God, can the day get any hotter?
I'm standing at the floor to ceiling window in my living room admiring my flowers.
There's a whole garden of them and it was bought by my husband.
He knows I love flowers so he got me a bed of them.
Along with it comes the gardener.
He's really the reason I'm obsessed with my flowers.
I mean, I had already loved them but ever since Clark hired him, I've taken much more
interest in them.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't feast my eyes off of this beautiful male.
His name is Teja.
Spanish, I think.
He can speak English but not as clear as the others.
I have no idea why my husband insists on hiring foreigners to do our job around the house but
I guess it's to ease his wallet.
He pays them cash.
Teja is wetting the flowers with a hose and I can't help but stare.
Moments before that, he'd been teasing the dirt and pruning the leaves.
This man has a green thumb because whenever I go out into that garden, I've never seen
a dead flower.
Not only does he have a green thumb but he also has an amazing body.
Whenever he's in my garden, he wears this white vest.
I want to think it's some kind of uniform for him but I believe it's just something that
doesn't make him feel hot.
There are four holes in his vest to be exact, either from wear and tear or design.
But I like this vest.
It shows everything.
And when I say everything, I'm talking about the ripples in his biceps, the strands in
his neck, and the peaks of hair on his sweat-slicked chest.
God, I love a sweaty muscular working man.
He's all I think about whenever he shows up for work.
Now he's spraying the rose bushes.
I hear a clatter and quickly move away from the window.
The last thing I need is for my husband to see me eyeing the gardener.
He's a jealous man and just seeing me standing at the window can make him question everything.
My husband had been asleep all morning because the last five days he'd been working overtime
to secure a deal with his work.
When that finally happened last night, I was so happy to know it has ended and he'd gotten
what he wanted.
So when he stayed sleeping, I let him sleep.
Clark descends the steps, fastening his tie, and my heart drops to my stomach.
What?
What is this?
Where are you going?
Please don't start now, Diana.
Clark.
He moves to the kitchen and I follow him.
He's wearing a pink pinstriped shirt and gray trousers, as if he's on his way to work.
It's Sunday.
I have to make an emergency trip out of town.
There's some business I need to take care of.
He presses the button on the coffee machine and fills his thermos flask.
It's Sunday.
Couldn't it wait for tomorrow?
He returns upstairs and brings down a carry-on luggage that he's already packed.
What the hell?
So he hadn't been sleeping all morning.
The bastard had been plotting his fucking getaway.
I'm so sick and tired.
So damn tired of him not being around.
Clark.
He pauses in front of me.
No it couldn't wait.
This is one of my big money clients.
He wants to see me in the morning to discuss a merger.
I'm his lawyer.
I need to be there.
Damn it, Clark.
You said we were celebrating today.
That today was for the both of us.
And something came up.
Overnight?
He fetches the flask from the coffee machine.
I don't have time to do this with you today.
My flight leaves in two hours and I need to get there now.
When can I get time to spend with you, huh?
If it's not some client then it's something else.
I'm tired, Clark.
For fuck's sake, Diana.
How do you think I upkeep this place?
Do you think money falls into my hands?
All I'm asking is for you to spend time with me.
He rushes to the living area for his bag and I follow him again.
Why do I have to beg him to be my husband?
Why do I have to ask for his time?
Not once for this month has he made the effort to take me somewhere or spend the day with
me.
It's always work and more fucking work.
Well if we didn't have to pay all these goddamn workers and me having to make sure you can
keep up with this fucking lifestyle you so wish to have.
What lifestyle?
This?
Are you talking about this?
Staying home and doing nothing?
Come on, you blow through money like it's fucking water.
You're always at the spa, you go shopping every day and don't you think I see you swapping
out furniture every damn week like it's clothes?
That's because I'm bored.
Clark lets out a cynical laugh.
You are just a piece of work.
He takes his bag but I snatch it from him.
Where are you going?
Woman.
Where?
Tell me.
Give me my bag.
You always say you have this client but never tell me anything.
Because it's confidential.
Deep down, my gut is telling me it's something else, that he doesn't have a client.
Clark visits this so-called client every month and sometimes twice a month.
What kind of client demands his attention so often?
What do they have on him that he can't even spend time with his wife?
Who is she?
His face changes to a hard line and rips the suitcase from me.
Who the fuck is she, Clark?
He whips around when I grab hold of his arm.
Thread lightly, Diana.
Do know what you are accusing me of.
All of this can be gone in a second.
I have done nothing but provided for you and your fucking expensive tastes.
You think I care about the money, huh?
Huh?
I reach for the glass vase at the center table and hold it in my hand.
You think I care about this shit?
What are you doing?
I sail it across the room.
He ducks.
Diana, don't be crazy.
You want to see crazy?
I yank the curtains in the living room down, sending the rods rolling across the floor.
Tell me where you're going, Clark.
I take the fire poker from the fireplace.
What are you going to do with that?
All you think I care about is money.
I don't give a flying fuck about that, but clearly you do.
I take a swing, clearing the pieces of display on the mantle.
Diana, stop this.
Who is she?
I told you it's a client.
Do what you want, but I'm leaving and there's nothing you can-
I point the poker at him.
Not once you can be truthful to me.
Months.
Months I've begged for your company.
And when you said today would have been our day, you blatantly did your own thing.
I'm tired.
So what, you trash the place and throw your little tantrum to get my attention?
You rarely touch me.
What does that say?
Who is she?
Who the fuck are you fucking?
He shakes his head.
You're delusional.
We haven't had sex in over a month.
And when we do, you barely touch me.
You rather lick my cunt than put your dick inside me.
He huffs and that makes me angrier.
You have a high libido, so who are you fucking when you're not fucking me?
He glances at his watch again.
If you glance at that fucking watch again, I swear I'll-
Swear you'll what?
Clark moves in front of me and snatches the poker away, flinging it aside.
This is the side of him I've never seen.
His face is dark, unreadable.
Listen, woman, I don't have time for your little game of charade.
I have business to deal with and I'm going to do just that.
I don't have to answer to you or anyone.
So sit like a good girl and do what the fuck you're supposed to do.
You can't-
Smack.
Did you not hear what I fucking said?
I clutch onto my cheek where he'd just struck me.
Say something again.
I launch at him with my fists, but he effortlessly backhands me and pushes me to the floor.
Is this what you want?
You prefer me hitting you for you to stay in line?
I touch my cheek again.
This man just hit me.
My husband just hit me.
I stay on the floor, looking up at him in awe.
There's a fire in his eyes.
Rage.
This isn't Clark.
He has never hit me.
But I guess things change.
People change.
What I do with my life is none of your business, especially my job.
You asking me these stupid irrational questions are out of line.
I am your husband, but I also pay all these bills and make your life easier.
Do you rather divorce me and return to your fucked up life?
I scowl at him and he smirks like the devil he is.
Remember Dee, your prenup gets you nothing and threatening me like you just did and accusing
me without any evidence can be grounds for divorce.
You bastard.
Don't worry, Dalt.
Despite what you just did, I still love you.
I don't bother saying anything because he has the upper hand.
He always has the upper hand.
That and I'm still on the floor and I don't want to give this monster a reason to kick
me while I'm down.
My eyes water, but I refuse to cry.
All I asked for was time with him.
And now I know.
Now I know where I stand with him.
Right.
The dark fixes himself and adjusts his tie.
Now get up and get someone to clean all this fucking mess up.
When I get back, I want to see you acting as you should.
My husband grabs his luggage and heads for the door.
I silently watch as he closes it behind him.
And when some time passes and I'm almost certain he has left, I break down.
Sometimes I wish I didn't marry this man.
I wish I was free, that I didn't give my life to this man.
As much as he provides for me, giving me everything I want, he's a horrible human being.
Too bad it took me three years to figure it out that not all that glitter is gold.
It can simply be plastic shining under the fucking sun.
Hey, Closet Raiders.
You have met the end of The Gardener, part one.
I had intended on this episode being only one part, however it became too long and I
had to split it up.
No worries, the more the merrier, right?
Anyway, stay tuned for part two.
And yes, part three of My Jerk Boss will be our final episode for this season.
Bye.