Page 67 of The Wrong Husband

The media had found other meatier subjects and, in all honesty, if we split up now no one would care. Well, I would. I didn't want to leave my wife. I loved being with Emilia. I'd never had this before—this sense of quiet and peace. I wasn't chasing after something all the time—I was living and that in itself was a novelty; but the fact I liked it was a pleasant surprise.

People at work had noticed how relaxed I was and had begun to associate it with my marriage. We weren't going to one party after the other—we weren't trying out a new restaurant or club every night. We weren't talking about how to make more money.

We stayed in the loft and ate simple homemade food. We talked about art in a different way than I was normally used to. It wasn't just about their price and value; it was about the aesthetics and historical impact.

Emilia was a true student of art, and her knowledge was vast. She'd always find a quote from an artist to make a point. Like last night we went to a gallery in SoHo that was showcasing an up and coming artist that Archer Galleries supported.

Since we came on a weekday evening and not on opening or closing night, there were few people there.

"What do you think?" I asked Emilia.

"It's…I don’t know." She looked around. "It's all derivative."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't everything."

"This artist based on what I have seen has had no growth in the last three years. Look, to copy others or say get inspired by others is necessary to evolve art, but to copy oneself is pathetic."

The exhibition was spread over three years and was meant to show time progression.

"Quoting Picasso again?" I teased.

She laughed. "He was in his private life an asshole but how can one not be in awe of the man who painted The Guernica?"

I loved spending time with her whether we were at a gallery or at The Roxie Theater in Mission.

I'd never been there, and Emilia had been surprised by that. "It's the oldest continuously operating cinema in the United States and they're playing Casablanca tonight."

We went there often as the Roxie frequently showed a mix of indie films, documentaries, and classic movies.

I was making time to do things I never did before like going to the movies or a simple walk. Bianca and I had been together for three years and we'd never seen a play in some dingy theatre in Castro. We'd gone to the Opera for the opening of Aida because my mother had invited the mayor to our box.

Bianca wasn't an art fan. She wasn't into theatre or the opera. We didn't go to museums and art galleries for fun, only when it had to do with work related to Archer Galleries.

Living with Emilia was teaching me how empty my life used to be. All I had was work, socializing, and fucking. Now, I spent my time watching horror movies with Emilia in my neighbor's house. Moana was now a full-fledged lawyer since she passed the bar.

I'd also gotten to know the drug dealers who lived in the penthouse apartment. They were nice guys as Emilia had said and I'd never seen them high or actually dealing.

Tech and Torture, a gay couple who used to be in the military were more than mere acquaintances. They ran a gym and were in a motorcycle club (not an SOA type but a one where they rode for fun). The TNT Gym was a couple of blocks from the loft and I now worked out there with Emilia.

I knew she was fit—I could feel it, but I was surprised when I found out how she liked working out. Torture had introduced Emilia to Capoeira. I hadn't known what it was until I saw it. It was a Brazilian martial art that combined elements of dance, acrobatics, and music.

"It's a fantastic full-body workout that can help build strength, flexibility, and coordination, while also being an exciting and culturally rich activity," Torture told me. "You should try it out."

"I’m good with the bag and cardio," I let him know.

"Men like you think dancing is for pussies, it ain't."

Tech and Torture as Emilia had said did adore Moana and her. They'd now included me in their circle. These people were as far away from my usual social group as the Sun was from Pluto—and yet, I felt comfortable with them. Truth be told, I enjoyed their company more than I did that of Bianca and my friends and acquaintances from the Archer world.

Four months into our marriage, my mother wanted to know when I was going to have the divorce paperwork signed and filed. The documents were sitting in my office. I had zero interest in leaving my wife. My life was fantastic right now. If there was one fly in my ointment, it was Bianca who was continuing to do her I want my man back dance.

My mother refused to disinvite her and the Winters from the Archer Sunday lunches and had told me that she didn't want Emilia there as it would upset Bianca. I told her she can have Bianca—and had made excuses the last two Sundays and stayed home with my wife.

Emilia bought an ice cream machine and we'd spent the day experimenting and drinking what was thick cream with sugar, more smoothy than solid cream. This was a whole lot more fun than talking about who was marrying whom and who acquired which painting that we missed; or bitch about Dean ignoring all of us while he lived in Hong Kong.

"She's pissed with you," Duncan informed me.

He was back from Paris for a few days and had had to listen to our mother and father bitch about my behavior.