Who is The Other Woman? 

Sometime in late 2005 I heard the phrase the other woman and nothing has been normal since. Not because I had ever been the other woman, or even had my life affected by the other woman, but because of the thought that flashed through my head: What a great anthology this could be!

When I have an idea, I become tenacious—visualize a puppy, little teeth gripping a pant leg. I contacted one of the top literary agents in the country, pitched the idea, received an enthusiastic response, and was told that homework awaited me. In a flash, I was visiting neighborhood bookstores, large and small, and then scrolling through search engines and online bookstores, hoping at every mouse click that no similar book had been published. When it became evident that what I feared had been done many times had, in fact, never been done at all, I allowed my fantasies to shift to the authors who might populate the book. Would serious literary writers be willing to share their intimate secrets about love and (in)fidelity? I compiled my list of ‘dream authors’—that is, those I dared to dream would accept my invitation—and wrote a query that went something like Have you ever had an affair with a married man? Was your husband or partner unfaithful? If the answer to either question is Yes, would you write about it for the world to see? With the support of a few writer friends, I was provided access to some of the finest writers in the country. Looking back, I recall asking myself who among those gifted authors would actually volunteer the most intimate details of their own illicit affairs, or their mates’ peccadilloes. The answer turned out to be: nearly everyone.

The invitation was composed, edited, tossed out, rewritten, and, finally, sent to five or six exceptional authors. After that, I could only wait.

It was a very short wait.

Within hours, responses began to arrive. I opened the first to find Oh, sweet revenge! and the next asking rhetorically, How can I say no?!

I was on to something here.

A few of the replies were more circumspect, as if pushing aside branches of a shrub and peering cautiously into the space beyond. Hmm......I'd kind of like to do this, said one woman, her reluctance obvious. After another long series of dots, she concluded and how can I resist an opportunity like this one? Count me in!

Several women accepted by giving a brief synopsis of their intended essay. Susan Cheever wrote I twice married men who had been ‘happily’ married to other women when I met them. I may also cover what it felt like to be cheated on as a wife. The most poignant response came from Maxinne Rhea Leighton: A six-year-old who loves her Auntie is pulled into secrecy and the need to forget what is unforgettable at the hands of her Uncle. As he sneaks upstairs to the apartment above the candy store, it is behind his wife’s back. The little girl’s terror grows into silence, silence grows into a game, the game into guilt. At six, she has become the other woman.

While I was deeply moved by some of the responses, others evoked barking laughter. Nancy Weber capped her overview with May I reserve the title ‘I've Looked at Clods from Both Sides Now’?

The acceptances continued to arrive, some of the authors suggesting other notable authors who had a story to tell. Throughout this process, I heard a little voice reminding me that accepting the challenge to write and actually writing were quite different. Would these women, fine writers each and every one, find a way to push aside old anger, hurt, humiliation, grief and tell their stories? (Writing this, I’m reminded of appearing on television with Jane Smiley. When I was asked about the authors’ willingness to expose such intimate details of their lives, she interjected, We were just waiting for her to call!)

Months later—after Warner bought the book and all the ground rules (read: legal specifics) were established—the writing began. I knew this was a terrific idea and that no anthology would ever boast such a talented list of writers, but in the back of my brain—so far back that it could not be easily accessed—nested a niggling doubt. What if they started writing and changed their minds? What if every essay arrived...and told the same story: all mistresses, no wives? Nevertheless, filled with hope and expectation, each morning I booted up my computer and checked for email, my body nearly twitching from the possibility that an essay might have arrived during the night. If I saw a message from one of the authors, and if that message was accompanied by an attachment, a rush of exhilaration swept through me. I quickly downloaded the essay, double-clicked on the file, and watched it pop open (ah, the magic of technology!). Before I read a word, however, I prepared the standard mug of Irish tea. Steaming drink in hand, I settled myself before the computer and began to read.

Mary Jo Eustace had just adopted a baby when her husband left her for Tori Spelling. Katharine Weber is introduced to her father’s mistresses and her life is shaped by the experience. Lynn Freed is caught in flagrante delicto by an enraged wife, but the language barrier prevents her from explaining that she didn’t know he was married. University professor Diana Abu-Jaber receives an anonymous note from a student who is sleeping with her husband. It says He loves ME. Kathleen Archambeau falls into despair when her lover leaves her for another woman. Connie May Fowler delivers a scathing and often funny diatribe against women who steal men from other women. Caroline Leavitt is betrayed by both her husband and his sister, her dearest friend.

Before the book was officially released, I sensed a stir beginning to build. When I was invited to appear on The Today Show, it became quickly evident that this was a unique anthology. (For the record, my greatest accomplishment during this live broadcast was that I remained quite calm and managed not to vomit on Ann Curry, which had been a recurring nightmare.)

Warner Books was delighted when each newspaper review was more positive than the last. (And yes, I do admit to being embarrassed by an Associated Press review that erroneously described me as having been the mistress of a married man, although my mother laughed that her prim daughter should be so accused, my daughter believed that bad publicity was better than none, and my son had the audacity to suggest that such a scurrilous allegation might actually help me get a date.)

Which brings me to the heart of this essay: the way sexuality was approached by the authors in The Other Woman.

In Binnie Kirshenbaum’s essay, "Once Upon A Time It Took Three," she offers a historical overview of infidelity. Using Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer as an example, she writes that it was ...a fairy tale of a marriage and, like many fairy tales, this marriage was rooted in the Middle Ages; that is to say, it was a marriage of the nobility with a clearly defined purpose. But when his infidelity became public, what was the basis for the public outcry? Not only did the nobility have a history of infidelity, this brand of sexual unfaithfulness has always been a part of our culture. When monarchies and powerful families married off their children with the express intent of expanding land holdings, averting wars, or filling the family’s (or country’s) coffers, sex was never part of the bargain. Except, perhaps, the procreation part, where an heir was always the big payoff. In the not-so-familial family of auld, the woman (hopefully older than age twelve) bore the babes, the husband (perhaps post-pubescent, perhaps not) protected his family, and the mistress provided him with the sexual passion and intellectual stimulation deemed inappropriate when coming from the wife.

While there was much betrothing and begetting, marriage was never romantic and the role of the mistress was secure. But society changed. Perhaps six hundred years ago, when life became a bit easier and young people had some time to look around and see what they were missing, there was a desire to try something new, become liberated from old customs. The idea of getting married for love, and not as a business proposition, took hold. Over the centuries, societies both here and abroad have gone through many transformations, some of them forcing the idea of romantic love—not to mention passionate sex—on a back burner, while the flames of religious fervor are fanned. Yet audacious love between two individuals persists. Passion has always had its way with us, no matter how much religious zeal is thrown into the mix.

All of this is to say that while the essays in The Other Woman are timely and germane, their messages are timeless. Women, whether wives or lovers, fall in love and trust their mates to be true and faithful. When we are deceived, we are often emotionally flattened. (And yes, this includes the other woman. In her essay, "The Mistress," Dani Shapiro writes about the devastation she suffered when, as a young woman new to the mistress game, she learned that her older lover, a powerful and wealthy man who was also a pathological liar, was still sleeping with his wife.)

If there’s one word that pops into my head when looking back over nearly every essay about being the wife or the mistress, it is deception. A tangled web, indeed. Wife, lover, or other, we all suffered some form of deception and jumped at the chance to write about it. (In my essay, "Phantom Wife," I write about being a divorced woman who loved a divorced man, but his unfinished business from his long-past marriage was an obstacle I could not overcome. I learned that one can experience the pain of deception even when sexual infidelity does not exist.)

In the introduction of the anthology, I wrote She’s the harpy, the Jezebel, the Lorelei, and the bitch. She seduces our husbands, breaks up our marriages, and manages to win over our children. What we so often forget is that the other woman is also our sister, our daughter...and sometimes, she is us. There are wives who want to kill her (some do!) and wives who not only forgive her, but sometimes pity and befriend her.

Illicit lovers—be they man and woman, two men, two women—are creatures who have fallen under the spell of passion, perhaps love as well, and their need to fulfill the sex drive is often greater than the fear of being caught. And the wife? In truth, whether she dreads the other woman or lives in her skin, her story is one that has resonated throughout history and undoubtedly will continue to do so.

Victoria Zackheim is the editor of two anthologies: The Other Woman (Warner Books/Grand Central Publishing) and For Keeps (Seal/Avalon/Perseus). She is also the author of The Bone Weaver, a novel, and writer/developer of the documentary film, Suffer the Little Children: Frances Kelsey and the Story of Thalidomide (Rosemarie Reed Productions). She teaches creative writing in the UCLA Writers Program.