Our plane had been sitting on the tarmac at the Palm Beach International Airport for close to forty minutes, and Audrey and I had hardly exchanged a single word for the whole time. Back in the terminal, we debated over which concession stand might have the best coffee, and we even wondered aloud where the bathrooms were located. Aside from those pressing conversations, it seemed Audrey did her best to ignore me.
She looked bored by the whole thing, and when next I turned to her, she was napping. I scanned the aisle of our Boeing 767 to see how the other passengers were handling the wait and, given the fact that we were filled to capacity, there was a lot to see. Seated immediately across the aisle was a newly married couple, as evidenced by her endless chatter about the photographer and her husband's constant twisting of his brand new wedding band. Directly in front of us sat a brood of four golfing buddies who had already launched into their third exaggerated story about the last trip, a story which was barely understandable and punctuated by constant howls of laughter and shouts. And then, just a row up and an aisle over, I caught sight of a small little head that kept popping in and out from behind a seat. Waiting to see what game the owner of the little head might be playing, I held my stare until he reappeared.
After a second, the face returned and, surprised that his solitary game of hide-and-seek had been discovered, he revealed a devilish grin, pulled out his imaginary pistol, and shot me square in the chest. Gasping for air, I held out my hands for help, and then slumped back in my chair with my tongue hanging out. The little boy giggled with delight until his mother, unaware of our antics, sternly instructed him to turn around and sit up straight. The game was over.
I sighed and wondered how much fun Johnny was having with his grandparents. Though I wanted him to come, I knew that a trip away for Audrey and me would make for a nice, late honeymoon, minus any worry about photographers, wedding guests, or restrictive jewelry. But I was already missing my son.
Just then, the captain’s announcement that we were cleared for take-off coupled with the dramatic rumbling of the engines sent the plane abuzz with renewed excitement for the destination ahead. I too was excited about returning to my old stomping grounds and showing Audrey around. The plane lurched forward to the take-off apron, and Audrey awoke. She reached for the magazines in the seat pocket in front of her. Then she turned to me. “By the way, you never did add my name to your checking account,” she said calmly.
“Oh, right, honey,” I replied, “I'll get you a debit card as soon as we get to California.”
“Fine,” she said, and began to flip through the magazines.
Four hours, 35,000 feet, and two vodka tonics later, Audrey was a new woman. Despite my hope that she would eventually favor me with some interest, she was now having an animated conversation with the golfers who were, it appeared to me, flirting with her. I sat by uncomfortably, pretending not to be jealous of her stolen attention. Seeking out some distraction, I looked for my favorite little assassin, but his little head was now resting comfortably on his mother’s lap, undoubtedly dreaming of taking out more bad guys.
“Hey, Paul, didn’t you do that once? Lock your keys in the car while the ferry was docking?” Audrey turned her head around, smiling broadly as she recalled something done by another man.
“What? No. You must have me confused with someone else,” I said, and grabbed the Skymall magazine from the seat pocket in front of me, making my displeasure known.
“No? I thought you told me that. Oh, well, it was a funny story,” Audrey continued with more laughter, either not at all aware of my disappointment, or indifferent to it. A few minutes later, the conversation with the golfers petered out. They went back talking among themselves, and Audrey sat back in her seat and picked up the magazines again.
An hour later, the seat belt sign came on and we began to descend. “So what do you want to do when we land? Head right for the house, or do you have another idea?” Slightly appeased that her attention had now returned to me, I looked up at her with a smile. I did have an idea. In fact, I had the whole weekend planned. Apart from checking out the house we had bought in Saratoga Ranch, I wanted to show Audrey the best of what I considered my home town area, Orange County, California.
“Well, first I was thinking we’d go right to the house because I know you can’t wait to see it, and then we’ll head to Taleo Mexican Grill for dinner, the food is terrific, and then I was thinking we could drive out to… ” I couldn't contain my excitement as I laid out our itinerary for the entire weekend. Restaurants, shopping, and perhaps even meeting up with some old friends were all on the agenda and I couldn’t wait. Audrey nodded as she listened, while simultaneously glancing around the plane. When I finally finished, I let out a satisfied sigh. “Sound good to you?”
“It sounds wonderful, and very organized,” she smiled.
We buckled our seat belts in preparation for landing. Then, I glanced around to see what Audrey had been looking at when I caught one of the golfers staring at her. He was standing near the back of the plane, waiting for the bathroom to become available. When our eyes met, he quickly looked away.
* * *
The house proved to be everything we had hoped and I was happy and relieved. I knew Audrey still thought we were foolish to act so quickly, but any resentment about my decision vanished when she laid eyes on the stunning granite countertops, the rich cherry cabinets, the gleaming hardwood floors, the beautiful trim, and even the rounded corners of the walls. Audrey was thrilled by the house and the huge twenty-five acre park right across the street, the perfect place for the kids to play.
After the tour, Audrey declared, “I'm so glad that we own this beautiful home together, Paul.”
“Yes, I am too, honey,” I said. I really was thrilled to have been the one to provide it for her.
The rest of the weekend became a whirlwind of activities, while I showed Audrey all the places I missed so much. I filled her with stories and remembrances of my time in Orange County, a process that made me realize how much I’d missed it. It wasn't the passionate honeymoon that I'd hoped for, but at least we spent both nights together as husband and wife. Before I knew it, our trip was over and we were stopping for sandwiches at Pacific Deli on our way to the airport.
After we settled back into the car, Audrey, who had been her usual quiet self for most of the morning, turned to me, “I want to talk to you about something,” she began. I heard the faint sound of a roller coaster begin its slow creep up to the summit.
“Paul, I no longer want to have so much sex with you. We've had sex for two nights in a row now, and I think more than once a week is abnormal.” Her tone was cold and monotone, as if she was telling me that her sandwich had too much mayonnaise.
“What?” I said with alarm, my jaw literally dropping open while the screams coming from the plummeting roller coaster echoed in my head.
“You heard me. That’s what I think. Your sex drive is abnormal.” As she spoke, Audrey was calmly rewrapping her sandwich so that it would fit into her carry-on without making a mess. In contrast, I sat in utter shock, not knowing what to think.
“Is this a joke?” Please, please, please let this be a joke.
“No joke.”
“What do you mean ‘abnormal’?” I asked, not sure how to take her declaration while also considering how no man ever wants to hear the word ‘abnormal’ when referring to his sex life. “I mean, I love you, and I want to make love to you. Christ, we only see each other three times a week. Abnormal?” I repeated.
“Sorry. That’s how I feel,” she said, with her usual indifference.
“I can’t believe you're saying this. This isn't something that someone who is in love with their husband would say. What’s going on?” My voice raised while I struggled to conceal my frustration. Audrey turned from my questions and set her eyes on the window.
“That’s all I have to say,” she affirmed evenly.
“Well I have something to say. I’m in love with you and
I want to make love to you. A celibate marriage is not acceptable to me. If you don’t want to make love to me, then I can’t see how you would want to be married to me.” I was fuming, I was practically shouting, and I was making no apparent impact on her. “When we get back to Florida, either you're my wife and we live together as a normal husband and wife, or you can go back to living at your parents' condo, and we'll get a divorce.” I stomped on the gas, disbelieving what had just happened.
For the entire flight back to Florida, the hum of the engines were the only sound I heard. I was reeling. I spent the entire six hour flight rehashing all the crazy things Audrey had pulled, making myself angrier and angrier. I was sick of this roller coaster relationship we were on. Why couldn’t it be a Ferris wheel ride? Sure it would have its ups and downs like all relationships do, but instead of violent twists, turns, and screaming, it would be more predictable and safe.
Another separation. I couldn't believe it. I was shocked by how cleanly and completely Audrey could simply cut me out of her life. She decided to go to her parents' place. I called her a few times, but she would never pick up.
After a few days of no communication, Audrey finally sent me an email which said:
Not ready to talk. Still in shock and recovering.
Fine, I thought, take a little time. Then, a few days later, I received another email beginning “Dearest Paul.” Well, that’s more like it, I thought. The rest of the message read:
Please consider this:
I give notice effective Feb. 1, 2008. Thus, $5K/month deposited into joint checking account to cover my current expenses. Now, we can be a REAL, MARRIED family. We can split our home slumbers as follows:
Spend the night: Monday, Tuesday in Jupiter & Wednesday, Thursday, Friday & every other Saturday & Sunday in Boynton, until it's sold. Sleep time shall be around 8:30 p.m. & wake time around 6:30 a.m.
Sex time around 5:00 a.m.
Dinner with friends &/or family once/week.
Exercise daily (walks).
Can't think of anything else right now... can you?
Synagogue weekly/bi
Instead of the explanation or emotion I had expected to find, what appeared on my screen was some sort of regimented outline of how we would schedule our marriage. Much to my surprise, Audrey arranged to end her job helping her grandmother, so there would be no more living apart. Despite the strange itinerary and the very early time slot designated for sex, I was thrilled to know that we would not only come back together as a family, but a full-time family. I responded immediately, saying how great I thought the plan was, and suggesting that we get together for dinner right away. I would cook her a special “welcome home” dinner, and arrange to have Johnny eat and sleep over at a friend's house.
The next night, Audrey arrived at my doorstep, bags in hand, all smiles. I took her bags, and we walked into the dining room. I lit the candles I had set up, dimmed the lights, and served the prime rib and mashed potatoes.
“You're so sweet to me, Paul,” Audrey said, reaching across the table and patting my hand gently.
When we finished our chocolate mousse, I looked into Audrey's eyes, and said softly, “Let's leave the dishes for tomorrow. I'll take care of them in the morning, honey. Let's go upstairs.”
“Sure, Paul,” Audrey replied. “I feel like I really belong here now.”
Hand in hand, I led Audrey up the stairs to our bedroom, and we appropriately celebrated her homecoming. Afterwards, I lay back, exhausted and enveloped in a warm, happy cloud. As was her custom, Audrey immediately rolled on her side, facing away from me. I turned on my side, looking at the back of her head, but knowing she would hear, and said softly, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you decided to quit working up in Cocoa Beach. We can finally be a full-time family.”
Audrey rolled over, into my arms. “All I ever wanted was to be one big happy family,” she said. Her lips moved close. She gave me a little kiss on my ear. I could feel her warm breath, as she whispered, “I feel we're almost perfect. There's only one more thing we need to do now, and that's to share everything.”
When she said this, my heart melted, and tears came to my eyes. Finally... finally, I thought. Finally we can begin to create that emotionally deep, intimate relationship I'd been wanting for so long.
“Everything? Really? I'm so happy you're saying that because… ” Before I could say anything else, Audrey cut me off to continue what appeared to be a rehearsed speech.
“First you should put my name on your business, and then our two Florida houses.” I sat bolt upright, turned on the bedside lamp, and turned to her in disbelief.
“What?” I said, now grasping what she meant by “sharing everything.” Alarm bells were sounding in my head.
“It’s only fair,” Audrey continued, not wanting to break stride. I stopped her.
“I think it’s a little early for that, don’t you? I mean, we've hardly spoken for days, we’ve been a part-time marriage before then. Maybe after a few years of a full-time marriage.”
“No. I want it now. And that's it.” And there it was: an ultimatum. I felt like I had been lured into a trap. Audrey offered a full-time marriage, but there would be strings. She had a price, and she had an agenda.
“I'm sorry, no. That's not acceptable to me,” I replied. I stood up, grabbed a pillow and an extra blanket, and went downstairs to the couch. On my way out, I said, “We'll talk about this in the morning.”
Audrey looked unconcerned, said okay, rolled over, and went to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up with a crick in my neck, grouchy, crushed, and pissed. I went upstairs and Audrey was dressing. “I can't believe what you said last Night. It's totally ridiculous. I'm really hurt. I thought everything was fine and we were coming back together forever. I don't know what to think about this. You need to go live with your parents.”
“Fine,” she answered. “Go ahead and treat me like an outsider, not like I'm your wife and equal partner. To you I'm just someone you want to take to bed.” Audrey shot me a hateful look, grabbed her bags, walked downstairs, and left.
Since I refused her deal, I made a deal with myself instead. I was done chasing after her. I was done being the one who did all the work. This time, there would be no emails, no desperate phone calls pleading for a reconciliation. My computer would be left alone.
I spent the next week buried in papers, letting work provide some distraction. Then, on Valentine’s Day, I came home to find a message on my answering machine from Audrey. The message was simple and clear. Happy Valentine's Day, it began.
Don't contact me until you've arranged everything so that we can be an equal family.
Without even a thought to replaying her words, I grabbed the yellow pages from the cupboard and looked up “Divorce lawyers.” Methodically, I spoke with several until I found one with whom I felt a rapport, and made an appointment for the next day.
The drive to Peter Greenburg’s office from my house was a mere ten minutes. On the way, I went over in my mind all I had been through with Audrey in the last fifteen months, wondering what an objective observer would think about it. Was it me, or was it her? I asked myself. Did I interpret correctly Audrey's words and motives, or was I the irrational one?
A few minutes later, I was sitting in front of Peter in his modest office. After the initial pleasantries, I told him my story. When finished, I was exhausted and relieved. I sat back in my chair, and glanced at pictures of Peter's lovely wife and two kids monopolizing the top of his large wooden desk. Peter was about my age, in his forties, Jewish, and spoke with a softness that drew you in to him. He nodded his head while I spoke, showing both concern and understanding. I took a deep breath.
“So, what do you think, Peter?” I asked.
“I think she’s a fucking gold-digger, Paul. That’s what I think,” he announced matter-of-factly. I was delighted with his unexpected and brash straightforwardness. “I also think we should file for an annulment based on fraud.
Now, let me tell you, there is a 200 year old law that says if the marriage is physically consummated, then you cannot get an annulment. However, I think it’s time to challenge this law as archaic and not representative of our current society. That law was created at a time when a wife was expected to be a virgin, not a twice divorced mother of three. I’ll tell you, we have a small but legitimate chance of a judge going along with our reasoning and ruling in our favor. If he does, you will have created a new case law. It will be known as the Goldman law,” he announced, sitting back in his own chair with a sense of triumph. He’s good, I thought, he’s very good.
“Let’s go for it!” I agreed, finding energy in being proactive. “And by the way, Audrey is now living with her parents, but she has the keys to the Jupiter Lakes house. Can I change the locks?”
“Yes, you can,” Peter responded firmly. It felt great to have someone on my side, even if I was paying him. “Write her an email and tell her the following: since she is not the woman that she represented herself to be when you married her, because she married you solely for your money, you are filing an annulment. Further, in order to protect your assets, you have changed the locks on the house.” Happy with his advice, I wrote Peter a $5,000 check for his retainer and that was it. I jogged out to the parking lot, hopped into my car, and sped away with the energy of a man with a plan.
Unfortunately, the ten minute trip turned into thirty thanks to traffic. As I sat stagnated, not knowing what was holding me up or where else I could go, some new emotions started to creep in. Not wanting to lose the confidence I had garnered from my meeting with Peter, I started to go over his points about annulments and Audrey.
It didn’t work. I felt a sadness over what I was losing, even though I didn’t have much. Audrey and I had spent a total of thirty-three days together as husband and wife. That was it. But when I returned home, I called her and left a message on her voice mail:
Honey, it's Paul. I’m sorry that I had to do what I felt needed to be done. Now, that said, I simply don't understand your words and actions, and I don't understand why you refuse to discuss the situation. You know, lots of couples, even while a divorce has been filed, go to counseling. Why don't we go to counseling? Let’s talk all this out, because I think this is a case of miscommunication, and we can resolve this and get our marriage back on track. Let me know if you want to set up counseling. I love you.
Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit Page 10