Read Being The Other Woman: Who we are, what every woman should know and how to avoid us Online
Authors: Micalle A. Culver
A prisoner I was. Blake had become so distrusting of me in fear of his own behavior being mirrored that I was unable to feel comfortable with anything I did. He had the password to my e-mail account and often snooped on me. I was being treated as if I were the cheat and liar. He checked my voicemail and drove by any location where I was supposed to be. Once, when I was having lunch with a client and his daughter, I looked out the window to see Blake sitting in his truck and watching us. When I accused him of being suspicious because he was a liar, he handed me all of his passwords. This began a sick and unhealthy cycle, with both of us constantly checking up on the other. I longed to breathe free again. I yearned to be trusted and to trust in return.
I promised myself to be honest with Blake at every turn, even about things that might upset or anger him, I wouldn’t lie. I would always be a supportive partner and act as a sounding board for all his emotions. I would listen to things that wounded my heart when he spoke about his marriage, and do so with the understanding that I would never close the doors to communication between us. I was sure that truth and honesty would always prevail. But we weren’t living our lives that way.
Our relationship had become very unbalanced, to say the least. I had been his only friend for a very long time, but I could see that he was no longer behaving as a friend to me. When I needed him, when I was hurt or suffering, he ran away. I bottled up my emotions until they burst. Things that could have been resolved through simple communication became catastrophes. Instead of healing, we both became more deeply wounded. He claimed to feel insecure that I would stick life out with him. No matter what I did, I couldn’t do enough to convince him that I would always be there. He feared leaving his life with Beth only to find that I didn’t really love him, so he brought me to my knees to prove my love.
Things had dramatically changed. At the beginning, I could never have predicted where we would be now. But as I was gaining strength to cut the tie between us, Blake offered another temptation.
His lies were killing him. His lifestyle was driving him to an early grave. He didn’t want to be the man he was any more. He wanted to “remove all of the evil.” He was, he assured me, going to be open and honest at all cost now. He held to his word. No longer did he make phone calls to me from other phones (Beth examined his phone records every day still). No longer did he hide me in any way. There were no more joint vacations with Beth, no more staying in the same home with her.
He and I began to spend quality time together as a normal couple without the tension. We threw a party at his home on the lake that became so large that a radio crew filming a Jet Ski competition came over and broadcast our event. In our quiet time, we began gardening at his lake home. His children and I planted flowers in the front that we had picked out together because he wanted me to feel like this was my home and have a part of myself there. We took a trip through the interior of Alaska and visited other old mining towns. We flew in a small plane to a remote village and visited a town called Coldfoot, where he jokingly decided we should have our wedding and started talking about our marriage more often. We drove along trucking roads to Prudhoe Bay, losing so many tires that we were stranded in the oil town for an extra day waiting for new tires to be flown in to us. But as adventurous as that sounds and regardless of how much fun we had on the trip, I didn’t want to go and cried the whole way to my mother’s to drop off my younger daughter. I passed up an opportunity to spend time with her alone while my oldest daughter was in Costa Rica with her Spanish class. Being gone with Blake brought me to so many cell phone dead zones that I couldn’t be reached in an emergency, but if I had tried to explain my panic to Blake, he would have only said that I was being stupid, nothing would happen to my daughter and that I was ruining everything when he was “trying.” I was stuck again in the position of ignoring my own desires. It was a silent torture.
Our togetherness became so accepted that friends, family, and business associates began to call one of us when they could not reach the other. During our two years, Blake had attended almost every formal and informal event in my family. I don’t recall him ever missing a birthday for my children, my parents, my siblings or their children. He was my date at my sister’s wedding. Even though he was present, the ability to enjoy those moments were often stifled by the drama of our circumstance. At the wedding we had to excuse ourselves from the reception every time Beth called and held the phone to her screaming children to make him aware that he was leaving her alone with them in order to attend my family’s function. He was present at the hospital for two of my sisters’ child deliveries. My large family makes every effort to share family time and dine on Sunday together at my mother’s house. Blake was often there. In the summers, when we held family barbeques and volleyball games, Blake was almost always there. Our industry holds several annual events, fundraisers and holiday parties, which Blake and I attended, arm in arm. I was even receiving Christmas cards from business associates made out to both of us at my office. People expected us to be together more than not.
A trip we took to Boulder, Colorado, is one of my favorite memories. We went there so he could show me the town where he attended college; kind of show me his roots. We visited his friend Rocco, who had vacationed in Aruba with us. Rocco introduced us to his new girlfriend, Julie, whom he later married. It was a great few days, touring the area with another couple. I bonded with Julie, who kept slipping and calling Blake my husband. This helped me feel what it would be like for us to be “normal.” We had many fun nights that included dining atop a mountain in a wonderful restaurant with a fabulous view, enjoying the spirits in a dueling piano bar, and hiking to the top of a small mountain with a bottle of wine to watch the sunset. Those moments brought peace to my heart. Blake always had a plan—Something to do and some way to make things romantic or cool.
One evening, we walked around the town until we came to Blake’s old fraternity house. A party was kicking off. Julie and I found an abandoned shopping cart and convinced the young freshmen to let us push them in it down the cement steps in front in honor of the newly released
Jackass
movie and our passing youth. By the end of the evening, the fraternity boys had renamed me their frat mom and vowed to keep in touch and send us invites to their events. It was a goofy child-like vacation.
Blake and I also drove alone to spend a night in Aspen, where we stayed in a fabulous bed and breakfast that displayed photos of the owner with famous actors and politicians. Each room was decorated thematically, with collections from other countries. We wandered around sampling the night life of the incredibly rich, which made the merely “comfortable” feel extremely out of place. Then we headed back to our African-themed room.
There were some heart wounds and healings that evening, as Blake confessed some of the lies he told me in the past. Blake and I had toyed with the idea of someday having a child of our own throughout our relationship and on that night he told me that while we had been broken up, Beth had convinced him to get a vasectomy. She neutered the dog. He confessed to past relationships with other women he’d had during his marriage before me and divulged that he had been with Beth sexually a few times during our relationship. He was hoping that we move forward with deep honesty from that day on. It was a difficult night for me. I cried many tears, but in the end I felt we were more bonded than ever before. We woke the next morning to the sounds of preparation for the Aspen Fourth of July parade. During check out, the owner of the B&B introduced us to her significant other, an actor in the movie Easy Rider. We went out to enjoy the parade. As we drove back to the Denver airport, Blake fell asleep in the passenger seat. I was astonished by all that had transpired. Never before had I believed so deeply that finally the day had come when all of my dreams had come true. We were going to be together. The divorce was definite and we were going to marry immediately after it was final. I remember every corner of that highway, every bit of the landscape, and the mountain range I was seeing. My breath was taken away as I drove in silence, watching him sleep. For the first time in a long while, I felt happy again. I was at ease and confident that our life ahead would be filled with joy. I knew that the rest of our lives would be spent sharing love, adventure and deep companionship. I would have the relationship that most only fantasize about. I felt content. We had decided that as soon as we arrived back home, we were going to load up our children in the motor home together and travel by ferry to an island off the Aleutians. He had already arranged this with Beth. She had agreed. She accepted the end of their marriage and was allowing him to move on with his life while still enjoying his children. The marriage was over.
I expected Blake at my house the day before we departed on our family adventure along the Aleutians, but he did not arrive. Instead, he phoned me the next day from the lake house where he had spent the night with Beth and their kids. When he called, I was running around town, picking up the things we’d need for our trip and was standing in a sporting goods store. When he revealed the truth of where he had been all night I began crying. I tried to hide behind the clothing racks and as I cried, I felt my heart began to harden. I was no longer pleading with him—“But you promised”—and no longer enraged by yet another betrayal. The last tear that slid down my cheek turned to ice before it fell off my chin.
He showed up later that day with only one of his children and when, after much prodding, his daughter stepped onto my front porch, she hid her face against the rail so she wouldn’t have to look at me and screamed, “I want to call my mom!” Her tantrum made her father angry, but I saw instantly that she had been told by Beth that seeing me was not a good thing. I begged Blake to allow her to call her mother so that she would feel secure. The result was that he had to drive her home, an hour back, and delay our departure. When he returned he told me that, yes, Beth had told her daughter that I was evil, that my children were wicked, and that we wanted to take her daddy away from her. Beth had told her daughter specifically that my younger daughter, with whom she had previously gotten along so well, was a bad kid. That’s why she wouldn’t speak to her when my daughter tried to comfort her. I understood Beth not wanting me to be around her children and not wanting anything that had anything to do with me (that is, my daughters) around her children. But my girls are good girls. They had never done anything bad to Beth or anyone in her family. They were just kids. Beth had told Blake that my children deserved to die. Remembering that now, I think I hated her at that moment too.
We were already off to a bad start. When the ferry was pulling away from the dock, I received a call from my friend Tony, one of the friends I was not “allowed” to associate with. Blake’s possessiveness kicked in immediately. Tony had always been forthcoming with his opinion of our relationship and belief that it was wrong. He had always voiced his mistrust of Blake to me and tried to help me get my head out of my ass and see what was in front of my face. Blake had once confronted him and tried to intimidate Tony, but Tony held his ground. This made Blake fight even more for me to end my friendship with him. I took his call on the ferry, therefore Blake announced that my friendship with Tony was one reason he was hesitating to divorce Beth. The clouds parted for me yet again and I saw his attempt to isolate me. He was afraid that my friends would shine the light on my delusion. He had blamed all of our issues on each and every person I was close to and because of this the dawn began on its own without the help of my friends.
Arriving on the island, we found a historical camp site at which to park our motor home for the duration of our stay. We left the site often to tour the town or remote parts of the area. But most of the trip was hell for me. Every time Blake walked away from the camp site or took too long in the bank or spent too much time in a department store, I accused him of sneaking off to call Beth. I am still sure that’s what he was doing. I had the ever-present feeling that I was being duped. Perhaps he had lied to me again about being forthcoming with Beth and he was again trying to hide the fact that I was with him. Beth’s and my roles seemed to be reversed now. She had become the woman he was hiding from me. One evening, Blake had fallen asleep while we watched a movie. I heard his phone vibrating and looked at it. Beth was calling. I snooped his voicemail filled with suspicion and listened to her message. She was crying about how she was feeling knowing that he was on the trip with me. I deleted it out of fear that it would make him feel sad for her and allow her to seep into our time together.
For most of that trip, he drank like a fish and was rude and agitated. One morning I woke to find him missing. I stepped out into the camp ground and began to search for him, following trails and calling his name for what felt like an hour until I gave up and headed back to camp. On my way back I met him on the trail and inquired why he had been gone for so long and where he had been. I received a hostile and defensive reply. But by now my days of frantic searching for him had passed. Now I only looked for him to catch him trying to make a fool of me.
Even in our worst of times together, there was always still much good. One day on the trip we golfed with the kids and laughed at the difficulty we were having in the pouring rain. Another day we attended a music festival filled with reminiscent hippies. When the plumbing system broke down in the motor home, we found a high school swimming pool to laugh and bathe ourselves in. We took a fishing charter with my children, filled with chuckles at both of my girls. One wouldn’t stop sucking a stick into the tentacles of an octopus pulled aboard and the other cried for every fish caught. One afternoon we walked along the edge of the ocean playing and another afternoon we ventured off into a forest stumbling onto bear bait. “What is that thing hanging from that tree?” I asked. Then we heard a roar and broke all known running records. There were moments we cherished and found another exciting story to tell, but we also fought constantly. He treated me in a manner I was not comfortable with and yelled at me in front of my children. He was unpredictable. I was growing very bitter with Blake on that trip and this time, so were my children.
Time to board the ferry for home did not come soon enough for me. Blake stayed down in the car bay while the girls and I got ourselves situated on board. He was still absent while the crew began to announce that all passengers were to go above deck. I went down to the loaded motor home to look for him and discovered an empty vodka bottle in the trash and an open woman’s magazine on the table, with a layout of Mary Kate and Ashley hugging each other. As the ferry took off, he befriended another (male) passenger and they filled themselves with more alcohol. It was a twelve hour ride back home through the night, and the ferry was overcrowded so we were forced to pitch a tent on the starboard deck, right near the fog horn. It was pouring freezing rain, the wind was horrendous, and the tent would not stay grounded. While I fought the elements and tried to use duct tape to stake the tent, Blake just stood there and watched. He did nothing but tip his drink to his mouth. I looked at him like he was a bona fide loser, because he failed to be a man and help me while I prepared our bed in ferryboat hell. I was furious with him. Visions of what a future with him would be like were flashing before my eyes.
When we finally reached the dock, we were in a small town about four hours from home. My father was at the dock, preparing to depart for his own trip to a different island. We ate breakfast together, and I shared with him the highlights of our trip. This gave Blake and me a break from each other. I also received some positive emotion from my father. The drive back home was mostly quiet, but I continued to test for vital signs in our relationship. I felt certain its death was imminent.
That night, Blake left my house saying that he was going to Taco Bell. I now lovingly call it his run for the border because he never did return with my
Gordita
. I was suspicious of everything that he did now and asked if he was coming back. He promised me emphatically that, yes, he would be back in a few minutes. Hours went by. Eventually, I drove to the house he shared with Beth. Sure enough, his car was in the driveway. I called the house, and when Beth answered, I went ballistic. I was tired of all the shit. I’d had it! I was done with the lies. Done with the sneaking around. Done with his worthless ass. Done with the games. I was filled with rage.
Then a strange thing happened. Beth began to calm
me
down. She assured me that he was downstairs working in the office. “You just spent two weeks with him,” she said. “He needs to see his kids. What is wrong with you? Why are you so upset? He’s already told me that he loves you. He’s in love with YOU.” She reassured me. Again, I was the fool and the asshole, to boot. It really was about his kids. He really had been honest with her. He had even told her that he was in love with me, and she had come to a place where she was able to say that to me without hate. She even sounded at peace with it. I was floored. I was wrong.
I was insane.
But then he stayed another weekend with her. I started receiving phone calls from my friends inquiring about what was going on with Blake and me because they were seeing him at a bar on the lake with Beth. At this point, I didn’t even care. Every concerned phone call was helping me stamp the death certificate of our relationship.
Then my phone rang at 5 a.m., and when I finally got up and checked my voicemails, I found several drunken messages from Blake accusing me of having had sex sometime in the past with a man he had spoken to at the bar that night. He accused me of letting the guy “fuck [me] in the ass” years before I had met Blake. I had never so much as touched that man, let alone ever been in a position to do what Blake was accusing me of. He had also left several messages on Beth’s behalf, saying “Beth’s concerned about this.” Is it just me, or was that the craziest thing of all?
My brain was Jell-O. I phoned him back and Beth answered the phone. She woke Blake up—he was sleeping on the couch—to hand him the phone. I could not get a word in edgewise past the accusations before his battery went dead.
I took the bait. Furious, I drove all of the way out to the lake and was let into the alleged “ass fucker’s” abode and woke him up with a slap to his face. I was promptly hoisted back out the door with many choice words certainly being shoved up my ass. Then I drove back into town. Back home, I snooped Blake’s e-mail and found flirtatious and incriminating notes between him and another girl pertaining to the night before. This was it. I was truly over it all. The man I had loved was officially driving me out of my mind. Look at how I was living! Look at how I was behaving! What had my life become?
Later that afternoon, Blake drove into town urging me to go for a drive with him so we could talk. I didn’t care what I said to him anymore. I didn’t care how ugly I looked while I yelled. I didn’t care if he never wanted to see me again. I screamed into his ear for the entire thirty-minute drive. I let everything out, not keeping back one word. By the time we returned to my house I had calmed down, but only for the sake of my vocal cords. When he asked me if we could have dinner together the next evening after I was feeling cooler, I did not respond, but stepped out of the car and refused contact with him for the rest of the day. The next evening arrived and he showed up, assuming we were going out together to talk.
I had developed an unwavering resolve to end the relationship. I no longer felt for him as I had for the last two years. Too much had happened. There had been too much mind-screwing and I knew I would never be able to live a life of trust with him. I knew that I needed to get out before I lost my sanity forever. I was growing to hate him bitterly—and myself even more.
I went to dinner with him. We drove to the restaurant in silence and dined almost in silence, too, but for a group of acquaintances seated nearby invited us to join them at another after-dinner spot. We walked downtown together with the other couple, and when we entered the next establishment I found a few other friends of my own. I ordered a glass of wine and began venting my frustrations of the last two years to the gals beside me, not realizing that Blake had seated himself next to me too. I was oozing my verbal hatred and as my anger peaked, I turned and saw him and made a snide comment about the e-mail exchange I had found the day before between him and another woman. “Be careful where you put your little dick,” I told him.
I instantly alerted to him taking the remark as an insult to his manly member. I saw the hurt look in his eyes, but before I could recant my comment he picked up his glass, and threw it at me. The glass broke across my face. Soaking wet with what I thought was his drink, I cupped my face in shock. When I pulled my hands away, however, they were covered with blood and I fainted. When I awoke, patrons of the bar were laying white dishcloths on my face and I could hear men yelling, “Get that guy, he just hurt this girl.” Before I could speak, I saw my blood staining the dishcloth and down the front of my shirt and passed out again. When I came to, paramedics were all around me and police officers were taking photographs.
After they took me to an emergency vehicle parked at the curb, and while I was trying to come to grips with what was happening and answering the police officers’ questions, my cell phone rang. It was from Blake’s house number so I answered it, but it was Beth. She was kind to me and asked in a tone that seemed to be full of genuine concern, “Are you all right? What happened?” While I was speaking to her, I also told the police officers that I didn’t know what had happened. I told them to ask the crowd of patrons that had now gathered outside the bar. When the officer asked me who was on the phone, I replied that it was Blake’s
wife.
Just as she was frantically asking if I intended to press charges, the policeman asked me for clarification about who was on the phone. I fell silent. What could I say? All I felt was defeat. I wanted to sink into the seat. When the officer left the vehicle to ask the others for their statements, I slipped away, feeling nothing but pure embarrassment and shame. As I walked to the parking garage where Blake had parked, I continued my phone conversation with Beth. Fortunately, he had put his car keys in my purse.