The Muse

He had been acting suspicious, coming home late, wanting his own bank account and work seemed to be making more demands than had ever been placed on him over the whole last five years.

We had grown apart, attended marriage counselling, had long talks and fights that left many a sleepless night. But now, now I did not know where I stood.

Last night, again like many times before, where my insecurities got the better of me, I asked him if he was having an affair and he reassured me and said, “No” and like always I replied, “Ok, I trust you”.

Yet waiting for him again to return home late in the night I felt so alone, so rejected and unloved, with tears and mascara running down my cheeks, and a martini in one hand I decided to go through his closet and belongings. Hanging onto any unusual placement of an item, like some long-lost clue to his newfound lifestyle I needed to know what it was, what was really going on. I had never been one of those nagging, snooping, clingy wives, those wives that want to know their husband’s every move. However, it seems times were changing. I placed the martini down on the top of our chest of draws and I opened his sock draw, everything all skilfully placed. I started to lift them up, and mess the order, he would know I had gone through his things, but this frenzied craze to know exactly what was happening was overcoming me. He was not telling me the truth about something and my intuition was not letting it go anymore. I was getting wild with despair. But nothing. I found nothing. Maybe I am crazy I thought. Maybe I should trust him more. I tried to place each sock back, knowing he would know but I still hoped he would not notice. I then picked up my martini and headed back to the loungeroom.

He was good I thought, whatever he was hiding, he was good at it. Having found nothing, I decided that this would be the last night that I ever waited for him to return home late. If he could not prioritise me, then I certainly had to stop prioritising him. I put on my feel-good music, the kind that made me feel sexy, wanted, and desirable. I went to my closet and pulled out my sexiest black dress. It had been a while since I had adorned this dress, a montage of memories of him and I unexpectedly stopped me. Clawing my way back from too many memories to handle tonight I closed my eyes and shook them away. I just hoped the dress still fitted. I made myself go to the bathroom and shower. I slipped the number on, matched it with red heels and red lipstick. I finished my martini, and I called a driver and waited. I was not having another mundane night in.

Twenty minutes had passed and then there was the sound of keys scratching the door. Alex was home but I was still here. This was not the way I had envisioned this moment. I sat on the lounge as if I had been there all along. The door opened, and I heard him call, “Honey, the driver that dropped me off is waiting for you apparently, why are you not taking the car?” I quickly jumped up. His driver? I scratched my head and thought, why didn’t he drive home? Yet another thing not making sense. To keep the peace, I grabbed my clutch, kissed him on the cheek and mumbled, “Meeting the girls for some drinks”. I hated lying to him, I was not meeting the girls. I wanted to be free, I did not want to answer any questions or dredge up my insecurities, after all they all seemed to have perfect lives. I knew if I said I was going alone though Alex would try and stop me from heading out or worse, offer to come. He was so protective, sometimes too overprotective, worse than my mother was when I was a teenager. I saw him double take though as I was walking to the car, he looked me up and down. In my head I was screaming at him, “Well if you would come home, you could have had this”. Instead, I was already seated in the car, clicking my seatbelt in place, and giving the driver an address. An address I had not spoken out loud in years because I had vowed never to go their again.

As we passed the bright lights of the city the driver quickly spoke, “Oh, I forgot, that man I dropped off at the same address as yours left this, he asked me to hold it while he paid with his phone. I had placed it on the passenger seat”. He held up to me what looked like a hard cover black Moleskine notebook and an envelope. “Do you think you could give it to him for me?” I took the black notebook and envelope. My hands were shaking, my stomach churning, and my palms were getting clammy. I had never seen this notebook before. The outside looked well used. I opened the book and started to sift through the pages, some with coffee stains, some with red wine but always a date, a signature, a phone number, and an amount. I kept going, page after page revealing to me everything, everything I thought I had imagined. The smell of stale cologne was wafting from the pages. I felt the envelope, it was thick and sealed. I tore it open, and there, rolled up money with a note on it and the number $2oK. I took the money and felt it between my fingers. I started counting it. The amount was substantial.

I felt as if I should be relieved to know I was not going crazy but undeniably wishing I were somewhere else, with someone else, living a completely different life. Oh, how the lies had entangled me in a web of make believe and now despair. Who were these mystery women and why were they paying him money? Do I play it cool, pretend like I’d never seen this black book, or do I dare confront him? I looked at the last handwritten entry. The date, todays date. I checked the number in the book with the contacts listed in my phone, she obviously was not a mutual friend. I was devastated, my heart broke. Then my sadness quickly turned into anger. I dialled the number. It was late at night, but I did not care. It rang out. So, I called again, again it rang out. So, I called again. This time I heard a quaint little voice asking who I was and if everything was alright. If she had not been cheating with my husband then we probably could have been friends. I reversed it, “No you tell me who you are”. Her quiet sexy voice whispered, “I’m a music producer, I produce and mix music. My name is Clara and you are?” I replied, “I am Alex’s wife, Collette”. The tone in her voice changed in an instant, “Oh Collette, I have heard so many wonderful things about you. Your Alex is one talented man”. I did not know what to say, I had no idea who this woman was and yet she seemed to know so much about me." What did Alex have to do with a music producer? i thought. “I’m so glad you are his muse” she continued. “He has such original material because of you”.

I looked up from the book, I saw I had about five minutes before the driver was going to drop me at the address that would change the course of my marriage forever. “Whhh, Whhaaat dooo you mean?” I stuttered into the phone. “What, he hasn’t told you?” Clara asked. “Told me what?” I replied. “Oh honey, you should search your husband on the internet. He is up and coming, a star in the making.” I put Clara on loudspeaker and then searched his name on my phone. There he was, photos of him everywhere, singing on stages, performing, being interviewed by famous people I had only seen on television. We were two streets away now from a decision that I could never take back. Then Clara’s soft voice on the phone said, “I do not know why he did not tell you, but I can tell you, everything he has done, he has done for you. He said you could not afford IVF and were not being picked for adoption. He always carried around this little black book. He said it contained dreams. I asked him one day what dreams and he said his wife’s. He gets the manager of each event to sign his black book on the date he earnt more for your dream. He also gets their number as part of his bigger goal of networking. I understand this may be a lot to take in but If the book is really in front of you honey, go to your birthday.” I quickly flicked through to my birthday, there in bold black letters, BIRTHDAY GOAL – SURPRISE. I was in shock. The driver however was continuing to drive up the driveway where the headlights were shinning directly into the house. I quickly muted my phone, “Driver, please take me back.” “Back?” he said very confused, “But you only just got here.” “I know” I replied. Clara was still talking oblivious that I had muted myself, “I have to go” she said “But please don’t tell Alex I was the one that told you. He wants it to be a surprise. He has worked so hard to get where he is for you. Now that you know, I can get you free tickets to any of his shows. It is ultimately up to you though, whether you wait for your birthday or confront him now.