The Plan

It seems that our home was just some cheap hotel room for her, with a convenient all-inclusive service by her otherwise useless hubby. A service she recently only used to crash into bed late in the evening and leave early in the morning. Yeah, sure, supposedly it was because of some important case. But I'm not fooled any more, we are finished. All I really have to do is to get into my car and get away. I can take care of finding a lawyer for the divorce later. Getting away is what's important now. I feel that fleeing is the only way to save some remainder of my sanity.

I have received an offer for a full time violinist position at a much larger orchestra a while ago. Today I will finally accept the job. Even if it means to leave my position as the guitar player and lead singer in my old band because of the move to the big city. These guys are some kind of family to me, more than Laura recently managed to be. That separation hurts, but it needs to be done.

Do I want revenge on Mercer? Destroy his marriage with photos maybe? No, as far as I can tell, his marriage is already dead. It's just a matter of time until his wife finds out and I feel it's none of my business to interfere with that. I'm repulsed by him and I don't want to interact with him at all. Should I destroy their reputation at their company maybe? No. Probably all of them are fucking around and I don't see the sense in childish games. He's the boss anyway, nobody will get fired. I just want out. Out of this humiliating and hurtful marriage. Just get away, start a new life, try to forget the good times I've had with her.

So I take one last look at her, turn around and slowly walk to my old truck. I place my hands on the steering, dump my head onto them, sigh and just barely manage to avoid crying again. No, Tom, get your shit together, start your new life, leave the crap behind. Yes. Better. I take two deep breaths, start the truck and just drive away, towards my new life. It's the start of something new, but it definitely is no joyous moment. I feel empty, sad and disillusioned.

xx

LAURA:

Thank god, he has finished, it's over. Of course, he doesn't care if I've reached an orgasm. I think I've been farther away from having one than I've been at my last root canal treatment. How many times will I have to do this to keep him in line? Three times? Four? I hope it will be enough if I can stretch the spans in between. I urgently need to shower now, preferably using sandpaper instead of soap. I need to get rid of his stink and I have to avoid his attempts to kiss and cuddle. Shit, he looks at me like a puppy. He really seems to have it bad for me.

I see some movement behind the curtains.

"Ted, you haven't closed the curtains. Shit, I just hope nobody has seen us."

"Don't worry, honey. Nobody knows we're here."

"Yeah, I just hope you're right." I have a brief vision of Tom watching us and the idea alone is enough to start a small panic attack. I can't wait to get back to my soft, beautiful angel, the best thing that has ever happened to me.

xx

I arrive at our house full of anxiety. I've kept secrets from Tom in the past, but this is the first time I've done something really bad. God, I've actually cheated on him. Well, technically I have. Emotionally I haven't, I rationalize. Nonetheless, I feel like shit and have to concentrate on putting up a straight face as I exit my car. I have to act flawlessly now, otherwise my darling Tom will get hurt. I have to avoid that at any cost. He's too precious to be drawn into the shit I currently have to fight my way through.

I gather myself, unlock the door, trying to look happy and relaxed. The house seems so dark and silent.

"Tom? I'm home."

Nobody answers.

"Tom? Where are you, honey?"

I look into the kitchen, the den, everywhere. He's not at home. Damn, I really would have liked to get over this. I fear the moment I first see him. I fear that he will know everything as soon as he sees me. Damn, why has my life to be so difficult? I just want to make a decent living for myself and my dear husband.

I go to the bedroom to undress and take another shower. I still feel dirty. Damn, getting into the inner circle of corporate lawyers is like getting into Fort Knox. Worse, you can only get in if you are already inside. Mercer is just business, Laura. He's my ticket to get inside. I just hope this ticket won't bite me in the ass. Damn, maybe I should've become an architect or a doctor. Then my ambition wouldn't have forced me to cheat. Or would it? Is there a Mercer for an ambitioned woman in every business? Am I just a whore? Shit...

Okay, get rid of these thoughts and these clothes, Laura. Maybe I should burn them ritually.

What...? Where are...? Where are Tom's clothes? No, no, no. This has to be... Tom, don't do this. I feel the tears forming. NO! Don't you dare to cry, bitch. You're tough. You're strong. You don't break down like a little girl. Take action. Think. Okay, the situation is difficult. What do I know? Tom somehow knows or at least suspects something. He has left you at least temporarily. It doesn't matter how he's found out. The question is just - what do I do now? How can I make this right? How can I survive without his love? How can I bear the thought of losing him? More important - how can I prevent it from happening?

I call him although I know it will hurt. Don't cry now, be strong when you talk to him. Crying and pleading will just make things worse.

xx

TOM:

At eleven in the evening Laura finally seems to have come home again to find me absent. As expected, my phone rings. I have no intention to hide from her, so I take the call.

"Yes?"

"Tom? Tom, honey, where are you? We need to talk." Her tone is surprisingly neutral. Either she doesn't care or she's hiding her feelings pretty good. Where has the confident, but honest and caring woman I had fallen in love with gone? Has she ever been there or have I maybe deluded myself all this time?

"I'm in my truck." I know that this doesn't explain anything, but she knows me well enough to guess what's going on.

"Oh."

For several seconds nobody says a thing.

"May I ask why you're in your truck at eleven in the night?" she finally asks. Her true emotions begin to shine through and I feel that she's anxious.

"What do you think, Laura? Make a guess."

"Honey, your clothes seem to be gone. Whatever you think has happened, let's talk about it before you make hasty assumptions."

"So there's nothing you'd like to tell me?"

"Nothing of real relevance for our relationship, no. I'm not proud of what I've done recently, but my situation is more complicated than you know. Nothing I've done changes the fact that I love you and only you."

Not bad. It is a first step towards the truth. She has begun to put her cards on the table, but only some of them.

"What does that mean? What have you done?"

"Tom, I've had sex with Mercer. Only one time and only for a defined purpose. I'm just using him. It was terrible and we've used a condom. I feel repulsed by his body. It was a nightmare, even before I've realized that you've left me. Tom, I begin to understand that it was a huge mistake but it never had anything to do with our love. It was never relevant for our marriage."

Good, she has confessed everything. Somehow I appreciate that, although it changes nothing. We're not in court, where a confession can be expected to lessen the verdict. This might come as a surprise for my dear lawyer wife.

"I've seen you and Mercer. I have these pictures in my mind. I can see some relevance in that."

"Oh shit... shit... shit. Sorry you had to see this."

"It was hard to ignore. I tried my best but your recent behavior was just too obvious."

"Okay, I see. I've tried to hide this shit from you, but I guess I've fucked that up. I better not play Poker with you. Tom... sorry. Really, I'm sorry. It was just a business necessity. It has nothing to do with us. Tom, I'll be completely honest, do you have any questions?"

She sounds stricken now, almost in panic. This is quite unlike Laura.

"No."

"Nothing? Why I've done it? If I'm going to continue it? Tom, please let's talk about it."

"No, I don't care."

"So you've already made up your mind?" Her voice sounds different again, sad and resigned.

"Yes. I have already left you."

"I see. Tom, I love you, only you. Please keep that in mind. I'm sorry it has to end this way."

"So am I." I think I sound as crestfallen as I feel.

"It's not necessary, you know? I still adore you and I feel nothing at all for him."

"Even if this is true, it doesn't matter. Not with these pictures in my mind."

"I see. I'm not going to see you again, am I?" She definitely starts to cry now. I will do that later.

"Probably not, no."

"Sorry... Tom, sorry for all of this." She is openly sobbing. "You... you don't deserve it. I... Tom, love you. I wish you all the best." She's talking quickly, like she wants to use these final seconds to say everything of relevance.

"Yes, I wish you all the best too." And I just hang up, feeling empty and sad. I thought that watching her with Mercer was my life's low point, but somehow this is even worse. I've really lost her for good now. She's not mine any more. It's over. I'm alone.

xx

LAURA:

Shit, I've really lost him. Shit. What can I do? I need to do something. I can't just lose him. I can't just give up, that's not an option. I need a Plan. Something need to be done, even if I never get him back. He has been aggrieved, he needs to be reimbursed, however I manage to do that. I need a Plan.

It's always been like this. I've always been the one with a Plan. My childhood friends and my family had been mostly clueless, so having Plans was always my responsibility. Sometimes they didn't work, like the one with Mercer. But quite often they had. When I was nine, I had figured out how to get my class's pet kitten to come down out of the tree. Nobody regarded me as bossy or domineering because of my Plans, not even myself. But I couldn't help noticing people usually seemed willing to go along with my Plans. "Laura will have a Plan, and it will work," they said. It almost always did. Amazingly, this sometimes even included my parents.

My parents didn't have much, and what they had, they didn't use well. My mother had once been pretty, but had been rode hard and put away wet far too many times, by too many men. My father called himself a laborer, but didn't do enough actual work to justify the title. I, as their oldest child, had by some genetic miracle received more brains than either of them, and their example gave me the determination to develop and use those brains.

As I grew from a mousy, but clever little girl into a young woman, the attention of the men around me left no doubt that I was quite attractive. From the age of sixteen on, every man around me seemed to constantly watch me. At first I had been unsettled and assumed something was wrong with me. Then, understanding that they desired me and wanted sex, I felt threatened. After a while I learned to control their attention and to use it to my advantage. I also learned that it opened doors that remained closed for a plain girl.

With the bad example of my mother before me, though, I was determined to never consciously use sex to get what I wanted. I tried to be fair and courteous to everyone, regardless of background, but built a wall around me to block actual sexual advances.

Maybe overdoing to avoid my mother's fate, my social life was almost nonexistent, though not for lack of opportunity. I surprised myself by accepting the invitation of a female colleague to a club, to hear a band I'd never heard of. It must have been a weak moment, I told herself, as I stood along the wall at one side of the club, wondering what exactly I was doing there. Slowly, though, the music got to me. I found myself listening to it more and more intently, being drawn into it in a way I never would have imagined possible. I lost track of time. It wasn't just the music that enticed me, it was also the alluring voice of this singer and guitar player that had an almost hypnotic effect on me.

I wasn't the woman to experience something like that without investigating. As the band was packing, I strode up to the singer, and asked him point blank why the music had so moved me. He was very sweet and took his time to talk about his music. I had never thought much about music, but with Tom, I discovered a deep innate appreciation for the art. It was as if he showed me a whole new world inside myself.

Then there was the sex. Tom's typical unassuming and charming way made him irresistible for me. I was in his bed in no time and I think I have probably dragged him there even more than he did me. Tom's combination of fierce passion and tender caring won me completely, and I strove, quite successfully I hope, to return it in kind. There was never any question about sharing myself with anyone else: I was Tom's completely from the beginning. I would try anything with Tom, but he never asked for much.

My romance with Tom was the first major event in my life for which I had no Plan. He was the only person I had ever met whom I could trust that much. That didn't mean I was clueless, of course: when he proposed, I had my answer ready. One word: Yes! The poor guy wasn't even able to finish his question. Not that he seemed to mind.

After I finished law school, I had a reasonable amount of job offers, but none of the high powered, high paid, interesting stuff I had dreamed of. But I at least wanted the mid-term opportunity to gain such a position by hard work. The Mercer firm seemed ideal for me: it was small enough that I could rise quickly, it was diverse enough to be active in several areas of legal practice, and Mercer himself was one of the most respected attorneys in the state. I eagerly accepted Mercer's offer, and began work on my Plan.

As my marriage to Tom flourished, my Plan expanded. I saw how frustrated Tom was when he had to take gigs he didn't like. I could tell the difference, too: I still went to most of his gigs, and within the first ten minutes could tell whether this was something Tom would do for love, or money. Now my Plan had a second goal: to make enough that Tom would only have to do gigs he loved, and could spend the rest of his time practicing and writing. Since both goals would be achieved as I rose in the firm, it was doubly important to me to do so.

Of course Mercer had his eye on me. Men always did that; I was used to it by now. Unfortunately, in spite of the fact that we were both married, Mercer took it into his head to fall in love with me. Not lust, real romantic love. Flowers on my desk, silly notes, the whole nine yards. Even this was bearable, if rather disgusting, until that day in Mercer's office.

Mercer had known my ambitions; I had been quite clear about them in my interview. He now told me I would never achieve them unless I "let him love me," as he put it. I would be tied up with penny-ante cases that could probably be handled by a second-year law student; the big reputation-making cases would be assigned elsewhere.

"You know how I feel about you, Laura. You've never even given me a chance. I know I'm not as good looking, well built or young as your husband, but you may come to like me - even love me. I do have my qualities, just give me the chance to prove myself. All I want is a chance to love you."

"Mr. Mercer, stop this. We're both married. I'm faithful to my husband. That means I don't give you, or anyone else, a chance, as you put it."

"Very well, Laura. I guess I'll have to assign the Westmoreland case to Hoskins."

"Hoskins? Mr. Mercer, you know he can't handle that case, and you know I can. Think of the firm, think of our reputation."

"Perhaps that's true. Perhaps I may need to help him out a bit. But that is my decision." I stared at my shoes, as if I could find a Plan in them.

"What do you mean by 'a chance to love me'?"

Mercer smiled. "Don't worry, Laura. I'll be discreet; we'll do nothing here. But you will meet me when I say, and where I say, and do what I say."

"For how long?"

Mercer's smile broadened. "Until I feel you've given me a fair chance."

I held out for six stress-filled weeks, then I capitulated. After the first make out session with Mercer, I was so ashamed that I couldn't let Tom touch me. The day he made me blow him after work in the break room, I almost broke; Tom found me in tears in our bed. Now it had all gone to hell in a hand basket because Tom had seen me with Mercer in that disgusting motel room.

Yes, I had sex with him. Could you even call it sex? Yes, I suppose I was having sex with Mercer, technically. But after what I had with Tom, calling this 'sex' was like calling a toddler banging on a bowl with a spoon 'music.' Nothing he did engaged even a small piece of my mind or heart.

Still, it is clear that Tom certainly considers it sex. Not that I can blame him. Oh, Tom. He must never have known about this shit. This wasn't how the Plan was supposed to work; it was supposed to make Tom happy, not to destroy our marriage. And certainly not to turn his wife into the lying, cheating prostitute I am now. There is no point mincing words: I'd used the same words to describe my mother. Now here I am, more like my mother than I ever could have imagined.

The thought of my mother settled it. Scrub the Plan. Mercer would have my resignation tomorrow. Let him blackball me; I would work as a paralegal, a secretary, anything. The problem with Plans is, you get attached to them. I had stuck to this one too long, without noticing it. I had sacrificed too much for it. Way too much. When your goals change - and Tom's love is way more important to me than any goal I'd ever had - you need to reconsider your Plans. Unfortunately, it seems like I have already lost him. I'd better revise my Plans, quickly. Think, Laura. Think.

Yes. Yes, I see it now. That might work. It will be tough, but I'm strong enough for it. And I will endure it gladly for Tom. I have a Plan. THE PLAN. The big one.

I'm not going to quit my job. I need it for my Plan. And most of all, I need Mercer. I desperately need Mercer.

Now I have a Plan for the most important task in my whole life. I just hope it will work. Only time will tell. I will do everything I can, sacrifice everything I have if I need to.

xx

Two years later.

TOM:

Of course, it wasn't that easy. I had hoped that my mourning could be done within a few weeks, but that was far from the truth. I missed her terribly. I missed her strangely attractive asymmetric smile, her ironic and sometimes black humor, her beauty, her quirk to suddenly take photos of the weirdest things, her smell, the way her nose moved just before she was sneezing, the way she touched me, the way she gently chortled when she was very content, the dimples just above her ass, the way she forgot things all around the house because something else was suddenly on her mind. I still loved her and just missed her like hell. But I knew that I was torturing myself by thinking of her - it was over.

xx

Here I am, in front of a small audience. A few hundred people seem to be willing to endure my musical output and even pay a small amount for it. I had to give up my old band while moving to the big city and had started some kind of solo career. My job at the orchestra provided me with a sufficient income, so I had recorded some guitar songs for YouTube just for giggles. I would be lying if I said that I became a big internet star, but to my surprise a few people seemed to appreciate my efforts. Enough to fill this small hall, obviously. Financially it was pointless, but it seemed the right thing to do, so I had decided to take the opportunity. Now that I'm standing on the stage, I have some serious doubts about the whole idea. Why am I doing this? I'm not sure if I can handle failure. I have nothing to gain, but a lot to lose. Okay, get over with it.