"I don't understand you, George! You're a brilliant engineer with a great future. As you're well aware, the powers-that-be want me up at Corporate. Hell, last week I recommended you to take over here for me, but..."
"But what, Ed?" I asked my boss trying my best to hide my growing irritation.
"It's none of my business, but damn it, it is my business!"
"Get to the point, Ed."
"Look, I like you, George. I like you a lot..."
"Get it out."
"It's not your professionalism, your management skills or any thing to do with your job performance. Hell, you may be young, but you're absolutely the best we got."
"So what is it? What's your problem, Ed?"
"You know damned well what it is. It's your private life."
"What about my private life? Just what does that have to do with running this division?"
"Look, over the years I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt and salacious rumors about you and your wife...what you and she do for...how should I put it...entertainment?"
The past weekend had been a major pain-in-the-ass, no, make that a disaster, and now, not surprisingly, it was being thrown in my face. One minute I was poised to leap frog over colleges fifteen years senior to me, and now it looked like I was about to be canned. It sure looked as though I had better polish up my resume.
It's not like I ever tried to hide anything, but I had always thought it best to be at least circumspect, you know, maintain a level of plausible deniability. But now, with my career on the line and with everything very much out in the open, I decided that my best course of action was to be bold. One thing my old man taught me at an early age was that if someone put you into a defensive posture, my best hope for coming out on top was take the initiative away by going on the offense. I had applied that rule to everything I had ever done, and that principal had served me well. It never occurred to me to do otherwise.
"They aren't rumors," I said flatly watching with satisfaction as my fat slob of a boss nearly choked. Actually, Ed had been a great boss. He really wasn't fat, just a little pudgy with a typical middle-aged gut, but I was pissed.
"You mean..."
"Look... how should I put this? My wife... my wife's a slut. A first class slut. A cock-sucking slut of the first order. The girl craves dick, lots and lots of dick. You have a problem with that?"
"Well, I, er, uh... Damn it man, that's just what I mean! How can you let her carry on like that? How can you just... pass her around? If Corporate ever found out... For God's sake man, she's your wife!"
"That's right. She's my wife, my slut wife. Since when is my wife's sex life the business of Corporate?"
"Since I recommended you to take over as Division Manager... Look, I've overlooked all this because, frankly, you're the best man I have. But now... I can't recommend you, and I'll have to explain why."
"Why do you have to explain anything? Why do I have to explain anything? It's my private life."
"No, not anymore, George. Your private life is now very much public knowledge. As long as it was just rumors, I could ignore the sordid stories, but... damn it, George! It's plastered all over the front page of the goddamned newspaper! Look at this! 'SEX RING BUSTED FOR WHITE SLAVERY' What a headline! It goes on, 'George Zinter, Project Manager for Tylock Industries was arrested for prostituting his wife, Kaylee, during a sting operation conducted by local vice police.' Good god, man!"
"Ed, the charges were dropped. No one was ever enslaved! I wasn't prostituting my wife. Hell, she does it for free! I just told the guy..."
"An undercover vice cop?"
"Yeah, well, but I didn't know that at the time. Kaylee wanted me to invite some guys over. Word got around the bar that I was organizing a gangbang. He approached me, said he wanted in. I was asking the guys that I was inviting to bring over some chips and dip... Hell, I didn't know the guy, so I told him to bring over a case of Jack Daniels as the price of admittance."
"Oh, God damn...How could you get yourself in this mess?"
"There isn't any mess. The charges were dismissed."
"And Tylock Industries has a PR disaster on its hands. You think that Corporate will just overlook this?"
"Well, if they have a problem, then, well, um, well,I guess...crap! There's gonna be a problem."
"That's an understatement. I ought to fire you right now, but I can't replace you... Damn!..." Ed fidgeted while he tried to think up a way out of the mess I had gotten myself into. "Look, maybe we can work something out."
"What? Would it help if I brought her over to give you a blowjob?"
"Don't get contrite with me! I'm just trying to understand. Understand how you allowed this to happen. Understand it so that I can put a good spin on it."
"That's easy. I love my wife."
"You love your wife? You call whoring her out every weekend..."
"I don't whore her out. She has needs. Needs that I can't satisfy all by myself."
"She's a nymphomaniac?"
"Oh, I guess you could call her that, but it's not like she's some insanely mad fucking machine. She's just a needy slut."
"That still doesn't explain your behavior. Just how in the hell did all this get started?"
"Well, it started before I ever met her."
"You mean she's always been..."
"A slut? Yeah, I suppose she has. Maybe not in grade school, but ..."
"Go on George. I'm listening."
I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was indeed listening. He was always a randy old bastard, quick with a dirty joke or a sordid tale. Other than the occasional round of golf or drinks at the his club after work, I'd never really socialized with him, except of course when he occasionally invited Kaylee and me to join his wife, Silvia and him for dinner. I had nothing to lose at this point. So with my career on the line, I told him.
"Kaylee was the first person I met when I first moved here. As I recall, it was a Sunday afternoon. Fresh from receiving my Masters Degree in Mechanical Engineering from State U, I was to report to my new job here at Tylock Industries first thing Monday morning. In addition to three new suits, some old clothes and my venerable stereo system, my only other possessions were my shaving kit and my immaculate '66 Mustang GT.
I walked into the lobby of the Holiday Inn and gazed into the most incredible blue eyes I'd ever seen. She smiled, that warm bright smile that I love so much. I was dumb struck, and just stared at her. Her long silky black hair, partially obscured one eye. Even in her green coat uniform, she was oozing sex appeal. In her cheery voice she said, "Good afternoon, Sir! Welcome to Holiday Inn. May I be of assistance to you?"
"Uh, uh, yeah. I need a room."
"Smoking or non-smoking."
"Non-smoking."
"Two doubles or a king?"