Don't Go There

This is my fourth offering. I've decided this on will be another LW cheating & vengeance story (because they're fun to write!).

I got the idea for this one while at a mundane couples BBQ gathering, watching the interactions between spouses as they playfully poked at each other, sometimes going a bit too far. I wondered how much was playful, and how much the rest of us are watching something altogether. Then I thought, what if the poking went to DEFCON 1?

I look forward to reading yourconstructivecomments and critiques. After all, readers' thoughts are the grease that keep the creative juices flowing! And remember, it's just a story. No actual a-holes were hurt in the writing of this tale.

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DON'T GO THERE

The party was in full swing now, neighborhood couples and a few couples who were friends of the hosts, Jere and Joan Schneider. The guests were full of BBQ and most were suitably lubricated with their favorite adult beverages. The party had mostly inside to the covered sun porch, which provided respite from the blazing Georgia sun. A light breeze through the screens. In all, it was a nearly perfect afternoon in our North Atlanta suburb.

Unlike Jennifer, my wife of sixteen years, I hadn't imbibed much beyond a few Hey Man Blonde Ales, a local favorite from a now defunct craft brewery in Greensboro. I had a lot on my mind, and didn't feel like overindulging. Jennifer, on the other hand, was feeling no pain, having repeatedly hit the rented frozen margarita machine from the minute we arrived. I wasn't counting, but she had to be on number six, maybe seven.

Things were fine until Joan started talking about the trip to Paris she and husband Jere had planned for next Spring. The other wives were captivated and excited for them, save Jennifer. A thin-lipped smile betrayed Jennifer's I'm-going-to-start-some-shit intentions. After sixteen-plus years, I knew the signs.

"Did you hear that, Tom?" she said from across the room, her voice rising over the low din. "Joan and Jere are going on a trip to Paris next Spring."

"Yes, I heard," I replied evenly. "Paris in Spring. I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time."

"Tom doesn't take me on trips," my wife said to the other women with a calculated sigh.

The gauntlet had been thrown. Finally, at long last, I wasn't going to take it. I had resolved before we left the house I wasn't going to fire unless fired upon, but if she meant war, let it begin here.

"I wouldn't go there if I were you, Jennifer," I said in a sterner tone.

"Go where, Tom?" Jennifer replied, half mockingly as she locked eyes with me.

The other conversations slowly quieted. A casual couples BBQ party shifted into something else in mere seconds. Something toxic. Jennifer eventually broke eye contact, directing her next remark to Joan by name but intending it for everyone. "You're so lucky, Joan.Hedoesn't take me anywhere!" she lamented. Several pairs of female eyes silently pitied Jennifer and accused me.

"So you're going to do it anyway. Fine, Jennifer, fine. Would you like to go to Paris? Oh, that's right, you can't. You're afraid to fly, you hate being bottled up on a cruise ship, and you don't like to sleep in hotel beds where other people have been. Plus, your passport expired months ago, and you haven't done anything to renew it."

Some of the guests looked down at the floor, as if the thin indoor-outdoor carpet suddenly deserved attention. The rest couldn't take their darting eyes away from the slow-motion train wreck unfolding before them.

Jennifer had her audience now. Her Poor Pitiful Me expression shifted seamlessly to indignation. "Why would I bother? You never invite me to go anywhere!"

"That's a lie. That's not true and you know it's not true. So knock it off." There was enough menace in my tone to make it clear I wasn't going to back down.

It's a funny thing. Shouted accusations of lying get brushed off, discounted as the standard fare of arguments, particularly between couples. But said quietly they somehow acquire a patina of truth, a thunderous roar of authority. My dear wife was too invested in winning to sense the shift in attitude among our friends.

"Liar!" she barked back. "When's the last time you took me on a trip with you?"

I leaned back in my chair. "Oh, three or four years ago. Maybe five. I've lost track." Jennifer crossed her arms across her chest, head held high, flush with apparent victory.

"Wipe that idiotic smirk off your face," I deadpanned. "Let's review." I rearranged myself on my chair, leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees, my Hey Man longneck dangling from my fingers. The room was nearly silent now, the tension too thick to cut even with a chainsaw.

"Last year, I suggested that we spend New Years in Tahoe, get a cabin on the lake, and do some skiing. You said you didn't want to be away during the Holidays."

Jennifer tried to interrupt, but I cut her off, talking over her attempt to wrest control of the worsening argument.

"The summer before, I suggested that we fly to Hilton Head for golfing and sailing, like we used to do before Katy. I even arranged for Katy to spend the week at your brother's lake house with her cousins--which you know she loves. 'Too boring' you told me. So Katy went to the lake house and I spent an exciting week cleaning the garage and doing household repairs. You spent the week going to the Indian Casinos with girlfriends and complaining to everyone about us being in a rut."

I noticed our friends' brows furrowing as I narrated. Jennifer sensed it, too. She could barely contain herself as I pressed on.

"The year before you shot down going to Hilton Head, I invited you to join me on a business trip to New Orleans during Mardi Gras, which you also nixed."

This time Jennifer managed to leap in. "And what was I supposed to do while you were at your business meetings? Is that your idea of a trip?"

"I would have had meetings for one day. One lousy day and you could have busied yourself that day exploring quirky shops in the French Quarter, which we all know is your favorite hobby. I told you we could extend our stay for as long as a week and take in everything the Big Easy had to offer."

"New Orleans is a dirty old city. Some trip that would have been!" she spat out.

"And yet you made plans to meet your college girlfriends there a few months later for a bachelorette party. Perhaps they cleaned the dirty old city up for you."

"That's different! Julia is my best friend from college! I couldn't say 'No' to her."

"I'm your husband. You sure as hell don't have any problem saying 'No' to me."

Jennifer changed tactics. "This is all bullshit. I'm talking about going on a trip. A real trip. An adventure. Hilton Head and New Orleans aren't Paris."

"Right, I understand. You want to travel overseas. Go somewhere where there isn't a Mickey-D's or an Exxon station on every corner, right?" I laced my words with mocking derision, knowing that would tease her out.

"That's right!" she said as her entitlement forced it way to the surface. "I want to go where people don't speak English, where people live differently! Somewhere where the food is different and the customs are different!"

"Well, then I'm confused, because just last month your sister and her husband suggested we join them on a trip to Japan. Sounds like exactly what you say you're after, but you shut that down in ten seconds flat."

"Japan? Really? I don't want to go to a place filled with weird little people with funny eyes and..." Her voice trailed off as our neighbors, Ken and Eriko Ogawa, looked on with a new perspective about a neighbor they thought was a friend.

Marjorie Decker, a quiet woman who I'd never heard utter an unkind word to or about anyone, actually gasped. "Jennifer, for God's sake!"

"You know I didn't mean it like that!" Jennifer almost shouted before composing herself. "All I'm saying is that Paris is... Paris! It's so romantic. It's the most romantic city there is. Not that Tom knows or cares about romance."

"Second warning, Jennifer. Don't go there." Jennifer glared. "I mean it, you really shouldn't go there. Don't do it."

"Or what, Tom? Afraid of everyone finding out about your...shortcomings?"

"Jennifer!" Marjorie said sharply. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm fine, Margie," Jennifer purred with condescension. "Tom's been dishing it out. Let's see if he can take it."

I leaned back in my chair. "Let me save you some time, beloved." I looked around the room. "Since my wife has attacked me by innuendo, let's give your imaginations a rest. A little over five inches. Not Guinness Book of World Records material, but enough to father a beautiful, wonderful daughter."

"You sure about that?" Jennifer taunted. I saw Carla Simmons try to stifle a giggle. Carla was probably the closest thing Jennifer had to a neighborhood Bestie. They were as thick as thieves and notoriously vicious when paired. Reaction noted, Carla.

"Completely sure. I had DNA tests done a few months ago. Two separate labs. 99.9% each time. And now, you're sure, too." The implications of my last comment flew over Jennifer's head at first. She went ballistic when her sotted brain caught up with her ears.

"You lousy bastard! I didn't cheat on you back then! You have the DNA results." Jennifer didn't catch her Freudian slip.

"The DNA doesn't prove you weren't cheating, wife. It only proves that one of my swimmers got there first."

"Asshole!" Jennifer spat at me. "I suppose there's no point in going to Paris with you anyway. You haven't touched me in months. Does your little five inches even work any more?"

"Third and final warning, Jennifer. Don't go there. I really wouldn't if I were you."

For a moment there was a flicker of hesitation in my wife's eyes. For the briefest moment, I thought she might have the good sense to retreat. It was not to be. The patient, thoughtful young woman I married was long dead, given now eruptions of disproportionate anger at whatever annoyance or perceived slight had her attention. The flicker vanished.

"Well, does it work?" she demanded. "You see," she said nonchalantly to the room, "I wouldn't know because he's been sleeping in our spare bedroom for months." Her voice dripped raw contempt.

The room now was clearly divided between those who looked horrified at the mutual destruction playing out before them, and those who watched it unfold as if it were entertainment. Carla's animated expression cheered Jennifer on.

"It works just fine," I assured her as walked to our hosts' bar cabinet to pour myself a bourbon. "But since you've become the neighborhood bicycle, I'm not going to risk catching something."

At that, Bill Simmons, Carla's husband, decided it was time to end the carnage.

"Listen, Tom," Bill said, measuring his tone, "you and Jennifer obviously have some serious personal issues to work out, but this isn't the time or the place."

"And the other shoe drops," I said with a humorless laugh. My eyes zeroed-in on Carla. "You might give some thought about why Billy-Boy sat there like a Sphinx while my wife was trying to emasculate me, but he suddenly wants to hit the brakes when the subject turns to my wife's extramarital hobbies. Do the math, Carla."

Carla's eyes narrowed, then flew open, like Wylie Coyote realizing he was sitting atop a bomb as the last of the fuse burned. Her head snapped left to face Bill, now panic-stricken, as the guilty usually are when cornered.

"Baby, listen to me," Bill stammered. "It's not what you think!"

It isn't often that you experience live-in-person physical violence, and rarely does it bring joy, but when Carla launched herself at Bill I felt raw satisfaction. It took three people to pull Carla away from Bill, who now sported several jagged gashes in his cheeks and jaw from where Carla's nails had clawed him. Carla's parting shot was a flailing kick that loosely connected with Bill's crotch. At least the bitch was good for something.

Joan ran for a damp washcloth for Bill's face, while Bill tried not to make too big a spectacle of cradling his nuts.

Dan Boyer, our backyard neighbor, was the first to take up the banner of reason and discretion. "Damn, Tom, I know you're pissed about, well, OK you're angry. But couldn't you have handled that properly?" Several heads nodded in agreement. One of them was Jennifer's, now dripping tears.

"Properly, Dan?" I walked across room to face him from a non-threatening distance. "Hefuckedmy wife. He's been fucking her for months. If I'd handled itproperlyI'd have killed him where he stood with my bare hands." Dan slowly backed away from me. In fact, several people gave me some distance.

I looked over at Bill, now dabbing at his face with a bloodied washcloth. He'd dab, wince, and then inspect the cloth to see how much more blood there was. "As it is, he's just going to have a few scars to remember Jennifer by. Lucky guy."

"Go ahead, make jokes," Bill barked. "This isn't over. You will pay."

"You're right, Bill, this isn't over. There's still an excellent chance you'll be found in an alley with your balls stuffed in your mouth. Ponder that."

The physical fight had gone out of Carla, but she was still seething. "So you got both of the cheaters. Proud of yourself?

"I got you, too, Carla. You think I don't know about your part in all this? What did you tell Jennifer when you two Magpies talked about cheating on your husbands? That she deserved some fun? That it was her body to do with as she wished? That I'd eventually get over it? That I'd suck it up to keep my family together? Wrong on all counts, you delusional bitch."

Carla half-collapsed into a nearby chair. "My marriage is ruined, my kids' lives are ruined. What am I supposed to do now?" Carla asked no one in particular.

"For starters, I'd suggest getting tested for STDs. You know how it goes. Billy was screwing Jennifer, so he was screwing everyone she was screwing, along with every one the people she was screwing were screwing. Plus anyone else your cheating-ass husband was screwing, and so on. That's quite a Petri dish you've got festering between those skinny thighs, Carla."

A new contestant entered the ring when Steve Haynes took his wife's hand and announced they were leaving. "Thank you for the invitation," he said to Joan and Jere, "but I think it's time for Maya and me to go home." I let them make it about half way to the door.

"Maya, you might want to get tested, too."

Maya spun around to look at me, then at Steve. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and instead focused on the far wall, his breath coming in a shallow staccato. Maya looked at her husband, who now looked at her with guilty eyes. She forcibly disengaged her hand from Steve's before fleeing to the bathroom, sobbing.

Steve turned to me with unrestrained hatred. "That was cruel and unnecessary. You could have talked to me, alone. You didn't have to ambush Maya."

"And you could have been a faithful husband. What you did to Maya was cruel and unnecessary. So go rot in Hell. And avoid dark alleys."

Steve hustled down the hall to the bathroom, apparently to try to coax Maya out. It was time for me to make my exit.

"Well, everyone, this has been fun. I'd say I'm looking forward to the next one, but I don't think you'll be seeing me around much anymore. Well, maybe when I'm here to exchange Katy at visitations.

I headed to the door to make my exit, right behind Ken and Eriko Ogawa. I have no idea why they stayed after Jennifer's disgusting remarks, but I was glad they did. They were gracious enough to speak with me. They accepted that I was ashamed for my wife's vile remarks, and assured me that Katy and I would always be welcomed in their home. They didn't mention Jennifer.

With that, I walked to my soon-to-be-former-home to await Round Two.

*** ***

Katy was at a sleepover with a gaggle of her school friends, so nothing hindered my packing an overnight bag. No way was I going to sleep under the same roof with Jennifer, not even in the spare room which had become my own. Now that the dirty laundry was out in public, like one of those giant car dealership flags flapping in the wind, it was time to go. Months ago I had started preparations for this day, after I had learned of Jennifer's affairs and confirmed the details. Originals of my critical personal papers, my passport, birth certificate, and the like, had been moved to a safety deposit box, along with copies of the non-critical stuff. It took a full hour to change passwords on my personal accounts and credit cards, and to transfer my share of our shared accounts into my new personal accounts. The disruption of my life angered me as much as the betrayal. Toss in how this would affect Katy, and I was in an outrage overload.

Jennifer didn't show up until almost midnight. I was just about to throw my gear into my car and head for a hotel when Jennifer's key hit the lock. She looked like crap. She didn't waste any time resuming hostilities.

"You have no idea the damage you've done!" she barked at me. "Bill and Carla both got arrested. Maya is kicking Steve out of the house. Lainie and Chris Benson got into a screaming match over Chris getting STD tests, just because he had an affair ten years ago! The whole neighborhood is in turmoil because of your big mouth!"

"Arrested? Do tell! Don't leave out any details."

"Might as well tell you, you're going to find out anyway. I tried to apologize to Carla, but she went after me. Bill tried to grab her but she slugged him, and then he pushed her hard into a wall. Someone called the police and they both ended up getting arrested. They'll both probably lose their jobs."

"Gosh, that'd be a shame," I deadpanned.

"They have kids, you asshole!"

"Carla has kids. Bill might have kids." Jennifer winced and darted her eyes away from mine before she caught herself. I wasn't going to tip Bill off though about what my PI had learned about Carla. I'd already hinted at what Carla was up to. The slimy cocksucker was on his own.

Jennifer sat heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. Her smugness at the block party was gone.

"What about us?" she asked. "We do have a child, as you so kindly acknowledged at the party. We need to think about Katy."

I took a chair at the other end of the kitchen table. "The wise-ass answer is that you should have thought about Katy before you had affairs with Bill and Steve and who knows how many others. It so happens that's also the practical answer. But, I don't trust you, and I don't love you. Not anymore. And I don't think it would be good for Katy to live in a house where her parents don't love or trust each other. Accepting gross disrespect sets a bad example."

"What about the examples of forgiveness and sticking it out for better or worse?"

"You're playing the wedding vows card? Jeez, Margie was right, youaredrunk. No, I prefer the examples of loyalty and consequences and, again, self respect. Surely I don't need to explain."

Jennifer's pride asserted itself. "You're still better of staying. I'll ruin you in a divorce. I'll get the house because Katy will be with me. You'll only have weekends and alternate holidays. You'll have to pay child support, and alimony, too. Is that what you want?"

"At this point, I'm supposed to say something clever, like "What I wanted is a faithful wife,' but I'm not in a clever mood. Anyway, you won't ruin me in the divorce. I've talked to a few lawyers, and they said the same things. Yes, Katy will stay with you. You're what they call the primary caregiver, so you'll get physical custody unless we all agree she lives with me. It's the way it is."

"You've talked to lawyers already? What the hell! When?"

I shrugged my shoulders. Jennifer's leverage weakened with my capitulation to becoming a weekend dad.