When Chad’s French in-laws come over, he invites his friend, Nolan, along — to keep him company while Camille and her parents converse in French. While they have dinner, Chad discovers that Nolan understands French and reveals a family secret.
My wife, Camille, is as French as they come. We met at college when she was an exchange student studying International Politics, and we’ve been together ever since.
Camille’s parents live in France but visit us twice a year. I’ve learned a few odd words and phrases in French, but the language has yet to stick with me.
Other than mon chéri or various dishes from French cuisine, I don’t know much. Now, my in-laws are around, and it’s only been four days.
So, I decided to invite my friend, Nolan to have dinner and meet Camille’s parents. That way, I would also have someone to talk to.
Now imagine this:
We’re all sitting at the table, enjoying our bouillabaisse. Nolan and I talked about an audit at work, and Camille and her parents were happily chatting in French.
Everything seems fine, right? Wrong.
While mid-conversation about work, Nolan’s face goes as white as a ghost, and he nudges my arm firmly with his elbow.
“Go upstairs and check under your bed. Trust me,” he whispers urgently.
My first instinct was to laugh it off — it made no sense. But one look at his wide eyes told me that this wasn’t a joke.
“Excuse me,” I said to the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I reluctantly shuffled to my bedroom, feeling like I was stepping into some strange French noir film. I picked Camille’s silver silk robe off the floor and bent to look under the bed.
My heart was beating ridiculously fast like I was about to have a heart attack. But there it was — a lone black box.
I opened the box with shaky fingers, going through the contents quickly — I didn’t know if Camille would come looking for me. Then, toward the bottom of the box, was a series of photographs of Camille, wearing next to nothing.
My heart pounded harder and nausea rose through my body.
What have I just stumbled upon? I asked myself.
As I was about to put everything back, the world turned black.
It must have been hours later when I woke up in a hospital ward, surrounded by empty beds. The harsh light glared down on me as my eyes adjusted to the change of venue and the sharp smells of detergent.
“Woah,” I mumbled, my throat raw.
That’s when I noticed that Nolan was sitting next to me, his head propped up by his arm.
“You passed out in your bedroom, mate,” he said. “What happened?”
Then, it all came back to me. Camille’s box under the bed, my insatiable curiosity mixed with an overactive heart rate brought on by a panic attack.
But I did get a glimpse into the box. It turned out to be my own Pandora’s Box. There were incriminating photos of Camille, love letters to a man named Benoit, and little trinkets, all piecing together a tale of betrayal.
It turns out that Camille was hiding an affair.
“You were taking forever,” Nolan said. “So, I followed you, and I found you passed out on the floor. I closed the box and pushed it back under before calling Camille and an ambulance.”
“How did you know?” I asked, thinking about the warning Nolan had given me.
“I did French throughout high school, Chad,” he said. “While talking, I understood that Camille said something about hiding everything under the bed. I’m sorry.”
“Where’s Camille?” I asked.
“At the cafeteria, she said she needed to stretch her legs. So, she went to get coffee.”
I put my head back and thought of the letters that my wife had been receiving.
I got discharged the following day, and Nolan drove me home. Camille fussed over me, making me a healthy juice and ensuromg that I was okay. But of course I wasn’t. Nothing was okay.
That afternoon, I had to set the record straight. I couldn’t look at Camille and feel what I had felt before.
“I can’t continue in this marriage,” I said when Camille brought me a juice.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I know about the black box under the bed.”
Camille turned pale.
“I can explain,” she said, jumping up.
“I saw more than enough, Cami. I don’t think your version of an explanation would change that.”
“Just listen,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting with Benoit. They wanted me to be with someone French — to have completely French children.”
I looked at her, wondering how she expected me to sit there and listen to more.
“So, after they arranged it,” she continued. “I met him. And we hit it off, and our friendship grew.”
“I want a divorce. Immediately,” I said, not wanting to listen to anything else.
Camille made a fuss, hurling accusations of me snooping and invading her privacy. She threatened not to sign the divorce papers when they came, but I told her that there was just no love left in our marriage after what she had done.
“Give me another chance,” she pleaded.
But I didn’t want any of it.
The divorce process lasted a few months, and Camille contested everything — from the house to spousal maintenance — and she even wanted me to pay for her tickets to France every year. I refused everything except the house. I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway. I’m living in a bachelor pad closer to my office now.
I’m heartbroken, sure. But at least now, I’m not living a lie. And that’s liberating.
I’m also grateful to Nolan for telling me the truth and staying by my side through the divorce.
Now, I wonder if Camille will end up with Benoit or not — I know her parents will love it if she does.
Look Closer… Vintage Photos That Were Never Edited
Few things are as satisfying as a trip down memory lane — and it’s even better when you find something you didn’t notice before. Because as Ferris Bueller said — life moves pretty fast. Here are dozens of pictures of celebrities and remarkable people of yesteryear in all their beautiful, vintage glory. The glamour, the fashions, the hair — whether classically elegant, effortlessly cool, or interestingly tacky, we shall not see their like again. Here’s to the movie stars who were larger than life, here’s to the rock stars who lived on the edge, here’s to the comedians who still make us smile, here’s to the bit players who had those moments of glory that changed their lives forever. It’s all good, it’s all groovy, and the rest is history.
Perhaps it was her Scandinavian free-spiritedness — Swedish-born actress and singer Ann-Margret seemed on call to be as sexy as necessary. Need an actress to smother Jack Nicholson with her cleavage? Ann-Margret would do it (in Carnal Knowledge, 1972). Need an actress to writhe in satin sheets and foam, then get sprayed by baked beans? Ann-Margret’s your girl (in Tommy, 1975). Need an actress to ride a large motorcycle in a thigh-high sweater dress and calf-high boots? Ann-Margret’s raring to go (in The Prophet, 1968). Need an actress who can shake her fringe top and miniskirt like a professional go-go dancer? Ann-Margret has that exact skill (in Appointment in Beirut, 1969). Need an actress you could cover in fluorescent paint and drag around a canvas like a human paintbrush while burly men in tribal garb howl and beat their bongos? That was so Ann-Margret’s thing (in The Swinger, 1966). Need an actress to wear a bra at a photo shoot on a chilly day? Not her thing, man.–Advertisment–
“Jungle Pam” Hardy, one of drag racing’s main attractions in the ’70s.
Jim Liberman was a drag racer who went by the nickname of “Jungle Jim.” He won a lot of races in the 1970s. Fans loved him for his flamboyant personality and masterful driving. But this is not a picture of Jungle Jim — this is “Jungle Pam” Hardy, Jim’s sidekick, who commanded attention at the track with her tight, skimpy outfits. She had a job to do, as Jim’s “backup girl,” she helped guide him as he drove his Chevy Vega backward on the track after a burnout. Pam joined Jim’s team in 1973, and in 1977 Jim died on an off-track car accident. Though she only did the job for four years, Jungle Pam remains the most iconic backup girl in drag racing history.
Burt Reynolds and Farrah Fawcett during filming of the 1981 comedy “The Cannonball Run.”
The 1981 road-racing comedy The Cannonball Run was packed with star power: Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Adrienne Barbeau, Mel Tillis, Terry Bradshaw, Dom DeLuise, Jackie Chan and 007 himself, Roger Moore. But you could have left all of them on the side of the road and powered to box office success with this supernaturally attractive pair of human beings: Burt Reynolds and Farrah Fawcett. He was the greatest heartthrob of the late ’70s; she had the decade’s hottest poster, and was the hottest lady detective on Charlie’s Angels, a show that was completely about conspicuously hot lady detectives. The chemistry in the movie (and this photo) wasn’t fake — Fawcett and Reynolds were romantically involved for a time.
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia! You’re gonna lose! Lose! Lose! A miffed Maureen McCormick on The Brady Bunch, 1972.
Be honest — which of these three sparklers from 1983 would you have pegged to be the future governor of Minnesota? History tells us it was Jesse “the Body” Ventura (at right), and not Randy “Macho Man” Savage or the lovely Elizabeth “Miss Elizabeth” Hulette. Randy and Elizabeth would marry the following year, and she would later debut in the WWF as Macho Man’s mysterious, glamorous manager. Sadly, neither Macho Man nor Elizabeth are with us today. Ventura, who served one term as governor and has since remained a popular political figure, occasionally floats the idea of a bid for the U.S. presidency. That seems far-fetched, as American voters would never make a crass TV blowhard the leader of the free world.
Cindy Morgan as ‘Lacey Underall’ in a scene from the comedy film “Caddyshack,” 1980.
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