I looked around at the now mostly empty front room. It, like every other room in the house, was devoid of furniture and almost every other sign that anyone had lived in it, at least in anything like recent times. When she, my wife, got home; she was in for a big surprise. I had to smile to myself. Smile? More like a sneer, actually. When my wife: that traitorous, low down, mean-assed, cold-hearted bitch of a woman got home; she was in for a bit of payback for damn sure; not that it could ever equal what she was doing to me. No, no, I was gonna play hell ever getting even, that for damn sure!
Verna had announced to me that she was going on the trip whether I liked it or not. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. To her credit—very little credit—she had hesitated the week before, as I watched her hand on the door knob, a little unsure of my reaction which had been cold and quiet after the initial arguments of the days before.
"Clyde, there is nothing going on between me and Marlon King. He's just my boss. I have to go. There are no bases for your suspicions. Please, get a grip, Clyde. Deal with it," she said. Then she'd turned, gone out, headed for the waiting cab, and left.
Deal with it. Her words were nothing short of an ultimatum. They had also been the death knell of our marriage. She didn't know it yet because she hadn't gotten back from her—their—trip. She would know it, as soon as she walked into the house and found it to be only a shell of its former glory.
"I'd sold it all the previous weekend. I hadn't made much money in the effort. I'd priced everything to move fast; it had. Bedroom sets for $50. Pots and pans and appliances for $5, for a set of kitchen knives $1. I had an extra $900 in my wallet as I surveyed the damage.
Suspicions? Suspicions hell, I had certitudes! Oh yeah I had 'em. Three and four very late nights a month at the Bell Travel Agency, her place of employment. Phone calls, answered by me with no one else on the other end of the line. Oh yeah, I had certitudes. The biggest gimme in all of this had been the fact that she hardly ever mentioned her boss anymore, not for the past year; I had wondered about that, and at first I'd asked her about it. She'd blown me off.
Before her going silent about good 'ole Marlon, it had always been Marlon this and Marlon that ad-tedium; then, she apparently noticed that I'd started getting edgy whenever his name came up. I never said anything directly, but it seemed clear to me that there was a reason for her to want me to not be edgy. And then, there had been her company Halloween party of the month just passed.
Verna had disappeared after having me get her a drink. When I returned with the refreshments, she was nowhere to be found. After some little time, I started looking for her. No one could tell me where she was. It could have been my imagination, but my queries seemed to make the people I'd asked nervous. It was some forty-five minutes later that she'd finally found me—rather than the other way 'round. She'd been all apologetic: she'd had an equipment problem, since solved, she'd airily assured me.
That she'd had an equipment problem was apparently true: her skirt was badly torn and had been put back together with an odd piece of cloth and a couple of safety pins. She'd said it had taken her that long to find the stuff to do the fixin' and get it done. Oh, and hadn't Nora found me and let me know what the problem was? No, Nora hadn't found me. I had no idea who Nora was, and well, more fuel had been added to the fire of my now frenzied imagination.
She'd called every night since she'd gone on the trip and tried her best to make me see the light, or as she put it, allay my fears. But, the darkness in my heart and soul, would not go away. I had said little to her on her calls, though I had accepted them, I figured I could at least make her nervous about the way she'd talked to me when she'd left. "Deal with it!" Oh, yeah, I was dealing with it.
I sat on a folding chair by the phone. She was due to call again in about fifteen minutes; I looked at my watch. I would be gone the moment we hung up on each other. This was the final act. Well, the final act before the divorce at any rate. She'd be receiving the papers for that little gambit as she walked up the steps to the house, and that before she saw what was no longer inside. Oh yeah, I was dealing with it.
I let it ring three times before picking it up.
"Hello," I said.
"Yeah, it's me. Can't fool you, Verna."
"Clyde, please, I'm calling you every night just like I promised. Nothing bad is going on here, Clyde, really. Again, I'm sorry for the way I talked to you before I left. It was uncalled for, and I don't know what I was thinking," she said.
"Nothing's going on? Except you're fucking him, right Verna?" I said. "I was your husband, I'm the only one supposed to be doing that."
"What's this 'was your husband' nonsense, Clyde. You are my husband, not Marlon King." It was noteworthy that she had not answered my question.
"So you say, Verna. So you say," I said.
"Clyde, I said I was sorry for what I said to you, and my attitude. I will make it up to you when I get back on Sunday. I'm gonna see to it that you are one very happy fella. So, just calm down and cut me a little slack. Please, Clyde," she said.
"Good luck with that, Verna, I warned you and you pissed on my blue suede shoes anyway. Have a nice rest of your time with Marlon, I need to be going. Bye."
I hung up on her. The phone rang again even before I got to the door. I guess she was nervous; well, good. Maybe it would mess up her sack time with her asshole boss; I hoped so.
As she put down the receiver, she heard him snicker. "What? You think it's funny?" she said.
"Hell yes, I think it's funny. You sitting there naked as the day you were born staring at my fire-hose of a cock while you try to convince him that we're not doing what we're doing. That's the very definition of funny," said Marlon.
"Yeah, well, I'm trying to save a marriage—mine. I was an asshole when I left, not giving him any room to save a little face. I broke the cardinal rule of relationships: never humiliate your significant other to the point where he or she can't rationalize what's happening to him, him in this case.
"I think he's planning on a separation or even a divorce. And all because of my Grand Canyon sized mouth! Jesus, why can't I do anything right with him anymore," she said.
"Well, you could have stayed home this trip; I didn't exactly force you to be here. You knew he was going to not like it given his recent and obvious suspicions. Hell, how often have you had to fend off his questions as it is," he said.
"You're right. I was just tired of sneaking around and us never being able to feel relaxed or be together when we wanted. I figured this two week getaway would be a good little hiatus for us. You know, from the daily grind and everything," she said. "And—the pressure he's been putting on me these last months. Jesus, Marlon, I needed these two weeks!"
"Yeah, well, with you sweating it every time we've been together these past days that hasn't exactly been the case has it?" he said.
"No, I guess not. I'm sorry about that," she said.
"We need to talk to him, do for him, I mean together. Make him believe that we aren't doing anything. I need him to trust me again. You need to become his friend, his close friend. Allay his concerns. The way things are; it's really tough for me. I don't know yet how we're gonna do it, but we just have to find a way.
"I mean you're single again, since Janie left you, but I'm not; and I don't really want to lose him. You gotta help me out here," she said.
He came to her, his obscenely thick eight-point-five-inch cock swinging in front of him. "Okay. We'll try," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Truesdale, we can do that for you. You want pictures, videos, and sound. That about it?" said the very pretty private detective. I nodded and rose to go.
"They'll be there for another few days," I said, repeating what I had told her, Janis Hickok, earlier in the meeting. "You've got my retainer, and my number. Just let me know when you've got anything useful."
"Will do," she said.
Driving to my new place was uneventful. I didn't dwell on the misery of it all. It was kind of a "been there done that" kind of thing. Being only a bit on the high side of five-five, and not all that good looking, had always been a cause of embarrassment for me. Ever since high school, any time I got the nerve up to ask a girl out, it seemed like I got shot down. There had been Mary Lou, of course. Pretty, nice hooters, a butt worth worshipping: she was the exception. But, in the end, she dumped me too—for a jock! Now, my wife, if not actually dumping me, was dumping on me. I'd had enough.
Verna was just the latest to put me down. Difference is that we'd been together for so long that I thought I'd turned the corner, that my luck with womankind had changed. But now, after seventeen years of marriage, my illusions had been laid bare and brought home to me in big time.
Traffic seemed light for the time of day, well, there's an upside to everything. I knew of course that I would feel it, the pain, later; it was inevitable. For the record I was of the opinion that Verna would feel it too, but at least, in her case, she had someone to share it with. Me? Nada.
She did a slow turn around preparatory to stripping for him. She was going to give him the best she had.
.... There is more of this story ...