Despite being a happily married man with three adorable children and a loving Labrador, I am standing by the window of the fifth floor apartment belonging to my mistress for the night. I have been visiting different women once a week for almost a year now in an attempt to get away from the boring monotony that is my home life. I have been married for three years now and, don’t get me wrong, at first it was nice to be forever committed to the one woman, but to be honest it got old fast.
So, you could say it was the danger of sneaking around behind my wife’s back that drove me to cheat again and again and again but recently the sense of danger has disappeared and been replaced by fear and paranoia. As Gabriella is in the bathroom slipping into something more comfortable (I hope it’s the small purple nightgown) I can’t help but stare out the window, thinking every passerby is someone I know and that every parked car is the red corvette my wife Sarah drives. I’m not sure how long I can keep this up.
It’s only around six in the evening; Sarah isn’t expecting me home ‘till nine. Excuses are becoming harder and harder to come up with. Tonight I am wining and dining an important client,again. Over the past month few months I have entertained many important clients and attended many late night conferences at city centre hotels. Over time she has begun to ask more questions and stories became more elaborate and harder to remember when I’m questioned perhaps a week after the supposed event took place. I think she suspects.
*
Tonight has been wonderful, as Gabriella makes sure is always the case. A bottle or two of the finest wines in California followed by a good couple of hours of passionate lovemaking, making me forget all my problems. Now, sadly, it’s come to an end and I must begin my walk home. I normally take the path through the park as it’s the quickest way back, however tonight I felt like taking my time, not wanting to go home.
A child sits on a bench. Two buses pull up and drive away and still the child sits on the bench. The sun is sinking, the moon is rising, night is arriving. Out of the corner of my eye I see the child looking at me, and I panic. It’s Jake, my eldest, what’s he doing here? A quick check and I realize it’s my imagination, a cruel trick being played on my by the copious amounts of wine consumed earlier in the evening.
Almost half past nine and I find myself sitting on a bench in the park drowning my worries in yet more wine (a bottle of New Zealand’s finest Chardonnay) purchased not five minutes ago but already half empty. I sit there feeling sorry for myself, hoping that the smell of alcohol will mask the sweet scent of Gabby’s perfume, but not having the courage to test my theory. I don’t drink much, or at least I didn’t think I did. I always described myself as a social drinker, a bottle of wine with dinner and perhaps another before bed, but never a third. Now, as I sip the dregs of my third, maybe fourth, bottle of wine this evening I realize I am a raging alcoholic. What a night.
*
“I can’t be your second or third choice. You have to decide whether you want to commit to this relationship!”
I knew I was shouting now but I didn’t care. The kids were at school, the dog was asleep and I am confident the neighbours can’t hear, but to be honest I don’t care if they hear me or not. Apparently she has been seeing other men for months, right under my nose. This is my chance to make her feel guilty enough that she couldn’t possibly suspect me of sleeping with other women.
“I think you need to leave, take some time out to think, go to your sisters. I can’t take this right now, with all this pressure at work and...I never thought you’d do this to me.”
As I casually walked out the front door, leaving her sobbing and pleading for forgiveness, I knew I’d covered my tracks pretty well. There is no way she can accuse me of cheating after this. I’m seeing Gloria tonight and I can finally let go of the paranoia that has been preventing me from visiting another woman since that night a few weeks ago at Gabby’s.
A glass of California’s finest is a must.