Travails of a Trailing Spouse

by Stephanie Suga Chen

  “Like, I had to call the place and make up a story that I had gone home and looked at the schedule and realised swimming lessons wouldn’t fit and asked if they could refund my money,” Sara said sheepishly.

  “Oh my lord!” Ashley said, flabbergasted.

  “Do your husbands ever tell you you’re spending too much money?” Sara asked, yet again the centre of attention due to her husband’s unusual behaviour.

  She looked around the table and the answer was obvious. Sarah had supported Jason all through grad school and when he was making peanuts as a postdoc; the substantial savings they had accumulated were all from her, or, to be fair, 90% from her.

  Ashley was, well, Ashley. She knew how she wanted to run her home and there was no arguing over it, and actually, that suited Chad just fine; as long as he got a roll in the hay a couple of times a week, he was happy, she said, winking at the other women.

  “A couple of times a week!” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Ah, to be young again. Jason’s lucky if he gets some action twice a month! I mean, we’ve been together for almost 15 years. Although, I would have to say,” she said, tilting her head, and lowering her voice a little, “since we’ve moved here, he does seem to be unusually frisky; something about his new position in power is making him feel more virile or something – ”

  “ – must be the heat,” Carys said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  Sara suddenly said, “Well, John and I don’t have sex.”

  There was a pause in the conversation.

  “Never?” Sarah asked. The other two waited for clarification.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t even know how to say this…” Sara started.

  Sarah wanted to say something, to combat the unease, but let her friend continue.

  “Well, I think John’s been sleeping with prostitutes since before we got married,” Sara said flatly.

  “Jesus, what?” Sarah asked awkwardly – that was certainly not what she had expected the other woman to say – at the same time that Ashley called out, “That pig!”

  Carys, suddenly quite British, blinked a few times, but didn’t say anything.

  Sara continued, “Well, we’ve never really been that ‘active’; I was already over 30 when we met, then pregnant twice, you know? Except for when we were trying to have the boys, it just wasn’t a big thing in our marriage.”

  “I assumed John just wasn’t that into it, either,” she continued. “But he was going on those solo trips – long weekends to Mexico, for example – every few months. I think he probably just gets his fix during those trips.” She seemed remarkably unruffled.

  “But you don’t know for sure, right?” Sarah said. “Maybe it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

  Sara shook her head, saying that there were other signs, too. About a year ago, she had been looking through John’s credit card statements – they kept separate cards and bank accounts – because she needed to return a grill they had purchased that wouldn’t light, and saw a $900 charge for something called “Denver After Midnight”. She thought it might have been an error, as John hated to spend money, especially at what sounded like an expensive club. She went online and discovered, to her dismay, that it was in fact an escort service, with the website advertising “Denver’s hottest” in neon lettering set on a blurred black-and-white background photograph of a row of lithe women posing seductively.

  Sara said she had tried to convince herself that maybe it had been for a bachelor party for one his buddies, but she couldn’t recall him mentioning anything about such an event, nor any recent or upcoming weddings. She matched the date up with her calendar and saw that it was the weekend she had taken Ethan to visit her parents in Los Angeles by herself, when John had supposedly gone up to the cabin in the woods they shared with a group of his friends, to get things set up for the winter season.

  “But you didn’t say anything to him at all? So there could have been an explanation?” Sarah was trying hard to reach a different conclusion.

  But as the words came out, she remembered one of the first times they had met John, when he had talked about how he and one of his colleagues had gone to Jax, a bar in the basement of one of the hotels on Orchard Road that was renowned for its ’90s music and abundance of working girls. He had made a comment that he had found it very “amusing”, a word choice Sarah had thought at the time was odd; now, with this new information, it made more sense.

  Sara looked at her solemnly and said, “I may be a little green, but I’m not stupid. I think it was one of only a few times he slipped up. I mean, think about it, he goes away all the time, to places like Mexico and the Philippines, and I have no way to reach him… the whole ‘me time’ thing – ”

  “ – ‘me time’ bullshit, you mean,” Ashley cut in.

  “Yeah, right, bullshit,” Sara agreed. “Then three weeks ago, when he got back from the Philippines…”

  The other three women waited in silent anticipation.

  Sara went on to elaborate that a couple of days after John got back from the Philippines, their helper, Aileen, had approached her, embarrassed, asking her into the back laundry area in a low voice. Jakey was the only other person home, and he was strapped into his high chair being fed lunch by Sara, but Aileen had a tendency to be dramatic. Sara had followed her, asking in an exasperated tone, “What, Aileen?”

  The older woman slowly reached into the front pocket of her apron and pulled out two condoms, unused in their wrappers, and handed them over to Sara, not meeting her eyes, saying, “Ma’am, I find these in Sir’s pocket.”

  Sara, who was still holding Jakey’s spoon in her left hand, grabbed the shiny squares from Aileen with her right hand, mumbled out a “thanks”, and walked back into the kitchen. Aileen had bowed her head and returned to transferring the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.

  “Oh my God, did you say anything else to her?” Sarah asked.

  “No, we haven’t talked about it since. I mean, I’m pretty sure she thinks they were just ours. She was embarrassed just finding them. She didn’t make the leap that they were meant to be used with other women. It just pissed me off that John was so careless. I’d just rather not have it rubbed in my face,” Sara said. She had been extraordinarily calm throughout the entire telling.

  “So, yeah, we don’t have sex,” she concluded. “Like, I’m not even on the pill. I’m just not that into it; actually it kind of hurts sometimes.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?” Sarah asked, trying to be helpful. “It could be a sign of something else.”

  “No, but I guess I should, shouldn’t I?” Sara sighed.

  “Maybe that would make you enjoy it more?” Ashley suggested.

  “Maybe, but since he’s getting it elsewhere, I kind of figure it doesn’t really matter. But he’s a good person, I mean, a really good person; he provides for our family, he’s good to me, and our boys – ”

  “ – how is he good to you, exactly?” Ashley interrupted again.

  “Well, he let me take a break from working while we’re here…” Sara started.

  “… but he’s already pushing you to go back to work,” Sarah said, cautiously.

  “Yes, but that’s because of financial reasons. I know he would never leave us. Never, ever. He’s hard-working, always willing to pitch in, he is supporting his mother and his sister, who has mental issues…” she trailed off.

  “What kind of mental issues?” Carys asked, although it was neither here nor there.

  “She’s bipolar; basically, John manages her finances, sometimes gives her money if she needs it,” Sara explained.

  “He’s a good guy,” she said again, emphasising every word.

  The group was at a loss. They had all heard the stories of sordid expat affairs, husbands running off with their helpers, wild stag parties in Cambodia, painful divorces, but this was something else altogether – and their friend was being so matter-of-fact about the whole situation.

  “Can we do anything for you?” C
arys asked, gently. Sarah made a mental note to try to be more like Carys, the picture of propriety and calm.

  “No, nothing, I guess. But thanks for listening, girls,” Sara said. She seemed more resigned than angry or upset. “I mean, obviously, don’t say anything to John. I assume you’ll tell your husbands, but tell them not to say anything, please.” She knew how marriages worked, at least in that respect.

  chapter 9

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CS

  AFTER SARA-WITHOUT-AN-H HAD dropped the bombshell about her husband likely having a hooker habit, somehow his other conduct of controlling her spending seemed much less serious. The thing was, when Sarah actually talked to John about the swimming lessons, over dinner the following week when the Lees had the Hendricks over, it didn’t seem that unreasonable. John was a marketing guy after all, and he sold it well. He explained that he didn’t think they should be paying money for something they could teach their children themselves.

  He turned to his wife and said, “You’re a good athlete; you can swim, right? We have a pool right out there, you’re not working, you can teach Ethan to swim.” The arguments were sound; actually, it was the exact same reasoning Sarah herself used when others asked if Ruby or Eric were taking swim lessons.

  Sara was also nodding along. “Yeah, you’re right. I can totally teach him. And I will,” she said firmly.

  Sarah, too, was inspired by the comment, especially after seeing how much the kids’ music outlet in the mall wanted to charge for children’s sing-along music classes – $40 a class plus materials. Emilie, the Australian mother who had thrown the birthday party back when they had first moved in, also agreed, and took the initiative to start a condo music class. She held only two sessions, however, before she had to return to work after her maternity leave, so Sarah decided to take the reins from her and continue the class – she had had a traditional Asian upbringing, studying the piano and violin, and she could still play both reasonably well. They didn’t have room for a real piano in their unit, but she had purchased a 66-key electric keyboard a few months ago when Ruby had started taking piano lessons.

  Sarah put together a short programme and invited the kids who had attended Emilie’s original class, plus a few more from the condo; she installed Ruby as her assistant, giving her a chance to play a few songs that she was learning in front of a group. Sarah enjoyed singing – she wasn’t a pro by any means, but could hold a tune – and liked the idea of her years of music lessons not going to waste, plus it gave her something to work on while Eric was napping instead of idling her time away on Facebook.

  The first few classes went smoothly, although Sarah quickly discovered that singing and playing the piano at the same time, something she had never done before, was much harder than it looked. She also quickly discovered that time moved infinitely more slowly when you were trying to corral a group of under-four-year-olds to do anything together. Her initial programme was intended to last 45 minutes, but when she looked at her watch before the last item – free dance with scarves – only 25 minutes had passed.

  By the fourth class, she was starting to hate it; her own kids were the worst, usually fighting over one of the instruments and requiring Sarah to physically separate them. She considered throwing in the towel and just cancelling the class, but when she mentioned it to Ruby and Eric, they pleaded, begged even, for her to keep doing it. They loved it, they said, promising to behave.

  It became a chore, something she needed to plan, and some days she just didn’t have it in her to find the next cool, clever song to sing; she started re-using old class agendas, or showing progressively longer and longer videos, one week just putting on the first act of The Nutcracker ballet and calling it a day. She realised that of the potential second careers she had considered pursuing, she would have to eliminate elementary school teacher, as there was very little about the experience that she enjoyed.

  One Friday night, the regular Manchester Crew – the four women and their husbands – gathered to celebrate Chad’s birthday. They started at a glitzy hotel on Orchard Road which put on a weekend poolside barbecue buffet, complete with a free flow of beer, wine and margaritas, the smartly-dressed waiters coming around frequently to refill everyone’s glasses. It was fun and casual, and a light breeze blew occasionally through the deck, causing the small table candles to flicker as if dancing.

  After dinner, they headed to the Singapore Jockey Club, where a work colleague and friend of Chad’s was DJ-ing a private event. By the time they arrived, the party was winding down, but it was clear from the discarded party favours on the tables that it had been an “Asian”-themed bash; there were red hats from the Manchurian era with queue-style ponytail braids attached to them for the men, and accordion fans for the women. Paper lanterns were strung up along the perimeter of the rooftop lounge. Sarah could see from the remaining guests that the dress code had also been “Chinese”, as most of the women were wearing high-collar cheongsams. She noted that besides Jason and her, the only other Asians in the room were the servers and busboys.

  “So racist!” Jason shouted, already drunk and pretending to don one of the hats. Even CS had to admit it was all a little racist, although he was quite drunk as well, so perhaps his nodding was merely bobbing to the beat of the music, not in agreement to Jason’s comment.

  They convinced a bartender to serve them just as last call was being announced, throwing back tequila shots as the Singapore skyline glittered in the backdrop. The party hosts started making the rounds, politely wishing everyone a good night, getting progressively more assertive as the Crew continued to linger near the DJ table. Finally, as the plug was pulled on the music, the group was shooed out to the street, the ones who were sober enough contemplating their next destination, the drunk ones gazing up at the buildings with glassy eyes.

  The Hendricks and Ashley departed, citing child-care issues; Ashley gave her husband a kiss, saying, “Enjoy the night, babe,” and asking the other four – Jason and Sarah, Carys and Ian – to make sure to get her husband back in one piece. Sarah assured her they would, waving goodbye as their cab pulled away from the kerb.

  The remaining five headed back to Orchard Road, this time to Orchard Towers, the only place where they knew they could gain entry as the birthday boy, naturally, was wearing only flip-flops. It was 2am and the working girls were out everywhere, heavily made-up and wearing tight dresses, grabbing the men by the arms and offering with coy smiles, “Sensual massage?”; prostitution was legal in Singapore, but not solicitation. Sarah thought of John Hendrick at the sight of them.

  She hated to admit it, but many of the girls also reminded her of their helper, Patricia – dark skin, pretty faces, eager smiles. She had heard that many domestic helpers moonlighted as prostitutes on their days off, making more money in one day than they did the whole month as a maid. She cringed at the thought, especially when she saw a young girl in the bathroom primping in front of the mirror, her shirt tight around her round belly, showing an obvious pregnancy. Sarah’s mind was racing with thoughts, yet there was nothing she could really say to the woman.

  The band, on their third set of the night, was positively hopping; their rendition of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” brought the place down, with every head in the club swaying to the final chord. Sarah ordered only water; her last drink had been at the Jockey Club, but the night still slipped away in a blur.

  Finally, at 4am, her head pounding, she decided to go home; Eric would be up in less than two hours and she and Jason were supposed to be at Ruby’s school’s Welcome Back Day for the new academic year at 11am. She told Jason she wanted to leave, but of course he said he wanted to stay. She tried the gentle approach first, not wanting to embarrass him in front of their friends, but he was adamant that he didn’t want to leave yet, that he wasn’t going to drink any more; he just wanted to see how it all “played out”.

  Normally she would have insisted that he leave with her, but she was so massively tired that she relented, apologisin
g profusely to Carys, feeling awful for saddling her friend with at least two drunk idiots (Ian seemed to be handling himself well, still able to stand upright and hold a conversation, at least). Carys insisted she would be fine; they were all grown-ups, after all, and she’d get them home, no problem. Sarah apologised again, said goodbye to everyone and jumped in a cab back to The Manchester.

  She stumbled through their front door and made her way to the bedroom quietly so as not to disturb the kids. She took a shower; then, knowing that lying down on their bed would probably be a mistake, she instead went into the kids’ room, where she stretched out on the long-haired rug next to Eric’s crib. She planned on picking him up when he woke and zipping him down to the café downstairs for breakfast, allowing Ruby to continue to sleep for at least another hour, knowing that she would go find Patricia when she got up.

  An hour later, Sarah woke with a start, her sleep disturbed not by the voice of her son, however, but by the ringing of her phone.

  It was Carys. She spoke in a frantic tone – Jason and Chad had just been arrested and were being detained at the Central Police Division downtown.

  chapter 10

  REWIND

  SARAH RUBBED HER eyes as she heard Carys repeat herself, “Sarah, are you there? Did you hear me? Chad and Jason have been hauled away, Ian and I are en route. Can you get down here?”

  Sarah walked out to the living room, not wanting to wake the kids, answering, “Yeah, I’m here, holy crap. What happened?”

  “It was a complete shit show, total chaos; we had just walked out of Orchard Towers and were looking for a cab, when a brawl started and somehow Chad and Jason got caught in the middle of it.” Carys was speaking at twice her normal pace.

  Signs of morning had already started; Sarah could hear distant birds chirping and trucks rumbling on the road below her. Patricia’s light was on, and Sarah quickly went to ask her to take care of the kids when they got up. The lawyer in her grabbed Jason’s passport and a notepad, then rushed out the door.