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The Other Other Woman

Page 42

by Mallory Lockhart


  They got me fixed up and sent me on to the lab for blood work. A few days later everything, thankfully, came back negative. When I got the bills, they were nearly $250 in copays and deductibles. For a split second, I considered sending them to him. Brooke and I joked that I should send around an informative email to all of our co-workers:

  “Dear Associates: It has come to my attention that sleeping with Matt Wynne will require you to obtain a post-coital critter check. This may result in up to $250 in co-pays and lab fees. Let me save you the trouble and expense and inform you that he gave you a little bit of everything.”

  I started telling my other friends what had been going on in my life. Most were pretty understanding. I’m sure that deep down they might have been thinking I got what I deserved for messing around with a married man. That was fair. But I never intended to fall for anyone’s husband. In 17 years with my ex, I never so much as looked at another man that way. It is an easy situation to judge until you find yourself in it. Either way, we all agreed he was a disgrace. I didn’t care if people knew about it anymore. On some level, I hoped that maybe it would spread around a little bit, maybe fall upon the right ears. More times than I could count, I heard “Wow, you could write a book about that one!” or “Sounds like a lifetime movie!” You know, it really did… that or a Taylor Swift song.

  Brooke’s job search had picked up, but while she had a lot of interviews and possible opportunities in the works, she had no actual offers on the table yet. I knew there was nothing I could do to him as long as she was still working with him. My mom was terrified that I was going to “stoop to his level” and do something stupid and end up losing my own job as well. She explained that she when she told Kenny’s wife all about him, she regretted it right away. Not only did his wife stay with him, but everyone in the town then hated my mom for telling a pregnant woman what her no-good cheating husband was up to. She didn’t want me to have those regrets. It wasn’t his wife’s fault. It wasn’t even Katya’s fault. She was in the same exact position as me, just for longer, and she was actually dependent on him for money too. But I was about to explode at the seams. It became a daily struggle for me not to pick up the phone and call his wife. I couldn’t sleep, I wasn’t eating, I had no patience with my kids, I just stewed over it 24/7. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have fallen for someone with such a profound lack of respect for women? But worst of all, how could he have faked his feelings for me like that? It felt so real to me, so genuine, every second that I was with him.

  I decided that I needed to see a therapist for help with my anger. I needed someone to convince me that seeking revenge on him would only end up hurting me, and that he would likely smooth talk his way out of trouble anyway, just as he always did. I needed it to be a woman, someone who could understand what it was like to be dumped and deceived by a man. I didn’t want anyone who was religious or old. They just wouldn’t be able to relate to some little wannabe husband-stealing hussy like myself. The last thing I needed was anyone judging me. I found a Licensed Clinical Social Worker whose online profile really spoke to me. She appeared to be about my age too. Stephanie sounded perfect. She dealt specifically with bad relationship issues. She was non-judgmental; it even said so in her description. She looked like someone I could be friends with. I quickly called to make an appointment and left a message, but I heard nothing for days.

  Eventually, her office called back, but the earliest I could get in to see her was in a month. A MONTH?! I was seriously going to hurt somebody by then. She offered up a different therapist, but I politely declined. I only wanted Stephanie. I just had a good feeling about her. So, I made my appointment for a month out and asked them to call me if there were any cancellations.

  In the meantime, I continued to stew and come up with a number of clever ways I could hurt him. I wanted him to suffer, even if it was only a fraction of how badly he had hurt me. Maybe it would be the last time he would try to coerce some vulnerable woman into bed, telling her how much she meant to him, how he had never met anyone like her, how for the first time in 25 years he felt alive again. Fuck him.

  I really started to go off the deep end. I would send Jules texts of all the different diabolical ways I could come up with to clue his wife in on his dirty shenanigans. Like my thoughts, even my typing became crazy and sporadic.

  “Hey, wouldn’t it be fun to print the profile pics of all his different girlfriends off of Facebook, because they are all on there, make copies, and then just start sending them to all of his addresses? No note, just the picture of a girl’s photo, like a different one every day. Just one folded up piece of paper. I could even have people on the board do it for me so they would come from all different states! His wife would be like, “Why am I getting this picture of a strange woman? Why am I getting another one? And another one the next day!’ Can you imagine how freaked out he would be to go home and beat her to the mail each day? Bet that would mess up his nooner plans!”

  “Um, Mal, when did you say your therapy appointment is again?”

  “Oooh, I know, wouldn’t it be a hoot for my best friend to send a little note to Katya talking about how much he has hurt me and told me all the same lies he’s told her? Only, we’d do it when he’s on his trip to Ukraine. He would be away with “spotty” communication and it would be nearly impossible for him to talk it over! We know she has a temper, so I have no doubt she would hit the roof and possibly tell his wife for us too! I would only look like the asshole who cried to my best friend, but I can’t control what you do! He would have eight glorious days of being stuck over there shitting his pants not knowing what he would be coming home to!”

  “Okay, I gotta admit, that’s pretty damn good… But what if she goes with him?”

  “Aww nuts.”

  “Back to the drawing board, ya hussy.”

  “You know I have that naked picture of him that he doesn’t know I took? Maybe we could just start texting it to him from all different area codes. Can you imagine his stupid dimpled face when he gets a picture of his very own ass from ten different cell phone numbers in the middle of some big board meeting?!”

  “You know… we may actually have to do that one! That’s pure comedy gold right there!” she laughed. “I don’t like to see you so unhappy, but I sure pity the fool who messes with you!”

  I knew that, rationally, I would never actually execute any of these plans. Okay, maybe not the first two anyway. But it gave me great pleasure to know that I could. At any moment, I could take him down with a few mouse clicks. It made me feel powerful in a small way because otherwise I felt completely destroyed. When he finally did take off for Ukraine, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. But I took the high road and went directly to the source of my troubles… him. I texted him a photo of the conversation that Katya had with her friend about moving to Florida.

  Wow, Congratulations! I’m sure she will love South Beach.

  I wasn’t sure if he would get it or not on the other side of the ocean, but I had to let him know he hadn’t fooled me. His response came the next day.

  I am being stalked.

  Now, I had to admit he got me there. You look up stalker in the dictionary and I’d be there smiling and waving at you, no doubt about it. But I got the feeling he wasn’t talking about me. This made me very curious indeed.

  What? By whom?

  Too long by text. Talk later when I return from Ukraine.

  Holy crap. I think he was talking about her. Of course, I sent it to Jules for her thoughts.

  “WHAT!? Mallory, that’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard. She’s stalking him?! Did she stalk him right into his car and force him to drive to her house that day you caught him?! He’s a moron. You can’t stalk someone into your vagina! You aren’t actually falling for this are you?” she exclaimed.

  “No, of course not. But I am dying to know what kind of crazy drama-filled story he comes up with over the next few days. It ought to be a doozie! I do wonder
if she’s blackmailed him into taking care of her now or if she’s threatening to tell his wife.”

  “Oh that’s rich. If so, he deserves it. Wonderbread-eating Doucheface.”

  He never bothered to call me when he got back from his trip. Perhaps he decided I just wasn’t worth bothering with anymore, that he didn’t owe me any further explanations. I wholeheartedly disagreed, and I told him as much after he had been back in the States for a good week or so.

  I have to tell you I still have a lot of unresolved anger over this. I know you are not my business anymore. I just hope that next time (and there will always be a next time) you get someone to fall for you under false pretenses; you might consider for a moment that there is an actual person attached to that body.

  He responded quickly. Too quickly.

  Well, you should try to resolve that anger since we will be working together. And there was NOTHING false about my interest in you at the conference and beyond.

  Surely, he did not just tell me I needed to resolve my anger. I could do that very easily by sending his wife a picture of his very naked ass. Or picking up a phone and dialing her home number.

  He must have instantly realized his error in judgment because he followed it up with a meaningless apology.

  I am sorry for how this worked out. I apologize.

  Not sorry enough. I still need answers. Why would you purposely seek out a relationship with me, when, forgetting for a moment that you have a wife, but that you also have a long-term girlfriend as well? Did she know about me? Was she cool with this?

  I was not with her when I met you. You probably know that she can be extremely temperamental and I was, and do get, tired of hormones taking over emotions.

  So, whenever she gets her period or otherwise flies off the handle, you go out and immediately find some other woman, who is also not your wife, to screw. Got it. I should have said that. Why didn’t I say that? I couldn’t even mention anything about the other women because I only knew about them from Brooke.

  But you obviously love her enough to take her with you. And you were with her when you started pursuing me. I felt it when you went to Ukraine that very first time after you slept with me, and in October, when you called it off because you told me you were going back to your wife. Instead you were making plans to move her down to Florida with you. You told me you had had the same crap for 25 years, had a wife that didn’t love you, had never felt this way before, etc. No mention of a girlfriend, though.

  No response.

  Chapter Twenty

  I was due for a performance review at work. I had to admit, I was a little worried. Overall I felt like I did a good job, but we had been understaffed and slammed for months. I was definitely behind on certain projects, but so was everyone else. Still, I was afraid they would say I was too distracted or that I needed to get it together emotionally, and that was definitely true.

  Miranda called me into her office to go over my review. She was a sweetheart of a person and a good friend to me. She was somewhat soft-spoken but had a friendly demeanor in general, so when she discussed anything serious, you could see her launch into a different personality altogether. It was as if she was trying to be very professional and appear not to be showing any favoritism or personal feelings for you on her report. I was relieved to find that my review was fine.

  “As you can see, I gave you Satisfactory or better down all of the categories on this page. And the same thing down here. You are also really good at letting us know how to make our processes more efficient so I noted that in this category here…” as she moved her hand down the paper.

  “Okay, good.”

  “Also,” she continued down the page, pointing to some writing in red pen, “Here in the Areas of Improvement, I really didn’t put too much because overall you are doing great. So I just put, ‘Try not to fuck any more brokers.’ And I guess that’s it. You should get your 2% on your next check.”

  “OH MY GOD. NO YOU DID NOT!!”

  She glanced up at me and we both started shaking with laughter. Obviously, she had faked that page. I realized then just how lucky I was to work for the women that I did.

  With my review over and the addition of more staff members, my work stress lightened considerably, but I was still just a mess emotionally. As the weeks went by I threw myself into therapy, starting with weekly sessions. I knew I had to get over him, I had no choice. Luckily, I adored my therapist. She was exactly as I expected her to be. Funny, personable, and totally non-judgmental. I told her that the reason I was there was because I had incredible urges to blow. his. shit. up. She seemed riveted by my story, and of course I had to tell it through my sniffling and sobbing. But she even kept me an extra half hour that first time, just so she could hear more. She said she could definitely help me curb those urges to hurt him. She also agreed that since we still worked together, it would only hurt me in the long run.

  Whenever I talked to Jules or Brooke by this point, I just felt like a complete idiot. Weak. Pathetic. Desperate. Several weeks had passed and I felt like they had to be thinking, why can’t she just get over this Limp Dick Douche already? But Stephanie made me feel a lot less crazy. She explained it was not that unusual for me to still feel this way: angry, obsessive, and upset all the time, given that I had been completely unfulfilled in a marriage for so long. He came along at just the right time and gave me everything I was missing, just to ruthlessly take it all away. Plus, I likely had some leftover issues from childhood that caused me to seek out acceptance from older men since I never really got it from my own father.

  As I transitioned into every other week, we discussed trying to rid Matt from my life completely. She was happy to hear that he was moving soon and that I would have no real reason to contact him for business or otherwise. I fought her on this tooth and nail, however. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t at least be friendly over the phone or email. It was clear we were never getting back together, so why did it have to be so final, so absolute? She encouraged me to delete his texts, pictures, contact information, etc. off my phone. I flat out refused. She knew she couldn’t force me to do it. She simply suggested that keeping them around did nothing for me except keep me attached to him somehow, in some small way. I know now that she was right, but I still wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I still had pictures of old boyfriends and my ex-husband lying around. What was the big deal?

  “They didn’t completely shatter your heart and your self-confidence,” she said.

  “Oh… that.”

  Brooke finally got a new job close to my office. I’m not sure which of us was more excited, honestly. Just before she had the actual offer on the table Matt was lecturing her that it seemed like she had “checked out” of her job. She sure did. I think he was surprised when she finally told him that she was leaving him, as if he had given her any other option. I was thrilled that she was going to be living with me for a while as she got settled locally, since her kids still had to finish out their school year in Atlanta. More importantly, she would no longer be working under Matt in any capacity.

  I’m sure he had much bigger problems to worry about than losing Brooke. Like how he was going to hide his girlfriend in the same town as his wife. It appeared he was going to put her up in one of his smaller South Beach places until her Atlanta condo sold. It became increasingly clear to me that he had no intention of leaving Sandra. I wondered how he convinced Katya to join him down there anyway. Did he finally just say, “Look, we can be together but I’m never leaving my wife… How about if I buy you another condo to soften the blow?” I guess she didn’t mind being sloppy seconds, or thirds, or fourths, after all. Maybe he made up everything he told me and Katya about his wife all along, how they were always arguing and on the verge of splitting up. I bet the poor woman had no idea there was ever any marital issue at all.

  Time seemed to pass in slow motion. I still felt like I would never, ever get over him or the hurt that he had caused me. Weeks went by and turned into months
. I still felt every bit as cut open as if it had happened yesterday. There was no further contact between us at all anymore. He moved as expected and therefore I was no longer supervising his branch. Back in March or April, during a particularly weak moment, I texted him to tell him that I missed his friendship. He in turn told me that my friendship had meant more to him than I would ever know. I couldn’t help but notice that he used past tense.

  It often occurred to me that despite how much I still missed him, and how badly I felt about the entire situation, how lucky I was to have the friends that I did. In an ideal world, he would have turned out to be the exact person who I fell in love with: a warm and compassionate man–an otherwise honest man–who just found himself stuck in an unhappy marriage. He just happened to meet someone at the wrong time, someone who completely turned him upside down and made him reconsider his entire path. He did that to me, so it wasn’t so hard for me to imagine. But in real life, he was the just the opposite. He was a vulture waiting to pick apart his next defenseless victim. My friends were patient enough to let me see that on my own. They continued picking up my pieces long after I saw his true colors, but still couldn’t manage to tear myself away. They were the friends who made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. They made fun of his age, his dramatic storytelling, his impotence. I mean, come on, you can’t go around acting like a gigolo when your shit don’t work. He became a massive joke to us all. I felt bad laughing at his expense, but it made me feel less stupid, sometimes. Even my therapy sessions became one-hour comedy shows as I always started off with, “Oh, you aren’t going to believe this one…” But that’s the thing about women. We can be catty and petty, but we rally together against a common enemy. And no woman likes a man taking advantage of her friend through lies and deception.

 

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