House of Cards Ch. 10

I had kept up the routine of checking the recording devices in the house at least twice a week. They were mostly filled now with the sounds of the kids, but there were occasional calls to or from Marianne, and I listened to these carefully, with perfect attention. At first I almost held my breath, not knowing what I might hear. But as the weeks went by it was easier and easier to relax, and I never did hear anything that worried me.

I also checked her purse and her car a couple of times when she wasn't around, to see if a throwaway cell phone had reappeared, but in vain. And the calls on her regular cell phone, which I could check in the monthly bill, were all routine.

Did these things mean that Marianne wasn't cheating on me again? No. But a lack of evidence was certainly better than the opposite! And she knew very well what was at stake. If, despite all that had happened, she was unwilling or unable to be faithful to me, our marriage would be over.

On the plane down to St. Thomas we were feeling close and romantic, and I decided to give her a "gift" when we got there, something I'd been thinking about for awhile. We checked in, changed and immediately went to dinner, at a gorgeous restaurant on an open-air balcony overlooking the Caribbean. Marianne looked stunning, in a new silk pants outfit that had not only me but every other man in the place directing his attention at her.

During dinner I took great pleasure in just looking at her. Her beautiful eyes, full of sparkle, the shine of her hair, her lovely arms, the graceful way she moved. All of it felt like a miracle to me. Being away from home was obviously making it easier for me to appreciate her.

As we waited for dessert to be cleared and the check to come, I said, "there's something I'd like to tell you. I think you'll think it's good news."

She smiled broadly and said, "I always like good news! What is it?"

Smiling back at her I said, "I've stopped seeing Carrie."

Her face went through a marvelous series of expressions, all lasting just a moment. Surprise, pleasure, concern, wary optimism. "I think that's great news, Tom! Can you ... can you tell me a little more?"

"I realized it was time to stop. You and I are trying to have a 'new marriage', and you have every right to expect my total commitment to it, just as I expect yours. And, of course, there's the other thing. You know that Eddie is still in my mind, when we're in bed. And Carrie is surely in your mind. At least now that can be in the past tense."

Marianne didn't yet look completely convinced. "And how is ... how does she feel about it?"

"Carrie knew all along what my situation was, and I've been honest with her. To tell the truth, she may feel relieved. There's a guy she's very interested in who she thinks is going to ask her out, but she didn't know quite how to handle that while she was seeing me. This will make things simpler for her."

"And one more thing, Marianne. Just so you know: when I say it's over with her, I mean completely over. Permanently. I'm not going to see her again, and you can trust me on that."

This time the smile stayed firmly on her face, growing broader as she regarded me.

"Thank you for telling me that, Tom. Listen—are you put off by crude behavior in an elegant place?"

I could tell from her tone that she was kidding, so I just said, "not at all. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, this restaurant and the setting are so lovely. I hope you wouldn't mind if I just leaned over the table and –"

She leaned over, putting her face inches from mine, and said softly, "I'd like to take you back to the room and fuck your brains out!"

I sat back, laughing. "That WAS crude! But I believe that I'm prepared to let you off with a warning this time—as long as you follow through..."

We quickly paid the check and hurried out.

**********

The week in St. Thomas was great, and the sex was mostly great too. The end of my 'affair' with Carrie surely helped, but I think the main things were just being away, and being alone.

Kids take a lot of energy out of married couples—not that there aren't rewards! But all day in St. Thomas we had only one another to think about. And we were far from any place that reminded us of the troubled recent past. It was still with us, but much less present and much less important.

We made love nearly every day, and a couple of times twice. That seemed pretty good for a couple both about 40. It was always pleasurable, and twice we got really wild with each other (I'm sure the tropical weather and the alcohol consumption helped a bit too). Even more than enjoying those two unrestrained sex sessions for themselves, I was happy and relieved that we'd been able to achieve that level of freedom with one another again.

I also loved it that Marianne took the initiative in sex a few times, like that first evening after dinner, when she was all over me. Knowing that some of the time we were having sex because SHE really wanted to (though of course I did too) was a turn-on for me.

When we flew home we were more tan, more relaxed, more happy, and certainly more optimistic about our marriage. Marianne held my hand the whole flight, and when we were nearly there she asked quietly, "Tom? Do you think you're ready to move back into our bedroom? I would be so happy if you would!"

I nodded at her, smiling, and she kissed me excitedly, tears standing out on her cheeks.

**********

About two weeks after we got back I had another nightmare. I had had them occasionally ever since learning of Marianne's affair, sometimes twice a week, sometimes much less often. They were always about Marianne, and some were bad, some not so bad. This one was a killer.

In the dream I was lying behind Marianne in bed, caressing her breasts, kissing her neck, murmuring to her. She lay there happy and languid, her eyes closed, getting gradually more aroused, moaning quietly. My hands moved to her pussy, and as I stroked her clitoris she began moving her hips back against me. She lifted her top leg and my hard cock poked between her legs. Then she closed her leg against it, and I rubbed my cock back and forth across her pussy lips. My hands returned to her breasts, and I pinched her nipples. She got more and more excited, breathing more heavily, sliding her hips back and forth. Then she turned her head, her eyes still closed, and said, "now, Eddie! Put that beautiful thing inside me!"

When I pulled back from her in shock, she opened her eyes and looked at me. Startled to see it was me, she cried, "where's Eddie?" And Eddie suddenly appeared in the room, naked. He climbed onto the bed and entered her with a single thrust, making her cry out in pleasure. Soon they were fucking one another wildly, ignoring me as completely as if I weren't there.

For some reason I couldn't move. I just sat, frozen, two feet from them on the bed, unable to intervene. When I could finally move my arms I started to grab Eddie to pull him off her, but Marianne looked at me and said, "no, Tom, stop! I need Eddie to make me come!" Then she closed her eyes and went back to fucking him like crazy.

I heard a terrible groaning sound, like the roar of a wounded animal, and then I was being shaken. Marianne was shaking me awake, and I tried to come up out of the dream and look at her.

"Tom, are you all right? Was it a nightmare? I just looked at her, bewildered, covered in sweat, my fury and horror very slowly ebbing away. The clock said 3:25. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Finally I could speak, and I said, "sorry Marianne. That was a bad one. Give me a minute."

She went to the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth, which she used to gently wipe my face and the back of my neck. Then she fluffed up the pillows and had me lie back. I guess I was still breathing hard, and must have looked pretty out of it.

"Sorry," I said again. "Shh," replied Marianne. "It was just a dream. It's gone now, I'm here with you." I didn't want to tell her about it, and I figured she probably could guess the general theme in any case—I had told her about some of my previous nightmares. She lay with her arms on me, her head on my chest. After a few minutes I began to feel calmer, and we eventually drifted back to sleep.

**********

In mid-December we went to a big Christmas party given each year by our friends Alec and Diana. Alec was a former colleague of mine at work, and our kids were about the same ages as theirs, so we'd known them for years. It was a big party, 60-80 people. We saw Steve and Andrea, and chatted with them and with many other friends that we knew.

The party was formal—black tie for the men and evening gowns for the women. Marianne wore a black sheath dress with spaghetti straps, with a single aquamarine pendant and matching aquamarine earrings. Her hair was up in back, showing off her lovely neck. She looked fabulous. Obviously I'm not objective, but there wasn't a woman at the party who looked half as desirable.

For some of the evening we stayed together, talking and laughing with friends. But as the evening wore on we naturally split up, as conversations pulled us in different directions. There was a lot of drinking, and things got much looser. Several strategically hung pieces of mistletoe were being used by some of the men as a convenient excuse to kiss other people's wives, amidst general laughter. I saw a guy named Marty, whom Marianne and I knew casually, corner her beneath some mistletoe and give her a kiss and a full-body hug, his hands roaming over her, after which she pushed him away, laughing.

In previous years this party had sometimes gotten quite rowdy, with wild dancing and even couples pairing off (not with their own spouses) and making use of one of the many distant bedrooms in the large house. With this in mind, I had been trying to keep Marianne in sight as much as I could. But I got caught up in a political argument for a few minutes and lost sight of her.

I was just thinking I should look around for her when I heard a commotion in the living room, some raised voices, and then Marianne came running out of the living room and straight over to me, white-faced and shaken. "Tom, please, can we just go now?" she said in an urgent voice. I asked what was wrong, but she pulled me towards the front door without replying. Quickly I grabbed our host's hand, thanked him for the party, and we got our coats and left.

In the car I asked again what was wrong, but she just clung tightly to my arm and said, "it's all right now, Tom. Just take me home and I'll explain everything." She really did look upset.

When we got home and I had paid the baby sitter, I took her into the living room, got us both a small brandy, and sat close beside her on the sofa, holding her hand and stroking it gently. She swallowed some of the brandy, shivered, and then seemed to calm down a bit. Finally she began to speak.

"I was having a nice time, like we always do at Alec and Diana's. You know it starts to get pretty flirty after everyone has had a few, but it was no worse than usual. Then this guy I didn't know before, his name is Malcolm—I think he works with Diana—started really coming on to me. He had been talking and flirting with me earlier, but it was harmless, the usual lines about my dress, or the aquamarine sets off my eyes. You know—no big deal, and not hard to handle."

"But later he managed to separate me from the group we were talking with, and maneuver me into a corner of the living room. The flirting got way too serious. He was telling me I was the loveliest woman he'd ever seen, and my husband couldn't possibly appreciate me as much as he would. If I'd only give him a chance, he could show me pleasures I'd never dreamed of before. And he was stroking my shoulder, and standing way too close, talking into my ear. Then he had me by the arm, and was starting to steer me down the hall towards the bedrooms."

"I was terrified you'd come into the room, Tom, and get the wrong idea! I was frantic to get away from him. I couldn't get loose at first, and no one else noticed what was going on. So I yelled at him, "let me go! I am NOT going with you!" And then a bunch of people turned and stared at us, and he let go and I ran out of the room, with people trying to follow me or help me."

She sighed, calmer now, and I just hugged her tightly, stroking her hair. Finally I said, "I'm sorry honey. I wish I had been closer—I just got caught in the middle of an argument between Bill and Leonard, and you know what they're like once they get started."

Then I said, "were you afraid that he'd really ... drag you into a room and rape you? Or was it that you were afraid I'd see you two and misunderstand what was going on?"

"I don't think he would have raped me, Tom. He was definitely coming on strong—but I've been in situations like that before, and a few firm "No"s would have done the job. With, if necessary, a spike heel firmly planted on top of his shoe."

"But I was very afraid of what you might see, and what you might think. I don't want you to have the slightest doubts about me—EVER—and I hated being in a position where you, or someone else, could have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Before I let that happen, I'll stop going to parties."

I smiled at her, and held her close, and planted soft kisses in her fragrant hair, humming into it—some stupid Christmas carol probably, I wasn't too original about music. Her story had made me happy, God knows why.

"I love you," I said, "and I'm sorry for what happened. You are a very beautiful woman, and tonight you look so incredible that the mystery to me is why any man at the party DIDN'T flirt with you."

"I don't think we need to stop going to parties. We are a long way from where we were last summer, and as long as you can handle the flirters I will be content to let you handle them. I'm not going to fly off the handle because some jerk gets a little excited—but I'm glad that you're thinking about my feelings."

She sighed and relaxed against me, obviously calmer now.

"Now," I said, getting up and pulling her gently to her feet, "would you consider letting me have an early Christmas present? I would like to take you upstairs and undress you, beginning with the earrings, and ending with whatever I might find under that beautiful dress!"

She laughed and kissed me, and said, "Merry Christmas, Tom!"

**********

Some time early in the New Year I realized that Marianne had changed noticeably, if gradually, in her behavior and attitude around me.

She had always been sensitive and generous—before the affair as well as after—but in the months since I learned about Eddie I was often aware of her tentativeness around me. She seemed very watchful, presumably concerned about my angry outbursts, but that wasn't all of it. I think that she was also full of guilt and self-reproach.

Many times when we were together she seemed to be looking for a way to make it up to me, to atone for what she had done. As silly as this will sound, it was like being served by an over-eager waiter. You just want to tell the guy to relax, bring my dinner, and then leave me alone—don't ask me every two minutes if everything is fine!

But now this was happening less and less. She seemed to have more faith that I wasn't about to head out the door if we had some small disagreement. Her smiles were just as warm as ever, but her eyes looked less worried, and she seemed less tense.

I was happy about this, of course. I didn't want to be married to "Mrs. I'm-so-sorry", and I couldn't have lived with her for long. The whole idea of our "new marriage" meant getting past apologies and atonement—in time—to a different version of married happiness. Maybe Marianne's new attitude meant that we were getting there.

**********

On a morning in late January Marianne came into the bedroom where I was putting on my running clothes. "Tom, how would you feel about our just taking a walk this morning, instead of running? I'd like to talk to you about some things."

Her demeanor was serious, and I said, "of course, Marianne. Let's both get bundled up, and we can go."

When we were outside walking, our breath steaming in the cold air, she said, "I've been learning a lot of things in my therapy with Dr. Brenner, and it just started to feel like time to tell you about some of it."

"I want you to know, Tom, that none of this is about my making excuses. Cheating on you was wrong, and I did it, and I hate that I did it. But I'm beginning to understand better why I did it."

"Okay, Marianne," was all I said—I didn't want to interrupt her.

"Well," she said, "I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear that a lot of it has to do with my parents." She rolled her eyes. "Such a cliché, right? It's always about the parents. But it really seems to be true in my case."

Of course, I already knew a fair amount about Marianne's parents. For years they'd had a terrible marriage. Her father was a big-time philanderer, almost never without a mistress or a series of one-night stands. At one point he even moved out of the house and into an apartment with a girlfriend. When that relationship ended after a few months, he moved back home, without apology.

Marianne's mother, and Marianne herself, were both badly hurt by his infidelities and his lack of concern for their feelings. I never understood how or why her mother put up with it, rather than throwing the bastard out on his ear.

Interestingly, in later years the relationship changed. As he grew older her father settled down, stopped chasing skirts, and became a more loving and reliable husband. That was all after Marianne was out of their house, but in the years since then the marriage had gotten much stronger, and now the two of them were wonderful grandparents to our children.

"I've been talking a lot with Dr. Brenner about my parent's marriage, and about my dad's screwing around. As with every kid, the one marriage I knew a lot about was my parent's marriage, so for better or worse it was my idea of what a marriage was."

"I can see now that, as much as I adored and trusted you, Tom, at some level I expected to be hurt and cheated on just as my mother had been. I was afraid of giving our life together my total, absolute commitment—because it would have hurt so deeply if you had betrayed that in any way."

"Of course you never did! You have never been anything like the jerk my father was when I was growing up. But that fear was always in my mind."

"Again, this is not an excuse! But it seems that my cheating was an expression of my own fear about totally committing myself to our relationship, and trusting you completely. Maybe the fact that it didn't happen sooner is just because I love you so much, and because you always made me feel that I could trust you. But my conviction that you would betray me, pull the rug out from under me in some way, was something I was always struggling with, though I wasn't really aware of it."

"There's one more crazy aspect to this I want to mention. Paradoxically, and though I never would have wanted it consciously, my behavior led to you also being unfaithful to me. So the thing that I feared most turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy. In my fear that you would betray my trust in you, I did something so horrible that in the end you did—even if it was in an aboveboard way, and even if it was totally my behavior that drove you to it."

She was serious, intent, striding fast as she told me all this. She and the therapist must have talked over these ideas many times, because they were quite clear in Marianne's mind, and she explained them so I understood right away.

But I didn't know how she would want me to respond, so we walked on in silence for a short time. Then she spoke again.

"You don't need to do anything in particular, Tom, or even say anything. My coming to understand these things has really helped me. I've been calmer, less unhappy. Maybe a little less racked by guilt all the time."