Pmvb Forewarned Is Forearmed

***

Author's Note

One of the classic stories on the site is Hooked1957's:

A Promise Made, A Vow Broken

.

This story is a take on a common Loving Wives trope: husband becomes a captive victim of wife's infidelity while staying at the vacation home of the rich boss / patron / client.

In PMVB, protagonist Bobby Sprague ignored obvious red flags at his wife's office Christmas party as she is pursued by a wealthy client. Seven months later, during a Fourth of July weekend at the client's vacation home, Sprague was blindsided by his wife's premeditated plan to cuckold him. Bobby had to scramble to come up with a strategy for handling it.

Bobby's approach to dealing with his wife's infidelity and his principled resolve is what makes this story a classic.

I've always wondered what would happen if Bobby, an otherwise intelligent guy, did not ignore the warning signs for the better part of seven months.

This question led me to my own take below.

The characters and the plot of the setup in this story are Hooked1957's.

For my version, I made some tweaks to the characters and setting. I relocated the story from Michigan to North Carolina, which moved the setting of the vacation home from a lake to the beach. I changed the occupation of Jackson Fairchild, and I changed Bobby's employer and his hobbies. I did this because these are things I know about.

To make those changes clear, I will restate the first 1,400 words or so of the original tale. I did this with Hooked1957's permission. These words will be in italics.

Thanks, Hooked!

***

Age Disclaimer

None of the characters in this story under the age of 18 have sex.

***

Hindsight truly is 100 percent.

I suppose I should have been suspicious the first time my wife came home from her job in the art gallery bubbling over a new patron. But when you trust somebody completely, and she's never given you the slightest worry in the 17 years you've been together, your initial inclination is to give her a little slack.

My initial inclination was wrong - way wrong.

I'm Bobby Sprague; my wife is Traci. We met at a North Carolina university 18 years ago, started dating 17 years ago, and got married 16 years ago. We added a daughter to the mix 14 years ago, and then had a son 12 years ago.

I work as a manager of computer scientists for a Technology company that makes defense projects for the government. I make excellent money, but I'm nowhere near independently wealthy. I did well enough that Traci was able to be a stay-at-home mom while the kids were little. But two years ago, she decided that the kids were old enough for her to stretch her wings, and she got herself a 30-hour-a-week job at an upscale art gallery in town. She was an art history major in college, so this was by no means a stretch for Traci intellectually. She could talk the talk and walk the walk.

The gallery primarily catered to clients doing a bit better financially than us. We live in Charlotte, the biggest city in North Carolina and the second largest banking center in the nation. There were plenty of wealthy people in Charlotte and the gallery was doing a nice business. As a perk of her job, Traci got to hobnob with these people and step into their world for a little while before coming back home to her humdrum life.

Occasionally, we both got to step into their world as sometimes Traci would work a big show at the gallery and I would get to tag along as her "plus-one." It was exciting, I have to admit, hanging out for a few hours with some movers and shakers. Computer geeks like me don't get to rub elbows with company executives, politicians, attorneys, and bank presidents very often.

So every now and then Traci would come home amped after meeting some celebrity or somebody powerful. The kids and I would marvel at how she just sort of floated along at home for a while, then we would get out of her way when reality set in as to where in life she fit into the picture. Darkness was not one of Traci's better qualities. The kids would usually scramble off to their rooms, very often leaving me to take the brunt of her snarky comments about our life for the rest of the evening.

Most of the time I just took it in stride. When it got to me, I would sneak out of the house for a long run and some solitude.

So for the last several weeks, Traci had been babbling about some hotshot cryptocurrency whiz who had recently become a patron at the gallery. Jackson Aloysius Fairchild, a 28-year-old alleged billionaire, had recently moved into expensive new digs and wanted artwork for his walls that reflected his station in life, Traci had said. She seemed impressed with him in general, although she expressed the thought that he also seemed to be somewhat taken with himself. She mentioned in various conversations that he was handsome and put together well, and he often talked about doing a variety of physical activities like bicycling, squash, and tennis.

Traci gushing over a new patron wasn't unusual, so I didn't think much of it and let her ramble on for the next two weeks. This too eventually died down, as I expected it would. I didn't hear another word about Jackson Aloysius Fairchild until I was being introduced to him at the gallery's Christmas gala just a few weeks ahead of the holiday.

I have to admit, he was an impressive physical specimen, about 6-2, 190, and he looked to be rock solid in his expensive Armani suit. He was also blond-haired, blue-eyed, and extremely handsome, even from my jaded opinion. I wasn't quite expecting that.

I talked to him for about 30 seconds while Traci introduced us, and in just that little bit of time I caught him eyeing my wife from head to toe, like a tiger looking at its prey. Yes, she was gorgeous this night in a blue tailored skirt and jacket combination, with just a hint of cleavage showing from inside her white blouse, but his look was more leer than admiration. Traci seemed to be too busy with everything that was going on to take notice, but I did.

Traci went off to mingle, and I went off to the bar. I got a double bourbon over ice and found Kenny Johnson, the husband of one of my wife's co-workers, whom I had met before and gotten along with very well. We talked a lot about a sci-fi show in which we had a common interest.

I talked to Kenny for a while and then I did some mingling myself. About an hour later I spotted Traci talking in a small group of people, and Jackson Aloysius Fairchild was draped all over her. I went over to the bar and got her usual drink of choice, a Riesling, and walked up to the group. I introduced myself, then handed Traci her glass of wine. Then I quietly reached over to Traci's right hip and removed Jackson's hand, which was resting there from around her back. He didn't say a word, just smirked at me as he brought his hand back to his own body.

I talked with the group for a few minutes, then Traci went off to do some more mingling, and I went off in a different direction-- after first making sure Jackson wasn't following her.

I expected to see Traci doing her thing while I moved about mingling with some of her co-workers, but after about an hour I couldn't find my wife anywhere. After taking a quick look around a second time, I also didn't see Jackson. My spider senses were more than tingling, so I made a concerted effort to find Traci. I didn't find her in the gallery, or the offices, so I headed out the front door and started making a loop around the gallery. There were small groups of people talking in the parking lot with their coats on, looking like they were getting ready to leave, but still no Traci. And then I spotted what appeared to be a couple sitting rather cozy in a black custom Lincoln Navigator. The car was running, the couple was sitting together tightly in the middle seats, which had been connected together like one long bench. I didn't bother to see if it was Traci and Jackson-- I assumed so. I walked up to the car and opened the door next to the woman. The occupants jumped back at that, so all I could ascertain was that if they weren't kissing, they were getting close to it.

"Time to go dear. Now, " I said in my best polite but firm tone.

"We... we... we were just," Traci stammered as Jackson smirked at me.

"I don't care. It's time to leave," I said in a voice just above a whisper.

"Really, Bobby, you have to come in and hear this sound system," Jackson said. "It's absolutely incredible."

The stereo was on, playing some sort of concert music that contained thumping pizzicato arco bass and tympani drums. I don't think either of them was listening to music.

"Another time, Jackson. We really must be going," I said in my most non-committal voice.

I escorted my wife from the car and we started walking to where my crew cab Ford F-150 was parked.

"Wait, I can't leave yet. The party's got another two hours. I'm expected to stick around for the whole thing and be one of the hostesses," Traci said with an urgency to her voice.

"If your boss has a problem with this, he can call me directly," I said. "Just what the hell do you think you were doing?"

"We were really listening to his car's sound system. It's amazing," she said with a note of awe in her voice.

"Uh-huh," I replied, no note of awe in my voice.

***

By the time we got home, Traci had worked herself up into such a self-righteous fury at my intervention that she refused to talk to me. Traci continued to play the injured innocent, and things were cool between us for the next couple of weeks.

This was unusual for her. Traci's temper and dark moods were usually fast-moving squalls that would last an evening and then pass quickly. When things were still chilly and not showing any signs of thawing two weeks later, I realized that this incident was far more serious than I supposed.

I contacted Reed Powell, my college roommate, lawyer extraordinaire and all-around mad genius. Reed was a bit of a lost puppy when we roomed together as college freshmen. I'm not God's gift to women, fashion, or society, but I am socially capable and I can hold my own in a conversation. I took Reed under my wing, helped him put together a serviceable wardrobe, and introduced him to nice smart girls who were perfect for him. He managed to bed six of them in our four years at college. I also introduced him to Heather, the love of his life, his wife, and the mother of his children-- a fact for which he is forever grateful.

After attending Law school at Duke, Reed took a job in New York City for a top-tier firm. He works as a "fixer" for them. This was the perfect job for an evil-genius. With his vast creativity and resourceful brain, he is magically able to make problems for the rich and powerful go away in a no-fuss, no-drama way.

On the phone, I described the situation with Traci. I gave him all of the information I could ascertain about Jackson. Reed said he'd look into it. Things finally lightened up between Traci and I Christmas week. The gallery was usually shut down for the weeks before and after the holiday, and Traci and I finally came back together and really connected in and out of bed. Things returned to normal as if nothing had ever happened.

I forgot about Jackson entirely until I received a call from Reed in the week of Valentine's Day. Instead of his normal chipper self, he greeted me by saying, "Bad news Bobby. This Jackson Fairchild guy is a real asshole." What could I say? February sucks.

***

Four months later, I was not at all taken by surprise when Traci told me she accepted an invitation for the two of us to stay at Jackson's Beach House on figure Eight Island for the Fourth of July weekend.

The guests who would be there with us were to be Traci's boss Lou, Lou's wife Marna, and two other married couples that were friends of Fairchild's. According to Traci, the plan was to arrive at the beach house on the afternoon of Friday the third and leave midday on Monday the sixth.

Jackson planned to grill every day. There would be a full bar, swimming, boating and whatever activities the weather permitted. I immediately protested.

"We already have family plans to go to DC that week, remember?" I reminded her. "The kids are so excited, and this might be the last family adventure before the kids are immersed in the grind of high school and then bolt off to college. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Traci."

I made the plans to go to DC back in April, just after I learned that Traci and Fairchild decided to consummate their relationship over the Fourth of July.

Reed set up my DC trip. He traded favors for the hotel reservations, and arranged for the invitations to a rooftop family party. The rooftop of the hotel was an ideal place to view the Fourth of July fireworks on the National Mall. We would watch the best fireworks display in the nation in style. When I made the announcement that I'd been given the trip as an award for a major achievement at work, it was clear Traci didn't want to go, but she didn't have a valid reason to refuse. The kids were so excited that Traci had to keep her mouth shut. At the time, she simply said, "That's great, Bobby."

Six weeks later, Traci told me, "Spending a weekend on Figure Eight island with a self-made billionaire client could make or break my career, Bobby. I've already talked to mom and dad. They've agreed to take the kids to DC in our place so that you and I can go to the beach." She didn't wait for an answer, she turned around and walked away from me.

As she walked away, I yelled at her in a tone I rarely used. "Traci, you better turn around and talk to me. You can do that shit with the kids, but you do not do that to your spouse, you understand that, right?"

She turned around and looked at me, partly angry, but also spooked. I never talked to her like that in all the years we'd been married. I said, "The reservations are in

my

name. It would be fraud for your parents to try to pretend to be me. Your bullshit plan isn't going to work.

Before she could respond, I feigned recognition. "Wait, you said this was Johnson Faircloth?" I deliberately misstated his name.

"You well know his name is Jackson Fairchild, Bobby!" She spat peevishly, as if lecturing a child.

"Is that that asshole whose car I pulled you out of during the Christmas Gala?" I asked.

She flushed red with embarrassment. She started to respond, but I cut her off.

"First of all, that guy is no billionaire. I googled him. His wealth is less than one-tenth that. Secondly, every dime of what he has comes from his stock in his artificially-inflated company."

Fairchild's company was called CryptoNight. DoughBloon was the trade name for the cryptocurrency that was their main commercial product.

"I'm personal friends with the security researcher who cracked the master certificate for the blockchain on his currency. Fairchild's been faking infusions of cash steadily for the last two years. His currency is a glorified ponzi scheme. When DoughBloon collapses, CryptoNight will also collapse. After that, he'll have significantly less accumulated wealth than we do and he will likely face criminal prosecution."

"Second, after the stunt he pulled with you at the Christmas Gala, I wouldn't accompany that asshole to the hospital if I was dying if a heart attack. I saw you kissing him in the back seat of his car for God's sake."

This wasn't true. I didn't see anything, but I wanted to see how she would respond to my bluff. Traci blushed and would not look me in the eye. There was my confirmation. "Not going to deny it this time?" I asked. "Not going to shout at me for the next two weeks in faux righteous indignation?" Realizing she was outmaneuvered, she glowered.

I went for the kill, "

We

are not going to his beach house."

Traci was both exasperated and visibly panicking. "I already gave the RSVP, Bobby. It would be a disaster for me to change my mind now!"

"You should have remembered

our

plans," I replied "Or better yet, you should have thought about discussing it with me before accepting. Consider this a painful lesson learned."

She was not used to me talking like this to her. I could see her panic as she watched her carefully-laid plans unravel in front of her. She didn't know how to recover. Thinking quickly on her feet was never her strong suit.

"I'll just go without you," she proclaimed.

I immediately replied without rancor, "If you do, our marriage is over."

"What?" she asked.

"You heard me," I said.

She scoffed, "You wouldn't divorce me over something so petty as vacation plans." It was not a question.

"Try me," I challenged.

"You won't just up and divorce me. You wouldn't do that to the kids." Again, it was not a question.

"You want to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us to bond with those same kids. Instead, you want to dump them at your parent's house so you can go off galavanting with that Faircloth asshole." I replied with some heat. "Now that we're talking about the consequences of your decisions, you're suddenly worried about the kids' well-being? Do you even listen to yourself?"

"You know his name is Jackson Fairchild! Not Faircloth! I hate it when you get this childish," she practically shouted.

I contemplated whether I should tell Traci what Reed had been telling me on the phone since February. It would certainly pressure her to change her mind, but if I did that, I'd never be able to trust her later. She had to make the decision to stick with me and the kids on her own.

Using the friendliest tone I could manage, I started over. "Let me say this directly without any ambiguity so you understand my position perfectly. I will never accept or allow you to go, with me or alone, to the beach house of that asshole. Never.

"As for the plans for the Fourth of July weekend, the kids and I are going to DC just as you agreed to do weeks ago. All three of us want you to come with us. You are welcome. If you do not come with us, our marriage is over. Why, you ask? It is as clear as day you've got the hots for Johnson Faircloth. That is unacceptable. I declare right now that I expect you to adhere to your own rules and precedents for acceptable behavior with regard to third-party adults who pose a threat to our marriage."

She was confused. "What are you talking about, Bobby?"

"You're telling me that you don't remember the Ada Douglas incident at my office Christmas party nine years ago?"

Eleven years ago, Adelaide 'Ada' Douglas was a new hire in the data-science department where I work. She was placed on the cross-functional project team I led. As the team lead, I was assigned to be her "buddy" to show her the ropes.

Ada was beautiful, nerdy, and stacked. She had the biggest breasts on a skinny woman that I'd ever seen. The women in her office nicknamed her "Lottery" for it, which tickled Ada. She wore that nickname with pride, which endeared her to the women of the office and disarmed most of the jealousy. Traci, who had absolutely nothing to worry about, was insanely jealous of her and nicknamed Ada "That Cow".

Ada and I had a compatible sense of humor, had a similar level of intelligence, and a similar outlook on life. As Forest Gump would say, we got along like peas and carrots. To me, it felt like we were best buddies and nothing more than that.

I was a bit slow to realize Ada developed a major crush on me. I only learned of it when she confessed it to me. We were hanging out in a conference room between meetings when she told me that I was the only man that had ever treated her as an equal and who had never objectified her. She told me that she'd fallen for me. I told her the truth, which was that I was deeply flattered, but I was steadfastly married and wanted to stay that way."