The Truth is in the Wine (3 page)

Because he was so down about himself, he did not know how to change the course of his marriage. If only he could get a job, it would do something toward his self-esteem and therefore bring out the person she fell in love with, instead of the person that became mired in so much self-pity.

Well, he came up better than finding a job. He hit the lottery,
and his self-esteem rushed back to him as if injected into his bloodstream.

Paul did not have any siblings and was not sure when he would tell his mother, although he would take care of her in every way she desired. Alvin, meanwhile, was the ace among his plethora of friends, his Super Glue-tight “dog” of twenty-two years. When Paul got the trembling out of his system, he screamed so loudly his head hurt. Then he shed joyous tears. Then he called Alvin, whom he referred to as Big Al.

“Get over here right now. I don't care what you're doing; please, get here now,” Paul said.

He alarmed Big Al. “What's wrong, boy? Talk to me.”

“Can't. Not over the phone. Just get here,” Paul said. “Big news.”

“Twenty minutes,” Big Al said.

The news was so big that Big Al could not contain his glee. He knew Paul being a millionaire meant he was one, too. His life as he knew it also had changed. That's how tight they were.

And so he leaped around Paul's as if on a pogo stick. Paul sat there watching and laughing. He never let the ticket out of his hands.

“I'd rather not have her than have her back because I have money,” Paul told Big Al.

“Why do you want her back at all?” Alvin shot back. “You know how I feel about Ginger. She's cool with me. But there's a new world out there for you. You can do anything you want and acquire anything you want. I mean, seriously. You're telling me you have four million dollars coming to you and you want to stay with a woman who has basically turned her back on you when stuff got tight? Let me tell you something: If I were
happily
married and hit the lottery for four mil, I'd get a divorce. Ain't nothing one woman could do for me with that kinda money.”

“You would say that, Big Al,” Paul said. “But then you don't have your ‘wholemate.' I do. All you have are ‘whoremates.' It went bad for us, yeah. But now we can get it back.”

“You think she won't get inspired to act like she's happy with all that money?” Big Al wanted to know.

“That's why I said I'm not telling her—at least not right now,” Paul said. “I'm going to act like everything is the same.”

“How can you have that money and act like everything is the same? Are you crazy?” Big Al said.

“Discipline,” Paul answered. “This is important. This is my life. This is my wife. I recognize where her head is: she's disappointed that I'm not contributing to the household as I have, as I promised, as I'm supposed to. I told her a few weeks ago that I wanted a divorce. I didn't want to hold her back. So, I need to know where Gin's heart is. I haven't been able to find out before now because my head has been messed up. An out-of-work man is a man with a burden that only another out-of-work man can understand. I'm fifty years old. Been working since I was four-teen—that's thirty-six years straight where I earned a living.

“To be out of work for almost year took something out of me. I couldn't really convey it to her. I fell into a funk and she into a funk about me. I don't like it, but I can't blame her. I was supposed to be the man for her, to provide. Not working drained some of my manhood, in her eyes.”

“It's not like you weren't trying to get employed,” Big Al said. “Or that you quit your job. You got downsized. Millions of guys have been downsized. And since then you have been hitting the bricks, interviewing, trying to get on. It's a bad time in the country, no matter how hard President Obama tries. Seems like if you were trying to get work she would understand and not simply check out on you.

“But, hey, that's just me. Anyway, so what's your plan? Anyone else gets rich, they act like they just got rich. You…you're gonna act like nothing changed? I gotta see this.”

“Well, not exactly,” he said. “I was part of a major class action suit against a bank that was overcharging on overdraft fees for twenty years. Ginger knows about it. I'm gonna tell her I got a settlement check of five thousand for that and that my income tax check came from last year—a little more money.

“Then I'm going to take her on a trip we both said we really wanted to go on before I lost my job—to the Napa Valley in California, to the wine country. We never went because I don't like to fly. But I'm going to for this.

“Al, this is my chance to get my life back the way I want it, but even better because we'll have each other and no more financial issues. Truth be told, I don't want anyone else. I want Ginger.”

“Well, good luck, my brother,” Al said. “I gotta get home. But when you're ready to start really spending that money, hit me up.”

“You know I got you, man,” Paul said. “First thing to do is line up your bills. We're gonna pay all them off and go from there. I'll have some nice cash for you.”

They shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

“Tomorrow!” Paul yelled to Al as he walked toward his car.

An hour later, after he had pinched himself and the reality of the money set it, he heard the garage door open, indicating Ginger was home. The timing for the money was ideal; they had wiped out their savings for their daughter's first year of college. Paying for her education no longer would be a worry.

It seemed his only worry was if his wife would embrace him trying to mend their broken marriage.

P
aul got concerned when he realized Ginger had been in the car about fifteen minutes after he heard the garage door go up. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Viognier and two glasses.

Before he could go check on Ginger, she emerged, moving slowly, with her head down. She was down about her daughter being off to college and scared about the panic attack she had.

“Hey,” Paul said with a level of concern in his voice—something Ginger had not heard in some time, “You OK?”

Ginger was stunned by his concern. She had heard no caring inflection in his voice for months, not toward her, anyway. She lifted her head and looked at him. Paul looked different, she noticed right away. He stood more upright and his eyes were bright, not sullen.

“Do you care, Paul?” she said, walking past him to the living room, where she sat on the couch.

Paul did not answer. He went to the kitchen and retrieved the wine and the glasses. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Ginger. She was confused. He had not offered her any of his precious wine in months.

“Ginger,” he said, “I do care.”

“Since when?” she asked.

Paul poured wine into the glasses. He picked up one and handed it to Ginger. She looked at the glass for several seconds, looked at her husband and finally reached for the glass.

“I have always cared, Gin,” he said. “I just…”

“You just what, Paul?”

“I just lost who I was,” he said.

Ginger did not respond. She sat back on the couch, wine in hand.

Paul went on. “I want you to realize that I'm sorry.”

“You said you want a divorce, Paul,” she shot out.

“I know and I didn't mean it,” he said.

“So why would you say something so hurtful?” Ginger said. “You said you wanted to get away from me. You think that didn't hurt me, hurt my feelings?”

“I didn't mean it,” he said. “Listen, I was depressed. I was miserable. You won't believe this, but I thought I would be doing the right thing by letting you move on. I didn't see anything getting better and…I…I don't know where that came from—divorce—but I just said it.”

“You don't just say you want a divorce, Paul,” she said.

“I just said it,” he responded. “I don't want a divorce, Gin. I want us to get back to where we used to be. I really do.”

“Why? Why would you want that after how bad it has been?” she asked.

“Please taste your wine,” Paul said. “It's good.”

“Paul,” Ginger said, exasperated.

“OK, I'm just saying,” he said. He sipped his wine and added: “Anyway, think about it: Our baby is off to college. It's only you and me. This is the perfect time for us to find what we used to have.”

Ginger finally tasted the wine. It was good—clean, light, fresh, floral.

“I don't know how to respond to this, Paul,” she said. “I was in the car just now and I felt like I was dying. I dreaded coming in here and dealing with your attitude and total disregard for me. I literally was in the car crying. I couldn't breathe.”

“What?”

“Yes, I'm serious,” she said. “I felt like there was nothing for me to come into this house to, no love. So, for you to tell me you didn't mean all the awful things you said to me, the way you have treated me the last few weeks.…I don't know.”

“You're supposed to be skeptical,” Paul said. “I understand it. I'm not asking you to do anything except have an open mind. I want to work this thing out. It's very important to me.”

Ginger took a big gulp of the wine, and it went straight to her head. She sipped more, and she could feel a change coming over her from it. When that happened, she became audacious.

“So, what's this about? You want sex?” she said. “All of a sudden you're serving me wine and you want to work it out? Look at you. You're all shaven and even have on cologne. What's going on? I don't get it. It was bad before, but the last three weeks have been terrible.

“And now you want to work it out? That's hard to believe. I don't care what you say.”

Paul knew his wife and he knew that the wine was kicking in. He also knew that challenging her would result in her getting more and more combative, especially after she finished her glass and immediately poured herself another.

There were times when he would challenge her. But this was not one of them.

“You will see over time,” he said. “Ginger, let's make this work.”

“How do you propose we do this, Mr. I Want A Divorce?” she said.

Paul smiled.

“What's so funny?” she wanted to know. “You laughing at me?”

“No. I was thinking we should take a trip,” he said.

“A trip?” Ginger cracked. “To where? Fantasy Island?”

“I was thinking the trip we have been talking about for years—to Napa Valley,” Paul said.

“Napa? You want to drive across country?”

“No,” he said. “Let's fly.”

“You wanna fly?” Ginger said. “Now I'm sure something's up. You're the same man who two days ago would not fly to see your daughter off at college. Now, you wanna fly to California with me to the wine country? Nah, something's going on. What's going on?”

“I regret not flying with you and Helena to D.C.,” Paul said. “I do. I don't like flying, but I should have made the trip anyway for my daughter. I regret that. But I will fly up there and fly back with her when she comes home for the first time. I have to do that for her.

“But in the meantime, I think we should go to Napa and enjoy the wine and see if we can't bring this marriage back together.”

Ginger remained confused. The idea sounded good to her. No matter how bad things had gotten, Paul was still her husband and she silently prayed for their marriage to be saved.

But her rational mind would not push aside obvious questions.

“How we gonna pay for this?” she asked. “The mortgage is due and we barely got Helena into college. You think we should borrow money to go on a vacation? I know you're not saying that.”

“I'm not saying that at all,” Paul said, sipping the last of his wine. “Something happened today. I got a call about the class-action suit. I have some money coming to me next week: seven thousand dollars.

“We can pay the mortgage and still have more than enough to go out there. Not long. Maybe three days. Enough to hit some vineyards and talk and see where we really are.”

“So you got some money coming in for the first time in almost a year and you want to spend it all?” Ginger asked. “What about saving some? Bills come around every month, you know? Or did you forget?”

Paul was insulted but he did not let it show. It was not easy for him to hold back, but he did.

“Let's not forget that I have been providing some money for the longest here,” he said calmly. “I worked with Eric cutting grass. I drove a cab. I worked at Home Depot. Don't act like I sat around here and did nothing. I'm not gonna let you put that out there like you might believe it's true. I have tried.”

“You did, Paul,” she conceded. “I won't deny that. But—”

“There is no but, Gin,” he jumped in. “I have been through hell this year. You don't know what it's like to work all of your life and then one day, out of the blue, someone tells you that you can't work anymore. You can't provide for your family.

“That's not a small thing, Gin. It hurt. It changed me. And now I have some money coming my way; I deserve to take a vacation. You do, too.”

He ain't never lied
, she thought to herself. Ginger was emotionally spent. Between her daughter being off to college and the drama Paul inflicted—and now his one hundred eighty degrees in attitude change—she thought she was in a bad dream. Going away with anyone would be an elixir to her doldrums. And to Napa Valley, the one place she and Paul talked about really wanting to visit?

“You really want me to go?” Ginger asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Well, if you really do, then you'd do this one thing for me,” she said.

“What's that?” Paul wanted to know.