According to him

“Woooh that’s my song right there”! I scream as Orianthi’s “according to him” blasts over the car cd player. It’s been about half an hour since I left Sam at the Paragon Hotel just outside of Orange County and I can still smell the scent of him all over me.

“According to him I’m funny irresistible everything he ever wanted...” I sing along feeling euphoric as the wind blows through my goddess braids, thanks to the open top vintage Mercedes sports convertible I drive down this familiar route to Queens New York pretty often. Is it even ironic that this outdated cd has been so overplayed in my car that it skips at every bump or is it just on cue to tell the story of my life?

Orianthi really gets me.

Never mind that she has faded into oblivion. Just as in the song I’m caught between a man who thinks I’m a bore who can’t do anything right and another who loves every little thing about me down to the sound of my ridiculous laugh. Only in my case, the former happens to be my husband and the latter a dignified lover. Nah, Orianthi and I are nothing alike I’m pretty sure she wasn’t married to either of the men she sang about. Hell, she was just a teenager singing about teenage boys with her teenage outfits and diamond studded rock star guitar. Sigh. I’d give anything to be a teenager again; single and carefree, not to mention wrinkle free.

As I pull up to the house I share with Mark my husband of 10 years who has recently retired from life at sea, I wonder what he would be doing when I got home. It is a beautiful Saturday morning and even though it’s perfect for a park walk I know that Mark would be home waiting for me to get back. That’s our tradition. Friday night I would call Mark on the phone making up an excuse about working overnight, and then go off to the Paragon Hotel to spend the night with Sam. Our rendezvous had to be very low profile so we picked a hotel out of town for the sweetest taboo.

Sam oh Sam the love of my life, the only man I ever truly loved. We had a "thing" long before I met Mark yet somehow Mark is the man I ended up married to. Life is so weird. Now I’m married, Sam is divorced and in a senseless world of romance this is the time we have chosen to be together; a time when my conscience would give me hell for defiling the “marriage bed”. But Sam is so wonderful it’s almost easy for me to excuse my infidelity as I cheat on my husband who himself has been so faithful I wish he would just go get “some” elsewhere so we can be even. I can’t help that Sam makes me feel young again, nothing like the married 40-something year old occupational health psychologist I am. He revives in me that zest for life I had years and years ago, that love for music and laughter.

I picture the look on Mark’s face as I walk into the living room. What would he say? Well, the same thing he always says:

“How’d it go?”

And then I would say “Uugh it was exhausting the clinic needed me to come in and see this patient who’d fallen off an office building."

It’s amazing how that always works to keep further questions away; I don’t even bother to get fancy with lies. Mark is so gullible it breaks my heart. Or maybe he’s just resigned because there is no way in hell he hasn’t figured out what’s going on, he certainly isn’t stupid. In any case, I am reminded every time I come home with my pack of lies what a horrible person I am for cheating on a man who is so principled and has pretty much held up his end of the bargain. Then I go into defense mode reminding myself how Mark was always away at sea such that I wouldn’t see him for months on end. All he ever did when he got back was buy me expensive things as if whoever said “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend” knew what they were talking about. It is with that same aloofness that he asks me “how’d it go?” when I get home from my sweet escape and that sort of vindicates me. Clearly he isn’t at all bothered that he’s losing me to another man so hey, peace to everyone.

I always look for ways to blame Mark for my sordid affair with Sam and I have quite a lot to go on. Back then when he was a sailor he was hardly ever there when I needed comforting and when he did come around, he was always consumed with his ex-wife’s issues and their kids. I always felt like a trophy wife purposed to just sit around looking like a high class negro and throwing around big words. But then is it really Mark’s fault that I chose to marry him, a divorcee with two children and an ex-wife who wouldn’t leave us alone? That too when I was in love with Sam but couldn’t be with him because my parents didn’t approve? They thought that I’d be happier with a man of “noble blood” instead of my “little nobody” as they called Sam. So I, ‘little miss people pleaser goody two shoes’ chose to do what my parents thought was right and married the noble, white one. Well thank you mum and dad! Mark turned out to be a great husband, I mean, amongst the many beautiful things he’s bought me, this Mercedes sure serves as a comfortable means to a very satisfying albeit sinful end.

As I get out of the car, a neighbor from across the street calls out a greeting to me. His wife has just given birth to their 3^rd child and the man is ecstatic.

Good for them.

Some people deserve such blessings. Not us. Getting into the apartment I half expect to see Mark reading the morning paper in the living room but he’s not there. I make my way into our bedroom and as I start to undress, Mark comes up behind me and wraps his arms round my waist whispering into my ear. This wouldn't strike me as odd except for the fact that I have never received such a warm welcome from him before. Usually it was the cold, uninvolved question. I feel a sharp pang of guilt for the first time since I started seeing Sam again. Just then I notice the strong smell of alcohol on his breath and that’s when I realize he’d been drinking. Mark was never a heavy drinker; he was always very responsible with the drink, just a glass or two on occasion. But now he reeks of spirits and brandy and I wonder where he’s kept the bottles so I can tell just how much he’s had.

“Honey you’ve been drinking?” I ask. One would think I call him "honey" for affection but that’s just me worrying.

“I’m so glad you’re home...” he replies in an unusually husky voice. He starts to kiss my neck very lightly and I think to myself how sad it is that we ended up in a loveless marriage. Things would probably have been a lot different if Mark hadn’t been away all the time. I turn around to meet his face and I am distressed at the look in his eyes. It is a blazing look of hungry passion and exhaustion at the same time but there is something else I can’t describe. It is a look so intense that I almost swoon as he pulls me closer to himself. He starts to kiss me and as his tongue makes its way deeper into my mouth I try to ignore the stiff taste of alcohol and focus on figuring out that unfamiliar look in his eyes. Unfamiliar and yet, in all my years of working with patients like tired CEO’s and employees who were going over the edge I have seen that maddening look too many times. Slowly Mark pulls his warm lips from mine and as I stop to look at his face he shoves me on to the bed. Confused I ask

“What’s going on?” half smiling as I wonder who this wild character is and just what had he done with my husband.

Suddenly he pulls out a gun from behind him and as he points it at me my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“What is this, wh-where’d you get that?” I stammer.

“It’s over, I know you’re cheating on me and I can’t deal with it anymore!” he moans with his shaking hands still pointing the gun at my head.

“Wait baby we can talk about it ok just just put that away ok honey?” At this point my throat is so dry that my voice is nothing more than a whisper.

“I love you so much why don’t you love me?’ He says as he starts to cry.

“All I ever wanted was to make you happy but you never loved me. I gave up my life to be with you, my dream I did it all for you. This house, this….” his voice trails off as he tries to choke back his tears.

“Baby please put down the gun please!” I plead with my eyes searching for a possible escape if he doesn’t put the gun down.

“I have no choice it’s all gone...” he sniffs. “...I’ll kill you and I’ll kill myself and then we can be together forever, we’ll go anywhere. India. You always wanted to go.. India yes, yes some color for you...”

As he rambles on under the influence of alcohol I see an opportunity to try to take the gun out of his hand. He closes his eyes for a second as if trying to remember something and just then I move toward the gun to grab it from him.

Bang.

I wake up with a start, beads of sweat tickling my forehead even as the air conditioner is blowing cool air at me. I look around the room to find that I am home, in my parents’ house unmarried and thankfully not dead.

A dream. It was all a dream. I hear the sound of heavy rain battering my room window and I get up to draw the curtains. Lightning strikes followed by deafening thunder which reminds me of the gun shot that must have killed the dream version of me.

What a weird dream.

It was so vivid that my heart is still racing from the near death experience.

Sam.

He had crept into my dreams yet again only this time he had competition. This Mark character was obviously a figment of my wild imagination but Sam is my best friend who has recently become a love interest. I go round to the DVD player to turn it off and that’s when I remember that I’d been listening to Orianthi’s “According to him” when I’d fallen asleep. I crawl back into bed and as I curl myself up under the blanket I think about Sam and how my parents had said the day before that they didn’t think he was good company. But they’re just going to have to accept him because we’ll be married someday.

"Someday..."

I hear myself whisper into the darkness as I drift off to sleep.