Double Date

This might seem like an odd story for the Romance section, but that is how I view it. There are stories elsewhere about spouses who step out with a hall pass or a decision to take a sabbatical from their marriage and the pain it causes their partners. I started to wonder what would happen if the deserted spouse found greater happiness as a result of that betrayal?

There is no sex in this story. It is a story of betrayal with no revenge and no reconciliation. It is an exploration of a bad situation and two people who make the best of it. It's a character study about two good people left to find their own way through the betrayal. The places mentioned here are real.

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Ask any man how he met his wife, and I guarantee he'll say something like, "We grew up next door to each other. We met at a mixer or a frat party in college. We worked at the same company. A mutual friend introduced us." or the dreaded, "I was dating her sister!" My answer is a little different. You see, we were set up by two swingers, or were they swappers, or cheaters? I don't know. By itself, that might not be all that unusual, but neither of us are, have ever been, or will ever be swingers ourselves. We are old fashioned, monogamous dinosaurs and we like it that way.

My name is Henry Halstaff. I was 55, tall, divorced, and at the peak of my career when this story starts. For the previous six months I'd been dating a lovely woman named Jean who was 52 and about 5 foot 6 inches. I can't deny that Jean had a lovely figure and if you ask me how she kept it after so many years I couldn't begin to tell you. She was bubbly to the point of being a bit flighty, occasionally flirty while not outrageous, and she was fun. We never had "The Talk", but I thought we were exclusive. We were in one another's bed more nights than not. We never talked about dating anyone else, and it was just assumed that where one was going the other was going, too. Truth be told, I was falling for her, and I saw us making a life together. There's a lesson there for you single guys: don't assume that your definition of exclusive is also her definition. You might think you look weak or needy when you initiate The Talk, or maybe you wait for her to start it, but one way or the other you don't have what you think you have until she says you have it.

It was early March on the seacoast of New Hampshire. The snow was fast disappearing with the occasional inch dropped maybe once a week that would quickly melt the next day. It wasn't spring yet, but spring was on the way. Jean told me we were meeting friends for dinner at Jumpin' Jay's Fish Café in Portsmouth. I know that sounds like a tourist spot, but it's actually a very good seafood restaurant with an excellent menu. One of their signature menu items is to offer six to eight different kinds of fish with a similar number of sauces and preparation styles for the diner to mix and match the way they want. Not convinced? Okay, let's just say they have white tablecloths and let it go at that.

We got there first and secured a table for four. Jean ordered a white wine, and I ordered a craft beer. I figured "Why wait?" and ordered a half dozen oysters to get us started. The other couple arrived about ten or twelve minutes behind us, and that's when I was introduced to Frank and Marie Waters. Actually, Jean introduced me to Frank and then Frank introduced me to Marie by saying "And this is Marie." As I think back on it, I realize I didn't pick up on that at the time. I remember chuckling to myself and thinking, "What better name than Waters in a coastal town?" You see, I've been a sailor all my life, but by the end of that evening I'd have quit sailing and moved to Iowa if I'd had to spend just one more hour with that jackass Waters! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Conversation never waned that night, or at least the talking never did, as Waters had an unlimited supply of stories about himself and wasn't shy about sharing them. Somehow, they all ended with him being richer or smarter or more devious than someone else. It was quickly becoming clear to me that it would be a long night and I ordered a second beer. For reasons I could not understand, Jean seemed fascinated by his stories. That was when the first shoe dropped. Jean worked in a small accounting firm, and it turned out that Waters was one of their clients, so she saw him quite often. Unknown to me, they'd been going out to lunch together weekly. That was just one of those little surprises they dropped on the table that I knew nothing about.

The dinner conversation continued mostly between Waters and Jean with Marie and I listening. I started watching Marie and I was fascinated by what I saw. First, she was about my age, tall, very slender, and if I'm being completely honest about it, she was flat as a board. The polite way to describe Frank is stocky. He was neither tall nor thin. I briefly wondered what drew these two together but decided that I'd probably never learn the answer and quickly dropped the thought.

Now I will admit that I have a theory about women and breasts that I know many men don't share. It goes like this: if a woman shares her breasts with you and only you, then those are the most wonderous breasts in all the world. It doesn't matter if they are triple-Ds or she still wears a training bra, if they are yours alone then they are all you will ever want. Why do I say that? It's because breasts are for foreplay. Breasts are how you start a woman's motor running and the sensitivity of a woman's breasts has no relation to their size. Let me say it another way. If women everywhere wore socks all the time, if they put their socks on before they left the bedroom in the morning and didn't take them off until they went to bed at night, if they wore socks around the house and when they went to work, and if they wore smaller, more provocative socks when they went to the beach, and everywhere, all the time, they wore socks, men everywhere would develop a foot fetish. I like breasts and I don't like to share.

So I watched Marie as Waters droned on and Jean hung on his every word, and I began to notice things. I noticed that there was no contact between her and Waters. There was no touching, no knowing glances, no affection, and as the evening wore on, I began to get the impression that she could barely tolerate him. I tried to engage Marie in conversation at times when Waters would take a breath or slam a big chunk of beef into his gaping maw. (Oh yeah, that's another thing. We went to a fish restaurant and Waters ordered the only red meat entre on the menu.) I don't know what was worse, listening to him talk or watching him eat! Marie, in contrast, was poised, polite, and demure. Well, either she was demure, or she just couldn't get a word in edgewise when her husband was sitting next to her.

I kept wondering, "What is she doing with this crude, uncivilized oaf?"

Where Waters was a bore, Marie was a delight. Eventually, we gave up any effort to participate in the conversation going on next to us and we began to talk and share our meal.

"Have you tried the mussels here?" I asked.

"No, I haven't. To be honest, I'm not very adventurous. Are they good?"

Boy oh boy, that sentence "...I'm not very adventurous" would come back and puzzle me for hours later that night.

We shared a bowl of mussels, and she was surprised by their nutty flavor. She'd ordered the shrimp scampi and I had the tuna grilled rare with wasabi. She started to open up and I offered her some of my tuna. With some hesitation, she did try it and with just a little coaxing we divided our plates. The scampi was good, and she seemed to enjoy the tuna far more than she expected. We talked a little bit about our jobs and where we grew up, and just when I started thinking that we were having our own little dinner for two, I asked her about how she met Waters. Bam! The gate came down and she just shook her head slowly as she looked at the table. Strange. There was something going on that I didn't understand. Little did I know just how much was going on without me knowing it. Meanwhile, Jean and Waters never noticed any of it and they remained locked in their own little world.

So I quickly changed the subject and with a little coaxing from me we resumed our conversation. In a few minutes it was as if I'd never asked that seemingly innocuous question. We were both fans of the Music Hall in town that brought in performers of all kinds and soon we realized that we liked many of the same musicians. It was once again turning into a very pleasant evening despite the fact that we all but ceased to exist as far as our other two companions were concerned.

As Marie and I talked, I kept an ear open to the conversation alongside us. Before too long, little things began to annoy me. They were finishing each another's sentences, for instance. They knew the same people and that by itself didn't surprise me, but it was more the way they didn't talk about the obvious things that I noticed. Then in time I noticed little touches across the table that struck me as a bit too familiar, although Jean always was a touchy-feely type. I could see the same thoughts on Marie's face as if she were scanning mine to see if I understood, but I didn't see the anger of a wife who was being ignored. I could see the expected annoyance, and I saw empathy for me and an embarrassment that made me appreciate her more, but there was a detachment that I could not fathom. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was embarrassed more as a witness to my humiliation than her own, but the anger I would expect from a wife being ignored wasn't there.

At a few points in the evening Jean would nudge me with her elbow and ask, "Did you hear that?"

And I'd say, "Yes, Frank just closed a big deal and made a bucket of money on it." Even if I didn't hear the remark, it was a pretty safe bet I was right.

She'd say something like, "Oh, that wasn't the half of it!' and return to her conversation with Frank.

Dinner ended and I was wondering how we might skip desert and get away when the conversation between Jean and Waters grew quiet. Marie and I gave each other an inquisitive look and turned to face the other two. They were looking at us as though they expected something from us, but after being ignored all night, I couldn't imagine what it might be.

Then Jean began what Marie and I later called The Pitch. "You two seem to be getting along well?" It was one of those statements posed more as a question that expected an affirmative response.

I offered a response that was seemingly for both of us, "Marie is a delight and I've enjoyed our conversation very much." Then feeling more than a little annoyed at being ignored all night, I added, "I wouldn't think you'd have noticed."

"What do you mean?" she said.

"I mean Marie comes here with Frank and I come here with my girlfriend, and the two of you proceed to ignore us throughout the entire meal. It was as if we weren't here. I'm just glad Marie was here, or I'd have left an hour ago."

"Oh don't be that way. We weren't ignoring you!"

"Yes, you were, and if the two of you are finished with your date I'd like to go home now."

That drew a knowing look between the two of them until Waters finally nodded to Jean. She turned to me and quietly said, "Well, actually..." She paused and looked back at Waters. "Henry, I love you. I think you know that. I'm sorry if we ignored you tonight, but it was our hope that you and Marie would hit it off." Then she looked down at her hands, drew a breath, and looked in my eyes as she said, "I'm going home with Frank tonight. Please don't make more of this than it is. It's just one night. We aren't in love. It's just for fun. Tomorrow I'll come to you and show you that nothing has changed between us."

What do you say to something like that? Do you say, "Hell no!" Do you say, "Sure, in fact, why don't you just get out of here now and don't come back?" I didn't say anything. I was in shock! This wasn't the woman I thought I knew.

Shock or not, my mind was doing calculations as I sat there with my mouth open. "How can I stop her? Should I stop her? If I stop her, will she just do it some other time? Has she been doing this all along? Do I even want to stop her? Do we have any kind of relationship now?" Then my mind turned to absurd questions like, "Does she mean she's going to sleep with Waters tonight? Is she having sex with Waters tonight? Of course she is! What else could that mean?"

I don't know if it took seconds or minutes. I lost track of time. I caught a glimpse of Marie out of the corner of my eye, and she appeared to be as much in shock as I was. I took a deep breath, turned to Jean, and said, "Go ahead. Have fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Believe me, there is nothing I'm more certain of right now."

She looked momentarily confused, then smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "This is something we should try at least once. It'll be fun! I'll see you for lunch tomorrow, or late afternoon if not before. You and Marie have fun and don't worry about us." With that vague offering, the two of them rose and departed.

I was still in shock and trying to piece together the remnants of the evening when I looked at Marie. She was so deeply embarrassed that for a moment I felt sorry for her, but she must have known what was going to happen! This whole evening had been a setup from the start.

I looked at her and without the pity I had for her earlier I asked, "So what is your part in this little game? Are you the consolation prize? Are you supposed to take my mind off this obscene act of betrayal?" That's when I saw the tears running down her cheek.

Now I was truly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." I may resent her part in all this, but I am a better man than that.

I gathered my composure and asked, "Can you explain to me what just happened?"

All she could do was shake her head and dab her eyes with her napkin.

My anger hadn't subsided, but it was becoming clear to me that Marie was to some degree a victim in this charade much like myself. Was she one of those submissive wives who allows her husband to bully her into doing things she doesn't want to do? I was tense and angry, but I was taking it out on the wrong person. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you cry. What are you doing with a man like that? You don't seem like the type!"

Again, she just shook her head, kept her face in her napkin, and quietly wept.

What a mess! I got up and moved to Waters' seat so I could comfort Marie if only a little bit. When I put my arm around her shoulder she stiffened. Without raising her face from her napkin she said, "I'm not like him!" I can't say I was surprised, but I was even more confused than before.

"It would seem that I've lost a girlfriend tonight. That much is clear. What I can't understand is why you put up with such insulting behavior from him? Even I can see that you deserve better." That just brought about a new round of tears.

She eventually got herself under control and asked, "Can we please leave? People are staring."

"Of course." I quickly checked the bill, counted the money, and it seemed that Waters did have one redeeming quality: he had paid the bill. He wasn't even a cheap tipper, not that I wanted to ever see the obnoxious creature again.

We left the restaurant and began walking down the road in the direction of the parking garage. The sun was long down, and we both collared up against the cold and the wind.

"I'm stranded here." She said it so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. Then it dawned on me. I had driven Jean and myself. Waters had apparently driven Marie and himself. She had no way of getting home.

"I'd be happy to drive you home."

She shook her head quite emphatically, almost violently, and said, "No, I can't go home right now."

That's when I realized that Waters must have taken Jean back to their place. No wonder she didn't want to go home! "You're welcome at my place if you want."

That earned me an angry stare. "I'm not like that!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just meant if you don't want to go home, I have a guest room you are welcome to. No strings attached."

She hesitated, then gave me the smallest smile as if she were apologizing, and very quietly said, "No thank you."

We walked another block in silence until I said in almost a whisper, "I think we're both too upset to go home just yet. Why don't we get a table at one of the coffee shops off the square and we'll just decompress? Maybe you can help me understand what just happened, although I think I have a pretty good idea."

Again, she shook her head. "I can't explain what happened, but a coffee would help."

I considered suggesting that we get a glass of something stronger instead just to take the chill off, but any bar was going to be loud at that hour and loud was the last thing that either of us needed.

We found a corner table, got two coffees and a slice of cheesecake to share that we never finished, and for a long time we just sat quietly and sipped our cups. In time I decided that it fell on me to break the silence, and since it seemed that Marie was unable or unwilling to talk about her marriage, I decided to think out loud. "It would seem that my relationship with Jean is over. If you had told me just this afternoon that she'd do something like this, I would have told you that you were crazy. I still can't believe that she did it, or said it, or ever thought that I'd go along with it." I sat there looking at my coffee as Marie looked at me until I finally said, "She actually thinks I'll take her back after this? She's in for a big disappointment. We're done. There's no coming back from that!"

Marie just looked at me for the longest time and finally said the obvious as if she still needed to hear: "You aren't a swinger, are you?"

I choked on my coffee and for just a moment she smiled. "Is it that obvious? No. I am not a swinger, and I won't have a wife who is." I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it. I feared that I had insulted Marie and for all that had happened that night, she didn't deserve any barbs from me.

"I thought she was your girlfriend?"

"She was. I was starting to think we should make it permanent. I guess the joke's on me."

Marie just shook her head as she looked at her own coffee. It seemed we were both doing a lot of that, staring down at our coffee as we thought about what had happened. Although I felt sorry for Marie and held no animosity toward her, I still could not understand her roll in this whole nasty business, and I had no idea what she saw in Waters. "I'm sorry, Marie, but I need to tell you something. Waters is an insufferable bore. He is conceited, utterly self-involved, and without any redeeming value that I can see. I have no idea what you see in him!"

She just laughed a sad kind of laugh and shook her head as if there were a horrible joke that I didn't get.

Eventually we finished our coffee, or as much of it as we were going to drink and resumed our walk to the parking garage.

"Henry, I live about 30 minutes up the coast. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you drive me home?"

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Marie, you've been the only good part of this entire evening. I'll happily drive you anywhere you need to go." Finally, I got a real smile from her!

We jumped onto I-95, crossed quickly into Maine, and drove north on the highway. She told me she lived in North Berwick, which is an easy drive from Portsmouth and west of the highway, so I tuned in to a quiet Sirius channel just to fill the void, and we drove. Night is a good time to drive. It's peaceful and restful under normal circumstances and a great time to think. Sadly, my thoughts brought me no peace that night.