Work Husband

"So all I have to do is figure out something that would satisfy me that Dylan isn't what you say he is, and you'll go along with it."

"Except you're forgetting one thing."

"What's that?"

"You're not doing this to satisfy yourself. You are Columbo, remember? You're out to trap that scumbag into showing what he really is. If you don't approach it that way, your bias will find a way to let him off the hook."

She started to say something else, but she stopped and walked away.

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

The next few days seemed to last forever, because the temperature inside our house was just as cold as it was outside. But then Jack and Louise came home for the holidays, and the sun came out. I didn't think about Dylan again until the day after they left, when we were having breakfast alone before leaving for work. It was a quiet breakfast.

The rest of the week was quiet, too, as I watched Minerva brooding. When she came home on Friday, she had a forced smile on her face.

"Put on your coat," she said. "I've made dinner reservations."

As soon as we were on the road, she spoke, addressing the windshield.

"You'll be glad to know this will be over one way or another in a week or so."

"What does that mean?"

She didn't answer my question directly.

"I hope what I'm going to do to Dylan won't make me feel worse than I've felt all this week. I start on Monday, but now that I know what I'm going to do, I'm forgetting about it until Monday morning."

That evening started a whirlwind weekend of activities. We were on the go all day Saturday and Sunday -- a Marx Brothers comedy at the revival theater, lunches, dinners, a brisk hike, a jazz club and a museum exhibit about early television where we watched a few episodes of "I Love Lucy" but not "Columbo." When we got home each night, we fell into bed and slept soundly.

Monday morning her mood was dark again, and it was even darker when she came home. I tried to interpret that positively, but she soon set me straight.

"I should end this right now, but I'm going to force myself to continue at least one more day because I don't want there to be any doubt. All I'll say is that you need to stay far away from me tonight because all I'm thinking of is how I'm going to make you pay for what I'm doing to Dylan and how I'm going to make it up to him. You can stew on that tonight."

I shivered. This wasn't turning out the way I had planned. It had never entered my mind that I might be wrong. What would she do? If she could prove Dylan wasn't out to fuck her, would she fuck him to punish me? Would she ask for a separation and date other guys? Would she try to find one who wasn't insanely jealous? Would she divorce me?

My mind was racing, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Was I having a heart attack? Would I have a stroke and be paralyzed? Would she take care of me and parade her lovers in front of me before she took them to bed? I didn't get much sleep that night.

If anything, the next night was even worse. She looked like she had been tortured and didn't say a word all night. She barely glanced at me, and when she did, her eyes were on fire.

On Wednesday, she wasn't home when I got there, and I was shocked when I walked into the bedroom. Drawers were open and her clothes were strewn everywhere. It was like a tornado had been through there. What was going on?

Then I looked inside her walk-in closet and saw her suitcase was missing. She had come home earlier, packed in a frenzy and left me. I felt dizzy and went to the bed and sat down for a while. I got up, turned off the bedroom light and lay on the bed in my clothes and thought about how I had destroyed my marriage and if there might be anything I could do to put it back together.

I don't know how long I lay there in the dark before I got up. I decided I needed to get out of the house. I needed to get drunk. Anything to drive away the thoughts I was thinking. But as I was opening my car door, I realized that she might call me when she got where she was going. If I answered from some bar, that would only make things worse.

So I stayed home and flipped around the channels. After a few hours, I got hungry and warmed up some leftovers. Even warmed up, the food tasted delicious. She loved to cook for me, and I loved her cooking. Would she ever prepare another meal for me?

It was after midnight when my cell phone rang, and I saw it was her calling.

"Hello, Minerva."

"This is Emma. Minerva's in bed. I gave her something, so I hope she falls asleep. She told me everything and asked me to talk to you about it. But I told her I wouldn't do anything except let you know that she was all right. She's going to stay here until she processes everything, and then she's coming back to tell you herself. I promise you that I'll help her do that. I have no idea how long that will take because I've never seen her like this.

"My advice to you is to wait. Don't fly out here and try to see her. Don't try to contact her at all. Just wait. I know it will be hard, but I think it's the best way."

"All right, Emma," I said, and I realized that I was crying as I said it. When she said goodbye, it sounded like she was crying, too.

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

I don't know how I made it through the next few days.

I called up Joanne at Minerva's office the next day and pumped her. Minerva had come back from lunch with Dylan yesterday and gone straight to the bathroom, where she threw up. She had told the team she probably had food poisoning and had gone home. Today, she had called in sick and said that she had a nasty bug and might not be back for a week or even longer.

I was surprised when I got a call from Emma on Thursday that she had just dropped Minerva off at the airport. She told me when the flight was arriving and suggested that I give Minerva space and let her start the conversation.

On the way to the airport, I felt both relieved and worried. I should have known that it wouldn't take Minerva that long to decide our future. I dreaded hearing what she was going to tell me, but it had to be better than living every day in doubt. Despite her earlier threat, I knew she wouldn't do anything horrible or try to humiliate me. For the sake of the children, she would probably suggest something quick and sensible, and then it would be over.

The children! How was I going to explain it to them? Would they forgive me? Of course they would, but when? Months? Years?

When she saw me, she walked briskly to me and gave me a quick hug and peck on the cheek. I didn't see any emotion on her face. As we walked to the car and drove home, I snuck glances at her, but her face was blank.

I carried her small suitcase upstairs and put it on the bed. She opened it and started unpacking, ignoring me. I went downstairs and tried to stay calm, but I couldn't. I repeated to myself what Emma had advised, but it just wasn't in me to wait. I ran up the stairs and burst into the bedroom breathing hard.

Minerva was hanging something up in the closet. She turned and looked at me, still with no emotion.

"I'll do whatever you want to make it right with Dylan," I shouted and tried to get a grip on myself as I began to babble.

"I can call him up right now and arrange to meet him. Do you want to come with me? Should we go see him at the office? Tell me what I should say so he doesn't blame you for what you did to him. I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't such a fool. Will you ever forgive me?"

Nothing. She looked at me, but I had no idea what she was thinking.

"Do you still hate me?"

"Yes."

That question got a quick answer. And it also cracked her stone face. As I stared at her, I saw something. It was hard for me to tell for sure, but it looked like a slight smile. Was there a chance she would forgive me after all? What could I say now? I needed time to think of something.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I said I still hate you, you horrible man. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

Now I was really confused. The way she spoke, it sounded like she was trying to be funny. Was she toying with me. She looked at me expectantly. What should I say? I didn't have a clue, so I stalled again.

"Why do you hate me that much?"

"Because you were right, you, you, you --"

I saw her start crying as she ran to me. She nearly knocked me over as she wrapped her arms around me.

*********

"He actually gave himself away the first day," Minerva told me after we finally got out of bed and went downstairs to the living room.

She had told me she had been thinking about what I could do to punish her for not believing me. She said the worst punishment she could think of was for me to deprive her of an orgasm for a month.

When I replied that would be more of a punishment for me, her clothes came off in seconds, and she jumped into bed. I made her come a few times, and she returned the favor. In between, she shed a few more tears. I admit I did, too. If that makes me a wimp, I don't care. She was still mine, and that's all that mattered.

"How did you know the first day?" I asked, trying to remember what she had said to me that day and how I could have gotten it so wrong.

"I didn't. After the first day, I was certain you were wrong. Toward the end of the second day, I started feeling unsure of myself. The next morning, there was no way to deny the truth, and my body couldn't handle it. I had to get away from here as fast as I could. I was frightened to death to face you.

"I told Emma to call and tell you, but she said I had to do it myself in person. When I saw you at the airport, I was scared again. I tried to make my mind a blank. I was a robot. Once I told you, I was sure you would look at me with total contempt, and I wasn't sure I could handle that.

"When I saw how much pain you were in, I forgot to be afraid. And then you gave me that perfect opening ..."

"Wait a second," I said. "I'm confused. If he gave himself away the first day --?"

"But I didn't hear it. I mean, I heard it, but I didn't get it. It wasn't until the morning after I got to Emma's that it hit me. I was going over everything slowly in my mind, and I finally understood."

"I'm even more confused."

She took my head in her hands and pulled it to her and gave me a big kiss.

"You're adorable when you're confused.

"Since Lieutenant Columbo knew Dylan was guilty, the mystery was, why hadn't he done anything seducers always do? He didn't sympathize with me when I told him about our fights. He didn't say one negative word about you. He never suggested getting together after work to discuss our project. He seemed to feel sorry for his wife rather than complain about her. He didn't do one thing that could have been interpreted as a move.

"I thought about myself. What kind of person was Minerva? If Dylan was a master of seduction, he was using our friendship to learn the best way to get to me. What could Dylan do to get Minerva to cheat on Frank?

"It wouldn't be hard to find out about her mums even if she didn't tell him herself. He could study up and plant some and then start going to events. The odds were that eventually she would be at one of them. Once I assumed he was guilty, that didn't seem so far-fetched.

"Now he had something to talk to Minerva about besides work. They started becoming closer and sharing personal information. As he got to know her more intimately, he realized Minerva would see right through anything obvious. So what could he do?

"The answer was nothing. He just kept listening and accumulating information, waiting for the day she gave him an opening. His greatest seduction skill was patience. One day, she'd say something that he could respond to in a way that would move them one step closer to his goal without her realizing it. That step would either lead to another step, or if it didn't, he'd wait for the next opening.

"He was doing the same thing he did with customers. They'd start out acting in their own play. It's a long play, because when a company is choosing expensive programs like ours, the sales cycle could go on for nearly a year. You have to be patient.

"Dylan listened closely to customers, and at the right moments, he'd say a few carefully chosen words that steered them toward his play and led to his happy ending.

"Columbo had to give him the opening he was waiting for, but I made a mistake the first day. At lunch, I told him you and I were having problems in our marriage and now that the kids were out of the house, I thought we were growing apart and I was confused. You weren't a bad person, but I needed more than you were giving me.

"Dylan almost jumped out of his skin. I had never talked like that before, even when I was angry at you, and he spent the rest of lunch trying to calm me down and telling me not to do anything rash.

"He said you were a great guy who worshipped me and that I was just having the same feelings that anyone who's been married a long time can have occasionally. He promised me that in a few days I would get over this and might feel silly. He promised not to repeat what I said to anyone. As far as he was concerned, he had never heard it.

"I could barely resist my impulse to hug him. Not only didn't he grab the bait, but he swam as fast as he could in the opposite direction. You were toast.

"I was happy at first. But later that day, I began feeling itchy all over, like I was covered with dirt. The shame of what I had done to him was overwhelming. I could barely speak. He thought it was because of what I had told him and tried to cheer me up. That made me feel even worse.

"By the time I got home, I hated the sight of you, and I meant every word I said to you. But I didn't tell you what happened, because after lunch, I was thinking about how you'd take it when I told you that Columbo had caught the criminal and it was you, not Dylan. He was innocent of all charges and you were guilty of paranoia, irrational jealousy and insecurity.

"I realized that when I laid out my proof, you had an escape. You could point out that I came on too strong and spooked Dylan. He knew something was wrong and backed off until he could find out what was going on. I hadn't locked up the case.

"So I had to play Columbo one more day and take it down a notch. The first thing I did when I got to the office the next morning was go over to Dylan and apologize for my behavior the day before and promise to not embarrass him if he'd have lunch with me.

"At lunch, I apologized again and took back everything I said. I told him I was being completely unfair to you after everything we had been through and that you had always been my biggest cheerleader and supporter and would do anything for me.

"I said I was really ashamed for being so ungrateful. Then I waited for him to tell me how happy he was to hear what I was saying and tell me again what a wonderful guy you were. That would have closed my case and put you behind bars.

"He didn't do that. He never talked about what I had said the day before. Instead, he focused on his concern for me. He apologized for reacting the way he had and told me in no way was he judging me and putting me down. He wanted me to know that he was always ready to listen to what I said, even if I said things that were hard to hear. He told me not to beat myself up about expressing my feelings honestly and that I was the most authentic person he knew.

"That's the gist of his reaction, and I kept waiting for him to say something like I should talk everything out with you, or that I was probably just reacting to things that were inconsequential, or any suggestion to help me see how petty my complaints were. But he never said anything like that.

"I was sure he meant to, and he would the next time we talked, but now I had to carry the charade into a third day, and I was dead tired of it. I blamed you for my frustration, and driving home I got angrier and angrier at you. It took all of my will power to keep myself from tearing into you when I saw you. I'm ashamed to say that I hated you that night.

"Dylan and I had a team meeting the following morning, and it was a good meeting. I was feeling a lot better, and I said I wanted to treat him to lunch at a quiet café nearby that we both liked. I could tell he was in a good mood, too.

"After we ordered, I thanked him for being so supportive and told him how much I valued his advice. Then I said exactly the same thing as the day before, except I rearranged it and used different words. I knew he wouldn't repeat himself, so I waited for him to give me a dose of common sense.

"That's when he flunked the test. He didn't say what I wanted to hear, and he didn't repeat himself. He took me one step further. He told me that when I talked to you about my frustrations, I had to be considerate of you. Even though you'd support whatever I chose to do, it couldn't always be easy for you. I needed to assure you that nothing I did meant I didn't love you. I owed you that.

"It was all about me knowing that you would accept whatever I needed to do but that I had to be careful how I spoke to you to make it easier for you to go along with what I wanted.

"I don't think it was any one thing he said that made me understand. My realization came gradually, and as it did, my stomach began reacting. I held it in until we got back to the office, but then I had to run to the ladies room. I lost my lunch and went through half a box of tissues to dry my face before I staggered back to him and told him there must have been something in my salad.

"I told the boss I needed to go home. I must have looked pretty bad, because he offered to have someone drive me. I didn't take him up on the offer, and once I got in the car, my nausea went away. I felt ice cold and terrified.

"I wanted you to lash out at me in righteous anger when I told you. I could have faced that. But I know you too well. You would've been forgiving and understanding, and I couldn't face that. I don't even remember throwing my stuff into my suitcase or driving to the airport lot or buying a ticket or calling Emma.

"That's it. I don't think I left anything out."

"I don't want you to torture yourself," I said, "but would you mind if I asked you one question?"

"No, go ahead."

"You mentioned that he gave himself away the first day, but you didn't realize it until later. You never said what he did."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. It was something he started to say. After I had dumped all that stuff about you and me looking like we were ready to split, he said, 'Whoa! Slow down.'"

"That's it? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. But then he suddenly stopped. For a few seconds, he didn't say anything. Then he began to calm me down."

"And...."

"And it was the silence that gave it away."

I looked at her like she was crazy. She laughed at me before she continued.

"It's not what he said. It's what he almost said. He caught himself before he said it, and had to stop to think of something else. That was the giveaway. Do you remember me telling you about the sales tricks that he was teaching me?"

"Yes."

"That was one of his best. I tried it a couple of times, and it works great. You use it when customers are saying the things you want them to say, but too early. If they plunge ahead before you're ready, you don't have a chance for everyone to act out the whole play and get rid of all the possible obstacles and objections. Unless you do that, your happy ending isn't assured. Something you didn't cover could spoil it at the last second. So you can't rush through any of the scenes. You've got to perform them all.

"The exact words can vary, but what you say when the customer moves ahead too fast goes something like this:

"'Whoa! Slow down! You're way ahead of me. Give me a chance to catch up.'

"He stopped after 'Slow down!' He knew if he said the rest, I might realize what he was doing. He was manipulating me like I was one of his customers. He had to make sure we performed the whole play so there wouldn't be anything to mess up his happy ending."