Two
The next morning as I dutifully tried to work up the energy to get dressed and go to work, one question kept playing over and over in my mind. “What does Adam’s newest strumpet see in him anyway?” I will be fifty in a few months, so my choices are limited at best. She, on the other hand, is young, and as painful as it is to admit, breathtakingly beautiful. Which leads me to beg the question of what a 35-year-old bombshell could possibly want with a 47-year-old playboy? Nope, no money in his bank account. That’s not it. It surely isn’t the sex. I’ll be honest with you. I’m stumped. However I’m guessing a substance abuse problem, mental health issue, or the girl is just dumb as a plow horse. Then why am I so crazy in love with the man you ask? Try as I might I cannot answer that question. It’s a certifiable case of love being both blind and stupid!
Oh well, what’s done is done. Dragging myself off the couch, I padded into the kitchen for a cup of Maxwell House with a healthy dose of Coffeemate Liquid French Vanilla Creamer. Screw the diet I struggle desperately to adhere to every single day of my life. I grabbed three, fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts from a box-- a neighborhood Girl Scout had gone door to door yesterday selling them for some fundraiser -- and enjoyed them with my coffee. I couldn’t think of a living soul who really cared if my weight fluctuated by ten or fifty pounds, so why suffer needlessly? Dang, they were good! I grabbed three more without feeling one iota of guilt. Seconds later, I was stuffed and feeling the effects of a sugar high, so I went back to bed and crawled under the covers, wondering if maybe I was clinically depressed.
How do you cope when you learn that the man you love and plan to spend your twilight years in a rocker on the front porch clipping coupons from the Sunday edition of the Charlotte Observer is cheating on you? And has been for some time, evidently. You don’t. Or I don't. Oh, but some women do.
We all know at least one of these light-hearted vixens, blessed with the astounding ability to steer their shattered lives back on course and continue joyously barhopping and man hunting for their next soul mate. Apparently, I had misplaced my instruction manual on rapid recovery from gut wrenching betrayal.
As if Adam’s being unfaithful wasn’t torment enough my rapidly-deflating ego had to be notified of the fact that he was cheating with an Asian woman. Here’s the kicker! A philandering Asian seductress who appeared to in her mid thirties! Lord knows anyone who had the chance to witness her stunning beauty first hand had then felt the driving compulsion to enlighten me.
Now I didn’t just fall off the back of a cantaloupe truck, and I’m fully aware that when some men hit the dreaded midlife crisis, their fantasies tend to lean toward the occasional dalliance with a wrinkle free, young, ghetto booty bimbo. Nevertheless, I had deluded myself into thinking my man was different. He loved me! With a passion very rarely found in men! And would continue to do so until he drew his last breath! Whew boy! Talk about your vast stupidity!
When I discovered the cold brutal facts about Adam’s secret life, it had been comparable to drawing the Tower card in the Tarot deck. My blissful little world came crashing down with the intensity of one of the devastating hurricanes that are happening way too frequently around this old world of ours.
I couldn’t eat, sleep, or think about anything other than him. Day and night I issued telepathic messages toward the quiet phone willing it to ring. I kept praying that he would, in a rare moment of clarity, realize that I was the very reason for his miserable existence. That he couldn’t possibly imagine living one day of his desolate life without me in it.
Trust me, his desolation never skipped a beat. Instead, it was I who was forced to come to a sudden blinding realization that his head was too filled with thoughts of her to even allow a fleeting memory of me to squeeze into the already too small space. And Lord knows all illusions were shattered for real. With lightening speed! Into a billion pieces! The day I saw her!
The date will go down in heartbreak infamy. December 21, 2011.
I had been busily cleaning house that morning and listening to Adele belt out Rolling in the Deep, when the sudden urge hit to ride by Adam’s house. Just out of the blue. It was a feeling I found impossible to shake. I threw myself into scrubbing the kitchen floor, the bathtub, and the toilets, but it proved to be a powerful, unrelenting urge.
At any rate, my insight showed no sign of budging an inch until it had gained control of my entire thought process. So I gave in to the premonition and nervously hopped in my Jeep. Oh, you can believe I prayed a most fervent prayer during the five-minute ride to his house that he would be alone. As my luck would have it, it proved to be one of those iffy requests that God sometimes chooses to give considerable debate to because the absolute love of my life wasn't alone. Nope! There was a vehicle parked beside of his. An older model red SUV of some sort with most of its paint having peeled away years ago and with the additional selling feature of having a missing rear bumper.
Now I realize that some folk’s circumstances are simply beyond their control, especially in this economy, and I pray that God delivers a special blessing to each and every one of them. But come on! The vehicle had a sheet of cardboard from a Charmin bathroom tissue box substituting for the passenger door window! Other than being tacky as all hell, what on earth did the driver do at crossroads?
Oh well. This leads me to say one thing about Adam, which may or may not be construed as a compliment. Class or no class, there wasn’t a willing female alive who couldn’t appear beneath him.
Even if it was another woman, the thought of her riding around in such a hideous vehicle gave me some slight satisfaction. My rationalization was that if her car was a rusty antiquated relic without a semblance of cuteness - quite ugly actually- then she probably was as well.
I know. Trust me, I know. I should probably take a few minutes to schedule that appointment with a therapist as my frequently incompetent mind, compared to that of the average middle-aged female, sometimes takes solitary flight into the hinterland.
On the other hand, it would seem that Adam had already made his appointment with the driver of the aforementioned hideous vehicle. I knew it was another woman. I felt it in the pit of my shattered soul. I knew it as well as I knew my suddenly trembling body would require the drawing of another shaky breath, that the sun would rise and set tomorrow, and that the Republicans and Democrats would promise to run this country in a bi-partisan fashion and fail miserably.
Against my better judgment, because admittedly my volatile temper has an extremely short fuse when it concerns the other woman, I pulled into his driveway and proceeded to pound on the front door. His bedroom is the first door to the right when you enter his house. So even standing outside the door, I heard his feet hit the floor with a heavy thud from the general vicinity of his bedroom. This most definitely was not a promising sign. It pretty much confirmed my suspicions that his visitor was not of the male persuasion.
In all honesty, I think I would rather catch him in a heated bump and grind with another man. For some reason, I think it would hurt less. My admittedly warped sense of reasoning assures me that a fling with a man would be just a passing phase with Adam, whereas if he had a thrust session with another woman there would be some dreaded degree of emotion involved.
Actually, I can’t even convince myself of that either, since my best friend is a transgendered female and I know how deeply she loves. I’ll tell you all about her later.
I heard Adam take a few cautious steps and then pause as if weighing his limited options. He has a large bay window in the front of his house so he had already seen my Jeep parked in his driveway, I was sure. Now he just had to figure out what to do with me, since his infinitesimal brain had probably already issued the severe thunderstorm warning that I wouldn't be in a particularly jovial frame of mind.
Summoning his courage, as Adam would never be accused of having nerves of granite, I heard his heavy footfalls land on the opposite side of the door. But did he open it? Oh! Hell no!
The chicken shit weasel chose to insult me, most egregiously, by going into his bathroom and raising a window beside the door. Did he honestly believe that I would remain on one side of the screen, while he and his paramour reenacted scenes from Memoirs of a Geisha on the other?
“Hey, Eve.” He peeked through the wire mesh and tried to form a weak lopsided smile as he pretended that all hell wasn’t about to break loose.
The man should issue a daily prayer of gratitude toward the inventor of window screens.
His attempt at a smile failed while all his blood seemed to drain from his upper region and into his bright red boxers. Rather romantic boxers with little white hearts randomly scattered throughout the silky material. It crossed my mind that he had never modeled this particular pair of lovey-dovey underwear for me.
As I peered through the screen, I noticed that his sandy brown thinning hair was tousled and the bags under his eyes were pronounced. This was a good indicator that he hadn’t been awake long.
At 5’9”, Adam was only a few inches taller than me with the most adorable little boy face and the clearest blue eyes, reminiscent of Jeff Hunter in King of Kings. He is charming, witty, and without fail, the life of the numerous parties he so loves to attend. His penchant for revelry stems from the fact that he can get blitzed, forget that he is fast becoming a middle-aged man, and therefore not have to behave like one.
Adam was your typical nocturnal bad boy. And as bad as I hate to admit it, as he had no doubt been cavorting under the covers with his latest tramp seconds earlier, I loved him with every ounce of my troubled soul.
“Who is she, Adam?” I was trying hard to steady my breathing and control the raging impulse to do a somersault through the window screen landing in a handstand on his head. This could not be happening! Was I really such a colossal fool? “And don’t even give me that ‘she is just a friend’ crap!”
“She is my… housekeeper,” he had the nerve to stammer, while at the same time applying his most charming and convincing smile. However, his expression conveyed that of a scampering forest creature caught in the headlights of a speeding, out of control Mini Cooper.
His housekeeper? The man’s house was currently in foreclosure and he was constantly riveted to CNN in hopes that President Obama would come up with a loan modification program, which actually worked, in time to save his house from the looming auction block. And he expected me to believe that he had been blessed with a sudden windfall, with enough funds having miraculously materialized for the hiring of domestic help? Seriously?
I wondered if her domestic duties included cuddling. Adam had a habit of cuddling with me in my bed. Believe me! Cuddling was all we did! He also has a little problem with… well… let’s just say his hard drive has been downloaded to a floppy disk.
Needless to say, he had never once mentioned the acquisition of a dust bunny. How much would you care to wager his housekeeper’s eyes were of the slanted variety? “Then your house should be quite spotless. Let me in, Adam.”
“She hasn’t started cleaning yet. In fact…today is her first day. She’s only been here a few minutes!”
“That’s okay, I don’t have anything else to do today. I’ll help her clean. You know, since I own a cleaning company! Quite frankly, I’m surprised that, since I own a cleaning company, you didn’t at least come to me for some suggestions on who to hire.”
“Well, I would have. But… honestly… she just up and volunteered to do it.”
Oh! So residents of the red light district rendered their services for free nowadays. I was standing on the precipice of losing my last remaining thread of composure right there on his front porch in front of God and fellow countrymen.
“That was really generous of her, wasn’t it? Anyway, let me in. I need to check out her cleaning supplies and ask if she has any tried and true remedies for that nasty bathtub grout.”
Obviously there wasn’t a bottle of 409 on the premises. “Oh! I forgot… today’s not her cleaning day. She happened to be in the neighborhood, so she stopped by to bring me a plate of food. Look at me, Eve! I was asleep!” He yawned mightily as further proof.
He had been asleep, that much was true. But did it prove a thing? Nope. Sure didn’t. For no matter how long she had been there, one glaring fact remained. She was there!
“I’ll just bet she did stop by to bring you something to eat.” All pretenses flew out the window as I spat vehemently, “Did it smell like fish?”
“No, Eve.” He shook his head vigorously from side to side and sighed a heartfelt sigh before continuing with his monotonous drivel. “You’ve got it all wrong! It’s not like that at all!”
Then please be so kind as to rectify any misguided illusions, before you incite me to the violence that I am trying so hard to suppress! “Okay, since I have the situation all wrong, Adam, let’s try to clarify a few things. You did say you were asleep, right? So how on earth did she get in? Does she perchance have her own key?”
“No, Eve! She doesn’t have a key!”
I could almost hear the clanking wheels grinding and beginning to spin in his feeble brain. “Um… I must have forgotten and left the door unlocked last night.” He jerked toilet paper from the roll and decided that now might be the perfect time to dust cobwebs from the windowsill. One might have assumed him leaving that tiresome chore for his new goddess of domesticity. “I heard you knock and opened my eyes and there she was.” Satisfied the windowsill was now dust and cobweb free, where would he direct his nervous energy next? The hard water stains in the toilet bowl? “Just believe me this one time. I’m telling you the truth, Eve!”
Truth! Huh! I doubt he could spell the word if it was tattooed on his miniscule dick!
I wondered if I picked up the loose brick on his porch steps, which just so happened to lay a few convenient inches from my feet and bashed his skull with it would my lawyer get me off with the ever-popular crime of passion defense?
“Does she make a habit of strolling into your home uninvited? Perhaps someone should have a discussion with her concerning the rules of decorum in this country. I would be more than happy to assist you with that.”
“No! She doesn’t!” His voice had risen a couple octaves. Obviously his cage was getting rattled. “Maybe she knocked and I didn’t hear her! Hell, I don’t know, Eve!”
The fact that the dimwit considered himself to be both an accomplished liar and master manipulator, and me lacking the mental capacity needed to see through both, perturbed me. Well, actually it annoyed the pure hell out of me! While rest assured neither was an accurate assumption. I wanted to see the floozy and a team of wild Clydesdales would have major difficulty dragging me off his front stoop before I did.
“Open the door, Adam! Please, don’t say another word! Just open the door!”
“No, Eve! I know how you are! You don’t think clearly when you’re mad!”
Ya think?
Then he put massaging fingers to his temples leaving me to believe he was trying to formulate a quick plan to get his latest cuddle bunny out of his house with all her limbs intact. He rubbed his hands over his face and bouncing from one foot to the other pleaded, “Just let me wake up, Eve.”
Since the raised window was in his bathroom, he took a moment to urinate, holding his shriveled member in one hand and his forehead in the other. The first thing he did upon awakening was head to the bathroom. I knew this from past experience. It only confirmed my suspicions that his Merry Maid had arrived much earlier.
My interpretation of the situation was that they had enjoyed an early morning session of erotica and had then fallen blissfully asleep in each other’s arms, only to be awakened by my rather persistent knocking. I glanced down at the loose brick again. Nope. Better keep a tight rein on my temper.
Adam finished his business, stalled for time by washing his hands, then strode casually to the window. Taking a whiz had evidently drained his brain as well as his bladder as he had the unmitigated balls to say, “Here is what you do, Eve. You ride up the road and let me get rid of her. Then come back and we can talk."
What fantasy world did this moron pay property taxes in? Adam knew me better than that and I found his proposed scenario to be delusional at best.
“Now let me tell you what is really going to happen, Adam.” I leaned toward the screen, put my nose about an inch from his, and said with every ounce of conviction that I could possibly muster, “I am going to march right out there and sit on the hood of her lovely vehicle and wait until she comes out.” I issued a silent prayer for forgiveness even as I said this blatant and outrageous lie! Lord knows there wouldn’t be enough Tide With Bleach in the state of North Carolina to get the rust out of my clothes if I slid across that hood!
Adam and Chia both work second shift in the same factory and have for several years. In fact it would seem they had developed such a close working relationship that she had begun stopping by his house almost daily for the proverbial afternoon delight.
It just so happens that my son’s best friend Justin also works with Adam and Chia and just that morning had called to nearly rip my heart out of my chest by informing me of Adam’s philandering ways. Fortunately for me, Justin had refused to sit idly by and keep quiet regarding Adam’s cheap and tawdry shenanigans. He had gone on to explain how Adam had grown accustomed to leaving his back door unlocked so nymphet Chia could crawl in bed with him after dropping her- few shy of a baseball team - kids off at school. How she had a habit of bringing a home cooked Asian delicacy to work, so they could make goo goo eyes and snuggle together in the canteen while sharing it. How she was wont to eat with her right hand, while her left hand -the one with the wedding band- remained discreetly under the table in the vicinity of his lap.
“And since we are both painfully aware that this confrontation won’t be pretty, the best thing for you to do is open the door so we can all carry on the pretense of being civilized adults.” However I promise you, I couldn’t recall a single instance when I had felt less barbaric.
“Only if you promise not to cause a scene, Eve.” He was clearly hoping against hope that I could be swayed by the gnawing look of terror in his baby blues.
Nope. I must confess. I wasn’t feeling swayed at all.
“You know someone will call the cops. You also know my neighbor is the sheriff.” He was making a failed attempt at one of his lame and pathetic scare tactics.
“Adam, honestly, do you really think I care?” I kicked at the loose brick with my shoe.
Don’t pick it up, Eve! Don’t pick it up! “You know my parents would sign my bond.” Although I realized it wouldn’t be beneficial to my cause, I couldn’t help adding, “It would make my parent’s day and be worth a night in jail for the immense pleasure of going ape shit on your cheating ass!”
He cast a nervous sideways glance toward the brick with a stricken look that suggested he might be pondering the phrase; Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The man’s tedious mind couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of just how scorned I was feeling at the moment.
“Just promise you will take your anger out on me and be civil to her. Unlike you, Eve, she’s timid and unaccustomed to drama.”
All I could say was bless her. For the hussy would be well versed in dramatics, to the point of playing a starring role in the remaking of Fatal Attraction, when I finished with her. Suddenly, as I was thinking this, my field of vision began to tunnel and jagged white lines flashed across my pupils. That was a bad sign, normally signaling the onslaught of a migraine. Now wouldn’t that just be the kicker and the height of all embarrassment, if a migraine hit right about now?
I would be forced to lie down on the bed, probably between Adam and his latest victim of seduction, pleading with them to close the blinds, turn out the light, and please keep their thrashing to a minimum until it passed. I put trembling fingers to my temples trying to stave off the blinding pain and noted that while his concern for the harlot was touching, me being civil to her wasn’t going to happen in this or any other lifetime.
“Okay,” I lied.