Reluctant Cuckold

by McManus, David

  “Oh, I know,” Ashley replied, “but Mark’s talking suburbia, and Camilla loves Chicago city life.”

  “Sure, I understand,” I said, “so how are things going with that conference? You haven’t mentioned it lately. Any updates?”

  “Not really. The CFO’s backed off somewhat on his hard-line stance, but we won’t really know until we get it officially budgeted.”

  “OK, so it’s not stressing you out as much as it was?”

  “No, it’s not in the positioning phase anymore, so it’s kind of out of our hands.”

  “Have things gotten better there in general, lately?”

  “How do you mean?” she asked curiously.

  “Like that rumor that was going around? Has that become a thing of the past?”

  “Yeah, I think to the people who matter, anyway.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t think upper management holds it against me, and I don’t think my boss does. It wasn’t a company event. People realize you have private lives.”

  “So no one says anything to you?”

  “Well no, of course not. I mean no one really did when it happened. It was Tamara who told me.”

  “Tamara told you?”

  “Yeah, that there was a rumor going around about us that Monday. And yeah, I started thinking I should get my résumé in order.”

  “It must have been horrible,” I said.

  “Oh, it was. I’m not the kind of girl who cries at work, but I was in meltdown mode. I went into the ladies room and cried like crazy that Monday.”

  I reached out and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure it must have been incredibly difficult.”

  “Well that first week was really hard. It’s embarrassing being gossiped about. And having to stand up and give a presentation to sales, knowing that they all had heard.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, “I don’t know how you handled that.”

  “Well, my boss has my back, and after the first week I realized something about myself.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, “what did you realize?”

  “That I wasn’t going to let something like that break me or bring me down. And my friends are still my friends. And upper management judges me on my performance and ability.”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean I’m not naïve,” she said.

  “Not naive about what?”

  “I’m not so naive to think people have forgotten what happened, and some people probably still do talk about me, but I’m not going to let it bother me. I’m like, ‘To hell with them.’ I’m not going to continue to be embarrassed. I’ve moved on.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Do you feel like people treat you differently?”

  “Some of the sales guys do, sure. Like they’ll flirt now, where they wouldn’t before. And I have a sixty-year-old client who I’m sure knows, because he’s a lot more flirtatious since.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I let it roll off me. It’s become a big-whatever.”

  “How about Jim?”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you have to interact with him? Is it weird?”

  “It was, and I was mega-pissed at him, obviously. But last week, he asked if we could take a walk and he groveled and apologized profusely.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just how terribly sorry he was, how he never intended for any rumors to start.”

  “So he admitted he started it?”

  “Yeah, but how that wasn’t his intention.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that when he was back out at the party, he told Chris and Greg—two sales guys who were there—what had happened in confidence.”

  “So later that night—like, afterwards—he told them? While at the party?”

  “Yeah, he said he wasn’t thinking and was buzzed and told them not to say anything. But then one of them told someone else and someone else told someone else. He was as surprised, upset and embarrassed to hear about it as I was. He said he was a monumental idiot and basically begged me to forgive him.”

  “What did you say back?”

  “Well, I could hold a grudge and avoid him forever, or I could just write it off as him being buzzed and in a moment of immaturity. And I don’t think he would have intentionally spread that story about me. So I forgave him.”

  “And things have been OK with him since?”

  “Yeah, we got past it. Things are cool with us now.”

  “That’s good,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. We ordered up two more martinis and I stared off at some random soccer game.

  “Well it’s been a bit weird and embarrassing for me as well,” I said.

  “How so?”

  “Well like when I got back from Vegas and hung out with your friends and Tamara—that was weird for me. I mean, I know how Tamara feels about me.”

  “What was weird?”

  “I just felt like a third wheel, like I got a ‘What’s he doing here’ vibe.”

  “Oh, not at all,” Ashley replied. “She even asked where you were. When I told her your flight was coming in, she said, ‘Tell Dave to swing by, it’d be good to see him.’ ”

  “Well, I get a sense she doesn’t like me much.”

  “She likes you, Dave. She even told me the other day that she was impressed with how maturely you’ve handled this.”

  “Well, it’s been awkward,” I said, “and it’s part of the reason I didn’t show up at that happy hour.”

  “The one where you had to work late?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you didn’t really have to work late?”

  “No, I did,” I said, “but that just kind of added to it.”

  “So are you not coming to the happy hour on Friday?”

  “No, I’m not saying that.”

  “What are you saying? That you’re going to avoid any of my work social functions?”

  “God no, Ashley, I wasn’t saying that at all. I was just saying that if I didn’t have to work late the last time, it would have been a little awkward seeing everyone is all.”

  “Well, you don’t have to go on Friday if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to go, Ashley, and I’ll be there for sure.”

  “I don’t want you to feel awkward.”

  “I’m OK with it, Ash” I said, as I took a big gulp of my martini. “Can I ask you one question, though?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  “I mean about that night, at the party—”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s nothing, really, no big deal, but I was just wondering, and I want to be able to talk openly about anything and everything and communication is key—”

  “OK?”

  “I was wondering, I mean if you don’t mind telling me, but at the party, I mean with him, did you have an orgasm that night?”

  Ashley look startled at first. Then she took my hand and said, “Wow, really, do you really want to know?”

  I nodded affirmative.

  “Yes, I did.”

  I looked away, then back at her, before asking, “Was it intense?”

  “Well, given that I had two, you could say that.”

  I nodded, straight-faced, like she had just told me what topping she likes on her pizza.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, it’s OK,” I replied.

  “No it’s not, I think this second martini combined with the sake is starting to hit me. I’m really sorry, I apologize.”

  “It’s OK,” I said. “You were being truthful, and that’s important.”

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I mean, it was good to talk through this.”

  “I appreciate you being understanding, I really do, Dave.”

  “Hey, I love you, Ash, nothing’s ever going to change that.”

  “I love you, too.”

>   “So there’s not going to be any karaoke bars this weekend in Jersey?” I said. “I know how Mark and Camilla fancy themselves American Idol wannabes.”

  “Tell you what,” Ashley replied, “I will feign laryngitis at the mere hint of that suggestion.”

  “OK, I like that,” I said. “So, who all else is going to be down there this weekend?”

  ****

  After we returned home, Ashley crashed out quickly. I went into the living room and saw that Mike was online.

  “Hey bro,” he wrote, “did you have the talk?”

  “Yeah, I did. We just got back a little while ago.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Not exactly great. And now I got myself roped into going to a work happy hour of hers on Friday. I don’t know how I can show my face there.”

  “Tell me what happened, Dave.”

  “I did what we talked about. After getting her to talk about her job, I asked if the rumor had become yesterday’s news.”

  “And?”

  “She said she was mortified at first, but then I got this whatever-doesn’t-kill-you-makes-you-stronger vibe from her.”

  “Well, that’s good, right?”

  “Yeah, but she said things are fine between Jim Murta and her now. He apologized and there’s no hard feelings. She’s forgiven him and moved on.”

  “So you think with her forgiving him, she might be interested in hooking up with him again?”

  “Well no, I wasn’t thinking that exactly—but sure, it’s more possible now. Then I said I was embarrassed by the whole thing, and that was part of why I didn’t show up to her last happy hour.”

  “OK and?”

  “Well, that set off conversational fireworks,” I typed. “She asked if I really didn’t have to work late, and I was all flustered, trying to explain myself.”

  “OK,” Mike replied, “I have some thoughts on that, but continue, Dave.”

  “Well I found myself in conversational retreat, with her asking, ‘So, you’re not going to go to any work functions with me?’ I said of course I would, and then agreed to go on Friday. You don’t know how embarrassing that is going to be.”

  “I take it this Jim Murta guy is going to be there?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’m assuming, and Tamara will be there and everyone there will know the rumor.”

  “OK, was there anything else?”

  “Yeah, I knew I had only one chance to get at the ‘Does it still resonate’ question, so I asked her if she had an orgasm.”

  “And?”

  “She said she had, and when I asked her if it was intense, she said, considering that she had a couple orgasms, you could say that.”

  “Hmm, OK.”

  “She apologized for telling me that, but yeah, she still said it.”

  “What did you say to that?”

  “I dropped it. I changed the subject. I didn’t know what else to say, and I didn’t want to put my foot in my mouth even more.”

  “OK, so now you have this happy hour to contend with?”

  “Yes, and I felt so checkmated. I don’t see any way of getting out of it, without Ashley reading bullshit now. I’m so fucked, man. I have no choice but to go.”

  “I understand your anxiety, but you’re not fucked, Dave. You’re going to be fine, believe me.”

  “Everyone’s going to look at me like, ‘That’s him, that’s Ashley’s chump husband.’ ”

  “I doubt they will, Dave, and any lowlife gawker who thinks that way isn’t worth sweating over. Just put your game face on, go on charm offensive, make a showing and that’s it.”

  “It’s just so humble pie humiliating.”

  “It’s only a couple of hours of your life, and don’t treat it like humble pie. Treat it like ‘fuck you.’ ”

  “Fuck you?”

  “Yes, fuck you,” Mike replied. “That’s right, you gossiping fucks, I’m not intimidated, I’m here. I could give a fuck what any of you think. I’ve got a killer job making kick-ass money and that hot girl over there is my wife. She comes home to me, and I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you petty people think.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but it’s more having to see the guy and shake his hand.”

  “Shake his hand if you have to, but dismiss him like the fucking peasant he is. He’s a junior salesman, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So remember that—the emphasis on junior. He had one random Haley’s Comet night getting lucky with your wife, and he was so immature as to blab. He’ll never have a chance again at what you have every night. Think ‘bravado,’ my friend.”

  “OK, I hear what you’re saying.”

  “Dave, you’re above their little petty peanut gallery. Fuck them! Don’t give two craps for two seconds about what they think. Just act like the strong, confident husband. Two hours later, you’ll be out of there. You can handle that, can’t you?”

  “When you put it that way, Mike, yeah, maybe I can.”

  “Sure you can. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow after work?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “I have a meeting on the west side that’ll be over by six-thirty. What do you say we meet up in your hood and get a drink and talk about this? I feel like we’re friends now, and it would be cool to actually meet you and have a drink in person, and talk more about this happy hour crap you have to deal with.”

  “Yeah, I guess I could meet for a beer.”

  “How does seven work? Yankees-Orioles are playing. You have a local place that’s cool?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I typed. “There’s a place on Amsterdam.”

  “What’s your cell, Dave? I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m out of my meeting.”

  I gave him my number and sent him a link to the bar.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I was nervous waiting for Mike, drinking a beer.

  He’d become a confidant, a counselor, the one person I could really talk to. Yet we’d never even talked on the phone. But we recognized each other instantly when he walked in, and he smiled broadly and gave me a hug.

  “It’s good to finally meet you bro,” he said, as he sat down beside me

  Mike was a tall guy, with a somewhat unkempt look, with his tie loosened, a Yankee cap on.

  “This is a chill place,” he said. “I like the TVs. Has the game started?”

  “No score,” I replied, “bottom of the first.”

  “To a new friend,” he said, as he clicked my beer.

  We small-talked for a good half-hour about the Yankees before Mike suggested we do a shot, and what did I want a shot of? “I’m buying,” he added.

  “So, you feeling any better about this happy hour?”

  “I’m just going to do what you said,” I replied, “cop a fuck-you attitude and just deal.”

  “Hold on bro. I don’t mean to be all fuck-you to people,” Mike said, “just to anyone who might snicker—and I doubt anyone will. Just act like you’re above any junior high school chatter. Exude Dave Martens confidence. Be gracious, magnanimous, like you’re there for your wife, and you’re above it all.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t mean I’d be flipping the bird to people.”

  Mike laughed.

  “I just meant,” I continued, “like if I have to see that Jim Murta guy, I’m going to say hello and move on.”

  “OK, hold on,” Mike said.

  “What?”

  “This little prick ratted out what happened and embarrassed your wife, right?”

  “Yeah, basically.”

  “And you feel weird or awkward about meeting him?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Dave, I am telling you, you have nothing to feel awkward about. He does.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “This little punk told his friends—like he was a fucking twelve-year-old. And he knows his kiss-and-tell gossip damaged the reputation of a director he works with. He knows you have every right to want to kick his moth
erfucker punk ass.”