The Masks We Wear

The Masks We Wear

By blackrandl1958

I must thank my team. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. My readers and editors are Hale1, Cagivagurl, Stev2244, Hooked1957, GeorgeAnderson and SBrooks103x. I am grateful for your work. Randi.

"Once you drop a mask, you can never wear it again."--Ljupka Cvetanova,--The New Land

"You just don't understand," Reuben said.

I guess I didn't, but not only didn't I understand, I was never going to understand, and the idea that he thought I would, or could, demeaned me. I'd let him speak his piece. Why is it that when cheaters cheat, they always think that you don't "understand?" If they can only just spin it right, you'll be like, "Oh, well then, okay!" I sighed.

"Okay, Reuben, what don't I understand?" I asked.

"It was a once in a lifetime thing, the perfect storm," he said. "You were away, we were thrown together working on her contract, and... well, you know who she is, how strong her personality is, how she just takes over a room, what she looks like..."

Yeah, I knew. I had known longer than he had. I had known her for 10 years; he had known her 18 months.

"And..." I prompted him.

"And it all just... fuck, I don't know, Simone. It was fucking irresistible! How many men have a chance..."

"Hundreds," I interrupted. "She's a slut, Reuben. Do you imagine you're the only one?"

"No, I know what she's like, Simone, I do. It's just... you know how... having a woman who can have anyone, and she's interested in you..."

What he failed to understand was that I knew, all too well. I happened to be one of those women. Few men really understand the daily experiences of a beautiful woman. I knew it sounded harsh, but even a moderately attractive woman could have sex 10 times a day. I had once seen a meme that said, "Men fuck who they can; women fuck who they want." It was certainly true.

I had daily opportunities to cheat. Men hit on me, dropped hints, made suggestive comments on a daily basis. It's not something I often thought about, but the audition where I met Rachael proved my point. We were both models, even working for the same agency. I hadn't been acquainted with her, but I knew of her.

By sheer chance, we had back-to-back test shoots. It was a large sport and swimwear company that was a household word. It was a sweet deal, and international exposure. The difference between Rachael and me was that she was in modeling as a career. I was in it for the money to pay for my degrees. I was in the number one program in the nation, in my last semester before earning my degree in fashion merchandising.

I hated modeling, but it paid my bills and kept a roof over my head. Mom and Dad would have paid for me to get a degree, reluctantly, because they had their own ideas of a career for me, but I wanted to be independent. I modeled.

I had just finished my test shoot, and when I walked out, Rachael was in the office doing paperwork. I recognized her, she flipped a hand at me so I introduced myself and we spoke for a minute.

"Simone, wanna do lunch with me tomorrow?" she asked, just on impulse I guess, as I was leaving.

"Sounds good. Iron Hill Brewery at 12:30 work?"

She said it would, and that was the start of our friendship. I got the gig; she didn't. Oh, she was gorgeous, never doubt. She... lacked athleticism. I didn't. I had played volleyball all through my time as an undergraduate, and the Blue Hens were good while I was playing.

I am six feet tall, and I was on the verge of being too muscular for some modeling assignments. Swimwear wasn't one of those assignments. Rachael was one of those tall thin redheads, clear, almost translucent skin, and her hair was long and that flaming orange you see only rarely. I got the job; she didn't.

When we walked into Iron Hill, the buzz of the lunch crowd muted and every eye in the place was on us. She had that impact, but so did I. I'd always been conscious of it, but I paid no attention. She did, and played to the eyes. It was just in her, and she loved being the center of attention. It made me uncomfortable. I put up with it, but my resting bitch face came out, every time.

We became close friends. I understood her, but she never got me. It was always about the glam, the thrill, the conquest, for her. I was making my own conquests of a different sort, and I parlayed that modeling reputation into a career off the runway and into design and merchandising. Five years later, she was wearing my designs and carrying my bags.

By the time I met Reuben, Rachael and I had been friends for ten years. After meeting her, it took 18 months for him to agree to meet her in New York for a show she was doing, modeling my shit, for Christ's sake. He was going on "business." Yeah, right.

I found out by accident. We'd been married 14 months. My car needed servicing and my PA dropped it at the dealership. When I got off work, they sent a car for me. The driver stopped at a stoplight across from On the Rocks, and I saw them come out. They kissed outside the door and went in opposite directions.

I got my car, drove across the street into a grocery store parking lot and sat there. My brain felt numb and my thoughts were as thick as molasses. A dark cloud settled on me and the tears came, unbidden and unnoticed, at first, but as time seemed to resume, they became rivers, coursing down my cheeks and dripping on my blouse. I don't know how long I cried, sobbing out my broken heart, unable to even muster anything, any emotion other than an overwhelming grief and sadness.

I was immersed in my misery so deeply that I jumped when I noticed a knocking at my window. I looked up and a white-haired older gentleman was standing there. I rolled my window down a bit.

"Are you okay?" His voice was concerned.

I tried to speak, but had to clear my throat first. "Yes. Thanks for being concerned. I just got some bad news and I was sort of stuck. Thanks."

"It gets better," he promised. "I'm sorry about the news. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes. I think so. Thanks again."

He nodded and walked away. I dried myself as best I could, did a little repair on my face and my brain began to work again. I decided I needed to find out what it was all about.

Neither of them had mentioned a meeting to me, and that kiss was a scorcher. Suddenly, the sadness passed and I was angry as fuck. I needed ammunition before I confronted him, and I got it. Dumbass had more than one email account, but he always used a combination of the same words for his username and password, and before he got home that night, I knew all about it. They had been meeting for five weeks. The only redeeming feature was that they hadn't fucked. Yet.

I played it as normally as I could that night, and the next day, I fired Rachael. It didn't go well, for her, that is. I was shook, but I wasn't going to let either of them know.

I called her and got her to meet me for lunch. It wasn't unusual, and I guess I blindsided her.

She kissed me when she came in, and I nearly lost it. She could tell something was off as she slid into the booth and saw my face.

"Simone, you look mad," she said. "Damn, girl, I mean really mad. I would be afraid to sit here if you didn't love me. Talk about unapproachable!"

"And yet, here you are," I said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"I'll answer your question with a question," I told her. "Rachael, when did you decide it would be a good idea to fuck my husband?"

I had just been listening to that Procol Harum song, "Whiter Shade of Pale," earlier in the week. I saw it play out before my eyes. Hell of a song, especially the live in Denmark version. This wasn't Denmark.

She didn't say anything for a minute. "Simone, I... how... what do you think you know?"

"New York. I've seen it, Rachael. Don't mistake me for a fool."

She gathered her thoughts. "That's the last thing I take you as," she finally managed. "There's more to it, though. It didn't mean anything. Marriage is just a piece of paper, Simone."

"So I've heard," I said. "So is money, but you still get up every day and work hard for it, don't you? Spare me the clichés."

"It isn't what you think," she said. "I'll show you."

"This should be good," I said.

She got out her phone and pulled up Gmail, then passed it to me. I took a look. Dumbass got cold feet. He'd cancelled on her, expressing his regrets at never getting to sample her charms, but he got an attack of conscience and couldn't do it. She'd accepted the rejection gracefully. Now I'd have some thinking to do.

"You know I'm going to fire you, right?"

She went even paler. "Yeah, I guess I do. Are you going to blackball me, Simone?"

I thought a minute. "I don't think so. It isn't worth my time and energy. I could, you know. I've always known what you are, Rachael. I didn't think you'd do it to me. You didn't make any promises. Reuben did. This is low, even for you."

"I'm sorry, Simone. I like sex. It wouldn't mean anything, you know. It's a physical function, just like eating."

"I guess you believe that," I said. "It means something to me, Rachael. I've never been like you. You know that. You have no soul; do you know that, Honey? It has never been important to you, and I have always known. It wasn't my job to judge you. You've never understood me." I sighed. "Do you want me to explain, one time?"

She nodded.

"Okay, I don't expect you to understand or agree, but random sex cheapens people. When you have sex with someone, you exchange energies. You may not realize it, but you do. If they are carrying shame, guilt and trauma, you absorb some of that, and every time you do, you degrade yourself a little.

"It's like carrying around a flash card and plugging it into random people's computers, downloading their files. If they have a virus, corrupt files, you get that, as well. Sex is something spiritual, and it needs to be treasured like that."

She was listening, and maybe it would sink in at some point in her life. "I like sex as much as you do, Rachael. I love dick. The difference between us is the owner of that dick needs to look like love to me. He needs to smell like love, taste like love, feel like love; then it's on a whole different level. It's balance, Rachael, and you don't have it. You never have."

There were tears in those big blue eyes. "You hate me, don't you, Simone?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't have the time or energy to hate you. Hate diminishes me. I pity you. I had only your best intentions in my heart, and this is how you treated me. You're fired, Rachael. When we leave here, I'll never be in the same place with you, voluntarily, again. We're done. Don't call, text or send the Pony Express. Just go away."

She was openly crying now. "I'm sorry." She choked it out.

"I know." I patted her hand. "Lunch is on me."

I walked away without looking back. It was depressing as hell. You invest time, energy, love in someone, then they try to fuck you. I didn't regret a thing. It's always better to risk loving someone, even if they turn out to be backstabbing bitches. You never find the good relationships if you don't.

Reuben had the same email to show me. "I didn't do it, Simone."

We were sitting across the kitchen table. "Oh, I know. I give you credit for that," I told him.

"What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea," I said. "I have a lot of thinking to do. For now, you're leaving. I don't want you around, muddying up the water, confusing me. I want you to go, Reuben."

"Go where?" he asked. "You mean like move out?"

"Yes. I can't stand being around you right now," I said. "Your firm has some places for high-powered clients. Move in there for a while. Do you want to stay married to me?"

"Yes, more than anything," he said. "Are you going to divorce me?"

"Again, I have no idea," I said. "Call me and we'll go out Friday. Like on a date. We'll see how it goes. You've messed up my head, Reuben. I'm not doing anything on the spur of the moment. You needa give me some space, okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I'd rather stay, hear what you're thinking, though. Have the chance to make it up."

"I'll keep you updated," I said. "I need you to go now."

He was a broken man, packing his shit, and I did feel very bad for him, but he caused his own problems, and I had my own because of him.

My emotions would have been hard to explain to someone who had never been in my situation. I had gone from being confident and secure in the man I loved, confident in myself and my own attractiveness, to being insecure and wondering if I'd lost my mojo. I felt like I was losing my marriage, my partner, the man I had believed was my soul-mate, and that made me incredibly sad, but the blow to what made Simone, Simone, was all tied up in that sadness, too.

I understood finding people attractive. Hell, I saw men and women every day I felt were attractive. Had I been single, I might have pursued finding out if there was more there than just finding them attractive. That was the problem: I wasn't single. I was committed to my marriage and my man. I thought he was committed to me.

How do you go from commitment to planning a cheap-ass rendezvous with your wife's best friend? The disrespect, the disloyalty, the betrayal, just astounded me. They had actually planned it together! This wasn't a momentary blaze of lust ending in indiscretion; this was a planned cheating. I did give him credit for backing out, but damn.

Some people will never cheat, no matter how bad things are. I knew I didn't have it in me. I would rather end it and move on. Others will always cheat, no matter how good they have it. Cheating is a matter of personal choice, of will, and Reuben didn't seem to have that idea.

Our date went well. He was attentive and apologetic. He tried to explain, over and over, but as the dates progressed, days passed and I tried to get my mind around it, as I wept bitter tears at night, alone in my big empty bed, I came to realize something.

It was impossible for me to look at Reuben the same way. I tried. I don't like failure, and this was a big one. If my marriage ended, I would have to admit to myself that I had failed at something at which I desperately wanted to succeed.

For the life of me, I couldn't understand what I had done wrong. I loved Reuben and tried to find ways to express it every day. I fucked his eyes out. I loved his dick, and if he didn't initiate it, I was like, "Give me that dick, big boy."

I'd heard men talk about not getting enough sex from their wives. They complained about all sorts of shit: not getting head, for one. I loved sucking Reuben's dick, and did it constantly. They complained about their wives letting their looks go, not trying to be attractive.

That certainly wasn't the case for me. Sure, there were lazy days when I lounged around in sweatpants and a t-shirt, didn't put on makeup, but I thought I looked pretty damn good without makeup. Those days weren't frequent, anyway.

I had mirrors and I looked in them. I weighed seven pounds more than when I was a college athlete, and that was deliberate. I worked out like a beast, wore nice clothes, took care of my body, skin, hair, and sometimes still got carded at clubs. I could see in their eyes that other people thought I was hot. Why wasn't I enough for Reuben?

When we got together for our "dates," something was missing. I now realized that it was my idea of him that had changed. I didn't want that, but it wasn't something voluntary.

It was like he had been wearing a mask, or I had been looking at him through colored glasses, and the mask had slipped. The glasses had lost their tint. Things I'd never noticed before reared their ugly heads. He sounded whiney to me. That had not been the case before. I noticed that he had hair on the backs of his knuckles and it seemed... gross to me. I had never noticed. The man I had loved so much was... different. Whatever it was, I knew after two months that whatever we had was gone.

He talked me into going to counseling, and I tried. I really did. I did all the exercises we were assigned, we explored emotions, motivations, and the counselor did her best. She was good at her job. I knew it was over, and after several sessions, I think both she and Reuben knew it, too. That made me incredibly sad and depressed.

"You're moving on, aren't you, Simone?" he asked me. We were sitting in his apartment, drinking a glass of wine.

I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Yeah, Reuben, I'm sorry, but something isn't right. It isn't going to get right, either."

He nodded. "I know. I've felt it. I know you, Simone. I've always known that you value loyalty more than anything else. I fucked us up. I'm sorry, and I think you know that, but you'll never get past it. I don't know what I was thinking and I don't know what to do. If I thought there was a chance, I'd keep fighting like hell, but there isn't. Do you want to file, or do you want me to?"

"I suppose it doesn't matter," I said. "I'll do it if you want me to."

He slumped. "No, I'll do it. I fucked it up; I should do the work. Will we still be friends?"

I squeezed his hand. "Yes, Reuben. I don't hate you. I love you, in a way, but I don't have a single romantic feeling toward you. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. It's just... gone."

It ended with a whimper. There was nothing dramatic, nothing like the implosion of anger and bitterness I'd seen in the lives of others, just a tremendous sense of loss and depression. It took me a while to get my head straight.

I still saw Rachael around. Working in the same industry, it was bound to happen. We were cordial, but that was it. Oh, she tried. She'd invite me out to lunch or for coffee or a drink when she saw me, but I wanted nothing to do with her.

I'd put up with her for years, because I loved her, made excuses for her, overlooked everything I didn't like about her. I accepted that she was what she was, but once I was done, I was done. I wasn't going back.

She sent me a text once: "I miss you." My reply ended that.

"I don't blame you. I would miss me, too. I treated you better than you deserved and loved you more than I should have. I invested in our friendship and look what I got back. I gave you my support, stuck by you and supported you through your shittiest moments. I praised and glorified everything good you accomplished. I was so good to you in spite of the bullshit I went through because of you. Hell, I would miss the fuck out of me, too. You'll get over it. I already have." I never heard from her again.

Newark isn't that big a place, so I saw Reuben around, too. His firm handled my contracts, and I saw no reason to change that. They did good work.

I discovered that it wasn't the break-up and the end of my marriage that hurt the most. It was the post-trauma that followed it. It was waking up and being alone in my bed, unconsciously checking my phone for the message that wasn't there and would never be there. It was starting my life over and having no idea of where to begin. That was the tough part.

I found myself spending lots of time with Mom and Dad. They got me.

I also started spending more time with my friends. I was moving on.

*****

I wasn't pleased with the situation in which I found myself. Jack and Linda had invited me over for dinner, and I had been glad to accept. I loved Linda and Jack was always very nice to me, too. Linda had been my best friend since the fourth grade, and we worked together. We couldn't have been more different, but we made a good team.

Me, the tall athletic black girl, and Linda, the petite little blonde. We were the same age, but our lives had taken different paths. Linda had married Jack a year out of college, and I'd married Reuben a year later. They were perfect together, and my life turned to shit with Reuben. I had dated a variety of men and women since then, and wasn't looking for more. Linda was as straight as an arrow and strongly disapproved of my having relationships with other women. She never said so; she wouldn't hurt my feelings for the world. She loved me deeply and wanted me to find the kind of deep stable relationship with a good man she enjoyed.