I looked at the wall clock. She still wasn't home, and it was ten till midnight. I'd gotten home an hour earlier after having been abandoned by her at her company's, Homestead Interior Design and Furnishings, party. She's an agent for them: she deals with department stores buying such. At any rate, she'd simply just up and left with some guy while I was in the bathroom. The she is my wife, Olivia Ellison, and her current level of disrespect is highly likely to put an end to that little piece of legal reality. Pissed didn't even begin to describe my level of ire.

I heard the garage door opener engage. Finally! The usual one minute lag time, and then, again as usual, the back screen door slamming. She clearly didn't care if I were asleep or not. That pissed me off even more.

"Oh! You're still up," she said, stopping in her tracks when she spotted me sitting at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, well if I had been sleeping, your entrance would have put an end to that," I said.

"Yes, I did kinda slam the door didn't I?" she said.

"Yes, yes you did—again," I said.

"Didn't mean to. Sorry."

"Got anything else to say to me?" I said.

"Like?" she said. My look sobered her. "Oh, you mean about my being so late?" she said. I just stared at her. She knew what I meant. I guess she was hoping I was too tired to deal with a confrontation at this particular hour of night; I wasn't.

"Calvin, Calvin Grayson, He's an old friend. He was invited to the party by one of the mucky-mucks who knew him from somewhere. He asked me if I wanted to see his new place. We, you and I, have been thinking about looking for a new place. I thought it would be useful to check his out. It was just around the corner from where we were. We didn't do what you may be thinking, Victor. But, I guess, time did kinda get away from us. I was shocked when I realized that it was after 11:00PM. I hurried home as soon as I could after that," she said.

"He asked you to see his new place? Not his etchings?" she took on a disgusted look. "And, how did you get home? It sure as hell wasn't with me?" I said.

"Calvin gave me a ride. He's sorry too for causing me to be so late," she said. I nodded.

"Drop your panties," I said.

"Huh?" she said.

"Drop your panties. If he fucked you, I'll be able to tell, and if he did I'll be seeing a lawyer in the A.M. If he didn't we may still have marriage—I say may—so drop your panties," I said. "Do it now."

"Now wait just a minute, buster. You are way over the top here," she said. "We didn't do anything. I am not dropping my panties." I nodded.

"Okay, I'll be sleeping in the master bedroom tonight, so I can get an early start packing. I mean all of my stuff is in there. You sleep in the guest room just for tonight. You can move back in tomorrow when I'm gone. Oh, and I promise to not disturb you in the morning. It's Saturday. You can sleep in," I said. "I promise not to slam the door." She gave me an I'm-disgusted look.

"What are you talking about?" she said.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," I said. "I'm leaving you and divorcing you. It ain't rocket science. He fucked you, you cheated on me, and you're standing there actually daring to try and get me to forget about it. Well, that ain't happening. I will not be your willing cuckold."

"Look, Victor, you are going way overboard here. He did not fuck me. I swear it," she said.

"So drop your pants," I said.

"Victor, please!" she said. I just stared at her. She sighed and began pushing her pants floorward.

"Spread 'em," I said. She did. She had not been fucked.

"We'll talk in the morning," I said. She strode off in a huff. Well, that was just too damn bad.

The coffee smelled good. Well, the coffee was always good, but the day figured not to be. She was sitting at the table stirring her morning candied coffee.

I got a cup of the black elixir—I'm tough, I drink it straight—and sat down opposite her. "Okay, I guess it's time to talk," she said.

"Yeah, it is," I said. "What did you think you were doing hanging me out to dry at 'your' company party, Olivia? A party where I knew virtually nobody and had absolutely nothing in common with any of them? Do I mean so little to you that you can do that to me without a second thought?

"Oh, and before you answer, There is no way I believe that you went to his new place to check it out. Maybe the bed or the couch, but the house per se—not a chance!" I said.

She deflated. "Okay. First off, you're my husband, but you are not my only love interest," she said. "No, that's not quite right. You are my only love interest, but not my only lust interest. She'd stunned me. I think my mouth was twitching, kinda like a goldfish's. She smirked.

"What the hell!" I said.

"In the last hour or so this morning, I made the decision to tell you the complete and utterly unadorned truth. Some of it may piss you off pretty good, maybe even hurt you some—your ego. But, that said, some may actually make you feel better," she said.

"Really!" I said. "Sounds like a lot more bad than good." She shrugged.

"Perhaps," she said. "Calvin is an old friend, not just somebody who happened to get invited to the party."

"Like I said, I'll be packing. You have a nice life, yuh hear," I said. She sighed, ignored me, and continued her spiel. For the life of me, I continued to sit and listen to her tripe.

"His company, Hilliard Software Inc, is based downtown. We have lunch occasionally; I invited him; he's a fun guy. He has fucked me in the past, but that was before I met you. That said, he didn't fuck me last night, as you discovered. Sometime in the future I may let him do me again; he's part of the lust interest that I alluded to a minute ago. But again, we didn't do it last night. And, it may never happen.

"And why would you wait, dear soon to be ex-wife," I sneered. She smirked again: her level of confidence was truly remarkable. "I mean if you are so overcome with lust for him. And maybe others?" Another smirk.

"Why? Well, because Calvin is bi, and a bit more bi than hetero, if you get my drift. So, like I say, it may never happen, him doing me. Anyway, he is very well equipped and sensitive to a partner's needs. Frankly, Victor, you could learn a thing or two from him," she said. "And, I am not your soon to be ex-wife. I love only you, and the idea of a divorce is not even to be entertained."

I ignored her opinion as to the likelihood of a divorce.

"You sure know how to hurt a guy," I said; "Eleven years we've been man and wife, and all of this time not one word from you about my—what—inadequacies. Been cheating on me right along have you Liv?"

"No. In truth there were a couple of times, but right along as you put it? No," she said. I could feel my face darken, cloud over.

"Like I said, I'll be sleeping the master tonight. You can have it back tomorrow," I said.

"Why? You never sinned?" she said. "You and Carol Radcliff, for example?" She had me there. She'd caught me with Carol's underpants actually in my hands during a party while we were engaged. Carol and I had never done it, hadn't gotten that far, but we would have. At any rate, Livy had caught us; so she and I had broken up; later made up, and finally put it behind us.

"Okay, point for you, but that was, in point of fact, before we were married; and no, I have not sinned since," I said. She knew I'd had chances. And truth told I'd come close a few times, but, I had never acted on any of them since we'd said our I-dos. "Who did you do it with? I mean those couple of times," I said.

"One night stands in bars. You were out of town both times. I don't remember the names or the bars. It was just sex. A roll in the hay, and goodbye," she said. The last time was three years ago and the time before that five years ago."

"Hmm, and I'm supposed to believe that?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"You still haven't answered my question," I said.

"About last night?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Don't know really. It was spur of the moment. Figured we'd be back in an hour tops. But, like I said before, time just got away from us," she said.

"You know what frosts me the most. Not that you left with him. Not that you cheated on me those two times. Those are bad enough. But what really frosts me, is that last night you didn't give a damn about me at all. I'm beginning to believe that you never really have," I said.

"Victor, nothing could be farther from the truth. Yes, I was inconsiderate. Yes, I did kinda abandon you last night, and I'm sorry. Okay?" she said. I nodded slowly wondering just where we were at now. Did I feel any better than I had before we talked? The answer to that was an unequivocal no.

"You say you care about me? But I'm not sure I can believe you. I have to get away from you, at least for the time being. Try to figure things out. I'll give you a call in a few days and we can talk if you want to. If not it'll be splitsville for the both of us.

"I mean all of the above being whatever it is, and you still have the cajones to say that sometime in the future you may let this Calvin asshole fuck you. Do that, and we're done no matter what else happens. I mean you actually daring to say something like that to me is a slap in the face that may have us headed for divorce court anyway. But, like I say, I aim to do some thinking. You might wanna be putting your thinking cap on too; I mean if you really do care about us staying together. Your arrogance, Livy, is what's way over the top here, not my checking out your panties."

"Look, Victor... ," But, I was already up and headed for the stairs.

The Starlight was not fancy: a bed, a couple of chairs, a bathroom and a closet; but for the moment it got me away from her. And, it had the added benefit of being close to work. I'm an accountant for Horowitz and Gamble Inc. I handle high end clients with a penchant for wanting their incomes sheltered even if it has to be offshore. Income $250K, perks very good. Life'd been good to me, that except for a too pretty wife, who really didn't care very much how she did me. And these, her latest exploits in that regard, were merely the proverbial straw-too-much.

Now, things were going to change and change fast, or it would be an end to us. And oh, about the high cost of divorce? It wouldn't be high for me. I did know how to dodge that bullet for damn sure; hell, it's what I did for a living. And my wife, Olivia Ellison? She damn well knew it. But, this last said, I guess she figured her undeniably sensational body, looks, and bedroom skills made her Teflon when it came to how men dared to behave toward her.

She looked over at her husband of fourteen years and didn't bat an eyelash. "So did you get any new business for your trouble last night," said Anita Grayson, age forty-six, still pretty, and clearly a female to be reckoned with; she was alluding to the party he'd gone to the previous night ostensibly to garner new business for his gyms and health clubs.

"Some leads is all. Mainly an opportunity to meet potentials," he said. "Improved health and fitness is something that most people don't think about until their bodies have already gone to pot and the road back is discouragingly steep." She nodded.

Hear the lieutenant governor was there. Did you get a chance to talk to him?" she said.

"Yes, he was there. Just got introduced is all, no lengthy conversation. Seemed like everybody wanted a piece of him," he said. She noticed a slight, but definite, hesitation when she'd asked her last question. Something was going on. Calvin Grayson was good at some things, but not worth a damn at playing poker. The question then became, why would her husband be skittish, for that what he was, about answering a question relating to a high profile pol? She'd be keeping an eye on him, her husband. She suspected that he was playing with boys; and if he was, was the lieutenant governor one of his playmates? The man was married to a truly beautiful ex-model. Was she just arm candy, a political expediency? Anita Grayson doubted it; but, stranger things had happened.

He put down his drink and came to her. "Let's get physical," he said. She smiled.

"You want to put that great big thingy of yours inside of me?" she said, now giggling.

"Guilty," he said. He covered her left breast with his hand and massaged it through the material of her dress and paper-thin bra. She was a hot piece was his wife. She was every bit as good as Olivia Ellison, his second favorite piece. The thought made him smile. He'd have to be visiting Olivia soon; she deserved a dose of his nine inch dick, and she was after all his to command. Life had been good to Calvin Grayson. All he had to do to keep it that way was to be super-discreet. Yes, discreet was the word.

He let his hand trail down until he was squeezing the covered flesh of her vulva.

"God you are for sure one hot momma," he said.

"Well, if so, what are you waiting for, big boy, take me. Do me," she said. He did.

Again, Olivia is a part time interior decorator for Homestead Interior Design and Furnishings; she's sort of self-employed; she works out of our house as a decorator and sales agent for them. She gets most of her business by word of mouth from past customers though she does also get leads from the home company. That said, her business was more of a hobby than anything else, she makes a tenth of what I do. This last no doubt her reason for assuring me of her love and devotion and my importance to her sentient existence.

I was no fool. I hadn't seen any evidence of it before, but I had to believe that she'd been cheating on me more than she'd admitted to; she was just real good at keeping it hidden. But, as for that, the Preston Scott Agency would soon have the evidence—any evidence—of her perfidy both past and present if there indeed was any, that quite apart from her already alluded to admissions; and if so, if there were any evidence, she was dead meat.

I was sitting at my desk having just hung up the phone when my secretary buzzed me.

"Yes, Denise," I said.

"Mister Ellison, a Mr. Scott is here to see you," said Denise. "Said he had an appointment?" Denise was under strict orders to never let anyone gain access to me without an appointment; hence, her clear reluctance to recognize the importance of Mr. Preston Scott, my newly hired PI, and my very old friend from college days.

Preston and I had been tighter than a witch's cunt in years gone by. I employed his services on rare occasions when a client needed something special, usually to defend himself or herself from spousal attacks during a divorce. At any rate we had a long history.

It'd been a month since I'd called him; that, the same length of time since I'd been home. Odd thing about that last, she, Olivia, had not tried to contact me at all during that span of time. It was like she either didn't give a damn or was giving me time to get over my mad before doing so. Well, hell, I hadn't tried to contact her either.

"Send him in, Denise, I forgot to tell you about him. I was expecting him," I said.

I met him at the door to my office as Denise flagged him in. He was smiling.

"I take it from your smile that you have news," I said.

"Oh indeed I do," said Preston Scott. I smiled him to go on.

"Yes, well, let me begin with the bottom line, or lines if you prefer. Your wife is a prostitute. Mister Grayson is her pimp, and she—they—have been at it for some five years. I should add, he isn't fucking her, at least not recently as far as I can tell. And believe it or not he appears to be happily married.

"Is he bi do you know?" I said.

"Yes. And I haven't been able to find out for certain, but I don't think the wife, Anita Grayson's her name, knows about his interest in boys or the business he and your wife are involved in. The Graysons own three beauty salons and four gyms. He runs the gyms and his wife runs the salons. They've got some bucks.

"You know, Victor, most of the time, when I collect the goods on this or that spouse, I feel bad about it. Hate to see marriages go south. But, in this case your wife and her partner in crime are so far beyond the pale that I have to warn you to get your ducks in a row and get the hell outta Dodge muy prontero!," he said.

"Prostitute? Pimp? Five years' worth?" I said.

"Yes. I have 'em on tape and video both. I also have the statements on tape of some of her liaisons. The cops are going to have field day if you decide to out them. My guys talked to at least a dozen of her current and former clients who are willing to testify if we keep their wives, bosses, and significant others the hell outta the loop," he said. "I could've gotten more, but it would be more than superfluous to have bothered," he said.

"But, how... ?" I said.

"You're kidding, right? I can find out anything, Victor; the world's an open book, really. Bartenders, beauty salon workers, braggarts at the gyms: it was a piece of cake. They're dead meat, Victor. How dead will be your choice," he said.

"Sweet Jesus," I said. My bud took on a look, maybe tentative.

"Preston?" I said, reacting to his look.

"A friend of yours is one of her playmates, Victor," he said.

"A friend of mine?"

"Yeah, you do his taxes like you do mine," he said. He paused. I waited.

"Ronald McElroy," he said.

He'd stunned me. The lieutenant governor. "Boy oh boy oh boy!" I said.

"Yeah, at least that," he said.

"Okay, ducks in a row, got it," I said. "Anything else?"

"Only these, the evidence," he said, pushing two large manila envelopes across the desk to me. "I wouldn't look at the pictures or watch the videos; they're pretty intense. And, what they say..."

"About me?" I said, interrupting him in mid-sentence.

"Yeah," he said. I nodded. Would I look at them? Give a listen to the audio? I wasn't sure, but maybe not. I respected Preston's opinion on things, so probably not.

We talked a little longer and then he was gone. Now, I had to get moving and get things accomplished before she realized I was on to her. I did have questions, a lot of questions. Well, one can imagine. But, they'd have to wait a bit. Ducks in a row, that was the ticket. Had to take care of that stuff muy prontero as my bud had advised me. I also had to go home and keep up appearances for the short term just in case.

She sat across the table from him slowly shaking her head from side to side. "No, Calvin, for the final time no!" she said.

"Look, with just a modicum of care, and minimum of effort; we could be rich and that in no time," he said.

"I don't like it," she said. "Selling my body for a few bucks to get my rocks off is one thing. But drugs, getting in bed with those gangsters? Not good," she said.

"We make what, on the side, from the sex thing?" he said. "Maybe twenty or thirty G's a year total, and we split that?"

"Yes, I guess," she said.

"We could net ten times that much rockin' with the Gonzales brothers," he said. They have the product, we have the customers, customers that owe us if we get right down to it.

"Look, Livy, the salons and the gyms actually belong to Anita. Her inheritance funded the damn things. It's scary what could happen if she ever discovers our little side business. At least with the brothers we would be able to write our own tickets.

"And what happens when the Gonzales brothers decide they don't need us anymore. Then what?" she said.

"We just make damn sure that they do continue to need us," he said.

"If we actually did this stupid thing, what would be my role," she said. "I already have a husband who I can only hope is crying nightly in his beer, trying to get over his mad. But as to that, I'm beginning to doubt he ever will. It's been more than a month now, and he hasn't returned, called, sent along a postcard—nothing!" she said. Her friend smiled.

"Lucky for us," said Calvin. "It's given us time to set this other in motion. But to answer your question: you'd be helping me convince our more convincable clients that we could deliver to them that which they are probably already getting from some other supplier."

"I don't know. It's not something I feel good about," she said. "Plus, I actually love my husband. He's a little too square for the real world, but he is trustworthy and loving. I need what he has to offer, Calvin; well, apart from his nothing bedroom skills. Risking this thing with the brothers...

"I mean you've got Anita and your occasional boyfriends. For the record, who's at the top of your boy list now, Calvin? Is it that Johnson kid? Somebody new? At least in prison you'd have a cast of hundreds to choose from, probably. Me? Let's just say I don't fancy the mono-sex world of the state Bastille."

"Whatever," said Calvin, snickering. "We would not be handling the product. We would just be pointing likely well-heeled clients in the right direction and stepping back and letting Marcus and Jorge Gonzales and their ilk do the rest. Like I said, we'd never be getting our hands dirty." She nodded, but it was a definitely qualified nod.

"But, Livy, on another topic; how are you thinking of handling your erstwhile hubby? I mean he has been out there amongst 'em for a while now. Frankly, that's just a little bit scary. We do not need him poking his nose into our enterprises. And what happens if and when he does come home. Will it be open arms for him or something less?" said Calvin. "You gotta be thinking about that. I mean how to keep him calm, cool, and collected."

"Don't know just yet. But, I suppose I do have to start thinking about it. I'll be nice to him, but I figure I'll wait for him to make the first move sexually. He has to learn his place. But, at any rate, that's between him and me," she said. He nodded.

"Okay, but don't turn him off, or worse, run him off. We need him to not be in a vengeful snit down the line," he said. "He does have resources, as you and I have discussed. Should he decide to employ them it could usher in a very bad day for us."

"I understand. And, no, I do not want him in the know or getting in the way either. Those things are absolutes," she said. "I'll have to figure something out, and I will."

I swear she jumped two feet into the air when she saw me. I was leaning against the door jamb leading from the kitchen watching her balance her checkbook at the dinette table; well, I thought that was what she was doing.

"Victor! Jesus! You scared the snot outta me," she said.

"Sorry about that," I said, not elaborating after the fact.

"I—I—I am so glad you're home. My God, I am," she said. She had risen from her seat and come to me. She tendered me a hug and a sweet, if a more or less perfunctory, kiss on the lips. "Welcome home, my man," she said.

"Really?" I said. "You really missed me?"

"Of course!" she said.

"Hmm, and yet I haven't heard word one from you since the day," I said.

"I know. I knew you were angry. And, I also knew you wouldn't be answering any calls from me in the near term. I was giving you time to come to—well—a more understanding state of mind," she said. "I should say I was just about to the point where I was going to be tracking you down. And never doubt it, I did miss you. I missed you a lot."

I nodded toward her still open check book. "Doing a little balancing?" I said. She nodded.

"Yes, I was afraid I was going to have to tap into the savings for the rent this month. The checking account—well—since you left..." My turn to nod.

"So which is it?" I said.

"Huh?" she said.

"Which was it that you were missing the most me or my income?" I said.

"Truth?" she said. "Both."

"I'll put some cash in the account tomorrow," I said. "Wouldn't want our credit suffering, now would we." I wondered what she was doing with the money from her little side business. Figured she probably didn't want to be mixing the funds; I wouldn't were I her, I thought.

"How's that boyfriend of yours," I said. She took on a disgusted expression.

"I suppose you are referring to Calvin. He's not a boyfriend, Victor; just a friend. He's fine, and yes, I have talked to him some since you cut out on me. Lunches and one dinner. Now, can we leave the subject of Calvin the heck alone and get to solving 'our' problem? Really!" she said, a little too forcefully.

I looked at my watch. "Let's go out to dinner, Liv. Unless you've got a date with Calvin," I said. She seemed to be about to go off on me, but restrained herself. I snickered. I'd struck a nerve.

"Well, okay, I did plan to go to dinner with him tonight, but I will call and cancel. You're more important. Okay?" she said.

"What! you'd cancel a date with such a good lover?" I said.

"I told you, he's gay. We were not going to be doing anything you'd disapprove of," she said.

"No, you told me he was bi. Helluva difference," I said. "But, yes, do call and cancel. Well, I mean it is my first night back surprise or not." She nodded.

She went for her purse on the credenza and pulled out her cell. She dialed, waited, and was apparently answered. "Hi. Yeah, it's me. Gotta cancel. My hubby just got back. Yeah, me too. Thanks for understanding," she said.

"It was easy to figure out that it wasn't Calvin on the phone, more likely one of her dates. She had not used his name and the description of my return was a little too generic for it to have been someone in the know of our marital problems which I was more than certain good 'ole Calvin was."

"There, satisfied?" she said.

"A better question might be are you satisfied," I said.

She ignored me. "I have to freshen up, but we can go in maybe half an hour. Would that be all right?"

"Yes, sure," I said.

Anita Grayson was watching them closely ... the woman had a handsome but way too young stud smiling nervously as they talked and sipped their drinks. The woman was dressed provocatively, but not sluttily. What they were about to do, or maybe had already done was clearly obvious.

She'd gotten a heads up that her husband, Calvin Grayson, was pimping for some woman, and now she knew who the woman was: Olivia Ellison. She'd met her a couple of times at dos her husband had brought her to. She, the Ellison woman was some kind of interior decorator and had done some decorating at their gyms and salons; she was talented in her field.

At first she hadn't believed it. But, an overheard conversation on the house phone, had decided her to follow up on what she'd overheard, and now she was here, and now she knew it was true. And, now she was a mixture of angry and amused. Her husband, who thought he was so smart, had proven himself dumber than even she had thought possible.

She watched as the couple left together. Clearly this was a case of going to happen not had already happened. She wondered how the woman's husband would react to the scene. Hell, she knew how he'd react unless he was some wimpy assed pussy. For the moment she'd file away the evidence, evidence gotten on her cell phone's camera; there would be a day.

The food was good at the Momma's Little Taste of Italy, always had been. After dinner, on a whim, I wheeled us over to the Crescendo, a seventies style discothèque on the outskirts of town. She smiled as we turned into the parking lot.

"Gonna be a fun night, I guess," said Olivia.

"That's the idea," I said. Inside, we were able to find a table near the far wall enough away from the blaring speakers to hear ourselves talk as the occasion might arise.

The DJ was on a break. He'd left on some intermission music for the patrons and a few couples were boogying around the floor.

"Are we going to be good, Victor, you and me?" she said. I stared at her and wondered, what the question she'd asked would mean, if she knew what I in fact did know about her activities. I smiled.

"Don't actually know yet. I'm still not happy about the way you've been treating me, Olivia. I guess we'll just have to wait and see." I had it in mind to offer her a last chance before the axe would fall. And, if she did seize the opportunity to redeem herself, would I care in any event. She'd been hanging horns on me for so long that it was going to be more than difficult to get by it, at least for my part.

"Victor?" she said.

"Yes?" I said.

"This place has rooms." She rolled her eyes to indicate the upstairs floors where the Hotel Crescendo's rooms were located. I smiled. I felt like a relief pitcher coming in in the late innings to save the game. Well, she had expected to spend the evening on her back hoping for some faceless dude to pleasure her—and pay her. The good news was I'd be getting her ass for free. But, even if I'd had to pay, the way she looked tonight would have made it more than worth it. I wondered how much she charged.

"Let's get one," I said.

"Let's," she echoed. As I signed for the room, one of the other counter attendants—there were three—talked to her, appeared to know her. It was a tell: she'd used the Crescendo's accommodations before. Clearly, she was not a cheap fuck, only the best for my personal whore. Then it hit me: the attendant thought I was a john. I left my gold Cross pen on the counter. I wanted an excuse to come back.