I don't think Grant and I ever had problems before Labor Day weekend. I honestly believe that. We'd met each other at a rally in college, and, though I know it sounds cliché, I fell in love at first sight. We graduated, got engaged, and married in less than two years. I found work in advertising; he started up and invested in several businesses along the East Coast. Work forced him away from home a lot, but I was always happy when we were together. And I'm sure he was too. We had the type of love others envied.
We were out for dinner at The Hilton with his old friend Samuel when the conversation veered toward sex. I'm not even sure how it happened, it just did. I'm not a prude or anything but I've always believed sex was a private thing, something to be shared between two adults and no one else. Still, like I said, I wasn't a prude, so I let them talk.
"I'm telling you," Samuel said, "I don't know how you do it."
My husband leaned back in his chair. "You sound like it's impossible."
"Not impossible, just unnatural," his friend countered. "Look, nothing against you, Rebecca. You're blond, petite, and a helluva knockout. Who could ask for more? But men just weren't meant to be with one woman alone."
He and my husband had been friends for almost thirteen years, but Samuel had gone to a local college and still lived in their hometown. Grant owned a laundry franchise down there and Sam's door was always open, so they kept in touch. Still, it was rare for Sam to visit, so I hardly knew him. I was just starting to see why Sam was still single.
"So you're happy just the way you are?" I asked. I wanted to stay out of it, but I just had to know.
"You kidding? Most guys end up stuck with one girl every night for the rest of their lives. I'd rather stick it to every girl, one night at a time."
Sam chuckled to himself so hard he snorted. Unfortunately, he hadn't realized he found himself funnier than we did. My husband glanced my way and sighed. He knew I wanted to say something but wouldn't.
I wasn't ready for what came next.
Sam leaned in and winked at Grant. "You've been to the parties. You know what Virginia women are like."
"Come on, Sam," Grant said. I didn't think of it at the time, I suppose, but I remember now how nervous he sounded. "What're you trying to do, get me in trouble?"
That's when Sam realized his mistake and straightened up. He even tugged on his tie a little. "Oh, Rebecca knows I'm only kidding." He looked at me and said, "But every guy fantasizes. Women do too."
He was right, I had my fantasies. Once, before I met Grant, my roommate approached me for a threesome with her boyfriend. I even considered it for a moment before I told her no. Sure it was only one moment, but it was more than I ever admitted to anyone.
It wasn't just that, though. Early in our marriage, Grant prodded me for something, any sexual kink he could find. At first I told him there was nothing, but he insisted everyone had something to tell. After a few months he wore me down and I told him that there was a part of me that wanted to be taken. I'd never been too passive or too pushy in the bedroom, but that small, little part of me yearned to be dominated.
And then there was the other thing: exhibitionism. I wanted to be watched, for my body to be seen. I know I've said that sex was a private thing, but, well, it was just a harmless fantasy, after all. No harm in that.
But imagination was one thing; spending time with God knows how many women in some other state was another.
"Grant's a good boy," Sam continued. "He never did anything wrong, even in high school."
Then why hadn't I heard about these parties?
My ears felt hot, the way they do when I have to pitch an ad campaign to a room full of big wigs. I don't know why, but I found myself looking passed Sam to the next table over. A young, slender black girl was sitting with her friends, prattling on about her new fiancée. I hated that type, always so loud and obnoxious. Of course, she put her elbow on the table just so she could support her chin with her left hand. She really thought that chunk of glass would pass for a ring.
Grant nudged my shoulder, bringing me back. "You okay, hun?" he asked.
What was I thinking? Hadn't he been good to me all these years without fail? Wasn't this the man who treated me like a queen every time he came home? I wasn't about to let some jerk ruin my trust in him. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said.
I really believed that.
Months passed. Snow came. Then Christmas Eve. Grant's a Catholic and I'm Jewish, so we celebrated Christmas and Chanukah every December 25th. The tree was up. The Christmas lights were just right. I tried making Sufganiyot for the holiday but they came out flat. No matter, I had Grant's presents under the tree by four, dinner on the table by five. It would be just the two of us this year, so maybe I'd overdone it on the food. I didn't care. Everything was perfect.
My cell phone rang a few notes from Verdi's Rigoletto, Grant's ring tone. I couldn't help but say hello with a little extra Christmas cheer. He never paid it back. There was trouble, he said, some legal stuff down South. He had to go and he had to go now.
"Right now?" I asked.
"My plane leaves in forty minutes."
I asked him when he'd be back. He told me he couldn't guarantee anything before the New Year. I couldn't believe it. I asked him where he was going.
"I'll be at Sam's in Virginia. His number's still on the fridge, right?"
"Yeah," was all I could say.
