That night I walked into the club to see my fiancée playing tongue hockey with her ex-boyfriend, Chad. I watched as they sat down at a table together ... actually she sat in his lap. His hands were roaming her flat abdomen and brushed her breasts openly and gently stroked her shapely legs as they continued kissing and having a good time. They were dancing (or dry humping?) when she noticed me and it was evident that she was pleading with me not to make a scene in the public and I agreed. Her face showed so many emotions in that short time, first the look of lust as she ground her body against Chad, then the look of disbelief when she saw me standing there, followed by a slight look of guilt and embarrassment; it was followed by fear and then that look of pleading to me. We had been together for two years and I can read her face like a book.
I quietly turned around and walked out, leaving her on the dance floor, still in the arms of her lover as he turned around to see me walk out. I went home, changed and went to sleep in the guest room. I am not sure when she came back home and honestly, it did not matter. The sleep was fitful and came in spurts. The morning was not much better, I was restless because I knew that she would be outside the guest room - somewhere, maybe preparing coffee or taking a shower. The hurt was bad and I was surprised I had not cried.
I am not your typical alpha male. I do cry and I do invest my emotions in things that matter to me. Cindy mattered to me and she was a long term investment who had been declared kaput. I got up and opened the door of my guest room to be greeted by a silent living room. I walked toward the kitchen where I heard Cindy working.
I was orphaned at a very early age. I was eight when my parents divorced and I was given into the custody of my dad because my mom's boss was not keen on having me around. My dad tried to get by, but drank himself to death in just 2 years. So at ten years of age, despite having a living parent, I was put into the juvenile care system. I bounced from one foster home to another till I was fifteen. I was a quiet boy who did well in academics but failed miserably at sports. When I was fifteen my mom was thrown out of her boyfriend's house after he found a younger woman. She came to meet me for the first time in seven years. I treated her with courtesy but I politely told her that since she chose someone else over me a long time ago, she had no business messing up my life at this late a stage. I never heard from her again until her lawyer called me to tell me that she was dead and had left me some money, but I gave all the money to the local church.
So, in short, I am not the most forgiving person around. If there is one lesson that life has taught me then it has to be "No one looks after my interests as well as I do." My father did not care enough for me to stop drinking. My mother did not care enough for me to stay with me, and none of my foster parents cared about anything but the check they received for having me around. However, Cindy had almost become a part of me — in the sense that I had begun to believe I could trust her to look out for me.
Now, at 26, I was gainfully employed as an installation and maintenance expert for Digital Photo Labs and I loved my job. It entailed some travel and the salary was good. On the plus side, if I was able to induce some sales I also got commission and I was doing rather well as a sales person because my clients valued my suggestions on equipment and upgrades. Cindy was a year younger than me and came from money. Her father was a rich lawyer with a private plane and varied real estate investments. I think he made more from his properties now than he did as a lawyer and that is saying a lot. Buying a million dollar yacht was just as easy for the Hamptons as it was for me to buy a pack of Pall Malls.
So, why did Cindy chose me and not some multi-millionaire? Your guess is as good as mine. She was a good friend of a foster sister of mine and pursued me relentlessly before I gave in and went out with her. I was reluctant because of the big difference in our social standings. I am realist and I believe that a man should marry a girl who has lived all her life in the same socio-economic strata as what he is capable of providing.
Cindy was used to spending her vacations on French Riviera while the best I could offer was Miami or Hawaii. She was used to driving custom built cars and the best I could ever dream of offering her was a Volvo. Yet, somehow she convinced me to pop the question and against the wishes of her parents we were engaged. Although no date had been set, we were talking about a summer wedding. That was not on the cards anymore, was it?
Cindy and I had been living together for six months when the incident happened. Chad, by the way, was Cindy's boyfriend all through high school. They stopped dating when he went off to England for college. He might be even richer than Cindy, if it was possible. Obviously he was back in town and was reclaiming his girl.
I reached the kitchen and saw her sitting at the table sipping on a cup of coffee. She said nothing as I poured myself one and sat opposite her.
"How much time do you need to move out?" I asked.
Her face was a picture of pain as she said, "I do not want to move out. I am sorry; I was drunk and not thinking straight. Seeing him after all this time, I guess the teenager inside me took over and I did something stupid. I am not trying to justify what I did, I am just saying I was stupid and thoughtless, please give me another chance."
"It will not work out between us because I am an asshole when it comes to loyalty and you have shown me that you are not the loyal kind. Okay, let me tell you something. I was a player in younger days. I have never walked out a singles bar without a hot chick on my arm. What would happen if I told you that I went out with some single friends to a bar and with a little too much booze in my blood I picked up a chick and banged the shit out of her. I might rationalize that I had gotten back together with all my single friends after long, long time and my hormones and nostalgia kicked in and I ended up in bed with her. What would you do? Let it slide off your back?" I was ready for her argument.
"I do not know, probably ... shit ... I would kick your ass from here to San Francisco," she said as she got up and started pacing around. She was getting angry ... at herself.
I looked up at her.