A funny thing happened on my way home from the airport yesterday. No, not funny "ha ha", but funny like strange. I saw my wife sitting on another man's lap, and they were all wrapped up in each other and in public too.
I had managed to get the on-site physical inspection done much sooner than everyone (including me) expected; more than a full day earlier in fact. I had told my wife Abby on Thursday when we last talked that I was sure that the earliest I could fly back into town would be sometime Sunday mid-day, if not into that evening.
Abby told me not to worry about it; she'd call her sister and they would get some supper Saturday and then hang out. I didn't comment on that; Abby knows how I feel about Amy, her older sister. Well, not that much older, they're only 11 months apart in age, and growing up as the only children in a single parent — mother — household, they became more like twins than just 'sisters'.
But Amy is a round-heeled slut, and although I can't prove it, where there's that much smoke, there has to be some fire. I personally know of three marriages she's broken up, counting her own, of course. Still, I knew how devoted they were to each other and it wasn't worth a cold couple of weeks at home to make some derogatory remark about her sister to Abby. So I gritted my teeth, and simply and succinctly said, "whatever..." Even that got me an exasperated intake of breath on the other end of the phone call.
Anyway I found out that I could end my inspection project late Friday evening, so I checked out of my motel room that Friday late, so that I was able to catch the first available flight Saturday morning which I could, and by 2:00 p.m., I was on the ground in Atlanta. I thought about calling Abby, but I remembered that she had said that she and Amy were going shopping that afternoon, before they went out that night. I expected that Abby would go home and change and maybe shower before going out to supper, so I thought I'd just go home and catch her there.
Our neighborhood is what called "transitional"; that is, it's a mixture of residential, multi-family, light commercial and business, with homes ranging from 60-70 year old houses, older and newer apartment complexes ranging from some shabby-chic to really nice expensive multi-story townhomes, and multi-level homes some have called 'Mac-mansions'.
My way home from the airport typically takes me by my favorite liquor and wine store. I remembered that I had asked Murandi (the owner) to order me some of my favorite Columbia Valley Smokerise late harvest California Riesling. He had left a message that he had gotten in a full case for me, so I decided to swing by his store on the way home, and pick it up. Murandi and I talked for a while, and he informed me that a little neighborhood bar called the "Last Drop Inn" just down the strip mall from him was having an outdoor bar-b-q and beer fest, with live musicians, so he didn't know if I could drive out that way; he thought that I might have to retrace my drive back up the main street, and go the longer way around the block instead of going through the parking lot like I ordinarily would to go home from his store.
There was an SUV partially blocking the parking lot, but the band was still setting up, and it looked like I would be able to drive on through to the other end of the parking area, and back on to the side street that would take me home, instead of making a three-block detour. The Last Drop was one of our watering holes, although it was sort of a rough bar, where a fair number of bikers and wanna-be hardasses hung out. But Randy Simmons, who owned the place was one of my clients; my company had installed his video and internal camera security systems and we had an on-going service contract with him, so when Abby or I went in, we never got hassled.
I decided to try getting through the parking lot, so I eased my vehicle by that SUV when I had to stop as a man walked out from behind it toward the outdoor bar area. As I was stopped, I looked the crowd over, and much to my surprise and shock, I saw under an outdoor tent at the far end of the parking area several people sitting and drinking.
That was not the shock; it was that Abby was one of those people, and she was sitting in the lap of Charles Smith. Now Abby and I both knew Charles; he was one of the regulars at the Last Drop, sort of a biker type, who didn't seem to have a steady job but somehow always had money. Although we didn't socialize with him, we saw him more or less on a weekly basis either at the Last Drop, or Sancho Pancho's, our favorite Mexican restaurant, which backed up the Last Drop on the other side of the strip mall.
So the surprise was not so much that Abby was sitting in his lap, it was that they were all wrapped up arms entwined, him nuzzling on her neck, and all out in public. Now this might be the time to mention several relevant factors that caused my shock. One, Abby was not an overly demonstrative person; in fact, it was almost worth a fight to try to kiss her in public, as PDOA's (public displays of affection) were usually not allowed; and two, Charles is black.
Abby and Amy grew up in rural south Alabama, and their mother and especially their maternal grandparents were, at best, rather racist. Since they and their mother lived with the grandparents until both girls were out of high school, it meant that both Amy and Abby were also rather racist. I had heard both, on more than one occasion, bitch about it if they saw a mixed race, black man-white woman couple in public.
I needed to think about this whole scene, that was for sure. I couldn't imagine under what circumstances I would find Abby with a black man, all but making out in public. I put my vehicle in reverse and backed up until most of my Murano was hidden by that Explorer, but I could still see Abby. As I watched suddenly I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Abby had swiveled around and she and Charles were kissing. This from a woman who had once threatened to slap me if I kissed her on the mouth in public. And where was Amy? They were supposed to be together; but maybe this scene would have been too much for Amy who, if anything, was more racist than Abby.
I slowly backed up, behind the Ford Explorer, and parked. I always carry digital cameras with me, both for use in my job, and because I'm an avid amateur landscape photographer as a hobby. I got out my work day Minolta Maxxum 5D, and put on my 75 — 300 mm long telephoto lens. I stood behind the Explorer and bracing my arm and hand against the back panel, took several different shots of Abby making out — hell, call it what it was, 'swapping spit' with Charles. I heard some loud laughter over to my right, across from where Abby was seated with Charles. Swinging my camera around that way, I saw Amy, sitting with 3 different men, all of whom were (at least) wannabe bikers, two of whom were also black.
Well, this was a side of the sisters that I'd never seen before. I didn't know where this had started, but I'd find out, that was for sure; and I was fairly confident that I knew where it would end, as far as Abby and I was concerned. I consider myself laid-back, easy going, try not to make waves, you know, "go along to get along", as the phrase goes. There was no way in hell that I would tolerate this behavior from Abby, especially when, if it had been me, she would have slapped my face or at least jerked away from me and the cold shoulder scene would be going on.
I took some pictures of Amy and her group also, then swung back just in time to take pictures of Charles with his arms around Abby and at least one hand was cupping her breast. This was more than I could stand, but rather than making a scene here that could get violent, I decided to go back around the block, go home and wait for Abby to show up before she and Amy went out together. I could only hope that this was some sort of aberration because Abby was drunk, although I doubted it.
I called home when I got back in my vehicle, to document the time. I then called Abby's cell phone, watching her reaction to see what she would do. She pulled the phone out, looked at the number and then let the call go to voice mail. Well, I had a partial answer at least.
"Hi, honey, it's me, just calling to see what you and Amy are up to. I'll be home earlier than I had thought; I'll call you again from the airport when I get in. I left a message at home for you also."
I drove home, deactivated our home security system, and took my luggage into the house. I then went upstairs to our bedroom. Right away I noticed that the bed was not actually made up like Abby did every morning, but that the covers had been just pulled up into place. I got a funny sick feeling as I pulled the covers back down, and noticed obvious signs that someone had had sex in our bed.
I had fallen down one time, while playing golf, and the only thing that I really remember from that fall was how events seem to be moving in slow motion, and that my vision was like tunnel vision, like I was looking through the small end of a telescope. This was the same reaction that I had now when I realized what I was seeing. For a moment a white-hot surge of anger went through me; I honestly believe that for the first time in my adult life I could have committed violence against someone, either the man or my slutty wife.
.... There is more of this story ...