Chapter 1: A Basket of Lemons

I’m Jim Carlisle and, sadly, I had not read George Anderson’s classic story February Sucks before I had my encounter with Marc Lavalliere. When I walked into Morrison’s on the last day of February with my wife, Linda and three other couples, I believed we were celebrating the end of a bleak winter. With hindsight, I should have noticed a number of anomalies. In my day job as a mediator, I was constantly on the watch for such inconsistencies but tonight I was off duty, in the company of old friends.

By the time I was alerted to the problem, it was already too late to prevent the train wreck. We had dined at an upmarket restaurant before we moved the party to our reserved table in Morrison’s, the fashionable nightclub. I didn’t know you could book tables but the four ladies in our group had organized the whole evening. Us husbands were paying for everything as our contribution to the festivities.

Three of the girls had been extremely lively in the restaurant, with only Ann in a rather subdued mood. When we arrived at the nightclub, she sat at the back of the table half-hidden by a palm tree, one of several that broke up the rather bleak room into more private areas. Jane sat behind me, but Dee and Linda were facing the dance floor, showing rather more thigh than usual when they turned in their seats to watch the dancers. All four girls were dressed above expectation for a simple night out with friends.

Linda had announced that she was dancing with no one but me, and we had already been on the floor for all the slow numbers and almost half of the up-tempo music. A little after ten, I sensed that Linda’s lively mood had faded. In fact, she had whispered to me that we should return to our neighboring hotel room after the next slow number. She had been holding my hand all evening when we weren’t actually on the floor. Five minutes later there was a commotion at the door and Dee grabbed my wife’s hand and mouthed “I told you so!” at her.

The new arrivals were three very large men accompanied by two rather scantily clad girls. I recognized the man leading the group a Marc Lavalliere, tight-end and super star of our local football team. The bandleader played a few bars of the team’s song, Lavalliere responding with a wide smile and a mock threatening fist. The bouncer helped a waiter bring out a table and chairs for the new arrivals. While two of the men and the girls settled, Lavalliere stood chatting to the manager who had come out to greet the star guest.

This was Lavalliere’s home turf and he made us all aware of that, continuing to stand, nodding and waving at acquaintances around the room. My attention was diverted by the antics of three women sitting at a table opposite us. They were squirming in their seats, clearly trying to attract the attention of the local celebrity. The band played an upbeat number and I turned away to watch how the rest of the crowd was reacting.

It was a change in the atmosphere close to me that brought my attention back to our table. Lavalliere was striding across the room aiming directly for us. Dee was hopping up and down in her seat. I had just noticed that Linda was no longer holding my hand when Lavalliere arrived, stretched out his hand to my wife, who rose, took the proffered hand, and let herself be led onto the dance floor.

She left without hesitation, indeed without so much as a glance at me. I began to rise to follow her when Jane, sitting behind me, put her hand on my shoulder. “Let her have one dance. He picked her out of all the women in the club. Give her have her fantasy encounter.” My mum had raised me with the mantra ‘Happy wife, happy life’, so I sat down but watched the mother of my children break her promise to dance only with me.

If I hadn’t been watching carefully, I might have missed the exchange of nods between Lavalliere and the bandleader. He brought the upbeat song to a swift end, replacing it with a slow number which quickly resulted in Linda being engulfed in the body of the sporting hero who had claimed her. There were three more slow numbers before the band took a break. Linda remained in the arms of her suitor, mostly out of my sight behind the other couples crowding the floor.

After the music stopped, Linda was escorted to the edge of the dance floor and left to walk the last five or six paces to our table. She looked at Dee, giving her a gleeful smile. There was something else in her expression and she had almost reached us when I recognized it as lust. Dee jumped up when Linda was still two paces away, grabbed both purses and led my wife away to the powder room. Linda glanced in my direction, her expression vacant, clearly still under the spell of her new beau.

When the band stopped, it seemed as if the whole crowd was in motion. Half were trying to reach the bar and the other half formed a cross stream going to the toilets at the back of the room. I looked at Lavalliere in time to catch him high-five his companions before he headed to the front door. He exchanged a few words with the bouncer, collected his topcoat and left the club. His teammates moved towards the toilets. Several minutes later they returned to start an animated conversation with their bimbos. The three couples opposite were gathering their stuff together getting ready to leave. Several minutes had elapsed since Linda and Dee went to the toilets and I was becoming a little concerned, although much less than I would have been if Lavalliere was still in the club. At last Dee appeared and I rose from my seat looking behind her for my wife. “Relax Jim,” Dee told me. “She’s gone with Marc. He’ll return her in the morning none the worse – lucky girl.”

LINDA

Dee was right after all. At ten I had lost hope, but then Marc appeared large as life, and even more handsome and studly in the flesh. Now all I could do was sit tight and hope we won tonight’s lottery. I sat trying to convince myself that I would be just as happy if he picked someone else so I could join my loving husband in our hotel room. Then, suddenly he was there holding out his hand in invitation. I had no hesitation, although I felt a little disappointed that the band was playing a fast number. Two minutes later, the tempo slowed, and I was engulfed in pure raw masculinity. By the end of the first slow song, he was nibbling my neck and had explored my bum in detail.

It wasn’t until the second slow dance that he spoke - well, I didn’t pick him for intellectual conversation. “Feel that stallion?” he murmured in my ear, pulling my crotch onto the lump in his pants. To tell the truth it didn’t feel all that different from Jim’s, but we always used to say ‘Big hands, big cock’ and his hands are huge. His instructions were clear and concise: when the music stopped, I was to leave by the door beside the toilets. His friends would cover my escape “In case the wimp gets ambitious,” as he put it.

He left by the front door and met me at his SUV. We had our first slight difference of opinion before we left the car park. He wanted me to blow him as he drove, and I told hm that I got car sick if I couldn’t look out the windscreen. He grumbled a bit for the ten minutes or so it took to reach his mansion. He grabbed me by the wrist to tow me upstairs to his bedroom. Once there he stripped off his clothes and began chinning a bar that was part of a whole suite of gym equipment. I had removed my dress and was standing bare-chested in panties and stockings when he demanded that I count his exercise.

When he had chinned the bar twenty times, he dropped to the floor and did twenty push-ups – again demanding that I keep the score. His final seductive effort was to swallow a blue pill, telling me that my cuckie husband would never satisfy me again. Next, he lifted me, threw me none to gently on the bed and jumped into the gap between my legs. After tearing my thong off he pushed in without further preparation. Fortunately, the tale about big hands is not universally true so his distinctly below average member caused very little discomfort.

I had become fairly moist while we were dancing and positively streaming when I got into his SUV, but his pre-sex calisthenics had dried me up somewhat. I had wanted adventure – a return to the giddy days of college, sampling new bodies and strange techniques in the bedroom. As Marc pounded to a conclusion which did not seem to require my active participation, I realized that I had gone back in time still further. I had not had such an inept sexual partner since I graduated from high school.

He deposited enough jism to keep me moist while the Viagra did its job of keeping him hard. He dropped off to sleep after that leaving me to contemplate the disaster that was the result of our plan going right. It was Jane who first heard the rumor that Marc Lavalliere picked up a married woman at Morrison’s every Friday and it was Dee who prompted us to plan tonight’s visit which ended in unqualified success.

Marc came, as expected, chose a woman, as expected, and left with her, as expected. Marc is a hunk, a highly trained athlete with much experience in the arts of love -well sex, if you insist. It turns out that he is the world’s worst lover and there isn’t even the consolation of a big dick. I had tried hard not to anticipate too much but I did expect an experience that would justify the hassle and the groveling I’ll have to do to get my marriage back on track.

I won’t tell you the rest of the horror story, except to say that Marc delayed our return until eleven on Saturday morning, using the noisiest of his half dozen vehicles to ensure that my husband and all the neighbors would notice my return. His finale was a passionate kiss and a slap on my buttocks as I staggered towards my front door.

The house was very empty when I entered shouting “It’s just the same old me, Jim. Nothing has changed.”

JIM

I have no recollection of what happened between Dee’s return from the powder room and me standing in the bathroom of our hotel room clutching the bag containing my toiletries more than an hour later. Something clicked in my head, bringing the world back into focus. Linda had gone away with a football star, and she shouldn’t have done so. I don’t mean that she should have remained faithful to me - although she certainly should have. It was her method of leaving that was so out of character.

In the hotel room, Linda’s clothes and toiletries were laid out or packed away in drawers and wardrobes while my clothes were still in my open case and my toiletries in a zippered bag. Linda is a very determined woman, but she takes a long time to consider all side of a question before she makes up her mind. Her dress tonight is a good example.

She first mentioned it at thanksgiving, and she brought up the subject every week or so until she finally bought it at the end of January. I know from overhearing her side of telephone conversations that all her friends had seen and passed an opinion on the dress. As a last check, she asked me to approve the expenditure. “It’s over $500, Jim. Is that too far outside our budget? It’s for a special occasion.” Once she decided, she moved with determination, leaving the garment at Dee’s house so I would not see it until our special night.

When Lavalliere approached, she responded immediately, indicating that the approach was not wholly unexpected and that she had been considering her response for some time. Remembering the excitement of the four wives at the beginning of the evening, I began to think that the subject had been discussed amongst them. Even if she was planning an affair with Marc, she had chosen a clumsy way to do it. It would have been simpler to meet him at a hotel or a restaurant out of town.

Was she making sure that I was left in no doubt of her feelings? While I was sorting through these ideas my body had completed the packing of my case and had carried me down to my car. I was parked in my garage with the door closing behind me when I remembered that the other three wives were also dressed to the nines Was the deal that Marc would wait until he arrived to select one of the four? I was locking the door from the garage to the kitchen when I remembered the three women sitting opposite: they looked as if they too were waiting for Marc.

It was almost two hours since Linda had abandoned her marriage and my thoughts had slowed to the point where my training took over. I’m a mediator; I listen to both sides of disputes and suggest a way forward that satisfies both parties. In heated arguments, the first thing that is lost is the truth. Faced with a dispute, the first thing I do is to establish the facts before I ever explore the differing opinions of the two sides.

By one on Saturday morning, I was sitting at my computer with a fresh carafe of coffee researching my friends – more especially their wives – and Marc Lavalliere. I was getting sleepy when I found the first loose end – the first thread that enabled me to unravel what had happened. A fan site praising Lavalliere had a jocular comment. “He may be the greatest tight end in NFL history but don’t let him near your wife.”

By the time I fell asleep with my head on the keyboard, I had discovered that Marc Lavalliere, sporting superstar and all-round good guy, had only one hobby. He went to Morrison’s every Friday and selected a married woman to take home for the night It was clear that the four wives had discovered his avocation and had planned to offer him his choice. Linda was the winner.

Linda and I had always agreed that fidelity in marriage was vital - one and done, was our rule. I had sometimes wondered if I could forgive a lapse due to drunkenness or, perhaps, meeting a former lover and succumbing to feelings of nostalgia. What she had done last night was not in any category that might be forgivable. She and her friends had coldly planned a tryst; Linda, knowing all the risks to our relationship, had gone to Morrison’s ready to accept Marc’s offer if his choice fell on her. There is no way our marriage can survive such disrespect.

I woke at six when a ray of sunshine reached me. While I slept a plan had formed for dealing with the immediate future. It involved telephone calls which I could not begin until a more civilized hour on a Saturday. I washed, made breakfast, and packed a case with enough clothes for a week or ten days. I moved them and my computer to my car which I parked beside the curb for a quick getaway. I moved money from our saving account to a checking account in my name. Almost as an afterthought, I reported our joint credit card stolen.

At nine, I telephoned my best man, Eric. He and I shared rooms at college, becoming life-long friends in the process. We have very little in common except mutual respect which is probably the reason we remain close after fifteen years. He is a corporate lawyer, and I would have talked to him about my troubles in the normal course of events. Today, however, I am hoping to persuade his wife, Phoebe, to act for me in my pending divorce. She is not one of those family law specialists who set out to destroy their opponents; her aim is to reach a fair settlement.

Then I gave my mum a quick call, promising more details later – she told me I should grovel to Linda if that’s what it took to get her back. After that chastening call, I got through to the Porters, the retired couple who were our favorite babysitters. Emily and Timmy were spending the night with them. I gave Mr. Porter the same story I told mum but with a different reception. “Excuse me saying so, Jim,” Mr. Porter whispered so the kids wouldn’t hear. “I’ve always thought she was a rather selfish girl. Everything must be done her way.” That, and the chatter of my babies after I had collected them, put me in a better mood on the drive to mum’s house: she lowered my spirits again, so I made a swift exit.

Eric and Phoebe met at law school. They are very much in love although they often sound like opposing advocates, particularly when they have friends around. Today they were united in sympathy and understanding of my position. It turns out that, like Mr. Porter, they have had some reservations about Linda. I don’t think it is a sign of weakness to give her what she wants in unimportant matters like the make and color of our automobile.

Linda went back to work about a year ago more to get adult company than because we need extra money. Since Covid I have worked from home as often as possible, taking on man of the house duties with the kids such as doctor’s visits and school counseling. I also do most of the cooking and laundry. We agreed that Linda’s salary should be banked in her name to pay for the business clothing she would need. We had never reviewed the arrangement, so it is my salary that pays the mortgage, all household bills and feeds our savings account.

I had blocked Linda’s phone number, and I was not too surprised when she used my mum’s cell to contact me. Before she had done more than apologize, I told her I needed time to come to terms with what had happened. “Not too long, Jim. We can’t fix things if we’re not speaking to each other.” After a scuffle, mum took the phone to tell me that I would attend Sunday dinner. “Noon tomorrow, Jim. That’s long enough to let you get over your snit,” mum told me.

LINDA

My mind was in turmoil again as I turned towards my front door, propelled by a smack on the bum. As I fumbled for my key, I resolved to make a dash for the stairs to remove the dress and other evidence of my betrayal. I shouted something totally inane like: “I’m home. It’s just the same old me!”. I was on the second step on the stairs to my bedroom when I became aware that the house was empty; no husband and no kids. I stopped and listened to the background sounds of a vacant dwelling. There was a moment of disgust with myself when I thought of my children for the first time in twelve hours.

I got out my phone and turned the power on. It was one of Marc’s friends who told me to switch it off as I sneaked out of the club. “You don’t want your wimpy husband interrupting, do you?” The cell began pinging to remind me that I had missed some activity. I had received six calls since nine this morning: five from Dee, one from Jane and none – a big round zero – from my loving husband. I had reached our bedroom when I pushed the button to call Mrs. Porter – I had promised to collect Emily and Tim more than an hour ago. It was Mr. Porter who answered.

“Yes?” I had to smile. Mr. Porter is a sweet old man nearer seventy than sixty and he is probably unaware that my name will be showing on his phone. “Hi Mr. Porter. Its Linda Lou.” That’s his nickname for me. “I know who it is Mrs. Carlisle, but I don’t know why you’re calling. Jim collected the little ones before nine.” That brief sentence had thrown down several red flags. All I could think to ask was if he knew where Jim had taken my babies. He replied “Yes” and disconnected before I could ask more.

I had unzipped my dress as I was talking and now put my cell down to remove it. As it passed my nose I choked on Marc’s distinctive scent. ‘If it’s on the dress,’ I thought, ‘It must be all over me.’ I rushed downstairs in laddered stockings and ratty garter belt to find a garbage sack. I bundled up the dress, added the stockings and belt and sealed the sack, briefly wondering what had happened to my panties. That accomplished, I called the Porters again: their phone rang until a disembodied voice invited me to leave a voice mail.

I was well aware that I was indulging in what my dad used to call a ‘displacement activity’. I knew perfectly well that I had to call Jim to find out where my babies were and what he was planning. I wasted a few more minutes checking his side of the wardrobe and his sock drawer before I pressed ‘One’ to speed dial him. “The number you have dialed is not available,’ a machine-generated voice intoned. My husband of ten years had gone off with my children and had blocked my number. For the first time, I felt a touch of panic.

I was interrupted by a call from Dee announcing that she and Jane were on their way round to hear all the details of my tryst. I told her I was about to jump in the shower to scrub off his smell, when she lost her cool. “Don’t you dare wash until we get there. I want to smell every inch of your body! It’s the least you can do for us!” I ended the call and ran under the shower not even waiting until it had warmed up. I stayed there, scrubbing outside and as far inside as I could reach until the hot water ran out. As soon as I was dressed, I would buy a douche to take care of the rest.

I was still wet when Dee burst in followed by Jane. Dee was more than a little upset, not only because I had washed all trace of Marc from my body. My departure the night before had triggered disputes amongst the others that were likely to continue for some time. “At least you had a night to remember with super-hunk Marc,” Jane complained. There was disbelief and then anger in their eyes as I told them that it was the worst sex I had ever had – even worse than the inept fumblings in high school. Dee was so incensed that she stormed off, leaving Jane and I alone. I made coffee and we sat in the kitchen while she filled me in on events that unfolded after I had made my escape.

Dee confronted Jim when she returned from the restroom, telling him that I had gone for the night but would return good as new in the morning. She added that he was lucky to have a wife so beautiful that she attracted the superstar. Jim stood at the edge of the dance floor looking bewildered, before he turned on his heel, visibly straightened his shoulders and marched out the front door. Ann and Bill followed a few seconds later, without saying a word. Jim had only asked Dee one question: “Would you have gone if he had asked?”

She assured him that she would have jumped at the chance and would likely return to Morrison’s to give herself another opportunity. Dave heard that and reacted angrily. Dee walked away with Dave on her heels asking pointed questions about her fidelity, past, present and future. Left alone, Phil was quiet for a moment before asking Jane if she knew of the plan. “It wasn’t really a plan. We heard that Marc picked up a married woman every Friday and we thought it would be a giggle to check it out.” Phil hasn’t spoken to her since; she sneaked out with Dee when he was doing yard work this morning.

It was Jane who suggested we call Jim’s mum to see if she knew where her grandchildren were. “You’re back from your Night of Bliss,” were her first words. Before I answered that I heard screams of glee in the background as Emily realized that her mummy was on the phone. “Why did you leave my daddy and go away with another man?” she whined when her gran handed her the cell. I couldn’t speak for a moment, choked by anger: how dare Jim upset my babies by telling them about my little lapse. He had obviously told his mum and probably the Porters as well. Is he insane?

How can we hope to get our relationship back on course if he is going around telling everyone that he’s a wimp and a cuckold? I had been home about an hour when my mood changed from penitent to harridan. “Do you regret your night with Marc?” Jane asked. “Not one second of it,” I replied, “I deserved it and Jim just has to suck it up.”

“It’s not only Jim, you know,” Jane mused. “I didn’t tell Dee, but Ann called this morning to say that she and Bill will not be available in future. She said she likes Jim better than Dee and Dave – and you. I’m going to have to tread very carefully for a few weeks – Phil really admires Jim.” I took our cups to rinse them, making enough clatter to drown out any further unwelcome remarks. I dropped Jane off at the end of her street so her husband wouldn’t see me.

My mother-in-law was in a strange mood when I reached her home. On the one hand, she was keen for her son and I to reconcile: “You’re out of Jim’s league, Linda, and the sooner he faces it the better.” On the other hand, she was scathing of the way I had behaved. When I argued that it was a feather in my cap to have won the approval of Marc, she laughed so loud and long that the children came running.

After lunch when Emily and Timmy were watching Frozen, she returned to the attack. “Lavalliere’s Friday night pick-ups have been the talk of the town for weeks. Even Sophisticated Seniors, where I get my hair styled, has been buzzing with it. I know some of the girls are planning nights out there if they can persuade their husbands. That seems to be the key. Marc only selects women whose husbands are there and adoring. You got your big date because Jim loves you, not because you have a magic pussy.” That was the first improper word she had ever used in my presence.

“It was only one night,” I wailed. “After ten years of total fidelity I deserved an adventure – something just for me to remember when I am old and wrinkled.”

“You can’t be that stupid, Linda. A discreet dalliance in a quiet hotel at lunchtime is Ok but you had to join the meat market in a busy nightclub, leaving your clueless husband to be mocked and derided by your friends and a couple of hundred strangers.” I tried to argue that we had been discreet. I had slipped out the back door without being noticed. She threw her hands up in disbelief.

“There were at least fifty other women there on the same mission, watching every move Lavalliere made from the moment he entered the club They may not have noticed you but they all spotted the lonely figure of your husband, the man who couldn’t keep his own woman. If it wasn’t for the children, you would never see Jim again – and I wouldn’t blame him. He needs a woman who loves him as much as he loves her, even if she is less beautiful.”

I do love Jim – he’s my soulmate. If I could just talk to him and explain that Marc was nothing but a brief adventure that will have no lasting impact on our marriage. If he hadn’t run away, everything could have been settled by now. Men are such cowards.

“Ever since he could walk, Jim has taken time to consider things before he acts – that’s what makes him a good mediator. He doesn’t make hasty decisions. Once he has reviewed the facts, he makes a decision and then acts on it, without fear or favor. He is no coward. You need to give him time, but not too much. I have told him to be here at noon tomorrow for family lunch. After we have eaten, I’ll take the kids to let you and Jim sort things out. I’ll put fresh sheets on the guestroom bed, just in case,” she added with a twinkle.

When Frozen ended, I took the kids home and bonded with them. Emily kept asking why I had hurt her daddy by going away with another man and I eventually had to be quite firm with her to shut her up. By the time I went to bed, I was angry with everyone but especially Jim for telling everyone about my adventure. If he truly loved me, he would have been in bed comforting me – reclaiming me. I did not sleep well. On Sunday morning we joined Jim’s mum at church so I could help her with preparations for the big reconciliation.

By noon, the table was set, food cooking and the kids installed at the front room window excitedly waiting for daddy. Twenty minutes later, when I finished setting the table, I joined them only to be beckoned by Jim’s mum. “I’ve just called Jim’s number and he’s blocked me.” Her expression was bleak, and she seemed to have aged ten years in the last few minutes.

JIM

After I left the kids with mum on Saturday morning, I joined Eric and Phoebe for lunch. We sat at the kitchen table eating a green salad, although it could have been cardboard for all I noticed. Phoebe is friendly with Emily’s first grade teacher who had told candid stories of my daughter’s behavior in class. Daddy was a push-over, Emily told anyone who asked. The only thing that made him angry was if you didn’t tell the exact truth. Mummy was strict and moody, sometimes shouting at her and Timmy for no reason.

I had watched Linda with the children literally from the moment they were born, and I had never seen any evidence of moodiness with them. Linda could be temperamental with me, and she was capable of dropping a friend because of an imagined slight. She had certainly never treated the kids badly in my presence. When they were being particularly trying, during the terrible twos, she might roll her eyes at me, but she always spoke calmly and soothingly to the children. Linda was proving to have an unexpected talent for deceit.

It wasn’t until Eric laughed: “Earth to Jim” that I realized I had switched off from the conversation. While I was distracted, the table had been cleared and Phoebe settled opposite me with a large pad of lined paper and a mug filled with an assortment of pens. I smiled when she threw the first pen at her husband. “Why does my idiot husband put empty pens back in the tub?” she asked me in mock displeasure.

For the next hour, Phoebe had me go through the events of the previous evening. First the facts and then my speculation on the background. As I outlined my theory that the four wives had planned the encounter with Lavalliere, I became aware that my reasoning had a large number of holes in it. When I finished, Phoebe sighed. “You’ve got all the salient points covered, Jim. There are a number of divorce cases in the pipeline that describe Marc’s predatory habits. Family law is like a village – we run into each other almost daily and we gossip amongst ourselves.