Chapter 3

Chelsea Pamela Chandler was born to Francine and me just short of seven months following the wedding. I was thrilled to be a father, but I was surprised that Francine did not appear to be overjoyed to be a mother. She assured me, after I had noticed it enough to mention it, that it was probably just her hormones still being out of whack; coupled with a possible touch of post-partum depression.

I bought this explanation and we settled deeper into our little domestic bubble--as your typical young upwardly-mobile parents in the modern world. I went out daily into the world to serve as the family's bread-winner and Francine remained at home to be the nurturer.

NOT!

Francine hired a nanny without consulting me. When I asked about the strange woman I had seen leaving the condo as I was getting in from work one day, Francine simply passed it off as a done deal. Given Francine's social position and her professional ambitions, she simply could not let the presence of a child in our midst hold her back.

Francine went back to work not two months after Chelsea was born. Although we both worked for her father, Francine insisted that she drive her own car to work so that she would not be perceived as having lost any of her independence simply because she had become a wife and mother. Business 'demanded' her presence, she explained, and her father was counting on her.

Meanwhile, Alicia rarely entered the picture whenever I was around. It seemed that every time there was a gathering at the Thompson household where I might be in attendance with Francine, Alicia also seemed to have an appointment elsewhere. I still had feelings for my wife's younger sister, but my sense of duty to my wife and my obligations toward our marriage and our new family had already begun to outweigh those feelings.

Alicia's absence from things, primarily due to her college schedule--yes, at Scott--did not seem to faze Francine in the least. And, even when she was around, Alicia had nothing but frostiness--and even outright hostility--toward me, toward her parents, and even toward Francine.

No; I was definitely not going to be 'Friended' on Alicia's Facebook page.

All marriages finally settle into a routine and young couples establish the working arrangements and the house rules that work best for establishing domestic tranquility. That was as true for Francine and me as for any other couple.

Except...

The working arrangements and house rules for our family turned out to be whatever Francine wanted them to be. In order to maintain 'domestic tranquility' in our household, I found that I simply needed to go along with whatever Francine wanted.

Oh, once in a while, I could get my way in something innocuous. But, by and large, how often and where we went out, who we had as our circle of friends, and how we managed 'our' finances were all determined by my loving wife. I simply wanted peace in the arrangement, so, risk-averse as I was, and with my finely-honed tendency to avoid conflict, I went along with Francine's wishes most of the time.

It was evidently her wish to avoid further pregnancy for the time being as well, since our times of intimacy were reduced to roughly once a week within the first year; and then down only to about once every two weeks after that.

Francine did not appear to be very adventurous sexually, as she was only in favor of fucking in the time-honored missionary position. As for oral sex, in either direction; her on me or me on her--as they say in those shows and movies set in New York City; Fuggeddaboutit!

And I was forced to use condoms whenever we fucked. Francine claimed that her body could not take the chemicals involved with implants or the pill. So, you can see that sex was not very exciting--at least for me. I found out much later, though, that Francine was definitely getting her jollies when it came to sex--and pretty often at that--just not with me.

About a year-and-a-half after our wedding, I spotted Steadman Carstairs walking through the offices at work. When I asked Francine about it, she simply said that Carstairs had finished his MBA at Harvard and had found a position with a Boston-based firm. But, evidently, he would be taking care of the southeastern region clients for his company, and would be visiting almost every other month. Wasn't that nice?

Yeah, sure. What could I say; that I simply did not care for the smarmy bastard? Not on your life; I was not about to start a confrontation of any sort over this; even if it meant that I had to put up with what appeared to be Carstairs' somewhat inappropriate closeness to my wife.

Almost exactly thirty-one months from the birth of Chelsea, little Grace Anne Chandler made her debut onto the world stage. Francine had been pissed at being pregnant for a second time in her life and blaming me for using poor-quality condoms, but she appeared to adapt with just as much motherly love toward Gracie as she had shown to Chelsea--more than enough in Francine's opinion; nowhere NEAR enough in my own humble opinion.

I gave both of my girls all the attention and love that I could muster, and they seemed to gravitate toward me as they grew. And, while they did not appear overly tight with their mother, they still had the childlike love of both parents that is only natural.

By the time that our girls were both in elementary school, a certain dullness had entered into our marriage. I could not put my finger on it, but it was there, nonetheless.

The sudden quiver through the Atlanta-bound plane startled me out of the doze that had overtaken me. I looked around and saw that the refreshment wagon had passed beyond my seat and I had missed out on my opportunity at having a soda and some Biscotti.

The two flight attendants in coach, where I was sitting, were struggling with the service cart, as it had tipped and was leaning against the seats on the ... what is the right side; port--no ... starboard side. The coffee pot had tipped on one gentleman, who was shouting in pain from the hot liquid. Once the service cart had been righted, the nearer of the two attendants attempted to help the man wipe up some of the hot liquid with a handful of the cocktail napkins.

I heard a swish and looked forward to see that the First Class flight attendant had whisked the divider curtain aside. She strode purposefully toward the other two flight attendants manning the service cart and whispered to them in a low voice, but with a sense of urgency that could not help but alarm those who witnessed it.

Rushing back forward, with the other two flight attendants and the service cart now following, although at a slower rate, I could see the First Class flight attendant reach for the intercom phone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," I heard her begin a bit breathlessly--although she had plastered a smile on her face as she turned around to face the passengers, "I apologize for the inconvenience, but we seem to have encountered a bit of turbulence. As a result, we have decided to curtail the beverage service. Depending on the flying conditions, and the time we have before arrival, we will await instructions from the flight deck before resuming..."

Another violent shake hit the plane, causing that rollercoaster feeling in the gut.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking," came a male voice over the cabin speakers--and the earpieces of those who were still listening to music, news, or comedy over the plane's sound system. "We are encountering a rough patch here. If you are not there already, I ask that you quickly return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. Please remain seated with your seat belt securely fastened until we have attained more peaceful conditions; at which time, I will see about turning off the 'Fasten Seat Belts' signs."

The voice of authority and decisive action seemed to have a calming effect of all of us. I still was not entirely comforted, and I pulled my seat belt just a bit tighter and leaned back.

When the economy tanked, my job became a bit more exciting; if you want to call busting my ass 'more exciting.' This means that I had to work harder to keep the numbers on track for the clients in my portfolio. The slightest movements by the markets could cause major trouble, so I had to be on top of things. And I had to work harder and for longer hours; and I did stay on top of things.

In business, anyway ... With respect to my marriage, I had no idea that I was not only NOT on top of things. I was not even in the middle; and I was actually pretty near the bottom of the heap--enough stacking metaphors; you get the imagery here by now, I'm sure

Francine was still working for Daddy here at the company, supposedly in Marketing, but I never was able to get a good handle on what she did exactly. She would shut me down and evade every time I tried to show an interest, by taking advantage of my mild nature; thus, keeping me in 'my place.'

Even though I was not sure of the extent of her duties, I figured they must be important to the success of the Thompson business empire. After all, she was now traveling more often; and on short notice sometimes. And the trips must have been physically and mentally demanding on her, as she would not be in the mood for any form of intimacy with me for a couple of days following her return; and, even when we were physically intimate, she did not seem to be 'into it.'

And when she was not traveling, Francine was going out more often, supposedly with 'the girls from work.' Naïve I may be, but I could tell that these nights out involved more than simply letting off steam with 'the girls.' But, even if she was cheating on me, she was at least not rubbing it in my face.

And I was too whipped to confront her. I did not want to end up in a divorce, with its repercussions: sporadic contact with my children, destitution on the financial front, and ... worst of all ... no pussy.

Nevertheless, that is exactly what happened.

The economy had been slower to recover than projected, and I kept slaving away in my attempts to hold on to my position within the company and keep the boss happy; while still trying to be a good and faithful husband and father. I did not realize just how hopeless my situation was until my father-in-law called me into his office one day.

When I arrived, I was surprised to find not only Mr. Thompson, but also my wife--his daughter, Francine--along with the lawyer whom I had met right before my wedding and another person. This other person was in her late twenties, was dressed in a fashion style that screamed 'Early Target, ' and she was actually chewing gum as she stood noticeably to the side of the other three.

You can tell from the stereotype description exactly who she was, I am sure. Yep, right out of the Process Server casting call...

"Mr. Louis Chandler?" she stepped forward and asked, as the others smirked and stood silently.

"Uh ... yeah." Brilliant response ... really seasoned with experience. Just the kind of thing a junior executive in a thriving business would say at a time like this, right? A man's man kind of statement.

"Mr. Chandler, you have been served," she said as she placed a large sealed envelope in my hand.

I did not say anything at all. I was still confused. I simply stared at the packet in my hand. I was mildly startled by the flash near me. Looking up, I saw that she had taken my picture with her digital camera; I am sure that it included the designer clock on Thompson's wall behind me to help support the date-time stamp on the picture she had taken of my being served.

As the process server departed, I became aware of Francine sniffing and turned to her in my shock at the rapidly unfolding events; and in curiosity at what sounded like her crying.

"Louis," she said softly, not looking at me. "How could you?"

Needless to say, I had no clue about any of this, especially about that comment. Well, Mr. Shark Teeth made sure to clear that up in a hurry.

"Mr. Chandler," Thompson's lawyer declared, "I am in possession of a deposition by one Joan Hartmann--who was an employee within a department over which you have hiring and firing and promotion influence--claiming that you coerced her into having sex on more than one occasion in the past eighteen months." He waved a piece of paper that had all the hallmarks of being official.

"You, Sir," the lawyer continued, "are not only guilty of adultery against this ... innocent young woman." With that he pointed at Francine, who was busily pressing a tissue against one eye, evidently wiping a tear. "You are also in violation of the pre-nuptial agreement that you signed before entering into your union with Francine Thompson.

"And, I might add," I could see Thompson looking at me with an expression that did not so much show anger, but satisfaction, "you are in violation of company policy against inappropriate personal relationships between senior and subordinate employees."

He leaned toward me and pulled off his glasses as he made his next pronouncement. "And you should simply be glad that Mr. Thompson, here, is not going to press for your prosecution under state or federal labor law infractions."

I was numb. I had no clue who anyone named Joan Hartmann might be. I had no idea why this was happening to me ... and why now? But, true to my nature, I simply shrank into myself and remained silent.