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.
“Mr. Gilson?”
“Yeah.”
“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.
-0-
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.
I got another perspective when I saw what industrial sales was all about. It was knowing your product and showing people that it was a good, if not a better product than the one they were using, and then convincing them to buy it. More importantly, the technical side was something I could get excited about. It didn’t take me long to understand that sales was about strategy. What did you have that the customer needed? Why would he want to buy it from you?
I applied for a transfer to one of the operating branches and got an opportunity on the sales desk, an inside job. It was a start and the more I saw, the more I knew this was what I wanted to do.
I went to work, still without a car and still living at home. When I moved to the operating branch, nothing changed. I was a rookie with a small salary and a bus ride to and from work.
When I got my first paycheck, I decided to open a bank account. I had been living paycheck to paycheck up until then, and that had to change. I chose a bank near my bus stop for convenience and walked in. I went to the customer service desk and stopped in my tracks. The young woman who would soon serve me was Sheila Pratt.
I was a bit flustered, but since there were a couple of people ahead of me, I had a chance to calm down and think about what I wanted to say. I hadn’t seen her for three years, but as I studied her, she was just as lovely as I remembered her.
It didn’t take long for Sheila to look after the people in front of me, and then it was my turn.
“Hi Sheila,” I said as I stepped forward.
She obviously didn’t know I was in line and was surprised to see me in front of her.
“Hi Mick,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Uhhhmmm … how can I help you?”
“I’d like to open an account. I need to deposit my paycheck.”
“Oh … Oh, sure. Let me get one of the staff to help you,” she said, smiling.
“Yeah … thanks … good to see you again,” I offered weakly.
“Yeah … good to see you too.” The smile was genuine, I thought.
A week later, I returned to the bank to pick up my blank printed checks and I saw Sheila again. This time she was walking about, delivering mail, I assumed. I watched her as I stood in line, wondering what was going on in her life. There was only one way to find out.
As I finished picking up my box of checks at the service counter, I looked around for Sheila and saw her standing at a side desk, apparently not busy. I walked over to her.
“Hi again,” I said smiling.
“Hi, how are you,” she asked. Her smile was the one I remembered from when we dated. It was genuine and honest and very engaging.
“I’m fine. I’m working at Polar Industries now. I’m on the sales desk,” I offered.
“Good for you. Do you like it? Does it have a good future?” she asked, seemingly interested.
“Yeah. I like the company and the products they represent. I think I’ve lucked-out.”
“Good, Mick. I’m glad to hear that.”
“Uhhhmmm … Sheila … would you like to have a coffee … or something … with me?” I asked hesitantly. “We could catch up on what’s been going on.”
“Sure … that would be nice … I get off in a few minutes. Why don’t you wait for me and we can go to the coffee shop next door,” she suggested.
“Great,” I said with what I knew was a big smile. “I’ll be out front on the bench waiting.”
That was the start of our reconnection and within a few dates, we were back where we had been. I was twenty-one and just starting out on what I hoped would be a career and Sheila was looking for a husband. I proposed in the spring of the following year and she accepted. We would be married a year later in May and both of us were excited about our future.
A year and a half after our wedding, Angela was born. She was “Daddy’s girl” from the moment she arrived. When she was little, if she was upset or crying, I would pick her up and she would settle and smile at me and everything would be fine again. I always thought I wanted a son, but “Angie” was everything I could have wished for.
Our son, Ben, was born two years later and I was just as happy as any father could be. Sheila was Ben’s special parent, while I was Angela’s. It was a perfect family, I thought. Sheila often said the same to me. She was happy and satisfied with our life, she told me. We had our moments, but they never lasted long and I knew that I was one lucky guy. I had a beautiful wife and two wonderful children.
Just after Angie was born, I was given a sales territory and I was on “cloud nine.” I took to it like a duck to water and within a couple of years I was earning nearly double the salary that I had started at.
Success breeds success and I was now earning much more than I ever expected when I started at Polar. After five years, we were able to buy our first home. It was a small bungalow, but it was all ours. Sheila spent hours and hours scouring magazines for just the right things. Angie and Ben had their input as well, but it was Sheila who chose the decor and the colors. I just stood back in admiration at the way my family had come together.
We celebrated our tenth anniversary in that same house and more than thirty people came to our anniversary party. I was proud of my accomplishments, but even more proud of my family. My children were well-behaved and doing fine in school. My wife was a model homemaker and mother. Both sets of parents thought the sun and the moon revolved around us. What more could I possibly want?
When Angie reached fourteen, her menstrual periods began. At first, Sheila was happy to help Angie understand what was happening and how to deal with it. That seemed to be fine for a few weeks and then I noticed a change. Angie didn’t seem to be as close to her mother as she had been. It wasn’t an overt change, but to me, as close as I was to my daughter, it was noticeable.
I couldn’t find any reason for this shift in attitude, and discussing it with Sheila turned out to be frustrating. She didn’t want to address or even acknowledge the change. She claimed it was my imagination and a male’s inability to comprehend female psychology. I was still concerned, but since it didn’t seem to affect the rest of the family, I let it slide.
Ben always seemed to be on an even keel. He and his mother were very close and while I loved him just as much as Angie, I knew that in the event of a serious problem, he would go to his mother first for help. That didn’t bother me at all. In all families, alliances are formed with parents and they were to be acknowledged and respected.
I continued to rise in the sales ranks thanks to my success and while I knew that sales management was perhaps not what I was cut out for, I would have at least liked to have been considered for an opportunity. I had the most productive and profitable territory and I wondered what it took to make the next step. It eventually dawned on me that there needed to be a vacancy to be filled before that opportunity could arise.
Not long after Angie entered high school, Sheila came to me and asked me if I would be OK with her going back to work. She had been a stay-at-home soccer-mom for sixteen years and felt she wanted to do something with her days besides washing, ironing and sewing. I couldn’t think of any reason why not, but I asked her to make sure whatever she chose didn’t interfere with the children’s lives and our ability to enjoy our free time together. She assured me it wouldn’t.
After a couple of months looking, she found a job in a car dealership as a receptionist. It wasn’t full time and that suited both of us. She would be there mornings from nine to one, Monday to Saturday. Since I played golf on Saturday morning, I thought that schedule would be fine. It didn’t pay much, but we weren’t starving and her extra income could be used as “vacation money.” If it satisfied her, it satisfied me.
Our lives went on for another couple of years until one day when Sheila came home with a disturbing announcement.
“Guess what, Mick,” she said, not without some trepidation.
“What?”
“Terry Gilson’s back in town,” she said, carefully watching for my reaction.
“Oh … what brings him back?”
“You know his dad’s a big-shot businessman. Terry is now the assistant general manager at his dad’s dealership,” she said, still not being as nonchalant as she would like to appear.
“And what dealership would that be?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.
“Uh … ours … I mean … where I work, Century Ford,” she stammered.
“So … what does that mean for you?” I asked, beginning to see something else creep into the picture.
“Uhhhmmm … I’m going to be … I mean … I’ve been asked to … take the job as his assistant,” she finally managed.
“Wow. That’s quite a step. From part-time receptionist to assistant to the assistant general manager. I didn’t realize they had such a large staff.” I’m sure my tone was snarky and I didn’t try to disguise it.
“You don’t sound very happy,” she ventured.
“I’m not. You dated Gilson. I played with him. We both know what kind of guy he is. He used to brag about all his conquests. Is your name still on his list?” It was a cheap shot and I knew it the moment it was out of my mouth.
“That’s a horrible thing to say. Are you telling me you don’t trust me?” she demanded.
I had to scramble. “No … I’m telling you I don’t trust him.”
Her face went red and for the first time in a long, long while, she was very angry.
“Mick, you take that back. You have no right to accuse me of anything and furthermore, you have just told me that I can’t be trusted,” she spat.
“I made no such statement. I said I don’t trust him. I said we both know what kind of snake he is. It may be twenty years later, but leopards don’t change their spots.” I made sure she understood I wasn’t backing down one inch.
“Just ask yourself this,” I continued. “How does a part-time receptionist go from being in an entry-level position to assistant to the boss’s son in one move? I’d like to know,” I demanded.
“Because I have the talent to do the job,” she snapped back. “Terry said I was a natural for it. You don’t think I have the ability, do you?” she challenged.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t work there. But one thing I do know, this whole deal smells of typical Gilson. He’s setting you up and you had better be very careful, my dear.” I was standing directly in front of her now. She couldn’t fail to understand my concerns and my suspicions of Terry Gilson’s motives. I could only hope my message had hit home.