The Marriage Pact
M.J. Pullen
June 2011
Atlanta, GA
The Marriage Pact
Copyright © 2011 by M.J. Pullen
Cover Art © 2011 by Marla Kaplan Design (www.marlakaplandesign.com)
All Rights Reserved.
Contact the Author:
[email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/MJPullenbooks
For my family, with love.
The Marriage Pact
Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart.
-- Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue – Six Months Later
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Excerpt: Regrets Only
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Austin, Texas – April 2004
The morning of her thirtieth birthday, Marci Thompson left her 480 square foot apartment early and went to the dentist. Dr. Kim, the only dentist in Austin who had 7:00 a.m. appointments at the last minute, sang an off-key “Happy Birthday” while he poked and prodded in her mouth. His latex gloves tasted bitter, and his breath smelled of onions as he leaned over her. A pathetic start to a milestone birthday.
Her father, four states away in Georgia, was a dentist, so both Marci and her younger sister Nicole had always known that their birthdays were a deadline for getting an annual checkup. Without fail, Nicole had her cleaning done and a full report submitted to their father at least a month in advance every year. Marci, however, was a habitual procrastinator. This meant she was invariably scrambling to make a dental appointment the week, or morning, of her birthday.
Putting off the cleaning until the last minute also meant missing her private tradition of hot coffee and birthday pancakes with gobs of blueberry syrup. She longed to be at a window booth at Kerbey Lane Café, not in a sterile office with a mouth full of instruments and Dr. Kim noting the impact her coffee consumption had on her teeth. But this was the only thing her dad still demanded of his daughters and they obeyed, year after year, despite living hundreds of miles away from home.
She escaped Dr. Kim’s office with a clean report and ran to catch the 8:13 bus. When she unearthed her phone from the mess in her purse, there were three messages waiting. Nicole, living in DC with her fiancé Ravi, wished Marci a happy birthday and announced that she’d just dropped a card in the mail, with pictures of several wedding cakes on which she wanted Marci’s prompt and honest opinion.
In the second message, her mother sang, too, though better than Dr. Kim. In the background, her dad chimed in and yelled that he’d be calling later to ask about her teeth. “Oh, Arthur!” her mother scolded. “She’s turning thirty today. I think she can handle taking care of her own teeth!” Then, in a quiet undertone, she murmured into the phone, “Please do get your checkup, sweetheart. You know how your father is about it...”
The final message was the soft drawl of her best friend Suzanne, who still lived in Atlanta but called from a hotel room in Chicago, where she was helping put on a large party for one of her corporate clients. “Enjoy your big three-oh, darling! Love you much!” The message was well intended, but artificially perky. Marci knew Suzanne was not a morning person, but tried to pretend for the sake of her profession. And birthdays, apparently.
All three sweet and thoughtful. All three long distance. With one exception, these were the most personal birthday wishes she would receive all day. Marci felt very loved and somehow alone at the same time. She was so lost in this reflection that she almost missed the stop for her temp job.
The lobby of the high rise that housed T, D, L & S Advertising (named for its founders Teague, Dodgen, Lane & Stanton) was decorated in a style that could only be described as ‘cowboy formal.’ Deeply polished mahogany walls and exquisite marble floors were accented with cowhide rugs, leather furniture, and wrought iron shaped into Texas’ signature five-pointed stars. Between the elevators, a cluster of native wildflowers was gathered in a crystal vase shaped like a boot. Only in Texas did this juxtaposition of rustic simplicity and aristocratic excess fit together.
Marci could not resist the temptation to stare at her distorted reflection in the polished brass doors as she waited for them to open. Her frizzy brown curls were their usual mess. She had put on at least ten pounds since January, and her black polyester pencil skirt strained across her ass, which she hoped looked broader in the reflection than in real life. Behind her, she heard the confident clack of tiny heels as Candice from human resources strode toward the elevator in a flowing pastel skirt and peasant blouse, with a wispy tan scarf that did not match, but somehow worked. Marci envied women who seemed to know what they were doing when it came to clothes.
“Hi, Marci. How’s it going?”
“Great, thanks.” Marci tried to sound chipper. Candice had been her first contact at T, D, L & S when she came from the temp agency and still signed her timesheets, so in a certain light she was technically a sort of supervisor, though Marci rarely saw her.
“Wonderful,” Candice said politely. “Victoria tells me you’re quite an asset over there.”
“Thanks, I’m...” She looked for words that were both positive and truthful. “I’m glad to be useful.” It occurred to Marci that the petite HR manager was about five years her junior. With a perfunctory smile, Candice returned her gaze to the shiny doors, indicating her expectation that the conversation was over. Marci fidgeted with her knit blouse, trying to stretch it down to cover more of the bulge around her waistline. She was struck with feeling bulky and sloppy, and beneath genuine notice of someone whose career and life were on track at twenty-five.
With a heavy sigh, she entered the elevator behind Candice, catching a faint whiff of clean-smelling perfume as she did. Marci hadn’t even owned a bottle of perfume for at least three years. She might’ve spent longer contemplating this further evidence of un-femininity if Candice had not reached out quickly to keep the doors from closing.
“Hurry up, Doug!” Candice called out playfully. Marci felt a thrill run through her. The insecurities that had been piling up just seconds before were erased entirely as a familiar brown loafer stepped onto the carpeted elevator floor. He was wearing pressed khaki chinos, a blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and sunglasses on top of his head. He smelled amazing.
“Hey Candice, what’s up?” he said, smiling at the HR manager, and then tossed Marci a quick wink and said, “Good morning, Megan.” She nodded and suppressed a shy grin, her cheeks burning. Originally a mistake, Megan had become a pet name, their little inside joke. Sometimes people corrected him when he said it at the office, but today Candice did not seem to notice.
“Are you coming to the happy hour today?” Candice asked him.
“Not sure yet,” Doug said noncommittally. With a grin directed equally at the two of them, he added, “I’m a busy guy, you know.”
“You should come; it’
s going to be fun,” she implored. His glance at Marci must’ve reminded Candice that they were not alone in the elevator, because she hurriedly added, “Of course, you’re welcome to come, too. It’s 5:30 at Maudie’s.”
She thanked Candice, even though she’d already been invited by Jeremy in the cubicle next to hers, and the elevator doors opened. In a flash the chambray shirt was on its way to the corner office near the production area (“the creatives,” they were called), while Marci and Candice disembarked toward the administrative end of the office. A long day of filing and data entry awaited, and she felt disappointed that she and Doug hadn’t been able to exchange anything but glances.
At noon, she stalled with a stack of files in the copy room to avoid an invitation to lunch with the rest of the accounting department. She liked her coworkers, despite the oppressive dullness of the work. Her supervisor, Victoria, was the kind of woman who in her late-30s seemed married to her career and religious about her daily routines. But as long as Marci did her work carefully and on time, she was a reasonable boss and always cordial.
Two other chatty women in the department kept a running tab on all the office gossip, always ready to share some juicy tidbit with anyone who would listen, but never expressing any interest in Marci herself. Finally, there was Jeremy. Hired just a year earlier, he bent over backwards to include Marci in all department lunches and conversations. She was never sure whether his efforts were because he had a crush on her or just because she was the closest to him in age and social availability. Whatever the case, it was her birthday and she didn’t want to make small talk over salads today.
When she heard Victoria and Jeremy’s voices drift safely toward the elevators, she made a few more copies and then returned to her desk to wait. She had not been able to talk to Doug privately in a couple of days, so plans for her birthday had never really materialized. But about once every two weeks, they managed to get away together during the lunch hour, almost always for the short drive back to her place, and she now realized she not only hoped this would happen today, she’d counted on it.
Marci shuffled the files a few times, sorted her inbox unnecessarily, and straightened the supplies in her desk. She tried to do some data entry, but found she could not concentrate and kept having to go back and erase the invoice numbers she had put in the system and start over. All the while, she kept glancing over her cubicle, hoping to see Doug’s smile emerge any second.
By 12:40, she was restless and hungry. She decided to check her e-mail, and glanced around the department to make sure she was alone. Personal e-mail was strongly discouraged at the firm, and absolutely forbidden by the temp agency, so she rarely risked it. Even though she had only ever checked it briefly while on a break, she was plagued by a fear of being called to a meeting with some IT person, who would have a stack of documentation of her errant internet using ways.
Her Hotmail account had thirty-two new messages. At least half were automated e-mails from online retailers wishing her a happy birthday with 10% off and free shipping. There were a few e-cards from friends, which she decided to open later. A couple of notifications from writing listservs of which she was a member, but somehow never made time to read. A forward chain e-mail from Suzanne’s grandmother, alerting her that her UPS delivery driver might be a member of Al Qaeda. A sale on her favorite jeans at the Plus-Size outlet store. A happy birthday from her chiropractor.
As she neared the bottom of the highlighted portion of her inbox, she saw the first new message had been sent at 12:01 a.m. from Jake Stillwell, one of her best friends from college. Nothing was in the subject line, but she saw there was an attachment, and curiosity beat out her hesitance about the scary meeting with the IT guy. She clicked to open it, read the two short sentences Jake had included, and sat back while the image loaded on the screen. No. It couldn’t be. Had he really kept it?
The consternation must still have been visible on her face a few moments later when Doug’s head appeared around the side of her cubicle, because he stopped his momentum to ask, “Everything okay?” despite his obvious hurry. Startled, she lunged forward and clicked the windows closed, even though Doug certainly would not care that she was checking her e-mail from the office.
“It’s fine. I’m...fine,” she said.
“Okay, good. Listen, babe,” he began, and Marci looked around wide-eyed to make sure no one was around to hear the familiar term. He laughed at her panic, as usual. “I already checked—we’re alone, kiddo. “
Kiddo.
“I just came by to say I can’t go to lunch today. There’s a meeting at Motorola this afternoon—a big project we might be doing for them. I have to be there. Frank’s been really riding my ass about bringing in new clients lately...hey, are you sure you’re okay?” He looked genuinely concerned.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, pasting on a smile. “Just a weird e-mail from home.”
“Oh.” He seemed to be debating whether to go on, or wait for her to explain further. Not knowing what to say, Marci remained silent.
“Anyway, sweetheart, I’m sorry that I can’t go to lunch with you on your birthday. I promise I will make it up to you tonight. Cathy’s, um...” He hesitated, flustered, and then finished in a rush. Usually he avoided saying his wife’s name to Marci. “Well, I’m free for a while tonight.”
Without warning, he leaned down and kissed her. He had never so much as touched her hand in the office before, and her body tingled with the danger and excitement in response. Afterward, he kept his face close to hers. She smelled his clean skin, and somehow resisted the temptation to put her palm flat against the crisp white undershirt beneath the blue.
His voice in her ear was husky. “I really did want to take you to lunch.” His tone suggested eating lunch had probably not been on the agenda. Her heart pounded and she looked around wildly, expecting to see someone come around the corner at any second and find them in this pose, for which there was no feasible professional explanation. “I’ll find you later.” She closed her eyes, inhaling his scent. When she opened them, he was gone.
Two seconds later, Jeremy appeared at her desk. He tossed a small styrofoam box on her keyboard. “Where were you? We went to Guero’s.”
His obvious disappointment that she had missed lunch was flattering, and she smiled at him. “I got caught here, making copies.”
“Well, here you go. Happy birthday.”
“Oh, how did you...?”
“I overheard you mention it on the phone yesterday. Sorry if that was eavesdropping. I’m not a creep, I promise.” His tone was eager and solicitous, as always. Marci opened the box and found a rich-looking chocolate layer cake with some sort of raspberry sauce drizzled over the top. “I know how much you love chocolate,” he said proudly.
Jeremy reminded Marci of a golden retriever who had just dropped a treasured chew toy at her feet and wanted a pat on the head. She thanked him for the cake and gave him a quick hug. She really was grateful, because Victoria had just come back to the office with the rest of the team, and Marci’s stomach growled menacingly.
The afternoon passed at a snail’s pace. Marci didn’t know at any point whether Doug was back in the office or still out at Motorola. Sometimes she helped with filing or other tasks that brought her to the production side of the office, which she always enjoyed. Not only did those days put her in a position to interact with Doug, but that side of the office had a wall of windows with a spectacular view of Town Lake.
But more than that, it brought her into the midst of the writers and designers, who did the work she was desperate to do herself. Nine months earlier, that had been her initial incentive for taking this assignment; the staffing agency had insisted it would be a great way to get her foot in the door as a copywriter. She had jumped at the chance, even though this job paid two dollars less per hour than any other temp job. Marci knew that the more often she could show her face on the production side, the more likely they would be to think of her for entry-level opportunities
.
But no such luck today. None of the other departments had requested her help, so she plodded along entering invoices into the accounts receivable database. Her mind drifted to Doug frequently, and her excitement that he would be free tonight. She wondered what was pulling Cathy away.
Since the unexpected start of their relationship five months earlier, Marci had tried hard to block thoughts of Cathy from her mind. Primarily because they made her feel like a horrible person, somewhere beneath pond scum and dog feces. But lately a kind of morbid curiosity had begun to overtake her when she and Doug were together. Perhaps it was a self-preservation instinct, but she couldn’t help but question whether Cathy really believed the explanations for Doug’s frequent absences and whether his excuses were really as believable as he seemed to think. Also, she had met Cathy now, and that had certainly made a difference.
About six or seven weeks before, Marci had been asked to fill in for the flu-ridden secretary to two of the account managers. This put her at one of the fancy wooden cubicles in the more public part of the office, and just a few offices away from Doug and the rest of the vice presidents. She liked working for Elena and Tracy, the account managers, and actually enjoyed spending time interacting with customers and taking messages. And it was nice to be able to see the office running, with people back and forth all the time, discussing creative choices and arguing about visual impact.
When Cathy had initially walked in, Marci had not recognized her. Pictures from their wedding fifteen years ago were on Doug’s desk, and a couple of other occasions early in their life together, but the few times Marci had been in his office she had resisted the urge to study those pictures. Cathy had also evolved, apparently, from her natural nutmeg-colored, frizzy hair to a slick-straight light brown with blonde highlights. Marci supposed the more polished look was a perk of being married to one of the most successful advertising executives in Austin.
The Marriage Pact Page 1
