He Loves Me Not

This is a preview story for the December 2 event, my next, exploring the themes of the Moody Blues' song, "In Your Wildest Dreams." Just wanted to write a story that was fun for Randi. I hope it's fun for you, the readers. If not, I tried. Leave a comment and a like if you feeling it. If you want people to see your comment, don't fuck with me. Be polite. Not capping. Check the rosa-blanca.ru if you have doubts. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. Thanks to my team over at Socratic Interrogations for the reviews and editing. Love y'all, Randi.

I woke up alone. That was pretty rare for me. One of my two lovers was usually with me, a majority of the time, both. I loved them both very much and I was completely committed to both of them, although I wasn't married to either of them, and neither of them were married. I used to be married, and it wasn't to either of them. I wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea, and in the best of all possible worlds, I wondered what it would feel like to have what I thought I had while I was married.

I didn't have what I thought I did. I thought I was living the dream. I was dark-skinned, pretty face, slim waist and big old bang, straight teeth, dope hair, my world. Not that dark: some white people were darker, but the features, you know. I worked out like a ravening beast, and it showed, but more importantly, I had a gorgeous man I adored and two little clones of myself. Then I didn't. The man part, anyway. He worked for a large and influential law firm. Most people don't really understand how big some law firms are. They don't do shit like celebrity lawsuits and trials, and most people have no idea how much money pours through those firms.

They can make shit happen, and they do. Lots of people do shady shit; those people do it on levels that are almost unbelievable, unless you've seen it in operation. If you're that good and that connected, they'll bring you into the fold. If you tell them to fuck off, take their persons for the offense they are, and walk away, they really can't do shit. People do it all the time. Some don't. They see fame and fortune, even though they are more like mob bosses of criminal countries. Minor ones, but yeah. Martin Sobel was one of them.

"No, I don't think I will," I said to Mr. Sobel. I felt certain he didn't hear "no" all that much. People like him were under the impression they moved on different levels than the "ordinary." He had no clue. They never do. They think money, influence, power, are untouchable. Ordinarily, he would be pretty much correct.

"You know you won't win," he mentioned.

"Keep on believing that," I said. I got up, retrieved my bag and walked out of his office. He really didn't know, but he'd learn.

There are different sorts of circles in the world. He knew the rich and powerful, had served in the cabinet of two governors of California, knew people on the national political scene and headed a huge law firm.

He demonstrated his power the next day at my first divorce hearing. "I'm not inclined to grant this petition," Judge Thomas said. "I see indications that this can be resolved with some hard work in counseling. I believe it would be in the best interests of the children and the state."

What Thomas failed to think we knew was that he owed his appointment to the governor, who, in turn, was a former partner at Sobel, Johnson and Banks, where my husband was a money train.

I had a good attorney, but I didn't plan to unleash her quite yet. We knew this was coming; well, she did and told me. We had it rehearsed. "Your honor, there is no possibility of my client reconciling with her husband," she said. "My client would like this matter resolved as soon as possible."

The judge shook his head. "I'm ordering 12 counseling sessions. I will allow Ms. Nash to select from a list of reputable family specialists."

That was it. I had it to do. Sorta. I wasn't ready. Few people are. When you find out your husband has been fucking his boss for four months, it's usually a surprise. If you have no clue, it's always a surprise.

I had no doubts about Blake. Why would I? I was in love, and I had no doubt that he loved me; even after Julia Reins, I still had no doubt. What had become apparent was that we had very different basic philosophies. He loved me, but he loved me not. He thought I wouldn't find out; it would be good for the two of us if he made partner and Martin Sobel knew he had a rising star. Sobel also knew what Julia Reins was. He tolerated her because she was a rainmaker. She was also completely amoral, and he knew that, too.

Hell, Blake knew her, and he'd complained a million times to me. She was also hella sexy in that mature way: immaculately tailored, slender, big tiddies, not a hair out of place, make-up always perfect and that supremely confident air that she knew who she was and she could take what she wanted. Those eyes were dark and mysterious and contained no soul.

I guess Blake didn't stand a chance. I now realized he'd always regarded me as the junior partner in our marriage. He would do the heavy lifting, make all that bank, gain all that influence. He was wrong about all that. It was interesting.

I knew exactly what he did at work, what he made and mostly, what he did with his money. He knew nothing about me, not because I wasn't an open book; he just never believed I did anything important. That pissed me off, and I never enlightened him. He did seem devoted to me, and that made the difference. I loved the man with all the worship I had in me, until I didn't.

I was meeting him after work for dinner. The restaurant was only a block from his office, I was shopping in the area and I found a seat at the bar, ordered me a mimosa and I was scrolling through TikTok on my phone, just killing the half-hour until he got there for our reservations.

A man sat beside me and engaged me in conversation for about five minutes, when I noticed Julia come in. I didn't know her well, just having chatted briefly at a party when she was recruited about a year earlier to run mergers and acquisitions at Blake's firm. I knew her, though, after about ten sentences. Not my type of people.

She didn't look at me, but they were seated at a table just behind me. She was with another woman I didn't know, but I gleaned from the conversation I couldn't help overhearing she must have a similar position as Julia in another department at the same firm.

They were talking shop. I really wasn't interested and I was distracted by the guy talking to me. My ears perked up when I heard the word "Nash."

"He's delicious," Julia said to her companion.

"Nash? I always imagined he would be. I also thought he was too wrapped up in that mysterious wife of his to be seducible."

"Yes, he kind of is," Julia said. "It's not like I'm trying to take him away from her. We're just playing a game. He fucks me, I promote him. One of these days, he says, he's going to get that smoke show involved with us. Can you imagine?"

Her companion laughed. "No. I mean, I can imagine you or me wanting that, but she knows what she has going on. I have the feeling she won't put up with anything she doesn't like. At all."

"I can see that," Julia said. "We also both know why she's got Nash. I can only compete in the "forbidden" area and by doing things she probably wouldn't."

The fuck? I stopped paying attention to them, my erstwhile drinking buddy and everything else. All I could hear was my pulse, roaring in my ears, causing a shadow on my vision, casting a shroud over everything I thought I knew. I sat there for a moment in abject misery. It didn't last long, I grew resolve, although it felt like the shroud would never vanish.

Embers, long dormant, sprang up in my heart; anger, then rage, all blunted by sadness. I noticed my bag was slipping off my shoulder. That brought me back to life and I shrugged it back into place. I took one more drink of my mimosa, stood, turned around and poured the remnants, about half, down Julia's back.

That produced a little screech, she jumped up and turned to look at me. I saw the lightbulb go on. "Got anything to say, bitch?" I asked.

Her mouth opened and shut. No sound came out. I turned and walked out. I was still ten minutes ahead of our reservation. I had the thought that it would be interesting to know if the two women would stay until Blake got there, and of what that conversation would consist if they did.

They brought my car and I saw Blake's Caddy at the light as I turned right out the exit. I hoped he wouldn't notice me. The blue and white of my 1970 Chevelle SS is hard to miss, but then Blake wasn't the most observant dude, I realized.

I wondered again if they were still there or they had left to get Julia out her ruined dress. Oh, well, I'd find out soon. It didn't take long. When I was five minutes late, I got a text. "Where u ?"

I had voice to text, and used it. "Suck my dick," I sent. I turned my phone off. Yeah, petty, but that's just how I roll.

I didn't remember driving home, I realized, as I pulled into the garage. Damn. I needed to get it together. I went in and changed, cleaned up, got some snacks and a 4x espresso, cut one of my 50mg gummies in fourths and ate one.

I grimaced a bit and looked at the package. "Orange Creme," it said. I guess it did taste a little like some kind of citrus flavor some dude who had never tasted an orange would dream up in a laboratory somewhere. Mostly, it tasted like weed. And sugar.

I chuckled a bit at the mundane things I was thinking. I was definitely off my game. It took Blake maybe an hour to figure it out and get home. I loved the feeling of dread I imagined he was feeling on the drive home. What would really suck was if he just didn't give a fuck. Oh well, I really couldn't imagine that, either.

I heard him come in from the garage and drop his keys in the tray. I was listening to Taylor Swift's "Tortured Poets Department," just lost in my thoughts until I heard the door. I suspected this would be the most unpleasant moment in my life. I wasn't wrong.

He came in looking... green. "You finna puke, dude?" I asked.

"I may," he said. "I need to sit down." I was occupying the sofa, all of it, so he had to sit in his chair. I had been strategic. I was feeling the gummy pretty good. In fact, I felt like I was unflappable. We'd see. He slumped there for a minute.

"I can't imagine how you're feeling," he finally said. "I regret that so much."

"Yeah. Well, shit happens," I said.

"That's what you want to say?" he asked.

"What's to say?" I asked. "There was a hell of a bunch YOU should have said. At this point, there's just what? Sorry, dude, that bird has flown. I don't have shit to say to you."

"I know you're upset, hurt, angry. I'm sorry I caused that. You're absolutely right. Can I tell you something?"

"You have the ability," I said. "You can certainly speak words. Whether I listen to them will be up to me, how I'm feeling at the moment. Get used to it, dude. That's the way it's going to be from now on. I'm no longer interested in how you feel. Understand that. Act accordingly."

He winced. "Okay, I deserve that. Believe it or not, Kavanaugh, I would have said something long ago, but I love you."

There was a long silence. I guess he was waiting for me to say something. "Do you want me to come over there and kick you in the nuts?" I asked. He made an involuntary move to protect those bits, and I almost giggled. This wasn't the time for it. "If not, you should never mention that again. I will never believe anything you say, ever again. I'm not that stupid, Blake. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, of course not. Everyone knows... anyway, not stupid, but K, you're sort of... super-intimidating. You must know that, right?"

I knew I could be. If I wanted to be. I hadn't been with him. Ever.

"It starts with how you look. Everyone wants to approach you, be close to you, but they just know, almost instinctively, that you're something else, beyond their experience. When we walk down the street, everyone turns and looks at you. It's because you are just that spectacular. You know it, and it affects everything about you. You don't have to do anything, and you ride on that. You also have things you believe, feel, and you are always 100 percent exactly the same about those things. I even know why you are, because you've explained it to me. I agree that if everyone could be like that, it would be an ideal world. The thing is, K, no one is like that. Except you. You always know the right thing to do for you and you always do it. I'm not like that." I could feel him trying to understand whether I was listening.

"I do things I have no idea are in the best interests of anyone. I view it as part of being human. We do spontaneous things that make no sense to anyone but us, and to us, they just feel right in the moment. It gives a spark to our lives."

"Okay, Blake, you really wanna have this convo? It will be even more unpleasant to you than it is to me. Don't think I don't understand what you're saying. I get it. You're insinuating that I have no 'spark' in my life." I held up my hand as he tried to say something. "Maybe not deliberately, but you are. Then you took passive/aggressive to a whole new level. Damn, dude. I set an impossible standard for you to meet. Things like basic decency and honesty are beyond you, right?"

"No, I..."

"Shut the fuck up. I'm not done," I barked. "That's what it is: just basic honesty and respect. That's the standard, and it's pretty fucking low. Millions of people exceed it every day. Furthermore, I do shit all the time I am very well aware I shouldn't. It's selfish shit, but I do it anyway. I know every one of my faults, because they slap me in the face every day. I've told lies, Blake, but never to you. Never to anyone I gave a fuck about. Do you lie to everyone?"

He looked like he wanted to get angry, but he reeled it in. "I'm helplessly... (he didn't forget the kick in the nuts) bonded to you, Kavanaugh. The day I met you I knew I wanted to be around you the rest of my life, have you in my life. The problem was, if I told you about my life, my ideas, you would have never given me the time of day. I thought... if I could just be with you, eventually you'd..."

"Become a hoe?" I asked. "You fucking disgust me. So your great idea was you'd act some way, get me to fall in love with a character in a play, then say, "Surprise! It's me, but not really. That was just a character, but wasn't I really good at the suspension of disbelief?"

"Why do you have to be... That's not what I was saying, at all."

"I give zero fucks about what you say," I informed him. "I know what you did."

"Everything is always black and white to you, isn't it?"

"So now you wanna make it some racist shit?" I knew, but I was just that pissed off.

He withered over there. "What? No! I meant, you only see good and bad."

"Bullshit," I said. "There was nothing inherently good or bad about you unlocking the door, dropping your keys in the tray, coming in here and sitting down. There are millions of things that could be good or bad, depending on the circumstances, or just things, neutral. What made your actions of that immediate past "bad" is because they are being done by a piece-of-shit human."

He sighed and pulled at his hair in frustration. "Kavanaugh, listen to me. No matter what you've learned, been taught, conditioned to be by society, listen to me. It doesn't have to be like that."

"What you mean?" I asked.

He rubbed his eyes and took a long shuddering breath. "I'm talking about the endless possibilities for combinations between men and women," he began. "You know this, but there's a difference between sex and love. You can have either without the correspondence. Do you imagine I love Julia?"

"You should stop talking," I said. "Every word out your mouth just gets more condescending. You think you're smarter than I am. You believe that because you have an alternative explanation, you're so smug underneath the charming exterior. Not a thing wrong with having an alternative explanation. You do you. You're not smarter than me. I don't usually care; I've got nothing to prove; I'm smarter than you."

"Nice." That was his tactic. He always played it like that.

"I figured all this shit out when I was like 15. You think it's never occurred to me, because you've always underestimated me. Yeah, don't tell me about fucking 'intimidation.' Your ego is too big to be intimidated. It can be charming; I like confident guys, so I let you get away with it and loved you for being you. I know what I think about everything you're going to say. I've heard it, weighed it, and was like, "No."

He really didn't know what to say. I could tell it was dawning on him that he wouldn't be "enlightening" me. He had to try.

"Do you believe I love you?" he asked. I could see him tense and move his legs together, just in case he'd violated the spirit, if not the letter, of our kick to the nuts understanding.

"Oh, I have no doubt," I said. "I am hella loveable. It's the way you treat people you love that is shady as fuck. You also are aware that I don't go back, aren't you? I'll give you a million excuses, make them myself if I love you, but when I'm done, I won't look back."

"I'm aware you have a list of people who are persona non grata," he said.

"Yass. I kept you around to check on them, see if I still hate them."

"It wasn't a compliment," he said.

"I know you think it wasn't. I think it was." I was done. "You should go get your shit out my room," I said. "Either that, or I'll get my shit out your room. One of us will be gone within the week, Blake. I'll start now, just in case you wanna be an even bigger asshole than you already are."

"This is exactly why I never told you anything," he complained.

"Right," I said. "You just sneaked around and did shit. Remember my text, Blake? Repeat it to yourself. Are you moving your shit?"

"No, I'm not. I don't want this," he said.

"I don't give a fuck what you want," I reminded him. "Sweet, I'll get started."

I went up and looked at my closet. Damn. I wasn't feeling it. I was distracted by my new dress. It was designed to look like a white satin slip. It had a floral semi-transparent wrap. I made up my mind, got down a garment bag and put my dope dress and a few other things in, packed my suitcase and my favorite backpack and looked around. He was still sitting there when I came down.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Somewhere nice," I said. "Take it easy, Blake. Hope not to see you again."

I went out to the airport, checked into the hotel and called a charter. I booked them for Sunday, and after two miserable nights, I was on my way to Funafuti. My father was waiting for me. I'd filled him in.

*****

"Hi, baby." He opened his arms and I wrapped myself around that man who'd always been my rock while I sobbed out my misery and he petted me. When I stopped shaking and he realized I was done, he tilted my chin up so he could see my face.

"You good now?"

I laughed. "Yeah, Dad. Thank you. It was gonna happen; you knew that."

I heard and felt the rumble. "Yeah, I know you. I have the weekend off. What you wanna do?"

"I'll think about it," I said. My father was a big dog in the military, attached to the 7th Air Force. We collected my luggage and caught a taxi. "Heard from Ben lately?" I asked. He stiffened, as he always did when my brother was mentioned.

"No. He was in Canada, the last time he said anything to me."

"He's in Mexico now," I said. "I called him last night."

"I figured you would. You know I don't like to talk about him, K. It hurts my heart."

I sighed. "Yeah, sorry. I don't like him, Dad, but I love him. It makes me sad that I can't save him, but I still love him."