I wondered if Helen would be home yet. I hoped the house would still be empty. I couldn't stomach the prospect of telling her my interview, the first in well over a month, had gone poorly. Another faint hope dashed; I was still unemployed with little chance of finding work anytime soon.
I continued sitting in the car, trying to find the strength to step out into the late afternoon sunshine. I felt exhausted. I had felt almost cheerful this morning before leaving for my interview with a vice-president of Allied Financial. "Good luck," Helen had said with the first small smile she had given me in weeks. On the way into town I had fantasized about getting the job and having a paycheck again. Things would be different, I had told myself. Life would get better. Helen would love me again.
But, now, seven hours later, things were only worse. "Thank you very much for coming in," Mr. Franks, the Allied VP, had said with the obligatory dead smile and handshake. "If anything should change and we have an opening for you I'll certainly be in touch." I had spent the rest of the day aimlessly driving around and feeling sorry for myself.
Still paralyzed, I thought about what Helen would do when she learned I had failed again to find work. As bad as the past year had been for me it had been good for her. Two promotions at Ryan Enterprises had almost doubled her salary. Her blend of executive and computer skills, not to mention her tall redheaded beauty, had her on the fastrack to a top position at the company. She had become a favorite of Jack Ryan, the hard-driving company CEO. She had hinted to me a month before that she was being groomed to take over the company's entire business software production division.
I wondered if this would be the final straw for her, if she would leave me? For several months now we had been having ferocious arguments followed by days of numbing silence. We hadn't had sex now in two months. I knew I was mostly to blame. At first, after losing my job at Chemical, she had been very supportive. I had been the one sulking, getting drunk three or four nights a week, picking fights with her for little or no reason. Slowly, over those first six months I had been out of work, she had withdrawn from me.
"Really, Joe, what damn good are you?" she had said during our last fight. "I mean to me? You don't make any money. You don't do a damn thing around the house except eat, sleep, sulk and feel sorry for yourself. You aren't even good for sex anymore." Her voice had been as hard as frozen steel. "For what it costs me to support you I could get a maid, a good- looking young pool boy and a dog and have plenty of money left over."
My cheeks burned with the memory of her words. She was right. I was useless. I began to cry and then immediately hated myself for it. The sudden burst of anger gave me the strength to open the car door. If she was inside, I vowed to myself, at least I'd take her derision and scorn silently.
The house was empty. Relieved, I threw off my jacket and tie and headed toward the kitchen. I wanted a drink. Scotch, vodka, it didn't matter; even a beer would do. That son of a bitch from Allied hadn't given me a fair chance. He'd only glanced at my resume before starting his brush-off speach. Asshole, I thought. I hoped he got his in the next coporate layoff.
I was half way to the refrigerator when I saw her note. Lying on the dining room table next to the small vase of yellow, artificial flowers, it was written on a pale blue sheet from one of her legal pads. Even from across the room I could recognize her looping, precise handwriting.
I froze again. My hands started trembling. I was certain I knew what message
those precise little loops would contain. She couldn't even tell me she was
divorcing me in person. I thought of all those neat, typed letters I had
received when I was first unemployed from various companies in response to my mailed resumes. I wondered
if Helen's note, too, began, "we regret to inform you..."I suddenly felt furious with her. How dare she leave me just because I was out of work! I'd hire the best damn divorce lawyer I could find; I'd take her for all she was worth, for every damn nickel! Hell, I'd even ask for alimony! Just as suddenly the fire inside me went out and I began to cry. I loved her. I couldn't live without her. I vowed to myself I'd do anything, absolutely anything, to convince her to stay. I'd make up for the last year; I'd quit being such a self-pitying jerk. As I walked toward the dining room table I knew it was hopeless. Once Helen made up her mind there was no changing it. As I reached for the note I began to think about suicide.
Joe,, it began, you have two choices. At this point I really don't care which one you choose. First, you can leave now. If you choose to leave, I want all of your stuff out of the house by tomorrow morning. I don't care where you go. Just don't come back. If you do leave our marriage is over. I won't see you again , or even speak to you, except in court.
My legs suddenly went limp; I felt like a hundred iron bands were slowly constricting my chest. I slumped into a chair, tried to steady myself, then resumed reading.
Your second choice is to become utterly and totally submissive to me - to do exactly what I tell you to do at all times. If you choose this second choice, Joe, I warn you it will not be easy. If you disobey me at any time for any reason I will kick you out immediately and our marriage will be over. You will not have a second chance. Frankly, I don't think you're man enough to try it my way. It's your choice. If you are willing to submit to me completely on my terms, you will find your first commands in a note on my bed.
Back
to index page...