He Requested That I Sleep with His Wife

CHAPTER 2: The Weight of Expectations

I have never had easy standards to reach. Everyone appeared to be looking for someone better than me from the time I inherited the Maxwell fortune and became the leader of the family business empire. When one could win contracts with a pen flick and a strong presence, it was easy to succeed in the board room. But money or power could never have compensated for my one error.

I had been married to Ann for seven years; friends and the internet had praised our union, but an unreported death had subtly soured it. Although the city that reflected our dreams was visible from our apartment, perched high above Manhattan, there was a different story being told behind its marble walls. It hurts every polite talk about the empty nursery and inefficient reproductive techniques.

Ann had clouded her eyes in her unwavering quest for parenthood, and I observed. Every failure left her with more permanent black marks on her face that I could never seem to erase. The doctors gave evasive comfort in their clinical diagnosis. The child we so much wanted was not going to happen.

That desire developed into a nagging discomfort that followed me through nervous evenings and heated board sessions. Without an heir to carry on the years of hard work that had created it, the Maxwell legacy hung perilously close. Still, my father was hammering home to me the obligations I could not ignore.

One night Ann broke up my dream, and her kind voice reflected the depth of my inner anguish. Right there, Ray said. Could we possibly come up with anything else?

How she said that amazed me. I turned to face her and could see the weight of unspoken anxieties engraved on every square inch of her. Through whom, Ann?

She hesitated, her fingers making patterns on our dining table's glossy surface that were invisible. We ought to consider alternative options, I said.

It is both brittle and full of promise, like a tiny thread. It was embarrassing to talk about such things in our wealthy social group, so she would not have said it straight. But I saw optimism someplace in the gloom that had enveloped us.

"Alternatives," I repeated as though that held the key to opening our future. Somebody else?

Ann looked at me, weak and determined at the same time. It is time someone heard from us. Knowledgeable person. Somebody we know."

That idea looked cutting-edge at first. Sorting through a mental Rolodex of acquaintances and confidantes, I sought someone who would sympathize with our situation without casting judgment. Then Dickson Daniel's name emerged as a man whose passion matched his charisma and whose grasp of life's complexities was unparalleled by most.

Dickson, I said, the word heavy and seductive at the same time. Dickson could be consulted.

Ann gave a nod, a ray of hope starting to shine. Dickson is one authentic character. Our rock, he is and always has been. He can, I believe, help.

Dickson is traveling here. About the inner struggle, Daniel said nothing. That required a candor I seldom ever allowed myself to display, not even to a reliable friend like Dickson. But I realized there was no going back when I was at my desk and the amber liquid was swirling in my glass.

I said, "Dickson," my voice frigid in the face of the inner suffering. Years had passed while Ann and I had been trying. Nothing at all; every therapy and consultation."

Strong but empathetic, Dickson nodded. He could see why I had quietly begged for a dishonest response. You've tried every treatment that medical science has to offer, Ray, he said stolidly. Maybe it's time to think about unconventional possibilities.

The quiet thoughts that had troubled me for many months seemed to agree with him. 'Unconventional,' I muttered, the word burning my mouth. What then becomes of things?

Dickson looked directly ahead. Much like leaving a doctor's office. Sometimes tests and prescription drugs don't have the answers we need. Sometimes they are more basic and simpler.

I was dreading this truth, which his remarks made clear. Could there be a simpler answer based on friendship, trust, and human connection to replace the intricate machinery of reproductive therapies and scientific rigor? I exclaimed, quite loudly in the ensuing quiet, "Dickson, I need your help." If at all possible, schedule anything.

His eyes never left mine, even if worry wrinkled his forehead. Whatever it is, Ray, you know I'm here for you. Every one of you.

Speaking with Dickson represented a revolution, a methodical move toward a frantic and optimistic response. What was ahead, I wondered as the moon rose silver above the metropolis. Dickson understood our demand. Should medicine fail, could he explain why?

Above all, I questioned if Ann was ready to follow me into this uncharted territory and rely on a friend whose comprehension of our situation would either deepen or weaken our relationship. Still, there was optimism despite the gloom, a conviction that Dickson Daniel might be the key to achieving our biggest ambition.

I had no idea that the decision I had taken that evening would set off a chain of events that would try our marriages, our relationships, and the complex network of secrets we had created to keep our hearts safe.

I had never had greater hopes until I stood in our opulent living room and watched Ray vanish into his imagination. His height was a tower of might concealing the agony simmering beneath the surface, he was always so calm. I could feel the weight of our infertility even though I knew he carried it as though it were only his.

I had witnessed my relatives giggling uncontrollably in the hallways following my wedding. Those dreams slipped us like sand, but we clung to them year after year. Clinically cold, the doctors diagnosed and supported their success claims with data that got worse with every try.

Sensing the oppressive quiet between us, I said, "Ray." He turned to face me, attempting to make sense of the responses I hesitated to offer. How improbable was our becoming parents ever?

I saw in his resolution as much as despondency. That will be handled by Ann and me. I swear we will.

Still, in such circumstances, pledges were seldom important. Ray wanted to make things right. But hope vanished as the months stretched into years and was replaced by a depressing acceptance of our destiny.

That admission signaled the end of the evening. Ray also offered up two more recommendations. Usually with a voice this powerful, uttering words softly rocked it. His remarks were there like a lifeline, so maybe we should think about alternative possibilities.

I nodded because he looked serious. Then, "other options," expressed a little more slowly, made sense. Could one challenge the customs that shaped society's standards and our daily lives? Could we try to find non-traditional remedies by telling our closest buddy about the most delicate and pressing problems we were having?

I found that both fascinating and frightening. I spent a very long time as a friend and confidante with Daniel Dickson. Still, this was different. Almost tough to execute, this was the risk we had never taken, yet it paid off handsomely.

I snapped when Ray insisted, I visit Dickerson. A portion of my response was the conceit and intimacy the request required. The other half, worn out from years of disappointment, took comfort in the notion that Dickson could have the key to our long-awaited bliss.

I put the word "Dickson," to my lips and said it very softly to hear how it sounded. How in the heck could he have understood that?"

Ray reached out to grab my hand and seemed less nervous now. Ann is our pal over there. He worries about each of us in turn. Maybe he has given some subjects some thought that we have not.

His comments gave me hope, naive but tenacious hope. With all his extroversion and infinite sensitivity, Dickson Daniel might be able to fulfill our fantasies. Would he put out a different theory explaining why chance and statistics had failed medical science?

As the moon rose silvery over the city outside our window, I considered a choice that would try my love and faith. Could I tell Dickson everything unpleasant and agonizing so he could do the miracle we sorely needed?

The solution was hidden from me by uncertainty and doubt. Over all of the turmoil, my love for Ray and our mutual desire to weather this storm together through good times and bad never wavered.

As I sat by myself in our peaceful haven, I recalled Ray's advice and wondered how our choice would impact our lives going forward. What then would Dickson have said in such a case? What other information about our relationships and degree of love might this bold idea disclose?