In My Neighbor's Bed

Ch. 6: Trapped

The neighbors would demonize him, his co-workers would start to ostracize him, even his family would start to pull away to minimize the effect on their own reputations. Slowly, his company would start to do the same.

They couldn't fire him over a nasty divorce, but they could "demote" him in a sense. Leave him out of big accounts and projects with major clients, give him menial tasks just so he couldn't say they weren't giving him any work, send in a "supervisor" to watch over his performance.

Of course, with that kind of pressure, it would only be a matter of time before he made some kind of mistake. Even if it was just a small one. And that would be all the ammunition the "supervisor" needed to fire him.

And then who would he be?

A divorced man with no family, no job, no money, and a bad reputation to top it all off? He'd never recover. Financially or emotionally. To Phil, image was everything, and without it, he was nothing. And he knew that just as well as I did.

It was the one card I held over him in our relationship. The prenup guaranteed that the money would always be in his favor, but his crippling fear of losing the carefully crafted public image that he'd spent so long perfecting kept him from doing anything too drastic. Even on the days I pissed him off the most.

That said, I still tried to keep the peace most days. More for my mental health than anything else. It was exhausting always snapping and lashing out at him. Besides, my neutrality and nonchalance towards this whole thing pissed him off a hell of a lot more than my fighting ever could.

"Clear your schedule next weekend, " he grumbled, standing to grab himself a cup of coffee. "Company's holding some kind of charity dinner Saturday."

"Uh-huh, and what charity is it for exactly?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Don't know, don't care. And neither do they," he explained, shrugging. "It's just an excuse to reign in potential clients. So, wear something nice. We need to make a good impression."

I sighed and nodded without saying anything. He wasn't looking at me, but he didn't really need to be either. He already knew I'd go along with it. I didn't have much choice.

It was part of the unspoken deal we'd made together. One of my "wifely duties," so to speak. In private, I could think and say whatever I wanted about him, but in public, I had to be his good little wife.

It was my job to stand by his side, smile, laugh, and make him look like a king among men. The "All-American man" with the doting, pretty, little housewife and a beautiful, well-kept home in the suburbs. Someone potential clients would be eager to do business with.

The young money didn't care too much about this shit, but the old money was still pretty traditional about it, and they were the most consistent clients. The ones who believed in "loyalty," as they put it.

I, personally, couldn't stand the old windbags. Or their noses-in-the-air, my-husband's-success-is-my-success wives. That said, I knew how to play nice with them. To bite my tongue, nod along, and make polite conversation.

These events were my job and, as a result, I'd gotten very good at them over the years. Phil had landed several big accounts just due to the fact that the men were "charmed" by his "lovely wife." Or because their wives found me "friendly and down-to-Earth." By their standards at least.

It was hell, but nothing I couldn't survive. An evening of fake smiles and forced laughter was a small price to pay when I considered everything it provided for Eli. A small smile came to my face as I thought of him.

Maybe I should go and see him today. Friday was Phil's day off and I really didn't feel like spending the entire day waiting on him hand and foot while I listened to his passive-aggressive comments. He'd complain about eating leftovers for lunch, but as long as I was home to cook dinner, he'd probably let it slide.