Ménage à Trois

During the day, I keep busy. There is an entire apartment to manage, and needless to say, because I’m home, I am also the official security guard and child-in-the-park monitor. At times I feel underappreciated for this job, but I do the best I can. The children living in the downstairs suite don’t really like me, and I believe they are afraid of me. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to frighten them, but let’s be honest, I do pose a threat.

But today, what’s really bothering me is that Sheila unceremoniously informed me she would be late tonight and, worse, that there was a chance that she’d be returning with a guest.

This is probably where I should mention that Sheila and I have an open relationship. It shocks some people, but elements have to come into play that makes each person happy, and for the relationship to survive. Sheila and I are experts at communicating, committing, and compromising. The three Cs form the foundation of any friendship that can endure all sorts of upheaval if they are securely in place.

When I check the clock, I realize I must have dozed off and missed the summer shower. Outside, the street glistens from the rain, and the geraniums in the windowsill are bedecked with droplets and look revived. If Sheila’s plans have fallen through for tonight, I expect to see her come walking along the sidewalk at any minute. It will be my signal whether I should make my own plans for amusement as well.

I wait five more minutes, then let myself out into the communal garden. Being close to dinner time, the garden is empty. I take a seat at the gurgling fountain and wait for one of my neighbours to venture out as the elders often do for a short stroll that makes them feel like they accomplished something before the day’s end.

“Oh, hello Charlie. I didn’t see you there.”

“Mrs. Baker. How nice to see you. Did you enjoy the shower?”

“We needed it. It was so hot. And the rose bushes always look so elegant after a good rain. But how are you?”

Mrs. Baker sits next to me. Many people could learn something from Mrs. Baker. She is a great listener and genuinely cares to hear the answer to how are you? Of course, I tell her that the children in 1B are boisterous. She’s not a fan either, although she always says she enjoys children, just not those two little screamers.

“How are you coping?” I ask, knowing that her husband died only a year ago. I see her struggle with loneliness, which is another reason I come into the garden when I know she will be out as well.

“Thanks for asking. It’s hard. My children treat me like a child and want me to move into a home. They’re worried about me.”

“That’s understandable. But aren’t you too young for a home?” I know that suggesting that she is too young is blatant flattery, but Mrs. Baker deserves to have a sympathetic ear in her corner. Someone who compliments her like Mr. Baker used to.

“Oh, Charlie. Aren’t you sweet? But truth is, I’m eighty and not getting any younger. And my children are suggesting I will enjoy having company and my meals prepared for me.”

“I’m sure there are many positives. But you’ve lived here for fifty years. I’m sure there’s a precious memory around every corner.”

“That’s exactly what I told the children. Charlie, Sheila is so lucky to have you. You are exceptional, and I value our friendship. Where is Sheila by the way? She’s usually home by now, isn’t she?”

“Working late.” I lie. Women of Mrs. Baker’s generation wouldn’t really understand the open relationship Sheila and I share. It would make her uncomfortable and drive a wedge into our casual friendship. Besides, Sheila and I have every right to our privacy too.

“Well. It was nice chatting with you, Charlie. I better make my rounds.”

I watch as Mrs. Baker saunters in the garden, stopping to smell the wet roses. She snips a stem with a delicate pink bud; I know she brings it to Mr. Baker’s photograph that rests on the mantle. I also know that she still talks to Mr. Baker and kisses the glass pane framing his face.

While I enjoy the birds in the trees, the gentle evening breeze, and the stillness that settles over the neighbourhood, I sense rather than hear Sheila come home. When I look at our collection of windows, the hallway light switches on, and I see two silhouettes framed in the window before Sheila pulls the drapes closed. It’s obvious, she’s brought a guest home.

To give them some privacy, I head deeper into the garden. From the broad branch of the old oak, I have a good view into several homes and watch the proceedings like a movie. And I admit, I am avoiding the elephant in my own apartment. I won’t tell Sheila that the open concept relationship fad she has brought into our midst is one-sided. I’m not really interested in this modern way of doing things but agreed simply to amuse her and make her happy. It’s always uncomfortable for me when she, after whatever it is that goes on with the closed curtain, calls me over to introduce the guest.

Needless to say, I am the barometer she uses to gauge her latest conquest with, and I’m not shy about voicing my opinion. So far, I’m winning.

Before heading in, I, too, smell the roses like Mrs. Baker and appreciate the simplicity of night. I hear our apartment window open, followed by Sheila’s voice.

“Charlie. Charlie? I’m home.”

As if I didn’t know. But obediently, I answer her call. I take the steps leading from the balcony and enter the apartment through the open door, announcing myself to the man sitting on the sofa. I can tell from the wrinkles in his shirt, the rumple in his slacks that the act I don’t like to witness has already transpired. Sheila is in the kitchen shaking up her famous martinis.

“Oh, hi there! You must be Charlie.”

“I am. And you?”

“I’m Vince. Sheila told me all about you.”

I move closer and take a seat opposite. This time, Sheila has really outdone herself. This one is drop-dead gorgeous. Not that I consider him competition, though. 

“She’s like that.” I smile. “What do you do? For a living, I mean.”

“Fitness model and writer.”

“Ah!” I nod. I can see the physical attraction, but Sheila isn’t exactly a sporty sort of person. She’s beautiful, but it wouldn’t hurt her to get into shape. It seemed an odd attraction on both their parts.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Vince smiles at me. 

He seems to have this urge to explain his motivation, but it’s not like I care. But Sheila doesn’t like it when I’m rude, so I fake an interest in Vince’s long-winded explanation. However, there’s no way he knows what I’m really thinking.

“I met Sheila a few months ago, as you probably know, and she’s really inspired me to come up with a better business model than the one I had been using. We talked nearly every day, and she’s changed my life.”

I fake more of my famous interest demeanor and move closer. No, for fuck’s sake, I didn’t know that Sheila had been chatting up the pretty boy for a few months. Up until now, Sheila had been more interested in the in-and-out models. She wasn’t the sort of person who needed prolonged relations. This really took me off guard.

“That’s nice.” I manage to say, but this guy really was full of himself, and before I could say, “no explanation necessary,” he dared to look me in the eye and added this bold statement.

“It’s serious. I think Sheila and I have a future together. She assures me that meeting me has changed her attitude toward health and fitness as well. I’m sure you’ve noticed she’s lost fifteen pounds since we started dating.”

“Dating?” The word knocked me over. “Fifteen pounds?” I looked toward Sheila, who came in carrying a tray of drinks and what looked like healthy snacks.

“I see you two are getting to know each other.”

Sheila sat between us as a barrier. She must have sensed that I was quickly approaching a level of impatience that was not flattering to witness. She leaned toward me and kissed me to appease that overwhelming sense of hostility reflected in my green eyes.

“Yes. I was just explaining my feelings, or I should say, our feelings, to Charlie. He seems to be okay with what I was saying.”

Sheila flinched. A sign that she knew I was not okay with the news flash from handsome over there. How dare he assume that I would be okay with that declaration.

“Charlie?” Sheila turned to me and laid her hand softly on my back. “How do you feel about what Vince is telling you?”

My silence answers the question better than words.

“I thought I’d try a different approach this time. In the past, I always prepared you and allowed you time to process. But we both know that for obvious reasons, that tactic never worked.” Sheila’s lips are set, she tries to match my glaring stare.

“What do you want me to say? Damn it, Sheila. You barely warned me this morning, and I find out from this schmuck that this has been in the making for months. That’s kind of deceitful, don’t you think?”

“Charlie. We have an agreement and you always seem to forget that. When I’m at my lowest, you say what I want to hear, but you don’t mean it. It’s not fair. I do everything for you.” 

Sheila dragged a tear down her cheek. Vince reached for her free hand and squeezed it.

“Sure. Bring that up. You always have to mention that I don’t do my part, which is not true, and you know it. Remember that time that peeping Tom was stalking you? and I scared him away. Or all those mornings when you can’t drag your ass from bed and I do everything in my power to motivate you? Ha? Or when another of your disastrous affairs comes to an end, who is always there for you? Me. That’s who! And I’m tired of always cleaning up the fallout.”

“I know you love me, Charlie, and that you want what is best. But this time, I know Vince is the one. Of course, I won’t move ahead with this relationship until we have your blessing. All I ask is that you give Vince a chance.”

It’s when I notice the bag in the foyer—implements for a sleep-over. Vince has come to spend the weekend. I’m incredulous and get up from the couch—this is too much. Emotionally, I’m exhausted and probably irreparably damaged by what Sheila is suggesting. I have to remove myself from the volatile situation unfolding on the sofa. It’s devastating to learn that I have been lied to, and that Sheila doesn’t fully trust me.

“Charlie. Please. Let’s try. You know I love you more than anyone in the world. But I have needs. We’ve discussed this. And Vince has promised to love you too and accept you as part of this relationship.

“I have to think,” I say and head toward the den. There’s no need to slam the door. I’ve made my point.

Sheila looks in on me before going to bed with the offender, but she knows better than to speak. Several times during the night, I can hear their voices rise and fall, the bed squeaks to a rhythm I’m familiar with. But, I have the time to think through my feelings. Truth is, I enjoy a loving relationship with Sheila, a nice home, the best food, and medical care. It suffices to say, I’m pampered; otherwise, I wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma. There’s no doubt about what needs to happen, and as dawn sets the tone for a brilliant morning,  my mind’s set like a trap.

When Vince wakes, he stares me squarely in the eye. He’s surprised by my weight as I press down on his bare chest; he has smooth muscles in place I didn’t know had muscles. I settle down and take my stance. If this is going to work, then Vince will have to allow my rightful place. Besides, I realized instantly, his chest is Herculean and warmer.

Vince blinks and smiles; he reaches and tenderly strokes my chin. With the stench of morning breath catapulting from his mouth, he mumbles something like, “There, there, Charlie. I can’t wait to introduce you to Fluffy, my dog.”

I was just getting comfortable and started purring, but this—this was too much. Before I know it, my claws involuntarily sink into his skin—just enough to draw blood and leave a mark.

Ménage à Trois is a term on loan from French meaning “household of three.”

Elements based on a true story, somewhere.

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