Everyone's Wife

by Roland B Dahl

  Everyone’s Wife

  By Roland B. Dahl

  Copyright ©2019 by Roland B. Dahl

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Everyone’s Wife by Roland B. Dahl

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 1

  It had been a little over a year since Mark married the love of his life, Ella. She had been the center of his Universe for as long as he could remember, a beautiful star, completely unaware of his love, and too popular to notice his existence. He had perfected the ways in which he hid his infatuation, choosing to watch her from afar instead. The fear of rejection had been his biggest obstacle, and as time passed by it became harder to tell her how he felt. He had witnessed her numerous and tumultuous relationships, her restlessness, happiness, and sadness. She was a beautiful butterfly, dancing elegantly from one flower to another, and always ending up stuck in some glue trap intended for mice and rats, and not someone like her.

  Over the years he had managed to become her confidant, maybe even a friend who listened to her grievances felt her pains, and comforted her. The most painful part of his new role was usually at the beginning of her latest relationship. He would listen to her chirp happily about this hot guy who had been checking her out. Mark knew the pattern – she would like a guy, they would start dating, and then one of them would cheat on the other one and it would all end with a big fight. Then the process would start all over again. Rinse and repeat. While it was hard living with his feelings and witnessing her love life, Mark was happy, because he was at least close to her.

  After one of her particularly disastrous relationships, he offered a crying shoulder and a bottle of wine, Ella accepted both, like a million times before, only that time she finally noticed him. It was the night when Mark told her everything, making her cry even more and cursing her blindness. After a lot of tears and two bottles of wine, Ella and Mark were a couple. A few months later, they were a married couple. Feeling blessed that she was finally by his side, and being so utterly afraid that he might lose her, he rushed into marriage like a headless chicken. He ignored his family and friends’ warnings to take his time and think things over. No, he had caught the bolt of lightning and he was not letting it go.

  After the honeymoon and a few peaceful and carefree weeks that followed, Mark’s new tortures had begun. He could feel men watching her everywhere they went, he could almost hear their whispers and sense their desire. He became aware of the fact that the ring on her finger was not an invisibility cloak, and began dreading that he was not enough for her. He could handle men giving her dirty looks, but the idea that she might encourage them, or, even worse, respond to their lust was not something he could live with. Just like years before, he watched her, observed her behavior, and decoded the words she said to other men, looking for some hidden meaning.

  Getting married to such a beautiful woman was a dream that was gradually becoming his nightmare. His possessiveness and jealousy got the better of him. He kept checking her social media, figured out how to unlock her phone, and even followed her when she said she was going shopping. The fact that he found nothing could not make him less suspicious. Always on his toes, he listened carefully, observed intensely, and slept with one eye open. As if testing himself and the limits of his sanity, Mark was never at peace, never calm, and never carefree.

  His paranoia spread out around him, affecting those around him, and eventually ricocheting off Ella. Mark was slowly suffocating her, constraining her, asking numerous questions, and insinuating that she spent too much time out of the house. After each of his episodes they argued, then he would apologize, and promise it would never happen again. He knew he was lying every time. Even their sex life had changed. Mark was insecure, tense, and unable to relax. Her arousal kept killing his. He feared her libido and seeing it manifesting in their bedroom only reminded him of his deepest fears. And the vicious cycle kept grinding him, destroying him from within. His sexual performance was the first fallen victim and in the darkest corners of his soul, he blamed her for that.

  Yes, it had been a little over a year since he began falling down into the abyss of his weakness. Love was not curing, it was his disease, and he was getting worse. He was still able to hide his true feelings under the surface, acted like things were normal and his thoughts were not burdened by horrible jealousy. His silence kept her around and he knew that, too.

  His wariness reached another level that night. Mark would never forget that party at Mr. Guthrie’s mansion. Scores of wealthy people streamed across the large, gravel parking lot, illuminated by elaborate lighting fixed on marble poles, balustrades, and the gigantic fountain upfront. The wide stairway was not big enough for lavishly dressed people arriving at Mr. Guthrie’s annual birthday bash. It was a parade of cliché, wrapped up in layers of kitsch and tacky jewelry, wardrobes, and 20 000-dollar smiles.

  Mark had to be there. He had been making a surprisingly speedy rise to the stardom at Mr. Guthrie’s law firm, and he could thank his ability to joggle between the actual work, office intrigues, and leisure activities for that. The latter included long days at the golf course with the man himself, catering to his boss’s often irrational needs, and attending parties that Mr. Guthrie loved to throw. After just a few months, Mark understood that his work successes were not as appreciated as all of those other stupid things he did for him. Mr. Guthrie could hire any attorney and pay them handsomely, but at his advanced age, he was more eager to have a trusty assistant by his side. Mark was happy to oblige, cashing in on his boss’s trust, enabling him to buy a bigger house, a fancier car, and everything Ella could possibly desire. Everything he did, he did it to keep her close to him, dazzle her and impress her by his successes and expensive lifestyle she was able to indulge in. He feared that all of that was simply not enough.

  Mr. Guthrie’s mansion had a large ballroom adjacent to the main house, connected to it by a bizarre, glass tunnel. There, on the polished porcelain floor, tables were scattered around a dance floor and a stage at the far end of the room, where the band was playing the music that was older than Mark’s and Ella’s age combined. Everything about the party made Mark nauseous; the overkill of politeness of people who were rude on every other occasion, the sterile compliments that sounded like they were googled, and most of all, the way men watched Ella.

  Her ravishing presence caused whispers and outright stares from both women and men at the party. Mark’s sensors were turned up all the way as he looked around concealing the madness of his jealousy. That night, she looked better than ever.

  Her brown hair, with gentle blonde highlights, was parted sideways, with the longest, curly strands reaching down to her shoulders, slightly covering the left side of her face. The rest of her hair was combed behind her right ear, secured by a pearly bobby pin, while several mischievous strands stuck out in the back of her head in gentle shades of brown and blonde. Heavy black mascara and the matching eye shadow emphasized Ella’s dark brown eyes, and the sparkles shining in her iris. Thin, dark eyebrows waggled and curved in beautiful shapes, blessing her face with seductive, surprised, and cheerful expressions. Lips that Mark adored were glistening-red, naturally slightly pouty, with a hint of a smile constantly lingering in the corners, just waiting to extend into a smile that would reveal her snow-white teeth, and two dimples in each of her cheeks. Her oval-shaped face, with a thin, smooth chin was vaguely raised, enabling her to cover most of her gaze with eyelids and long lashes, and rounding up t
he seductive look of that stunning woman.

  Mark looked up and down, as if making a last-minute inspection, and was worried even more. Her tight, beige dress revealed more than he was comfortable with. Two small straps hung loose on her round shoulders, squeezed her breasts so much that their round shape and firmness were more than obvious. The skirt was cut to expose her tiny waist and wide hips from the front, and voluptuous buttocks from the back. Her stroll was elegant and graceful and her movements and gestures were well-measured and resembled a slow, tempting dance no man could resist. Her beige, open toe stiletto heels had tiny ankle straps, and clicked on the porcelain floor, drawing more attention to her and Mark by her side.

  He seized the first opportunity to get them to the corner of the room and engage in a conversation with some of the senior partners at his company. Drinks kept coming, toasts were announced many times, and the abundance of food served on the tables. Mark’s colleagues, the ones he knew and mostly those he did not, kept coming to his table, introducing themselves to him and his gorgeous wife. He was annoyed after the fourth group of people that were supposedly anxious to meet the rising star of the company. Some of the clients and people he did not even know tapped his back, extended their hands, and complimented his success and his wife’s sophisticated style.

  Mark kept checking his watch, waiting for the polite, two-hour limit of a party attendance so they could leave. Unlike him, Ella was having a good time. She was taken from him, pulled by the tide of people, from one group onto another and she looked like she liked it. Her laughter was sincere and her charm was disarming to everyone. Mark sat at his table, drinking his wine, and pretending he was listening to his colleague yapping away next to him. His eyes were glued to Ella. He saw her dancing with other men, placing her hand on strangers’ shoulders, holding strangers’ hands, with her face too close to theirs. She was a popular dance partner that night. Men kept coming up to her and she refused no one. For the first half of the evening, Mark was able to find comfort in wine and the fact that each man only had one dance with his wife, but that changed as the party went on.

  His eyes seemed buried deeper into his skull, in a deep shadow of his furrowed brows, as he watched Ella dancing several times with a man he did not know. She seemed to smile more cheerfully with him, run her hands across his shoulders more comfortably, and watch him more seductively. Her eyes sparkled and her body was too close to his, swaying along with music, and spinning around her dance partner gracefully. What bothered Mark, even more, was the man’s age, as he looked older than sixty. His hairless scalp glistened in the dim light of the ballroom, with grey patches of hair on the sides and the back of his head combed straight down neatly. A pair of tiny, brown eyes was anchored to Ella’s gorgeous face, sunk deep between a large brow ridge and strong cheekbones. The man’s brows were thick, brown, and knitted, creating a deep line between them. A thin-lipped grin that never left his face, combined with his stern brows made him look deceitful and dishonest.

  He obviously enjoyed having Ella in his arms. His hands wandered around her back, shoulders, and hips, while his eyes were connecting with hers. He was speaking to Ella with that obnoxious grin on his face, making her tilt her head back and laugh. She responded with one brow raised and a wide smile on her face, making the man’s grin even wider. He replied by gripping her hip and yanking her closer and watching her biting her lower lip approvingly.

  Mark was fuming. He observed the old man with disgust, paying attention to his unattractive features and shameless behavior. Ella did not seem to mind his age, rough looks, or even the fact that he was shorter than her, something Mark viewed as a disadvantage. He was wearing an expensive-looking black suit and equally expensive-looking shoes. The old man looked thin and moved with great agility, handling Ella like an expert dancer, pushing her away and pulling her closer. He pressed her body against his several times, bringing his crotch dangerously close to hers.

  Mark kept drinking excessively. He would feel the same despair and anguish if Ella was dancing with any other man in the room, but his feelings grew much larger because the one she had decided to spend the night dancing with was an old man who could not be granted with nice epithets on his looks. Judging by Mark’s gut-feeling, he was not a good man, either. He just had one of those faces that Mark judged immediately, without using a shred of common sense. The audacity to squeeze his wife like that, and run his hand all over the body of someone’s wife was a good enough indicator of the old man’s personality. What pained Mark the most was Ella’s acceptance of such behavior, her willingness to participate in such obscenity, and even encourage it with her sways and twirls. Mark could not grasp what she saw in that man. She could have danced like that with any handsome, young man in the room, and every single one of them would feel lucky. And yet, she was in the arms of an old man, who looked like he did not even appreciate the opportunity. He watched her the way a lion watches an antelope, but there were no emotions in his eyes. He had had pretty, young women in his arms before, Mark could tell.

  After another slow dance, they applauded the band and briefly spoke. The man whispered something into her ear and she laughed again. Then he kissed her hand and she gave him a smile that almost turned into laughter. When she approached Mark’s table, he was breathing fast, blushing, and blinking rapidly. Gallons of wine could not make his mouth less dry and his mind less troubled. There were six people at the large oval table, and he opted not to ask any questions with witnesses around. But he knew he would ask them before the night would end.

  “So, who was that guy you danced with?” he asked as soon as they were in the car.

  “What guy?” she leaned back to put her purse and coat on the backseat. “I danced with a lot of guys.”

  “Yes, you did,” he muttered as he sped down the road. “The old, bald one.”

  “Mark!” she scolded him. “There’s no need to use such words.”

  He used them for a reason. He had been focused on his disadvantages for over two hours.

  “That was Greg Robson,” she said flatly. “He’s the CEO of Polestar Holdings, one of our biggest clients. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you spent a long time dancing with him,” Mark began causing a stir.

  “He’s a good dancer,” she hissed. “I would have danced with you, too.”

  “You know I don’t dance.”

  “Exactly.”

  The rest of the ride home was silent, with Ella gazing out the window, and Mark keeping his bloodshot eyes on the road. It was not the first time he was driving drunk and angry, but this time he felt like he was not just being paranoid.

  When they got home, Ella went to take a shower, and Mark rushed to get to her purse. He quickly pulled out her phone and unlocked it. He checked her social media, call history, messages, and pictures within minutes. He could not find Greg Robson anywhere. Mark knew that Ella was in charge of key accounts at her insurance company and it was very unusual that she did not have any communication with the CEO of one of them. Given the fact that they seemed very comfortable around each other, there would have to be a picture somewhere, a phone call, or a text message. Mark put her phone back in her purse, with another big suspicion pressing down on his chest. He opened a bottle of wine and thanked God it was Friday.

  CHAPTER 2

  Saturday morning was conveniently rainy. The storm pounded the windows on Mark and Ella’s house in a variation of Morse code, making them look like they were sweating drops of rain that rolled down the glass in small streams. Mark watched the grey sky, leaned against a large window in the living room. Large, puffy bags under his eyes suggested a restless night, but his eyes skittered around lively as if he was making plans, scheming, and plotting. He did manage to install a GPS spy app on his wife’s phone in the middle of the night and after hours of reading instructions online. He renamed it and concealed it from her screen and was anxious to see how it worked. While Ella was still sleeping, he had searched the house, looking for another phone
, but could not find it. He could not find anything that would suggest Ella’s infidelity.

  Hope was refusing to die, and it burned in his heart wilder than any suspicion. After a long, dreadful night, things looked a lot better in the morning.

  “Have you eaten already?” he heard her voice behind him.

  “Yeah, I did,” he curved his lips into what should have been a smile but looked like a spasm of pain.

  Ella was wearing her pink robe and matching slippers, but her hair was already combed and her make-up had already been applied.

  “Are you going out?” he asked fearfully.

  “Yeah, I have to go see Jane,” Ella said as she made a sandwich. “She and Eddie had a big fight so he moved out last night. Again.”

  Mark glanced over his shoulder as his wife ate her sandwich, standing by the counter, drinking milk. She looked like she was in a hurry.

  “I should be back by noon,” she said with her mouth full.

  He said nothing.

  As soon as she went back upstairs, the mind games he had gotten used to playing with himself began their circus. Her presence made things easier, his obsessions were tamed at least for a few minutes, but when she was not around, the entire chemistry in his body would shift, saliva would begin suffocating him, his hands would start shaking and darkest possible thoughts would play out in his mind one by one, parading through his head relentlessly. The newest additions to his usual playlist were thoughts of old Greg Robson seducing his wife, his hands caressing her naked body, his lips kissing her breasts, and his old dick penetrating her greedily. He tried to chase those thoughts away, but it only made them angrier. Like hornets, they attacked even more viciously, multiplying in the process and inviting new, scarier assailants.

  He could smell betrayal, he could sense her arousal. Gut-wrenching scenarios were getting worse. He began finding evidence in the most ridiculous things and everything pointed out to her infidelity. Her every night out was evidence, her cold shoulder on his lonely nights was the proof she had been with another man. Old Greg Robson. A grandpa who enjoyed her 25-year-old body, an intruder in Mark’s life who had used Ella’s free spirit to his own advantage. He had trapped her, ensnared her to sleep with him. But why on Earth would she play along? Nothing about that man was seductive. Mark was certain it would hurt a lot less if her lover was a 20-year-old bodybuilder, or a model, or just a handsome neighbor. Anyone, just not that rich old geezer.