A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 02

I saw a pair of handcuffs at a novelty shop in LA Vale. There was a small sign above them on the counter that said, 'keep her under lock and key.' They gave me ideas; her, him, what was the difference? I wasn't into bondage, but I think I was into control. Yes, I was definitely into control.

I had, I guess unconsciously gotten it in my head that I had to keep a guard over my man. Sounds stupid now, but I guess at the time... Then there was the time he turned the tables. He took me over! We had some pretty wild sex after that. Even anal.

The toys went out of fashion pretty fast. If I wanted to keep Francis I'd just use my body. I mean absolutely use my body; that's when we started a whole new chapter. A chapter that really fully seemed to work, it made me and Francis happy. Right up until...I guess when the economy went bad and then Victoria's accident, and the operations, and the therapy. Francis got more...he got morose...gloomy. He stopped paying attention to me. He worked harder. Like all men I guess, when he faced a problem he responded by working harder. Somehow I felt left out, left out a little bit maybe anyway, and there were always plenty of younger, by then really younger women around to get his attention.

There were the college girls; they were hanging on him all the time. He'd get calls at night from this or that girl from the college. I'd ask him what the call was about. He'd say something like, 'oh nothing, just a question about something; then he'd say it was something I wouldn't be interested in.' Why would he say that? I had always been interested in his work.

Sometimes he'd get home late. I'd ask him where he'd been. He never lied; he'd say oh this or that student, he'd even name who it was, and it was always a girl who needed the extra help. A couple times it was some pert little blond. I remembered thinking, 'Oh no, Vera Cicero!' I'd go to the mirror and all I saw was lines and wrinkles, lines, wrinkles and a saggy middle aged woman, an old not very desirable woman.

I remembered how I knew I could never compete with those 'girls'; that's all they were, just girls. Still I started buying new clothes, prettier clothes. I bought some low cut blouses, some new push up bras, a couple pleated mini-skirts, and even a bra dress. I even bought some new underwear, lingerie even. I fixed my hair in different ways. I even tried a ponytail once. I watched how Francis watched the girls when their ponytails swished back and forth. I remembered trying to dress and act sexier when Francis was home; he didn't even notice. I was invisible.

Francis acted tired all the time. He didn't seem interested in me. He didn't want to make love anymore. I was so afraid. I felt old. I knew. I just knew...

I think I just started to feel extra sorry for myself sometime last fall. I became too self-absorbed. I thought everything was or was supposed to be about me; I took things to extremes.

At Thanksgiving I'd made my specialty, an Oyster Casserole. Francis, Richard, Victoria, dad; they all raved about mom's turkey. Turkey season's the first week in November. Richard and Francis had both bagged one. Mom had prepared them in her special way, and the meat was gamey but still delicious. She'd taken the wild livers and mixed them with livers she'd bought, and made her own special dish with her own special gravy. I had to admit what with the stuffing, the red cabbage, the mashed potatoes, the succotash, it was great, a real feast. But no one ate hardly any of my oysters. Mom even noticed and made sure everyone got at least a spoon full.

My homely little casserole; I guess I was wearing my feelings on my sleeve. I mean it was stupid; over the next weekend all the oysters were eaten, but that afternoon at the table, well I suppose I just was feeling way too sorry for myself. I know it sounds stupid, but at the time...It hadn't helped that I'd been doing all those other things; I'd bought the new clothes, I'd changed my hairstyle, I'd been working harder on my makeup. Francis just didn't notice. Then right after Thanksgiving...Richard Weatherby...

He was so...Oh what was I thinking? It was like he stepped out of one of the pages of GQ magazine. Mr. debonair had come back into my life. I can't think about it. What he said. The way he behaved. But I'll have to tell someone. Won't I?

~~V~~

(Red House, Maryland. Francis is staring out the back window of the small bungalow he's recently closed on. He's on the phone with his mom and dad.)

"Well I did it."

Dad responds, "You've moved in?"

"No I told the lawyer. They'll deliver the paperwork to the courthouse in the morning. He's sending someone to find Leslie today."

After a few long seconds dad replied, "So you're ending it."

"I think its best, don't you?"

Dad answered, "Victoria told your mother and me that Leslie was on her way back. You sure you don't want to at least listen to what she might have to say?"

Francis hesitated, then answered, "She can tell me after she gets the papers."

His dad answered, "Well it's your call."

Francis responded, "Thanks dad," he turned off his cell phone. 'Damn it,' he thought, 'she would.' He picked his cell back up and called his lawyer. He got his lawyer's secretary, "Hello Mary Lou? Can you tell your boss that Leslie Campbell is probably back in Oakland," there's a brief pause, "I don't know. She might go back to our old house. She might have rented a room someplace. Let me give you her car's license plate. It shouldn't be too hard to find." He told Mary Lou the plate number on Leslie's car, and he identified a couple people she'd most likely want to see.

Again he thought, 'She's come back. I know what she wants. I can't do it. I just can't do it,' he buried his head in his arms and tried to put her out of his mind. Glumly he gazed out the window. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it.

~~V~~

(Same day, just outside Oakland.)

Finally home; it's close to 8:00 p.m. It doesn't look like anybody's home. She wonders...

Out of my car and up on the porch; the front door, the house, it was locked. Out with the key, the lock, it works, worked the door, it opened. Stepping Inside looking around. Being dark, Leslie turned on the lights. All the furniture was gone!

"Oh no," she cried. She ran upstairs. The bedroom furniture was gone too. She checked the closets; all her clothes were gone. She collapsed on the hardwood floor, "He's gone," she broke into tears.

~~V~~

After several minutes of angst and self-pity Leslie picked herself up. I've got to get things together. OK, first I'll go to Harriett's. I'll find my apartment. I'll settle in. I'll see what she can tell me. Francis couldn't have gone far. He's got his job, his career. The kids are here. I just talked with Victoria. I wonder if she knows anything. Why didn't she say anything?

Leslie used her cell and called Harriett. Harriett picked up on the first tone, "Hello, Leslie you can't come over right now. I'll call you back," she hung up the phone.

Leslie wondered what that was all about. She called again. Harriett answered again, "Look Leslie you shouldn't come over now. Something's going on."

Leslie heard someone else in the background. Harriett spoke again, "You might as well come over. It doesn't matter anymore."

Harriett Merriman had been her very best friend when she lived in Oakland. Harriett's middle daughter Elaine and Leslie's son had been very close all their lives. Both and Harriett and she had hoped once that their two kids would make something happen. Things didn't look so good at the moment, but Leslie was still holding out. It had been Harriett who'd found her an apartment and had helped get her part-time job back.

A little after 9:00 Leslie pulled onto Harriett's side lot. She noticed a brand new Subaru parked in front of the house. She wondered whose it was. She got out and stepped up on her friend's porch. She knocked on the door.

Harriet stepped to the door and opened the screen. She looked like death warmed over. Behind her was another woman, a girl. Leslie recognized her; it was a girl who'd graduated a year ahead of her Richard. Richard had taken her to her senior prom. She remembered her; she was a really nice kid.

The young girl stepped through the screen. I'm so sorry Mrs. Campbell. I'm just doing my job.

Leslie saw what looked like the beginning of tears form in the corners of her eyes.

The girl held out a thin manila folder, "This technically isn't a legal document. No, I mean it's legal, but it's not as bad as...well...it's just a 'separation agreement', not a formal petition for divorce." By then the girl was really in tears, "Please Mrs. Campbell. I'm supposed to say 'you've been served,' so I guess...well...you've been served."

The girl slipped between Leslie and the door and scampered down the steps toward her car. Then almost mechanically she turned, ran back up on the porch and hugged Leslie. Whimpering and almost in a whisper she said, "Oh please I'm so sorry. Don't be mad at me."

Leslie knew what the manila folder contained. In Maryland most divorces didn't begin with an outright closure of the total relationship. Usually they started with what was called a 'separation agreement'. The estranged couple usually had what was called a separation period, a time when they might want to try to work things out. This folder contained the documents indicating that; it was devastating, but it could have been worse. Leslie put her arms around the young woman; she stroked her long blond hair, "It's all right. I know. It's not your fault, and thank you."

The girl looked up at Leslie. Leslie was tall for a woman, this girl was small. The girl stammered out, "I'm so sorry. I know how you must feel. My dad, my mom...oh I'm just so sorry," she turned and fled.

Leslie reflected on what she knew about the girl. Yes, her parents had gone through pretty much the same thing. Her dad it seemed wanted a younger woman. Yeah, Leslie remembered. She'd thought at the time the girl's father had been a real bastard leaving a good woman and breaking up a happy home. Yeah he was a bastard, and she was, is a bitch. She choked back a sob and thought, 'No, Francis would probably never take her back.'

Harriett was beside her, "I'm sorry. I tried to warn you, but Mary Ann, well she's out pretty late. She has school tomorrow. She goes to Garrett, and has an early class. She's taking up 'Wildlife Technology. Francis is one of her instructors."

"Oh," responded Leslie. She thought, 'these things get out. They hurt everybody.' She asked herself for the thousandth time, 'Why had she been so stupid? There was no excuse, no good excuse, for what she'd done.'

"Harriett could I crash here for the night?"

Harriet took her hand, "Just for tonight. Craig is away, but he'll be back tomorrow. You're not his favorite person these days."

Leslie sighed, "I'm not either. Have you seen or talked to Francis?"

Harriett winced at first, but then forced a smile, "Yes I have. You want me to tell you?"

Leslie nodded.

"Come on back. I'll make a pot of coffee. I'll tell you everything I know. It's bad, but it could be worse."

Together they walked back into Harriett's large and friendly kitchen. Harriett had a thing for chickens so there were pictures and little statues of hens and roosters all about. She thought, "Francis liked roosters. They'd had a little banty rooster. Mottle colored thing, nasty, aggressive, went after people. Francis treated the little bastard like it was a member of the family. To Francis he was. He even named it; called him 'The Little Cockster'. She had to admit, as mean and nasty as the thing was it was certainly beautiful, and the damn thing sure liked Francis, followed him all around the yard. He lived close to seven years; an incredibly long time for an animal like that. She remembered one day Francis went out back and found him; he must have died in the night. Usually when an animal like that died Francis just took a shovel and walked it back in the woods. He buried that rooster. He's had others since then, but none quite like 'The Little Cockster'.

Leslie thought she'd give anything to get that back. But she knew Francis too well. She'd pushed him too far.

Together Harriet and Leslie sat at the kitchen table and sipped their coffees. Leslie asked, "What can you tell me?"

Harriett began, "Well he doesn't date. At least I haven't heard. He moved out, but you know that. He used some money and made a down payment on a bungalow outside Red House, the old Hamilton place."

Leslie had to ask, "What about Venica?"

"That's one of the reasons why Francis moved. Venica kept coming over, helping out, you know. Well Victoria told me they got in a big fight. Venica must have been getting impatient. Victoria said she said some things about you. Francis wouldn't hear it. He kicked her out. In fact the word is others may have said some things too. I know Alvin Stevenson was sporting a shiner for a few days. Someone said he said something about you, your pants, or what's in your pants actually."

Leslie sat passively, but her thoughts wandered, 'Maybe all hope wasn't lost," but Harriett quickly killed that notion.

"Don't get your hopes up girl. Several people have asked him about you and your future together. He's pretty resolute on that matter. He keeps saying you and he are history."

I had to ask, "Do you believe that?"

Harriett looked into her friends eyes, "It's his pride Leslie. Somebody let on that you'd been up to something. I know he loves you. He loves you like crazy, but I don't know. I just don't know."

"Anything else?"

Harriett replied, "He works. That's all he does anymore. He works. He sees Richard occasionally. He eats dinner when he can at his parents so he sees Victoria every dew days."

Harriett paused for a second, "That's another thing. It's Victoria. Victoria hasn't been doing so well. Her grades have slipped. She misses time. I talked to your mother-in-law. She's really angry with you about this. She says Victoria needs you. I think she said she thought it might go back to the accident. She thinks Victoria thinks you blame yourself and that you're ashamed, what with this other mess, you're ashamed to see her. You've been away too long Leslie. It's time you stepped up; not so much for Francis, but for Victoria, and Richard too."

Leslie pondered this; then she replied, "Mom Campbell and I have talked frequently. She hasn't said much about Victoria; just that she misses me. I know every time we talk Mom invites me up. I've been afraid, no ashamed, to well..."

Harriett got up and dumped the remainder of her coffee in the sink, "So what are you going to do now?"

Leslie unconsciously thrust out her chest, "I'm back aren't I? I'm back and I'm getting my family back. I guess first I'll straighten things out with Victoria. I need her as much as she needs me. Then I'll go to work on Francis." She was lying to herself and she knew it, but she didn't see any alternatives. This was her world. She had to try.

Harriett sighed, looked to the ceiling and then back to her friend, "Don't get your hopes up."

Leslie got up and put her cup in the sink, "Harriet what else is there? He's my man. OK, I fucked up. I know I fucked up. But he's who I want. He's all I want. I've got the rest of my life. Think about it Harriett. I'm a woman, just a woman. She pressed her chin between her thumb and index finger. She thought Kipling said it best; she recited a few lines, "She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast; may not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest. For these be purely male diversions - not in these her honor dwells."

I'm a woman Harriett. I can't and won't deal in honor and pride. Those are mans' things. I'm the she wolf. I'm the momma grizzly."

Harriett chuckled, "Don't go getting all college on me Leslie."

Leslie nervously shuddered, then laughed, but it was a laugh without mirth, "I am woman hear me roar. Francis is mine. He belongs to me. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but I'm back now. I'm back for good. He's mine. I've got to prove to him that I'm his, truly his, his and his alone. That's all there is to it. I can't and won't quit. As long as there's breath in this body," she punched her ample chest, "I can fight. I can win," releasing a deep sigh she added, "I will win! I mean it. I will! Harriett in a way I feel sorry for Francis. He doesn't know what's in store."

Then Leslie smiled, no she beamed, "See here Harriett. I've got this," she pushed up her breasts, "this," she squeezed her crotch, "but mostly I've got this," and with that she tapped the side of her head. "Poor Francis. Harriett, you watch. I'll bring him home like a deer on the hood of my car."

Harriet smiled broadly, "I'm with you Leslie. Just let me know. I'll do what I can."

Together, hand in hand, they went upstairs. Harriett prepared a bed for Leslie for the one night. In the morning Harriet knew Leslie would have to head out. She had an apartment to check. She needed to find her old clothes. She had a job. Maybe it was just part-time, but she was no fool. If she needed a better job and more money she'd have to find one.

Bed made, Leslie undressed, Harriet pulled her friend down beside her, "I don't know about the grizzly thing Leslie, but I know a little about wolves. From what I've read momma wolf only has one alpha. She doesn't spread her hind legs for any but the one," she took her friend's hands in hers, "Leslie you broke the cardinal rule, and face it sweetie Francis is the real deal. He's alpha all the way."

Leslie felt stricken, even more stricken than she'd been, "You don't think I have a chance do you."

"I think there's always a chance. I'm just warning you not to get your hopes up. I've known Francis all my life. Sure people cheat. Men cheat. Women cheat. But that's something that's never been in Francis's nature. Come on gal; I got the whole story, some from you the rest from Victoria," Harriett squeezed her girlfriend's hands, "you really did it. I mean really did it. I'm with you. I'll be with you all the way. But don't count on my husband. He's really angry. He's an alpha too. He doesn't understand you. And to be honest Leslie. I don't either. I mean how could you do it?"

Leslie's eyes started dripping tears. She wiped them with the back of her right hand, "I can't explain it. I don't know. It just happened."

Harriet put her arms around her friend, "Leslie you know that dog won't hunt. Francis knows. He knows you and that guy, what's his name - Weatherby? You were with him more than just once. Craig told me. Francis told him. After you left, or after Easter when he sent you away Francis went down to that motel in Martinsburg. He paid the kid to give him the motel records. He found out how many times you and that guy shacked up down there. Three times is what Craig said. Three times down there, and for sure you and him were up to something around here before that."

Leslie sniffed, "I don't know. I must have been crazy."

Harriet added, "Like I said. Saying you were crazy won't work. You're just going to have to open up. Tell the truth. Then if he doesn't kill you. If he doesn't absolutely refuse to ever see you or talk to you again; then maybe you'll have a chance."

Leslie wrapped her arms around her friend, and quietly wept.

Harriett slowly untangled herself, she got up, went to the bedroom door, turned and blew her friend a kiss, "Good night Leslie. And remember be honest, and above all be yourself. No games. Just be the person he fell in love with."

As Harriett closed the door Leslie climbed off the bed. She knelt down. She clasped her hands together and prayed, "Oh please God, Jesus, I need you. I really need you. I'm not Jezebel. Let me be Ruth. Help me. Help me get back what I so stupidly threw away," she climbed back in bed, and clutched the goose down pillow to her chest. She wasn't reassured. She knew the task ahead of her was formidable. She didn't even know where to start.