Just One Look
By Valma
Part 7: Sex, Wives and Video Dates

My Journey Through Life - Niles Crane
Maris and I have split for good.

"Good" is the correct term I believe, in every sense of the word.

At least for me it is, I think. And perhaps Maris too.

Funny - you'd think I'd be overjoyed to be free of her, what with all the stresses and strains I have gone through with Maris in recent times. And in a way, I am liberated to a certain extent, relieved that a burden that had become just too heavy to bear is off my shoulders. Relieved, yes, but not totally joyous. It's just that it hurts too much to be a champagne and caviar moment.

Oh, I'll have no problem granting her the divorce that she requested to marry Schenkman.

Schenkman --- I'll never forgive him! It isn't so much that he "took" Maris from me - she obviously was more than happy to run to his open arms, it's the way it was done! Both of them sneaking around behind my back, having an "affaire d'amour" right under my nose, while continuing to feign being merely doctor and patient during our therapy sessions. I can excuse Maris to a certain degree - we were legally separated after all, she had a right to look elsewhere if she chose, but Schenkman --- he's a professional for God's sake! He ought to have known better. It was a betrayal to me as a colleague, a friend and as a patient!

I told Frasier tonight that this whole thing has left me very dispirited. I guess I see the failure of our marriage as a failure in myself actually. It's just that I finally thought that Maris and I had a breakthrough and had begun to really heal our marriage. After I called her bluff and signed the divorce petition, she seemed willing to attempt reconciliation and although the path wasn't always smooth, I at least had some genuine hope for success. Why, it wasn't a month and a half ago, when we accidentally met on that cruise ship that Frasier was booked on, that she told me that she missed me so much and apologized for her behavior. I couldn't believe my ears! "I'm sorry," were two words that I never thought I would ever hear issuing forth from those lips. She had never done that before. I took this largesse of atonement on her part as a sign of her faith in our commitment to rectify our relationship.

What a delusional fool I was!

Looking back I have to wonder --- was this thing with that worm Schenkman just a spur of the moment whimsy, or had she been plotting to take a lover for a long time? She always made it perfectly crystalline to me that my "performance" as a husband was wanting at best. Perhaps she just finally got fed up, dealing with my bumbling inadequacies, and decided to find a more competent lover? Am I really that gauche of a mate that I drove her to such a desperate act?

Or --- or maybe Schenkman was just the culmination of a long line of infidelities? Suddenly my mind is reeling with the possibilities of her hidden liaisons during our time together. All those years before we separated, while she was starving me for sex, making me beg like a lapdog for even a morsel of affection, was she out satisfying her concupiscence with heedless abandon? I didn't suspect a thing in Schenkman's case, so Maris could have conceivably been cheating on me, making a mockery of our marriage, for God knows how long, and I would have been none the wiser. How many lovers could she have had? Ten? Twenty? Let's see - all those renovators and tradesmen, several pool boys, numerous masseurs, gallery owners, her yogi and perhaps --- perhaps those reprobates on the opera board! The list could be endless. All of them secretly laughing at me, the inept dupe of a husband, as I incessantly fawned over my "dedicated" wife! Everything seems under a cloud of suspicion to me now --- now that this violation of our vows has taken place.

At least I was always faithful to Maris while we were married! Yes, it is true that I have struggled with attractions to other women throughout the years - the allurement of Daphne being the most serious of all, I admit. Dr. Traxler told me once that these obsessive fascinations with various women throughout my marriage could be rooted in my desires for the attention that Maris constantly denied me. "A learned response to an unanswered need," is what he said exactly, in one of our last sessions.

To have an impulse is one thing - everyone has imaginings, yearnings and fantasies. These things can't be truly suppressed, even in a bottomless pit of self-loathing and reproach. They seem to be involuntary and subconscious in nature. Lord knows I have tried to pulverize into submission my spontaneous feelings for Daphne, but they keep coming back to plague me again and again, much to my chagrin.

But to act on those notions is quite another thing altogether! I know of whence I speak! Several times I have come perilously close to "outing" my urges for Daphne, but there was no real danger of any resultant impropriety because the feelings of passion were entirely one-sided on my part and she would have just kindly dismissed my advances. Only once was there any real prospect of reciprocity on her part, and as it happened I was thwarted in that incident too by seemingly uncontrollable external circumstances.

Frasier always insisted that I knew it wasn't right that hot and steamy night, and that I subconsciously sabotaged myself. Upon reflection I think he was correct - I never really pictured myself as a philanderer. So, while there was even still the minutest indication of hope, I guess deep inside I felt like I had a responsibility to Maris and our relationship not to step over that final boundary line that delineates a marriage - having intercourse with someone. And when it came right down to it that meant even with the lovely Daphne Moon or anyone else for that matter. I just couldn't do it knowing that there still might be a chance that there was something left of my marriage with Maris. So once again I convinced myself after that night, that with enough determination and effort on my part, and a little luck, Maris and I could recapture what we had loss over the years, through neglect or complacency. So I gave it my best effort- one last time.

And I thought we were finally succeeding --- until now.

Now, it's over - completely over. Any glimmer of hope I once had was extinguished that evening, snuffed out by Maris' declaration that she had fallen in love with "Bernie" and they planned to "get married as soon as possible - if you don't mind, thank you!"

I had been so convinced that things were going well, was so blindly bamboozled as to how our counseling seemed to be progressing that when she uttered those words I temporarily lost all my emotional bearings. With the image of those two surreptitiously partaking in the intimacies that only Maris and I had once shared pounding in my brain, I panicked and fled in a state of unmitigated confusion. All I knew was that I to get away to sort my feelings out and try to regain some of perspective of what was happening.

Desperately grasping at any lifeline to save my marriage, I concluded that she must have been suffering from transference. Looking back now, I guess it was that I just didn't want to believe that I had been discarded so callously, when I was under the impression that we were on the threshold of restoring our relationship. Going completely against the advice of my brother, I decided to give her one last chance and go over to her place in attempt to make a direct appeal to her once again to try to make a go of things. Some delusions don't die an easy death.

But as I told Frasier later, upon approaching the house, I suddenly had a moment of rare clarity. It was like a vision. I could see myself, dozens of versions of me actually, lined up in front of that large oak paneled door, a procession of sniveling sycophants, repeatedly practicing our cowering and cringing as we all waited anxiously for Maris to make her appearance. It was a panoramic reenactment of my life story. My body recoiled from the specters that paraded before me. I felt like a garrote was tightening around my throat. Falling to my knees I retched up bile until I was almost prostrate with exhaustion. This is what she had reduced me to! Dry heaving on the front lawn in the dark and the damp!

I looked up and saw a solitary light blazing from her bedroom window. I knew then that this was the end. I couldn't subject myself to her tyranny any more and survive. Even if I were on my own, as frightening as that prospect was, I knew that I would have more of a chance to find some happiness in my life, than if I somehow convinced her to take me back and I stayed within her sphere of influence. A feeling of resolute determination took hold of me. Stumbling to my feet I called out "Goodbye, Maris. I hope you have a happy life but I don't have to take anymore of your crap ever again!" I didn't even wait to see if she heard me - just spun on my heel sharply and strode back to the car with all the dignity I could muster. The forces of guilt and fear that had shackled me to her for so long were finally shattered!

I don't even remember how I made my way back to Frasier's, but I wound up there eventually, where we were joined a bit later by Dad and the three of us spent the remainder of the evening drinking and commiserating about the sad state of our sorry love-lives. At one point I symbolically threw my wedding band away as a tangible gesture that there was no going back on this decision.

It feels a little strange, this newfound emancipation. I've always been under the sway of a dominant woman it seems. First, of course, there was the loving but commanding governance of my mother. Then, less than a year after mom died, I found my way to Maris. I was a young intern full of ambitions and dreams, she was quite a bit older than me, had family connections to a world of prestige and social status, and seemed to possess some of the same resolute personality traits that my mother did. Of course, what I failed to notice was, that she completely lacked my mother's sense of compassion and perceptiveness towards other human beings. But I was in love with Maris. At least I thought I was. And I always assumed that she was in love with me too.

But what Maris and I had wasn't love at all - it was more like a co- dependency situation. We were two people whose weaknesses complimented each other perfectly. It was like an addiction - an unhealthy condition that consumes the victims, but all the while, blinds them from seeing the damage that is being done.

And I am damaged goods --- there's no denying that!

Why would Daphne ever want someone like me?

Why would any woman want me?

I can't even measure up to a paunchy, unethical therapist with a bald spot and bad breath.

So here I am, free of Maris, but also very, very lonely. No one to share my life with. No one "to have and to hold".

No one at all.

I think I should go back into therapy with Bill Traxler again.

Adieu.

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Daphne's Diary

Dear Diary:

I just got back from Dr. Crane's where I had a very - how should I put this --- interesting time.

It started out merrily enough - I came over to his place to drop off some dessert and ended up having a grand time, singing up a storm in the kitchen, helping him prepare the dinner that he was making for his date. That's right - a date for Dr. Crane! Her name was Daphyllis, Phyllis for short, and she's a neighbor of his from across the hall in his apartment building. I overheard him going on about her to his brother yesterday and when I prodded him further he confessed to me that he was really quite smitten with her. But true to his shy ways, he was reluctant to ask her out. I just figured that as long as he was interested in her all he needed was a nudge, so I just supplied a friendly little push to get him on his way down the path of romance and encouraged him to give her a call. I was so excited for him.

Perhaps a bit too excited as it turned out.

Looking back, I feel a bit bad about pressing him so strongly. I really miscalculated. He just wasn't ready for the dating scene yet. Phyllis sensed his discomfort with the whole situation and bolted at the first opportunity. I should have seen it coming - I've been in that type of a vulnerable position after a break up, but it was just that he has been in such misery since the divorce proceedings started, that I just couldn't stand seeing him so melancholy any more. He seemed so isolated lately, just rattling around in that large, empty apartment of his - keeping to himself mostly, not even visiting his brother like he used to. I guess I was worried about him.

I think the divorce has been very hard on him. God knows why he wanted to reconcile with that shrew of a wife - but he did, and it broke his heart when she told him that she was in love with someone else and wanted a divorce as quick as possible so that she could remarry. It was really for the best that he is free of her now, but the way it was done, left him very defenseless and emotionally raw, I think.

Even when all of us went to fabulous ski resort for a couple of weekends ago, he seemed skittish and preoccupied. Of course it didn't help that Annie, one of my girlfriends who came with us, was all over him like a man- eating shark. I knew instantly that she was the wrong type of woman for him - she'd just chew him up and spit him out when she was finished with him, just like his wife had done. He certainly didn't need that so soon after his split with his wife! I tried my best to protect him from her, but there's no stopping Annie when she's on the prowl for some fresh game.

What a chaotic weekend that turned out to be! Annie practically slinging her panties at poor Dr. Crane, Mr. Crane confusing everyone because he couldn't hear properly, the other Dr. Crane strutting around like a peacock trying to catch Annie's attention. And me --- I embarrassed myself thoroughly - me making a play for a Frenchman who happened to turn out to be gay! He was great looking eye candy, though! What a pity!

I had a feeling the whole evening that Dr, Crane had something on his mind that he wanted to tell me. I assumed it was about his divorce, but in the complete hubbub of that night I never did find out exactly what he was so agitated about. We all left the next morning quite shame-faced about our carrying on the night before, and by then the moment was lost.

That's why I'm pleased I had the opportunity to make it up to him and spend some time with him tonight. He seemed so desperate for some human contact. When we were making the meal he truly seemed absorbed in the rhythm of our labors, as we chopped vegetables for the salad and sang in harmony. I think he actually allowed himself to forget about his gloomy mood. I'm glad that little diversion helped him.

And in spite of Phyllis' sudden departure, or maybe because of it, he unexpectedly asked me if I would like to join him for supper.

Of course I said yes. I always enjoy his company and a pleasant dinner with a friend might be just the thing to get him to stop dwelling on the sad state of his intimate affairs.

The meal was lovely and we chatted about so many topics. He seemed determined to keep it light and airy. Nothing seemed awry until near the end

We were talking about places we had been in Europe and the conversation inevitably drifted around to Paris. I had gone there years ago with a couple of girlfriends on a weekend lark before I came to America. Dr. Crane, on the other hand, had been there twice - the first time when he was a college student and then later on his honeymoon. In a moment that I wished instantly that I could have taken back, when he mentioned this second occasion, I indiscreetly said that I couldn't imagine any more romantic spot for two people in love. That must have triggered some memories for him. I paused, hoping he would just let it slide by and not let it spoil the mood of the evening. But my unintentional yet poignant remark apparently struck its target swiftly. Before I could change the subject, Dr. Crane suddenly jumped to his feet and started to bustle about, clearing away the dishes at a frantic pace.

He mumbled something about hating seeing a mess on the table too long and trotted quickly through the swinging door to the kitchen before I could even get out of my chair to help. Only seconds later I heard this horrendous crash. I leapt up and rushed into the kitchen to find him standing over the sink, his arms supporting the weight of his body as he leaned over the center workstation island, gazing down into a pile of broken ceramic dinner plates and saucers in the stainless steel basin below. He didn't even look up until I was standing right beside him.

"Is there anything wrong, Dr. Crane?" I asked cautiously, knowing that there was, but also wanting to give him an opportunity to beg off the question if he desired privacy.

"My --- my hands just slipped - let go of the dishes, accidentally," he explained in a rush. "I --- I didn't --- didn't --- "

He trailed off, not even attempting to finish his thought.

The dishes had obviously been smashed into the sink with such force that there wasn't any doubt in my mind that this was his angry response to the pressures that he was feeling and clearly not an accident.

I put my hand on top of his.

"It's all right Dr. Crane," I whispered. "I understand."

No! You don't understand!" he fairly shouted. "It hurts --- it hurts more than you'll ever know!"

He sounded angry. I had never seen him like this.

"Oh, Dr. Crane," I said quietly. "I'm so sorry if I seemed too forward about your private affairs. I didn't mean to seem so bold."

He looked over at me with a pitiful expression on his face and shook his head.

"No, Daphne, I'm sorry --- it's not you! It's m --- me. It's just --- " and then he stopped and looked away.

"Yes, Dr. Crane?" I prodded.

It's --- it's just that I hate --- hate all the duplicity, all the lying. I just want some honesty. I want --- a special someone in my life --- and --- and I want that --- that someone to --- to genuinely love me back, Daphne," he finally blurted out, hanging his head limply as if saying those words had sapped him of all his strength.

I shook my head in sympathy and rubbed his back soothingly.

"Yes, I know," I murmured softly. "I know."

"It's like the whole world has somebody --- except me. I don't want to end up being alone. I've always abhorred being single. It frightens me. Do you think that's weak of me?"

"No --- no, not weak, just human. Why don't we just forget about this mess for right now?" I said taking his arm and guiding his back into the living room. "Sit down on the couch here. You shouldn't keep all this bottled up inside of you Dr. Crane. It's unhealthy."

He plopped down and grabbed a cushion, hugging it as he perched on the edge of the seat. A nervous, almost skeptical laugh escaped from his lips.

"You sound like my therapist now," he said.

That surprised me. I never thought of him having to take his problems to anyone outside of his family. I just assumed he would talk over his feelings with his brother.

"Oh, you're seeing someone? I didn't know that," I responded and then I quickly added, in case that sounded too meddlesome, "That's good. I'm sure they can give you good advice."

I heard him sigh audibly.

"Dr. Traxler told me not to obsess so much about --- about --- " he seemed to be struggling for the right words again. He glanced at me and then looked quickly away. "Well, so --- so many things."

I expected him to explain further, but he fell into silence again and leaned back until his head was resting on the back of the couch.

"Would you like to listen to some music?" I queried cheerily, hoping to improve his disposition.

He shook his head no, blankly gazing at the ceiling.

I could see he wasn't in the mood for chatting, so more conversation was out of the question.

"Perhaps I should just go and leave you to ---"

"No!" he protested. "Please! Don't --- don't go! I don't want to be alone tonight. I --- I mean, if it's all right, can --- can you stay a bit longer?"

His eyes opened wide and I could see he was a man in need a friend tonight. My heart ached for him. I couldn't desert him now.

"Why of course, Dr. Crane," I reassured him. "But I think it would be wise if you tried not to think about --- about your wife --- I mean, about your troubles. How about a movie? That ought to take your mind off of --- of your --- "

Now it was my turn to fumble for the correct words.

"Yes," he said distractedly, "A movie would be good. I have a collection of videos in that cabinet over there. Your pick --- go ahead."

I eased off the couch and opened the drawer.

There were about 50 tapes neatly filed in alphabetical order. Most were foreign films or offbeat independent movies. I smiled. Some things were still very predictable. My fingers ran lightly over the spines of the tapes, as I looked for suitable material for this evening.

Nothing too depressing. No heartbreaking romance stories. And no heavy dramas either - neither of us were in the mood for something that required a lot of concentration obviously. Luckily Dr. Crane have a small selection of classic comedies and so I finally settled on "Bringing Up Baby". That would surely take his mind off of his worries and put a smile on his face.

When I presented it to him he nodded to show his agreement with my choice, but remained mute.

We settled on the sofa in his television room, located just around the corner from the living room. At first I tried to engage him in the film, but all he would do was politely answer in short, one word replies, so eventually I just let him alone. Half way through the movie he curled up in a protective ball on the other end of the couch. In the ghostly light of the television I could see him vacantly staring off into the darkness, barely focusing on the flickering images in front of him. By the time the film was over he was fast asleep. I found a comforter and tucked it around his reclining form. He had been through so much lately and was probably exhausted, physically and mentally. I brushed an errant strand of hair out of his eyes. His skin was warm to my touch. He started to stir a bit, stretching and struggling to escape from his blessed slumber.

"Shhh, Dr. Crane," I whispered. "Don't wake up. You should sleep now."

His mouth moved silently, trying to form some words in reply. I placed my finger up against his lips and renewed my request.

"Go to sleep --- Niles," I said gently. "You need your rest."

That appeared to work nicely. He settled back and a peacefulness seemed to take hold of him.

I don't know why, but instinctively I bent down to give him a good night peck on the cheek and as I did he turned his head, quite accidentally I'm sure, towards mine. Our lips touched lightly and then, inexplicably, against any sensible inclinations that I might possess, an inadvertent brush of flesh ended in a fragile, tentative kiss. Unlike the one we had at the Snowball, there was no fakery this time. That was done to thrill an audience of onlookers, this --- this caress was earnest, spontaneous, irrepressible and completely unnerving for me.

His lips were moist, supple and sweet tasting. I was stunned by the sensation that washed over me - I had to deliberately stop myself from going back for a second helping. I leaned back and traced my mouth with my fingers carefully. Only a delicate tingling in my lips remained of my clandestine moment of indiscretion.

A flush of color invaded my face. I slowly retreated to the opposite end of the couch to consider all the implications of what had just happened.

Luckily he didn't wake up, but only snuggled deeper into the blanket that covered him and continued to sleep.

A sudden shudder ran through my body. I felt baffled and then --- ashamed at what I had done. Dr. Crane was my friend. He was looking to me for support and encouragement, not --- not physical gratification.

What if he had woken to find me hovering over him in such a suggestive manner? I can't imagine how I could ever live it down! Such a betrayal of our friendship! I'd never have been able to look him in the eye again.

As delicious as that tender kiss was, I knew I could never let this secret encounter be revealed.

I cautiously slipped from the room and after cleaning up the broken dishes in the sink, I left his apartment. All the way home I couldn't get the touch of his lips against mine out of my mind. By the time I closed my bedroom door behind me, I was actually shaking so hard I had to lean against it for support. Was it guilt that I was feeling for such a lapse in judgement? How could I have taken advantage of him like that and, what's worse - felt so aroused by it? Did our friendship mean nothing to me? I swore never to trespass into that dangerous minefield again.

I'm going to go to sleep now and consider myself lucky that he was oblivious to what happened tonight. Talk about your close calls though! The last thing in the world I would ever want is to lose his respect. Fortunately it is over and done with - I can put this behind me and we can continue being friends in the same way we have always been.

Good night Diary.
Stay tuned for Part 8 (to be continued)