If I wasn't capable of being angry at Jennie right then, I had no trouble being pissed off at that bastard George Atherton! A smug, smooth, self-righteous asshole. It took me just ten minutes to drive to his house.
When I rang the bell his wife Angela answered. "Hi, Brad! Nice to see youâthis is a surprise!"
"Hi Angela. I'm sorry to bother you, but is George here? I need to see him for a momentâit's urgent."
"He just came back a few minutes ago. Let me get him. Come on in!"
As I stood in their front hall, George emerged from the back of the house. He was clearly shaken when he saw me, but he recovered after a moment and came forward with a big self-satisfied smile and his hand outstretched. "Brad! How nice to see you. How is everything? How's your lovely wife?"
Ignoring his hand, I stepped forward and kneed him hard in the balls. He collapsed with a loud groan, bringing Angela back into the room. As she watched in horror, I grabbed him by the hair, pulled up his head, and slapped him across the face, back and forth, a dozen times or more, until I was sure I was raising bruises.
"So you think you have the right to fuck my 'lovely wife', you self-important, hypocritical cunt? I ought to cut your balls off and shove them down your throat!" I punctuated this last remark by kicking him in the nuts again, leaving him groaning in agony on the floor.
Angela ran to me and pulled me away. "Brad, have you lost your mind? What is going on here? Why did you hit George?"
"Because, Angela, I'm sorry to say that I watched your husband fucking my wife this afternoon in my marital bed." I handed her the six photos. She looked quickly at the first few, then gasped, "that bastard!"
I calmly sat down on the sofa, watching George's writhings. "Angela, why don't you bring your loving husband a glass of water? He seems to need it. And then I need to speak to you both for a minute."
Looking shell-shocked, she did as I asked. A few minutes later, George had managed to get himself into a chair, where he was still hunched over in pain. He didn't look at me once. Angela sat across the room, looking at him furiously.
"Okay, George, here's how it is. You certainly demonstrated this afternoon that you're not a fit leader of our congregation, wouldn't you agree? So tonight you're going to call the pastor and the Board of Governors, and you're going to resign your position. You can tell them it's for personal reasons, or health reasons, or whatever you like. I don't give a shit.
"But you're going to do it. Because if you haven't done it by noon tomorrow, copies of those photos are going to be emailed to every member of the Board of Governors. I'm sure they'll be quite concerned about the morality of what you've been up to.
"And one more thing. Don't even think about dragging Jennie's name into this. Because if you do, I promise you I will come back to this house and kill you with my bare hands. Slowly. And it will be a pleasure."
He didn't even try to fight me. He caved instantly, still not looking at me. "All right, Brad, I'll do it. Do you promise you won't send the photos?"
"You resign, and the photos stay with me. Though it's kind of a shame, don't you think, that more people won't know about the other side of George Atherton?"
I turned to his wife. "I am sorry, Angelaâtruly. Maybe it wasn't my right to make you face this too, but I couldn't help thinking that you'd want to know the truth about him."
She nodded grimly at me. "No need to be sorry, BradâI've known for a long time he's been chasing skirts all through the congregation. It's actually sort of nice to have proof of it."
Without another word I headed back to my car.
********
AFTERMATH
Terri and I made the best of our weekend in Chicago. I felt sorry for her, actually, because I was so sad and it didn't make for a lot of fun. We ate well, we both enjoyed Christmas shopping with the city all lit up, and we skipped the ballet in favor of a entertaining musical. In other words, I did the best I could.
On the way to Chicago, I filled her in on everything I'd seen, both of us remembering sadly that eighteen years earlier I had done the same thing, the first time Jennie cheated on me.
As before, she listened to me with loving sympathy and concern, holding my hand gently when I cried. The worst of it was over by the time we reached the hotel, and we managed to enjoy the dinner and the terrific view.
Over the years I had thought idly about Terriâwho at 53, five years older than I, still was a beautiful womanâand wondered what it might be like to have her as my lover, rather than as my best and most trusted friend. There was no question I found her attractive, and I imagined she felt the same way about me. But it never came up between us, which always seemed like a good thing.
That night in the suite, there was a mildly embarrassing moment. Terri wandered into the bedroom and came out holding the beautifulâand incredibly revealingânightie I had left there for Jennie.
"God, Brad, this nightie on Jennie could have given a dead man a hard-on!"
I laughed, but then wondered if I should offer it to Terri. She saw my thoughts in my eyes, and smiled ruefully. "No, Brad, I don't think so. I love you better than any man I knowâcertainly better than that jerk, my ex-husbandâbut you and I are better off as friends. And tonight of all nights, neither of us would feel very good about me giving you THAT sort of consolation."
I went to her, smiling, and gave her a big kiss on the forehead. "Bless you, Terri. You are my very best friend. And a big part of why I love you is that you're smarter than I am!"
We hugged, fondly, and then went back to our coffee and dessert.
When I got back to St Louis I found a couple of short phone messages from Jennie. In a listless, hopeless voice she said that she was ready to talk with me whenever I wanted.
I called her Sunday night and suggested we meet at the house the next day after work. She agreed, and after a moment asked, "did you go ahead and go to Chicago anyway?"
"Yes, I went with Terri. We had an OK time ... but needless to say, it wasn't the same, Jennie."
There was a long silence. I could hear her quietly crying. I waited, then said, "I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart," and hung up the phone.
I didn't feel angry. Intellectually, I knew that I was angry, and that I was supposed to be enraged, furious, ready to kill my unfaithful bitch of a wife. For the second time she'd taken my happy marriage and stomped on it! I should want to kill her, right?
But those thoughts didn't connect to my feelings. What I felt was just sadness, as much for Jennie as for me. I didn't know why Jennie had fucked George Athertonâor rather from the looks of it why she'd let him fuck her. I imagined it was all about attention againâabout her need to feel loved and attractive.