by AnonYMous
I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving. Instead, I moved in with Becker and quit my job. His house was better than any childhood dream I’d ever had. Five bedrooms and baths, a pool, hot tub, and wide-screen TV—all of it for just the two of us. It was like living in a luxury hotel, something I’d never experienced before. Becker didn’t want me to ever go without, and he gave me money for school expenses and to buy a whole new wardrobe for myself.
If only the snobs in my high school class could see me now, I thought, slipping beneath the ultra-violet bulbs of Becker’s personal tanning booth. Within a week, I looked like I’d just returned from a Caribbean vacation.
The only snag was Mrs. Holtz, Becker’s fussy old housekeeper. She didn’t approve of our age difference, and out of his sight, was cold and unfriendly toward me. She never showed this side of her personality to Becker, however.
I went to classes during the day while Becker worked at his company. Nights when he was at the office late, I studied hard, determined to earn good grades and make him proud. When he was home, he lavished me with attention and coaxed me from my sexual naivete, making me feel like the most desirable woman on earth.
One evening, drinking glasses of wine before Becker’s mammoth fireplace, we shared our hopes and dreams for the future.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he said, refilling my glass. “The years are catching up with me. It may be time for me to give up my bachelor ways and settle down once and for all.”
My heart raced with joy, but I didn’t dare speak for fear I’d blow the moment. Then he pressed his lips against mine, his tongue slipping between my lips. We made love that night before the dying firelight.
I hadn’t told my parents much about Becker—just that he was older than I was, but a kind and generous man. I told them I’d moved out of the dorm—but not where I’d gone. They were worried, but said that they trusted me. I felt cheapened by my little white lies of omission, but I wasn’t about to give up my exciting new lifestyle, either.
December came, and with it, finals. I aced them, but realized suddenly that I’d have to go home for the holiday. Being apart from Becker at Christmastime was difficult, but he understood my need to be with family, and promised to arrive on Christmas morning. Still, I didn’t want him to see my humble beginnings, or have one of my siblings let Becker know my true age. True, I was only two years younger than he believed—but I’d made a few other somewhat . . . shall I say, “misleading” statements from time to time, letting him think that I was something other than just some hick from a small town. Becker was disappointed when I ultimately asked him not to come, but he agreed not to make the trip and instead, made plans to spend the day with a married couple he knew from work.
I never spent a more miserable four days in my life! The home I’d grown up in seemed so small and shabby. I missed dining with crystal and candlelight. My brothers and sisters were brats, and Mom and Dad’s rules and regulations were outrageously strict. I finally lied and said that I had to be back at my job if I wanted to keep it; I had to do some extra fancy footwork to convince my parents to let me go back to Little Rock on the bus instead of Daddy driving me.
I took a cab to the airport and called Becker—letting him think I’d flown back. I changed clothes in the restroom, wanting to look my best when he came to pick me up. He arrived with an ear-to-ear grin and whisked me off to the country club for an intimate dinner. Candlelight, wine, and soft music were enough to make the evening memorable, but when he handed me my Christmas present—a little, midnight-blue velvet box—my heart was pounding. I opened it, staring in awe at the perfect, two-carat, pear-shaped diamond.
“Will you marry me?” Becker asked.
I was out of my chair in an instant, throwing my arms around him, savoring his warm, sensuous kiss. “Yes, yes—oh, yes!”
The next few months were a whirlwind of activity as I planned our lavish wedding and continued my studies at the university. Spare no expense, Becker had said. My name now accompanied his in our new joint checkbook. Feeling a financial freedom I’d never known, I ordered my gown from the top bridal shop in town, hired a wedding planner, and immersed myself in the details of the ceremony and reception. My wedding would be perfect; I’d settle for nothing less.
A week after classes ended, my mother stood beside me in front of the mirror in the country club’s ladies’ lounge. She adjusted my veil and brushed the bangs from my forehead.
“Kelsey, you’re the most beautiful bride ever.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“We were worried about you dating an older man, but Becker’s a fine catch and I know he’ll take good care of you. There’s nothing in this world more rewarding than sharing your life with the man you love.”
Love? Why did her use of the word suddenly fill me with doubt? Of course I loved Becker. He’d been so good to me. So decent. So kind. So generous.
But then it occurred to me . . . Becker had never once said that he loved me. And upon reflection, I realized that I’d never told him that I loved him, either.
But that was ridiculous. Of course we were in love. Why else would we be getting married?
“I’m only sorry you decided on a civil ceremony,” Mama said wistfully. “I always imagined my firstborn walking down the same aisle as your daddy and I did twenty-two years ago.”
“What?” I said, surfacing from my troubled thoughts. “Oh, but Becker doesn’t believe in organized religion. And I didn’t want to—”
What?
Displease him?
Mama waited for me to finish, but I didn’t know what else to say. I’d always planned on being married in our little whitewashed church back home. As I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t even attended services since I’d met Becker.
I forced a smile, determined not to think badly of my new husband or myself on our wedding day. Suddenly, I was annoyed with Mama for even bringing it up.
It was a lovely ceremony, though. The mayor officiated, and the club’s beautiful garden was filled with all of Becker’s friends and work associates. While making the guest list, I’d made a conscious decision not to include my friends from back home—fearing that one of them might tear the thin web of lies I’d fabricated around myself. I worried about my brothers and sisters, but they were more interested in filling up on hors d’oeuvres and punch than getting to know their new brother-in-law. And so, as the photographer snapped picture after picture, Becker and I greeted what seemed like hundreds of strangers who’d joined with us to celebrate the happiest day of our lives.
We honeymooned in Cancun for ten beautiful days, basking on sun-soaked beaches, and making love well into the night. I was the happiest woman on earth, and Becker seemed proud to have me on his arm.
Back home, Becker soon eased back into his former lifestyle. But with the school year over, the summer suddenly loomed long and lonely before me.
Becker was reading the Sunday paper one afternoon, his nose buried in the financial page. I cleared my throat and waited for him to put the paper down.
“Honey, I—I know you said you didn’t want me to work, but—”
He frowned, and for a moment, I wondered if I should continue.
“But I thought it might be fun to work in your office over the summer. That way, we could see each other more often, and I could feel like I’m a part of your success.”
His stare remained level. “No.”
I blinked. “Why not?”
“Because I won’t have my wife working. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m perfectly able to take care of you, Kelsey. I give you a generous allowance. You don’t need anything more.”
Allowance? He made me feel just like a child.
“But—I wasn’t thinking of doing it for the money. I mean, I know the company has summer college interns. Why couldn’t I be one of them?”
“I said no, Kelsey. And I don’t want to discuss it again.”
Mrs. Holtz hovered at the door to the kitchen. I didn’t want to fi
ght about it in front of her, so I went to sit beside the pool and think about my options. With all the wedding preparations, I’d left it too late to sign up for summer classes. I hadn’t really even made any friends at school, and my family was over a hundred miles away. I thought about redecorating one of the spare bedrooms—to make it homier, or maybe into a nursery—but when I broached the subject, Becker was just as adamant.
“I like that room just the way it is,” he said, and for the first time, I wondered if his house would ever feel like my home.
Becker had worked late during the months before our marriage, but when he acquired another company, his work life went into overdrive. Suddenly, he was gone on weekends, golfing with business associates, or away on business trips. Our meager social life consisted of corporate dinners and dull conversation. More than once, I even heard smug laughter and the words “trophy wife” whispered in my direction by his colleagues’ older wives.
Our home wasn’t much of a refuge. Mrs. Holtz always seemed to be around, spying on me. If I so much as moved a magazine, she was right behind me, mumbling a curse and putting it back where it had been, reminiscing about the good old days when she hadn’t had to clean up after a “messy child.”
She’d been with Becker for over ten years and he loved her cooking, her sense of humor—everything about her. When I finally practically insisted that he fire her, he actually laughed at me.
“But, darling,” he protested, “I’ve known Mrs. Holtz much longer than I’ve known you.”
Adding to my frustration was the fact that working long hours left Becker perpetually tired. Our once-active sex life ultimately took a permanent backseat to his scheduled activities.
Near the end of the summer, I waited up for Becker to come home from the office one evening with one subject on my mind: starting a family. Maybe caring for a child would help fill my lonely days. Depending on the timing, I figured I could finish school and have the baby during the summer.
“Are you kidding?” Becker spat angrily. “We may have to relocate to Mexico for a couple of years. No. No children. Not at least until things settle down. In fact, I’m not even sure I want children. I mean, they’d seriously cramp our lifestyle.”
No children?
Relocate?
To another country?
Suddenly, I remembered my mother’s words on my wedding day. I was sharing my life, all right.
But did I really and truly love this man?
I was no longer sure.
I tried to talk to Becker about it, but his drug of choice was work—not me. And more and more, I found myself turning to the liquor cabinet to find solace.
September came, and classes started once again, and though I dutifully showed up at school, my heart just wasn’t into studying anymore. My grades were slipping and my life was a mess. I couldn’t believe that only a year before, I’d been a happy college student just looking to make a few extra dollars.
Becker was in Guadalajara scouting sites for a new factory, and I couldn’t face going back to that big, empty house that had never really felt like my home. I found myself behind the wheel of Becker’s BMW, aimlessly driving around the city until I saw the familiar sign outside the Pendleton. I pulled into the lot and went inside. Taking a seat at the bar, I waited patiently until Matty, the bartender, turned and saw me.
“Kelsey!” he cried in happy recognition.
“Hey, Matty. How are you?”
He seemed startled by my monotone, took a good look at my red, tear-swollen eyes, and his expression softened instantly. “What’s wrong, girl?” he asked, bending close. Even during my short tenure working in the lounge, I’d known him to be sympathetic when listening to patrons’ problems.
“Nothing,” I said, and looked away. “I’ll have a vodka martini, up, please.”
“You still toting that phony ID?” he teased good-naturedly.
“I’m over twenty-one,” I said wearily. Gosh, I was only twenty-one, I realized, feeling decades older, and utterly miserable about the sad state of my life.
Instead of making me the drink, Matty disappeared into the restaurant’s kitchen and came back with a mug of hot cocoa and a slice of apple pie.
“You didn’t really want that drink, did you?” he asked, sizing me up.
Good, old Matty, he could always make me smile. “I guess not.” I took a bite of the warm pie. Just as good as I remembered.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong,” he asked as he cut up fruit garnishes for the happy-hour crowd, “or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”
I gazed into his familiar face. I’d never noticed what a pleasant voice he had. He didn’t talk like a New Yorker, but he had that old, familiar accent I missed using myself. And he looked terrific in a dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks—the restaurant’s dress code for bartenders. His rolled-up sleeves exposed muscular arms, and his deep, brown eyes were interested, not distracted like my husband’s were when I tried to talk to him at breakfast. It was the newspaper that held Becker’s attention most mornings.
I took a sip of cocoa, and suddenly, I was pouring my heart out to my former coworker, telling him what a terrible mistake I’d made and how I’d ruined my life. And to think it’d all started out with one little white lie.
“Sugar, Becker’s a good man. You owe it to yourself—and to him—to try and make this marriage work.”
“Good advice,” I said, “from a good friend.” I patted his hand, and our eyes locked then. Suddenly, the room felt very warm.
“I’m here for you, Kelsey,” Matty said quietly. “Whenever you need a friend.”
I went home determined to give my marriage another chance, but when Becker called late that night, he told me that he was extending his Mexico stay. He might be back in a week or two.
I cried myself to sleep that night. And the next night, too. I knew I couldn’t finish the semester, and finally withdrew from classes. Rattling around that big, empty house all day and night was more than I could bear, though. A few evenings later, I showed up at the Pendleton once again, with one thought on my mind. My ex-boss was terrific and told me I could start work that very night.
It felt great to be surrounded by people again. The background music and laughter reminded me that life could be good, and although I was around alcohol, suddenly, I didn’t even want a drink.
Becker was gone a month. When he came home, I met him at the door in a sexy nightgown with a bottle of champagne. He gave me a passionless kiss before heading for the phone to check his voicemail. I hid my hurt, smiling sweetly as I waited for him to come to bed. How I longed to have him inside me—to have him touch me like he used to. When he finally came upstairs, I watched him undress, trying my best to look seductive.
“It’s official,” he said as he hung up his suit coat. “We’re closing the eastside factory next month.”
“Next month?” I said, surprised. “What about the workers?”
“Grow up, Kelsey. You know the new plant will save millions in labor costs.”
“But I thought you were just expanding. I didn’t think—”
“That’s your problem. You don’t think.”
I felt my face flush. He’d never spoken to me so coldly before. “Is—is something wrong?” I stammered.
“No. Everything’s fine. Just fine,” he said tightly.
He turned out the light and crawled into bed beside me. I lay there, waiting for his hand to snake under my gauzy nightgown. I’d longed for his touch, but when it came, my body instinctively flinched. Becker didn’t seem to notice. His fatigue had vanished suddenly, and he used me roughly, tearing off my nightgown, making me feel like a cheap whore.
“Becker, no!” I cried, but he silenced me by covering my mouth with his own, pinning me on the bed, thrusting savagely until he was sated.
Panting and sweating from exertion, he finally rolled off of me. Trembling, I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I just lay there, listening to his breathing slow as h
e drifted into sleep, wondering whom this stranger was who shared my bed.
No—I shared his bed.
He’d made it clear to me that this was his house.
When I was sure he was asleep, I stole into the guest bathroom down the hall and turned the water on hot. I stood under the stinging spray and tried to feel clean again—like I had before I’d ever come to Little Rock.
But soap and water couldn’t wash away what I had become. I slumped against the tile wall, giving into sobs that racked my body.
It seemed like hours later when the water turned tepid. I found a fluffy terry towel in the guestroom closet, crept back to our bedroom, and slipped under the blanket. Clinging to the edge of the bed, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning, I tried to act like nothing had happened, but Becker still seemed angry. What had I done to displease him? I took my seat at the dining room table, where Becker had already barricaded himself behind the morning paper.
“Honey, we need to talk,” I said fearfully.
Mrs. Holtz chose that precise moment to push through the door from the kitchen to top off Becker’s coffee, her expression smug. I waited for her to leave before I reached for his hand. He snatched it away as though I’d scalded him.
“I hear you’re working again.”
“Yes,” I answered, startled. “I—I got tired of being alone every night.”
“You don’t need the money.”
“No, but I need to be around people. You’ve been gone so much lately—and I can’t stay here by myself all day and night.”
“First you drop out of college, then you further humiliate me by waitressing. Who have you picked up this time?”
“This time?” I blurted out. “Becker, you’re my husband—the only man I’ve ever—”
“Then why do you need to be at a bar every single night?”