Sauce for the Goose

At 6:07 on a Monday, Elaine watched her marriage come to an end.

She was heading home later than usual, taking a different route to avoid the pileup on the bypass. The light in front of her turned red and she coasted to a stop. She was sitting there, waiting, idly looking across the road, when she saw her husband, Sam, walk out of the hotel with the younger woman. She watched as he leaned down, gave the woman a kiss on the cheek, and then headed toward the parking lot while the woman headed back in.

"Not again," she moaned.

Both Elaine and Sam had been married before, both back in their twenties. Sam's first wife had left him...no big drama, he had said, just that they married way too young and she met someone else. Elaine's first marriage, however, had ended in disaster.

After ten years of...she had thought...happy marriage, she had come home from a trip early to find him in bed with his secretary. How damn cliché, she had thought. Recriminations flew back and forth and, inevitably, with no children to consider, they had slid toward divorce. Even years later, it had galled her how easily he had moved on. She spent agonizing years, lonely and single, wondering what she had done wrong, while he married the silicone-enhanced tramp, had kids...enjoyed his life.

Then she had met Sam and life perked back up. They dated casually, then steadily, and finally he had proposed. Four years ago they had gotten married and had been happy...or so she thought, she reminded herself bitterly. There had been the occasional fight; he thought she spent too much money sometimes. Was that what this was about?

No, everyone fought about things like that and they weren't in bad financial shape.

There had been a bad moment two years ago when, worried about her biological clock winding down, she had consulted a specialist and found out that she couldn't have children. Sam had wanted kids. Was that what this was about?

No, Sam had taken it well...had comforted her through months of crying over it. Said they could adopt if it mattered that much.

Their sex life was not bad, she thought. Yeah, maybe they only did it once a week nowadays. Was that what this was about?

She wasn't sure. She rarely said no to him...but maybe he didn't want to have to ask all the time.

No, she thought, thinking back to the image of the woman she had just seen, it was about a pair of nice tits, an ass that wasn't showing a bit of middle-age spread, and an idiot brain that looked up at a man with adoration.

"Maybe it wasn't what it looked like," She thought, grasping at straws. But, she didn't believe that, not really. He'd said he'd be late, not answering his cell phone because he'd be meeting with someone...not lying outright, but letting her think he was at the office.

The light had gone green in front of her, unseen, and it was only the impatient honking of the drivers behind her that brought her back to the present. Her eyes started swimming with tears and she drove up half a block and turned onto a side street, pulled over, cried.

When it was finally over, she turned down the visor and looking at herself, trying to fix her makeup. Her cell phone rang. Sam.

"Hey, hon," he said. "Where are you?"

"Oh, I'm on my way home."

"Is everything Ok?" he asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, you sound a bit funny."

"No, no, I'm fine." She didn't want to deal with this; she kept her conversation simple. "Are you home?"

"In ten minutes. Want me to pick up Chinese?"

"Umm, yeah, sure. See you when you get home." She hung up quickly, got home before he did and into the bathroom to repair her face.

...

"How was your day?" she asked.

"Bad day at the office. Too much to do," he replied, his mouth full.

"Anything else happen?"

"No. What kind of thing?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face. A guilty one? Maybe not...she wanted to think not...but, who was she kidding?

"Oh, nothing. Just chattering."

...

She checked his cell phone when he was in the shower. Seventeen calls to and from a number she didn't know over the last three days.

She picked up the house phone. *67 to block caller id.

"Hello," said a young voice...a female young voice.

Hang up. Fucking damn it to hell!

...

"I think Sam's cheating," she told her friend, Marjorie at lunch on Wednesday.

"What?!?"

Elaine told her about what she had seen on Monday, about the phone calls.

"Oh my God, El...that's horrible! Have you confronted him?"

"No. He'll just deny it. That's what Jim did back then. Show me proof, they say."

"Maybe it was just a one-time thing," Marjorie offered. "You know, a one-night stand and he'll feel guilty about it and stop."

"Seventeen phone calls? Over three days? I don't think it's a one-time thing. Besides, with assholes like that, a pair of tits miraculously erases guilt."

Marjorie shook her head in commiseration. "So, what are you going to do?"

The cell phone rang at that moment. Sam.

"Hi, hon, I'll be late again tonight. Not too late, maybe an hour or so. Don't wait dinner for me."

She didn't know what to say, so just said, "Ok."

"What did he say, El?"

"Not to hold dinner, he's working late."

They stared at each other.

"He's meeting her again," said Elaine in despair.

"Yes, probably," Marjorie replied.

"I have to see."

...

They sat in Marjorie's car across from the hotel, watching. She saw his car pull into the lot, watched him get out, walk in.

"Do I go in and find them?"

"I doubt you can. He's not registered and you don't know her name."

"Fuck!" She started to cry. "I'm such a baby about this!"

"No, you're not...wait! Here they come."

Elaine lifted her phone and snapped a picture as Sam and the girl walked out the door, watched as he slid his arm around her before helping her into his car, watched as he drove away.

...

It came to a head on Saturday.

She heard his phone ring, saw him glance at the display and then walk out onto the patio.

She wasn't proud. She walked quietly over to the sliding doors, put her ear next to the screen, careful to stay out of sight. It was hard to hear.

"Ok. Tomorrow? No, her parents are coming over. I thought you were staying with your folks? Oh, I see. Well, I can't. How about Monday? Good!"

"No, I haven't told her. We'll talk about it later."

The implications of those words stabbed through her.

"Love you." He hung up.

It was those last words that did it. The anguish of the last couple of days twisted up inside her and changed. It became rage, fury that some he'd treat her like this.

"Love that whore, did he?" she thought.

"Think he'd tell her, did he?" she continued savagely. "I don't think so!"

She'd get good and ready and then she'd tell him...and then she'd make him understand what it was like to be treated like crap! And, when he was the one crying, she'd take everything the law would let her and walk away with her head up in the air.

She walked out onto the patio, ignoring his slightly guilty start, "Dinner, soon. Come on in."

After dinner was over and the dishes were done, Sam flipped on the TV to the basketball game. Elaine walked out into the back yard herself, opened her phone, and made a call.

...

She was cheerful all Sunday...perhaps a bit acid-tongued with him.

"Probably thinks I'm having my period, stupid asshole. Too dumb to imagine I might have other reasons."

"Everything all right with you two, sweetie?" her mother asked.

"Sure, mom, we're just arguing a little."

"Ok, I'm sure you'll talk it through."

...

Before bed that night, "Do you still love me, Sam?"

"Of course I love you, honey."

"Good." She hoped it was a little true; that would help.

...

When Sam arrived home on Monday, one week after Elaine had first seen him, his world started to crash down just like hers had.

She had called him that afternoon, "What time will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be home at 6:30, as usual. Why?" he asked.

"I'm making something special and it won't hold. Can you make sure you're not late?"

"No problem. I have meeting until 5:30ish. Half an hour to get home; I'll be there between 6:00 and 6:30. What are we having?"

"It's a surprise," she said. "See you later."

He laughed. "All right, all right. Love you, hon."

"Yeah, see you," she replied and hung up.

The meeting got cancelled, and Sam decided he might as well head out. Tonight was not the night to be late; what he had to say might not be pretty and he didn't want Elaine already in a bad mood when he started.

He walked in through the kitchen door, dropping his keys on the counter. "Hey, hon? You here?" No answer. The first thing he saw was her laptop sitting on the kitchen table, a "Press Play" Post-It stuck on the screen. He hit a key to bring the screen back to life and saw Media Player maximized on the screen. He pressed Play.

"Hi, Sam. Or should I say: Hi, you cheating bastard!" Elaine's face on the screen was twisted with anger.

He saw her hold up her phone so that the camera built into the computer could see it.

"Recognize her? I know it's not a good picture; it's hard to take one with your phone from a car. But I think you probably do. In case you're not certain, here's a clue: she's the skanky piece of trash you've been screwing behind my back."

"Did you think I was stupid? You know, perhaps I have been. Perhaps this has been going on for a long time and I was simply too blind to see it? Or perhaps this has just started but there have been others over the years? Doesn't matter. Eventually, assholes get caught...and you are clearly an asshole."

Sam stood there staring, dumbfounded.

"Perhaps you're wondering why I'm not sitting there telling you this in person? Perhaps you wonder why your clothes are not scattered all over the front yard and the locks changed? Ah, that would have given it away."

"Now you're asking, 'Given what away?' I think. Am I right?"

"Well, Sam, it's like this. I always liked the expression 'What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.' Somewhere right about now, somewhere between 6:00 and 6:30, you're sitting down in the kitchen of the home you wrecked...and where's your wife?"

"Well, Sam, she's somewhere else right now and...as the clock ticks over to 6:00...she's sharing this moment with you...sharing it by starting to give some guy a blowjob. Not just a blowjob, of course, that's just the warm up...a little foreplay to get everyone in the mood...but, still, a good start."

"After all, there's no hurry. He may lose that delicious hard-on as he comes in her mouth, but it will excite her tremendously, being really bad like this. And he'll have plenty of time to recover while she gets her turn...enjoying his tongue licking her pussy."

"Then, of course, they'll move onward to the real point of the evening. Think about it, Sam, try to get a really good mental picture: your wife gazing up as he slides his cock in and out of her slowly, bringing her to the first of what she hopes will be many, many orgasms that night. Because, by the time she's done, she plans to be one thoroughly and completely well-fucked woman! I'm afraid Tom is going to be one very tired boy by the end of the night."

"Do remember Tom? Maybe not, I think I've mentioned him a few times, but he works in another department, so maybe not. He's not bad looking, certainly. And tall: he's about six feet four...do you think he's proportionally built? You know, down there? Oh, I really hope so!"

"He's quite nice. Funny, too. I could have seen myself maybe going on a date with him if I hadn't been so totally married...so much the faithful little wife. He likes me, too. He's divorced and, when I said that my marriage was also over and let him know that I was interested in a little romp, he was just fine with that."

"How does it feel right now?" she asked malevolently.

He felt like he had been stomach punched.

She stared out of the screen, a cold, hard smile on her face. "What a situation, huh? There you are, but where am I? My phone is turned on...you can call me...go ahead! I mean, I think it would make me feel good to hear the desperate ringing. I can't really answer it, of course, because I was always taught not to talk with my mouth full." She gave a harsh little laugh at her own joke. "But maybe you'll try a lot of times and I can think about you while you're thinking about me? Or will you just leave me some delicious messages begging me not to do this?"

"Isn't sharing fun? You shared yourself with a little whore and now I'm sharing with Tom...oh...and you, I suppose...though you only get to see it in your mind."

"Oooooh, wait, I have a thought." She leaned close to the camera. "Maybe I'll share enough to let Tom fuck me in the ass later. You never got to do that but, since this is going to be a really naughty night of sex, maybe I'll let Tom try it. Then I could be all wicked just like Little Miss Tits probably is. What do you think?"

"Let me describe some of the other things we'll do tonight. I wouldn't want you to have trouble..."

Sam fumbled with the mouse, stopping the video as she went on, not wanting to hear another word.

How could this have happened? He had absolutely no plan for this moment.

He sat for a long moment, his head pounding, his life in fragments around him. Trying to figure out where to go from here. What was she doing?

More importantly, how could he stop it?

Call her? No, she said she wouldn't answer.

Drive around? It wasn't a big city, but there were plenty of hotels downtown and on the bypass, and it was already almost 5:30.

Her phone!

He brought up a browser on the computer and clicked on the link to the Apple MobileMe site. Cursing how much his fingers were fumbling, he logged into the site, clicked on "Account" and then the menu item "Find My iPhone". Waiting...Waiting...come on you fucking piece of shit!

The blue circle popped up on the map. Around Eighth and Jefferson...the Jefferson Suites!

Grabbing his keys from the counter he dashed out, his shout of "God, please let traffic be light!" causing eyes to look his way. He didn't care.

Twenty tension-filled minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the Jefferson Suites. He circled halfway around before he spotted her Honda sitting alone in the back of the building. His eyes roamed over the windows and sliding glass doors of the rooms in front of him. Which one?

Only two of them had the shades drawn. If she was in there with some guy, the shades would definitely be drawn. He ran to the first and pounded on the glass door. Nothing. Pounded again. Still nothing.

He ran down several rooms to the other one and pounded on it. Again nothing. Pounded again. He heard movement and the drapes were pulled aside. He had never seen the guy before, but his head was almost to the top of the glass and Sam knew he had the right room.

"Let me in!" he demanded.

"Um, I don't you know what your deal is, bud, but I think you have the wrong room." The guy's voice was muffled by the glass.

"I don't have the wrong room. Open the fucking door!"

"Maybe we should just let the police handle this," the guy said, starting to turn back into the room.

"Why? You not man enough?" Sam's tone was deliberately disdainful.

The guy turned back and stared at him a moment, obviously unimpressed by Sam's five ten frame. He reached out and flipped the lock and slid the door open. "You were saying something?"

"Oh, you might be able to beat the crap out me, Tom," Sam said, not backing down an inch, "but, I'm not going to go easily and the question you have to ask is: are you willing to tangle with someone trying to rip your fucking nuts off just so you can get a piece of ass off his wife?"

Tom's face showed shock--both that this guy knew his name and wasn't some random lunatic--and at the sincerity he could hear in that threat.

Then the voice Sam dreaded, but knew would be there, said, "Let him in, Tom."

She was sitting on the bed, her blouse completely unbuttoned, showing the lacy bra, her hair mussed and lipstick a little smeared.

"Starting early?" he asked acidly. "It's still a few minutes before 6:00."

"Just warming up a little," she replied, spite lacing every word. "But, trust me, the main event is coming soon."

They glared at each other. Tom broke the silence, "Umm, I think you two need to be alone. I'll be in the front room."

"Don't go far, sugar; he'll be leaving soon," Elaine said to him.

"Yeah, whatever." The door closed.

"You can't do this, Elaine." Sam said. She could feel the anger radiating off him.

"You can't stop me. We're consenting adults. Oh, you could start a fight maybe, but Tom's a lot bigger than you are and I think the management would have the police here pretty quickly when I started screaming. You want to spend the night in jail while I spend the night here? I was going to come home later, but I can certainly go for an encore in the morning." Her anger matched his, word for word.

"I'm serious, don't do this."

"Sorry, you don't get a vote. You know, I think you should leave now, Sam. Have fun imagining what's happening here. I know I had an absolute blast thinking about what you were doing this week." Venom dripped from every word.

She could see that the words struck home, could see the pain in his eyes as his mind, no matter how much he resisted it, conjured up an image he didn't want to face. She felt a small twinge of sympathy at the sight of him realizing his life was in the toilet, but it was a small part, just a habit. A larger part of her felt the vindictive glee that comes from being able to hurt someone back who has hurt you completely.

He looked at her, deflating, the anger draining out of him, leaving only despair on his face. "Don't do this, Elaine. Please! I want to tell..."

She cut him off. "Oh, I think so, Sam. Everyone needs a little comfort in their hour of distress and mine's in the other room. I'm sure you'll find some of your own," she said with saccharine tones. "Where's whats-her-name?"

"Susan," he said automatically.

"Ok, where's Susie-Q?"

"She's out in the car," he admitted, defeat written across his entire body.

"In the car! You fucking bastard!" Any trace of doubt she felt was swept away as a new tide of fury rolled through her. "You were with her this afternoon?"

"Just a bit," he said, "but not like you think."

"A little quickie before coming home to the unsuspecting wife, huh? A little nooner with your hot eighteen year old slut then drop her off at her parents' house before getting a home cooked meal?"

Sam spoke slowly, sadly, "She's nineteen, not eighteen..."

Elaine burst out, "I don't give a rat's ass how old she is, you asshole!"

"...she's not a slut..."

"Oh, please!" each word full of contempt.

"...and I wasn't dropping her off. I was bringing my daughter home to meet you."

You could hear a pin drop.

"What?"

Sam looked at her. "My daughter. I was bringing her home to meet you."

"You don't have a daughter," she protested.

"That's what I thought. But evidently Marianne was pregnant when we split up. She gave the baby up after it was born and never told me. Susan didn't find out until she was eighteen who her birth parents were. She decided a month ago to find me and meet."

Elaine sat there, her jaw literally hanging open.

"She called me last weekend, while you were at your parents, and we met. We've been getting together this week to talk."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He was silent for a moment. "A couple reasons, I guess. The first was that Susan wasn't ready to meet you. She said it was partly that she wanted to get to know me one-on-one without other people around, and partly that she felt conflicted that I didn't love her real mother anymore, like she was a mistake, and wanted to deal with that slowly."