A simple little tale as I dip my quill into the LW cesspool again after some time off.
Carly Simon: "But you gave away the things you loved, and one of them was me."
= = = =
A silver Mercedes sedan pulled into my driveway. Exiting from the driver's seat was a well-dressed man with what looked to be a Rolex watch on his wrist. I spotted a diamond stud on only his left ear as I answered the doorbell.
"I ain't buying. What do you want?"
"I'm here to pick up Irene."
"She's not here. She left with her boyfriend about thirty minutes ago. He has a much sportier car than you do. Some kind of red convertible."
His smug look faded fast.
"Maybe I have the wrong address. I'm looking for Irene Irving."
"Yeah, she's my roommate. Oh wait! Are you Grant Ricardo?"
"It's Brett. She's your roommate? I thought she was married."
"Well Brad you really did take the bait. She told me to tell you, wait for it, wait for it, 'SUCKER!' She pulls this stunt every couple of years. Gets a high ranking putz to fall for her bullshit and then sues the pants off of him and his company. Hope you don't have a family as she loves to destroy them."
To say he'd lost his swagger would be putting it mildly. His face was turning redder ever second.
"Oh and Bart, she said to tell you that she's not coming in on Monday. Hostile work environment, you know."
It wasn't long before Mercedes tire marks decorated the street in front of my house.
Finishing the beer in my hand I decided to spend the night in a hotel by the airport. Today's flight had been cancelled and I really didn't want to fight the traffic in the morning.
Locking up, I made my way across town and had dinner in the hotel dining room. When you travel a lot for business this all gets written off anyway.
+ + + +
Staring at the hotel ceiling, unable to get to sleep, I realized I had no exit strategy. That usually happens when you make rash decisions on the spur of the moment.
My name is Jerry Irving and I've been married to Irene for coming up on ten years now. She's been employed at her current job for about two years. I have a temper which normally stays out of sight. Sadly it didn't Sunday night.
Due to some butterfly flapping its wings halfway across the globe, my Sunday evening plane never made it to the city it was stopping at before coming to pick me up. Since there were only about a dozen of us on this flight, we got the shaft. Now I leave at 8 Am, which if the bedside clock is right, is about seven hours from now.
On my drive home from the airport yesterday I was able to reschedule my meetings until this afternoon. When I set my bag down in the kitchen I failed to see Irene plopped down watching her soaps, like she told me was going to be doing. Instead I could smell the perfume she loves to wear when we go out. Entering our bedroom Irene shrieked as she danced the dance of the half-dressed guilty.
"What are you doing home? You scared the shit out of me!"
"A better question is 'Where the hell do you think you're going?'"
"Well this is awkward, but I'm going out to dinner with Brett Ricardo, the district manager."
"Looks like another lie as your little travel bag on the bed seems to be packed. I suspect more than dinner is involved."
"It could turn out that way. A girl's got to be prepared. Now if you'll excuse me I need to finish getting ready. He'll be here in a few."
That temper I mentioned was bubbling to the surface. I entered the kitchen and stared at the knife rack. Tempting, but that'll be for another day. Instead I took the milk and juice cartons out of the fridge. Down the hall towards our bedroom is a linen closet. Opening said closet I put the milk and juice in with the linens. Our bookcase was just about the right size for what I needed so I pushed it close to the linen closet. Then I waited. Irene had to pass by me to leave. I didn't have to wait long.