How Does a Moment Last Forever?

by Jenna Michaelson

  I got to the hotel and wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with a receptionist with ideas above her station. Don’t get me wrong, her job is as important as mine is, but looking down her nose at me probably wasn’t the wisest of things to do at that moment. So, after an argument with the po faced trollop, she called Zane’s room and I was buzzed through. I’ve seen less security in Heathrow Airport and left her with the filthiest glare I could muster. What I wanted to do was give her the middle finger, but my mama raised a lady, not a tramp.

  The fact I was nervous didn’t help, but I was. Why? I couldn’t tell you to this day. Was I wrong to confront him here? Would this be the day my marriage was officially declared dead? I would soon find out.

  I hammered on his room door, probably a bit heavier than warranted, but the door opened a crack. Now, as many people who know me would tell you, I was raised to be forward and free thinking, but manners were always expected, and it was drummed into me from an early age… manners cost nothing. It was a sentiment I agreed with, and one I drum into our children. Yes, they are privileged, and some would say spoiled. So what? It is our prerogative and we ask nothing from nobody, but even at their young ages, they know nothing comes with demands, or tantrums. If they want something, which we all know, kids often do, it is not an automatic no, but they will work for what they want. Even if it is to tidy their rooms or put their own dirty laundry into their little pink baskets in their bedrooms. Or if they stand either side of me at the kitchen sink and ‘help’ me to wash the dishes. Of course, I complete 99% of the task, but it makes them feel good, like they’ve accomplished something, plus it gives us time together, which is something money cannot buy. We take a trip to the shops, and they pick up what they want, but they know it is something they’ve earned. Manners, they have in abundance so their father not even having enough of them to open the door to me and offer a greeting was frustrating. After all, I’m only the person who squeezed two babies the size of melons out of my lady garden. Surely that fact alone merits respect.

  Anyway, I shoved the door open, hearing it bang against the wall. Actually, he doesn’t know this, but I actually hesitated, scared the door was about to bounce back and bash me in the nose. He will find the image of that alone hysterical. It didn’t, but the smell of the room was enough to alter my train of thoughts. It smelt so bad – stale alcohol mixed with rank body odour, and there was my husband looking like a good bath would kill him. I was disgusted if truth be told. Ashamed of him.

  “Look at the state of you,” I said. “This place is a shit-hole. “Are you happy living like this?” I couldn’t believe I was even having to say this to him. He was usually flawless in his appearance, but this person before me looked worse than a mess.

  Zane wasn’t going to be criticised because he wasn’t going to take ownership of his behaviour. He was flat out rude to me. Brave of him to be like that as I had nothing to lose, so if I knocked him flat on his arse, who would blame me?

  He had the audacity to take a slug from a bottle of whiskey. I waited for the response, thinking a bit of Dutch courage would kick in, but no, just that same gormless stare. Have you ever looked at your partner or children, and seethed because you know they know, but give you nothing back? I was thinking along those lines, but then he hit me with it, right between the eye.

  “It was your choice, Jenna—live with it.”

  Boom. It was like an explosion. How dare he blame me? I walloped him across the face, harder than I intended to and he lost his footing and went arse over tit and crashing to the floor. I will admit, I panicked, thinking I seriously hurt him. Violence should never be tolerated in any relationship, but my emotions were frayed. I’ve apologised so many times for it since and he just says the same thing every time. “I deserved a slap.” Some would say yes, he did, but I disagree, but we can’t change the past and can only learn from it.

  I recalled storming out of the room, not getting what I wanted from being there. No better, or worse off for the experience.

  Zane – My wife and lover teaming up. You couldn’t write it, really. I should have known then, a firm friendship would be built, but I didn’t see it at the time. Looking back, they were more kindred spirits in my eyes than Jenna and Melissa are. Strange, but it’s only now I see the similarities in Jen and Chad’s personalities.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It is strange looking through my journals and writing how I felt back then as it feels like it all happened to somebody else, but when I look at our life now, predominantly our private life, we wouldn’t be where we are now unless we had both experienced what we had. Our world is a very different place to where it should be. Fate kicked us down a path we hadn’t anticipated and only the strongest of couples would have survived to tell the tale.

  I’m acutely aware Zane and I could be communicating through our respective lawyers, or even worse, our ex in-laws. I would have hated that, but we’ve seen enough families break apart to know it could have been our reality.

  We made the right choices for us. Some wouldn’t agree, but when there is more than just yourself to consider, you do things, and manage to get past situations you never thought you would.

  Zane and I continue to visit The Club and at this point in time, we’re fully ingratiated, and have made some amazing friends from every walk of life and sexual spectrum.

  It had certainly broadened my horizons on a personal level and there’s been occasions when my eyebrows were so raised they almost disappeared into my hairline.

  I’ve seen acts of a sexual nature I’d never even imagined, certainly things I’d never do, but what gets one person off isn’t what gets another off. Certainly not me, but I have learned a very powerful lesson, and that is to not judge.

  I’ll never understand why a grown man wants to use his arsehole to launch apples out of it, or why another man likes to wear an adult diaper and be cuddled. It doesn’t compute for me, and certainly doesn’t excite me in the least, but from a voyeuristic point of view, it’s like watching a documentary, open mouthed, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

  We have a new friend, who I will refer to as Verity. She’s a corporate high flyer probably in her mid-fifties, although admittedly, she has taken great care of herself. Very well spoken, articulate and intelligent beyond measure. Quite simply, she is a wonderful woman and friend, but underneath the façade she presents to the world at large, she is what is called a Dominatrix – aroused by the control she has over both men and women. She is excited and aroused by sadomasochistic activities. Quite frankly, this terrifies me, and I was wary of Verity when we first met, unable to reconcile the classy lady with the same person presented to me through one of the viewing windows.

  Zane was speechless, which doesn’t happen often, and I was too stunned to speak.

  Later than night, we were sat in the communal bar enjoying a glass of wine when Verity walked in. I just knew she would focus her attentions on the new girl, me. I wasn’t wrong and as expected, she approached.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked, sounding ever so posh. Zane nearly choked on his drink.

  I was mortified.

  She found it amusing thankfully.

  I spluttered an apology as I banged on Zane’s back. His bulging eyes and red face would have amused me any other time, but for some reason, I wanted to make a good impression.

  “Sorry,” Zane said, catching his breath.

  “My name is Verity,” she said, offering him her hand. He shook it. To me, she said quite brazenly, “I hope you enjoyed the show?” and thank God I hadn’t taken a sip of my drink because I’m sure I too would have choked.

  “It was…” I considered my words carefully. “…interesting.”

  She cackled like a witch and clapped her hands together. “Love it, darlings,” she said. “Honesty. You and I are going to be great chums.” And we are.

  I glanced at Zane, dying inside, hoping the others in the room weren’t staring. But it seems, everybody was
used to her and paid us no attention at all.

  “How long have you been coming here?” I asked, wanting to appear friendly.

  “Years, daaaaarling,” she cooed. “I found out my husband was boffing his brother’s wife and I kicked him out. Found this place not long after and never looked back.”

  “Boffing?” Zane asked, looking confused. Sometimes my husband was as dim as a 40-watt lightbulb

  “Screwing,” she said. “Giving the fat old slapper a jolly good shafting twice a week when her hubby played golf. Randy old goat.”

  I couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.

  Zane glared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Oh, no need at all, we’re all friends here. And he was a dirty bastard. Best thing he ever did but didn’t do much for my self-esteem at the time. Cheating on me with a woman whose saggy arse slapped the back of her knees when she walked.” She looked at Zane. “Now if my ex-husband was as gorgeous as this man here, I might have forgiven and forgotten.” She stroked Zane’s chin. He went bright red. So funny!

  “Oh, don’t tell him that or his head won’t fit in the car,” I said.

  She snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked, warming very quickly to her.

  Proper introductions were made and after drinks all round, we were getting along famously. I felt content being around similar-minded people.

  “Very nice of you,” she replied. “I’ll start with a G&T.” And she meant every word of it. By the end of the night, she’d given us two pitch perfect renditions of Mack the Knife, and a rousing version of My Way that had us all singing along. She has a great voice. We had a ball, and to this day, she is the life and soul of many a party.

  Zane – Verity terrified me when we first met. Now, I adore her. She is like an older sister, but as badly behaved as an unsupervised child. She lives for the moment, and if there is one person I’d love to interview and write a book about, it’s her. She does a lot of work for charities, specifically HIV related ones. If those she worked with knew the real her, I think they’d be shocked. But she does a lot of good work and should be commended. What does it matter that she likes to whip a man’s bare behind with a cat o’nine tails.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Reading Zane’s comments about Verity’s charity work takes me back to the worst of times.

  I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Apart from Chad’s death, it is the only part of that time that can make me cry with anger.

  And it was something I was never meant to know. If Zane had gotten his way it was something he would never have shared. Chad gave him the ultimatum. “Tell her, or I will,” so he had little choice.

  Zane had fallen so far in a short space of time, on a mission to destroy everything he held dear, as well as everything we stood for.

  He’d been on an App looking for guys to have sex with. That was bad enough, but he put himself in danger, something we’d warn our children to be wary of, and he paid the ultimate price.

  The choice was taken away from him. He didn’t want it, but the other man wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Across town, there was a bombshell waiting to go off. I knew something big was imminent, but I’d never have been prepared for what was coming.

  I walked into Chad’s house, thinking they’d be fawning over one another, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

  He was sporting a bruised face from where I whacked him. I was ashamed, but now wasn’t the time to apologise.

  “What am I doing here?” I asked. He needed to talk to me, but I was ready to go into battle. However, it didn’t take long for me to notice he was in pain. “What’s wrong?” My medical training kicked in.

  “I had a bit of an accident. A few broken ribs and a bruised leg.”

  I was suspicious. “How?”

  The truth knocked me sideways. No matter how he said it or dressed it up. No matter how it happened, my husband had been raped.

  As I said earlier on, I think Zane dealt with this part in a dignified manner. It didn’t need to be sensationalised. It was horrific, shocking, disgusting, all of those things, but people didn’t need the nitty gritty.

  Suffice to say, I had trouble taking it in. The fact my husband had once more broken his vows fought for dominance in my mind. I spat in his face. Appalled he could do that to me and the girls.

  To add insult to injury, I laughed, finding it funny how Zane was holed up in Chad’s house, but he too had been betrayed by Zane. Oh, the irony.

  Zane sobbed, but I didn’t care. Chad got it warts and all. I was happy he knew how it felt, and we had many conversations about it later on, although I did apologise. It was wrong to revel in somebody else’s heartbreak. It wasn’t me. He did forgive me, actually, he said there was nothing to forgive, but that was Chad. He cared more for others than himself it turned out.

  My husband pleaded with me when I threatened to take the girls away. I didn’t care and was ready to storm out, but Chad blocked my exit. I told him to move or I’d knock him out of the way, and I would have.

  “He was raped,” Chad said, flatly. I felt like my consciousness had been knocked out of my own body.

  Zane had refused to go to the hospital. Too ashamed to admit what somebody had done to him. He didn’t want anybody to invade what little privacy he had left, and I understood that, but I didn’t agree with him. I could care for him medically, if required, but I couldn’t cure or prevent HIV or any other sexually transmitted disease he might have, and that was what occupied my thoughts more than anything else.

  Chad was furious, and from what I recall, a number of mugs were smashed as a direct result of his anger. He wanted to seek out the man who’d attacked Zane and dish out his own brand of justice. I was with him on that one, but I had to be practical as usual, try to diffuse the rage then sort my husband out mentally and physically.

  First was a test to determine if he’d been infected with any form of STD.

  As worried for Zane as I was, I also had to think of myself and driving home, I made the decision to get myself tested. What if Zane had been sleeping around with more people than he admitted to, or what if Chad had been doing the same and they’d infected one another? HIV isn’t a laughing matter. I needed to know one way or the other.

  I went through with my own test.

  Terrified about my own mortality. What if I had something? Who would look after my girls? I was being irrational and dramatic, knowing an HIV diagnosis was no longer a death sentence. It was perfectly manageable with drugs if it came to that.

  I had the test through a colleague who assured me of total discretion. It wasn’t even done in my name. The results came back. Negative. And I breathed a sigh of relief for myself and for what was left of my marriage.

  Now I had to deal with Zane. Agreeing to accompany him for his test was a no brainer for me.

  He needed me, and I couldn’t settle until I knew the status of his health.

  As it turns out, his results were also negative. We both breathed a huge sigh of relief. Luck was finally on our side. He leaned in to kiss me, and it felt right. I cried, the emotions too strong to hold in. I was crying for two reasons – the test results and the tiny shred of sunlight that broke through the grey clouds to light up a little of my fractured life.

  A repeat test three months later settled Zane’s mind fully, and we were free to move onto the next phase of our lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was nearly a year before I allowed Zane to move home.

  By then, both our families knew of our troubles, both of us blaming the stresses of his job, and the fact he’d put work before his family. I took the blame. His mother said I was unsupportive, which wasn’t surprising. She said I was lucky to have him. But, even as she berated me, I never considered ramming the truth down her throat.

  She was downright hostile to me, but I kept my composure. In the end, Zane ran out of patience and told her t
o keep her opinions to herself. Either that, or she’d no longer be welcome in our home. She argued the point and for a few weeks, she saw nothing of her grandchildren. She came back with her tail between her legs, offering an apology that must have choked as it came out. I accepted but had the pleasure in telling her that it takes two to make a marriage work, and that she needed to take the blinkers off with regards to her supposedly perfect son.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “It means, he isn’t perfect,” I replied. “And that we’re both at fault.”

  “He works hard,” she argued.

  “So do I,” I reminded her. “But if it makes you feel better blaming me, go for it, but you won’t come into my house and disrespect me.”

  She knew she’d pushed it and our relationship has never been the same since. Zane knows I have no time for her now, but she is his mother and the girls’ grandmother. I respect that but have no respect for her. My mother in law knows my feelings and has tried to get me back on side many times since. It won’t happen, and she can blame herself for that.

  There were times Zane wanted to tell the truth, admit to what he’d done and face the backlash on his own, but I put my foot down.

  We were sat in the conservatory. He’d come around for dinner and I’d forgotten how fussy an eater he was.

  “No way,” I said, during the tense discussion. “This isn’t just about you.”

  “What can any of them say or do?” he asked. “You forgave me so that’s all that matters.”

  “Do you realise what my dad would do to you if he even suspected a quarter of what you’d done?”

  “So, he’d punch me, but at least we’d be free of all the lies.”

  “Why does anybody need to know? Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough humiliation as it is?” I instantly regretted my words.