Journal Entry: July 6, 2014

I read somewhere that being a mistress felt like being a weed in someone else’s rose garden, and that makes total sense to me!

Since my husband has known the old alcoholic whore for what is now nine years, he is pretty aware of her schedule. He did not spend much time with her in town the last five years of their relationship since they mostly met at the airport for out of town trips, but she has had the same job(s) since he has known her. He explained that she answers phones in the evenings at the desk of a local hospital in the labor and delivery department. Her shift ends at approximately 11:30pm. She likes to work doubles (since she theoretically has no other life, except for yoga, the occasional home listing, and her apartment complexes…) and she especially likes to work holidays and weekends. Bonus as this particular Saturday falls on a holiday weekend. Blue Eyes was pretty sure she would be working.

We drove to the hospital to search for her vehicle and find a good spot for viewing her as she exited the building. When we arrived at the hospital, we realized there were numerous parking garages and parking lots, so we would have to search them all. We started at the lot closest to labor and delivery, but it was dark and I didn’t think they would have female employees park out in a parking lot late at night when there were empty well lit parking garages all around. So we headed to the parking garage nearest her department. No cars in sight that matched her make and model. We drove around a bit more in the outside parking lots and then my husband suggested I call the labor and delivery department to see if she actually was on shift.

Calling her and potentially having to hear her voice really gave me the creeps, but I certainly did not want my husband calling and I didn’t want to drive around any longer if she wasn’t at work. I blocked my mobile phone number and called labor and delivery. Sure enough, she answered in her mean and matter of fact (smoker’s) voice. I thought if I was delivering a baby, I certainly wouldn’t want her to be the first person I saw or spoke to at the hospital. I hung up and we continued our search for her car.

Now, we were being followed by a security guard. Maybe he was suspicious of us because at one point we came upon an employee garage (far from her department) that had a security gate, so I could not drive through it. I sent my husband up and down the floors making sure she wasn’t parked there. I was pretty sure she wasn’t because it was a long hike from her building. Or maybe the guard was suspicious of us because my crazy husband was wearing a black stocking cap and dark sunglasses at NIGHT in JULY!

There was one final parking garage to be investigated. As soon as we drove into the garage, I saw the car my husband had described. I drove around to the next level up in the parking structure. We were at a good vantage point where I could see her car (albeit from a distance) and if I ducked behind a cement pole, she could not see me. My husband, who was becoming increasingly paranoid, reclined his seat so that she would not see him if she happened to look up and our way. Blue Eyes seemed to be getting more nervous by the minute. Being anywhere near his acting out partners is forbidden in his recovery plan. The security guard was slowly driving by behind us. I figured if he stopped and asked us what we were doing, I could pretty easily make up a story. Maybe something about my parents who live less than two miles away and frequent this exact medical center. The security guard didn’t stop and eventually drove on.

We sat in my car for about 10 minutes as I watched employees exit the building and walk to their cars. I was concerned that if she was pulling a double shift, that she would just stay in the hospital. My husband assured me, she probably wouldn’t, as she would want to leave the hospital during her break between shifts. And, he was right. A woman exited the hospital and started heading towards “the car.” She looked quite large wearing an oversized pair of pastel patterned scrubs. Her hair was crazy. A voluminous bleached blonde mass of frizz. She certainly looked as mean as she sounded on the phone. At first I thought it couldn’t be her… instead of being better than what I had pictured, she was worse, so much worse. I did not think that was possible.

She walked up to her car, flung open the back door, threw in an armful of her belongings, slammed the door and hurled herself into the driver seat. Before she got in the car, she glanced up my way and I could see that it was definitely the whore from the real estate website photo I had been looking at for months, but with frizzier blonder hair, and meaner looking. I started to feel sick. She started her car, briskly exited the parking garage, and drove off into the night. I didn’t really know what to say or do. I looked at my husband and for the first time, I saw a depraved addict who clearly had created a fantasy vision of this woman in order to have an eight-year relationship that included international trips, naked bodies, and thousands of texts and phone calls expressing their lust and love for each other.

Once again, I could not reconcile the loving husband and father I had known for 30 years, with the man that would desperately and pathetically beg this woman to have sex with him. The fact that I was sitting next to an addict, and a stranger, left me with a feeling of deep despair. For that evening and that entire night, my unconditional love for Blue Eyes was gone. It just disappeared with the vision of his drug in front of me. He disgusted me and I wondered if I would ever be able to touch him again. I went to sleep feeling like I was lost. I did not know if I could stay in a relationship with him. My desire to leave him was stronger than ever.