12-08-2026, 04:03 PM
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2005 - 11 A.M.
I made my up the elevator and managed not to speak to a single living soul or look into another set of eyes. A few times ASAs or courthouse staff of one type of another were heading my way and for some reason I couldn’t figure out, they suddenly found they had pressing business somewhere else and veered off in different directions or suddenly turned and started walking the other way.
After I’d left the condo I’d almost found myself driving toward the airport, but I managed to stop myself. There was nothing I could say that would change her mind. Nothing I could make myself say. I checked and found out her flight was leaving at 11 a,.m., if it departed on schedule.
I had hours to kill so I went by the gym and worked myself into exhaustion for an hour and a half, then showered again and headed to the office.
As I got off on the fifth floor I noticed the giant figure of Johnny August deep in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. He glanced up at me and I knew I could only be a moving shadow and yet...he dropped his eyes and turned so he had his back to me. Was it so obvious that even a blind man could see it?
I just nodded in Cheryl’s direction, said, “No calls—from anyone—for the next ten minutes” - and entered my office. I turned and locked the damned door. Let the rumors begin. I’d unlock it before they called in security, but right now I didn’t want to see anyone.
I laid my briefcase on my desk, took the phone off the hook, and walked over to the plate glass window. I pulled the curtains back and looked up into the sky. Somewhere over there, Aline’s plane was ascending into the clouds, if hadn’t already left Florida’s skies on its way to New York and a change over for the New York to Paris leg of her journey.
I visualized her in her seat. Had she asked for a window seat so she could see Jacksonville, and me, fall away beneath her and finally vanish into the white
haze of the clouds. Was she having a drink now? Or preparing a story for Philippe on what she’d been up to the last two weeks?
Was she wearing the Fleur-de-Lis proudly as she’d said she always would, or had she packed it away the way she’d put me and our time together away in her memory book?
Was she crying? Did I merit a tear or two? Or was she dry-eyed, coming out of the romantic dream we had shared and returning to the mundane world of work and husband and son and obligations and shared marital memories?
I wondered if she would ever think of me when Philippe had his big cock buried deep inside her. Would she ever slip and call my name in a moment of passion, or in a few months with no photographs of our time together would she have difficulty seeing my face in her mind?
I had thought there were no more left in me, but I felt tears trickling down my cheeks. It was so silly. I was a grown man. I’d had a two week romantic and sexual idyll with a beautiful woman, but it had never been anything real or substantive. It was just a passing episode in both our lives.
And then I told myself, “You are such a miserable liar. At least be honest with yourself. You are, were, will be, in love with that woman. The same way you are still at least a little bit in love with your cheating whore of an ex-wife.
“Not in love with HER, the one that kissed Doug outside her home and shaved her cheating pussy to excite Doug. not that Debbie.
“The Debbie that you held in the night so many nights. the Debbie that cried
inconsolably the night her crazy aunt Clarice committed suicide...the Debbie who made you smile just by looking at her after a hard day at the office. the
Debbie whose body and mouth and smile made the miserable world that you live in bearable so many days over the years.
“Lew, Mom, everyone on the outside only see the cheating bitch. they didn’t
live with her when she loved me. They can’t see that Debbie...they only see the ghost that lives in her body now....and I can’t make myself throw dirt on her grave the way we buried Clarice and accept the fact that MY Debbie is dead and gone forever ”
I realized I had locked the door because if anyone had walked in and heard me talking to myself, they really would have sent me to a hospital for observation.
But, I didn’t want to get taken away for observation. As the cop had observed months ago, the job is the only life I have now. Or if not the only life, it’s the important one. I couldn’t jeopardize it by giving anybody the idea I was having another breakdown.
I’ll keep my job for a little while longer, a few days at least. And after that. all bets would be off.
I unlocked my door but left my phone off the hook. It might buy me another few minutes of solitude. And then I walked back to the view of Jacksonville’s northern approach.
I put my face in my hands and tried to think. I am a smart man. I handle problems every day. I have made a life for myself. What do I do now?
But nothing will change the fact that I love..loved one woman who stopped loving me and I love another woman who never started loving me...enough...because she’s still in love with her husband
I am so fucked.
I made my up the elevator and managed not to speak to a single living soul or look into another set of eyes. A few times ASAs or courthouse staff of one type of another were heading my way and for some reason I couldn’t figure out, they suddenly found they had pressing business somewhere else and veered off in different directions or suddenly turned and started walking the other way.
After I’d left the condo I’d almost found myself driving toward the airport, but I managed to stop myself. There was nothing I could say that would change her mind. Nothing I could make myself say. I checked and found out her flight was leaving at 11 a,.m., if it departed on schedule.
I had hours to kill so I went by the gym and worked myself into exhaustion for an hour and a half, then showered again and headed to the office.
As I got off on the fifth floor I noticed the giant figure of Johnny August deep in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. He glanced up at me and I knew I could only be a moving shadow and yet...he dropped his eyes and turned so he had his back to me. Was it so obvious that even a blind man could see it?
I just nodded in Cheryl’s direction, said, “No calls—from anyone—for the next ten minutes” - and entered my office. I turned and locked the damned door. Let the rumors begin. I’d unlock it before they called in security, but right now I didn’t want to see anyone.
I laid my briefcase on my desk, took the phone off the hook, and walked over to the plate glass window. I pulled the curtains back and looked up into the sky. Somewhere over there, Aline’s plane was ascending into the clouds, if hadn’t already left Florida’s skies on its way to New York and a change over for the New York to Paris leg of her journey.
I visualized her in her seat. Had she asked for a window seat so she could see Jacksonville, and me, fall away beneath her and finally vanish into the white
haze of the clouds. Was she having a drink now? Or preparing a story for Philippe on what she’d been up to the last two weeks?
Was she wearing the Fleur-de-Lis proudly as she’d said she always would, or had she packed it away the way she’d put me and our time together away in her memory book?
Was she crying? Did I merit a tear or two? Or was she dry-eyed, coming out of the romantic dream we had shared and returning to the mundane world of work and husband and son and obligations and shared marital memories?
I wondered if she would ever think of me when Philippe had his big cock buried deep inside her. Would she ever slip and call my name in a moment of passion, or in a few months with no photographs of our time together would she have difficulty seeing my face in her mind?
I had thought there were no more left in me, but I felt tears trickling down my cheeks. It was so silly. I was a grown man. I’d had a two week romantic and sexual idyll with a beautiful woman, but it had never been anything real or substantive. It was just a passing episode in both our lives.
And then I told myself, “You are such a miserable liar. At least be honest with yourself. You are, were, will be, in love with that woman. The same way you are still at least a little bit in love with your cheating whore of an ex-wife.
“Not in love with HER, the one that kissed Doug outside her home and shaved her cheating pussy to excite Doug. not that Debbie.
“The Debbie that you held in the night so many nights. the Debbie that cried
inconsolably the night her crazy aunt Clarice committed suicide...the Debbie who made you smile just by looking at her after a hard day at the office. the
Debbie whose body and mouth and smile made the miserable world that you live in bearable so many days over the years.
“Lew, Mom, everyone on the outside only see the cheating bitch. they didn’t
live with her when she loved me. They can’t see that Debbie...they only see the ghost that lives in her body now....and I can’t make myself throw dirt on her grave the way we buried Clarice and accept the fact that MY Debbie is dead and gone forever ”
I realized I had locked the door because if anyone had walked in and heard me talking to myself, they really would have sent me to a hospital for observation.
But, I didn’t want to get taken away for observation. As the cop had observed months ago, the job is the only life I have now. Or if not the only life, it’s the important one. I couldn’t jeopardize it by giving anybody the idea I was having another breakdown.
I’ll keep my job for a little while longer, a few days at least. And after that. all bets would be off.
I unlocked my door but left my phone off the hook. It might buy me another few minutes of solitude. And then I walked back to the view of Jacksonville’s northern approach.
I put my face in my hands and tried to think. I am a smart man. I handle problems every day. I have made a life for myself. What do I do now?
But nothing will change the fact that I love..loved one woman who stopped loving me and I love another woman who never started loving me...enough...because she’s still in love with her husband
I am so fucked.
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