"Damn that feels good," she said. He pulled out and felt her vagina squeeze him trying to hold him in. He laughed.

"Like it do you? Tell me again how much better than Victor I am," he said.

"No comparison, honey; pencil dick can't hold a candle to you. His little thingy just doesn't do it for me. Come on, sock it to me; don't tease me," she said. He ploughed into her once more; soon he was ramming her to the point of pain, but she didn't cry out. Her only sounds were low guttural grunts and growls as she began to stiffen and shudder in her third orgasm of the night.

As they were dressing he stopped and looked over at her. "Why don't you just leave him and come with me," he said. "We like the same things. We work in the same office. We're meant for each other. I mean a truck driver for chryssakes!"

"Yes, he used to drive a truck, but he's a good guy, Roger; and, he's a businessman now making a whole lot of scratch. And, for now, we keep him on a short leash and let him think he's—adequate." She smiled, "Like I was saying, he brings home five times what we do put together. Little dick, big business brain that's my Victor," she laughed.

"Yeah, I guess. Gotta give him that, I mean the money part. But, you're his inspiration, Isabelle. Without you he'd fall apart in a New York minute. The only reason he works that hard is because he thinks you love him. If and when he finds out different, well, he won't be able to handle it. I'm telling you," he said, "I know the type. Marries out of his league and then spends the rest of their—his—natural life trying to measure up," he said. She laughed again.

"Yes, I do believe he would fall apart if I left him," said Isabelle, "he's very sensitive. But, in all fairness, economically he has succeeded, and that big time. I do not want to be messin' with a meal ticket like my Victor."

"You know, together we'd be a heckuva team, Isabelle. If the business was yours..." he started.

"Don't even go there, Roger. I don't know the business and neither do you. We'd play hell making a go of it I'm certain. So, like I said, for now we have to be content with what we have and that's all," she said. He sighed.

"I suppose—for now at least," he said. "But, I'm going to get some of the stuff we talked about worked on. If and when he ever signs off on it, and I know you could get him to; well, it'd be point, set, match to us. Think about it."

"Yes, yes, but even if he did give me controlling interest, he'd still be the man to run it, not us," she said. "Roger, you're a paralegal. I'm a paralegal. There's no way we know how to do the kinds of things necessary to run a shipping enterprise like his."

"You hear that, Lan," said his sister. "Mom's having sex with that other man. And, they're talking a lot of trash about daddy."

"What are we going to do?" said Lan. Though younger by a year, fourteen year old Lisa was way the leader of their two person gang. "We gonna tell dad? We have to tell dad."

"No, we're going to tell mom that we know. She'll stop if she thinks that dad will divorce her. If she knows we know—well—she'll be scared to have sex with that man," said Lisa. Landry James Shelby looked dubious but nodded his willingness to go along with what his sister said.

The two siblings moved quietly back down the hallway and exited the house. They would talk to their mother a bit later, maybe after dinner. Their dad was on a business trip and that would give the two of them the chance they needed to carry out their plan.

Dinner had been quieter than usual. Isabelle Shelby noticed. "Lisa? Landry? Is something wrong dears?" she said. They were just finishing the last of the meatloaf that their mother had prepared for them.

"The meatloaf was really good, mom," said Landry. His mother smiled.

"Well, thank you, Landry. I'm glad you liked it," she said.

"Lisa?"

"It was fine, mom," she said. Landry looked at his sister. He was clearly wishing he was someplace else, like maybe Ethiopia.

Isabelle Shelby looked at her daughter and had a bad feeling. A feeling based on nothing, but a bad feeling nonetheless. "Lisa, is something wrong?"

"Yes, mom, something very bad is wrong momma," said the fourteen year old girl.

"Lisa, what is it, dear? Tell momma. I'm sure we can figure something out. We'll get your dad to help if necessary. Okay?" she said.

"Dad can't know about this mom. It's kinda about him," said Lisa. Her mom waited. Her eyes were the more narrowing the longer she had to wait.

"Mom, me and Landry; well, we saw you and that man having sex today. Having sex momma! Momma, you and that awful man did very bad things. And—and—you said very bad things about daddy, you and that man," said Lisa. "Momma, how could you talk like that about daddy! It was very bad, momma." She had spoken very fast, but her words were stunningly clear.

The older woman paled. "Wha—wha—what are you..." she started.

"Momma, we saw you," said Lisa. "We heard you too. We heard all of it. Right, Lan?" Her brother nodded though he clearly wanted no part of the goings-on.

Their mother sank into a chair and stared at the two children. Izzie Shelby felt her world collapsing.

"Children—it's just something that grownups—oh my God..." The older woman was beside herself with embarrassment and fear, yes, fear.

"Mom, it was bad stuff. Really bad stuff, momma. You gotta stop it momma. You gotta," said Lisa. The girl looked toward her so far silent brother; he got the message.

"Mom, we don't want daddy to know. We don't want you and dad to divorce like Millie Johnson's mom and dad did. Millie cries every night mom. She told me so," said Landry.

Isabelle, looked at her two children. Her mind was a cacophony of conflicting emotions and thoughts. Her Victor! Jesus, he would divorce her if he found out what she'd been doing—and saying.

The real truth was that she didn't want a divorce. Roger was great in bed but almost useless in any other way. But, Izzie Shelby was a realist if nothing else. Victor was going to find out now. Her children were too young not to give her away, even if she dropped Roger; Victor would still find out. It might be later rather than sooner, but it was inevitable now that the children knew. There was just no gainsaying it.

The children didn't want them to divorce, but having seen Roger and her; they had ensured that a divorce was a certainty. She had to talk to Roger.

Roger would know what to do; he had to! He'd think of something, some way to make sure that she didn't come out of the divorce penniless and without hope.

"Okay, Lisa, Lan, I will stop seeing mister—the other man. I am so sorry children that you had to see something like that today. I don't know, but when you grow up—well—maybe you'll understand. I hope so. And, no, I don't want to divorce your dad either," she said. It was a lie. But it was one she'd had to tell the children to gain the time she'd need to set things up and assure the success of her not yet mature plans.

The two teenagers rushed to their mother and the little group hugged. Her mother didn't seem to notice the troubled eyes of her daughter.

"I don't know why you're so down, Izzie. Frankly, this is an opportunity for us. I mean for you and me to..." started Roger.

She glared at him.

Her lover continued. "The man's an old guy. One foot in the grave already. He loves you. You got him totally pussywhipped. Just get him to sign the documents. Make him believe he's protecting you on account of he is so much older. Giving you nominal—though real—control of the business will protect you and ensure that you will not have to fight his relatives or anyone else if he should have a heart attack or something. Let him know that he will still have operational control; you'll not be interfering with the day to day business per se. He'll go for it; I know it."

"Roger! One, I don't cotton to hurting that good man. Worthless in bed, but a good man; that's my Victor. We should never have been talking smack about him; that was a mistake, a big one. The only reason we are considering doing what—well considering what we're planning is because he is certain to find out what we were saying about him. The cheating on him I could get him to forgive; he is a pussywhipped little guy, and he loves me enough for me to sell him on forgiving me that. But the words—never.

Two, we may get the business and the rest of the stuff we've talked about, but running it, the business—well—it ain't gonna be no picnic that's all. Victor works really long hours, Roger. He works crazy hard. Sometimes he comes home so dragged out that he can't even get it up for me. Hell, that's the main reason you got your shot at me," she said. She was not smiling. "You ready to work that hard bud, that long?"

"Iz, I will do whatever is necessary to make the business go," he said. "We'll hire someone to do the stuff that Victor does if we have to. You think he's the only one who knows how to move merchandise. There's a million like him out there."

She stared at him. She knew he didn't get it, she knew that for sure. But, he did have a good idea about hiring someone who could do the job that her husband did. They'd have to pay whoever it was pretty good, but that was going to be the price they'd have to pony up for making the mistake of fucking each other in her Victor's marital bed.

And there was one other thing that might play in their favor: two of Victor's male family members had died young—both of heart attacks. It was probably congenital. But, Victor had always pooh-poohed her questions on the subject. Now, she might be in a position to use that knowledge to get what she wanted.

"Okay, get it done then, Roger. We're going to be screwing him over pretty good; let's at least not drag things out more than necessary, okay. Jesus, I feel like shit doing this to him. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did we have to do it where the kids could see us like that. This whole thing is not going to sit well with them either.

"Nice to have you back, Mr. Shelby," said the secretary.

"Nice to be back, Marge. We didn't go bankrupt or anything while I was gone, did we?" I said.

"No sir, all's well. You did get a call from your wife; wanted to know when you'd be arriving. You maybe should get home, sir. The guys and me can handle it for a least one more day," she said smiling.

"Yeah, it's going to be good getting home to the wife and kids. I sure as hell miss them when I'm on these jaunts. I'll be headin' out in a few.

"Have Eric join me in the conference room, okay? I have a few loose ends to tie up before I can get out of here," I said.

"You got it, boss," she said.

The dinner was among the best I'd had in forever: boiled potatoes, pork adobo, steamed lima beans, and a frosty beer. After eating restaurant food for two weeks, I was ready for some of Izzie's home cooking. Izzie may have looked like a runway model but she cooked like Julia Childs.

I poured the last of my second beer into the mug and sipped it. "Honey, that was fantastic. I have been dying for some of your home cooking.

"So, how's it been going for you these two weeks," I said.

"Good. Real good," she said. I detected something in her tone that told me she had more to say than she so far had.

"Honey?"

"Victor—I—I—can I talk to you about something that's been bothering me for a while?" she said.

"Sure," I said. "You know you can. Anything." She sighed.

"Vic, your healthy as a horse. But—you work like one too, like a draft animal actually. I worry," she said. I started to say something, but she waved me off. "No, let me finish, okay, honey. Please." I nodded.

"I worry that you might have a heart attack, or a stroke. And don't laugh; it happened to both your dad and your younger brother; and it killed your dad at 52 and your brother at 43!

"I was talking about you to my boss the other day. He told me that if you were, you know..."

"A candidate for health problems?" I said, interrupting her.

"Well, yes. Anyway, he said that I could be in a world of hurt if, God forbid, you were to die and leave me in the middle of a battle for control of our business. I'd win in the end, he told me, but it could be costly and there is even the remote possibility that I could lose, I mean lose the business," she said. I looked at her. She seemed genuinely concerned about things.

"So what did your boss recommend? He did have a recommendation, right?" I said.

"Yes, well, he said you could sign over nominal control of the business to me while you are still healthy. It would mean nothing in actuality; you'd still be running things, nobody can do what you do, certainly not me; but I would technically be the big boss," she giggled. "You know, like in the bedroom." I blushed. She did rule in the bedroom, and she was kinkier than a five dollar whore, and I loved it.

"Honey, you're almost twenty years older than me. It makes no difference to me or us in our personal lives, but if anything happened to you—" she stopped talking and looked at me with wrinkled brow.

"Give you control of the business? But I would still be running things? Doesn't sound too bad. Is it hard to do? I mean a ton of lawyer stuff and all?" I said.

"No. It would only be a bit of paperwork actually. My boss would write it up. The company lawyer, your lawyer, would look it over. We'd both sign and that would be it," she said. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe an hour, and it would be done," she said.

"Get it done," I said. "If I were to retire, which I am sorta planning on doing in a couple of years; I'd love it if you could take over and manage things. It would make me feel a lot better about—well, leaving you—I mean after..." She came to me and gave me a huge hug.

"Hopefully not for many years to come, my husband. I love you so much," she said. The sex that night was good enough to have restarted the Trojan War; I knew for absolutely dead-mortal certain that the legendary Helen had nothing on my wife.

Isabelle was right about the paperwork and the lawyering part; it took about half an hour for the whole show. Afterwards, everybody shook hands. Some guy, a paralegal named Christiansen, seemed anxious to hold everybody's spear while the festivities played out; I figured him for some kind of bootlicker.

My own lawyer wanted to put in a defensive clause, as he called it, in the text stating my rights in case of a divorce or other disagreement, but I shook him off. Isabelle and I would take care of anything that came along. Plus, worse case scenario, a divorce, I knew damn well that she could not hope to do what I was doing, or that damn few others could either. Bottom line: I was needed, really, indispensible. Well, I thought I was. Problem was, as I was about to discover, there were others that did not agree with my assessment.

"I'm a little concerned too, Lisa," said Landry. "I heard mom on the phone today like I said, and if I heard her right; dad has made her a big boss in the company."

Lisa nodded. "Add that to the conversation I heard on the phone tonight, Lan, and things don't look too good. Mom said something to somebody, don't know who, about a divorce. I don't know if it's a divorce of her from dad or what; but I'm really scared, Lan," said Lisa.

"Do you think we should tell dad, now?" said Lan.

"I don't know; I don't know. If we do, and we're thinking wrong... ," said Lisa.

"Yeah, I know. It wouldn't be good. I guess we do have to wait and see, find out more. I don't know," said Landry. "I'll say this though, it was a good idea you had about us trying to listen in on mom when she was on the phone. I real good idea."

I was stunned at first. Signing over ownership of the company to my wife, had made no difference in company operations or the success of the company overall. Things were good, until today. Today, the proverbial shit hit the fan. It was supposed to be a good day. I'd gotten solid contracts with two firms that needed our shipping services. I was feeling real good.

I was just coming out of a meeting with the representatives of one of the companies when a stranger approached and handed me an envelope. "You're served," he'd said. I looked at him like he had two heads. My business associates didn't seem to notice as they had been preceding me into the lounge.

I tore open the manila package and stared dumfounded at the contents: petition for divorce!

Going inside, I begged off and headed back to my room. I made the call, or tried to, several times. No answer. So that was the deal. I was being fucked over by my woman. Oh yeah, fool I had been, snookered I had been, and now about to be divorced from the only woman I had ever loved. The coldness of it hurt me more than the thing itself. Nothing. No conversation, no please forgive me buts. Nothing, just a process server, and a moment of horrible hurt frozen forever in time and burned into very fabric of my soul.

The interesting thing was, that for the moment, I felt mellow. Kinda like they say some cancer patients feel when their time nears. I didn't hurry back. I stayed a couple of extra days figuring out what I could or should do. But, in the end, I had to return.

After the plane landed, I didn't go home. I guessed I didn't have one to go home to in any event. Oh, I was half owner; legally I could go home, at least as far as I knew. But, if she were there? And, she likely would be—no—I didn't want to face that, not yet. There hadn't been any restraining order in the papers that the process server had dumped on me, but I was sure there soon would be if I tried to get her in a face to face; my wife hung tight with a mess of lawyers. I decided to go to my office.

"Hi Jerry," I said to the security guard. I'd hired Jerry when he'd gotten out of the slam for drug possession. He was a friend of mine from my driving days. I paid him twice the going rate. He owed me.

"Hi Victor," he said. "Vic—Mr. Shelby, you can't go in sir. The owner's orders."

"Jerry? Huh?"

"Vic, it's your wife. We all know she's screwing you over. The cops inside say it's all legal. I can't let you in," he said.

"There are cops inside?" I said.

"Yes, sir, your wife had them come. She knew you'd likely be by, and she is making sure you don't try to make things hard for her, or hurt her as she told them. I heard her say that to them. That's the truth Mr. Shelby," he said. I nodded. "Mr. Shelby—we all know it's bullshit. It makes us sick."

"I'm Victor to you, Jerry. Drop the mister Shelby stuff, okay?" I said. "And thanks."

"Sir—Victor—thank you, sir, for understanding. You know I owe you. But, I have a family now..."

"It's okay, Jerry. You do need to protect your family. I have no problem with you. Good luck." Stunned and bitter, I turned and headed out and away. I didn't know it at the time, but my wife had been watching from her office window as I talked with my old friend. She wasn't alone.

"I wonder what will happen to him now," she said.

"He'll be all right, and so will we," said the man.

"He'll try to see the children, you know. When he finds out that they're in boarding school, he is not going to be happy," said Isabelle. "Roger, I feel like shit doing this to him. He didn't deserve any of it. We did, but he didn't and doesn't. I have a bad feeling."

"Your words, Isabelle: 'He's a brain.' He'll do fine. It's us who have to be doing the work now. But we have an edge, old Victor didn't have," he said.

"An edge?" she said.

"Yes, your good looks. When those customers come, all you have to do is charm 'em into shipping with us. The men in the warehouse can do the rest. Who's that straw boss of Victor's again?" he said.

"Eric Ross," she said. Used to be a driver. Victor hired him years ago. He's always been his right hand man," said Isabelle.

"We'll need to be talking to him. At least for the moment, he's gonna be our operations guru. Maybe give him an incentive to do his best. A raise usually works in situations like this," he said.

"Victor never believed in raises. His incentives were always bonuses for doin' a good job. Bonuses yes, raises no," she said.

"Horowitz didn't go for it?" said Roger.

"No. He said thanks but no thanks or words to that effect," said Isabelle. "Some kind of religious nut, I guess. He's the third since we took over: the third to turn me down for a date that is. So I guess, lover, that my outrageously good looks aren't the asset you thought they'd be. Sorry about that.

"Oh, and he said he'd have to think over his shipping contract with us before he renewed. Just a technicality, he said."

"Jesus, what's the matter with these people your husband did business with. They a bunch of eunuchs or something?"

"Maybe I'm just not the catch you think I am, lover. I'm thirty-eight years old. Not over the hill exactly, but the crest of the hill is definitely in sight," she said, laughing.

"Nonsense, you're the best lookin' chick in this burg. We've just run into a bunch of deadheads, or dead dicks" said Roger.

"I hate this place," said Lan. "I wanna talk to dad. He needs to know what's been going on if he doesn't already."

"Yes, and I want for us to talk to him too. But what can we do. Mom said dad was divorcing her because of what she and that man were doing. She said she confessed, and dad lost it and left her. I tried to call him at his office, but Margie said he didn't work there anymore. I guess he quit," said Lisa. "I can't believe that he left us. But mom said..."

"He'll contact us somehow," said Landry. "He has to contact us. Mom won't stop him from talking to us; I'm sure of that." Lisa looked thoughtful.

"We were sure she wouldn't cheat on daddy either, but she did. Right now I'm not taking anything for granted," she said. Landry took on a thoughtful expression too.

"We could call Mr. Wheeler or Eric," said Lan. "Maybe they know how to get hold of daddy."

Lisa looked at her brother and smiled. "You know, big brother, sometimes you do have your thinking cap on," she said.

I'd driven by the house to get my stuff and found a UHAUL truck parked out front. There was a note on the front door of the house when I showed up. The note stated that all of my stuff was in the truck and the keys were where I used to keep the extra set of house keys. She'd thought of everything, had my traitorous wife.

I got the keys from under the sill flower pot and checked out the truck. Three large boxes were in the back. I figured I should have been grateful that she'd at least allowed me to have my personal things. Helluva deal.

Fifteen years of marriage boiled down to this. Well fuck 'em. She and I would be talking at some point. I didn't know when, but we would, and I would be getting mine back; there was no fucking doubt about that. Oh no, no fucking doubt what so fucking ever!

I had some money in a personal account that Izzie knew nothing about. It was just a small checking account that I used for the odd emergency: gifts, expenses where I needed cash while traveling. Eventually, I would need the cash for a new apartment that I'd have to move into. Well, at least I had a little money to work with. Except for that two grand and my car, I didn't have a pot to piss in.

Surprise, surprise, my wife it seems had fired me without a compensation package. I did get my final check. It had been delivered to my older brother's house the day after the scene at the company gate. Fred had called my cell to tell me. Fred was my only remaining living relative. After dad and our younger brother had died, Fred and I had become very close, almost protective of each other.

Fred, was an ex marine with a hardon against women in general for the way he had been treated by his ex. Hell, I could relate. Retired military, he spent most evenings at the Buscadero, a country western bar and grill where men with good manners were hard to find and women with virtue rarer still. My kind of place I decided as I sat waiting for a twenty-something serving girl to deliver my glass full of forgetfulness.

"So, you okay?" said Fred taking stool next to mine.

"Hi Fred. Yeah, more or less. Thanks for letting me hang out at your place till I can find a place to land," I said. He shook off my thanks; it had been a foregone conclusion that I would stay at his place, as it would have been the other way 'round had our situations been reversed.

"Anyway, so Lisa called you? A boarding school, how fucking wonderful. Ojai is over a hundred miles away. Nice of good 'ole Izzie to let me know," I said. "The goddamn bitch is really socking it to me. I don't know what I ever did to her to make her want to hurt me like this. I mean my children for cryin' out loud! If she wanted a divorce, fine. I'd have cried a million tears for the loss of the love of my life and then gotten on with things. But the children! They should be neutral territory. Hell, I don't even have a job, and no access to my company's funds. I'm broke, goddamn it! How am I going to be able to get up there to that freakin' boarding school to see my babies on any regular basis," I said. "The divorce papers, the ones she dumped on me, proposed a once a month unsupervised visit with the children at their residence. I thought that meant the house. Hah!"

"Whaddya figure to do," he said.

"Like I said, the divorce agreement she's proposing said I had to see them at their place of residence. I didn't fight it because I thought their place of residence would be the house. But it's not the house. I'll have my lawyer looking into that. As far as I'm concerned the bitch set that one up in bad faith. Hell, what else could you call it, would anyone call it!" I said.

"Don't know about no lawyer stuff, but I will help you see them for the foreseeable future if you will allow," he said.

"Thanks bro. I'm broke, but not that broke. I've got a bit in the bank. I can get up there some way. I have to," I said.

"Vic, a piece of advice," said Fred.

"Yes?" I said.

"Don't grill the kids when you go there. Don't make them choose up. Kids see more than we dumbass adults have the wit to imagine. They'll tell if it's right for them to, and not—well—if not," he said. I nodded; he made sense.

Going up to see my kids was a chore. I had to see them, but it was a chore. Plus my brother's words kept ringing in my ears. He was right, but I was not going to be the bad guy in this. Somehow I had to make that clear to my babies; I had to make it right without blaming the dirty doublecrossing whore that their mother was. Okay, I was bitter.

I smiled. I had a random thought. Izzie and I had eaten at a Chinese restaurant that we both liked not too long before all this shit hit the fan. For no reason whatsoever, at least that I can recall, we'd started to talking with the owner: one Lee Shin Liang. The subject was the Chinese calendar. It seems that I was born in the year of the dragon. My wife? In the year of the rat! So fucking fitting. Maybe bitter didn't completely describe my current mental state.

We hugged for a full minute before letting each other go. "Whoa up there kids, one at a time."

"We are so glad you came, dad," said Lan. Lisa squealed.

"Daddy we missed you. You and mom... !" she started.

"Lisa, today is about the three of us. Your mom will be up to see you too; I'm sure of that," I said.

"Daddy, you—divorcing mom? How come," said Lisa. Boy this girl of mine didn't let any grass grow under feet, I thought as I recovered from my surprise.

"Whoa again, girl, I am not divorcing your momma; she's divorcing me. Whatever else you may have thought, that one is not the reality. I got papers served on me while I was out of town. It was your mom that started the proceedings. That said..." I said.

Lisa glanced at her brother, "Dad, mom said you'd found out about her ... and that you ... and that man..." Landry wasn't doing too well at expressing himself.

"Found out what? What man? What?" I said. Lisa took a deep breath and took her time exhaling.

"You didn't know did you dad. I mean about mom?" said Lisa.

"Know what!" I said. I was beginning to lose my patience; I took a deep breath. "If you kids have something to say; please, get to it."

"Dad, Landry and I—we caught mom—we heard them talking—dad, she was with another man. I think he works where she does. She must have been afraid that we'd tell you, so..." said Lisa.

"So, she decided to preempt me, or more accurately, anything I might decide to do if you told me," I said. I was talking mainly to myself.

"Dad, we are so sorry. We told her we didn't want you guys to divorce. We told her that we wouldn't..." said Lisa.

"Wouldn't what? Tell me? Tell me what you'd seen—heard?" Both children looked down. I nodded. The picture was clearing up now. Suddenly I knew that the boarding school thing was a reaction to the concern that I would turn them, the kids, against her.

Still, she must have known, known that the kids and I would be talking sooner or later. But—then—maybe she just figured she was short of options, kinda grasping at straws. The kids far away, made contact harder, and by inference marginally more advantageous to her purposes.