Caroles Revenge

Carole Banning was floating in a pleasant world of soft, billowing clouds, as warm images from her past glided by.

She saw her parents, her brothers and sisters, old friends from her youth and then her college days. She saw her children, as well, laughing and playing as youngsters. So this is heaven, she thought contentedly, a sense of peace enveloping her mind.

But then the image of her husband, Mark, sailed slowly by, and the clouds began to darken and she could feel thunder and see flashes of lightning in the distance. And as she floated along, other images intruded on her as the clouds darkened further and became a violent storm. She saw the leering images of Peter and Paul Bourne, the malevolent presidents of the company for whom she had been working, and she saw quickening images of men and women, taunting her, tormenting her, touching her and using her. They all flashed by as if in a blur, and as thunder and lightning crashed all around her, she suddenly came to the realization that she was not in heaven, but in hell. Her sins had consigned her to everlasting torment, as she saw in a flash everyone who had used and abused her for the previous months, since she had been coerced into becoming the Bourne and Bourne Company's "liaison officer," a cruel euphemism for their in-house prostitute. It culminated in her being surrounded by a roomful of men who were swirling around the room doing extremely nasty things to her body.

From somewhere far away, she heard herself scream, then she awoke with a start to see Mark standing over her bed, a look of worry on his face. It took Carole several seconds to realize that she was not dead, but alive, covered in sweat and lying in her own bed. This can't be, she thought, I killed myself last night; I swallowed a handful of pills, sat down in the shower and died. But as consciousness slowly crept on her, she realized that she had somehow failed in her attempt to kill herself.

As Mark looked down on her with a look of pity, she began to recall the events that had led up to her suicide attempt, tears started to fall and she turned her head away from him.

"You should have let me die," she said in a thick, hoarse voice. "I'm worthless to you as a wife and mother."

"I don't know about that," Mark said as he pulled a chair next to the bed. "Whatever you've done, it's not worth dying over."

"I'm so ashamed," Carole said weakly. "I've treated you and the kids so horribly. I deserve to die for what I've done."

"Don't say that!" Mark said sharply. "Look, I've made coffee and I'll fix you some toast. You had a pretty rough go of it last night, and you scared the hell out of me, but life is worth living, and you've got to go on."

After Mark left the room, Carole looked up and saw the entrance to their bathroom standing empty, the door standing free against the wall and the doorjamb splintered. Apparently, Mark had broken down the door and saved her life, and at that thought she buried her head in the pillow and sobbed, all of the pent-up emotion flowing out in hot, bitter tears.

Mark returned with a cup of coffee and a plate of buttered toast, but set them down on the bedside table and knelt by the bed, putting his arm around her shoulder to calm her down. When she had finally cried herself out, he made her sit up and drink her coffee and eat a bite, and he watched his wife carefully as she slowly got some color back. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in late August, and he had sat up most of the night trying to decide what to do about Carole and his marriage to her before finally dozing off in the chair in his bedroom.

Twelve hours ago, consumed by anger, hate and jealousy, he had been ready to rid himself of Carole after finding out once and for all that his wife had become a true slut. He'd videotaped her the previous night having sex with over a dozen men in the back room of a strip club, the climax of several weeks' surveillance that had found her giving blow jobs and pulling trains out in the parking lot at her work. As a result, he had been prepared to throw her out of the house and file for divorce.

But her stupid attempt to kill herself in the shower had altered his thinking. He recognized it for what it was, a cry for help from a woman who was so desperate that she thought death was preferable to facing a shattered life and a bleak future. There were things he didn't understand, but he had learned some things the night before that had made him pause, things he hadn't put much stock in at the time. There had been the vacant, drugged-up look in her eyes the night before, and the alarming rise in Carole's drinking over the past few months. There had also been the comments in the elevator at her work several weeks earlier and the mention from one of the members of the party the previous night about having sex at the office as being, "part of her job."

And there was something else, too. After getting Carole back among the living and into bed, he had stared out into the night and he realized that whatever she had done, he still loved her and still cared about her. He needed to know what was going on, and he wasn't going to send her away without getting to the bottom of her behavior.

Carole felt a little bit better after getting a cup of coffee and a piece of toast down, but when she tried to get up to use the bathroom, the bedroom started spinning, and she had to fall back on the bed to keep from collapsing on the floor. Mark quickly got her up and helped her to the bathroom, where she dissolved in tears once again, and this time Mark didn't push her away, but held his wife tightly and let her cry herself out on his shoulder.

When she was finally calmed down, he helped her downstairs to the kitchen table, where she had another cup of coffee and another piece of toast. Mark poured himself a cup and sat down across from her. It was time for them to face the music.

"OK, dear, I want to hear about it," Mark said gently but firmly. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on, and right now I'm clueless as to how my loving wife of 22 years suddenly turns into some raving sex maniac. I want to hear it all, the truth and nothing but the truth. I promise I won't make any judgments until I've heard everything, but you've got to come clean. The time for lying is over. If we're going to continue in this marriage, you've got to level with me."

Carole sighed, but as she did, she felt a huge burden being lifted from her soul. She told him everything, how the Bournes had accused her of embezzling $150,000, how they said they had proof of her crime, how they would send her to jail if she didn't cooperate, how they had been convincing enough to send one poor woman to prison for six years when she had balked at becoming the company whore. She described her terror at suddenly being handcuffed for the first time in her life, and how she had reluctantly agreed first to have an afternoon tryst with the Brothers, and then to accept the Bourne's offer to pay back the person she'd allegedly stolen from in return for taking on the liaison officer's position.

And she also told Mark how she had soon come to enjoy much of the sexual attention, but how guilty she felt when she was sober and away from that environment, which was why she was drinking so heavily. It deadened her to what she was doing, to him, to her family and to herself.

Mark listened patiently and nodded his head. Carole's story was too fantastic not to be true, especially after what he'd learned of the Bournes during his recent investigation into Carole's activities. She couldn't have made up a story like that. His only critical comment came when she told him that she'd felt trapped, that she couldn't subject him and her family to the possibility of an expensive trial defense and possible prison time if she was convicted, as the Bournes had convinced her that she would be if she fought them.

"My God, Carole, didn't you realize that I would give up every penny I have, everything I own, to defend you from a charge like that," Mark said. "That hurts me almost as much as all the sex, the fact that you didn't trust me enough to understand that I would have stood behind you against anything. Hell, I'm your husband, and I stood up in your church and vowed to keep you for better or worse. Remember?"

Carole hung her head and felt the tears start again, so Mark took her hands and told her not to cry, that everything was going to be all right. Mark then stood up and paced around the kitchen, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got, not at Carole, but at the Bournes. He had already made a few snap analyses and decided that he was going to save his marriage, no matter what it took. He began from the assumption that Carole had always been scrupulously honest before all this began – hell, when she was younger, she'd been honest to a fault – and that she had never once during that time given him reason to doubt her faithfulness. So if she were honest and loyal by nature, then she never would have cheated on him willingly. Without the Bournes' evil machinations, she never would have begun having sex on the side and lying to him about her activities; indeed, she would never have even considered it. So the blame rested with the Brothers and not his wife. She was the victim of a cruel scam, and she needed his help, not his condemnation.

"I believe you," Mark said suddenly. "It makes sense now. Without their dirty work, we'd still be the same happy couple we were before all this started. I love you, and I'll get you out of this. I promise."

At that, Carole stood up on wobbly legs and burst into tears again, but these were tears of joy. The man she loved, the man she'd always loved, believed in her and was willing to overlook her sordid behavior to continue loving her, and he was willing to help extricate her from her situation.

"I love you," she whispered and they kissed passionately for the first time in weeks. When they broke the kiss, she continued, "I'll quit my job; I just won't go back; I don't want to go back. I'll face whatever the Bournes throw at me. Let them arrest me; we'll beat 'em."

"Not so fast," Mark said as he broke the embrace and began pacing the room again. Mark's mind was thinking several steps ahead, and he realized that it wasn't enough for Carole to break free from the Bournes. They had to be stopped, permanently. "You say they've done this to how many others? Thirteen? My God. We can't let this continue. Even if you quit, they'll just do it again to some other poor woman. We can stop them; hell, we will stop them. They think we're powerless against their money and their influence? Well, I've got news for them. They just fucked with the wrong son-of-a-bitch."

And, in fact, if the Bournes hadn't been so arrogant and self-absorbed, they might have thought twice about setting their sights on Carole. In their blind self-centeredness, they had forgotten one of the fundamental rules of business: never pick a fight with anyone who buys ink by the barrel.

The Bournes, on their one encounter with Mark Banning, had taken him for a wimp, because he was fairly short in stature, only about 5-foot-9, while they were 6-foot-3 and muscular, and he had remained quiet and almost docile most of the evening. They had heard his occupation, copy editor for the daily newspaper, and envisioned a wage-earning grunt; Mark had chosen not to volunteer any further information, and they had not asked.

In fact, Mark wasn't just a copy editor; he was chief copy editor on the news desk, a fairly lofty and important position at a newspaper of its size, a large metropolitan daily in a good-sized Southern city. He had overseen a staff of a dozen editors and page designers for 12 years, and he was one of a select group who decided which stories went on which page in each day's news section, and how they were played. He was good at his job, as a wall full of press awards in his office showed.

But there was even more to Mark than met the Bournes' eye. Indeed, if they'd used their heads and thought back a number of years, they probably would have run screaming in the opposite direction from Mark and his wife. For Mark had had a very solid career in newspapers before he ever became chief of the news desk. He had fallen in love with newspapering in high school, and had earned a scholarship to the state university. There he had worked all four years for the campus daily in a variety of positions, culminating his senior year as sports editor. It was during his tenure as sports editor that he had ferreted out a major grade-fixing scandal at the university that eventually forced the resignation of both the athletic director and the men's basketball coach. That had earned him a major national college journalism award and a job right out of college as sports editor for a twice-weekly suburban paper.

Mark had worked there for 2½ years, during which time he had married Carole, the college sweetheart he'd met in an economics class the second semester of his junior year. He'd jumped at an opening at the paper where he was still employed covering the police beat, and after three years doing cops, he'd moved over to cover city government, which he had done for another four years. During his time as a reporter, he'd earned a reputation around town as a deceptively quiet man, with a pleasant demeanor that masked a spine of steel and occasional flashes of righteous anger. He had become known as a tough, dogged reporter who was fair and honest. And along the way, he'd become acquainted with, occasionally even friends with, virtually everyone who was anyone in law enforcement and government in the city and state. Even his adversaries respected him for his abilities.

But he'd grown weary of the grind of reporting. His kids were arriving and growing up, and he'd sought a little more stability in his career, so he'd jumped when an assistant's position on the desk opened up. Thus it had been many years since his byline had appeared in the paper, allowing the myopic to forget about his existence.

Mark would use the skills and contacts he'd accumulated over the years to extract sweet revenge. He'd get his wife out this demeaning situation and see that the Bournes were sent to prison, where they belonged. So for the next hour, he and Carole mapped out a sketchy strategy for bringing the Bournes down. They compiled a list of potential charges that could be pursued against the brothers, and a list of key people they thought would be able to help them in their quest. When they were finished, they were both exhausted, so they'd taken a long nap. There was an element to his strategy that he hadn't discussed with his wife, one that troubled him, and he felt they needed rest and the right environment to broach the subject with her.

So after awakening again, they had showered, dressed and gone to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant, where they had pasta, but no cocktails. Neither one felt much like drinking after the events of the previous night, and as they ate they had discussed various angles of their plot against the Bournes. They were working on cheesecake when Mark dropped his head, as if he was deep in thought. He took off his glasses and stroked his moustache while contemplating his next words. Finally, he looked up at his wife, this precious, emotionally fragile person he'd committed his life to so many years before, and his eyes were moist.

"Carole, my love, there is something you need to do to make this thing work, and it's going to be extremely hard for both of us," Mark said. "Tomorrow evening, I want you to pack up some things and leave for a while." Carole's face fell and she started to protest, but Mark waved for her to listen. "Believe me, I've thought this through, and the best way for this plan to succeed is if the Bournes think they're winning. You say their goal is to break up happy marriages? Well, let's let them think they're breaking us up, give them a false sense of security, and get them to let their guard down. That's one reason why I didn't want you to just quit. Also, we need an insider, someone who can work in the building to gather evidence and recruit allies. You mentioned some people there who might be willing to help us; maybe there are others. Hopefully, in the next few weeks, we'll establish a small network of people funneling information to the authorities.

"And there's something else, and please don't take this the wrong way," he added. This was going to be the hard part for Mark. "Right now, you aren't mine, not completely. You belong to them as much as you do to me, and by that I don't mean that I've ever owned you, but you know what I mean. I love you, and I can forgive you for fucking these people behind my back. I understand that you had little choice in the matter. But I still can't get around my feelings of jealousy at seeing you give yourself to those people like that, and until I do, I don't think I can love you the way you deserve to be loved. Until you're free of them and wholly mine, especially since you're still going to have to perform for them, there will always be that feeling of betrayal – and I know that's a little irrational – but that's just how I feel. In time, I think it will work itself out, but we need some time apart to let this thing succeed. And when we do get back together, trust me, it will be worth the wait."

Carole tried, but she couldn't prevent the tears from falling. She knew Mark was right in everything he'd said, but it was still hard. In spite of everything she'd done to him over the previous months, he'd been the rock that had held her together, and her home had been a place of refuge that had been a big part in keeping her relatively sane. Carole cried most of the way home, and eventually cried herself to sleep, with her arms and legs wrapped around her husband. The next morning, though, she felt better. She had resigned herself to the fact that this was something that had to be done, like it or not. So they called their oldest son, Mike, at the university, where he was entertaining their other two children, Christy and James, who had driven over to spend the weekend to attend a football game and enjoy the campus. Mark told Mike he needed to follow his sister home, that they had something important to tell them.

The kids reacted with some dismay at the news, but Mark and Carole explained that this was not a permanent separation, that they were not getting a divorce, but that Carole was in trouble and that they each needed to be alone to work through some things so that the situation could be resolved favorably. The kids had sensed for quite a while that there was something wrong in their parents' marriage, so while they were upset, they understood. Mark and Carole had done a good job creating responsible almost-adults of their children, and they agreed to stand behind their parents, come what may.

Thus began the longest two months of Carole's life. She rented a room at a decent but inexpensive motel that specialized in boarders who were on temporary, but extended, business in the city. She was thus alone for the first time in years, and her feelings were conflicted. She was happy that her husband still loved her and believed in her, but she was heartbroken that she could not express her love back to him. And there was the fact that she would still have to fuck these people at Bourne and Bourne, most of whom she had come to despise. Nevertheless, she plunged into her task with grim resolve, and the fact that she could now see an end to her ordeal, a light at the end of the tunnel, helped steel herself to her work.

The first person she went to was Mary Jones, the Bournes' private secretary, who handled Carole's affairs in the liaison office. Carole and Mary had become friends over the previous months, and Carole knew that Mary was torn about what she was being made to do to Carole. Over lunch that Tuesday, Carole outlined her plan and begged the pretty little black woman for her help. Mary said that she would, but on one condition.