One Affair

The past few years have brought a string of shame-faced confessions from political figures who were discovered cheating on their wives. One after the other, they trot up to the bank of microphones, with or without the poor woman, to say they are "sorry" and that they "take full responsibility." Liars and hypocrites all, they are usually political conservatives (with the exception of John Edwards) and devout Christians. Fortunately, their God is very forgiving. They'd be up sh*t creek if they had been born Jewish, the religion of the just, rather than the merciful God.

But I never feel a moment of moral superiority, because I can put myself in their shoes with incredible ease. In fact, I have been in their shoes.When I hear about a public figure having an affair, I always have the feeling that "there but for the grace of God go I." Back in the day, before cell phones and email, GPS and satellites, you could duck a way for a couple of hours and no one would know. Now, not so much. I feel sorry for them.

Indeed, in my early 30's, while working full time and raising two infants, I met a man I thought was the love of my life.

One problem: I was already living with the father of my children, who had just divorced his wife to make me an "honest woman." I had just borne his child, and then another. I had two step-children. And the "love of my life" guy had just gotten a divorce from his wife of twenty years and remarried a trophy wife. He wasn't going anywhere, either. Things were, shall we say, complicated.

But you know how it is over that second Martini at the end of a long day. Everybody starts to look pretty good. And I, at the age of 32, was already on my third marriage.
After the demise of marriage number one, the relationship I thought would be forever, I had a rather more modern outlook. It boiled down to, "follow your heart, but not into a joint bank account."

But I only say that in hindsight. At the time, it felt like falling in love...and falling in love...and falling in love. Each time, it was new and different.

This time my designated lover was the superintendent of the largest, fanciest, school district in town. He was a minor celebrity, later to be Commission of Education of another state. He was a wonderful man, smart and funny, generous and thoughtful. Of course he thought the same of me. We were drunk.

We had absolutely nothing in common except the man who introduced us, but that didn't matter. From the beginning, it was animal magnetism, on to which we grafted all the friendly concerns that make a relationship. "How's your daughter?" "Did you get to the day care before it closed?" His daughter was an irresponsible adult; my day care center closed at 6 PM. He was an older man. At that period of my life, I had a great line that I used for all the older men in my life who were beginning to doubt their youth: "I don't think a man is ever at his best until he's 45."

That line worked really well, until I myself reached that age, at which time it ceased to have relevance.

After declaring undying love to each other, we more pragmatically declared that we would never let ourselves to anything to hurt each other's families, and therefore we never would allow ourselves to be found out. That made wrestling in the back seat of a parked car outside a fern bar or stopping by the side of the road untenable, and we had to find another solution.

So, for two or three years, we shared an apartment in a part of town half way between his office and mine. We were nothing if not practical. We met for lunch, and for happy hour, and whenever we could get away. The relationship lasted a long time.

He only stood me up once. I got to the apartment, waited an hour, and he never appeared. Crushed, I went home. Several days later, I found out that his brother had died suddenly, and he had left town to go to the funeral. Naturally, he couldn't let me know. He would have had to call my home or my office, and risk interception at either place. And I couldn't call him; his secretary didn't even know he knew me.

How did it end? He changed jobs, and the stress of the new job made him much less interested in sex, and much less capable, too. We became friends, and gave up the unnecessary apartment. We stayed in touch for years.

He died a few years ago. Neither of our spouses ever found out.