His Best Friend's Wife

by Ann Omasta

  "No," I said adamantly. "We have to give ourselves a shot. You aren't happy with him," I gestured to the living room where Dirk was too engrossed in the game to notice that I was stealing his wife.

  "He's my husband," she shot back.

  "That is easy enough to change," I countered.

  One of the tears that had pooled in her lower lids spilled over when she shook her head. "It's not that simple," she told me.

  I was just getting ready to inform her that it was indeed that simple when Dirk's voice intruded. "Did you guys get lost with our beers?"

  Dropping her hands and turning to my best friend, I decided not to hide the truth from him. I had concealed my feelings for Cassie for far too long, and I refused to pretend like last night hadn't happened. Facing him squarely, I said, "I spent the night with Cassie last night."

  I barely registered Cassie's sharp intake of breath before Dirk's powerful left hook caught me square in the jaw.

  "Why did you have to say anything?" Cassie sobbed before running out of the room.

  I had deserved and expected the initial blow. What I didn't expect was the immediate jab to my eye and subsequent knee to the groin, which sent me to the ground in a groaning heap.

  After kicking me several times, Dirk got down on his hands and knees on their imported Italian tile kitchen floor. He leaned in to whisper in my ear. Stunned with pain, I couldn't do anything more than lie there writhing. "Who do you think sent her to you, you stupid fuck?"

  My stomach was roiling. What he was saying didn't make any sense. He couldn't have sent her to me. Why would he do that? My eyes rolled around in their sockets. I wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but my body was in too much pain to allow my mouth to function properly.

  "That's right," Dirk seethed near my ear. "I sent her to you and instructed her to fuck your brains out."

  I tried to shake my head, but it made my vertigo kick in even more. The room spun around me as Dirk went on. "You think she liked being with you?" His voice had a mocking tone. "She did it for me––because I told her to. She suffered through letting you stick your pathetic cock inside her because I made her do it."

  His words were a jumble in my head. My brain was too fuzzy with pain to ask the one question that was swirling through my brain. Why?

  Even though I wasn't able to voice the question, Dirk went on, answering it. "We needed your sperm," he revealed. "I'm sterile. Me!" He added the last word, as if it were impossible to believe that he wasn't a virile stallion. "We want a baby, and the other avenues of getting one seemed so complicated and drawn out. I have always known about your pathetic little crush on my wife, so I sent her to you to get a sperm donation."

  None of this made any sense. How could they do this to me? Why would they put us all through this torture? I felt confused, still dazed when I blurted out, "You can't have sex?"

  "Sterile, not impotent, you imbecile," he yelled at me. "Believe me I stick it to Cassie whenever and wherever I want to." He glared down at me before adding, "And she loves it."

  Seeming to want me in as much mental anguish as physical pain, Dirk went on. "She didn't want to be with you, of course, but that woman will do almost anything for me. I figured it would only last about thirty seconds, anyway." Even through my blurry vision, I saw his maniacal grin. It made my stomach retch.

  "Now," Dirk continued. "You need to slither away, lick your wounds, and leave us alone. We have what we need from you, and if the pregnancy doesn't take, I'll send her back to you next month for another sperm injection. It was probably a tad bit more fun for her than a turkey baster would have been."

  I couldn't believe the audacity of this man. I knew he was conceited and controlling, but I had no idea that he would go to such lengths to get what he wanted. One thing he hadn't planned on was that I wasn't going to just disappear without a fight. "My...baby." I croaked the words through the pain.

  "Technically, yes." He started, but then held up his pointer finger, "However, Cassie doesn't want you as its father. She wants me––always has, always will. It's the simple truth," he added, sounding logical. "So, the only way you will have anything to do with our baby is if you take us to court and sue us. You know the mother almost always gets custody of the child, anyway." He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into my ear, "Besides, do you really want to put Cassie through all of that?"

  The bastard knew that I was in love with Cassie. He knew I could never hurt her that way...no matter what she had done to me. He had manipulated this situation to suit his needs, and he would get his way.

  His arrogant grin told me that he knew I had just figured out the depths to which he had sunk. He had won. Again.

  He stood to glare down at me. My body had curled in upon itself like a crescent roll. "You need to be gone when we get back," he informed me before giving me another hard kick...this time to the head.

  My world went blessedly black.

  10

  As I regained awareness, my head felt like it was going to bust open from the throbbing pain. One of my eyes was completely swollen shut and the other was just a slit, which gave me a narrow slice of vision.

  I remained immobile on the hard, cool tile of their kitchen floor trying to find my bearings and determine if I could stand. The first edges of darkness were creeping through the windows, casting long shadows across the room.

  After several deep breaths, I moved to sit up, taking it slow. The dizziness and overpowering nausea had me moving faster than I would have preferred. I made it to the kitchen sink before the violent vomiting began. The dry heaves continued for what seemed like a very long time as I leaned against the counter, too bereft and sore to stand upright.

  When the puking finally subsided, I splashed cool water on my face and cupped my hand to use the stream to rinse out my mouth. After patting myself dry, I stumbled out of the kitchen in search of Cassie.

  I vaguely remembered Dirk telling me to be gone when "we" return, but I had still hoped that Cassie was here. A brief search of the house told me that I was there alone. Not wanting to stick around for round two with Dirk in my current state, I made my way to my car.

  Feeling both emotionally and physically horrific, I sat in the driver's seat for a long while, attempting to regroup. That last glimmer of hope deep within my heart refused to die, so I grabbed my phone and struggled to type a text message to Cassie.

  Is it true? I asked her.

  She responded almost immediately. Yes.

  I pounded the steering wheel with my fists until they were both bloody messes. Then I started up my car and drove, straining to see out of my one open eye.

  I didn't worry about my job or my apartment. I left my crap behind and hit the road. My life was absolute shit, and I needed to get away from it all.

  When my cellphone jingled, I shut it off. I couldn't stand to deal with either of the people who might try to contact me right now.

  I drove all night and didn't stop until the choice was either quit driving or sink into the ocean. Parking my car at a primo spot overlooking the water, I leaned my seat back and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  When I finally awoke, the bright sunlight of midday was beaming in through the car's windows. The stifling air inside the vehicle caused me to emerge quickly from the enclosed space. An overwhelming scent of salty sea breeze and a faint fishy odor wafted over me as I made my way to the beach.

  The looks I received from passersby let me know that my face must look as battered as it felt. I found a waterside cafe and plopped down on a stool at the bar after using the facilities. Even though drinking myself into oblivion was tempting, I didn't think my stomach could handle alcohol right now. So, I gave my body what it needed...coffee and bacon. Loads of coffee and bacon.

  I spent the day sitting at that bar, reliving my night with Cassie. The glorious memories of being intimate with her were now tainted knowing that Dirk had sent her there. Had she enjoyed it all? Or had it all been an elaborate ruse?

  Th
e realization that they had been playing me like a fiddle made my stomach want to revolt anew. I refused to allow it, though.

  Our night of passion had been by far the best sexual encounter of my life. To find out that Cassie had been there only at the request of her husband and had possibly faked enjoying herself was soul crushing.

  Was she that good of an actress? I had believed with every fiber of my being that she was having the same mind-melding reaction to our intense lovemaking that I was. If she was pretending, then she deserved an Oscar Academy Award. Was it possible to fake an orgasm––make that multiple orgasms––that convincingly?

  If she was only there to do Dirk's bidding, then why put on the big show? Why not suffer through and move on, rather than make me believe it had been something special? What was the purpose of adding that extra layer of cruel hope?

  It didn't add up. And no matter how many times I tried to convince myself otherwise, it just didn't seem like the sweet and wonderful Cassie that I knew and loved. How could she have done this?

  I didn't have as much trouble believing it of Dirk. The man had been my closest friend for many years, and I loved him like a brother. I also knew that one of his faults was being willing to do anything to get what he wanted. It wasn't difficult to believe that he would send Cassie to me. He would look at it as a means to an end. He gave up Cassie for one night and now he would get the child he wanted. In his mind, it was probably a simple transaction...loan out the wife, get a baby.

  The fact that he shattered my heart with his plan was probably just a necessary cost of doing business in his mind. Once he decided he wanted something, Dirk let nothing stand in his way.

  My mind boggled at the realization that he had managed to get Cassie to go along with his plan, though. Cassie was the rational, kind, and thoughtful one. How had he convinced her that it would be okay to toy with my emotions this way? And why had she gone through with it?

  Were they just horrible people? Is that what it boiled down to? They were the two individuals I was closest to on the entire planet. It gutted me that they would treat me this way.

  Dirk had been right about one thing...the best thing for me to do right now was to lie low and lick my wounds for a while. I needed space from both of them.

  The waitress at the bar had seemed to sense that I needed space and left me alone, other than the continuous coffee cup refills. Once the last of the lunch crowd dispersed and I continued to sit there like a lost puppy, her need to reach out took over.

  "You look like you've been through hell." Her Southern drawl was very pronounced. It took the edge off her sharp words.

  I winced when I tried to speak. If I looked anything like I felt, it was a wonder she wasn't running from me, frightened of the bruised and battered monster that I had become. "Yeah," I finally managed, staring into the depths of my small white coffee mug.

  Not seeming to take the hint of my one-word response, she stood in front of me, obviously wanting more of an explanation. I looked up at her then, really seeing her for the first time. She was pretty, even though she had applied her makeup with a heavy hand. Loads of strawberry blonde hair were piled up high on her head. She was holding the coffee pot aloft, ready to refill my cup the moment I took a sip. Her name tag proclaimed her name to be Jamie.

  Jamie looked like a talker, and I was not in the mood to share. She snapped her chewing gum, which caused me to glare up at her. I hated the sound of smacking gum. She smiled and chomped her gum more, letting me know I had played right into her hand. She had intended to annoy me and draw my brooding attention away from my black coffee.

  "I like you," she revealed. Her comment made no sense. I had done nothing to deserve her favor, and I must look like someone to avoid. "And you look like you could use a friend," she went on as if I weren't staring at her like she had gone mad.

  She set the coffee pot back on the burner and began wiping down the counter with a rag of questionable cleanliness. "You know," she was facing the kitchen pass-through window, but I was the only person within hearing range. The back of the house workers must have taken a break. "We need a reliable griller, if you need a job."

  My looks and demeanor had given her no indication that I might be at all reliable or worthy of offering a job. I felt oddly touched that she had such blind faith in me, but I didn't want to make myself easy to find. Not that anyone would be looking.

  She had turned to look at me, obviously expecting a response to her generous offer. "I'm trying to lie low for a while," I revealed to her.

  She nodded, immediately understanding. "Oh, Randy won't have a problem paying you under the table. He knows that circumstances sometimes require it."

  I assumed that Randy must be the owner. I hadn't planned to stay in this town. In fact, I didn't have a plan at all––other than to escape and try to curb this enduring pain. Twirling my stool around, I stared out at the sea. The rolling waves were calming in their regularity. I had always loved the ocean.

  Making a snap decision that this would be a prime location to heal––both physically and emotionally, I turned to face Jamie. "Thank you," I said sincerely. It was the first kind words I had spoken to her. She beamed at me in response. "When do I start?"

  "How about first thing tomorrow morning?" She answered my question with a question of her own. I nodded to acknowledge my acceptance.

  I got up, intending to head back to my car. While my Benz was a luxurious and comfortable car, I couldn't shower in it. Turning back to Jamie I asked, "Do you know where I might find some temporary housing?"

  "Well," she tapped her lip, pretending to think. "Since I know for a fact that you are gainfully employed," she chuckled at her own joke before continuing. "It just so happens that I have a studio apartment at my house that I have been thinking about renting to a tenant."

  She pulled a voluminous pleather purse from underneath the counter and dug through it. Even as large as the handbag was, I was shocked at the number of items she pulled from its depths to place on the counter––a large makeup bag, an oversized wallet, a full-sized bottle of hairspray, a brush, a checkbook, a cell phone, a book. The items just kept coming and coming.

  "Finally!" she triumphantly held up a giant ring of keys attached by a Minnie Mouse keychain. "They always work their way to the bottom," she told me as she struggled to release one key.

  She messed with it for a bit before handing the entire ring to me. "Will you undo that one, Hon?" She pointed out a small silver key. "Don't want to mess up the nails," she held up her long, bright red, shellacked nails.

  I released the key for her and slid both back across the counter to her. She slid the single key right back to me, retrieved a pen from her bottomless bag, and scribbled an address on a napkin.

  "It's small, but functional, and I won't require a lease." she revealed to me. "Have a look and see what you think," she suggested.

  I was beyond touched by this woman's blind faith in me. Thanks to her, I suddenly felt like I had a short-term plan. I wasn't able to convey in words how much gratitude I felt for her, so I reached out to place my hand over hers. She didn't jerk away, even though she probably should have. Her belief in me made me want to be worthy of it. "Thanks, Jamie." I tried to inject my words with feeling.

  "You bet, Sugar." She smiled, fully trusting me.

  "It's Reed," I revealed to her.

  "You bet, Reed," she amended before adding, "Welcome to Cottage Shores."

  I smiled at my only friend and mulled the town's name over in my mind. It sounded like the perfect place to try to begin healing.

  11

  The tiny apartment attached to Jamie's small house was perfect. From the moment I walked in, I felt at home. There wasn't much to it, but it was functional and the front window had a sliver of an ocean view if I leaned just right to peer past the monstrous, faded clapboard oceanfront houses.

  I had always felt somehow drawn to the ocean, but I had never imagined how soothing it would be to live so near it. Having
spent most of my days in the middle of the country, the beach had always been a vacation destination––not one that I could simply walk across the street to enjoy.

  Exploring the shoreline quickly became my favorite pastime. It sounded like a cheesy come-on line for a dating website profile, but I truly enjoyed long, quiet walks along the beach. I got up early each day to walk before work, I spent my breaks walking, and I generally went for another walk at night.

  I loved watching how the beach changed. In the matter of a few hours, the entire shoreline could shift. The fresh air wafting in from the water felt cleansing, and the sound of the ocean and its birds were strangely addictive.

  Jamie had hinted a few times that she would be thrilled to join me on one of my many walks, but I tried to keep my distance from her. I didn't want to hurt her, and my heart was too damaged to even attempt to move on.

  As much as I was enjoying my solitude, the nights were still long and filled with thoughts of Cassie. I had been fairly successful at keeping busy enough to keep her out of my head during the day, but she refused to leave me alone at night.

  I tried to keep my memories of my perfect night with her at bay. At work, my hands manned the grill, which required enough focus to keep my mind occupied. On my walks, I could refocus my attention on my pristine surroundings. But at night, I was defenseless. I dreamt of her often––flailing about the bed, caught in the suspended state between waking and sleeping.

  The dreams of her in my arms felt so real, it was hard to distinguish between what was memory and what was merely a dream of her. It all felt like a dream until I remembered the nightmare of finding out we had been pawns in Dirk's sick game. How could he have done that to us? Why had Cassie allowed him to manipulate her that way?

  I felt physically ill every time I thought about it. My stupid heart wouldn't allow my brain to forget about Cassie, no matter how hard I tried. It was tempting to turn on my cell phone to see what messages the two of them had left me. The fear that they might convince me to forgive them kept me from turning it on. The even greater fear that they hadn't bothered to reach out to me at all had me leaving my phone in the glove box of my car, so I wouldn't even have to see it and be tempted to use it.