The Long Fall

by Daniel Quentin Steele

  "Lance, don't even joke like that. That's how ugly rumors get started. Let someone in the office see that, or if someone at my house were to see it, and they wouldn't know that we're just good friends. You know that you can't tell a person's tone of voice from a computer screen. I know you're joking, but my husband wouldn't. I'd die, God, if he ever thought I was even flirting with you."

  And in his next, he wrote, "Sorry, Deb. You know I would never do anything to cause you embarrassment. I wasn't thinking. You and I both know you're the hottest woman on this campus, but I don't mess with married woman and I know you love your husband from everything you've ever said to me. I won't tease like that anymore."

  I thought about what I'd read. It was perfectly innocent except for the initial flirtatious hint and she had shut him down immediately. I didn't know why, but I was sure this was the dark haired young man that had dropped her off at our house that night.

  But while it was innocent on the surface, perhaps it was my dark prosecutor's heart digging for the dirt underneath innocent words, I sensed a friendship that went beyond normal colleagues, at least on Debbie's part. And Lance wouldn't be the first single guy to swear to a hot married woman that he would never mess with a married woman – until she fell into his bed.

  So I continued reading forward.

  Two months ago: Deb to Lance: "I can't thank you enough for helping me with that evaluation project. It would have taken me another month without your help. And you don't get anything from it except my thanks because it goes under my name. I feel bad about taking advantage of your good nature. You should be out dating and chasing young girls, not wasting hour after hour doing work I should be doing at home. But if I tried to do it all myself, I'd never see my kids at all."

  Lance to Deb: "De nada. I'd probably be getting drunk and into trouble chasing women if I wasn't doing this to help you. Keeps me out of trouble. And I feel good about giving you more time with your kids, and with your husband of course."

  Deb to Lance: "My kids. Bill is more interested in what's on TV than what I'm doing. He comes home and the first thing he does is plop down in front of what he calls our TV Big Screen From Hell. Sometimes I think he gets more excited by that than me. Oops...I didn't mean that. It's just that..."

  Lance to Deb: "I understand. You guys have been married a long time. And he's what- 40 or 45? Guys slow down when they hit that age. I have a hard time imagining anyone preferring to watch television rather than spend time with you, but...I'm a kid. When I hit 30 I'll probably feel differently."

  Deb to Lance: :) You child you. Somehow, when I see you walking around the campus I don't think of you as a child. :) Anyway (blushing) I can't see you ever letting yourself go the way Bill has. I tried to get him to join a gym with me but he keeps saying he doesn't have the time. He's gotten that middle aged spare tire. I never really believed you could bounce a quarter off a guy's abs, but what you did at that party last month blew my mind. I can't ever see you with a spare tire. And on that blushing note, I've got to go to bed."

  Lance to Deb: "Sweet dreams, Deb."

  Deb to Lance: "You forget I ever wrote this, but if I keep thinking about your abs I'll have some really sweet dreams. Night."

  I sat there after reading that exchange and wondered if I wanted to keep reading. Short of saying she wanted to suck his dick, I couldn't imagine any way she would be more open about wanting him. And the son of a bitch knew what he was doing when he put me down as an over-the-hill lover. And my sweet loyal wife instead of defending me basically told him she wanted his abs over my middle aged middle.

  I kept reading.

  A month ago:

  Deb to Lance: "Sorry I didn't have a chance to talk with you today. I was jammed. I've really enjoyed our lunches. To be honest, the day doesn't seem near as much fun when we can't meet for an hour or so. But, there's always tomorrow. Did you hear the latest bit of hot gossip?"

  Lance to Deb: "I missed you too. Don't take this the wrong way, but you know you're eye-candy, right. That's what the kids call it. Even if we're only friends, I still like looking at you. I'm a pig. I plead guilty. And as to the gossip, I assume you're talking about Professor Amarilla and Coach Johansen?"

  Deb to Lance: Yes, could you believe it. In his office, no less. They said that her husband burst in on them – in the middle of – you know - consummating things. I've met her. She's pretty, but old! She must be in her 50s and Johansen is only, what, 35 or 40? The story I've heard is that her husband threw her out and she's moved in with Johansen."

  Lance to Deb: You mean fucking, don't you, Deb? I don't mean to shock you, but the story I heard is that Johansen is huge and was pounding her to a pulp and even after her husband barged in there she told him to get out until she was through! :) She must have really enjoyed what he was doing.

  Deb to Lance: That's indelicate, Lance, you pig. :) But you're right. Consummating is like....what Bill and I do. Oh, God, I can't believe I wrote that. But...it's been so long since I've been really FUCKED that sometimes I forget what it was like. I think we used to have that, if I can remember that far back. But now...Bill was never huge to be honest, but the last few years I think he's shrunk. I'll kill you if you ever let a word of this slip. And he gets winded in five or six minutes.

  "I feel guilty even telling you this, but I can't talk to him about it. And sometimes I think I'll scream if I can't tell somebody what's happening – or not happening – in my life. I don't know how I made it through the days before we met. I can be honest with you, because we're not married, or lovers. We're friends, and a friend is what I need now."

  Lance to Deb: You know you can tell me anything, Deb. I wish I could help you. I mean, physically. I'll never push it any further than you say, but you're too beautiful a woman to have to play with yourself to achieve a climax. Does he know you use the vibrator when he's not around?"

  Deb to Lance: "No, and he never will. How can I tell him he doesn't do it for me in bed anymore; hasn't for a long time. That I have to use a big vibrator and shove it in there way further than he ever gets to climax. I fake it with him, but sometimes I think he must be able to tell the difference."

  Lance to Deb: "You think you'll be able to go on like this forever?"

  Deb to Lance: "What choice do I have? We've been married for 18 years. We have two children. He's done everything he can to keep me happy. I know there nothing in this world I could ask him to do for me that he wouldn't do. The hell of it is, he's such a good man. And I should love him a lot more than I do. Don't misunderstand me, I do love him. Even though you and I flirt sometimes, and maybe I carry it further than a middle aged married woman should, I know you know that I love him. If it wasn't that I loved him, I'd –"

  Lance to Deb: "Don't say it. Don't write it. I know what you're thinking. But, I know you love him. You love him, not me. And I'm not going to be the guy that breaks you two up."

  Deb to Lance: "I know you could have...well, you know…if you were an asshole like a lot of the younger guys around here are. But you've been a gentleman, a good man. That's why I like you so much. I'll just say that I hope you know just how special a friend you've become. And now I'll sign off."

  I thought the screen had suddenly become blurry and then I realized my eyes were filled with tears. It was one of those moments when you wonder why you can't just have a heart attack and get it over with.

  My wife was falling, had fallen, in love with another man. The beautiful blonde I'd cum inside of for so many years wanted another man's cock inside her. She all but admitted it. And he knew he could have her, and I knew and I knew she knew he was going to have her. She was just trying to gather the courage to fall into his bed. And once that happened, our marriage was over.

  The asshole was 10 years younger than me, had rock hard abs and my wife drooling over him and admiring his restraint for not throwing her down and fucking her. Jesus, he had her every which way. And I was a fat, balding, middle-aged bore whose dick had shrunk to the point that I
couldn't even get my wife off anymore. There wasn't even any suspense here.

  I forced myself to keep reading. There weren't many incriminating messages after that last one. Then I found one from Deb to her Lancelot dated two weeks ago.

  Deb: "I'm sorry I didn't come by for lunch today, Lance. I meant to call and give you some lie about being busy or something coming up at the last minute, but then I found I just couldn't lie to you like that. We've become TOO good friends. You deserve the truth.

  "I've decided we need to cool it, back up a bit. I know that you consider me a friend, but I also know you're sexually attracted to me. That's flattering. You're a hunk, a beautiful young hunk, and you have no idea how much you've flattered my ego by flirting with me. But I always made it clear that I was a married woman – a faithful married woman.

  "Notice I didn't say a happily married woman. You know me too well for me to say that. I've been a lot more honest with you about my marriage and the problems we're having than I should have been, than I would have been with anybody else.

  "The worst of it is, I feel so much closer to you than I do to Bill. He's my husband, but he doesn't even know our marriage is dying slowly. He's clueless. Such a smart, smart man, so skillful in the courtroom, but in real life, in our marriage, he's a loser. He's lost my lust, and my respect and slowly he's losing my love.

  "I feel like an animal caught in a trap. I've tried a thousand times to think of some way to start breathing life back into our relationship, our marriage. I've thought about trying to invigorate our sexual life. But...dammit, I'm not that good an actress. I fake orgasms all the time, but I can't fake excitement. And he doesn't excite me anymore.

  “He's gone to pot and his dick doesn't feel or look as big and hard as it was. He doesn't get anywhere near as excited as I remember. He used to strip me and throw me down and fuck me hard. Now, he squeezes my breasts, licks me and then rolls on and pumps for a little while, gets off, and rolls over.

  "It doesn't matter how smart he is, or how good an attorney, as a man, a male animal, he is not satisfying me anymore. And hasn't for a long, long time. I wonder sometimes, if he even misses the hot sex we used to have. I think maybe he's content to be a father and a successful attorney and climb off and on me once or twice a month and get his rocks off.

  "I always knew he was – sedate – dull I guess. He wasn't a party animal in college, and I used to love dancing and partying, the more the better. But it's gotten worse as he's gotten older. He has to be dragged to parties and he only goes when there's some political reason to be seen there. He doesn't dance, or doesn't like to.

  "I've made a life without him. A lot of times when I tell him I'm at a faculty meeting, I'm out with some girls from school, or girls and guys like the times we've gone out dancing. I haven't done anything wrong, but I want to be someone other than a wife and mother for a few hours. I want to have men look at me and admire me. I wish to God I wanted him to be one of those men, but I really don't care anymore. I don't think of him that way.

  "I can't fake being excited in bed and I can't tell him I've been going out and partying without him, even though I haven't done anything wrong with men, because what do I say when he asks me why I lied about where I was going? Do I tell him I'm happier when he's not around? It's the truth, but it would go over like a lead balloon.

  "Anyway, Dear Friend, I didn't mean to write a novel here. I just wanted to let off some steam and let you know why we won't be having lunch or seeing each other much anymore. Somehow, somehow I feel like things are getting ready to explode, to change. I don't know how. I don't know what I might do. But I don't think I can go on much longer like this.

  "And if – if the worst, or best, happens and I'm not married in a few months or more, I don't want you to be anywhere near the wreckage. I don't want anybody, Bill or my kids, or our friends, to suspect that our relationship, our friendship, had anything to do with my marriage ending.

  "Because it didn't. You've been a gentleman and a friend when I needed a friend. You will always have a piece of my heart and if I – somehow – work things out with Bill, I will never forget you and I hope you go on to have a happy life. Your friend always, Debbie."

  I must have sat there for hours because the next thing I knew, the quality of the light coming in from outside had changed. I glanced at the clock. It was 6 p.m. I don't even know what I'd been thinking about during those hours. I think I must have been envisioning the way my life was going to turn out.

  I wondered what it would be like coming home to an empty house or apartment when Debbie was with another man. What it would be like to see my kids only occasionally and I wasn't even sure that would happen. What would it be like to lie in a bed and for the first time in half my life, lie there alone and not hear her breathing beside me? What would it be like not to be able to put a hand out and rest it on the soft skin of her arm or shoulder. How would I shop for groceries for just me?

  Little things, but after 20 years, they were as important as the sex. She had been a part of my entire life, and losing her was going to be like having a part of my body torn out and ripped away.

  Because I had no doubt now, there wasn't going to be an 'us' in the future. There wouldn't be a Maitland family living in a comfortable Mandarin home. That was history. And now I knew why in her mind our marriage was already a part of her past.

  Somehow I made myself come alive again. I batch printed out copies of all emails to and from her for the last six months, including the pertinent emails to and from Lance. Not that I needed them for any legal reason.

  Adultery isn't a factor in divorces today, at least not in Florida where no-fault divorces have been the law of the land for over a generation and she could even claim that she hadn't even been having an emotional affair with another man. I could argue it was an affair, but so what. She apparently hadn't slept with the guy, hadn't fucked him, maybe kissed him a few times. It didn't make any difference.

  I knew I should confront her with the emails. Make her admit that she had fallen in love with the guy, or least had fallen out of love with me. But again, so what? If she admitted it, what difference would it make? I'd lost her.

  Oh, I could fight to force us into counseling, try to slow things down enough to give me a chance to woo her again.

  But who was I kidding? With what I knew now, counseling wouldn't make a difference. And I thought she'd just laugh if I tried to play the stud in bed. Every time I was with her I'd see that mental image of her lusting over Lance's flat abs and comparing them to my old man's belly. And if I could work up a decent erection, I'd lose it at that point.

  By 8 p.m. neither Bill Jr. nor Kelly had shown. I called the homes where they were staying and was told their mother had picked them up. She'd obviously taken them to her parents to spend the weekend. Great. I'd have the place to myself.

  I sat in front of the dark TV from Hell and tried to think of what I wanted to do. I felt like a turtle that little boys had picked up and placed on its back. I could spin around, but I couldn't move, couldn't advance and couldn't retreat.

  When I did start moving, I amazed myself. I found myself going up to our bedroom, pulling two suitcases out of a closet and then systematically putting in enough pants, shirts, shoes, coats, and miscellaneous clothing items to go a couple of weeks without having to wear the same items twice.

  I filled the back of the Escalade and then went back in and got miscellaneous court files and computer discs. I did a second mass print of all Debbie's emails to make sure I didn't miss any and to have a copy in case anything happened to the first set, then wiped them off with a scrubber program that left no copies that anybody would ever be able to recreate.

  I thought about scrubbing Bill Jr.'s and Kelly's, but she would have expected me to be monitoring their computer use. I didn't think she'd ever expect me to be monitoring her, and if it hadn't been for the events of the last few days, I never would have looked at hers.

  I would have been much happier if I'd
never looked at them, of course, but I don't think anything would really have changed in the long run, except she probably would have completely blindsided me when she left and it would have hurt me even more.

  The very last thing I did before leaving and locking up was to go into the bathroom. With the aid of Vaseline and a lot of torque that took the skin off underneath the ring, I managed to get my wedding band off. I had gained so much weight in the last nearly 20 years that the knuckle had swollen and the flesh of my finger almost encased the metal. But with only a little bloodshed, I managed to twist it off.

  I grabbed a piece of blank copy paper out of the copier attached to the main desktop and scrawled a few words on it. Then I put my ring, and some of my blood, on it and closed the lights of our bedroom.

  I locked the house behind me. I'd turned off all the lights and only a dark hulk of a building remained. I had lived there for almost 10 years with my wife and children and I really didn't think I'd be coming back. As I drove the dark night streets to downtown I tried to figure out what I was feeling. But I was just numb.

  I made my way downtown, past the courthouse and legal complex on the St. Johns River, past the Sheriff's Office called the CopShop by everybody except the Sheriff and drove two blocks further down, then turned to the river side of the road. The very expensive Riverfront Condos were located here and our office kept one rented at all times in case an SA, witness, or anybody else needed to stay over. As one of the three head SAs, I kept a key to the condo on my key ring and let myself in.

  I looked at the doorknob which I had opened with my left hand. Shit, there was blood all over it. I must have torn my ring finger up a lot more than I thought when I was getting it off. I went into the bathroom and washed the finger off, found a bottle of rubbing alcohol under the sink, and cursed for a few minutes after I liberally doused my abraded flesh.

  Then I walked back out to the car, unloaded and lastly threw my body onto the bed. I had enough energy to get most of my clothes off and fell asleep watching one of the cable news shows on a little/big screen television in the corner dressed only in cotton underwear and a t-shirt. I listened to them describe the machinations of Cardinals in Rome as they maneuvered to take the post of the revered Jon Paul II who had died earlier in the month.