A Nice Guy

Another short story with some details skipped for brevity. At least it's longer than 750 words this time.

"... and he's a nice guy."

Were the two talking about me? Emily, my pregnant and leaving PA, was taking Brandi, her replacement, through the office, introducing her. Heading up the all-female accounting department, I jokingly referred to myself as the token male. Mindful of the #metoo movement and sexual harassment in general, I've always kept myself at a distance to the 15 females who make up the department. So, unless Emily was talking about another male who walked in, she had to be referring to me, Ed Black, 34, 6 even, sandy hair and lean.

'Nice guy' has a two-edged sword sort of ring to it, doesn't it? On one hand it means someone who, is nice to be around, does the right things, and minds his manners. However, especially when women use the term, it often carries an overtone of weakness, a bit of a wuss.

My mind raced, wondering if my wife of twelve years agreed. Whenever we had to decide where to eat, for example, I let her choose. Same with where to go on vacation. Those things mattered far less to me than being with her and our two girls, 8 and 10.

Same with work. Don't let anybody tell you accounting is all hard and fast. There are many ways to skin the numbers cat, and before making decisions, I'd always taken input from the people who have to live with those decisions day in and day out. Rarely did I simply force a decision down their throats.

So, yeah, I could understand Emily's description of me. Still, I was curious about the context--was she saying I'm a nice guy in a complimentary or derogatory way? So I did what a wuss would do, I stopped, lurked and eavesdropped. Bad thing to do, and in hindsight, maybe a mistake.

With a voice dripping disapproval, Emily continued, "One thing you have to be aware of, and protect him against, is his wife Melinda, who's cheating on him with our CFO, Horace Gregson. She usually calls around eleven a few days a week, ostensible to say hi, but in reality she's checking to see if he'll stay in the office while Horace goes to their house to canoodle. If I told him, it would break his heart. I can't do it to him, because he's such a nice guy."

Silence descended as my new assistant apparently absorbed the bombshell. Emily obviously regarded me as a wuss, a nice one, to be sure, but a wuss nonetheless. Did she think I'd crumble and melt at the revelation that my 33-year old brown-eyed brunette had become a cheating slut? Was she trying to protect our esteemed CFO? What the hell?

I silently retreated and came back with a little cough to announce my approach. "Ladies. Is Emily filling you in on all the gossip and intrigue around the palace?"

Both laughed a little nervously, and Brandi said, "You seem to have a competent and loyal staff. And since she's leaving, she didn't even need to gild any lilies. I'm looking forward to taking the reins tomorrow and working with the team."

I smiled. "Our CPA firm has gotten a new IT guy, and I have to go meet him. I'll probably not be back. So, see you tomorrow, with the training wheels off. Emily, remember Friday at Bangers." Our department had a farewell party planned for after hours.

--

There was no new IT guy I had to see. A block from my office, I pulled into a strip mall and called Simon, my older brother and best buddy. "We need to talk. Like now."

He tried to inject a little humor. "Hey bud, you're not my wife."

"For which you can be thankful. How soon can you get home? This is urgent."

"Crap. Okay, Bro, I'm on my way." Two years ago, his best friend got cheated on and I wanted the contact info for the PI he'd gotten to nail the bitch. That was my official reason. Unspoken was my need for a bro hug. With our parents deceased, he was my only family and the only person on the planet I could trust.

I rang his doorbell, and his clearly concerned wife Sandy opened. After a brief hug, she said, "Come in. Simon's on his way. What's up?"

"Let's wait till he gets here, that way I only need to say it once."

"That bad? A Blue Moon while we wait?"

About ten minutes later, we heard the garage door, and Simon came in from the garage. After the needed bro hug, we decamped to the living room.

"I heard less than an hour ago Melinda is cheating with my boss. In my bed." The only sound in the stunned silence was my sob.

"Holy shit," Simon said.

"I can't believe it," Sandy followed.

"Me neither, Sandy," I added, shaking my head.

"Are you sure?" she said.

With a sigh I raised my hands, palms up. "Until I see it with my eyes I can't be sure sure, but I overheard my PA, who's pregnant and leaving, telling her replacement. They didn't know I could hear, so they had no reason to make a joke about it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I dunno. Murder? Suicide? Murder-suicide? Any suggestions?"

"Whoa, bro, slow down the bus. There has to be a better way to respond. From Derek's divorce, I learned we're a no-fault state. That means you can divorce Mel's ass without proof or a reason. You simply say you want a divorce, split the assets and move on. So you don't need evidence or any crap like that. Simply walk out and move on."

Aghast, I almost screamed, "What?"

"Simon, behave yourself. Ed's hurting. Do you love Melinda?" Sandy handed me a tissue box.

"Hell, yeah. If I didn't, I'd easily kick her ass into next year and move on. I thought we had a good thing. This feels like my heart has been ripped out and gutted with a butcher's axe. All her subtle put-downs of the past few months suddenly make sense. Her new hero has everything on me--he's younger, smarter, more attractive, richer, for all I know a bigger dick, and of course he has position on me. Why make do with the underling when you can have the boss? Shit."

Simon sat up and adopted an all-business attitude. "Okay, then you're gonna have to confront her, but you can only do that with hard evidence. If you challenge her now, she'll do the politician dance: deny, deny, deny. And humiliate you further, saying you're an insecure little weenie."

All I could do was nod. I wasn't even angry yet, just stunned, devastated and above all, hurt. This was the woman I'd laid down my life for. And her thanks for that was this?

Continuing, Simon asked, "Do you still have your baby monitors?"

"Yeah, but they're somewhere in the basement, and finding them will take a year."

"Alright, Ed, time to go shopping. Sandy, want us to pick up pizza on the way back?"

"Thanks, but I have a spaghetti casserole in the making. Good luck."

--

Simon's experience with his buddy's divorce showed up in the places we shopped and stuff we bought.

When I got home, I left everything in the trunk and played Dad as usual. The kids yapped and chatted like always, and we all helped Mom clear the kitchen and get the dishwasher started. Then I took my time looking over the girls' homework while Melinda retreated to our bedroom.

After the girls had their stories read and fell asleep, I went to my home office and got on my computer. Melinda, who did accounts receivable for the stationery company we used, had a nook in the kitchen for hers, although she never brought work home and used her phone for pretty much everything.

I Googled divorce until my head swam. The more I read, the more my shock turned to anger. Melinda's selfishness was going to hurt more than ten other people. And they accuse men of thinking with their little heads, what was she thinking with? Her pubic hair?

Around ten, our normal bedtime, the bitch leaned into my study. "You coming to bed?" How did she do it? Her voice was as loving and normal as every day. The smile on her face matched the loving look in her eyes. How long had she been spreading her legs for my boss? And why him? Okay, he had more money and other things, but he had a family, too. Three kids. What did my Melinda see in him to make her jeopardize all our lives and happiness? I just didn't get it.

"No. I have something I'm halfway with. I won't be too long but I have to finish it."

"Okay, goodnight." She blew me a kiss and left. When did that happen? In all our years, neither of us blew each other a kiss inside our house. We always took a few steps and kissed the other on the lips. Mentally, I slapped my forehead. Asleep--I'd been asleep at the switch. When was the last time I'd taken her out for a nice dinner without it being Valentines or something where it was expected? Slap, slap, slap. I had taken her for granted. Sure, she'd taken me for granted too, but I didn't control what I could. I'd have to fix that.

If I wanted us to stay together.

Did I?

To determine that, I needed to know more. After an hour, I suspected she had fallen asleep, so I crept to the kitchen softly, Lifting her phone from the charging cradle, I opened it, and paged through her contacts. No Horace Gregson. But I saw a Hannah Gentry I didn't know, and my heart died inside me. She'd simply faked a woman, using the same initials. Tens of emails, many of them using our company's email server. I copied all of them over to my personal email.

After installing a clone to my phone, I checked her text messages. Same thing. Back about four months, as best as I could tell in the limited time. Again, I copied everything over, which took a long time. Then I went back and deleted all traces of my sendings.

When I was done, I put her phone back, turned off the light and went back to my office.

--

The following day, I faked a cough and called in sick. After everyone had left, I started going through the emails and text messages, which was slow going. Evidently, they had connected at my company's last Christmas party. I'd noticed the two of them chatting, but not more than is typical for spouses at occasions like these. From the emails, however, it seemed like something clicked, especially with Melinda. Horace was what I would call typical male opportunistic flirty, but Melinda's responses were dangerously close to the edge of acceptability. She joined our city's art museum as a patron and at her unction, he did, too. I'd never paid any attention to Melinda's sudden interest in the arts and, to be frank, was grateful she left me out of it. She told me they asked her to volunteer on the finance committee, and since she had regular contact with many doctors the barely spoken idea was she'd rope more of them in to donate and look all civic-like. From the emails and texts, though, I learned that she had not joined any committee, except the Horace Dick Admiration Committee, which rotated between the Hilton, Marriott and Westin hotels, apparently so as to not establish a pattern. Until they hit upon the brilliant idea of saving money by defiling our marriage bed.

Damn. The conniving, lying hussy.

But... the trail included something more nefarious than setting body-slapping dates and naked pictures. Horace, I learned, was skimming money from our company, and using Melanie to do it. A light bulb went on in my head. Horace's flirting and seduction of my wife wasn't about her sex appeal or vagina. After leading her on with a never-ending stream of flattery, and several trysts where he went out of his way to eat her to countless orgasms, he broached the romantic idea of the two of them abandoning their spouses and, with a few purloined millions, disappearing to live out an idyllic life with no cares except what positions to add to their sexual repertoire.

Initially, Melinda treated the idea as a joke. He didn't push it, but waited until her greed and narcissism did the selling for him. He apparently had set up a company in, where else, the Caymans, with a bank account to match. She apparently had started using fake invoices to bill our company, which he authorized for direct payment to the Caymans bank account.

Not only was I shocked at the blatant criminality of it, what really pissed me off was he was using my department, most likely to pin the whole thing on my supposed incompetence if it got discovered. Furious outrage didn't even begin to describe my reaction. The bastard was setting me up to go to jail while stealing my wife. Seeing his plan from a distance, I doubted he would take her with him. To be honest, Melinda is a wonderful woman, or should I say was? But she was hardly what one would call a stunner any more. A few stubborn pounds remained from two childbirths and not too much exercise, her complexion was pale and Father Time remained undefeated in his wrinkle painting campaign. She no doubt knew that, which could have explained the alacrity with which she fell for his flattery. That being the case, it would surprise me not one whit if Horace decided to abandon the loser's wife, or maybe even kill her, when he absconded with the millions she'd helped him collect.

Son of a biscuit eating boa constrictor.

I sniffed. Not on my dime, you crooked asshole.

What could I do? Who could I talk to? The only lawyer I knew was our company's corporate lawyer. Of course he should be brought in, but if I approached him cold, the first thing he would do is run to Horace, handing him a knife to kill and bury me, career-wise, if not literally.

Again, I called Simon. "Dude, this thing is getting way, way, more intense. I took the day off and you need to, also. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but we could be talking high crimes, life and death. Meet me at the Horse and Trough. Now."

"OK, but this better be good, not just a crybaby session."

--

After getting a booth, I laid out the long and twisted plot.

Whistling, he sat back. "I take back my crybaby comment."

"Apology accepted," I said. "I need the name of a shark divorce lawyer and a shark corporate lawyer."

"The first one is easy. Brenda Hawkins makes every divorce lawyer quiver in their boots. But I have no clue about the other one."

"Fine, let's start with her and maybe she'll know somebody that swims the same waters."

--

After a few lawyer sessions, Ms. Hawkins called in some white collar crime unit of the FBI, who took the lead. They had the means to track down all the accounts and their numbers, but that didn't happen quickly. Fortunately, they had solid proof that I was to be an innocent framed victim, not a perp. That was a huge relief.

One morning, our doorbell rang. Distracted in her morning rush, Melinda opened.

"Melinda Black?"

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"I'm Special Agent Hubert Farham, and you're under arrest for..." and he proceeded with an impressive list of heinous white collar crimes and her Miranda rights. Fortunately she was dressed for work, so she didn't have to go to the police station in her pajamas.

"Honey, this is a massive misunderstanding. Can you organize me a lawyer and bail?"

With a cold look, I simply said, "No. Call your fuckbuddy Horace. He has more money."

A hysteria bomb went off as she cussed, yelled and screamed at me, accusing me of things I'd never even heard of.

The Feeb looked at me with a weird, puzzled expression, like what kind of ogre am I to not stand by my woman?

With a simple shrug I explained. "She's cheating on me with my boss, and the two of them are stealing money from our company, with the plan to pin it all on me while they skip the country with their stolen millions." Melinda stopped her caterwauling immediately, shocked at the calm way I flayed open their plot.

To finish, I continued, "What she doesn't know is once the money is all secured and transferred elsewhere, he plans to kill her and keep all the money for himself. He has another floozy in Costa Rica and she's happy with none of the money, just him." That last part I simply made up and added to torment her.

To say Melinda was shocked would be an understatement, and she exploded in another round of protests and invective.

I simply waved the cop and his captive away and closed the door.

Epilogue

The FBI, local cops and the owner worked together to gather all the facts. They had tapped the company's phones, so they had no trouble getting convictions for my boss and wife. She got three years and he twelve.

His wife and I got easy divorces. It took me more than a year to get over the loss of my love and the backstabbing. I helped Gregson's wife a lot, not sexually, but talking. Our five kids all got along well. We both appreciated having someone in the same position to talk to. Nature being what it is, though, conversation eventually led to more... because I'm such a nice guy.