa -- give!"

For some reason -- probably because I knew that I could trust Phil and I had been unable to unburden myself for months -- my entire sad story came gushing out. After just 45 minutes I had regurgitated my entire wretched tale, and was quietly crying. He handed me a box of facial tissue. When I was done he said "I'm no shrink, but I know what you need. You need exercise. The endorphins produced by exercise will snap you out of your malaise or depression, whatever it might be, within a month. Once you get back to your normal weight -- with more muscle -- you'll be able to make a rational decision on what to do."

"You...uh...really...uh...think so?" I stammered.

"I know so; and screw your cheating husband. You set the time for your workouts without regard to him. Also, I suggest putting a PI on him to find out what you need to get a divorce on the best terms, and I suggest that you immediately separate your finances from his," Phil barked.

"Uh...I...don't...know..." I started to reply.

Phil was having none of my reticence. While motioning for me to stay seated he picked up his phone and made a call. "Hi Burt; sorry to bother you at home but I need you to help a friend of mine. When can you see her tomorrow or Saturday?"

I was a little shell-shocked. After Phil listened for a while he turned to me and said/asked "Burt is a financial genius and my money manager. He could see you tomorrow at 1 p. m. or anytime Saturday morning. His office is about a mile from here. What's good for you?"

As an automaton I replied "Tomorrow at 1 p. m. would be good."

"Great," Phil smiled. Then talking into his phone he said "Her name is Lisa Langley, she'll be there at 1 p. m. tomorrow. I'll tell her to bring all of the financial information that she can with her. Thanks Burt -- charge her initial consultation to me."

After Phil and Burt apparently exchanged some good-natured macho banter, culminating with Phil saying "I will kick your ass at hand ball Saturday if you're brave enough to show up," he terminated the call.

"Burt is a genius. He'll set you up to separate your finances from Jim and invest your money wisely. His first consultation is gratis but after that you'll have to make an arrangement for his fees. Once he gives you a quote tell him that unless he gives you a 50% discount that I'll kick his ass. Now, let's talk about a PI."

"I'm not sure..." I started to say, but there was no deterring Phil.

"Since I'm not going to charge you for the first six months of training you'll have enough money to use the same PI I used to get the goods on a competitor and my cheating ex-wife. Now here are the details..."

I seemed to have no ability to object to what he was dictating -- apparently he had my life planned out for me -- as he went over my fitness routine for the next six months and arranged to go with me to meet the PI next Monday, although I was able to stall that. I was to start fitness classes on Saturday and I was to work out five days a week. He also gave me a sheet with dietary information designed to enhance fitness and beat depression.

When we were done he took me out into the facility and introduced me to Simone and Gretchen, the trainers that would be working with me. Simone looked like a female African chieftain, six feet of steel cable muscle, and Gretchen looked like an 18th century Viking warrior princess who was even taller and more muscular than Simone. I could tell from their handshakes that they could crush me without breaking a sweat.

When I left I said "Thanks, Phil -- I think. Will I really survive?"

"Hell no, you'll thrive," he smiled. "See you Saturday for your first workout."

I'm not normally one to let someone dictate my life. However, right then my life was miserable and I had real confidence in Phil that he could get me back on track, so I resolved to just go with the flow for six months and re-evaluate then. Despite the hell that Jim was putting me through I felt that I might still love him and wasn't sure about a divorce, but decided to see what the future held.

***********

Burt was very helpful and did give me a 50% discount after laughing when I told him what Phil said. I met with the PI and she told me she'd have a report within three-eight weeks. Those two things went off without a hitch. The physical training didn't.

Simone on Saturday and Gretchen on Sunday were sadistic beasts who probably would have been great torturers if they lived during the Inquisition, even if they had smiles on their faces and encouraging words while they contused my body during 90 minutes workouts both days. I probably would have broken down crying halfway into my workout on Sunday had not Phil showed up, smiled at me, said that I was looking better already, and told Gretchen to "Keep up the good work."

After my body had been ravaged five times in the first week some things changed. I was so sore when I got home at night that after a quick dinner -- whether or not Jim was there -- I fell into a deep sleep, a much better sleep than I had gotten since my sister died.

After the second week my workouts didn't hurt quite as much, and I was really encouraged when I saw that I lost eight pounds in just two weeks.

After three weeks I felt better than I had in a long time and I was even more efficient at work than I had been. Also, I no longer dwelled on the unhappy things in my life and actually started to believe that soon my depression would be a thing of the past.

I still couldn't bring myself to meet with the PI to get her complete report since once I had iron clad proof of Jim's infidelity I would have to make a decision. I begged Phil to let me have another few weeks, and he agreed since he seemed to be very pleased with my physical progress. I was too, and in the next four weeks lost fourteen more pounds and felt more energetic than at any other time in my life. I was now down to 139 pounds and according to Gretchen would be back to 130 (she said I wouldn't get below that and still be healthy because I had more muscle now than when I weighed 127) within five to six weeks.

The enhanced energy did bring a problem along with it. I was getting horny -- and I was starting to lust after Phil. Fortunately by adding yoga to my strength and conditioning routines I was able to get my thoughts under control.

When I finally met with the PI (and Phil, at his insistence) for her report two months after I started my physical training she had some very interesting things to tell me. Her name is Samantha Price, but insisted on being called "Sam."

"OK, Sam, what have you got?" Phil and I asked simultaneously.

"Apparently your husband Jim never took the Michael Bolton song 'When A Man Loves A Woman' to heart," she cackled at me, "because he's getting played."

"Say what?" I asked.

"As you already knew your husband Jim is having a torrid affair with Stephanie Crowell, and I have photos and a video to prove it. What you don't know is that she's actually conning him, although she is very clever about it and Jim has no clue."

"How so?" I continued with my detailed interrogation.

"Apparently Jim is convinced that Stephanie loves him and eventually will agree to marry him. However, he's not willing to give you up and divorce you until she's ready to commit and she's putting him off by telling him that she's still technically married to a guy she says is Alan Crowell. No such guy exists, and she's not married, but she does have a sexual and co-criminal relationship with a guy named Warren Bates. Stephanie has gotten Jim to finance her phantom divorce proceedings from Alan Crowell, and lots of other things, probably to the tune of $70,000 so far."

I was shocked. As far as I knew he wasn't getting that money from me, but maybe I was wrong.

"Do you know where he got that money?" I asked.

"From two sources; he cashed out his retirement account, paying the penalty, and got a second mortgage on your house. Here is a copy of the paperwork for that. I suspect that your signature there is forged," Sam said, sliding a piece of paper over to me and Phil.

I probably would have started crying when I saw my forged signature -- that was supposedly notarized -- but Phil's swearwords snapped me out of it. "That fucking rotten son-of-a-bitch," he snarled.

"What I've told you so far is mostly the bad part," Sam said. "Here's the good part, and why I mentioned the Michael Bolton song. As the song goes she's bad but he can't see it, and he got really pissed at and cut off a good friend of his who cautioned him about Stephanie and asked him to check to see if she was playing him."

"What's the friend's name?" I inquired.

"Will Lamson," Sam replied.

I wondered why I hadn't heard about or seen Will for the last couple of months when he used to come around often and pal around with Jim.

"Now, her plan is to take him for another $50,000 or so while she and Bates are working on another con with a bank. Then she and her fuck buddy Warren Bates are going to take off," Sam continued.

"How does she expect him to be able to get another $50,000?" I asked.

"The last audio we have of them talking he seems to be a little reluctant to completely agree to it, but I'm sure that with some more high quality sex she can get him to falsify a loan request from you or somehow tap into your savings and jewelry that you keep in a safe deposit box," Sam continued.

Fortunately, Burt had already completely separated our finances so without outright fraud -- which his second mortgage showed he was capable of -- he couldn't pull that off, and I had already moved everything in our joint safe deposit box to one of my own in a different bank, and which he obviously didn't know about now.

Then Sam got a big smile on her face. "So, as the song says, to paraphrase, she will bring him such misery since she is playing him for a fool and he'll be the last one to know."

"So what should I do?" I asked.

Phil took over. "Bring this information to Jim's attention. Tell him that unless he rectifies the situation immediately you'll have him and whoever helped him in falsifying the second mortgage arrested for fraud. Then depending upon his reaction you can take it from there."

As she handed me a business card Sam interjected "I like that idea; my uncle Fred Morton is a detective in the fraud section of the police department who I know I could get to help you if it comes to that."

I didn't quite know if I was ready for a confrontation -- I had avoided one for almost two years -- but then Phil said "Let me take you to dinner and we can talk about it."

Phil did take me to dinner at a nice restaurant. He was the perfect gentleman except for one thing. He ordered my food; I started to protest but he said "You're making such good progress that I don't want to see any backsliding -- I'm taking it as my personal mission to see you down to 130 within six weeks."

The twinkle in his eye when he said that made be believe that Phil wasn't helping me just from the goodness of his heart -- that maybe he had a sexual interest in me. I shivered in anticipation when I thought that, and then purged it from my mind.

During dinner and on the drive back to my car Phil convinced me to confront Jim quickly. He offered to be there, but I declined. I told him that I needed a few days to steel myself but that I would do it.

**********

On a Friday night when it was unusual for Jim to be home as we were finishing up dinner I told him "We need to have a talk tomorrow morning."

"I can't," he said stuffing his face with a last piece of pork chop, "I have to go someplace from at least 9 a. m. until 3 p. m."

"Stephanie can wait," I snarled, for the first time revealing to him that I knew his lover's name. "You will either meet with me at nine tomorrow morning at this table or if you're not there I'll be making a call to Detective Morton of the fraud squad."

I don't think that I've ever seen someone's face turn completely colorless before. He gulped down the last of his food otherwise he might have choked. I could have talked with him that night but I wanted him to have a miserable night's sleep -- or attempted sleep.