SWIB is a self-coined acronym;
S
he
W
anted
I
t
B
ad. For the grammarians among us, whatever this "it" she wanted -- she wanted it bad, not badly. Badly would refer to the extent to which she wanted this "it"; instead, she wanted "it" bad - as in immoral, evil, vulgar, or obscene.
I have three stories in progress with this general theme, hence the acronym. All will carry SWIB in the title.
In this particular tale, she might also be described as wanting "it" badly. But SWIB,B is a poor acronym and no more worthy of your time than is this introduction, so I'll move on.
I enjoy most of the stories in this category. It is amazing, to me, how creative people can be with the simple premise of adultery, discovery, reaction, and resolution. Much as I hate to admit it, my favorites tend to dwell in the world of over-reaction and harsh retribution. Despite that, I think there are many untold and interesting stories in the more likely response and reaction range.
Hopefully, this is one such tale (at least, for the protagonist). It does require that one believe an accountant and attorneys can be good friends, which, might require suspension of disbelief, but if you can get by that --
The tale is all from the point of view of a naïve accountant, whose wife has strayed. He never discovered her infidelity(ies?), instead overhearing her talking to her lover. The story, and his knowledge, progress in the absence of information from or about her. As in life, he must infer from actions against him, what she is doing -- and why she might be on that path.
This story is entirely fiction. No character or event exists other than in this story. Any character involved in any sexual activity is over 18 years of age and the sex, itself is not described in the story (sorry). The author has never been to Omaha (which does exist), though admits to liking their steaks.
The Rehearsal
It was a gorgeous spring day, April 25. My name is Bob Watson, I am a tax accountant, in Omaha, NE. Even though tax season was extended, due to the pandemic, most of my accounts filed last week. All of them owed a bit more and even though the date for filing was extended, interest payments would be due, for taxes owed. The smart thing to do was file.
My office is nice enough, I guess. I work on the third floor, on the North side of an office building. I have a wall of windows, trouble is they are North facing, not much light, and my view is mostly of the similar office building across the street.
If you know a tax-accountant, we spend most of the late winter and early spring with our nose in a computer, filing returns. It wouldn't matter if my office looked out at the most romantic setting in the world, I'd still be nose-down, in numbers.
I went out for a breath of air at lunch time and the day was so gorgeous, I decided I needed an afternoon off. My wife, Marie and I live in a beautiful home overlooking the Platte River, a few miles before it joins the Missouri River. The day was too perfect, I needed to just watch the water flow by.
I headed home.
As I approached our home, there was a BMW in the driveway. The "BIGRICH" license plate told me whose Beemer it was. Richard Newberg III (or big Rich, to the prisoner who stamped his license plate) was visiting my wife.
I drove by the house, around the corner, parked, and walked back home.
You see, Dickie, as most called him, was the ne'er-do-well son of Dick, Jr. I had presumed his license was because his wallet made him big and rich. He claimed some other reason for being referred to as big; but said they would not allow a plate that read, big dick. One thing was certain, his ego was huge. If you could buy him for what he was worth, and sell him for what he thought of himself, you'd not need to work again, in five lifetimes.
Dickie was well known. In part, because of his father, Richard Newberg, Jr. who is one of the wealthiest people in Omaha, one of the wealthiest, anywhere, I suspect. These days he made his "new" money mostly from his commercial real estate holdings. Junior, as he is called, tried everything with his playboy son, to no avail. The "old man" was brilliant, driven, and good at everything he tried. Dickie was a fuck up.
Our home has a large porch that wraps around two side of the house. It enables sitting and enjoying the river view, no matter where the sun or from what direction the wind comes. I crept onto the porch and started walking toward the front of the house. When I approached the living room, I could hear Marie and Dickie talking. All the windows were open, and I was only about five or six feet from them, just outside, on the porch, while they were inside, seated side-by-side near the windows.
I got my phone out and turned on my recording app.
In my business, it is common for people to go through intricate detail, which they know from familiarity, but I must review, to assure all the detail is as it should be. Consequently, I am quite familiar with my audio app, and use it frequently.
"Marie, it is never going to be easy. When he gets home, tell him he's too boring and you're moving on."
"Dickie, can't you be here with me? I do kinda love him and I'll hate to see him go all glum. It would be better to tell him we are in love, and I still have a big place in my heart, for him."
"Marie, you know I love you, but think about it. You don't have a place for him, other than the trash heap. You are moving on. As for me being there, Daddy has told me if I fuck around, well excuse me, what I mean is if I get involved with another married woman, he is going to remove that large appendage you've grown so fond of."
She laughed, like an infatuated schoolgirl. "Dickie, your daddy will never harm you."
"Don't kid yourself. The old man is ruthless. He'll not neuter me, but he might cut my income to nothing, or worse yet, make me work, again, a few hours here and there. Besides, you need to appear destitute, so you can take the bean-counter for all he's got."
"Oh, Dickie, surely not. It is bad enough I am leaving him. You have loads of money, surely we can leave him with his money, if not his pride."
"No, we cannot. I want it all. If you want me, you must show me. Stomping on him hard will make him hate you and then, I don't need to worry you'll get all weak in the knees the first time one of your ankle-biters gets weepy and wants to run back to Daddy."
We have two children. Claire, our oldest is 7, Bob, Jr., Bobby, is 18 months.
"You are consistent, I'll give you that. OK, when he comes in, I'll lay it on him..."
They went on talking, I realized the tears were streaming down my cheeks and it was all I could do to keep from sobbing. While I was still recording, I had to stop listening to the woman I love casually talking about destroying me personally and financially, just to make a point.
It got quiet. They'd obviously moved from discussion to another pursuit. I decided it was time to make my exit and call "Ben and Nancy". I crept away. No one knew I had been there.
Ben and Nancy
One of my longest-standing clients was my friend, Edwin (Ed) Dover. Ed and his wife had a family law firm, which did quite well. His wife, Sally, practiced law under her maiden name, Joyette. Jokingly, they had knick-named themselves, Ben and Nancy. The first time I had to ask, why. She told me without so much as a smile, that it was a good name for a family law firm, Ben Dover and N. Joyette.
Ed and I work with several of his clients, whose personal wealth often requires both legal and financial planning. It is not unusual, at this time of year, for one of them to have forgotten some crucial element of their plan and need emergency assistance. I got Ed on the phone and briefly told him I was beside myself and needed their help.
"Bob, here is what we are going to do. I am tied up for a while, but Sally can get free. Go to our house, she will meet you there. I'll call Marie. If she picks up the phone, I'll tell her a big account has a bigger problem and you are buried in it. You'll be able to call her tomorrow and let her know when you'll be home."
I was grateful to have such good friends, no detail and they are taking me in. By the time I was at their home, Sally greeted me with a hug. She wanted to know what was so wrong. I said one word, "Marie" and started sobbing, like a fool.
She squinted and looked me in the eyes, "Illness?" she paused, I was blank. "Betrayal", tears. "That bitch! Ed is going to be here in less than an hour. Let's see if we can drink two large martinis before he arrives. No business 'til then. I hate mixing martinis and betrayal."
And so, we did. She is a great conversationalist. She didn't get me out of the dumps, but between her charm, whit, and a half-pint of gin, I was no longer tearful when Ed walked in.
"Hi, you two, what's up?"
"Bitch betrayed him."
"The whore! Well, let's see what we can do to fuck her life up more than she's fucked his."
That made me feel good. I got out my phone and played the recording. When it finished, I said, "I have two thoughts, first we use it in court, then we take it to his father. We fry that bastard."
Ed and Sally looked at one another and spoke some invisible language. She nodded and turned to me. "Bob, you're new to this arena. Things are not done as one would think. At least things are not done straight-forwardly, in a matter like this, if you want to win. Ed, tell him about taking the tape to Daddy."
"You know Dick, Jr. a little, I think. Isn't he officially your firm's landlord?"
"Well, yes, but I don't write rent checks, nor does he receive them. That's all done by others."
"Junior as he likes to call himself, inherited a fair amount of money, but he acquired a taste for it early in his life. Almost nothing he does is unrelated to becoming wealthier. He is one ruthless bastard. He has a love/hate relationship with his son, but Dickie is his truly weak, blind spot. He has spent fortunes getting that worthless hunk of nothing out of one scrape and another.
"For a while, he forced Dickie to work, but it seems Dickie has a talent even larger than his father's. His father's talent is acquiring money, Dickie, on the other hand is even more adept, if it can be called that, at losing money. Junior could not keep him employed, so, effectively, he's enabled his philandering. That has cost him a bunch, but not as much as his idiot son's not-so-bright business ideas."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Ed, he doesn't want to know the family history, he wants to know if he can take the recording to Junior?"
"Of course not! Junior will kick Dickie's ass, but he will destroy you for pointing out his son is a shithead. You heard yourself, Dickie wants Marie getting all your money. She and Dickie will squander that in weeks or months. When Junior needs to replenish Dickie, again, he will not help Marie.
"Dickie is a bad boy, the kind some women get drawn to. He is also, reportedly,
well equipped
