Coloring Outside The Lines

I never thought that when I first starting writing here in 2017 that I would reach the centennial mark. I had never written fiction before and really didn't have a clue. I just wanted to see if I could do it at first. Then I wanted to see if I could do it well. Toward that end I contacted Harddaysknight and asked for his help, which he graciously gave. A while later blackrandl1958 offered to edit for me, and I wisely accepted. Several other friends have pre-read for me and offered suggestions along the way, and I thank them as well.

Will I be around long enough to write another hundred? I have no idea. Traci might know, but she isn't saying.

I humbly thank you for reading.

Chicago Cubs baseball analyst Jim Deshaies kills me. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was watching my beloved Cubs play the Cincinnati Reds on Marquee Sports.

Deshaies, who spent most of his playing career with the Houston Astros, was expounding on the merits of someone's "quality baby" in the bleachers at venerable Wrigley Field during a break in the action. "Quality baby" has become somewhat of a thing now, and I know that I'm not the only one who waits for Deshaies to spot a kid in the crowd.

It also doesn't hurt when the Cubs are holding a 7-2 lead in the fifth inning, and the break in the action is because the Reds were making a pitching change.

Just then, my wife of six years walked into the room carrying another beer for me and a glass of wine for her. I stopped watching the "quality baby" and stared at my wife. Sorry, JD, but a good-looking infant isn't anywhere near as exciting as the sight of my wife in a pair of tight, short jean shorts and a tight halter top, braless.

"Quality baby time is it?" my wife asked as she viewed the big-screen.

"Yeah, but still not as good as 'quality wife' time," I said as she blushed appropriately and sat down up against me on our sofa.

I wasn't subtle as I ogled first her big tits and then the crotch of her shorts.

"You men are just so predictable," she giggled, making her boobs jiggle with a small shake of her shoulders.

We sat silently and watched the Cubs put up two more runs before Vivian figured a commercial break was a good time to talk.

"Q, why don't we go up to Chicago next weekend and do some stuff to kick off 'quality baby-making time,'" Vivian said brightly. "You could do a Cub game and I could do some shopping... or something."

I caught Vivian's tone on the 'or something' and gave her the side-eye.

"You wouldn't come to the game with me? I got cooties or something?" I asked innocently.

I felt her body tense up against mine.

"Well, I figured we'd each get to do some 'me' things that weekend before we'd do the old 'pour the birth control pills in the trash' celebration and get on with starting our family," she said, looking at me with her gorgeous smile and her radiant blue eyes.

She knew I couldn't say no to her on almost anything, especially when she hit me with that dazzling smile. She'd been owning me with that look for the last eight years, six of them as a married couple. At that moment, however, something didn't feel quite right to me. I didn't discount her plan completely, but I also didn't give it a ringing endorsement.

"Yeah, we'll work on something. Let's do Chicago," I said flatly. "Let's both take off Friday and head up on Thursday evening."

"I'll make some plans. Leave it to me," Vivian enthused.

It was a small blip on the radar and I never gave it a second thought until late Friday afternoon in our hotel room when I clicked on ESPN on the room television. We had eaten lunch at a local diner and then visited the Shedd Aquarium.

"So... dinner and what?" I asked Vivian, trying to figure out what clothes I was going to wear for the evening.

She didn't answer right away, and I looked from the television to my wife. I was pretty sure I saw her shiver for a moment.

"Well... for you, it's the Cub game tonight against the St. Louis Cardinals. You're sitting right behind the Cubbies dugout on the third base side. I figured you could eat and drink there," Vivian said.

"For me, it's a meal followed by drinks and dancing at one of the highly-rated clubs in the city. I'm not sure when I'll be back, and I guess I don't expect to be around too much on Saturday either. Then on Sunday night when we get home, we can have our 'trash the pills' ceremony and get started working on a family.

"Wait! Wait! Wait! Are you fucking serious? I'm not letting you slut around by yourself in Chicago... for two nights and one day. What about us? What about our vows?" I practically shouted.

Vivian looked at me like I was a slow child in need of an explanation. The latter part of that assessment was correct.

"We've been talking about having kids when we turn 30 since before we got married, right Q? Well, we're there now. But I've decided that since I'm the one who's going to be doing most of the heavy lifting, I should get a... bonus out of the deal."

"A bonus? Really? I don't recall there being a bonus clause in our wedding vows," I growled.

"You're not going to be the one to carry this child for nine months; not going to be the one to sacrifice your toned body; not going to be the one to set your career back several years so you can stay home and raise this child."

"But I am going to be the one working hard to put food on the table and a roof over my family's head, the one who will have to miss all the great things like a first word. Doesn't that count for something?" I asked, just this side of whine.

She just ignored my concern like it didn't matter.

"We've been together for eight years, Q. In all that time, have I ever given you cause to doubt my love for you or my fidelity? The answer is no, never. So I want something just for me: a bonus... a weekend fling. Not love, just lust... for a day and a half. Then you and I will throw those birth control pills away, and it will be just you and me forever."

"Damn, woman, I'm hearing a lot of I, I, I," I snarled. "What's that old saying, 'there's no I in team. Well, there's also no I in us. But I guess if you do this, there won't be an us anymore.

"You're telling me it will be just you and me forever if I let you do this... but what about the next time we want to have a kid. Same thing? Either way, it's not going to happen... in this lifetime. Do you see a lobotomy scar on my forehead?"

"I wasn't asking for your permission, Q. I don't need your permission," she emphasized. "I was informing you of what was going to happen. I'm a big girl. I get to decide with whom I share my body.

"This won't affect who we are once you get past your ego."

"Not my ego, babe. I would have to get past your incredible selfishness before I had to worry about getting past my ego," I rasped. "Maybe I should go find the same kind of fun as you..."

She looked like I slapped her. The superior bitch attitude she had given me minutes before was gone, and she suddenly didn't seem so sure of herself.

She reached for her phone and texted me my Cubs ticket for the night.

"You take the car and I'll catch an Uber to where I'm heading," she said, realizing, apparently, that I just wasn't that kind of person.

I shook my head in exasperation, gathered my keys and phone and left the room, never looking back. I can only assume she thought I was heading to the baseball game like an obedient soon-to-be cuckold.

Instead of watching the Cubs live, I listened to the game on the radio as I drove home. Pat Hughes and crew were in fine voice as the Cubbies won another. I really didn't have a plan, other than getting far away from Vivian. It's crushing when your perception of someone takes a divergent route from reality.

Vivian Langer was working as a teller at my bank when I went in to cash my first paycheck with the national transportation firm by which I had just been hired. She had only been at the bank for two weeks, having recently been hired herself after majoring in finance in college.

I was third in her line so I had a chance to notice the short blonde with the green eyes and what looked like a large chest hiding under her expensive-looking blouse. She seemed to be able to hold a short conversation with her customers while doing whatever tasks they had asked her before it was my turn at her window.

"You know, your employer can direct deposit your check electronically so you can avoid these lines every Friday," she said to me with a bright smile.

I did, in fact, know this, as the company payroll director had informed me when I was hired, but I'm one of those old-school types who like to get their check in their hands. I had worked for my father as a kid in the summers, and he didn't have the electronic capability, so I got used to actually cashing my checks. I was very comfortable with old school, in this case. Besides...

"Yeah, but if I did that, then I wouldn't have a reason to come in and see you... Vivian," I said as I looked quickly at her name placard next to her window.

She blushed adorably and then packed me away with a thousand-megawatt smile. When she bit her bottom lip, I realized she had some interest in me, as well.

I chose her line for the next two weeks, even when there was an open line at another teller's station. The other teller called me over, but I just smiled and pointed at Vivian. The other teller got my meaning immediately and nodded back at me.

I like to think I'm a calm, rational guy, but I'm also not shy around women. The next week, I asked Vivian on a date. She accepted.

Vivian proved to be outgoing and smart. She came from a fairly well-to-do family and her parents still funded some of her lifestyle. I found out when I met her parents that her father, a fairly well-known attorney in our city, had a special spot in his heart for his youngest child and only daughter. I found out that what Vivian wanted, she usually got if Daddy's money and/or influence could make it happen.

I was on track for bigger things at Bishop Enterprises, which made both Vivian and her parents happy. As our relationship moved along, John Langer made it quite clear that he expected me to keep his daughter in the style to which she had become accustomed.

"Quincy, be good to my daughter and do the right thing by her, and her mother and I will treat you like family, but treat her poorly, or God forbid, put your hands on her, and you will have an enemy for life with a lot of friends," John told me.

Yes, Quincy is my real first name, which is why Vivian and almost everyone else who knows me call me Q. It's a family name. The first-born son in every Navarro family for four generations has been named Quincy. My uncle is still alive, so my parents actually call me "Four." Vivian's parents are the exception to that rule. Everybody else in the Langer family calls me Q, except for John and Barbara.

Twenty months after our first date, Vivian and I were married in a large affair that boggled my mind, as well as that of my parents. The officiant was actually a state judge, and one of our guests was a United States senator, who Vivian lovingly calls "Uncle Sherm."

Before the marriage, Vivian and I had agreed to delay having children until we were 30, so we could gain traction in both our jobs and with our bank account. Her 30^th birthday was two weeks before our weekend in Chicago.

I had two suitcases packed and the trunk of my car loaded with most of my valued possessions by the time midnight rolled around. I had called my younger brother, Bill, and he agreed that I could stay hidden at his house an hour away for a couple of days until I could get my life sorted out. He and his wife agreed that they wouldn't tell anyone I was at their house, even if it meant lying to my wife. Although she hadn't yet realized I had left Chicago, probably still busy fucking her bonus boyfriend, I knew she'd figure it out by Sunday morning at the latest, when we were supposed to drive home.

I didn't sleep much that night, repeatedly going over in my mind what I had done to suddenly make Vivian believe she needed to fuck another man or two, and that I would actually put up with that. The closest I came to a reason was that because I had gone out of my way to give her almost everything she wanted, she thought I was either weak or submissive. She would soon find out she was tragically wrong.

Saturday morning I did all those financial things that seem cliché, like cancelling all of our joint credit cards and moving half of our money to an account in my name only.

I had no idea if Vivian went back to the room on Saturday and went back out without noticing I was gone, or just stayed out from Friday night all the way to Sunday morning, but I didn't get the first text until Sunday morning a little after 9.

"Where R U? We have to check out by 11," she texted.

I showed the text to my brother and we chuckled while drinking our slush margaritas on his back porch. He got up to check on the bratwurst he was grilling for our brunch. My great sister-in-law was in the kitchen making some homemade potato salad. There is nothing better than the comfort of family when life goes to shit.

A second text stating pretty much the same thing came in 30 minutes later, followed quickly by several voice mails degenerating in spirit. Her voice mail at 10 reminded me that she didn't have any way to get home as I drove us up there.

Her next voice mail was angry and threatening. The one after that was pleading as she apparently tried to extend her stay at the hotel but couldn't because her two credit cards had been cancelled. Goddamn those margaritas went down great!

"Not a prayer you'll reconcile with the silly bitch?" my sister-in-law Sharon asked. "You two seemed to have a pretty good marriage, and I know you still love her."

"I would have killed for her, and I know that's not just going to go away quickly, but the way she went about it tells me that at best, I'm number two on her list of people to love, behind herself."

My brother's cell rang at about 5 while the three of us were still on the back porch, many margaritas having bit the dust. He showed me the caller ID and raised his eyebrows at me, giving me the option of answering if I wanted. I mouthed, "Fuck no!" He flipped the phone to Sharon, who was still somewhat sober, at least compared to Bill and me.

"Hi, Viv. I'm answering Bill's phone because the drunk bastard doesn't have the balls to answer himself. Yes, we know what happened. No, we don't know where he is right now. How the fuck could you do that to the sweetest guy in the world, Viv?" Sharon said.

I could only imagine what Vivian was telling her on the other end of the line. Sharon rolled her eyes a couple of times and scrunched up her face once. She said, "Uh huh" twice and "Mmm" twice more. Finally she told Vivian, "Good luck," and ended the call.

"Bought you some time. You're welcome," Sharon snipped at me. "Did you know you two had a disagreement and you walked out on her without letting her explain? You really are a bastard, you know?"

"You're not buying that..." I started.

"No, I'm not, Q. Just telling you what she told me, and what she's probably telling others while she's looking for you," Sharon said.

"Fuck!" I hissed. "Somebody pour me another 'rita."

Bill did the honors, once again proving why I considered him a great sibling. Hey, eight 'ritas in, I wasn't going to qualify for Mensa membership.

I ignored the hangover Monday morning and got into work at my usual time, although I wasn't dressed for working. I walked into my boss's office and told him I was either quitting or transferring to one of our other offices, effective immediately.

"Whoa. You don't give a guy a lot of chance to think, do you?" my boss said snidely. "What's going on, Q?"

I told my boss everything, including my half-baked plan to disappear... for a while. If I got lucky, it would take my wife... actually, my father-in-law... several months to find me, once he actually started to look. The only thing I asked from my boss, besides a transfer, was that my employee name be changed to Oliver, which is my middle name, and absolutely no information be given out about me, at least within the bounds of the law.

Inside of five minutes, my boss had my next job lined up. The Santa Fe office in New Mexico had a slot for me, and 30 minutes later, Oliver Navarro was on the road to a new life. Officially, Quincy Navarro no longer worked in Indiana, and, by a technicality, I also no longer worked for Bishop Enterprises.

I started my new job a week later. The company found me a one-bedroom apartment, which was good enough for my new single life. I also got a new phone and provider so the phone bill with accompanying calls wasn't going to my wife.

I gave out my new number to only a select few people back home. Two of those who didn't get the number were my mother and father. My brother had told me that Mom had railed to him about what I had done, and seemed to be squarely on Vivian's side. I didn't need to take any shit from her, nor did I trust her not to give the number to Viv.

My father was collateral damage in this battle. I knew that if I gave him my number, my mother would eventually wear him down and get it, and then he and I would have had a problem, so I didn't put him in the middle. Bill and Sharon, however, had broad shoulders, and I knew Mom wouldn't ever get it from them. Lord knows she tried, though.

Vivian tried as well. According to Bill, it took her about a week to realize that I was no longer in her city.

"How can we patch this up if we don't speak, if we can't sit down and face each other?" she asked Bill.

"Maybe he doesn't want to patch this up, Viv. You kind of ripped his heart out in Chicago," Bill told me he responded to her.

"It was only two nights, Bill. It didn't mean anything," she said.

"To you maybe. To him it meant everything," Bill responded.

My career continued on just fine for the next year in Santa Fe. My social life, not that I was looking, was at a complete zero. That was fine with me. I had Bill check for me occasionally to see if I was still married. Surprisingly, Viv hadn't filed for abandonment. I had to wonder why.

I would occasionally go with my co-workers for a night out at the end of a workday, but I didn't go on my first date until I was in Santa Fe for about 18 months. To quote Bob Seger, she was a "black-haired beauty with big dark eyes, and points on her own, sitting way up high." She was part Pueblo, part Hispanic, with muscular legs that felt wonderful when she wrapped them around me during sex. We went out several times, but I knew she was looking for something more permanent, which I couldn't provide.

Two months later I met Evangeline, "Angel" Bourne, while I was sitting at the bar of my favorite quiet pub. She was a quintessential Irish lass, with dark red hair, freckles and bright blue eyes. I was to find out later she also had the famous Irish temper as well.

I still had on my jacket and tie, having come straight from one of those days at the office where I spent my time putting out fires, and was nursing a shot of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey when I heard a woman's voice call out, "The one at the bar's mine girls. You all find your own," as several women walked in.

I guessed that the four women all came from a shift at one of the local factories as they were all wearing jeans and work shirts. The one sauntering my way had her work shirt unbuttoned to the middle of what looked like a pair of C-cup boobs. I wasn't too subtle as I watched her tits jiggle as she approached.

"What are we drinking tonight, Mr. Fancy Suit Guy?" she asked with a big smile and her eyes laughing.

"Tennessee Honey. That work for you?" I asked.

Angel and I spent the night talking, dancing and drinking. I found out she was out for a rare night of partying as her 2-year-old was with a babysitter. The child's father was an unknown, she said to me with more than a little embarrassment in her voice.