Bad Choice, Good Choice

Hi, I'm Amy. My last name changes throughout this story, so that's all I'll call myself. This is a story of good and bad choices.

My story starts when I was just out of college, with a finance degree from Georgetown (with twelve additional credits in Masters Level courses). I don't know why I went to Georgetown because I'm not Catholic and it's very expensive (although I had a scholarship covering tuition and books). However, it is in Washington, D. C., which was the most exciting place I'd ever been to, way different from my hometown of Ames, Iowa.

I sent resumes to a dozen organizations in Washington, D. C. One of the places where I interviewed for a job was a government relations consulting firm with the unusual name of "Go To Consulting LLC." It was one of the smaller firms of its type, only three principals and about fifteen total employees, but a high powered one. They made me the second best monetary offer that I got from the half-dozen interviews that I had at a wide variety of different businesses, and had the most appealing work, so I accepted.

Although it played no conscious part in my decision, one thing that was appealing about Go To was how hot one of the partners was. When I accepted the job Ken Vanderlee was thirty one, nine years older than I was, and though the youngest of the three principals obviously the most dynamic. He was ten inches taller than my five foot seven inch height, with a toned body, a shock of blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. His eyes looked more into your soul than your face when he made eye contact. He was energetic, smart, and treated everyone with respect.

After I worked for Go To for a while I was even more impressed with Ken, and developed a significant crush on him; one that I didn't anticipate acting upon. That is, I had no illusions about stealing Ken from his wife – whose beautiful visage and sleek body were prominently displayed in a large photo on Ken's wall. However, things can happen, and if they did there was no reason for me not to be ready.

I quickly learned that the other two principals of the firm were not the same caliber of people as Ken is. One, Tom Keating, was a forties-something letch. It didn't seem to make any difference to him that he had been married almost twenty years – anything in a skirt was fair game. I politely but firmly shot him down at least fifteen times. Finally I got sick of it and in his presence loudly talked to a co-worker about my imaginary uncle who was a plaintiff's lawyer specializing in sexual harassment cases. "My uncle told me that if I ever have a problem to let him know and he'll make me a rich woman," I pointedly proclaimed in Keating's presence. Keating finally got the message and stopped coming-on to me.

The other principal, Simon Crowe, was an obese, balding fifty year old with nicotine-stained teeth who seemed to be a heart attack waiting to happen. He was usually gruff and all business, with poor social skills.

I enjoyed my time at Go To Consulting and got regular raises the three years that I worked there. While I had a crush on Ken most of those three years I never acted on it in any way, and he was always a gentleman, even the two times that we traveled together on business and stayed three nights in a hotel each time.

I dated regularly during my time at Go To, but kept my social life apart from my work life.

When I had been at Go To for about two years my parents died in a car crash. I was an only child, and they were both only children. Three of my four grandparents were also deceased, and the fourth – my grandmother on my mother's side – lived in Washington State, three thousand miles away, and we never had been close. She was basically an aging hippy who had divorced my grandfather (who raised my mom as a single father) many years ago. I was totally devoid of family.

Ken was very warm and compassionate when I got the news about my parents' deaths. He was willing to give me as much time off – with pay and not counting vacation – as I needed to deal with it, although I only took a few days off because I needed to work to stay sane. He was the only person from my office, except for my best friend Sybil, who came to the funeral in Iowa. That meant a lot to me.

Shortly after my parents died I met a guy named Jean LeBlanc. Jean was from New Orleans and was working for a Congressman from Louisiana as a special assistant for technology. He had a degree in marine engineering. He was a year older than I was and probably the most handsome and charming (looking back on it maybe more glib than charming) guy that I had ever dated. Maybe what most attracted me to him, however, was his talk about his large and close family which – being family-less myself – I thought was great.

I certainly didn't recognize any problems with Jean's demeanor or character in the year or so that we went out before he proposed to me.

Bad Choice

I eagerly accepted Jean's marriage proposal. We had a few issues – such as he wanted kids right away while I wanted to wait several years to establish my career – and his desire to move back to Louisiana once his present job was up. I thought we could work out any kinks.

At an engagement party for Jean and I in Washington, D. C. – which Ken and his wife attended along with all of my co-workers, Tom Keating and Simon Crowe being the only no-shows – Ken was unusually pensive near the end of the evening. I had seen him talking to Jean quite a bit.

I met Ken's wife Gillian for the first time. Though she was even more beautiful and sexy in real life than in the large photo in Ken's office she also acted bored and haughty, like her shit didn't stink. I wondered how a great guy like Ken could be married to a bitch – but maybe that was just because I had feelings for Ken and she wasn't really that bad.

Ken cornered me as things were breaking up and asked me a number of pointed questions about Jean and my goals. He raised some issues that I hadn't thought of. While he didn't come out and say it I got the distinct impression that he was concerned that I was making a bad decision. Despite the enormous amount of respect that I had for Ken, however, I shrugged it off.

______________

Jean and I decided to get married in Baton Rouge, Louisiana; actually, he suggested it and since I had no family and he had a big family it only made sense. I took a trip to Baton Rouge before the wedding to meet all of his relatives. It was truly an eye-opening experience for me. I was shocked at how many relatives that he had, including: his mother and father; three older sisters and a younger brother; three brothers-in-law; seven or eight nieces or nephews (I never got a good count); at least ten aunts and ten uncles; and an endless array of cousins of all ages.

Jean's spectacularly beautiful mother Adele – obviously where he got his good looks – was Cajun through and through. She always called me "Sha," never "Amy." I was confused at first since the Cajun word "Sha" is pronounced "Cher" (at least to my untrained-to-Cajun-lingo ear) and I thought that despite how completely friendly she was to me that she didn't know my name. Jean laughed when I told him that. "'Sha' is a term of affection, akin to 'dear one,' or 'sweetheart.' It also is an exclamatory expression indicating cuteness. Everyone in my family thinks that you're the cutest thing that they've ever seen in their life," he explained between laughs. "You'll get used to Cajun lingo quickly."

Jean was really serious about moving to Baton Rouge once his job with the Congressman was up. While I was reticent, I could understand him wanting to be near his family, and I so wanted to be part of a big family that I hoped that it would work out for me too. With a great recommendation from Ken I quite easily got a job as the assistant finance director for Louisiana State University and Agricultural & Mechanical College (commonly known as LSU) in Baton Rouge, the best school in the state.

The wedding reception was raucous. His already energetic friends and family, when fueled by booze, were off-the-charts wild. It was primarily good fun although I was a little non-plussed at how Jean's brother, Andre, and some of his male cousins handled me when dancing. Jean didn't seem to be upset by it, however. When Adele saw me with a scowl on my face after a dance with Jean's brother Andre and asked what the problem was I told her flat out. I didn't have the problem again that night.

Sex with Jean was always good, although not the best of my life. It would have been better except that he seemed to be less concerned with my orgasm than other partners that I had had, and he seemed less than thrilled to eat me, although he sure enjoyed me sucking his cock. He got a little more responsive on the honeymoon and I started out married life fairly well satisfied.

One thing that did bug me was the LeBlanc family's attitude about kids. All three of Jean's sisters got pregnant with their first kid within a year of getting married and all family members incessantly lobbied me. I had every intention of waiting three or four years and I made that clear that I was going to stay on the pill until then. It was the only bone of contention between Adele and me; we otherwise got along well. I did notice, however, that no one in the LeBlanc extended family ever crossed Adele.

________________

Some unusual things happened after Jean and I had been married about six months.

Jean had picked up a three months' supply of my birth control pills for me after we had been married about four months when I had run out and I had a special project at work that I had to finish. They looked a little different than normal, although in a package that clearly said "Lo/Ovral-28 tablets" on it, made by Pfizer, the product that I had been using since college. I didn't think much of it.

Out of the blue Jean informed me that he had taken a job as the head engineer on a research vessel going to Antarctica for five months. "What the fuck? You accepted that type of job without even consulting me?" I screamed when he boldly informed me of it one Friday after work.

"Listen, Sha, I need it to advance my career. You knew that I was a marine engineer when we got married," he indignantly replied.

"Don't 'Sha' me," I sniped back. "You never once told me that your career advancement required being gone for five months, or anything close. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Hey, my family will always be around to help; plus haven't you made friends at work?" he replied.

"I don't want your family, I want you," I snapped.

We had a big argument that didn't solve anything. He did leave a week later; I was almost too pissed to see him off, but pulled it together and tried to put a brave face on it, and actually gave him a crocodile smile, some crocodile tears, and a kiss more passionate than he deserved, when he left.

It wasn't more than two days after he left that I started to get nausea in the morning. I thought that I was coming down with the flu. I mentioned it to Carole, one of my older female co-workers. Her eyes got big. "Are you sure you're not pregnant, Sha?" she asked. By now I was used to everyone calling me "Sha."

"I can't be, I'm on the pill," I replied.

"What pill?" she asked.

"Lo/Ovral, from Pfizer," I responded.

"That's my brand too. I hope that you didn't get a batch that was recalled," she said, almost flooring me.

"What recall?" I said after regaining my composure.

"Since I take the same pill my pharmacist told me about a fairly recent Pfizer recall of ineffective pills. They're not harmful, just ineffective. You should check it out," she told me.

"I will, right away," I retorted, starting to feel a different type of nausea.

I called my OB/GYN and begged to let me see her the next day. She made time in her schedule. She performed a pregnancy test, told me that I was roughly six weeks pregnant, and confirmed that the pills that I showed her were from the recalled batch. "You need to see why the pharmacist sold these to your husband. He should have known better," she bluntly told me.

Although in a daze I was also hopping mad. I stormed into the pharmacy where Jean had purchased the pills and demanded to see the pharmacist. I was surprised when it was Julien, an old friend of Jean's who had attended our wedding reception.

Seeing how mad I was he ushered me into his office, told his assistants to take over, and shut the door.

"How could you be so fucking stupid as to sell Jean recalled birth control pills?" I snapped as soon as the door clicked shut.

"Now calm down, Sha," were his first words – that "Sha" shit again.

"Don't 'Sha' me; answer the fucking question," I yelled.

"OK, Amy, it's not my fault. When Jean came in he hadn't called ahead so I filled the prescription myself when he got here while he waited. I checked the dates and lot numbers just before I gave them to him, and noticed that they were from the recalled batch," he said, quite ashen.

"Then why did you sell them to him?" I asked.

"I didn't. I told him that they were recalled, but he begged me to let him have the recalled pills in addition to the real ones. He told me that he was going to bet some guys that he could take them all himself and not get sick. I told him that was stupid but he insisted, so I removed them from the boxes since I needed the boxes to get my money back for purchasing them, and let him have them. But I swear that I filled the prescription with real, effective, pills and told him to be sure not to mix them up," Julien continued, starting to stutter his words and perspire.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. My asshole husband had intentionally given me the recalled pills by putting them in the normal pill boxes.

I stumbled out of the pharmacy like a zombie. Julien was obviously concerned. He followed me out and offered to drive me home. I guess I accepted, although I don't remember for sure, because I know that he dropped me off at my apartment in my car and called a cab.

I took a day off of work to settle down before I called Jean. There were certain times when he could call out, or I could call in, despite the fact that he was on a ship that by now was halfway to Antarctica. I waited for three or four minutes before they tracked him down. "Hi, Sha, I'm glad to hear from you, but I didn't expect a call now," he opened the conversation with a cheerful voice.

"I didn't expect to get pregnant, but you saw to that by giving me ineffective, recalled pills, didn't you 'Sha'" I said in a syrupy sweet voice. The line was silent long enough for me to know that he had consciously switched the pills so no matter what his subsequent denials would be I knew that they would be lies.

"Uh, Sha, uh, whatever do you mean?" were his next, stuttering, words.

"You know what the fuck I mean; I talked to Julien," I snapped.

"Uh, listen, Sha, you should be happy you're pregnant. Some women try for a long time..." he blabbered.

"Shut the fuck up, you asshole! I was taking the pills because I didn't want a baby now, and you unilaterally made the decision to ignore my wishes and my right to determine what I do with my body! The abortion will be your doing, not mine," I screamed and then slammed the phone down.

I didn't have any intention of getting an abortion. I have always been pro-choice because I believe that every woman has the absolute right to determine what she does with her body. That doesn't mean that I personally want an abortion, and considering that I was married didn't view that as an option that would work for me. However, it would drive Jean completely nuts to think that I would abort!

The phone rang several times in the next half hour. I knew that it was Jean, or someone calling on his behalf, so I ignored it. About ten minutes after the last time that it rang there was a knock on my door – it was Adele.

"Oh, Sha, Jean told me the great and the awful news – that you're pregnant and that you want to abort. Sha, you can't do that," she said in a firm voice, although there was an undercurrent of hysteria behind it. I saw her husband, Jean's father, Buford, standing behind her, not frantic but white as a ghost.

"Come in, sit down, you two," I replied as calmly as I was able to. Once I got them seated I hit them between the eyes.

"I know more than you think, so you better be honest with me," I sternly said while the three of us were seated. "What did you know about Jean switching pills on me?"

They both looked sheepish. Adele wouldn't make eye contact. Buford started squirming in his chair. I didn't think that Adele would fess up, but I thought that Buford was one of only a few straight shooters in the family. I got up, lifted up his chin so that he had to look at me, got in his face and said "Tell me straight, Buford or things will go to complete merde in a hurry."

"Merde" is the French word for "shit." I didn't know if Cajuns used it, but from the look on Buford's face I could tell that he understood. After a pregnant (pardon the pun) pause he stammered out "I told Jean that it was a bad idea."

Adele stood up and crossed her arms. "Listen, Amy," she started out. I didn't remember her ever calling me "Amy" before. "What's done is done. Maybe it wasn't the best decision by Jean, but you need kids while you're young, and he was just..."

I cut her off. "What the fuck do you mean; you think that I'm a chattel that he can do with what he wants, or that because he has a dick that he's got a superior mind. No one controls my body but me!"

She pushed her finger into my chest. "You can do whatever you want except for one thing, Amy. You're not going to kill one of my grandchildren. Your life wouldn't be worth crawdad shit if you abort my grandchild."

The look in her eye was terrifying. I instinctively backed up. I could have told her that I wasn't going to abort anyway but had just told Jean that to give him some of the pain that I felt, but I wouldn't give Adele the satisfaction.

Buford got between me and the wild-eyed bitch. His words came out with a deferential stammer, not threatening. "It was a terrible thing that Jean did, Amy, but he loves you dearly, and given his background he thought that having a child was the best way to express his love. That's the way my family, and Adele's, have always looked on things. I'm so sorry that the timing of this stinks, but you know you wanted to have kids eventually anyway. Please, please have the baby."

I got a little bluster back and sternly told them "I'll make my decision in the next week. What the two or you, or your asshole son, have to say will have no bearing whatsoever on my decision. Now leave. NOW!"

Buford ushered Adele out as she swore at me and made it absolutely clear that she'd kill me if I had an abortion. I gave her the finger as I closed the door on them, and then collapsed to the floor in tears.

I was so upset that for the first time in my life I needed to talk to someone – confidentially. I talked to a psychology professor at LSU who I had become friends with. She primarily let me vent, told me that no one could advise me what to do in such a personal circumstance, and left the door open for us to talk some more if I thought that it would help. I realized that she was right.

Despite the betrayal that I felt I decided to try and reconcile with Jean. A week after my talk with him I finally answered the phone when he called.

"Hi, Amy. I'm glad you answered. I really miss you and need to talk," he said. Although I was going to try reconciliation, I wasn't about to let him off the hook.

"If you miss me so much why did you leave to begin with? And what do we have to talk about since you felt that you could dictate what my plans were without giving a shit about what I wanted?" I snapped.

"Listen, Amy, dear...I'm really sorry. But look at it like this. People get pregnant all of the time by accident. You can just look at it like that?" he said in a syrupy sweet voice.