Heide and Merl and Maria
By greenday0418
This is one possible ending to Odiouser's, Can You Cheat in an Open Marriage. I followed what he had written, expanded the plot and characters to a surprising end. Thanks to sbrooks103X for his editing skills and the writing lessons that I have found to be priceless. And thanks to the original author, Odiouser, for a touch up afterward.
*****
I knew that I still loved her, maybe in some twisted way, even more than ever. I found her amazing career path to be, well, amazing. She seems so strong-willed and in charge. Not to mention that she seems to have become the most accomplished femme fatal since Cleopatra. But, it seems she still sees something in our marriage that is greatly important to her.
On the other side of that proverbial coin, she had blinded me with bald-faced lies, had sex with a very large number of guys of all descriptions so long as they had money. I am sure not even she knows that number. And she willfully spends a majority of her week in the arms of men, not her husband.
I won't fret over the notion of broken marriage vows. To me, that is an aerie-fairy thing that no one really pays much credence to. I don't even recall exactly what our vows had been. I know we used one of those more modern, less patriarchal versions that are popular in this century.
I was a bit concerned about STD's, but I had to assume that a courtesan who is a million-dollar property would be very well protected and tested very frequently. I knew that she had given up four nights a week with me to play the field, and that hurt a lot. But I also understood that we did not usually have sex those nights anyway. Sex, when we had it, was mostly in daytime hours and was stellar. Based on what little I knew of the sex lives of people our age, I would venture that we had a well above average sex life. Certainly qualitatively, and maybe even quantitatively.
I had to reluctantly admit to myself that I still loved her and maybe always will. But does she truly love me? I realized that I don't even know what 'Love' really is. I do understand that the overpowering sexual component of marriage is clearly separate from all the other feelings two people have for each other. But I think it takes both to make a real marriage.
If she were to tell me she wanted to stay happily married but that her sex had to be reserved only for paying clientele and the occasional Spencer or Rudolf, then, of course, we would be done for. Even if she were a world-class chef and conversationalist, I wouldn't call that a marriage.
Or turn that around. Would I willingly leave and divorce her if I was guaranteed a free pass to frequent sex with her? I don't think so. Yeah, I would want the free pass, call it a Platinum membership card for Rye Balled, but then I would want to hook up with a new woman for the many other things of married life. I do not want to come home every evening to an empty home. That's not even a home. God, what a deep thinker I can be.
One thing was starting to clear up through the haze. We cannot go on like this, with her leading the life she is and me pretending to be clueless. If we have any chance of surviving, we absolutely have to get her out of her current employment.
I honestly think I could maybe tolerate her getting way more sex than I was, but my ego would not allow me to live within the community knowing I was a cuckold to the loosest woman in town. Sorry to be so thin-skinned and fragile.
So, she would have to agree to quit the job and lifestyle, but I am almost sure she wouldn't. I equally doubt she would agree to moving far away from here and starting over. I finally drifted off to sleep.
END OF Odiouser's Can You Cheat in an Open Marriage
Forgetting to set my alarm, I slept until almost 8:00. Heide was gone already, which was okay by me. I needed time to finish searching the house, so I called my boss, Albert Falmouth, CEO of FinCo.
"Albert, Merl here. Can I take some time off? I have to solve some problems at home, and I need to focus."
"You're not cheating on Heide, are you?"
"No, nothing like that. How long can I take off without causing any problems?"
"Take a month off, and we'll talk. Jema and her PA Arturo can cover your division so well you could retire today."
"Sounds good. I should call Jema and explain what I have going on."
"I'll handle it. Relax and enjoy yourself. Maybe you can get your wife to stay home with you more often."
"What do you mean, Albert?"
"Oh, um, well, you've told me about all the nights you are alone until late, um. Merl, I have, um, another call. Don't worry about a thing. Goodbye."
That was strange because I never talked to him about my wife.
I fixed myself some cereal and toast and thought about where to search next, the attic, spare bedroom, or the garage. I decided to start with the attic because the ceiling opening and ladder were at the hall's end. I took a flashlight from a kitchen drawer and pulled the ladder down. Climbing up, I found I could stand upright under the roof's ridge. The attic was empty except for a laptop and router sitting over our bedroom ceiling.
WHAT? A LAPTOP OVER MY BEDROOM?
The screen was black, but a video screen popped up showing our bedroom when I touched the mouse pad. I searched the directory and found the hard drive was a two terabytes drive, and a folder labeled Daily had 1484 mp4 files.
I was stunned, and at the other end of the emotional spectrum, I was homicidal.
I clicked on one file dated Tuesday, three weeks ago. I was working that day. It must have been motion activated as Heide walked in and out of the room several times, but the time in the lower corner of the video showed two hours had elapsed. When it started again, my wife was wearing slutty lingerie I had never seen before. She was followed into the room by a man undressing as he walked. Naked, he rolled onto his back, and I could see it was my old friend Spencer.
When I was able to move again; move, hell, I had to breathe again! I closed off the video, so the picture of our bedroom was back up. Once I was back down in the hall, and the attic was closed up, I started to sob, no tears, just hysterical sobbing. Five minutes later, after several deep breaths, I went into the spare bedroom. Now I was on a mission to find the truth, and I made quick work searching the dressers, bed, and adjoining bathroom.
The closet had some clothes hanging in it, and when I slid them to the right, there was a board, about 24" high by 18" long, screwed into the wall by four screws, one in each corner.
I remembered seeing a screwdriver on the shelf above me and unscrewed all four.
When I removed the board, I was looking at a safe, slightly smaller than the opening. It had a dial and a lever, so I tried the lever, but nothing happened. Somewhere in my memory, I remember Albert showing me on his office safe, that when he closed it during the day, he could turn the dial to the right, two numbers. The safe door felt like it was locked when you pulled the lever up, but if you turned the knob left two numbers, the safe would open. That way, he didn't have to dial the combination over and over all day long. It was a shortcut for a lazy man.
I took a deep breath, and I turned the dial to the left, one number and then a second. I felt a click in the dial, so I tried the lever again. It pulled up, and the door swung out, revealing money in stacks of hundred-dollar straps. I pulled them all out and counted 19 straps, which, when multiplied by $10,000, was a total of $190,000.
I put all the money back as I found it, closed and secured the safe door, and replaced the board and screws. Placing the screwdriver on the shelf and closing the closet door, it appeared to me to be exactly the way I found it.
I needed to talk to someone knowledgeable about computers and cell phones but who?
Maria Nguyen at work! I helped her get her job, her green card, and her citizenship, plus she had been my PA for a year. Opening my black book,
which had numbers I kept private, I found her info and called her desk phone.
"IT department, Maria Nguyen. How may I help you?"
"Want to run away with a thirty-six-year-old man and never work again?"
"Merl! You never call anymore. What you mean, run away? If with you, I quit today."
"Don't quit yet. I need to talk to a friend, and I don't seem to have very many."
"I'll call mother, and she'll cook dinner for us. You can tell me everything. Oh, Merl, I miss working with you so much."
"Then why did you request a transfer eight years ago?"
"Not over the phone. I'll text you my new address. I bought a bigger house when mother came over three years ago. I'll see you tonight, 6:00 sharp. Oh, I have another call, it's Jema. I'll see you tonight."
I hung up and wandered into the bedroom, and I noticed a piece of paper on the floor next to Heide's dresser. It was a note;
Darling Merl,
I left early to help Meredith with an estate auction in Charlotte. We're going to this one and staying home tomorrow. I will be later than usual, but I will be yours all day tomorrow.
Luv You,
Heide
Right, all mine except I was sharing her with half the town.
I took a yellow pad out of my briefcase and made a Pro and Con list for staying married. I called one column STAY, I FORGIVE HER and the other, GET THE HELL OUT. Then I listed reasons under each column. The score was two in favor of staying and thirteen in favor of GET OUT.
Then I made a list of things I needed to do to leave, which took almost an hour. My final list was things to take with me, and I flew through that. Except for my clothes and personal items, everything else I was taking was hers. Oh, well, possession is 9/10's of the law.
I made a small lunch, a sandwich, and some chips, and then lay down to watch TV. About 1:30, I saw Heide's BMW coming up the driveway as I looked through the front bay window. She slowed, probably when she saw my car in front of the garage, and then sped up and continued circling, finally exiting from the other end of the driveway.
There was someone in the passenger seat who resembled my buddy, Spencer.
She said in her note that she was in Charlotte with Meredith. One more lie. I set my watch alarm and closed my eyes.
4:30, and my alarm went off. I showered and shaved, and dressed in Saturday casual clothes. Punching in Maria's address into my GPS, I had an uneventful drive and arrived there at 5:50. Her mother greeted me at the door; she was smiling and shaking my hands, then bowing as I went into the living room.
"Seet. Seet." Then she started shooting rapid-fire Vietnamese at me, including repeating a phrase several times,
"Bạn làm người chồng tốt."
I asked her in French, what should I call her? She replied, "Mom."
Saved by the door opening, Maria came in and greeted her mother in Vietnamese. Then with one step, she was wrapped around my torso and legs, raining tiny kisses on my lips and cheeks. I peeled her off and set her feet down in front of me, and looked her up and down. She was not a pure-blooded Vietnamese woman. She stood 5'11" and had natural full C cups and a really curvy bootie. She was wearing a shiny one-piece dress that was eight inches above her knees with three-inch heels. Her eyes swirled in a jade color; they were Caucasian eyes, and her lips were plump and inviting.
"Bạn làm người chồng tốt."
Maria spoke back to her mother, "MẸ dừng lại."
"What are the two of you saying?"
Maria blushed and looked down and whispered something.