“Last week I went over to Zoë’s. Herman was at work, so we sunbathed topless. I put on plenty of sunscreen, but after an hour or so my breasts started to get pink. Without asking, Zoë went into the house, got that aloha shirt, and offered me another glass of wine. I’d had only one at least an hour earlier, so I figured I’d still be okay to drive. With me so far, Phil?” I just nodded.
“Good. While Zoë was getting the wine, I put the shirt on without buttoning it. Herman’s pretty big, you know—” She grinned evilly. “—so I just sort of wrapped it around me. Zoë handed me the wine and we spent another lovely half-hour by the pool.” She smiled sweetly this time, but it wasn’t very reassuring.
“I stood and said it was time to go. Zoë reached for the aloha shirt and said she’d put it in the pool house, but I told her I could do that. Now pay very careful attention, Philip, but don’t worry about a test because you’ve already flunked.” I knew I’d screwed the pooch big time.
“I grabbed my purse from under the chaise longue—that’s ‘chaise lounge’ to you—went into the pool house, put my purse down, took off the shirt and laid it on a chair. Still with me?” She didn’t even wait for my nod.
“When I picked my purse up to get out my bikini top, one of the handles slipped out of my hand. A bunch of stuff got dumped on the chair seat, including a little bottle of L’Air du Temp I keep for touch-ups. The top was loose and some dribbled on the shirt. I can’t account for either the cigar smell or how little respect you’ve shown me, Philip.”
Kim’s great at organizing her thoughts and presenting them persuasively, but she can’t lie worth a shit—the woman’s got more tells than a tableful of poker losers. It was obvious to me that she wasn’t lying. I could feel the executioner measuring the swing of the axe. No way she should get a law degree, inability to lie convincingly would be a fatal handicap for a lawyer.
“You men always go on about how important respect is in a relationship. Most women don’t make such a big a deal of respect, but it still matters. We care a great deal when our partner doesn’t show us the slightest shred of respect.” I made the mistake of opening my mouth to protest.
“Shut the fuck up, Phil.” I damn near cracked a tooth slamming my mouth shut. That was the first time she’d ever used the word in anger, and she didn’t even raise her voice.
“You didn’t just fail to show me any respect, you did exactly the opposite: you showed tremendous disrespect. Where’s the love in that?” She paused, and I repeated my mistake of starting to plead my case. She just held up her hand in the universal Stop right now sign.
“You’re never going to learn, are you, Phil? You’re still showing how little you respect me, if at all.” She paused, and I finally showed a little sense by keeping quiet.
“You decided I had sex with Herman. I didn’t, but come to think of it that’s not such a bad idea. It’s probably time I did. Who knows, he might be a big fella in ways that aren’t supposed to matter. Too bad Zoë’s such a good friend. Maybe she’ll understand if I explain just what an asshole you’ve turned out to be.” There was no irony in her voice, just resignation and a touch of determination.
That tore it. I couldn’t let that go. “You’ll do what? What about that promise you made at our wedding? You know, the one about forsaking all others!” She just sneered, and I felt like I’d just fallen into a pit of punji stakes that she dug with her own loving hands.
“Those vows were written by men to institutionalize male privilege, Philip. In fact, the whole notion of marriage was invented by men because it made de jure what had always been de facto. There’s hope, though. Society has finally recognized that historic fraud and is relegating monogamy to the dusty basement of the Museum of Unnatural History where it’s always belonged.”
When the boys’ excited chatter from the family room broke through our angry defenses, we both realized that the bitter conversation had driven a stake through the heart of our marriage. We sat in silence for a few minutes, just staring at each other in disbelief, then drifted away to other things, leaving two half-drunk coffee cups on the table.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but if you don’t clean up your act those boys are going to have more serious problems. You need to find a way to assure them that everything’s okay.” She suggested we see a counselor and recommended a couple she thought were pretty good.
Neither one of us wanted to see a counselor, but we did send the boys to stay with my folks and spent a long weekend trying to hash out our differences. We didn’t find much room for compromise in our beliefs about ultra-radical feminism (my words) and asymmetric partnership relationships (her words). We totally agreed, though, about our love for the boys, and promised each other that we would start acting like loving parents again.
We succeeded, at least superficially. We wanted the best for our sons and still cared enough for each other that it wasn’t too difficult to pretend that everything was okay. Family outings to the zoo and hikes or just out to pizza became weekly events. We managed a decent simulation of loving parents. Both boys perked up and slowly returned to their former rambunctious-but-happy selves.
Funny thing about pretending. Do it long enough and it starts to feel real. Time passed, and we seemed to be starting to like each other again, if only a little. I thought I saw an olive branch one afternoon when she came home from work, tossed her purse on the kitchen table, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and plopped down on a chair with a heavy sigh.
“You don’t have to worry about me banging Herman any more—although I never really intended to. We went to a buffet fund-raiser for lunch today at Planned Parenthood, and after the line got fairly long he just cut in at the beginning and filled his plate. When I asked him afterwards why he did that, he just said ‘I don’t wait in lines’ and walked off. You’re right, the man’s a pig.”
Showing astounding restraint, I just said “Not cool” instead of pumping my fist and sneering “Told you so!”
Next morning I thought things were looking up even more. We’d been sleeping in the same bed so the boys would think that things were okay, but staying on opposite sides. For the first time since things fell apart I woke up spooned against Kim’s back, cradling a wonderfully soft-yet-firm breast. It felt great.
I was afraid she’d be supremely pissed if she woke up and discovered my hand, but when I very, very slowly tried to move it away, she put her hand over it. “I’m awake. Leave it there, it feels good. Now let’s try to get a bit more sleep.”