Oops

Something that occurred to me. Almost entirely fiction, and dedicated to Der Schnitz.

I was in my study, the door closed, doing what I usually do on Monday evenings; namely, I was preparing correspondence with some friends.

I heard the very low, almost imperceptible hum of the garage door opener in action -- anyone not accustomed to the particular sounds of my home would have likely not heard it -- followed a moment later by the sound of the garage entrance slamming shut.

Bev, my wife, is a tall and not altogether graceful woman, given to slamming doors rather than closing them ("like little ladies and gentlemen," my parents and grandparents had instructed, over and over).

Even for her, this sounded like an angry slam.

I wondered at it for a moment; but before I got too far into my ruminations, she flung open my door and bellowed, "You had him served at home!? You bastard!"

I looked at her, perplexed; watched her jaw flex, great furious breaths emerging from her reddened face. I watched her for a moment, and then sat back in my chair.

"I had him served," I repeated calmly.

"You know you did, asshole!" she spat.

"What makes you think I did such a thing?" I asked.

"He called me and read me the riot act, that's how. I'll probably never see him again!" she thundered.

I didn't like where this was going. "Uh, Bev, would you like to tell me what the hell you're ranting about?" I asked calmly, more calmly than I felt.

That infuriated her.

"You had Barry served with Alienation papers, at home, in front of his kids! Couldn't you have waited another couple of weeks?!"

"First," I said, "I don't know a Barry; second, I'm not having anyone served with any papers; and third, what Alienation? As in, 'of Affection?' As in, you're having an affair with this guy?"

She blustered for a moment, seeming a little perplexed; then started up again. "I don't believe you for a minute," she said venomously. "You've known I was fucking him for months!"

I was taken aback, but I managed to keep her off-balance. "I've known for months, or you've been fucking him for months?"

That really crawled up her ass. "We've seen your goddamned investigator. He's about as subtle as a turd in a coffee cup!"

I pulled a small stool in front of my chair, and placed my left foot on it, sitting back a little in my leather office chair. "So you've seen an investigator following you, and you assumed it was someone I hired."

I was speaking slowly and softly, and the wind was beginning to fade in her sails. She sat in the guest chair.

"Aw, come on, Jeff, I'm not stupid. You know you've known for a long time. I was waiting for the right time to break it to you. But honest to God, did you have to do it in front of his kids? I was gonna have to be their step-mother one day, and..."

I cut her off. "Bev," I said, "are you actually telling me you've been fucking a guy named Barry, and he promised to marry you, and you think I hired a PI to trace you, and that I had your lover served?"

She paused, and then nodded. "Yes," she said softly.

"Well," I continued, "I did no such thing. I've noticed your lack of affection for months, and I'll admit I'd wondered about whether you were stepping out. I mean, just once or twice; but no, not my Bev, I couldn't believe that."

Her face began to lose its coloration.

"So it appears to me, and to you if you have any brains, that some other asshole husband has had the temerity to sue the sonofabitch. So, what's his last name? Maybe I'll pile on."

A few tears flowed from her eyes. She shook her head. "No," she mumbled, "I won't help you destroy him."

"Well, get your shit and get out. You aren't staying here anymore," I stated, flatly, coldly.

She did some mental math. "So, you didn't have a PI on us?" she asked in a hopeful voice.

I said, "Nope."

She grinned wickedly, through the tears. "Then you have no proof. Barry won't betray me." She stood to leave.

As she walked through the door, I said, "Bev?"

She stopped and looked back, a smug look fighting for supremacy over sorrow.

"You forgot what night it is," I said, grinning slightly.

Her face became ashen; she turned and left. I heard some banging upstairs, and later some banging on the stairs. I emerged from my study to see her lugging two suitcases to the garage entrance.

"You and your fucking friends," she snapped; and with that, she exited the room, the garage, and my life.

The sound of the garage door opener closing was music to my ears.

++++++

My uncle David was not blind, but sufficiently visually impaired he needed large-print books; and later, when they were insufficiently largely printed to help him, I began to read to him. Later, my parents bought me a tape recorder, an old open-reel job, and I spent hours reading books on tape before there was such a thing.

My labor of love became a hobby, and at age sixteen, a job; a local radio station heard about me, and hired me to read news on the weekends.

I had a soft spot for the blind, and had friends in that community; I had the walls of my study carpeted, to kill the echo (like they used to do in small radio stations), and Monday evenings I spent writing, and recording, letters to my non-seeing friends which I then recorded and posted on my blog.

And poor Bev had forgotten that.

I got her whole tirade, including her confession, on a digital recording.

++++++

For what it's worth, I actually did have her lover served that night. I had photos and audio and other incriminating bits. And yes, my PI had put two operatives on them; one who was supposed to act like Barney Fife, and then one they wouldn't notice.

So to summarize:

I got rid of the cheating bitch;

I got a settlement from the cheating asshole;

I got a settlement from his employer (he was banging my missus during business hours);

and

I got a great story to tell my friends.

Life, she can be so sweet when she wants to.