Ho Man--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Wednesday, June 19

     Pia and I saddled up and went for a ride in the woods. My text alert dinged.

  “Hey Brenda, sorry to do it but I'm going to have to reschedule tomorrows (sic) session, I have a new evaluation and don't have anywhere else to put him...can we reschedule?” Golf Guy texted.

     “Absolutely.” I sent a picture of Jack's head heading down the trail. Then I thought, absolutely not.

     “Amazing,” Golf Guy texted.

     Amazing you want to keep stringing me along—and my self esteem is so far down the toilet that I’m letting you.

     Pia and I rode for almost three hours then I cleaned up and got ready to meet Randy for dinner.

     “I may be a little late,” Randy texted. “I have my ho and her sista in my room. I like my women very nasty.”

     I stared at my phone repulsed, not knowing how to respond.

     “Alright ho man,” I finally texted. “What time?”

     “I'm kidding!”

     I exited the highway and Randy called. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m in the parking lot. I’ll wait for you here.”

     I spotted Randy right away. He was balder but looked the same. I hopped out and gave him a huge hug. “I think the last time I saw you was ninth grade,” I said.

     “That sounds about right. Damn.”

     We walked into the restaurant. Randy told me his parents were living in Florida, his mother was fatter than ever, he didn’t speak to his parents much, and his brother, Wendall, lived near them.

     “I know you’re friends with Wen on Facebook,” Randy said making a face. “Don’t tell him anything I tell you. He’s got a big mouth. He’s on his third marriage and that’s not going so well. My sister is on her third marriage, too, but she’s doing great. She and I talk a lot. We’re very close.”

     “How are things with your first daughter? You told me your ex poisoned her against you. You talking?”

     “Some, but it’s too little too late. She only calls to tell me how great she’s doing, which is bullshit, and ask for money. She called today. I didn’t call her back.”

     “She’s reaching out. You’ve got an opportunity to get to know her.”

     Randy nodded uncertainly. “You were married a long time. How are you doing?”

     “Better now that we’re divorced. I felt uneasy around JB for a long time. Knew something was off but didn’t know what. I couldn’t kiss him for years. Couldn’t do it.”

     Randy stared at me knowingly and nodded.

     “The Hawks game starts soon,” I said. “Want to watch it down the street at a bar?”

     “You’re okay going to a bar?”

     “I haven’t had a drink in ten years. Yeah.”

     Randy and I walked to a charming old hole-in-the-wall full of locals.

     “Your comment about not being able to kiss JB,” Randy said. “That really hit me. I haven’t been able to kiss my wife in years. I stopped sleeping with her, too. I’m living in the basement.”

     “No.”

     “Yes. It’s bad.”

     “I’m so sorry.”

     “Have you been dating?”

     “If you can call it that,” I laughed. “Are you seeing other women?”

     “I’ve thought about it,” Randy said, looking at me hopefully.

     I squirmed and turned toward the game. The second period ended with the Hawks ahead.

     “I don’t want to keep you out late away from your kids,” Randy said. “Let’s go. Want to get together Sunday? Have dinner one more time before I leave?”

     “I’ll check my calendar when I get home.”

     Randy and I hugged goodbye.

Life Is Fun--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Tuesday, June 18

     Randy and I decided to meet for dinner tomorrow. We picked a place between my house and his hotel then he texted me a photo of a gaudy pickup with giant tires and sparkling rims.

     “You should be able to recognize me when I drive my Hertz rental,” he texted. “Btw, if you have an extra book at the house, I'll buy it providing you sign it.”

     “Excited you’re showing up in that!!! You better take me for a ride. I'll bring a signed copy of my book but you're not buying it.”

     “That car is parked by my hotel at a tire shop,” Randy texted. “Always wanted to feel like a pimp in a 'hood car.”

     “Always wanted to be a bitch in a pimped ride.”

     “Yeah, I see it now: 2 white people in that car and the brothas thinkin it got stolen! Yeah, yo be my bitch, sista.”

     Apparently Randy was the same guy who had me laughing so hard my stomach hurt in grade school. Thank God.

     “How are u,” Golf Guy texted.

      “Good. I did yoga with my client by his pool. It was a gorgeous night. How are you?”

     “I'm good, have been super busy...weather was perfect today. How is your writing going?”

     “Writing is going well.”

      “My boys just left yesterday for 4 weeks of away camp.”

     “Where to?”

     “Timberlane in Wisconsin. And you should never end a sentence with a preposition... You should have asked… ‘where to asshole’"

     “That's good! Hahaha. The boys and I are going to Minocqua. Tom's going to his dad’s when we get back and I'm headed to the Smokies. My friend is taking me to the mountains to meet her shaman then we’re going to her beach house. How cool is that?”

     “Amazing.”

     “Ever see a shaman?”

     “No...I don't even know what that is.”

     “A spiritual guide, healer. Should be interesting. My friend says she’s been getting a lot of signs from hawks.”

     “Sounds great.”

     “Are you being sarcastic?”

     “Not at all.”

    “Life is fun.”

Father's Day--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Sunday, June 16

     I woke up feeling angry and heartbroken for Blake. The picture of JB standing feet away avoiding him was cemented in my head. I snatched my phone.

     “It's Father's Day,” I texted JB. “You didn't walk over and say hi to Blake last night.

     “I am we’ll (sic) aware it's Father's Day,” JB texted. “You think i didnt (sic) want to say hi to Blake? I was afraid he'd tell me to go to hell. I decided to focus on Tom, it was his night.”

     “Coward.”

     “Ok I was scared of being rejected to my face. And I wish I had said hello. If that makes me a coward, fine, I'm a coward. And please don't mention Father's Day unless its to wish me a sincere happy Father's Day. Otherwise I'd just rather you said nothing. It's a tough enough day for me as it is.”

     I seethed and let my thoughts and feelings tear me up until I decided I didn’t want to waste one more unit of energy on JB and started cleaning the house. At one o’clock, as arranged, Tom walked through the door. I started wondering, why didn’t JB keep Tom all day and spend Father’s Day with him? Did he have a date with some child-free divorcee that took precedence over Tom? I started shaking. I began jumping around hoping to rid myself of my rage and began texting "Happy Father's Day" to my guy friends.

     “Thanks,” Golf Guy texted back. “Maybe I can watch you hit some balls this week at Deerfield.”

     “Cool. What days are good?”

     “So far thurs (sic) looks best.”

     “Got a time preference?”

     “3 or 4?”

     “Three is good. Looking forward to it. The pressure is on. Hope I don't totally suck.”

     “You better not.”

     I started making dinner. My text alert dinged.

     “If I were to ask Blake to meet me to talk would you be willing to encourage him to do so?” JB texted.

     “I've never discouraged it,” I responded. “Good luck with that.”

     “Ok, thanks. Ill (sic) try and see what happens. By the way (sic) for Mother's Day I gave Tom $20 to buy you a card and a gift, which he tells me he did. It would have meant a lot to me if you had returned the favor. This isn't meant as dig (sic) so please don't come back at me with both barrels. I'm just asking for enough of a thawing so we can exchange these basic courtesies. I think we'll all be happier as a result.”

     A short time later, JB texted again. “I texted Blake asking him to meet for coffee on Friday. I know he makes his own decisions, but I do think he'll at least listen to you. If it's in your heart to encourage him to meet me, Id (sic) be grateful. I don't want to be estranged from him for the rest of my life.”

     I walked into Blake’s room. “Your father said he asked you to meet him for coffee.”

     “I’m not going. Why should I?”

     “He feels bad he didn’t come over and talk to you last night. He knows he fucked up.”

     “Yeah, I know. He’s been texting me. I’m not texting him. Did you say something to him? Is that why he’s texting me?”

     “Well,” I said taking a deep breath.

     Blake laughed sarcastically. “Thought so. If he really wanted to talk to me, he’d call. Why doesn’t he pick up the fucking phone?”

Whatever--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Saturday, June 15

     Tom’s band, Gamma Ray, played the youth stage at Libertyville Days, and JB, who had Tom for the weekend, played roadie. Blake and I walked the three blocks from our house to the middle of town for Tom's show and I told Blake, “Don’t be surprised if Dad comes over and talks to you. I'm thinking he will.”

     Blake groaned. “I hope he doesn’t.”

     “Be open to it. See what he has to say. It might be good.”

     “Really?” Blake asked sarcastically. “What could he possibly say that would make things better?”

     “I don’t know. But he’s your father. You’re going to end up talking to him at some point. This may as well be the time.”

     Blake sighed. “Whatever.”

     We continued walking in silence. I glanced at Blake periodically. He appeared to be mulling it over, softening.

     Tom and his band were on stage and Blake and I planted ourselves front and center. I began waving wildly at Tom. Tom waved back and shot us an enormous grin. JB, standing off to the side, was holding up his iPad to record video. Periodically, JB whipped his head in our direction then whipped it back like he wasn’t looking. Our old neighbors, Gerald and Fran, were standing behind Blake and me.

     “Hey,” I said.

     “Hey!” Fran said. “When are you going to Lakeside? We’re going to my friend’s cottage by you again this summer.”

     “We got divorced and JB got the cottage,” I said.

     “No,” Fran gasped. “What happened?”

     I told her.

     “Wow,” Gerald said, shaking his head. He motioned toward Gamma Ray. “Those kids are really good.”

     “You recognize the guitar player?”

     Gerald shook his head.

     “It’s Tom.”

     “Oh my God. Tom. He really grew.”

     “Here’s Blake,” I said, pointing.

     Tom was strutting on stage. He strutted too far and his guitar unplugged from his amp. Bob, an old high school friend of JB’s, rushed over and plugged it in. He walked off the stage and stood next to me.

     “Hey Bob,” I said.

     “Hey!” he said and gave me a big hug.

     Bob had sent me a Facebook message earlier asking for JB’s phone number, which I thought was odd.

     “I’m guessing you know we’re divorced?” I asked Bob.

     “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “What the hell happened?”

     “JB was on Ashley Madison the last five years.”

     “Ach,” Bob said, throwing his head back. He squeezed his eyes shut in a pained expression. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You dating anyone?”

     “Not really.”

     “I know a lot of nice guys who’d like to meet someone nice,” he said. “I should fix you up.”

     “I might take you up on that.”

     Tom finished his set and I ran on stage and squeezed him. “You were great. You guys sounded fabulous.”

     “Thanks,” Tom beamed.

     “You were great Buddy,” Blake said and high-fived his brother.

     JB, packing up band equipment, was shooting more furtive glances our way. I waited for him to walk over and say hello to Blake, but he never came by. When the last of the band equipment had been carried off, I turned to Blake and said, “Let’s go to Tommy’s, eat dinner, and watch the Hawk’s game on their patio.”

     We silently walked to Tommy’s. Finally, I said, “I’m stunned your dad didn’t come over.”

     “I’m not,” Blake said. “I’m glad he didn’t come over. He’s a pussy.”

     I looked at Blake. I felt like crying but held back the tears. A bouncer was standing on Tommy’s patio not letting anyone in under the age of twenty-one.

     “But I’m his mother,” I said. “He’s not going to drink.”

     “I’d let you in but it's not up to me,” the bouncer said. “I have to ask the owner. He’s probably not going to let me. He’s being really strict with Libertyville Days. But I’ll ask.” He walked off.

     “That’s a first, my mother trying to get me into a bar,” Blake smirked.

     The bouncer reappeared shaking his head.

     “Let’s go to Chili U,” I said.

     Blake and I walked down a few storefronts and somberly ate chili while the Hawks played in the background.

Pussy--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Friday, June 14

     I saw Kent at a recovery meeting this morning and mentioned I was playing golf with Blake at Stonewall Orchard in a couple of hours.

     “That course is really hard,” Kent laughed. “It’s beautiful but hard. You’ve barely played. Good luck.”

     “I’ll wear a short skirt,” I laughed. “Stopped me from getting yelled at last time.”

     Kent shook his head and laughed harder.

     I drove home, kicked Blake out of bed, and headed for the golf course. Blake strapped our bags on the cart and drove to the first tee. My text alert dinged. An old grade school friend I hadn’t seen in thirty years was in town. Randy friended me on Facebook years ago and had randomly called days after I'd asked JB to move out. He was living in Wyoming, his first marriage had ended badly, his ex had poisoned their daughter against him, he had two children with his current wife, and that marriage was going great, he said.

     “Hey Brenda!!!!” Randy texted. “I’m in town til (sic) the 24th. Would love to see you!”

     “Love to see you, too,” I texted. “Playing golf with my son now. Maybe dinner the 20th? Gotta go.” I switched my phone off and threw it in my golf bag.

     I was hitting well for a beginner. Made it over some water features. But I was slow. Blake let two parties play through. On the eighteenth hole, as I was lining up a shot on the fairway, an old man yelled,  “Hit the ball! Every single shot!”

     “Shut the fuck up,” Blake shouted back. “Mind your own fucking business.” Blake looked at me. “Really? He yells on the last hole? You’re taking longer than most, but not bad. And you’re making up for it by not being a duffer. I’m reporting him.” Blake flagged down a ranger. “That guy up there is heckling my mom,” he said.

     I wrapped my arm around Blake’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for standing up for me. You’ve got balls. Dad wouldn’t have done that.”

     “Dad’s a pussy.”

Passive Aggressive--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Tuesday, June 11

     Walked into the 7 a.m. meeting and found altered fliers with a big arrow pointing at my name and “Change in speakers. Please let your friends know!! Songbird will be our open speaker,” pasted over my book quotes. They were on every countertop and bulletin board in the club house.

      Tanya snatched a bunch of fliers off a table near the front door and made a face. “This is so passive aggressive,” she snarled. “This is so icky.”

     Tanya and I scooped them up and put them in my Tahoe.

     “These are really passive aggressive,” Tanya repeated. “Really shitty.”

     “Thank-you,” I said and hugged her.

Finesse Things--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Monday, June 10

     “………..aaaarrrgghhh…..just saw this ……” Bling-Bling emailed.

     “Well it (sic) too late …on the Announcement (sic)….I waited until I talked with you and put out a bunch…..at 10 yesterday.

     “The flier only promoted YOU and it did not have a coupon or info on how to buy the book………    I am actually at my office and have apt …in a bit….I have several thoughts running through my mind.

     “#1 is that a lot of people have come to recovery because of your shared story………I would be glad to humble myself in front of the BIG group you will have and take responsibility for the……..PROMOTIONAL….announcement………    I don’t know what to else to say……..can we talk?”

     My phone rang and it was Bling-Bling. “You okayed the flier Saturday night so I put it out Sunday.”

     “No,” I said. “You put it out Saturday morning well before we spoke that night. And I didn’t okay it.”

     “I didn’t put it out until Sunday.”

     “You told me Saturday night that you’d put the fliers out that morning, made an announcement, and specifically left fliers for the weekend women’s meetings. I never okayed it.”

     “Well it’s too late now. I’ll make an announcement before you speak. I can finesse things. I’m great at that.”

     I pictured Bling-Bling with his thick pompador, gold chains swinging, arms flying, finessing things.

     “No,” I said. “You have time to find someone else.”

     “It’ll be fine Brenda. I will finesse this thing. Don’t worry about it.”

     “I’m giving you plenty of time to lineup someone else. I’m not speaking.”

     “I do a lot for the clubhouse,” Bling-Bling said. “I’ve taken on a lot of responsibility over there that takes away from my business. I don’t have time for this. Do you know the history of the Sunday meeting, why I took it over?”

     “Yes.”

     “So you know a lot of women had a problem with what was going on, and you’ve helped a lot of women. You will help a lot of women.”

     “I’m sorry you’re in this position, but you need to get someone else to speak.”

      Tanya called. “Those fliers were everywhere this morning. I think I got them all.” She started laughing. “There was a typo. Maybe I won’t tell you what it is. See if you spot it.”

     “Just tell me.”

     “Okay. I’ll read it. ‘Excerpt from Brenda Wilhelmson’s memoir, “Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife.” Hear the real story,’ and he spelled story wrong.”

     I groaned.

     “Yeah, there’s more. ‘Our own Brenda W. Bring a friend.’ Then there’s a picture of the cover of your book and underneath are all these quotes. I’m not sure how or why he chose them.”

     “Thanks for grabbing them.”

     “They’re really yucky. I’m saving them for you. They’re in my car. I’ll give them to you tomorrow.”

     “Can’t wait.”

     I went back to my email and saw Bling-Bling had sent another.

     “I understand your position—an d (sic) you are right….we did not talk until Sat..pm….and I did announce that Dave was our speaker 6/9  and Brenda was speaking 6/16…at the 8;30 (sic) am Sat….my home group. 

     “My apology….you had NOT given me permission to use an announcement!!”

     Or fliers.