Chapter 8: What now?

We sat on the sofa for what seemed like hours while I tried to understand what had happened and what I was going to do. We talked, finally, to and with each other, not at each other. Joyce was happy in her new job and I was happy in my new home. How could we reconcile that much less our former lives? There was only one solution we could both agree upon. We needed time to think. We needed, strangely, more time apart to understand what kind of life we could have together, if any.

We finally fell asleep in each other's arms. We never did go to bed. I awoke with her head on my shoulder and the wonderful scent of her body in my nostrils. I looked over at the clock and it read five thirty. I put my head back and tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. My mind was working full speed and I was trying to image a scenario where I could make our relationship work again without sacrificing the things we both had come to depend upon.

Just after six, Joyce stirred in my arms and I could see her eyelashes flicker and knew she was waking. I held her softly while that process evolved and in a minute or so, she tilted her head back to look up at me and then smiled. She closed her eyes again and wrapped her arm around mine and pulled me tightly against her. I was close to falling apart again and it was all I could do to keep my composure.

We stayed like that for a couple of minutes before she began to climb off my lap and I realized she was headed to the bathroom. I stood as she left and stretched my aching muscles. Sofas were never meant to be a bed for two adults. But it was a pleasurable pain, one that I had welcomed and one that I had longed for during these past two years.

I walked to the kitchen and started to make some coffee. I had a headache and I'm sure it was a result of too much alcohol and the stress of the emotions that had been coursing through me in the past hours. Luckily, I had a small bottle of aspirins on the window ledge and I popped two into my mouth and washed them down with my usual morning orange juice.

Joyce came out of the bathroom and walked up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me tightly to her. She kissed my neck and then uttered those famous romantic words:

"I need a shower. I stink."

I snorted my laugh and patted her bum with my free hand and she headed off to her bedroom to get a change of clothes. I headed for the linen closet and pulled out some fresh towels and put them on the bathroom counter. She reappeared with a handful of underwear and a light housecoat and waved to me as she closed the bathroom door. I don't know if I was expecting an invitation to join her, but that didn't happen.

I would like to be able to describe my feelings that morning, but I can't. On the one hand, I felt lighter somehow; as if some weight had been lifted off my shoulders. On the other, I felt fear; fear that I couldn't find a solution that would satisfy us both and bring about a complete reconciliation. Were we doomed to be just friends or would one of us have to sacrifice our new life to be with the other?

When I finally realized what I was feeling above all else, it was the absence of anger. I didn't know if it had just gone into hiding or whether I was repressing it for the sake of my ambitions but it wasn't where it had been; sitting right on the surface, waiting for some spark to trigger it.

That afternoon, Joyce put her bag in the trunk of her rental car and drove off down the driveway and back to her life in Calgary. We had hugged and kissed and talked about the puzzle we wanted to solve and promised to talk to each other regularly. We did not make love. We weren't ready for that I guess. If it was going to happen, it would happen, but not this time. It didn't matter. For the first time in more than two years, I felt just the tiniest hint of optimism. Maybe, just maybe, we had a chance.

Epilogue

There are two housekeeping items as I call them. First, Joyce finally told me that she had gone through a cancer scare just before she went on that infamous trip with the other women. She had not told me because she thought I would worry and it would just add to her concerns and fears. The insensitive lout that I am failed to see that and she masked the fear until she was given the all clear by her doctor. However, it had made her feel very vulnerable and it was that, combined with a very persuasive con-man that made her susceptible to the guy I still refer to as "The Swami".

Secondly, but best of all, was my revenge on Claire LaPointe. Sit back dear readers and enjoy my little tale. It was the only bright spot, save my patent sale, that I had in those wretched months of my divorce. During the preliminary negotiations with the buyers, I was meeting with Scotty at his office downtown and when the meeting was over, I would often stop at the bar in the middle of the block for a drink or two before I headed back to Guelph.

I was drinking quite a bit more in those days, but I was still careful that I wasn't going to get picked up for being over the limit. Anyway, one day I was sitting at the bar where I usually did and I couldn't help but overhear a conversation between two men sitting beside me whining about their divorces. I got interested when I heard the name Claire LaPointe and then a string of expletives. I decided to get nosey and asked them if they were victims of the female vulture and they both said yes, among other unrepeatable expressions.

I told them that I too was a refugee from her clutches and we all compared stories about how she had ravaged us without mercy. I was in a contemplative mood I guess as I absently asked the question about how many others there may be of us in this club of victims of her wrath. One of the guys suggested that was easy to find out. All we had to do was check the court records for divorces and see which ones where she had represented the wife. We talked a bit more and I had the germ of an idea, but I didn't want to get their hopes up, so I asked them for their business cards and gave them mine.

I went through the court records for a couple of years and I have to tell you, it was tough slugging. Luckily, I had all kinds of time since I had resigned and besides it was a labor of hate. I carefully noted the names of the defendants in each of her cases and it was obvious that she only handled women clients. This bitch had a very specific mission; destroy as many men as possible. It got me to thinking that there may be more to this that meets the eye.

I had gathered as much information as possible about the men she had victimized and started to track them down. Again, I had all kinds of time and in this case, I had a mission to accomplish. One by one, I contacted the men on my list and asked them if they were interested in my plan of revenge. After twenty contacts, I had eleven affirmatives and I thought that should be enough, but if we needed more, I had a list of many names with which to follow up.

The plan was simple, risky and had no guarantee of success. I had come to the opinion that this woman was a man-hater and I suspected she would act this out in her lifestyle. There was only one way to find out. I proposed that each of us contribute up to a maximum of five hundred dollars and we would hire a private detective to follow her and find out what we could about her private life. Eleven of the men I contacted agreed. Of those who didn't, almost all of them had been left in a state of near poverty and couldn't afford to join us. I told them that no matter what, I would keep them informed of our progress. Each and every one of them was with us in spirit.

Scotty knew of a detective, Terry Bolton, who would do the kind of work we wanted. In addition, since we were never going to take any of this to court, we could count on him to use whatever means necessary to get information with the stipulation that he never tell us how he got it. I met with him in his office uptown and I was quietly amused that it looked nothing like the offices I remembered from the movies. It was new and modern and very efficient looking. I gave Terry the background and just how many men had been victimized by this woman and our objective. We needed to get any dirt we could on this woman.

Terry was sympathetic, but cautious. He explained the law and what he could and couldn't do, but in the end, he agreed that what we needed was within the scope of his capability. I gave him the requested $2000 retainer and he promised to keep me informed regularly. I had no option but to trust him and I fervently hoped I wasn't throwing my fellow victims' money away on a wild goose chase.

It was almost two weeks before I heard from Terry, but it was worth the wait.

"Well, I have some interesting information on Ms. LaPointe." Terry began. "She is, without doubt, a lesbian. Moreover, she isn't particularly loyal to any one partner. She seems to have more than a couple of 'girlfriends'. I'm also pretty sure she is the dominant partner in these relationships. Very dominant, if you catch my drift." he said with what I could detect was a note of triumph.

"Nice going Terry." I replied. "I have to tell you I suspected this, but now the question is, what do we do next?" I asked.

"Well, Ms. LaPointe is a bit careless. She often entertains her little friends in her apartment near her office. She doesn't live there, but she uses it for her business and personal liaisons." he stated. "Let's just say that if someone wanted to bug her place, she makes it fairly easy for them." I could almost see the smile on his face and I hoped he could imagine the one on mine.

"Well, that makes things fairly straightforward, doesn't it?" I suggested.

"Quite. I'll get back to you, but you should be aware I'm going to be spending some more of your money." he said seriously.

"How much more?" I asked.

"Probably another $2500, maybe a bit more." he answered.

"OK... we can handle that. I'll keep my fingers crossed that we get something really hot." I said.

"I'll call you when I have something worthwhile." he said, signing off.

Ten days later, Terry called and asked me to meet him at this office. He had something to show me. I instantly agreed and we set up a meeting for the next morning. I couldn't wait. I could only hope we had something really nasty on the bitch. I walked into Terry's office with a spring in my step and hope in my heart.