The One Who Got Away (14 page)

The last thing we'd normally want to do while David was getting emotional was cut, but it was too late.

‘Sure, let's all take a break,' the cameraman said, then stepped back from his viewfinder.

‘Could we perhaps get David a glass of water?' said the girl from Sally & Sons.

‘Of course,' said the producer, and signalled to one of our assistants to bring a glass to David so he wouldn't have to untangle himself from the lapel mic.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, sipping.

‘It's fine,' I said patiently.

‘Are we good?' asked the producer.

‘All good,' said David, placing the water glass down by his feet.

The cameras rolled again.

‘So, we were talking about your honeymoon. How soon after the honeymoon did Loren fall pregnant? It was very soon, wasn't it?'

‘We hadn't planned on starting a family for several years,' he said, tugging a little on his collar, ‘but God had other plans, obviously. And the girls were a gift. They are a gift. Although the pregnancy was difficult for Loren. And clearly, given what she's written, I should have been much more supportive, but there didn't seem to be all that much that I could do. I remember joking with some of my friends at the golf club: “My wife is pregnant and she can't stand me.” They all sympathised. But they also warned me, “Get used to it. You're not her number one anymore and you never will be again.”'

‘But hang on a minute,' I said, tapping my pen against my clipboard, ‘this isn't about you not being supportive. Loren found a receipt for a strip club in your wallet …'

‘No, no,' said David.

For a moment, I thought he was going to deny it, which would have been great because we had the receipts, but he didn't deny it.

‘I did go to the strip club. I absolutely did, and it was absolutely wrong of me. But I'm not the first businessman to be
dragged to one of those places by clients and I won't be the last. Like it or not, strip clubs are part of life in corporate America, and we, as a nation, definitely need to have a conversation about why that is.'

Oh please. Was David now trying to shift the blame for his own actions onto corporate America?

‘As for what happened later,' said David, ‘I can't be the first husband to have noticed that his wife's priorities had changed after the babies arrived. And if the average husband has problems with one baby, I had double trouble.' He grinned. ‘Our girls were – are – gorgeous, but they put huge demands on Loren's time and energy. Not that she didn't have plenty of help. I made sure that she had all the help she needed. At one point, it seemed like we had more staff than family in the house. And yes, I have seen what Loren wrote: that I stopped seeing her as Wife and started seeing her only as Mother. But that isn't true. If anything, it was the opposite. Loren stopped being Loren and became Wife and Mother. The relationship we had before we got married – travelling, watching our favourite shows, having frequent sex – came to an abrupt end, as Loren's attention shifted to our girls. Which is appropriate and natural, of course.'

I smiled. ‘Of course, but David, forgive me. I don't wish to sound like I doubt you, but what about what Loren has said about you being repulsed by the idea of having sex with her, before and after the babies arrived?'

He rubbed his forehead with four fingers of one hand. We had been talking for some time; the producer had done what she always does and turned the air-conditioning down just a touch; David – predictably – was beginning to sweat under the lights.

‘That's not true,' he said. ‘Loren put on weight with the pregnancy, but she was far more concerned about it than I was.
Loren was my wife. She had given me the greatest gift – two beautiful children – and I still found her very attractive, but she began to brush me off. The incident she mentions – when I put my arm around her waist and cupped her belly – was a joke. I was nibbling on her shoulder. I said something like: “What's this, jelly-belly?”'

My eyebrows shot up. David said ‘jelly-belly' to a woman who had just given birth to his children?

‘I see your expression,' he said, ‘and I get it. Guys can be such idiots. Obviously it's not funny. I should've been more sensitive, but I thought she'd push back against me and laugh, and we'd end up making love. She didn't. She froze. Yes, I should've known better, but the idea that I was mocking her, or taunting her – that is simply wrong. And look, even saying that, yes, we were having problems in that department. Sexually. And yes, I felt locked out. I was frustrated. Sexually frustrated. I know it sounds immature but it's the way I felt. Locked out of my own life and locked out of my own wife.'

For the first time in our interview, David's voice was rising. I was interested to see where frustration might take him.

‘And did you resent that?'

‘No,' he said. ‘No, because to resent that would be to resent the girls. And I would never resent them for anything. Never. But then, yes, I resented not having much sex in my relationship, because over time, our sex life dwindled to almost nothing. Maybe once or twice a month she might agree to sex, but I could tell she didn't enjoy it. And I wanted sex. I wanted to have sex with someone who wanted to have sex with me. Can you imagine how it feels to have to admit that, here, today, publicly? It's excruciating. But it's true. I wanted sex. I needed sex. I'm a man! Maybe all men don't need sex but I do. And I don't think
that makes me a bad person. It makes me human. But Loren was just not interested. She was paranoid about her weight, her body shape, the girls waking up, everything. Here was a woman who had once had a healthy libido, a woman who had loved having sex – who loved having sex with me – who completely changed on that front. Loren's libido after the girls arrived was the elephant in our bedroom. Because it's hard for a man not to take his wife's lack of desire personally, right? What was wrong with me? I was an excellent provider. Loren had everything she could possibly want or need, and yet …'

David seemed genuinely distressed.

‘So you were putting in, but you weren't getting out,' I said gently.

‘Right,' he said, looking relieved not to be judged, ‘and I was unprepared for that. I had always been attractive to women. I know how that sounds, but it's true. I had never gone long periods without sex, not since, I don't know, I was an adolescent. Sex has always been an important part of my life and there I was, shut out of intimacy in my own marriage.'

‘And what did you do to try to rekindle the flame?' I asked sympathetically.

‘Everything,' said David. ‘Everything. I bought Loren presents. Flowers. Never chocolates. I could get in big trouble for bringing home chocolates. I would try to coax her. I would move closer to Loren on the sofa, and say things like: “Let me try to turn you on.” That's how I'd frame it, let me try to turn you on. Not, “I want to have sex with you now and you must agree.” Not, “I demand my conjugal rights.” Not, “Look, you can just lie there, and you don't even have to pretend to enjoy it.”

‘I would coax and tempt and flirt and, I don't know, just try. But she was not interested. And it was not a point I was
willing to push because, a year or so after the girls arrived, Loren began suffering from terrible migraines. She would take to the sofa in a dark room and not get up. The nannies would tend to the girls. She would refuse to attend important events with me. I tried to reason with her. Not only for my sake. For her sake. I'd say: “Loren, you should get up. You have to come out. You know it's important. I've purchased a table at this dinner. I've invited clients. We need to go.” She would move a hot water bottle to her abdomen, or apply a cold press on her forehead and she would say: “Can you please leave me alone, David? I don't feel well.” I'd be saying: “I can't go on my own. How does it look, me turning up alone to everything?” She would complain: “But all you ever talk about is business and golf. I hate business. I hate golf.” I'd say: “You can talk to the wives.” She would say: “The wives don't like me. The wives judge me.” It was all in her head, of course, but that was still a problem, because when a businessman has a wife who doesn't get on with other people's wives, well, it was like driving a one-wheeled wagon.'

‘I see,' I said, ‘and did you seek counselling at any point?'

‘Yes, of course,' said David. ‘I urged Loren to come with me to see a therapist. She agreed at first but then decided that she couldn't tell the marriage counsellor that we weren't having sex much, because Loren was embarrassed about it. We were seen in the community as an attractive, successful couple. She was worried that our secret would get out. I said: “Loren, we can't go and see a counsellor and be less than honest. There'd be no point.” And she understood that. So we didn't go anymore. And so things got worse. And I suppose in the end, I gave up trying with Loren, and I tried instead to solve my own problems by … by … by …'

‘By inviting somebody else into your bed?'

David looked weary. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘by inviting somebody else into my bed.'

* * *

Be brutal. Ask me anything. I have nothing to hide. Those were some of David's words to me, and now it was time to find out exactly how true they were. I started with a direct question: ‘Who is Lyric Morales?' I don't know what I expected – maybe for David to dodge and weave – but he answered.

‘She was my mistress.'

I could just see the audience – Mr and Mrs Kafoops we call them; a generic couple, aged in their sixties – turning to each other in front of their TVs, saying: ‘Has he got no shame?'

‘And how did you meet her?'

‘She worked in my office.'

‘Meaning you were her boss?'

‘Yes. I was her boss and we had an affair. But I did not initiate it.'

I raised an eyebrow. ‘You didn't?'

‘No,' said David, his tone steady. ‘Not that it matters, because I should've known better. But that's the truth. I didn't seduce her. She seduced me.'

I thought, this is your first mistake. You're older, and wealthier, and more charming, and her boss. Yet it's her fault that you fell into bed?

‘You're quite the cool customer, aren't you?' I said.

‘What do you mean?' replied David. ‘Did you expect me to lie? I'm not going to lie. It's embarrassing having to go over these things in public. It's disrespectful to my wife, and for that matter
to Lyric Morales. But what choice do I have, other than to defend myself against what's being said?'

‘Very well,' I said, ‘then perhaps you should tell us how it happened?'

I knew perfectly well how the relationship between Lyric and David had started. David had by then given one of his three statements to the detectives at Bienveneda, but having him go over the details would be great TV.

‘Well, I went into the office one day,' he said, looking uncomfortable, ‘and I even remember the weather, because it was towards the end of the June Gloom. The morning fog we get in Bienveneda was lifting. It was blue skies, and I remember swinging along the coast road, thinking what a great day it was. My mood was buoyant. At that stage, I don't think I had too many money problems. Problems at home with Loren, certainly, but on balance, the day had started well. I was first to arrive at work. That wasn't unusual. We had a small staff – just three or perhaps four girls at that point – and our offices weren't large, but I always enjoyed going there.'

Ahead of the sit-down interview, I'd asked David to take us to his old offices on Main Street. He no longer has keys, but we asked him to put his hands up to the glass. I did the same. The offices of Capital Shrine were basically three rooms with extremely clean lines. There was a low, white sofa – leather, I presume – in the reception area, and an elegant coffee table made of one solid piece of blue glass.

‘There's my dreams, shattered,' he'd said. It was the first time I saw him truly grief-stricken.

Now, back in our interview room, he was composed.

‘I'm a person who likes routine,' David said. ‘I would start each day responding to emails and dealing with whatever dramas
had risen overnight. I had three computer screens on my desk to keep track of our investments. The girls – my staff – would come in at around nine am to start their days. With the exception of Lyric, they were all quiet girls. I never insisted on silence but I did not want a wild and crazy office. I didn't like office birthday parties, for example. The cake, the candles, the giggling. I liked a quiet, smooth, dignified office, and my girls – the office girls – understood that.'

Part of me wanted to say, ‘Sounds like so much fun,' but I kept that to myself.

‘Generally speaking, the mail would come in at around eleven am,' he continued. ‘There wasn't much, because most mail comes in by email these days, but there would always be at least one or two big envelopes. The girl on reception – her name was Sunny Bechara – would toss out what I didn't need to see – junk mail, basically – and bring the rest to me. On this particular day, I noticed a chunky package among the other parcels she put on my desk. It was a padded envelope with my name, handwritten across the front, in gold-coloured pen. The envelope smelled of perfume. Of course, it had already been opened because that's the way things were done: Sunny would open the mail, and staple whatever important documents were inside to the envelope so I didn't have to go fishing for whatever was within, but she hadn't done that with this envelope.'

‘Really,' I said. ‘Why not?'

We were heading into painful territory and we both knew it.

‘Right,' said David. ‘Well, I mean, just as a reminder, I had a glass-walled office. Everyone could see into my office, unless I closed the blinds. But why would I close the blinds? So my hand went inside the envelope and out came …'