Sometimes, it’s hard to tell if a wife is faithful. I found out about Debra fucking her boss only because I was keeping tabs on her drinking.
We were in our late twenties, five years married and still much in love. At least I was. We both worked. I was a professor of English at the community college. Debra, an impeccable dresser, was an assistant manager at the local office of HQ&W Advertising.
As a result of encouraging my students to write, I talked myself into keeping a journal on my computer. Daily, I recorded household occurrences, including my wife’s comings and goings. Especially how much she drank. Debra had a drinking problem and I tried to help her keep it under control.
That’s how I came to notice the change in Debra’s behavior. More and more, when she worked late at the office, she came home smelling of alcohol. For the past six months, she had been coming home loaded. And with her clothing increasingly disheveled.
One night, when she arrived after midnight, I remarked, “Honey, you look like you’ve been sleeping in that pants suit.”
My wife took offense. “Mr. Thompson and I had to work like hell, thank you. For a big client. Presentation’s tomorrow.”
“And, you’ve been drinking again. I can smell it.”
She shrugged as if it were unimportant. “John had a couple. I did too. So what?”
I wanted to talk but Debra went frigid. She claimed she was tired and tromped off to bed.
So I sat by myself, figuring what she might have unintentionally given away. I mean, when she referred to Mr. Thompson by his first name. I figured ‘John’ might be more than a drinking buddy. The idea nagged me all that night.
The next morning, I looked up private investigators in the phone directory. The D. R. Phelps Agency advertised fifteen years experience. Discreet, the ad said. Had covert audio and video cameras. And affordable. I called.
Don Phelps answered his phone in person. In a face-to-face appointment that afternoon, I told him about my wife. Debra’s drinking and how cold she had acted when she came home so late. I told him how much I loved her and of my suspicions. “The next time your wife says she has to work overtime,” Phelps said, “let us know.”
That happened two weeks later. My wife called me at my campus office to tell me she would be working late again. I notified Phelps. He told me he’d put the HQ&W office under observation.
It was late when Debra came home that night. I smelled the liquor across the room and her clothes were more than a little tousled. “Another rush presentation?” I asked.
She stopped a moment. “Aren’t they all? It was a bitch!”
“I thought we might talk a little.”
“Jeff, I’m sorry. I’m pooped.” She yawned, maybe to prove the point “I’m going to bed.”
I felt hurt but kissed her good night as she passed by. I could hardly wait to hear from Phelps. To find out what had actually happened.
He called me at my campus office the next day. “I’m finishing the report on your wife’s activities last night.”
“What went on?”
“It’s all in the report.”
“When can I get it?”
“This afternoon, if you wish. My office. Can you make it here by three?”
My last class ended at two thirty. “I’ll be there,” I said.
I drove my Accord downtown, reaching Phelps’ office at three. His receptionist ushered me in.
Phelps went straight to the point. “Mr. Jones, I regret to say that your suspicions were justified. Last night, your wife engaged in sexual intercourse three times.” He paused. “As you surmised, it was with her boss, a Mr. John Thompson.”
I nodded. “She’s his assistant.” Although I had suspected it, confirmation of Debra’s infidelity came as a blow. Especially fucking three times when were seldom doing it more than once. I had tried to be a good husband and found the way she was acting hard to believe. “Are you absolutely sure?”
He handed me the written report and a computer disk. “It’s all here. And there’s video on the disk. Check it out for yourself.”
I accepted both and flipped through the typed pages. I felt my stomach sink. The description was graphic. “Can you tell me how long this has been going on?”
Phelps shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“This really hurts,” I said. “I mean, finding out your wife is unfaithful for sure. Right now, I’m wiped out. Ready to go home. What’s the tab?”
Phelps quoted a figure that was high, but not unreasonable. I handed him my credit card which he took out to his receptionist.
When he came back in the office, he must have noticed how depressed I was. As he returned the card, he said, “Mr. Jones, take everything slow. Don’t do anything rash.”
I probably bared my teeth. “How would you feel if it were your wife?”
“When you came to me, you told me you were in love with your wife but unsure of her. Disregarding the affair, has your wife done anything to indicate she’s unhappy with you?”
I was shocked. “No, by God, but isn’t adultery … extramarital sex … enough?”
“How long has the Thompson fellow been manager at you wife’s branch?”
