I took a few minutes to compose myself. Then I joined my daughters in the hospital room occupied by their mother, my wife. I was stunned when I saw how weak and pale Michelle appeared to be. Suddenly my mirth was completely erased and I felt real concern.
"Hi there," Michelle whispered. "You must be Billy Shears."
I had to smile at her acknowledgement of my unusual costume. Not every woman would know I was wearing a Sgt. Pepper jacket!
"I'm Getting Better," smiled Michelle, "With a Little Help Of My Friends."
The girls and I exchanged grins at Michelle's references to my favorite album. Then she had us laughing heartily when she stated, "They've been 'Fixing a Hole' and it hasn't been any fun!"
"Please, Mom, lay off the Pepper jokes, okay?" Becky whined.
I marveled at Michelle's sense of humor under such painful circumstances. It occurred to me that her humor was one of the things that drew me to her those many years ago.
"We all feel terrible that you had to go through this alone, Darling," I told her. "Why couldn't it at least happen when we were home to help you."
"No, it wouldn't happen then," grimaced Michelle. "It certainly isn't your fault. None of you could know this would happen."
Now I was feeling guilty! It was my fault! I knew there was a very good chance of it happening, if in fact, Michelle was having an affair with that damn asshole boss of mine.
The girls and I visited until Michelle fell asleep. Then the nurse insisted we leave for the evening, so we trudged back to the car and drove home.
Before going to bed, I had to find clean sheets and make the bed. There was no sign of the linens that had adorned my marital bed the previous evening. I retrieved the recorder from under the bed, but I didn't dare play it with my daughters at home. I wasn't sure what it would contain, but I was certain I didn't want the girls to hear it! I decided to wait until I could listen in complete privacy.
I was at work at my desk Monday morning when George Stowe strolled into my office. Was it my imagination or was he watching me closely for a reaction?
"How was the weekend, Eric?" he finally asked. "How did everything go in Cleveland?"
"If it went any better, George, I'd shit gold bricks!" I avowed. "The entire weekend went exactly as planned. How did you and the missus enjoy the show Friday?"
"Oh! It was quite, ah, interesting. The wife told me to thank you for corsage. It was very thoughtful," admitted George. "Your wife and kids got along okay with you gone all weekend?"
He was obviously fishing again. I wasn't going to take the bait, however.
"They're all pretty independent," I allowed. "All three are modern women and don't need some dumb man to help them get through a weekend."
After George left, I remembered the recording device under my desk and gave it some thought. I decided I wasn't done with George and would try to think of a way to use it again, if George was dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. It would seem that an intelligent man would wonder about my anal advice to my brother, considering how he had hospitalized Michelle. Still, I frequently used the same gambit several times in a game of chess, against the same opponent, and often with positive results.
I wrote a meaningless note in large letters and taped it on the left side of my desk by the phone. It would serve to remind me that I was being recorded and to be cautious at all times.
I left work at lunchtime and went home to listen to the recording from that fateful night. I had mixed emotions about hearing it, but I felt it was something I had to do.
It didn't take too long for me to realize I had concealed the microphone too well. It clicked on and off a few times as I listened, but I was unable to make anything out until I heard the bed squeak.
"You'll be inviting me back after you get a ride on my big cock," laughed George. His voice was very clear.
"You Bastard!" spit Michelle. "It'll be a cold day in Hell before I ever even speak to you again. Now do it and get it over with."
"Is that any way for a woman to talk to her lover?" chuckled George. "Here. I want you to suck on this bad boy for a few minutes. I really like that."
"Well I really like considerate, intelligent men. It looks like we're both out of luck, Dickhead," snarled Michelle.
I was starting to get an uneasy feeling that things weren't exactly as I had perceived them to be. Somehow, George had fooled me with some daring move I had not anticipated!
"I expect a little more cooperation from you if you want to get those pictures back, Bitch!" growled George. "Now suck my cock or the deal is off. I've already missed my Friday night fuck session with you because your dipshit husband told my wife about the goddamn tickets!"
After that, Michelle was quiet and George only made an occasional grunt or moan. I was getting a real bad feeling about my clever act of revenge.
Eventually the bed springs began making a regular rhythm and George's groans increased. Then the sound stopped for a few seconds. Then there was a horrible scream! It was followed by language that would make a longshoreman blush.
"Goddamn dumb fuck!" Michelle screeched. "Take that out now, you miserable, rotten fuck-faced shit!"
"Relax, whore!" George replied. "You'll be begging me for more in a couple minutes. You know you love it, so shut the fuck up."
Eventually Michelle's curses turned to sobs and then to a quiet crying. Even an insensitive shit like George should have been able to discern the pain in her sobs. He never slowed down and the bed was making that regular thumping sound again.
My hands were clenched and sweat was streaming off my brow. I listened in horror as George kept up a steady rhythm for another five minutes as Michelle cried and begged him to stop. It was the single most upsetting thing I had ever heard.
I had given up on my queen too soon! I could have, and should have, saved her. Instead, I had sacrificed her, and for what? A pawn maybe! The big laugh I had enjoyed at the hospital came back to haunt me. I had blundered badly, and Michelle had suffered greatly for it.
Why had she agreed to a tryst with George if she found him so repugnant? To what pictures had George been referring?
I returned to work bitter and confused. What was really going on? There was no way of knowing unless George or Michelle spilled the beans. One thing became abundantly clear. George was going down, regardless of the consequences. Of that, I was certain. The question was; how and when?
Michelle came home from the hospital Wednesday afternoon, but was still quite pale and in a fair amount of pain. I did everything I could possibly think of to make her comfortable. She wasn't totally without blame for her situation, but my guilt was almost tangible. I realized that I never wanted her to suffer again and it was my duty as her husband to protect her, not cause her harm. I had not done a very good job with that!
Days passed and Michelle gradually regained her strength. It was obvious to me that she was a troubled woman. Shit, I should know the signs and symptoms! I was struggling with guilt of my own. Together we were a pretty pathetic couple. Thank god the girls were around to bring some cheer and levity into the house.
Two weeks passed before an opportunity to strike a blow to George's position presented itself. I was called into a meeting of the top brass of the company to give a personal report on my Cleveland trip. It seems that I had done such a bang-up, kiss-ass job, that the business my company did with the Cleveland concern had the potential to double!
"The one thing to remember," I concluded at my presentation, "is that the CEO, and founder of the company, Mr. Thomas Bender, is a devout Christian. He will not tolerate any jokes that are even slightly off-color. He believes women should be demure and chaste. No low-neck lines, or high hemlines. It may sound old fashioned, but take it from me. It is his way or the highway. I cannot stress that enough."
I was thanked for my contribution, and then dismissed. The bosses, including the king of assholes, George, remained to discuss strategy. As I made my way back to my office, I formulated a plan for my next attempt to checkmate my nemesis. It wouldn't be simple, but I had to try.
Evenings at home still found Michelle quiet and reserved. I did everything I could to help her recuperate, but I couldn't help her heal emotionally. Looking back, I think I may have been carrying far too much baggage of my own to help anyone. I had no idea what George had over Michelle, but it appeared from what little information I had, he had somehow blackmailed her. I could have stopped it, but instead, I had allowed it. I was even responsible for George's heinous act.
Friday at work, I learned that Mr. Thomas Bender was going to visit our company, potentially to double the contract we had with his firm. Everyone was quite excited about the prospect and the general mood was very upbeat. George Stowe and another vice-president were assigned to handle the negotiations. This could be a real feather in George's cap and he showed some strain from the pressure.
"Eric, what can I say or do to impress this guy," he asked me Monday morning. "The old fart will be here Thursday and Friday and fly home Saturday. What does he like?"
There were several of us sitting around my desk discussing less important matters when George interrupted us. I looked him squarely in the eye and formed my response.
"Watch you language very carefully, George. Don't try to make any jokes, especially about women," I warned. "Praise the lord at every opportunity and stay away from sports. He thinks pro sports are the work of the devil."
George nodded and walked away. The others asked a few more questions after George had left. I maintained the need for ethical, highly professional behavior. It was all part of my plan to trap the king. I had made my position on handling Mr. Bender very clear to all levels of the company.
That night I spend a couple hours writing, and editing my next phone call to my brother, Chuck. It took quite some time to get it exactly the way I wanted it. I just hoped the results would be worth the effort. Even with an out of order number, the telephone can be a very useful tool.
Tuesday morning, I was prepared to give an Oscar-worthy performance. At least, that was my goal. I picked up the receiver and dialed that dead number again. As I spoke, I watched to see if the recorder was picking everything up. The red light came on and away I went!
