Another Time, Another Place

by Zane

  FIFTEEN

  Monday morning Ariel stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a great sense of accomplishment. She felt as though something grand had happened, but she didn’t understand why. She shrugged her shoulders, and gave credit to the work she completed last night. She was positive the new approach would please both the client and her superiors. One hour and five minutes later, she stood next to the projector screen in the conference room detailing a new plan.

  “The icons in the left column,” Ariel said as she pointed and circled them with an infrared pen. “Represent various types of data you have in your infrastructure. The next column is a listing of devices or databases in your infrastructure that collects data from the varying types of sources on the left. These are managers… managers of data if you will.”

  One of the clients’ nods didn’t go unnoticed by Ariel.

  “What you don’t have is a mechanism that can pull all of the various sources of information together and paint a sensible picture of your infrastructure. Am I right?” Ariel asked, already knowing the obvious.

  “There lies our dilemma,” the lead client commented.

  She showed them an example of a failed print queue and the effects it would have on their network. The second example was a collection of trouble tickets and how easily they could be shown in a report. The last example was sales figures extracted from a financial database.

  “What you see before you are three separate pieces of information displayed on three different computers. How can a top-level official make an intelligent business decision like this?”

  Ariel paused. She wasn’t searching for an answer. The time was to allow the clients to ponder the question.

  “You can’t,” she continued. “Not with one quick view. What you need is a manager of managers.”

  The solution to the client’s problem was presented in the next slide. The slide showed the three data managers from the previous slide pointing their collected data to a business engine model of the solution software. The business engine was capable of collecting data from all industry standards.

  “And this data could then be sorted, filtered, reported and/or displayed in a digital dashboard on one computer screen. All of this information can be accessed through a web portal,” Ariel said confidently.

  Ariel detailed to the client the security features of the software. She showed, based on company security policies, users would be able to drill down to more detailed levels of the infrastructure. She performed a brief walkthrough of the Executive, Manager and Operations logons. She smiled when the clients nodded when they were shown the “Executive” level that provided an overall picture of a company’s infrastructure.

  “With that,” the client asked, “I can take one quick glance and determine hot issues?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ariel responded.

  “Can it be tailored to other types of data?”

  “That’s the beauty of this solution. It doesn’t matter what the data is, if it’s being collected and stored in any type of database format, the information can be presented in a format that suits your needs. We can initially concentrate on your major heartburns, and then expand to other aspects of your business.”

  The two clients nodded as if accepting the notion. Ariel concluded the presentation by giving the clients the opportunity to manipulate the software through a workflow engine. What a difference a day makes. This time when Ariel left the conference room, her boss and clients were discussing the infinite possibilities the proposed solution offered. Her boss gave her two thumbs up as she closed the door.

  A moment later, Ariel stood at her office window looking into the clear blue sky. She had nailed the presentation and the wonderful feeling gave her a new commitment to her craft. She was refreshed.

  “I work,” she spoke aloud. “And I’m damn good at it,” she said proudly.

  Later that evening during the drive home, Ariel reflected on the magnitude of her day. She was elated. An on-the-spot promotion moved her into a larger office. All of these things mattered little when she walked into the thick air of her home. The air remained thick without Steven being home from work. She somehow managed to push their domestic problems aside to have a productive day, but as she stood in the foyer, a rush of anxiety bombarded her. Part of her felt Steven’s physical abuse was a first-time occurrence, part of her believed the opposite, but all of her stood firmly with the belief that the abuse would never happen again. Everything they’d accomplished as a couple meant nothing while her mental and physical stability was in question.

  I ought to cut his dick off, she thought.

  She quickly abandoned the notion because it would ruin not only what she accomplished this glorious day, but her entire life. The renewed commitment to her job came with a greater sense of independence. She would start anew, everything fresh and clean.

  “Begin with an ending,” she announced as she poured herself a glass of wine and began preparing dinner.

  She sat at the table, crossed her legs and to her surprise, she realized she was wet. A vision of the woman in the mirror flashed in her mind and made her wonder what the other woman was doing.

  She had just started eating the low-carb stir-fry when Steven entered the kitchen.

  “Something smells good,” he said before he kissed her on the neck. “How was your day?”

  “There is more on the stove,” Ariel responded. “Shall I fix you a plate?”

  “I got it, enjoy your food.” Seconds later, Steven sat across from her at the table. “Your day was?” he inquired again.

  “Fantastic! No, my day was way, way better than that. It was more like super-duper fantastic,” Ariel spoke with glee and began to eat again.

  “I take it your presentation went well?”

  Ariel only nodded.

  “You’re still upset about last night?” Steven asked.

  Ariel’s piercing glance told all.

  “Honey, don’t be. You dropping cum in my mouth took me by surprise. Yet, I know that I should have handled the situation better.”

  Ariel raised her head and displayed a “no shit!” expression.

  “How long are you going to hold this against me?”

  Ariel dropped the fork heavily on her plate. The loud sound indicated to Steven that the redundant question bothered her.

  “Just until I walk out the door?” she responded.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means…I’m leaving you tonight,” she spoke evenly. “I have one suitcase packed.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Steven spoke in disbelief.

  “Heart attack serious,” Ariel spoke evenly.

  “Why? Because I slapped you?”

  “You just don’t get it. No where in our vows did it say I had to be fed mental and physical abuse. The better or worse comment, in my book, means to stay by your side if you got sick, lose your job or something. Not!” Ariel yelled to drive the point home, “to put me through what you’ve done too many times to count.”

  Steven sat speechless. His mouth was open, shocked by his wife’s words.

  “Can we talk about this?” Steven asked.

  “We just did. I suggest you enjoy the last meal my hands will ever prepare for you.” Ariel stood abruptly, and the chair’s legs scraped and sounded against the marble flooring. “I’ll be back at a later date to gather the rest of my things.”

  “You can’t give up on us like this. We have a good life together,” Steven pleaded.

  “Stevie,” Ariel replied in a nasty tone. “I haven’t given up on us; I gave up on you.”

  Steven swallowed a couple more forkfuls of food, then forcefully pushed his plate across the table toward her. The plates collided and split into several triangular pieces. Steven stood, clasped his hands together as if he was praying and began to beg Ariel to reconsider her decision. Ariel never allowed her eyes to leave his. She was frightened, but she blanketed her fear with the notion of a new life, one minus the abuse she s
ometimes took. In one short movement, Steven stood in her space, nearly face to face with her. His compassionate words moved from a soft-toned, sorry-filled sentiment to a scornful, harder, threatening one. His eyes transformed to hateful ones, the red veins prominent as if he hadn’t slept for days. The level of his voice rose with each passing second. Like cannonballs shot at a battleship, the verbal assault exploded against her vessel, rattled her spirit, but didn’t break it.

  “See what I mean,” she spoke evenly with a hint of defiance.

  Steven turned around, his blood boiled inside. Never did he consider her argument for wanting to end their sometimes strained marriage. He believed marriage was ordained by God and that meant forever. He couldn’t let it end, no matter what the cost, no matter how he acted at times.

  “Damn it!” Steven yelled. He knocked over a chair with a frustrated swing. “Think about what you’re doing. We have a good life.”

  “Is this and the hostility you’re showing now a part of the”—Ariel raised her hand and made the quotation mark move with two fingers—“good life? If it is, then I’m in search of a better life. There is no shame in that.”

  “You’d shame me with a failed marriage.”

  “I shamed you when I spoke to Devin when he was with another woman. I shamed you when I played with myself, and now, I’ve shamed you simply by talking about a divorce. It’s always all about you. Know what,” she spoke with conviction while Steven walked back into her personal space. “I’m putting me first, putting what I want ahead of me trying not to shame your sensitive feelings.”

  Steven felt belittled. Never in his life had a woman talked to him in such a degrading manner. A familiar thought of putting her in her place spoke volumes to him. The thought lit the blood in his veins like a match to a fuse of a dynamite stick. His flying fist originated from Georgia, possibly south of the equator, intended to prove who was boss. His right arm swung in front of her face with so much force, Ariel felt the breeze from the blow. However, Ariel’s sight never left his revealing eyes and they prepared her for the onslaught. She had one hand resting on her hip and the other supporting her weight on the table. Steven’s blow was fast, but Ariel was quicker. She grabbed a piece of broken plate, held it in front of her as she leaned backward out of harm’s way. The plate cut a gash five inches long and an inch and a half deep into his forearm. Steven grabbed his arm, grimaced in pain as blood seeped through his fingers.

  “I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” Steven yelled.

  “You tried to hit me with your fucking fist,” Ariel screamed back. “I can’t believe that. I’ve done nothing to you except ask for a new life. You,” she spoke with a shaky voice, “tried to beat me into submission. I have every right to defend myself.”

  Steven kicked at her. Again, Ariel dodged his aggression.

  “Maybe instead of causing me harm, you should direct your attention to your bleeding arm. It looks fairly severe.”

  Steven wanted to dispute her suggestion, but the pain accompanying the blood had announced itself; it couldn’t be ignored. He cursed her, called her everything except a child of God as he walked toward the bathroom. Ariel stood at the bathroom’s entrance and watched him tend to his arm. The compassionate side of her wanted to reach out and help, but the deadly intention of his swing killed all chances of her taking action.

  “Do you feel a slight pain in your stomach?” she asked.

  “I’ll never forgive you for what you just did to me,” Steven responded.

  “Good. Let the resulting permanent scar be a constant reminder that a real man would never strike a woman. More importantly, remember, a woman scorned is a deadly thing.”

  “You’re just lucky that I missed.”

  “Truly, darling, you’re the lucky one,” she said and smiled devilishly afterward. “If you had struck me with that much deadly force, I wouldn’t be inclined to tell you how to dilute the poison,” she said nonchalantly.

  Suddenly, the question about stomach pain resurfaced in his mind. He was unsure if paranoia had set in, but if he allowed himself to feel something other than the anguish of the arm, there was a discomfort residing in his belly. His unharmed arm instinctively held his stomach as if he was holding back severe cramps.

  “What in fuck’s name did you do to me?”

  “The poison I put in your food was intended to be my safety net. The factor that would allow me to get out of the house without you kicking my ass. As it turned out, the arm accomplishes the same thing.”

  “You poisoned me, you bitch! I’ll kill you,” Steven roared.

  “Not today. I wouldn’t spend too much energy. It will make the poison spread quicker throughout your system.”

  “How could you stoop so low and do this to me?”

  “As it turns out, seems I did the right thing. You’ll be fine as long as you follow my instructions.”

  Steven hated to admit it, but he was scared. However, the “man” in him wouldn’t allow it to show.

  “What do I have to do to get this shit out of me?” Steven asked.

  “Finish wrapping your arm, then check your Verizon personal email account. Detailed instructions are there.”

  Ariel watched him watch her back away. She went into the guest bedroom, grabbed the packed suitcase, car keys and left the home she’d known for years without saying another word. Steven’s attention moved from the care of his arm toward the sound of the front door being closed. He stared from the bathroom into the empty bedroom. Suddenly, the house no longer felt like home. Suddenly, he had surpassed lonely, fell hard on alone. Suddenly, he remembered the need to check his email.

  SIXTEEN

  The doorbell woke April from her slumber. She had fallen asleep after her self-induced orgasm and had a dream about being liberated. She ran toward the stairs and yelled, “just a minute,” as she dashed by the front door. She sprinted upstairs to the bedroom, and returned in seconds to answer the call. Somehow, as she opened the front door, she sensed that she had already left. She paused, shook off the notion that she would always be connected to the vision of herself.

  The door opened to the sight of her personal trainer. As usual, he flashed a bright perfect smile, except this time, the gold-outlined front tooth was a distraction. He wore a muscle shirt too small for his well-defined physique, and biker shorts too tight that made his pelvic area scream “Look at me.” He entered the house, greeted her with a customary kiss on the cheek and squeeze of her pinky finger.

  “Sunshine, how are you feeling today?” the trainer asked.

  “Liberated,” April spoke and smiled bright as the sun.

  The trainer wrinkled his forehead in confusion. April acknowledged his stunned look as she equated her comment as having the same effect when someone responds, “I’m blessed.” Experience had taught her that it stunned most people. “I’m great. Really great,” April spoke.

  For the first time in months, there was an awkward silence between them.

  “So,” the trainer blurted to end the strange moment, “have you worked on the latest things I’ve shown you?”

  “No, because the pushups exercise would be difficult with this thing on my hand,” she responded and held her hand up.

  “What happened to your hand?” he asked as he grabbed her wrist and kissed the bandage.

  “The truth is too unbelievable, so I’ll just say glass shattered in my hand.”

  “Poor thing. How can I make you feel better?” he asked as he pulled her near and pressed his body against hers.

  Before the lightning strike, April might have draped her arms around him and responded with, “Ravish me.” Today, however, was different. Her arms remained at her side, dictated by the notion that she rather not be touched.

  “Okay, I give,” the trainer stated. “What’s up with you today? I feel the cold-shoulder treatment.”

  “My dear friend, please don’t consider my action as mistreatment. I’m a changed person; the old me is in another time, in an
other place,” she responded. April captured his full attention with her eyes. “Therefore, in essence, I’m a different person who’s focused on doing the right thing.”

  “I’d guess by your ‘doing the right thing,’ the hot, steamy sex,” he spoke sultrily, “has to end.”

  April inhaled deeply, exhaled as slowly as the intake had been. “You are intuitive,” she responded. “Things are different now.”

  “Different?” the trainer said a little put back. “Mr. Virgin…I mean, Virgil, has his dick grown five inches longer?”

  April gazed at him with hard, cold eyes. She was appalled by the belittling question.

  “Whatever the case,” she responded, “big or small, our extracurricular activities have ended.”

  “You know you’re going to miss…how does he say it, the thunder from down under.”

  “That may be true, but I no longer require sexual services from you. Besides, I told you his pet phrase in confidence. It was not meant to be used against me. As a matter of fact, the personal training services can end also. I’ve learned enough from you to maintain my fitness absent your assistance.”

  “Seriously?” he responded puzzled.

  “Heart attack serious,” she replied as if the words were spoken for her. “I’ll maintain my fitness from this point. More importantly, I’m rededicated to my marriage and for the first time in years, I get it. I get how to cherish these things and have a great sex life despite inadequate challenges. I get that the time I’ve been fooling around with you, I could have devoted to discovering ways to make intimacy with my husband more pleasurable for me. How would you feel if you could no longer make a woman climax with your dick?”