The morning brought less pain for Brenda and Madeline, but they were hardly themselves. Madeline went back to her room. She and Brenda showered and got dressed around ten o’clock and sat on the bed waiting for Ginger and Paul.
“I feel like a truck ran over me; then backed up and did it again,” Brenda said.
“Same truck must have hit me, too,” Madeline said. “My head doesn’t hurt, but my stomach is not quite right and my body feels worn down.”
“This is crazy,” Brenda said, as Paul knocked on the door. “We’re in the best area of the United States for wine and I don’t want to even see a bottle of wine.”
She opened it and Paul stood in the threshold, smiling, with two cups of coffee in his hands.
“OK, party animals,” he said. “Here’s a pick-me-up.”
“Very funny,” Brenda said, as she reached for a cup. “But this is exactly what I need.”
“I don’t even drink coffee, but if it’s going to get me to feeling better, then I’ll try some,” Madeline said. “Where’s Ginger?”
“She’s gone down to get us a table for breakfast,” Paul said.
He walked with the ladies to the elevator. “That was some night,” he said. “I was feeling great about everything and then—”
“Do you really have to remind us, son?” Brenda asked. “It was embarrassing enough. Let’s not relive it.”
“I can’t promise it won’t come up again,” Paul said.
“Did you get some pleasure out of us being so sick?” Madeline said.
“Pleasure? Seeing you all throw up in the hallway? Seeing you intoxicated?” Paul said. “Of course, not? But I did speak to both of you last night while you were in bed. Do you recall that?”
“You talked to me?” Madeline asked.
“No,” Paul said, holding the elevator door open for them, “you talked to me.”
“Oh my goodness,” she said. “I don’t remember that. What did I say?”
“That you love me and I’m the best thing that ever happened to Ginger,” Paul said. “That’s the abbreviated version.”
And then he laughed, making Madeline uncertain if he was joking or telling the truth. The elevator doors opened and Ginger was standing right there.
“Oh, I was coming up to see where you all were,” she said. “Hi, Mother. How you feeling? How are you, Ms. Wall?”
“OK,” they said almost in unison.
“Well, the coffee should help,” Ginger said. “And maybe some oatmeal and toast.”
“That’s about all I can take right now,” Madeline said.
They made their way to the restaurant.
“I hope no one remembers us from last night,” Madeline said. “That was so embarrassing.”
“I know,” Brenda said. “I almost want to change hotels.”
“Well, we’re not doing that, Ma,” Paul said. “We don’t know them and they don’t know us. So it really doesn’t matter.”
“You weren’t the one who vomited in the lobby,” Brenda said.
They made their way to their seats for breakfast. Paul and Ginger felt refreshed. They slept about seven hours.
“On the east coast, it’s about one in the afternoon,” Ginger said. “I’m hungry.”
“My stomach doesn’t feel quite right, but I’m eating because it’s time to eat,” Brenda said.
And so, everyone ate. Paul sat across from his wife and between his mother and mother-in-law. He felt a distance from Ginger that he could not pinpoint. He thought they had gotten past blaming each other’s mother for their intoxication the night before, but knowing her, he sensed something was amiss.
“Gin, how you doing? How’s your food?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said without looking up. He knew then something was bothering her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. He figured she still blamed his mother for her mom getting sick and throwing up.
“Nothing,” she said.
The parents looked on, curiously.
“Come on, I know you,” he said. “You can tell me. We’re among family.”
Ginger raised her head and looked at him. “Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked.
“Huh? No,” he said. “Tell you about what?”
“About how you ended up out of work last year, which started all the drama we have had,” she said.
Paul’s heartbeat increased, but he remained outwardly calm—and did not say a word.
“Let’s talk about it since you want to talk so much, since you want to know what’s wrong with me,” Ginger said.
“Maybe you should talk in private,” her mother said.
“No, Paul said we’re among family and I should say what’s on my mind,” Ginger responded. “So I’ll ask again: Why did you lose your job?”
“What are you talking about?” Paul asked.
“I spoke to your mother last night,” Ginger said.
“What?” Brenda said, shocked. “What are you talking about?”
“See, that’s what a good buzz will do; you start telling stuff you didn’t mean to tell,” Ginger said. “You told me some harmless stuff and you also said, ‘I know you have been having issues because of why Paul got fired.”
“I did not say that,” Brenda said with indignation.
“Ms. Wall, that’s exactly what you said.”
“Well, I don’t remember that,” Brenda added.
“Doesn’t really matter if you remember,” Ginger said. “It only matters if it’s the truth. Paul, you told me you got downsized out of your job. But you told your mother something different. Why?”
“My mother is right,” he said. “We should speak on this in private.”
“No,” Ginger said sternly. “Right now. What happened? You were fired? Why were you fired, Paul? I know why. I’m seeing if you’re going to tell me the truth.”
“It was some B.S.,” he said.
“So it’s true? You got fired and told me you got laid off,” Ginger said. She was remarkably calm for someone so furious. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I was embarrassed,” Paul said. “Embarrassed by what they did to me.”
“No, if your mother is correct—,” Ginger said.
“Ginger, I do not recall saying anything like this to you,” Brenda said. “Where are you getting this from?”
“I got it from you, Miss Wall,” Ginger said. “You said some nice things about me and about the marriage and then you told me your son got fired from his job because of sexual harassment.”
“I knew that, but I wouldn’t tell you,” Brenda said.
“Why wouldn’t you tell Ginger?” Madeline jumped in.
“Because it wasn’t my place to,” Brenda said.
Voices started to rise. “Wait, can we hold it down some?” Paul said. “We already were embarrassed here last night.”
Ginger ignored Paul.
“Well, you apparently felt like it was your place to go last night because you sure enough told me that,” she said. “So the question is, Paul: Why didn’t you tell me? You told your mother, but not your wife?”
“Gin, I didn’t know what to do,” Paul started.
“So it’s true?” his mother-in-law asked with disdain in her voice.
“Gin, can we go somewhere for ten minutes to talk about this?” he asked.
“First of all, I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And secondly ten minutes hardly would be enough time for what I have to say to you.”
Paul was trapped. There was no wiggle room, not an inch to squirm free. So he released the burden that he had been carrying around for nearly a year.
“It’s true, but I didn’t harass anyone,” Paul said. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Gin. I really am. I didn’t want you to think crazy about me because it’s such a stupid reason to get fired.”
“What did you do?” she asked, calmly. “It must have been really serious for them to let you go after—what?—fourteen years?”
“There was a woman on the job,” he started. The eyes of the women were locked on him. The fall morning turned summer hot for Paul. “Her name was Sophia. She worked in the office. Any paperwork that I had to file after a job I had to file with her. So, one day she asks if I would like to go to the grand opening of an art gallery. I told her I would check with you and that I didn’t know.
“I asked for her number to text her my answer. When I texted her that we already had plans, she started texting me all kinds of stuff. It was crazy, like she was cultivating a relationship in her head.”
“What did she look like, Paul?” Madeline wanted to know.
“Ginger, can we finish this in private?” Paul asked.
“No, keep going,” Ginger answered.
Paul took a deep breath. “She’s an attractive woman, Ms. Knight. But that has nothing to do with anything.”
The women did not respond.
“Before she switched up on me, we would exchange text messages about harmless stuff,” he went on. “After about two weeks, we became really familiar with each other. She told me she was dating and so I didn’t feel like there was anything there to be concerned with.
“Well, one day, Big Al sends me a text message. It’s a short video of two people doing this sex trick where a guy flips the girl over and when they stop, they are in this wild sex position. Well, I forwarded it to her, to Sophia, and she took offense.”
“You did what?” Ginger said. “You sent a video of two people having sex to a woman? Why would you do that? That’s what you wanted to do to her? You didn’t send it to me, but you sent it to some woman on your job?”
“You didn’t want him to send that to you anyway, baby,” Madeline said.
“Mother, please,” Ginger said. “Paul, why would you send something like that to a woman?”
“It was a mistake,” Paul said. “A grave mistake. I thought we were friends, like one of the guys. I shouldn’t have done it, of course, looking back on it.”
“So what’s the B.S. part, Paul?” Ginger said. “You sent a woman a very inappropriate video. Doesn’t seem like B.S. to me.”
“It’s B.S. because she then started going back through my text messages to her and started changing the meaning, changing the context of what I was saying. So, instead of my text reading: “Wanna meet at the Ritz for a drink?” she said it read like I was asking her out on a date or to spend the night at a hotel.
“She responded: ‘Aren’t you married?’ It wasn’t intended like she was insulted or anything like that. She meant it at the time like, ‘Aren’t you married? You’ve go to go home and be a husband.’ That’s one of the running jokes we had.
“She would ask me about doing something and I would tell her, ‘No can do; going home to the wife.’ And so it became this running joke with us where she would say, ‘Aren’t you married?’ to almost anything I said.”
“Now I see where the B.S. comes in—with you,” Ginger said.
“Gin, that’s not true,” Paul pleaded. “Listen to the rest of it. So, when she gets the video, all of a sudden our jokes became me harassing her. And because the video was pornography, they called it sexual harassment.”
Ginger stared at him with so much anger. Paul did not know what to do, so he kept talking, thinking the longer she listened the clearer it would become to her. Wrong.
“It was crazy,” he continued. “Here I thought she was a friend, but she turned out to be someone out to get me.”
“Why was she out to get you?” Madeline asked.
“Because I would not go out with her,” Paul said.
“You never met her out?” Ginger asked.
“No,” Paul said. “I mean, she met all of us out a few times. It was never just her and me. She did talk about me rejecting her. She’d say, ‘Married man, you need to loosen up a little. Every time I ask you something you say, ‘I’m married.’ So I think she simply was not used to a man being disciplined with her. And she didn’t like it. I don’t know what her motivation was because I never talked to her again. But she saved all our texts and interpreted them to the mediator. Meanwhile, I didn’t have any text messages because I deleted them all.”
“Paul, this sounds crazy to me,” Ginger said. “If there was nothing going on, if you didn’t have an interest in this woman, why wouldn’t you tell me about her? You never mentioned her name. I always asked who was with you when you would hang out. Never, not once did you mention a woman’s name.
“So, because of that, it’s hard for me to believe that simple story. You lost your job because you were chasing another woman. Period.”
“No, it’s not as simple as that,” Paul said. “I am not going to allow you to believe this nonsense.”
“Nothing you can do to change it now,” Ginger said. “I’ve been in the dark for eleven months. I came out here in good faith to mend our marriage. And yet I found out that you’re a cheater and that you don’t trust me enough to tell me something very personal, something that really affected our marriage, but you told your mother.
“Thanks for trusting in me.”
And with that, Ginger tossed her cloth napkin onto the table and headed out of the hotel’s front door. Madeline stood and stared at Paul before following her daughter.
“Ma,” he said, looking at Brenda.
“Paul, I am so sorry,” she said. “I promise you, I do not remember telling her you got fired. But I was so messed up that I guess I did. Maybe it was on my conscience and I didn’t realize it.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s my fault. I always hated not being upfront with her. Should have told her back then and faced the music.”
“Well, you’re going to have to talk to her—but when she cools off,” Brenda said. “Saying something now is only going to make it worse. Trust me, I’m a woman.”
“How can we go and have a nice day with her mad at me?”
“Easy,” Brenda said. “She doesn’t want to have a bad time. Plus you have your momma here. Come on, let’s go. They’re probably outside waiting on us.”
And they were. Paul used the remote to open the doors and physically opened the front passenger door for Ginger, who stepped into the car without acknowledging her husband.
Paul revealed a printout that had various wineries listed. “So, we can go to Beringer now and hit one or two others before the day is out. And we can stop somewhere for a nice lunch,” he said. “Anyone have any thoughts on that?”
Ginger looked away from him, out the window. Madeline said, “I don’t feel so great, so I’m not really ready to taste wines.”
“Actually, me, either,” Brenda said.
Paul was devastated. He was called “Vino” by his mother because he loved wine. He traveled to California on a plane despite his immense fear of flying. He was finally in his dream location with the closest women in his life…and no one wanted to go taste wine.
But he did not reveal his frustration. Not totally. “I can’t believe I cannot get to a winery now that I’m finally in Napa,” he said. “But we’re a group traveling together, so it’s not only about me.”
He started the car and sat there for a moment or so.
“I have an idea,” he said. “How about us taking a drive back toward San Francisco so we can see the Golden Gate Bridge during the day? We went across it, but it was too dark to really enjoy it. There’s a park right there, Golden Gate Park. We can go there and take some photos and take in the beautiful scenery.
“By the time we get back, it will be time for lunch and hopefully everyone will feel better and we can visit a winery. What do you think?”
“You know, you can walk across the Golden Gate,” Madeline said. “Let’s do that.”
“That sounds like fun,” Brenda said.
“I’m gonna leave that to you all,” Paul said. “I’m sure it will be exciting, but flying here was exciting enough for me.”
Ginger did not say anything. Paul hated when she was that way. He hated it because he did not know where her mind would go, but he knew it would not be a pleasant place.
“Gin, does this plan work for you?” he said.
“Fine,” she said, not bothering to look in his direction.
“OK, well, I’m going to take the scenic route through downtown Napa so we can get a feel for where we are,” he said.
Brenda pulled out her camera. Madeline fumbled with her phone. Paul lost himself in the moment as they rode through the charming and quaint town, laced with interesting shops and restaurants, with people milling about. The temperature was in the low sixties with the sun spraying rays over the place as if a spotlight.
“Magnificent time to be here,” he said. “We could not have picked a better weekend.”
“It is beautiful,” Madeline said, but more to Brenda than Paul.
The foliage and yellow and red leaves in the trees and on the ground made for an image that one would see in a painting.
“I could live here,” Paul said. “It’s been ten minutes and I already know I could live here. It’s so warm and so quaint. And it helps that there is wine all around you. I can be consumed in wine. OMG.”
“It’s interesting that you can love wine so much but not become a wino,” Ginger’s mother said.
“It’s just like you liking alcohol but not becoming an alcoholic,” Brenda said. She said it pleasantly, but she was defending her son, whether he wanted or needed it or not.
“I don’t know if I like what you’re insinuating,” Madeline said.
“Don’t get your Depends in a bunch,” Brenda said, and everyone laughed, even Ginger.
“I’m glad to see some smiling faces in this car,” Brenda added. “I’m feeling better and we should have a good time and enjoy each other.”
“I agree with you, Ma,” Paul said. Then he added: “OK, in honor of you ladies getting, uh, inebriated last night, why don’t we share a story about an embarrassing moment that we haven’t shared with anyone before.”
“That’s easy,” Ginger said. “I married you.”
“Ouch,” Paul said. “That was mean. But at least you smiled. I like seeing you smile, Gin.”
They were at a light before jumping on the highway headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before she looked away.
“Who wants to go first?” Ginger asked.
“I’m not sure what kind of story you’re looking for, so Paul probably should go first,” his mother said.
“OK,” Paul said. “I’ll go. Now, this has to be a story you never told anyone. OK? OK, about ten years ago, Helena had a school project where she had to take a coffee can, punch holes in the bottom of it and use it as a plant holder or something. I remember buying her one and then another one because something was wrong with the first one.
“So, this was a time you might remember, Gin. We were meeting in Buckhead at Phipps Plaza to go to the movies. It was the spring or fall—I can’t remember which—but I had a pullover sweater on. So, anyway, I had a job in College Park and you were already in Buckhead, shopping or something. You had Helena with you. So, we were going to the movies and I rushed home, showered, changed clothes and got into the car to meet you all.
“Well, I am so anal about seeing the previews that I decided I would pass on going to the bathroom and would go when I got to the movies. So, I get on 85 North at the Connector and—bam—it’s a logjam. Traffic is backed up for a few miles. So I’m anxious about getting to you all on time and I hate traffic and now I’ve got to go to the bathroom so bad that I’m squirming in my seat.”
The ladies are laughing and hanging on to his every word. He went on: “So, we’re at a standstill and I’m in the center lane with no way to take an exit. By the minute, I’ve got to go to the bathroom more and more. So I start looking around the car for a cup or bottle or anything because I’m about to pee on myself.”
“Oh, my God,” Madeline said.
“My mind is racing. Then it hits me: I bought that second coffee can and Helena left it in the trunk. So since we’re at a standstill, I pop the trunk, get out of the car right there on 85 and hurry up and grab the coffee can and jump back into the car. I had no other option; I couldn’t hold it much longer.
“So I’m frantically trying to open my pants, get the belt loose and the zipper down because I’m about to wet myself, which I could not let happen. I’m sweating. It’s an emergency. I don’t know how it is for women, but when a man has to pee badly and knows he’s about to let it go, it’s harder to hold it back.
“Finally, I get myself free and I position the can between my legs and—I’m sure you know the relief you feel when you’ve got to go really badly.”
Paul started demonstrating behind the wheel his actions. He feigned closing his eyes and throwing his head back in relief. “I had saved myself and the relief felt so good,” he said.
“But then I started feeling something. My butt got warm. I looked down, and the can I was peeing in had holes in it. It was the first can I bought, not the second one. So all that pee that went in the can came right out in my seat.”
The women howled, they laughed so hard. Paul was laughing hysterically, too, Then he started reenacting the moment. He pulled himself from his seat, as he did that night.
“I lifted my butt up so I wasn’t sitting in a pile of pee,” he said, and they burst into laughter again for several seconds. “It was a total mess. And once you start peeing, you can’t stop.”
Madeline and Brenda were falling all over themselves. Ginger was in tears. Paul, too. And he kept them in stitches.
“So I emptied my bladder and was sitting there on the highway in my own pee.”
“Stop, Paul,” his mother managed to get out between laughs. “You’re crazy. I can’t take any more. Please stop. Oh, my God.”
But he wasn’t finished. “So I was relieved in one sense, but soaking wet and pissy in another,” he said, and Ginger buried her face in her hands, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.
“Paul, I don’t believe you,” she said.
“I’m serious,” he said. “So now I have another problem. And we’re still sitting in the same place; traffic had not moved. So I’ve got to do something. So I pop the trunk again to get some towels I have to wash the car out of the trunk to soak up some of all the pee on my seat.”
The ladies again are doubled-over in laughter.
“I hurry up out of the car, hoping no one can see the big piss stain that covered my whole behind. I get the towels and place them on the seat and jump back into the car. I had about four towels, so they sopped up the urine pretty good.”
He stopped to join the others in laughter. When he composed himself, he said, “So, I solve that crisis. I have gotten the pee off my seat. But my pants are soaking wet. Traffic starts to move a little bit and I almost swerved into someone because I was taking off my pants as I was driving.”
Once again, there was laughter among the women. “You’re killing me with this one,” Brenda said.
“So, I use my feet to slip off my shoes and squirm my way out of my pants and drawers. I’m literally riding up 85 with my naked butt on a pile of pissy towels.”
The women roll down the windows; they laughed so hard they got hot.
“So,” Paul continued, “I’ve got about fifteen minutes max to get my underwear and pants dry.”
“Oh, Lord,” Ginger screamed.
“So, I turn the heat on blast and hold my drawers up to the vent.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” the ladies howled.
“After about five minutes, they get mostly dry, but I’m sweating like a pig because it’s burning up in there. Finally, we clear the congestion point and traffic starts to really flow. My drawers aren’t quite dry, so I somehow get them to suspend on the vent so I didn’t have to hold them up there. I roll down the window when I get past downtown and now I’m driving at about sixty-five miles an hour.
“So, I grab my pants and hang them out the window so they can dry as my drawers are drying.”
Again, an eruption of laughter from everyone.
“I can’t even imagine what that looked like: a half-naked man driving on the highway with his underwear stuck in a vent and his pants hanging out the window. The heat in the car worked good because my underwear got dry pretty quickly. They weren’t fresh, but they were dry.
“I pull my pants from outside the window and position them so the wet area could take on the heat much of the way up 85 and all the way up Highway 400 to Lenox Road. By the time I get off at Lenox, the pants are not totally dry, but close to it. I put them up to my nose and was like, ‘That’s not good.’ So, I park in the mall—you had called me twice but I couldn’t pick up the phone with all that was going on.
“While sitting in the car I somehow got my stinky drawers on and pulled my stinky pants over top of them. And the only way I could think of to try to muffle the odor was to take off my sweater and wrap it around my waist.”
“Oh, no,” Ginger said. “I remember that night. You came in there looking crazy. And I asked you why you had your sweater around your waist. I remember.”
“Well, I couldn’t say, ‘Because I pissed on myself and I don’t want you or Helena to smell it.’ I don’t know what excuse I gave you and I knew I looked crazy, but I had no alternative. It was a Harry Potter movie, maybe the first one, and Helena was so excited about it. I had to be there.
“You had already purchased the tickets and I went straight to the bathroom to wash my hands. I remember Helena wondering why I didn’t hug and kiss her when I first saw you all, as usual. I made sure she sat between us because she would be so into the movie she wouldn’t think about any odors. When the movie was over, you suggested we go somewhere for dessert. I was like, ‘You and Helena go. I’ll meet you at home.’
“And that’s my embarrassing story that I had never told anyone.”
The women shook their heads. “I don’t think anything can top that,” Madeline said. “I give you credit: I might not have ever told anyone that story. But it was hilarious. Oh, my God.”
“And the way you told it,” Ginger said. “I didn’t realize you had that kind of comedic timing. Just hilarious.”
“It’s like you’ve been waiting to tell that story,” Brenda said. “And it didn’t take a buzz from wine to get it out of you.”
“You know what else I remember about that night,” Ginger said. “I found it curious then, but didn’t say anything.”
“What was that?” Paul asked.
“When Helena and I got home, you were taking a bath,” she said, and they all burst into laughter again.
“Yes, I was,” Paul said. “I needed a bath that night.”
They all laughed some more before catching their breath.
“I will never look at you the same, son-in-law,” Madeline said. “And I mean that as a compliment. You have way more of a sense of humor than I ever thought.”
“I’m a funny guy,” he said. “Well, maybe not funny, but I appreciate a good laugh as much as the next guy.”
“That has to be one of the funniest stories I ever heard,” Brenda said.
“I’ll drink to that, literally,” Paul said. “Ma, look in that bag between you two.”
There she found two bottles of The Prisoner wine, a delicious California Zinfandel that traveled in his luggage, and four glasses. “I thought maybe we could have a little something to sip on while we drive,” Paul said. “How are you all feeling?”
“Maybe that’s what I needed—a good laugh—to feel better because I sure do,” Madeline said.
“I can at least sip on a little,” Brenda said.
“Here, let me open it,” Ginger said.
“Paul, you’re driving, so…” Ginger said.
“I know. I’ll get some when we get to the park,” he said. “But don’t think I forgot: Somebody has to tell an embarrassing story.”
“If we finish these two bottles of wine, I’ll be glad to tell a couple of stories,” Madeline said.
“OK, I’ll tell one now,” Ginger said. “It won’t be as long as Paul’s but I never told this to anyone.”
“Oh, really,” Paul said. “OK, I’m ready for this.”
“All right, so I get a promotion on my job to senior marketing analyst,” Ginger began, “and the men in the office are livid. You know how men are—well, you might not, Paul, but I’m sure our parents do. They think women are inferior and should advance only so much.
“Well, I earned the promotion and my boss was courageous enough to give it to me knowing how the men in the office would react. So, anyway, I have a week to make this big presentation in front of my boss, his boss and the men who were angry I got the job.
“I prepared my butt off to make this presentation awesome. I needed to impress everyone. So, I go to the salon and get my hair done. I bought a beautiful new suit. I’m ready.
“I start my day as I usually do: with a light breakfast of juice and yogurt and a cup of coffee. I’m totally prepared. We get into a boardroom and I’m looking great and feeling great. I’m about to nail it, and make those guys look silly.
“So I get introduced and I get up to the head of the table where I have my stuff set up on an easel. I start great, talking about our competitor’s approach to this particular project, and I can see in my boss’ face how proud he is that he promoted me. But then it happened: I turned to point out something on the easel and as soon as I turned my back totally to them, I let out the loudest fart you could imagine.”
Paul, Madeline and Brenda screamed in laughter. “Are you serious?” Brenda asked.
“Totally,” she said.
“Wow,” Madeline said. “You never told me that.”
“What did you do?” Paul said.
“Well, first of all, it wasn’t merely loud, but it was stinky,” Ginger said, and the laughing began again.
“So I’m standing up there, afraid to even turn around to see their faces. But when I do turn around, it’s like the funk rushed up my nose. And it was so strong that it jolted me; I couldn’t hide on my face that it stunk to high hell.”
More laughter.
“So I’m standing there, gagging on my own fart, and they are looking at me and trying to pretend they didn’t hear it or smell it.”
More laughter.
“So what did you do?” Paul said, finally.
“I looked at them with a straight face and said, ‘That’s what I think of the competition.’ ”
Paul, Brenda and Madeline laughed loudly, just as the men in the boardroom had.
“I can’t even tell you how embarrassed I was,” Ginger said. “The funny thing is that after that, I was even more loose and the guys even loosened up and somehow, my fart at the wrong time helped me and those guys have a better relationship. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t trust them. But from that moment on they stopped being so rude and distant with me. So it’s made for a better working environment.”
“Wow,” Brenda said. “It takes passing gas to get men to respect you. How crazy is that?”
They settled down and the attention turned to wine.
“This is some good wine, Vino,” Brenda added. “I’m feeling much better.”
“Look at that,” Paul said, pointing to the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Beautiful,” Madeline said.
Paul drove across the bridge, slowly, and the magnificence of the view quieted the car. No one said a word. They snapped photos and admired the prodigious bridge and skyline of San Francisco off in the distance.
“Just beautiful,” Ginger said.
Paul took the first exit over the bridge and worked his way back and crossed the bridge again, headed toward Napa. Dozens and dozens of people walked across the bridge.
“Look, Brenda,” Madeline said. “That’s gonna be us.”
“But, Paul,” Brenda said, “we’re not walking back across, so you’re going to have to come pick us up on the other side.”
The traffic was heavy going back across the bridge, which was fine to the ladies; they got to take more photos and enjoy the cloudless day even more. Once they parked at Golden Gate Park, they stood outside the car and enjoyed the wine.
“I’m gonna need to walk off this wine,” Brenda said. “I’m feeling it.”
“Let’s do it,” Madeline said. “You walking with us, Ginger?”
“I think I’m going to pass,” she answered. “I want to admire this view, enjoy this wine and relax. That’s what a vacation is to me.”
So off the seniors went, leaving Paul and Ginger in the park. She did not wait long to address her concerns. All that laughing in the car made her feel good, but it did not eliminate the angst she had about how Paul lost his job and that he did not tell her.
“I don’t understand; how am I supposed to feel?” Ginger said. “You told me you got laid off, but you got fired. And you got fired because of sexual harassment. How can I believe anything you say?”
“Oh, so it’s the ‘Boy Who Cried Wolf’ thing, huh?” Paul said. “Nothing I say is the truth? I’ve lied so much that you can’t believe anything that comes out of my mouth? Well, if you truly believe that, then what I have to say about it won’t matter. If you don’t believe that—which I hope you don’t—then maybe we can get past this.
“Gin, it is very simple: I sent the woman an inappropriate text message with the video. That was it. I told her repeatedly that I’m a married man. I have tried to figure out why she would turn on me like she did and I’m guessing it was because I never bit on her advances. They were subtle, but they were also obvious. And I stuck to: ‘I’m going home to the wife.’ ”
“Do you understand that even if what you said is true,” Ginger said, “the violation and the dishonoring of our marriage is in you having these private jokes and text messages; you were building a relationship with her. And if she didn’t get offended by the video, you’d still have this secret relationship with her. That’s the violation and the disrespect.
“If you felt compelled to never mention her to me—not even say her name—then it shows there was something to hide, or something you thought you’d want to hide in the future. And that’s hard to swallow.
“I can think you asked me for a divorce because you were going to run away with whatever her name is. I could believe that you decided to try to stay in the marriage because she broke up with you. I could believe that you could still have something going with her. I could start thinking about those times you said you worked late—were you really working or working with Sophia?
“You see what I’m saying? This kind of thing triggers a whole lot of distrust and a whole lot of questions—and none of it is good.”
Ginger’s points were so valid that Paul pondered them for a minute or so. He looked off in the direction of the bay, with Alcatraz in the far-off distance. He did not want to react to what she said right away. To do that could mean he was more interested in reacting than actually listening, and he did not want her to think that. So he didn’t say anything. And he didn’t know what to say.
Finally, Ginger leaned on the car hood beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I get it. The things I thought were harmless clearly they aren’t harmless, even if I had no intention of doing anything with her. I’m really sorry, Gin.”
“I’m not going to play holier-than-thou with you,” she said. “You know, laughing in the car about your peeing on yourself was such a good thing for me. It helped me purge some of the really bad feelings I had about you. They didn’t all go away. I’m not saying that.
“But what I’m saying is that even when I was laughing, I was thinking: ‘He’s a good man and we’ve had a good life together.’ The last year or so has been hell. But here we are, in California. It could be worse.”
Paul put his arm around his wife and looked at her. She did not look at him; she looked straight ahead.
“Gin,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. Nothing like that will ever happen again. I promise. I love you.”
She slowly nodded her head. With his arm still around her shoulder, he lowered it and rubbed her back. It was another of the delicate affections he used to show her early in their marriage.
And Ginger began to cry—at first tears sliding down her face and then downright weeping. Paul hugged her tightly, with both arms. He was alarmed. He knew his wife, and the way she cried was a sorrowful cry, not tears she might shed in a time of personal turmoil.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You’re crying; something must be wrong,” Paul said.
“We’ve been through a lot,” Ginger said. “As soon as we take one step forward, there’s one step back. I’m worn out.”
“Stay here,” Paul said. “We need to finish this bottle—and open the other one, too.”
He went into the car and poured the last of the wine in their glasses. Ginger wiped her eyes and took a deep breath as Paul stood in front of her with the wine.
“I will do anything to get us past this,” Paul said. “Let’s take in the moment. Look at where we are. It’s a beautiful day. Look at that bridge above us and the mountains and the city over there and the boats…and you cannot get much more picturesque than this. We have to enjoy it. We have great wine and a perfect day. No more crying, no more negative anything. Let’s live.”
“You said you’d do anything for us to get past this,” Ginger reminded him.
“I don’t like the way you said that,” Paul noted. “But I did say it. Why?”
“I want to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge,” she said.
“Gin,” Paul said, “not that. We’re sitting here enjoying the amazing view, sipping on wine. It’s lovely.”
“How we gonna let our mothers do it, but not us?” Ginger said. “That’s crazy. Imagine what the view is from up there. And we can put our wine in a cup and—”
“A cup?” Paul said. “Wine is not to be consumed in a foam cup,” Paul said.
“You know what you sound like? An English snob without the accent,” Ginger cracked. “You can do it. You flew all the way across the country to get here… You said you’d do anything.”
“Wine relaxes me,” he said. “Let’s finish this up and then I’ll do it—only because I want to make things right with us.”