Someone on Amazon compared my new book,
High Risk, to that great 80s film,
Fatal Attraction. I'm immensely flattered by the comparison, because the movie is one of my favorites. I can still remember seeing it when it just came out in the theater and how the full house audience was actually screaming as Glenn Close (as Alex, the fling from Hell) had her final meltdown and met her watery demise in the bathtub of her lover's upstate NY home. It's great suspense. And it's great social commentary because it touched a nerve that hits almost everyone who's ever been in a committed relationship. Whether we actually do it or not, who hasn't at least thought about having an affair or a fling...or if you're so pure that you've never even considered it, who hasn't at least wondered what you would do if you caught your partner with his or her pants down...and you're not the one in the audience?
My book,
High Risk, I think, hits the same nerve. Like
Fatal Attraction,
High Risk is the story of infidelity gone horribly wrong. People who analyze these sorts of things might call both stories cautionary tales. I don't usually set out to instruct, or lecture, with my writing, but I suppose the label fits, just as it fits Fatal Attraction. In both stories, spouses who cheat run up against a psycho who teaches them that the true path to happiness doesn't lay anywhere near Behind-the-Back-Fuckery Lane. In my story, it's the wife, Beth Walsh, who learns the lesson. But poor Beth has a lot more bad luck than Michael Douglas's character in Fatal Attraction. Maybe that's because poor Beth does a lot more cheating than Michael, whose fling with Glenn Close's Alex was an isolated thing, a true out-of-character shift. It was a lot harder for me to make Beth sympathetic because she's been cheating on her husband for years, with lots and lots of different men, all daytime encounters while he works, or more extended encounters while he's away on business. So, without setting out intentionally to do it, Beth's ultimate "punishment" is a lot more severe. I don't want to spoil some of the nasty surprises I have for readers, but not everyone close to Beth gets out alive, and Beth herself barely makes it out of the nightmare intact, although she is very damaged by her experience with the drop dead gorgeous--and drop dead crazy--Abbott Lowery.
Reading this, some of you might think: well, if she cheated so frequently and with so many different men, maybe "poor" Beth got just what she deserved, no matter how bad the consequences. As I've learned from writing columns and blogs about infidelity, I know that a lot of you have some very unforgiving feelings about those who stray. And it's not my intention to rise to their defense, but to plead for understanding. Take Beth, my main character, for example. Yes, she's guilty as charged of being a slut (there's even a scene where she takes on a father and son), but I think I make you care about her. While you may not agree with or even approve of her choices, you do kind of share in her torment and conflicting emotions. Beth may be a slut, but she's not a wanton slut. In spite of her behavior (which I think a psychoanalyst would characterize as obsessive compulsive or addictive), she truly loves her husband, Mark. Like other addicts, she's felt crushing guilt over her behavior and on many occasions has promised herself that this time will be the last. But it never is. And you come to see how out of control Beth is and how the viscious cycle of hating herself for her actions just causes her to binge all over again. It's classic addiction stuff. You want Beth to survive and get past what's veering more and more out of control. You certainly don't want to see happen to her what Abbott has in store.
Like
Fatal Attraction, High Risk, is a journey: characters in both these stories of infidelity move from a place where they were out of control to one of realizing what truly matters in life. My character pays much more dearly for this lesson than Michael Douglas's character, but both, in the end, come out on the other side as better and more fully realized human beings.
What do you think? Do you believe that infidelity is an unforgivable sin? A kind of "deal breaker" in a relationship? Or do you think there's room for human error, for growth, for learning from one's mistakes? If you've read my book, or are thinking about it because of the tidbits above, do you think Beth got what she deserved?
My own feelings are that infidelity is not an open and shut case, not a black and white area. It all depends on the individuals and the couple and not every case is different. Once a cheater, always a cheater is a stupid cliche I've heard bandied about. I say it's stupid because it doesn't allow for the possibility for us, as humans, to ever experience growth or learning. Some of us need a lot more instruction than others to get it right, if you know what I mean.
In closing, I'd like to leave you with a short excerpt from
High Risk, that I think shows Beth's conflicted nature when it came to the subject of infidelity, and her own sexual addiction:
Beth didn’t think she could take much more. She hadn’t brought him home for chitchat. And the longer they delayed here, on the couch, the closer Mark would be to coming home. And that would truly be the end of the world.
The scenario for other encounters was never like this one. Usually, it went like this: the men she hooked up with tended to have her up against the door of their apartments or motel rooms within seconds of closing them. There was seldom any talk, other than a guttural moan, admonition, or encouragement. It was always a race to see who could get undressed first.
And that’s the way Beth liked it. No time for thinking. No time for guilt. Just raw lust. If you talked to them, they became people.
This one, for all his macho good looks, was beginning to be a disappointment. Beth liked a man who knew how to take charge (perhaps removing some of her responsibility). She didn’t want to be the one to make all the moves. And that feeling caused her passion to wilt, just a little.
Wasn’t she beautiful enough?
Didn’t he want her?
When she had got Abbott his Sam Adams, she’d poured her own glass of Pinot Grigio. She took a sip of the wine now, held it in her mouth for a second, then leaned close to him, pressing her lips to his and attempting to transfer some of the liquid into his mouth.
Most of it ran down their chins as he spat it out. Beth recoiled. “What did you do that for?”
Abbott’s blue eyes flashed as he stared at her. If she didn’t know better, she would think his frown one of disgust. “I just wasn’t expecting that. I guess I…” His voice trailed off and he looked out the window, then back at her. “I guess I’m really not into shit like that. You know?”
Had she made a mistake? Beth took him in once more: the heavy dark eyebrows and lashes throwing into sharp relief the pale blue eyes, the thick mane of black curls, the dark stubble on his chin. Maybe to give up just now would be the real mistake. “Well, then, maybe you’d be into something like this.” Beth stood, turned toward him, then sat on his lap, straddling him, her face inches from his. She grinned, glad she had removed her thong panties in the kitchen. If this didn’t work…
She leaned in and kissed him. He held his lips firm, though, refusing to part them to admit her flickering tongue.
He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t like you.
The thought made her push all the harder at his unyielding lips. Maybe he’s just a bad kisser. Embarrassment and shame produced friction that caused Beth’s face to grow hot. Hot enough for a line of sweat to break out at her hairline.
She pressed her breasts against his chest, squeezing against him, feeling nauseous and disgusted with herself, but unable to stop.
She moved down her hand, desperate for the erection she hoped to find trapped in his jeans. His softness, however, disappointed her. Maybe he was gay, she tried telling herself, while another part countered: he just doesn’t find you attractive. Or maybe he’s just nervous, having a little performance anxiety. Well, she knew how to take care of nervous men, make them forget their anxieties. Nervousness could actually add something if handled right.
She reached for his zipper.
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