A quick peck on the cheek and she was gone again. This time it was New York. The Yankees were in the playoffs and duty called. Tears. Frustration. The forelorn emotions flooded my soul. Alone again.
I can't tell you how long I stood there in the empty airport terminal after Alicia's plane left. I didn't want to leave - I knew I had nothing to look forward to at home except bitter loneliness and a cold, empty bed. Please, God, I prayed, let the Yankees sweep the Orioles in three games so she can come home a few days early! I don't see much of Alicia these days. Ever since she got that photographer's gig at Sports Image magazine, she's never home anymore. My wife is a talented photographer - one of the best there is, according to many in the field. Unfortunately for me, Alicia's job requires that she travel a lot. Basketball season runs into hockey season, which runs into baseball season. By the time the World Series is over football is already in full swing. After football, it's basketball again. It never ends. And that's not the worst of it. When Alicia first took this job, I was apprehensive because I knew she'd be around athletes all the time...strong young men with hard bodies and unwavering confidence - not to mention boatloads of money. It's enough to make any man nervous. Especially with a woman as beautiful as my Alicia. As it turns out, I had every reason to be concerned. I'm not an overly intelligent man, but about a year ago I figured out that my wife was having an affair. She left the clues right under my nose; how could I not notice? I'd find little notes in her pants pockets that said, "don't wear any panties tonight," or I'd spy yet another negligee in the dirty clothes pile with the all-too-familiar crusty yellowish stains on the crotch. Although I certainly wanted to confront Alicia about her infidelity, I guess I just didn't have the gumption to bring the subject up. Alicia always did wear the pants in our ******, and she pretty much does as she pleases. An affair? She probably never thought twice about the hurt it might cause me. And she knew I'd never have the balls to call her on it. True to form, I didn't say a word about her extramarital liasons. I played the part of the faithful husband, biding my time. I figured the truth would come out some day - and then I'd show her! Everything finally came to a head last January.
The new year started out okay. I found out that Alicia wouldn't have to go on the road for a few weeks - the Bears were in the playoffs, and, because they had the best regular-season record, the team had home-field advantage until the Super Bowl, if they made it that far. Alicia's editor, being a kind-hearted soul, assigned her to cover the Bears for the duration of the playoffs, so she could stay home for a change. That was certainly good news for me! Or so I thought.
The Rhode Island Red Dogs were in town to try to stop the Bears' seven-game winning streak. The Red Dogs were known throughout the league as the grittiest, nastiest team God ever put on a football field. It was rumored that everyone on the team ate raw meat the day before the game, to get the taste of blood on their lips. The game at Soldier Field wasn't until Sunday, but Alicia was gone almost every night that week. Thursday night was our wedding anniversary, and we were supposed to spend a romantic evening at home. But she took off about 4:00 that day. No explanation. I assumed she would be home in time for dinner, so I went ahead and started cooking the juicy, expensive prime rib I'd bought for the occasion.
Well, after a few hours, I began to worry. I chafed the entire evening. I wasn't sure whether I should be angry or call the police. Alicia finally staggered through the door at about a quarter to one. She was obviously *****. On top of that, she looked like she'd been fucked by a train! An evil smile washed over her face as soon as she caught a glimpse of my anxious expression. "Well, well," she slurred as she zig-zagged her way across the living room toward me. "Here's my faithful little hubby, waiting up for me!" She was more than *****; she was plastered! "Where have you been, Alicia?" I croaked. I had the feeling that I really didn't want to know. Alicia flipped her hair back and chuckled.
"Well, if your inquiring mind really wants to know, I was at a party for awhile. Then I left. And then..." "Then, what?!" I demanded. She shot me one of her "looks." I could tell she was displeased with my tone of voice. "Do you really want to know, Peter?" she asked, her voice full of venom and liquor. "Okay, I'll tell you: I was with Marcus." "Who the hell is Marcus?" I demanded. This situation was finally coming to a climax - the moment I'd been waiting for! I saw a little smile in my wife's eyes as she replied, "Marcus is a linebacker. He's with the Red Dogs!" "Marcus Jackson?" I blurted out. My temples were starting to pound. "Oh, you've heard of him?"
It was a rhetorical question. Marcus Jackson was one of the star defensive backs in the NFL. He was a monster - 275-pounds of rippled chocolate, with shoulders as wide as our living room sofa. A six-time Pro-Bowler, Jackson fit right in with the Red Dogs' persona: he was one of the dirtiest players in the league. And here Alicia was, telling me she'd just spent the evening with him! Fucking this guy, no less! At least I finally knew who her secret lover was. "What did you guys do?" I managed to croak. I felt some deep masochistic need for her to put into words what I'd known all along. "What do you think we did?" she answered with a sneer. "He fucked my brains out! He tore me a new asshole! He's a big guy, Peter - big all over, if you know what I mean!" She smiled devilishly and added, "you know what they say, Peter: once you go black, you'll never go back!" There! I heard it! Straight from the horse's mouth! She'd fallen into my trap; she came out and admitted that she was having an affair! I'd planned this moment for months. I was going to scream at her! I was going to lecture her about commitment. I was going to make her feel so ashamed about what she'd done that she'd fall to her knees and beg my forgiveness! Alas, I couldn't get a word past my trembling lips.
My silence seemed to egg Alicia on even more. "So, Peter...now you know. I've been fucking him for more than a year now. So, now, tell me something: what are you going to do about it?" I tried to come up with some kind of answer, but my vocal chords remained paralyzed. My wife snorted and flashed that evil smile again. "Just what I thought - you aren't gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?" She took a drunken step forward and slapped me hard across the face. "THWACK!" I closed my eyes and absorbed the pain. "WHAAAACK!" My neck snapped back from another unexpected backhand.
As I slumped down to avoid any further blows, I saw her turn and start walking toward our bedroom. "This is how it's going to be around here from now on, Peter," she announced over her shoulder. "From here on out, you're sleeping on the couch," she said. "There's a pillow in the hall closet." She stopped and gave me a withering look. "And by the way: you can forget about us ever having sex again, Peter. I've got that department well-taken care of!" With that, she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me to contemplate this amazing turn of events.
PART TWO: ARE WE HEADED FOR OVERTIME? OR WILL PETER BE ABLE TO PULL IT OUT IN THE FINAL SECONDS? BE SURE TO TUNE IN NEXT WEEK AND CATCH ALL THE EXCITING HIGHLIGHTS!
I can't tell you how long I stood there in the empty airport terminal after Alicia's plane left. I didn't want to leave - I knew I had nothing to look forward to at home except bitter loneliness and a cold, empty bed. Please, God, I prayed, let the Yankees sweep the Orioles in three games so she can come home a few days early! I don't see much of Alicia these days. Ever since she got that photographer's gig at Sports Image magazine, she's never home anymore. My wife is a talented photographer - one of the best there is, according to many in the field. Unfortunately for me, Alicia's job requires that she travel a lot. Basketball season runs into hockey season, which runs into baseball season. By the time the World Series is over football is already in full swing. After football, it's basketball again. It never ends. And that's not the worst of it. When Alicia first took this job, I was apprehensive because I knew she'd be around athletes all the time...strong young men with hard bodies and unwavering confidence - not to mention boatloads of money. It's enough to make any man nervous. Especially with a woman as beautiful as my Alicia. As it turns out, I had every reason to be concerned. I'm not an overly intelligent man, but about a year ago I figured out that my wife was having an affair. She left the clues right under my nose; how could I not notice? I'd find little notes in her pants pockets that said, "don't wear any panties tonight," or I'd spy yet another negligee in the dirty clothes pile with the all-too-familiar crusty yellowish stains on the crotch. Although I certainly wanted to confront Alicia about her infidelity, I guess I just didn't have the gumption to bring the subject up. Alicia always did wear the pants in our ******, and she pretty much does as she pleases. An affair? She probably never thought twice about the hurt it might cause me. And she knew I'd never have the balls to call her on it. True to form, I didn't say a word about her extramarital liasons. I played the part of the faithful husband, biding my time. I figured the truth would come out some day - and then I'd show her! Everything finally came to a head last January.
The new year started out okay. I found out that Alicia wouldn't have to go on the road for a few weeks - the Bears were in the playoffs, and, because they had the best regular-season record, the team had home-field advantage until the Super Bowl, if they made it that far. Alicia's editor, being a kind-hearted soul, assigned her to cover the Bears for the duration of the playoffs, so she could stay home for a change. That was certainly good news for me! Or so I thought.
The Rhode Island Red Dogs were in town to try to stop the Bears' seven-game winning streak. The Red Dogs were known throughout the league as the grittiest, nastiest team God ever put on a football field. It was rumored that everyone on the team ate raw meat the day before the game, to get the taste of blood on their lips. The game at Soldier Field wasn't until Sunday, but Alicia was gone almost every night that week. Thursday night was our wedding anniversary, and we were supposed to spend a romantic evening at home. But she took off about 4:00 that day. No explanation. I assumed she would be home in time for dinner, so I went ahead and started cooking the juicy, expensive prime rib I'd bought for the occasion.
Well, after a few hours, I began to worry. I chafed the entire evening. I wasn't sure whether I should be angry or call the police. Alicia finally staggered through the door at about a quarter to one. She was obviously *****. On top of that, she looked like she'd been fucked by a train! An evil smile washed over her face as soon as she caught a glimpse of my anxious expression. "Well, well," she slurred as she zig-zagged her way across the living room toward me. "Here's my faithful little hubby, waiting up for me!" She was more than *****; she was plastered! "Where have you been, Alicia?" I croaked. I had the feeling that I really didn't want to know. Alicia flipped her hair back and chuckled.
"Well, if your inquiring mind really wants to know, I was at a party for awhile. Then I left. And then..." "Then, what?!" I demanded. She shot me one of her "looks." I could tell she was displeased with my tone of voice. "Do you really want to know, Peter?" she asked, her voice full of venom and liquor. "Okay, I'll tell you: I was with Marcus." "Who the hell is Marcus?" I demanded. This situation was finally coming to a climax - the moment I'd been waiting for! I saw a little smile in my wife's eyes as she replied, "Marcus is a linebacker. He's with the Red Dogs!" "Marcus Jackson?" I blurted out. My temples were starting to pound. "Oh, you've heard of him?"
It was a rhetorical question. Marcus Jackson was one of the star defensive backs in the NFL. He was a monster - 275-pounds of rippled chocolate, with shoulders as wide as our living room sofa. A six-time Pro-Bowler, Jackson fit right in with the Red Dogs' persona: he was one of the dirtiest players in the league. And here Alicia was, telling me she'd just spent the evening with him! Fucking this guy, no less! At least I finally knew who her secret lover was. "What did you guys do?" I managed to croak. I felt some deep masochistic need for her to put into words what I'd known all along. "What do you think we did?" she answered with a sneer. "He fucked my brains out! He tore me a new asshole! He's a big guy, Peter - big all over, if you know what I mean!" She smiled devilishly and added, "you know what they say, Peter: once you go black, you'll never go back!" There! I heard it! Straight from the horse's mouth! She'd fallen into my trap; she came out and admitted that she was having an affair! I'd planned this moment for months. I was going to scream at her! I was going to lecture her about commitment. I was going to make her feel so ashamed about what she'd done that she'd fall to her knees and beg my forgiveness! Alas, I couldn't get a word past my trembling lips.
My silence seemed to egg Alicia on even more. "So, Peter...now you know. I've been fucking him for more than a year now. So, now, tell me something: what are you going to do about it?" I tried to come up with some kind of answer, but my vocal chords remained paralyzed. My wife snorted and flashed that evil smile again. "Just what I thought - you aren't gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?" She took a drunken step forward and slapped me hard across the face. "THWACK!" I closed my eyes and absorbed the pain. "WHAAAACK!" My neck snapped back from another unexpected backhand.
As I slumped down to avoid any further blows, I saw her turn and start walking toward our bedroom. "This is how it's going to be around here from now on, Peter," she announced over her shoulder. "From here on out, you're sleeping on the couch," she said. "There's a pillow in the hall closet." She stopped and gave me a withering look. "And by the way: you can forget about us ever having sex again, Peter. I've got that department well-taken care of!" With that, she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me to contemplate this amazing turn of events.
PART TWO: ARE WE HEADED FOR OVERTIME? OR WILL PETER BE ABLE TO PULL IT OUT IN THE FINAL SECONDS? BE SURE TO TUNE IN NEXT WEEK AND CATCH ALL THE EXCITING HIGHLIGHTS!
- Next: Fourth Down ch. 02
