Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (19 page)

During those first twelve months, things were very hectic. Nicole was working sixty hours a week handling contracts and other paperwork for a government agency. Meanwhile, I was putting in long hours and routinely flying out of town on business. It got to the point where we hardly ever slept in the same bed together. How does the expression go? “Two ships passing in the night,” that was definitely us. We accepted this chaotic lifestyle as the price of success. We knew it wouldn’t go on forever.

Over the next year our workloads gradually began to lighten up, we spent more time together becoming better acquainted as husband and wife, and as human beings. But what I soon discovered was we weren’t exactly on the same page, or even the same planet when it came to our social status and attitudes about the black community.

As the months rolled by, it was obvious Nicole had bought completely into the yuppie, corporate mentality. First she insisted on updating our wardrobes. “Something more sophisticated,” she would say.

When I confronted her about spending too much money, she jokingly replied, “Sweetheart, I’m not trying to keep up with the Joneses, we are the Joneses!” Ha, ha, Hell! I was thinking to myself. That was the first sign that she was drinking the yuppy Kool-Aid. But I went along with it for a while to make her happy.

Then she wanted an expensive painting for the living room. I went along with that too. Finally, she decided we simply had to have a new car. Something that would be, in her words, “More reflective of our status.” She managed to drag me down to the Mercedes dealership to purchase a brand new 2012 SLS AMG. Now, keep in mind we still had to make our $2,000 a month mortgage payments, and repay my student loan. I know $100,000 sounds like a lot of money, but it doesn’t mean you’re rich. Besides, I was perfectly content with my faded blue jeans, Dogs playing poker poster, and my Toyota Camry. “Who is she trying to impress anyway?” I wondered. But, since we didn’t have any children or massive credit card bills, I didn’t complain. “What the hell,” I told myself, “We deserve to enjoy the fruits of our labor.” It never dawned on me, however, that the atmosphere and identity she was trying so hard to create was for her comfort and my exclusion. Sure, I was intelligent, handsome, and ambitious, but I just didn’t have the attitude which says, ‘I’m better than you.”

Our differences were becoming more apparent with the passing of each day, especially with regards to our choices of friends. Most of my associates were postmen, bus drivers, and guys who hung out at the gym. Nicole’s friends, on the other hand, were real Divas. Her friend Tiffany was the biggest bitch of them all. She drove a BMW and always had her nose turned up. The difference in our social lives became even more evident when she refused to allow her friends to mix with mine. She never once invited them over to the house, at least not while I was around. But to be honest with you, I really didn’t give a damn. My friends and I were having a ball, and the presence of her stuck up girlfriends would have only spoiled the mood. What did bother me was the disrespectful way she would greet my company at the door. Without even so much as a hello, she would turn her back and walk away after letting them in.

“He’s downstairs,” she would rudely say. “And don’t forget to wipe your feet.”

And then there were the sarcastic remarks about their economic status. My best friend, who just happened to be a plumber, was her favorite target.

“So, is Mr. Handy Man coming over tonight?” she wisely remarked.

“Yes he is. Why do you ask?”

“Could you ask him not to park his raggedy maintenance truck in front of the house? It brings down our property value.”

This was her smart-ass way of attacking his blue-collar profession. I guess she figured he wasn’t intellectual enough for her taste. What’s so ridiculously funny about her whole attitude is he damn near makes more money than both of us put together. But it wasn’t just about money with her; it was about status.

Because I loved my wife and wanted to keep our marriage from drifting apart, I sat down with her and openly discussed my concerns. I left work early, bought her favorite bottle of wine, and rushed home to cook. I wanted the mood to be just right. When she made it home at 5:30 p.m., a candlelight dinner was laid out on the dining room table. The wine was chilling and the curtains were drawn. She was clearly moved. I waited until after we were finished eating to tell her how I felt.

“Nicole, I don’t like where our relationship is headed. We need to do something about spending more time together, more quality time. You are my wife and I love you; all I need is for you to meet me half way. How about it?”

As she listened to my words, tears began to all from her eyes. “I feel the same way too sweetheart. Things are getting a little out of hand. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

After talking it over for a couple of hours, we decided on two things. One, to take a vacation together in the fall. Either a trip to Hawaii or a seven-night cruise. Secondly, to throw a get-acquainted party for all our friends. We figured this would be a great way to spend more social time together. All of this took place on a Friday evening in July. But it wasn’t until late Sunday that we began making specific plans for the party. I remember that discussion vividly because it was a very hot and humid night. And I’m not just talking about the temperature either. Her idea was to arrange a dinner party on a Friday night. Of course, I preferred something less formal, like having a barbecue on a Saturday afternoon. What began as a civil discussion, turned into a revealing argument.

“Look baby,” I said. “This formal setting sounds very nice, but people don’t want to be all cramped up when they’re trying to get to know each another. After all, this is supposed to be pleasure, not business.”

That’s when she slammed her pen down on the table and gave me a look, which I had never seen before.

“I wish I had never agreed to go along with this stupid idea in the first place!” she shouted. “I knew you weren’t going to approve of anything that would make your simple-minded friends uncomfortable. Let’s just forget the whole thing altogether.”

“Damn! Where did that come from?”

“I’m sorry honey,” she apologized. “It’s hot and I’m tired, let’s just go to bed.”

She gave me a dispassionate hug, walked upstairs and got in the shower. As I began to turn off the lights, I stopped to sit down on the sofa to fully absorb all that was said.

I realized then that her attack was as much directed at me as to my so-called “Simple minded” friends. Despite my good looks, education, and respectable position, my image was not polished enough to show off to her bourgeoisie friends.

I had a strange feeling from that day on things would never be quite the same between us. Unfortunately, I was right.

The weeks following that incident were filled with sly comments about my attire around the house and how I spent my free time. One day she went too far. I was sitting on the living room sofa, minding my own business, watching a basketball game when she walked in with an attitude.

“Why don’t you put on that nice sports shirt and slacks I bought you? Don’t you get tired of wearing gym shoes and jogging pants all the time?”

“Now she wants to play fashion consultant,” I said under my breath.

I ignored her remarks and went back to watching my game. I guess she got the message because she stormed out of the room with a frustrated look on her face. But she wasn’t through yet. One hour later, she was back to pick up right where she left off.

“Why do you have to go play basketball with those same guys every weekend?’ she said rudely. “Why don’t you try something new like tennis or golf?”

That was about all I could take from her. Trying to change my character and choose my friends was her worst mistake ever. I made one last effort to control my temper, but it was in vain. I sprang up from the sofa and got in her face.

“Let’s get something straight!” I said while pointing my finger at her. “I work hard every day. And if I choose to sit around this house all day buck naked, with a beer in my hand, that’s my business. And furthermore, I don’t want to hear anymore of your rich girl shit about who my friends are and stupid golf. Now leave me the hell alone and go play with your fake housewives of Chicago girlfriends!”

She grabbed her purse off the counter, gave me a mean look and slammed the door shut. I was upset too, so I snatched my gym bag off the patio and jogged the half-mile to the health club. I needed something to relax me, and the gym was always the perfect medicine. On that particular day, it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

By the time I finished my routine and changed into my swim trunks, it was about 9:30 p.m. The club was going to be closing in a half hour. So, I dashed out of the shower and headed for the pool. I was determined to get in a few laps before leaving. After splashing around like a mad man for about twenty minutes, I took a rest on the edge of the pool. That’s when I looked up and noticed the aerobic class letting out. Jessica, who was one of the instructors, acknowledged me with a wave and began making her way down. What I liked about her was how polite and cheerful she always seemed to be. And she spoke in a soft sweet tone. No matter how down I was, she always lifted my spirits with her bright personality. As she approached me from behind, I was hoping her charm would work its magic again, especially with the way I was feeling.

“Hello Patrick,” she said with her usual smile. “I can see you’re having one of those exceptionally funky days, aren’t you?”

“You better believe it. How do you always manage to pick up on that?”

“First of all, the way you tossed those weights around today was a pretty good indication,” she laughed. “Not to mention the fact that you are splashing half the water out of the pool like a big kid.”

“You know Jessica. I’m not one to discuss my personal problems, but answer me this. Why are women so fickle?”

She put her hands on her chin as if to seriously contemplate my question, and then responded.

“Probably for the same reason why men are so horny, it’s only natural.”

I burst out laughing at that one. She had a wonderful sense of humor.

“Well Jessica, thanks to you, I won’t have to go to jail for killing my wife tonight,” I said sarcastically. “That woman is about to drive me crazy.”

“In that case,” she said with her hand out, “I’ll take my fifty bucks for psycho-therapy right now.”

Now that was funny. She really made me feel much better, and boy did I need it. As the announcement came over the PA that the club was about to close, she threw me a towel and asked me to meet her at the front door.

“I have something I want to give you.” She said. Without a single dirty thought in my mind, I showered, put on my clothes and headed for the exit. When I got there, she was talking with another female trainer.

“Here Patrick,” she said while handing me an invitation. “I’m having a Bulls Basketball Party at my place next weekend. Why don’t you and your wife come by and join us? There’s going to be plenty of food, and lots and lots of beer!” she laughed.

“Ok,” I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

After we exchanged casual hugs, I put the invitation in my gym bag and walked out the door. As the door swung shut behind me, I could hear the other instructor yelling out. “And don’t forget to bring one of your handsome, single friends with you!” Leaving the club, I felt great. My muscles were tight and my frustration gone, thanks to Jessica. Although she wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the world, she definitely had a way of making a man feel like a million dollars. When I returned home, I could see the Mercedes parked in the driveway. That kind of brought me down a bit because I really wasn’t in the mood for another argument. “She’s probably waiting at the door with a skillet,” I joked to myself. But instead of being greeted by an angry woman I was overwhelmed by the aroma of food. Nicole was cooking some of her famous Cajun gumbo, and it smelt good too. If this was her subtle way of saying, “I’m sorry” I thought, apology accepted.”

As I walked towards the kitchen, I noticed that the table was set with candles and a bottle of wine. “She must really be sorry,” I thought. The real shocker was what I saw standing at the stove. Nicole was cooking in a teddy. The one I bought her for our honeymoon. I wanted to jump her bones right then and there, but I waited until after we had dinner. She had gone through a lot of trouble, the least I could do was to enjoy it all. Besides, the food was looking almost as good as she was, and I was starved. After eating half the pot and drinking all of the wine, I carried her upstairs, Don Juan style. I made hot passionate love to my wife all night long. She didn’t even complain about her hair getting messed up. And you know how black women are about you touching their hair during sex. It’s like trying to hold a newborn baby and wrestle at the same time.

The next morning we both called in sick. This was the perfect opportunity to turn things around in our relationship. “Who cares about paperwork backing up?” I thought. After making love for the second time that morning, we decided to get dressed and go to the movies. While I ran her bath water, she went downstairs to start breakfast. At that point the day was going perfectly, until the phone rang.

“Wait a minute,” I thought. “I know for sure that the ringer and answering machine were turned off.”