Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 01

She just stared at me for a moment, and then a deep red blush covered her face. Quickly turning away from me as if needing to reach into her handbag for something, she said, "yeah, they just came a little while ago. I guess I need to tell him to stop thanking me, or my husband will get jealous!"

She turned back to me and tried a little laugh, but it was deeply unconvincing. I looked at her for a few moments, enjoying her terrible discomfort.

"No," I finally said. "You know that I trust you, sweetheart. And anyway, didn't you tell me he was about 75, and married?"

She tried to pull herself together, and extend the joke. "Yeah, but he keeps himself in pretty good shape, Danny. I think you'd better watch your back!"

I pretended to chuckle at that, and watched her try to laugh along with me, as I gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed back to work.

That night and the next we had a repeat of our "erectile dysfunction" problem, and Eileen grew more and more concerned. I acted apologetic and confused, continuing to say I had no idea what was wrong. On Friday she even put on her sexiest nightgown, turned on some music and stripped for me—but of course, nothing, thanks to the miracles of modern pharmaceuticals! Again I offered her relief with my hands or my lips, but she was too upset. She did make me promise to call Ray the next day and make an appointment—and I agreed, all the while laughing to myself.

On Saturday I casually said, "oh, Eileen, I meant to ask you—what was that new shampoo you used the other day, I think it was Wednesday? It smelled great! I checked the bottles in the shower, but none of them smell like that."

Her face froze. Then, faster than I would have given credit for, she came up with something. She pretended to look puzzled for a moment, and said, "oh, that must have been a free sample of something that came in the mail. Herbal Essence, maybe? If you like it, I'll try to find it at the store."

Bravo, Eileen, I thought. As lies go that was not bad—and pretty quick. But I could see her watching me with worry in her eyes.

The next few days were worse and worse—mostly for Eileen, but they weren't any picnic for me either. She grew steadily more nervous and jumpy around me. She was obviously terrified that I maybe knew something, but showed no inclination to raise the issue in conversation. She seemed to be hoping desperately that the "ostrich strategy" would somehow work, and that whatever was going on would blow over. And she wasn't SURE I knew—after all, I was continuing to be (or pretend to be) as affable and affectionate as ever.

But on Monday, and then again on Wednesday, she got those damn pink roses! And I'll bet she called Martin and told him to lay off—and then was stunned to hear that he wasn't the one sending them. The look she gave me coming in the door at dinner on Wednesday made me virtually sure she was going to confess, or at least ask me what was going on with me—but then she turned away from me and the moment passed.

Our sex life continued to concern her. For two nights Eileen and I skipped any mention of making love, and then Monday at dinner I told her I'd seen Ray for an exam and he hadn't found anything wrong. "He ran some blood work, just to be sure—but he said it sounds like I'm just tired. 'You're not as young as you used to be', and all that crap."

Then I laughed. "Ray said to tell you that if you're really missing it, he could give you an hour or two of loving sometime this week!" I enjoyed watching Eileen's face as she scrambled for a suitably lighthearted reply, without much success.

Tuesday and Wednesday night we tried again, with the same result. And after I pretended to fall asleep Wednesday I smiled to myself, listening to the faint hum of the vibrator in the guestroom, where Eileen had quietly sneaked to get herself off. From two guys' cocks she was now down to only one, or probably none (if as I suspected she was cooling it with Netrebko, at least for the moment).

But as much as I was enjoying seeing Eileen suffer, I wasn't much better off. I was living in a house with the woman I'd loved all my life; and I knew she'd shat on me, lied to me and cheated on me with some jerkoff from the neighborhood, and I was sitting there and taking it. Yes, I was making her miserable—but it hardly made me any happier.

On Friday I sprang what I hoped would be the ultimate sting. If Eileen didn't crack in the face of this one, I was just going to tell her what I knew and throw her cheating ass out of the house.

I made a point of going to the grocery store on the way home, and as we were making dinner together I said casually, "oh by the way, honey, I hope you won't mind but I sort of committed us to a little barbecue tomorrow night."

She looked interested. "That sounds okay—who did you invite?"

"Renata and Martin Netrebko, from over on Walnut," I said casually, and I watched her eyes widen in shock. She quickly moved away from me to set the table, so I couldn't see her face. Finally she was able to say, "oh really? We hardly know them."

"I know," I said, "but I ran into Renata at the store today. We were having a casual conversation, you know, the usual stuff, and I was telling her about our gas grill. She mentioned that Martin is really eager to buy a new one, and I thought it would be nice to invite them over, cook some steaks, and let him take a look at it. Could you throw some rice and vegetables together? Renata said they'd bring dessert."

I turned and looked again at Eileen, whose face was nearly grey with anxiety. It was clear she had absolutely no idea how to get out of this one. "Weren't we going to do something with Dennis and Amy tomorrow night?" she asked somewhat desperately.

"Oh," I said airily, "Amy left a message earlier saying they had to see her parents, and wondering about lunch on Sunday. So we should be fine."

It seemed like this harpoon had finally gone deep. Eileen was practically mute all through dinner, despite my seemingly innocent attempts to keep a conversation going. I twice asked her what was wrong, and she said that her stomach was a little upset.

I wondered if she'd sneak off to the phone and try to cancel my made-up "invitation", but I watched her pretty closely all evening.

That night, far from trying again to seduce me, she went to bed an hour earlier than usual, and was pretending to sleep when I came into the room. I woke up once in the night, at around 2 am, and heard her crying quietly downstairs.

********************

I deliberately let myself sleep nice and late on Saturday morning, eventually showering and coming down around 10 am. Eileen had made a beautiful breakfast and was keeping it warm for me. She looked like a wreck—tangled hair, red eyes with deep circles. Clearly she hadn't had much sleep, and equally clearly she was beside herself.

"Good morning, babe," I boomed cheerfully, and she positively cringed.

"This looks like a great breakfast—thank you!" I went on, all innocence. Then, looking at her more closely, "honey, are you all right? Have you been crying?"

The moment of truth. There was a long, long silence, while I looked at her in apparent sympathy and concern and she regarded me with doleful eyes. I expected to see her burst into tears, but she didn't. Instead, she got up and moved to the other side of the kitchen, putting her back against the counter as if to get as far from me as possible.

"Danny," she began in a strained voice. "I've done something terrible. Something awful. And there's no excuse, and no way I can make it better, and I'm terrified of what you'll do."

I pretended to look blank, and confused. No fucking way I was making this any easier for her!

"I love you," she went on. "You're the only man I've ever loved, and you mean more to me now than ever, and that's what makes this so unforgivable."

I let my face look concerned now. "Babe? What is this...?"

She covered her face with her hands. In a quiet voice she said, "I cheated on you. I had an affair...with Martin Netrebko. It's over now, but I did it."

More silence. OK, Danny, I thought, you got what you wanted—she confessed—so now what?

I just looked at her, standing there in her blue terrycloth bathrobe, her dark hair jumbled and tangled around her head, her face still buried in her hands. The woman I'd shared my life with, shared everything with. And I felt the anger flow back into me, the anger I'd kept so carefully bottled-up during the past two weeks.

I could have killed her with my bare hands. I could have torn the robe off her, thrown her down on the table, and pounded her ass with my belt until she screamed. I could have opened the basement door and hurled her down the steps face-first. I could have gotten two inches from her face and yelled at her until she cried out in terror.

"You cheated on me," I finally said, in a choked voice. I hadn't moved. I realized much later that I probably was acting at that moment as though I didn't already know the truth.

"You fucking CHEATED on me? With that asshole? Why? What's so special about him? Do you love him? Did you suddenly decide old Danny just wasn't getting it done in the saddle? What?" My last few questions came out as shouts, and I watched her cringe back against the counter.

"No, Danny, no! I don't love him, I don't even particularly like him! And it wasn't you, it was...shit, there's no reason for it. I was thinking with my, with my cunt, that's all. I did something stupid, and selfish, and awful.

"And I'd cut my own arms off to take it back, and that's the truth. All I want is to wake up and find out that this is a nightmare, that it never really happened, and that I'm safe at home in bed with you."

Another long silence. It was kind of a shame I hadn't eaten that nice breakfast, because I certainly didn't have any appetite any more.

I sat, and she stood. I looked at her, and she mostly looked down at the floor. And I felt the anger swirl through me, the blinding rage, making my heart pump, making my fists clench and my leg muscles tremble. And we stayed that way in silence; it must have been ten minutes or more.

I'd been planning for this moment for nearly two weeks, and now I didn't know what to do with it. I was glad she'd told me, though I didn't really see why it made a fucking bit of difference—I'd pretty well tortured her into it, after all.

I finally realized that my pulse rate had slowed and my clenched fists had relaxed; adrenalin doesn't stay in the system forever, I guess. Time to say something.

"Okay, what now, Eileen? What have you got planned next? 'I'm sorry, honey—my bad, it was a terrible mistake, please forgive me'? And I'm supposed to sulk for a few days, like you spent too much on a dress or crashed the car, and then everything is just fine again?

She surprised me then, by suddenly starting to sob. "No, Danny—I have no idea what happens now! All I can think about is how I would feel if it had been...if you had done this, what I would be feeling! Whether I could ever look at you again, or stand to let you touch me!"

Her crying overwhelmed her then, and I just listened to her as she wept.

"I don't know if our marriage is over," she said finally, sniffling. "I don't know if you're going to throw me out, or whether I'd do that to you if the tables were turned.

"But I do know that I love you, and that I'm sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry! And I'll do anything you say, anything, to try to make this up to you."

She was crying hard again, and it was difficult to hear the words. "I want you to love me! I want it to be like...like this never happened!"

I sat stonily, thinking, 'well, not much chance of that, is there?'

After another five minutes of silence I said, "go get cleaned up and get dressed. Be down here in fifteen minutes, we're going for a ride."

She looked at me anxiously but obeyed without a word, and I listlessly picked at my breakfast until she came down again. She'd combed her hair, washed her face, and put on a sweatshirt and jeans, but she still looked pretty worn.

We got into the car without a word and I drove straight over to Walnut Street, parking in the Netrebkos' driveway. Eileen looked at me in alarm and said, "Danny, what...?"

"Shut up," I said. "Half an hour ago you said, 'I'll do anything you say to try to make this up to you'. Well, that starts now."

I dragged Eileen by the wrist to the front door and pressed the bell. After a moment Renata came to the door and smiled at us, looking slightly confused but welcoming.

"Hi Renata, is Martin here? We need to speak to the two of you for a moment."

She politely led us into the living room and went to get her husband. As he entered the room his face blanched with alarm at the sight of Eileen with me next to her, both of us looking grim.

I gave him no time to interfere. "Eileen, please tell Renata what you told me this morning."

Looking down at the floor, Eileen said, "Renata, I...I had an affair with your husband. We saw each other...about six times. It's over now. I'm so sorry."

Renata snarled at her husband, but her words came as a shock to me. "So fucking her at the swing party wasn't enough, you son-of-a-bitch? You had to go off and play your own little private games as well? Despite what we've always agreed?"

I turned and stared at Eileen, but she was looking straight down and avoiding my furious gaze. I saw Renata grab a sofa cushion, whack her husband hard in the head with it, then toss it away and stalk out of the room.

That left Martin and us. He looked a little dazed, clearly not knowing the proper etiquette for this situation. "I, uh, I'm sorry, Danny...I guess I owe you an explanation..."

I let him trail off, clearly at a loss how to continue. Then I stepped forward and hit him hard in the belly with my left hand, doubling him over. I followed that with a right hand to his temple; that knocked him flat on his back.

Standing over him, I put one foot on his chest to keep him in place; then I unzipped my pants and slowly, leisurely, pissed all over his face and chest. He covered his face with his hands, but otherwise made no attempt to get away.

When I was done I zipped up, turned to Eileen, who was regarding me with horror, and without another word led her back out to the car.

"Danny, I..."

"Shut up."

"But you need to..."

"I said shut up. I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

We drove for about fifteen minutes, Eileen staring unhappily out the window, neither of us saying a word. When I pulled the car to the curb and said, "out," she looked up in alarm. We were in front of her parents' house.

"What? Danny, you..."

"Out. This is where you get off, Eileen."

"But Danny, what am I..."

"Not my problem, Eileen. They're your parents, they love you. But right now I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to smell you. So unless you want to be dropped off at a motel or the bus station, I'm leaving you here. Out."

She stared at me, the tears beginning to flow again. Then she silently got out of the car and trudged up the front walk.

Before she rang the bell it looked like she turned back to me to say something, maybe "I'm so sorry." But by then I was driving away.