The phone rang sharply beside the sleeping head of Terry Gilson. He snapped awake.
"What the fuck?" he growled.
It rang again. He picked up the receiver.
"Hullo," he managed in a gravely, low cough.
"This is Sergeant Preston of the Yukon County Police Department. May I speak to Mrs. Turvey please?" barked the authoritative voice in Gilson's ear.
"Who is this?"
"Mr. Gilson, please put Mrs. Turvey on. This is a police emergency." Again, a clear and demanding tone.
"Minute," was Gilson's mumbled reply.
He passed the phone to the groggy, naked woman lying beside him.
"For you. It's the police," he said simply.
"What!" She grabbed the phone from his hand. "Hello?"
"Good morning my darling, faithless wife," came an overly cheerful greeting. "I hope you slept well last night after you and loverboy got through fucking."
"Oh my god, Mick? Mick, is that you?"
"You bet your sweet ass it is honeybunch. I just phoned to give you some information that you'll need."
"Mick ... Mick! Please," she tried.
"First, you can throw your house key away. It won't work any more. Oh, and I changed the code on the garage door opener too."
"Mick, please ... it isn't what you think," she cried.
"You don't know what I think, Sheila. But I didn't call to discuss it with you. I just called to tell you that your credit cards won't work any more, and you can pick up your clothes and toiletries in the plastic tubs behind the side gate anytime you like." The voice had turned as cold as ice.
"No! No! Mick, please ... don't do this ... please," my wife pleaded desperately.
"Too late, sweetbuns, I already have."
"But ... where will I go?" she cried.
"Well, in the immortal words of Rhett Butler ... frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." The receiver was slammed down in anger.
I had started the process several weeks earlier, but this morning was the critical moment. If I hadn't been so sure she was sleeping in Gilson's room, I wouldn't even have tried this stunt. I was surprised at how easily it worked and at how empty this moment felt. A cuckold's victory, I thought. Too little, too late.
I suppose it's appropriate to describe my situation. My name is Michael "Mick" Turvey. I am forty-three years old and I am employed as a sales representative for a building materials distributor. I've worked for this same company for over twenty years.
I married Sheila Pratt almost exactly twenty years ago. We were to "celebrate" our twentieth anniversary next month. I thought it was a good marriage, having produced two wonderful children. Our first, Angela, my angel, was born a year and a half after we were married, while Ben, our son, was born two years later.
I loved my wife and my children without reservation. They were my reason for being. No man could have been prouder of his family than I was. We lived in a modest home, but it held everything a family could want. A three bedroom split-level, it was our second home purchase and had been bought four years earlier. It wasn't new, but we had set about updating it and making it our own.
A new kitchen, then a finished basement with workshop for me and a large family room that the kids could use for their entertainment. A garage that we actually parked our cars inside, followed by new furniture for the living room and dining room. I thought we had the perfect life.
I met Sheila when we were both high school students in grade eleven. She was a good looking blonde and had a nice body, so it wasn't hard to notice her. She had tried out for cheerleader, but was unsuccessful. I played wide receiver on the football team and I thought we might be a nice match. I asked her out on a date just after school started in the fall, and she said yes.
We dated for several months and during that time Sheila matured into a really good looking young lady. Her breasts grew and the rest of her body seemed to be in sync with that. I wasn't the only one that noticed.
I thought we were going steady, but I guess I'd never really confirmed that with Sheila. The next thing I knew, our quarterback, Terry Gilson, asked her out and she said yes. I couldn't understand it. I thought we were "a couple," but obviously I was mistaken.
Gilson was the star of our team. He was a big, talented senior with a strong arm and a will to win that was unlike anything that I had ever encountered. As a quarterback, he was a coach's dream and a coach's nightmare. He had great talent and a fearless attitude, but he just couldn't follow orders. As the rest of the team recognized, Terry was not a team player. Terry was all about Terry.
Our team finished with a winning record that season, but I wondered how much better we might have been if Terry had stuck to the coach's script instead of making it up as he went along. For all his talent, he was undisciplined and very frustrating for the rest of us who slaved in his shadow.
Terry had often been heard to brag that he had fucked every cheerleader at least once. I was grateful that Sheila wasn't a cheerleader, but I wasn't sure that would protect her. There was no point in my being angry at Gilson. He was what he was, a relentless womanizer. He saw these young girls as meat on his plate and he intended to enjoy them. Nothing personal, just sex.
I was upset that Sheila had fallen for him, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Terry would be gone next year and Sheila and I would still be here. Perhaps there was still a chance for me. It didn't happen. I began dating Marylyn Urlacher. Since seating at our school was most often alphabetical, more often than not, Marylyn was seated behind me and had me in her sights.
Marylyn was a nice girl, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted something more exciting, but that was asking too much of Miss Urlacher. We got along fine and I think she was impressed that a football player would be interested in her, but that was about the extent of it. I started searching around for a replacement in the spring.
In the meantime, Gilson had dumped Sheila in favor of some other girl and she was available once again. I thought about it, but considering how she had abandoned me, I decided to ignore her. By the end of the year, she had found someone else and I was sitting on the outside, once again.
Grade twelve was different. Roger Davidson had taken over as quarterback on our team and he proved to be everything Terry Gilson was not. He was a leader and the definitive team player. He sought us out to determine who could best do what. It ran through my thoughts more than once that this guy was coaching material in the making. He understood what it took to win, and to get the most out of what the team had to offer.
The result was wonderful. I was catching passes like never before and we were winning with regularity. The huddle was silent when Roger came into it, giving the play and making sure everyone knew the snap-count. It was all new to me. I loved it.
I continued avoiding Sheila, my ego still bruised from the Gilson affair. I wasn't really surprised when Roger started dating her. For all his talent and leadership, he was a quiet guy and hard not to like. In a strange way, I felt good about them. If I couldn't be with her, then Roger was my choice. I guess she felt the same way.
Sheila wasn't the smartest girl in school. In fact, she scraped through with a C average and graduated like so many of her classmates, into the workforce. She never had designs on college. She must have recognized her limitations. She took a job as a bank teller in the shopping centre.
I lost contact with her after graduation. I was on my way to college and already dreaming of playing football, drinking beer with the "boys," and dating only the loveliest girls who would be anxious to be with a "football hero." By Christmas, reality had set in. I was failing in three classes and while I had enjoyed every minute of my time on the football field, the rest of the campus experience was something less.
There was no line-up of girls waiting to date me. The beer was downtown and expensive on my limited budget. The classes were a pain and I was having a hard time understanding that the learning process was entirely up to me. There was no one to monitor me or make sure I attended class or completed my assignments. It was a very different world.
The marks posted on the board at the end of term were discouraging. I was in danger of flunking out. Well, I said to myself, no football and no girlfriends next semester. I might as well get down to it.
It wasn't easy. It was a whole new way of life for me. It was a struggle. I made it, but not by much. I had a year of college under my belt and I wondered if this was what I wanted to do for the next three years. If I was asking the question, it seemed clear to me that the answer was no.
I found a job in an office in the city and each morning, I got on the bus, put in my nine hours, got back on the bus and went home. Within a few months, I knew this couldn't be my future. I needed something more. I toughed it out for almost two years, but I was constantly looking for something better.
If you had asked me what my career would have been when I graduated from high school, I wouldn't have had a clue. I certainly wouldn't have included the category of sales. My vision of a salesman was someone who went door to door selling brushes or kitchenware or magazines. That definitely wasn't me.
.... There is more of this story ...