Dinner at the Perryville

For me Thursday was another sleepless night, and when Marjory came down Friday morning it didn't look like she'd slept either. I got a pot of coffee going and while it was perking told her, "I'll be leaving for work in a few minutes. I do want you to stay home again today. Try to get some rest. Don't take anything, no Xanax or anything like that, just get rested. Can you do that?"

She covered her mouth and tried not to yawn, "Will we have our talk tonight?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm not ready."

She was nervous, but she still tried to press me, "Can't you say anything? I mean can you give me any hope at all?"

"I'll say this Marjory. When we got married it was like in the Bible, 'two people became one'. What you did tore that up."

She tried to say something. She wanted to contradict me, but I could see the words weren't there. Finally she mumbled, "So it's over."

I stood up, put my empty coffee cup in the sink and said, "Probably."

She looked so forlorn; desolation was written all over her face, unhappiness just seemed to ooze from every pore of her being when she stammered out, "You'll come home tonight?"

"I can't say exactly what time, but yes I'll be home. Between now and then think about what you want to say to me."

"I know now," she said.

I said, "Tonight," and left.

It was another good workday day I was out all morning and all afternoon, and didn't get back to the office till after 6:00. When I got home it was close to 7:00. When I stepped in the front door I saw Marjory walking back and forth in the kitchen. She looked up, "I wasn't sure what time you'd get home so I waited till you got here before I started dinner. Why don't you go ahead, shower and change into something more comfortable. I'll have everything ready by the time you get down."

"Mm, she seemed pretty reasonable," I thought. I said, "OK, only be a few minutes."

Twenty minutes later, hair still wet, and Tee-shirt covering a damp torso I stepped in the kitchen.

She was busy at the stove, "I've put some burgers on the grill outside. But because I know you don't like me using your good gas grill I'm using the old Weber. I've stirred up and sautéed some yellow squash. I have baked potatoes in the charcoals, and I've got some corn on the cob."

I smelled something burning, "Let me check the grill," I went outside apparently just in time. The burgers were clearly ready. She forgot to put tin foil on the grill to keep things from burning right up. I got them off, but left the potatoes where they were.

Back inside with the burgers I placed the plate on the kitchen table. The squash and corn was already ready. She had two cans of beer opened on the table. We both sat down and started to dig in. The burgers left a lot to be desired. They tasted good, but the black on the outside, raw on the inside wasn't my favorite way to eat them. I hadn't been eating anyway, and hadn't had anything all day. I didn't realize how hungry I was, but the burgers, smothered in Ketchup, mayonnaise, tomato, lettuce, and onions really did hit the spot. I had two, plus two ears of corn and a hearty helping of the squash. Marjory ate almost as much as I did.

Suddenly she jumped up, "I forgot the potatoes!"

"Forget it" I said, "let's clear away and clean the dishes," and that's what we did. At last everything cleaned and put away she said, "Can we go outside now and talk?"

"Sure," I said, "Bring a couple more cans of beer," I went outside and waited. Outside I wondered how long this would last, it was getting buggy.

Marjory came out, "Oh, maybe we should go inside?"

So inside and to the living room we went. She took up her usual post on the sofa. I got in my spot on my old lazy boy, and then, beer on the coffee table and clutching a handkerchief she started, "Cullen I understand what you meant. I'd like to start by saying I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I mean I know, but I didn't really see it until... I'm ashamed to admit it, but Wednesday night at the restaurant. No, what I mean is I know I cheated. I know I lied to you. I know I lied about a lot of things. I broke every promise I ever made that really mattered. Looking back I can see how it happened. I can see how stupid I was. I don't have any excuses... I know it's too late, but I am really sorry."

I interrupted, "Slow down."

She took a deep breath, "I betrayed you. I was unfaithful," she started to twist and turn. Her facial expressions crossed the gamut from fear to open anguish, and I couldn't see any subterfuge there.

I asked, "Tell me what happened, like how it started."

"Oh," she said, 'It started back right after Christmas," Eyes great big she looked over at me, "Not the... you know, but the... I guess contact, the talking. Brandon is a professor at the State University. He teaches and does Sociological research. Every Wednesday he'd come to our library. I don't know why he picked our library, but he did. He came every Wednesday just before my lunchtime. At first we only talked for a few minutes, but he was so interesting. He talked about things that really interested me. You know how I feel about equal rights. He told me things about the states and problems with the Equal Rights Amendment. He started talking about things like how the president made fun of certain women news reporters,"

I interrupted, "You mean like Megyn Kelly."

"Yes, and others, she said, "he told me about the abuse cases he'd done research on, and how men had used the courts to make some women seem like they were bad when they really weren't."

I added, "He was right in your wheelhouse wasn't he?"

"He started asking me questions about me, and then about you and me. I don't remember how all that came up, but by then I was taking longer lunches and eating outside the library. Sometimes we ate in his car. Sometimes he'd bring a salad for me. I gave him the number for my cell phone, and he'd call me later in the day when I was about to get off work. Sometimes he'd call me here, but you were usually watching something on TV and never noticed. He'd ask me what you were doing, and when I told him he'd laugh. Once he said, 'that figures'. It made me mad at you.

Somehow, and I don't know how we got around to it, but we started talking about us, you and me and the things we did, not sexual things but other things, like the TV, what we watched, and what we did when we were home or what we did socially. I used to laugh about how you and your interest in sports monopolized the TV, and then how we always talked about your job but never mine. I can see it now, but I didn't see it then, he was suggesting things about you and me and us."

She paused and took a sip of beer, "It didn't happen fast. We talked for hours sometimes. He asked me about our church and what we believed. He got me to thinking. You know how our Pastor talked about Adam and Eve, and how he said how God chose a rib and not some other body part because even when Adam was naked no one could see the part God chose. Remember how the Pastor said it was a modesty thing, and that good women were naturally demure and modest. You know, seen and not heard, and women who weren't were abrasive."

"You mean bitchy, and a good wife knew she should keep her mouth shut."

She shook her head, "He never said that, but as we went on he sort of hinted that you used things like that to keep me under control. Honest Cullen, until he brought it up I never thought you were trying to control me. He kept saying things like I was a 'liberated woman', and some of the things you and I did took that away. I never once thought any of that, but the way he said those things it all made sense. I guess I got a little mad at you."

"How did you end up in Chambersburg," I asked?

She said, "Before I do that, let me tell you about something else."

I said, "Go ahead, it's your story."

Then she went on, "Before Chambersburg I started telling him about my writing. He'd showed a real interest in everything I talked about; it was as though everything I said was important so I told him how I always wanted to be a writer. He asked to see some of my writing so I took him some. He read it and was real serious. He asked me if I'd shown any of what I'd done to you. I said I had. He asked what your response was, but before I could answer he said, 'He didn't laugh did he?' Well you had, and he got serious, and said that might have been because what I'd written was that good and you might have been afraid I might become a successful writer. It was the first time he ever said anything actually critical about you, and I believed him. It was then I think I started being seriously angry with you."

She took a deep breath and went on, "He asked if he could take some of my work to one of his colleagues who was in their Literature department. I said yes, and he came back and told me about this woman who read it and thought it was good. She said it showed creativity and promise. I was so thrilled. Then I remembered how you had laughed, and I got even madder at you. I told him you'd made me mad, but he said that was expected. He said you might have been jealous, and you didn't want me to do anything, like have a career of my own. I started thinking you didn't want me to be a successful writer, and that you wanted to hold me back.

About Chambersburg, he said his schedule had become real tight. He was working on a special project on class distinctions and the sexual revolution, and that he couldn't come see me. I guess I got scared so we worked out a plan. You remember around Memorial Day I started working on Saturdays? That was so I had extra time on Wednesday to drive to Chambersburg. I lied so I could get more free time with him."

I wasn't listening as close as I should've been. I was thinking about what she about me laughing at what she'd written. I got really aggravated and told her, "Just so you know... and remember, the whole thing about me laughing had nothing to do with the topic you'd written about. Remember?"

She looked confused.

I laid her out, "We'd been in one of those little study alcoves at your college, and you'd come up with some fanciful theory about how F. Scott Fitzgerald had deliberately driven his wife insane, but that hadn't been what I laughed about. Don't you remember why I laughed?"

She looked confused.

"Don't you remember," I queried? "You'd been wearing a silky two piece romper set with a lot of tiny buttons up the front. Your hair was up in a bun, and it made you look almost naked. Remember?"

I could tell she did remember but was pretending not to so I went on, "I thought it looked like vest buttons, and when you leaned up I pulled on the romper top and all the buttons came apart. You didn't have a bra on, and all of a sudden you were there at a little table in that alcove with other students all around and your boobs hanging out. Remember now?"

She remembered, and even after fifteen years it still made her blush.

"Remember how you crawled under the table to re-button everything? Do you remember how I didn't let you out from under until you promised to touch me from under the table? And don't you remember getting my penis out and kissing it right there in the library? Remember" It wasn't your writing I was laughing at, but the occasion when you first showed me your idea."

I paused and then added, "And though you shared other writings, that was the only time I laughed." She had no choice but to admit what I said was true.

"Oh Cullen... I'm sorry. I remember now. I remember we left right away and went to your car, and you rubbed and kissed on my boobs, and how you pulled my bottom down and fingered me until I ..., and I remember I was going to let you go all the way, but you said you'd promised that we'd wait and you wouldn't take advantage of me."

Satisfied, I said, "I just wanted to clear that up. So now, tell me when did you start having sex with him?"

She was real nervous but started anyway, "Before Chambersburg we hadn't done anything, but then some funny things happened. We picked the Perryville Diner because he said it was quiet and discreet, a place where we could talk and he said 'share ideas', imagine a college professor was interested in my ideas. Looking back I should have figured things out, but by then I really resented you. Cullen he was so smart, he spoke so convincingly. He was so sincere. He said one day he'd brought some of his research to Chambersburg with him. He said he brought it so I could look it over, but he said there was so much he'd be afraid to bring it in the restaurant. He suggested we get a room next door and I could evaluate, he said evaluate, everything without interruption. I was so flattered.

It was the third Wednesday after Memorial Day, we got a room, he had all these stacks of papers, and he placed them in neat piles on a table. He sat beside me, and... it just happened. He touched me, he started kissing me and holding me, then we were undressing each other, and then we were in bed together. Oh Cullen it happened so fast. I felt so guilty right after. I wanted to leave right away, but he started talking about things like being free and making my own choices, and I don't know, he was so rational, I just stayed."

I was losing the little bit of compassion that had been building up, and I could tell from her expression she knew it.

"Cullen," she said, 'it was like nothing. I mean it was over so fast. He was so fast, and then he rolled over and started talking, he started talking about... things I didn't understand, things like palymory. I still don't know what he meant by that, and he..."

I think she'd deliberately mispronounced the word, and I didn't believe she didn't know what it was, but just the same I interrupted her, "The topic you mentioned is when multiple partners live together and exchange each other sexually. It's always seemed kind of, not just sick, but like totally selfish."

She added, "He said it was the only way truly liberated people could live. He said, you know share and share alike."

I stopped her right there, "Marjory, it's not moral. I'm no prude, but like in the Bible, it should be like Adam and Eve, it's how two people become one, two lonely people join; they're no longer lonely, they have their shared secrets only the two have, two bodies, one soul, forever."

"I know," she said, "but he made it sound different, like the more sharing the more happiness, the more love to go around. He said the stuff we did was childish."

I interrupted again, "Look Marjory, of course he said what we did was childish. He had to tear us down so you'd accept what he said, but what he described was having a headquarters, a home base where people from all over could come and have sex. You know what that means; it means anonymous sex and more chances to transmit diseases. It doesn't mean more happiness, except maybe for those who like promiscuity. He was lying to you."

"All I know Cullen is I didn't understand it, and didn't think it was a good idea, but he kept asking these questions. It was like Cullen we'd have this quick sex where he 'got off', and then we'd talk about all these sexual ideas."

I held up a hand, "Hold it, when you had sex with 'Mr. Liberated', did you use protection, and how much about us did you tell him?"

She turned white. She covered her mouth with her hand. She just sat there.

I said, "Well?"

"No, no we didn't... use protection, but..."

"But my ass Marjory! You mean you're fucking some man you hardly know who wants to talk about sex with multiple partners and you didn't use protection? So let's say he fucked ten women in the past six months, and they'd fucked ten men, and those men had fucked ten, and so on. Jesus Marjory you have no idea. You're really clueless. You might've had sex with a thousand different people and not known it, and who knows what kinds of germs they were all carrying? And don't tell me it couldn't be like that, because that rat bastard's good, Jesus Marjory he played you like you were an old violin!"

She had her face in her hands covering her eyes and mouth whimpering, "No, no that's not true."

She wasn't listening, and I wasn't done, "So tell me Marjory; did you say anything about us?"

She looked up, and oh the mournful look gave it all away, "I told him... told him... some things."

"Yeah like what?"

"Our games, the tie up games, hide and seek, the damsel in distress."

"So," I said, "you told him all about our private 'love life'. Only it's not a love life anymore now is it? It's our fucking sex life, and it's not even private anymore is it, no we're about to become a part of some half-assed publication. God damn you Marjory! If he's doing research, if he's writing a book, we're going to be a part of some 'special secret chapter'. Good for you Marjory, you'll become a footnote on the sex lives of young Christian couples. I'll keep a look out for when his newest book comes out. I'll get to read about us!"

She was crying... again, "Oh no Cullen he wouldn't."

"You're priceless Marjory. You remember that TV special we made Ryan watch about child abusers, and how that one pervert pretended his dog was lost and how he needed some kid to help him find it? You remember how they explained it all to the kid, but in the end the kid whined, 'But his dog was lost.' You remember? They explained everything, spelled it all out, but the kid still was thinking about some fictitious dog. Are you that stupid?"

"No Cullen it wasn't... not like..."

"Holy shit Marjory. You know what your wonderful sociologist most likely did when he went home? He probably locked himself in his bathroom and masturbated. Yeah, he went home and jerked off to our private life. Good for fucking you! You go girl!"

Crying, and sobbing, sneezing, hiccoughing, and coughing Marjory used her arms and pulled her legs up to her chest, "Oh no Cullen it wasn't that way. It couldn't be that way."

I was almost finished, "You fell in love with him didn't you?" It was over. I watched as she finally just curled up in a fetal ball and cried. I couldn't take another minute, "I'll be in the kitchen if you want to tell me anymore," and so I got up and walked to the kitchen, got another beer, and sat down staring off into nothing.

It took her about twenty minutes, but she did work her way back to the kitchen, "Cullen?"

Staring at the window to the oven, one more mean thing crossed my mind, "Marjory?"

"Yes," she asked?

"At the restaurant. He saw you."

She nodded.

"Did you see any compassion? Any emotion?"

She shook her head no.

"That ought to tell you something."

She released an almost inaudible sob, "It wasn't what I thought. It was all a trick."

"Yes," I said, then I looked up. Something had occurred to me so I asked, "He first showed up in January?"

She nodded.

"You mean he started coming every Wednesday for months?"

She stammered, "No, not every single Wednesday."

"Six months... that's so weird," I was having trouble getting my head around a guy who'd be back and forth for six months just for a piece of ass. There had to be something else. "What," I wondered.

It didn't matter because she backed us up, "I'm sorry, but about the love; I didn't fall in love, but I really admired him. He was so talented."

I said, "Like the serpent in the 'Garden'."

I was through, exhausted, but there was still one more thing, "Marjory I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I'd never call you the prettiest or the sexiest girl in the universe, but I always thought you were one of the happiest. We made a happy couple. People talked about us. They talked about how happy and totally in love we were. Since this past Wednesday; that was the day you saw the light wasn't it?"

She nodded. I was so angry, but she looked so helpless sitting there in her pretty blouse all spotted and splotched with her tears. I wished none of this had ever happened.