Once again, the story I am about to tell is not mine. It was told to me by the victim. I merely set pen to paper and added structure and punctuation to words that were torn from his soul. I am the omnipotent narrator, not the judge of morality. The victim swears the story is true. I will leave that to the reader to decide. All names and places have been changed.
Constructive criticism is always welcome. Ad hominem attacks will, of course, be deleted.
If you enjoy this missive I encourage you to read my earlier works. Thank you.
*****
In the history of the world nothing good has ever followed the words, "we need to talk" particularly when they are proceeded by the spouses unabridged given name. When Greg became Gregory I knew the last chapter had begun to unfold.
The private eye I hired-he looked like a 1950's gumshoe who had escaped from a black & white detective movie-had bugged the hotel room my wife Carol shared with her boss, John Hoffmann, the recently promoted executive vice president of sales at Home First Enterprises, the friendly alternative to the big boxes. The pictures showed Mr. Hoffman being friendly with my wife in at least four positions.
From that moment on I spent every waking moment plotting my vengeance. The most important thing was to act normal until I was ready to unleash a full measure of hell fire upon the fornicating miscreants.
The next week went by excruciatingly slow. Carol was very guarded about her work day, which had, until then, been a major topic of our evening conversations. Each day she became a little more withdrawn. But I never let up, "Did anything interesting happen today?" "So who did you go to lunch with?" And, my favorite, "So how's your new boss doing?"
Carol would stammer a vague response and change the subject. Our evenings became very quiet.
My PI had followed them enough to learn all of their assignations took place during long lunches on Fridays. Hoffmann would leave for a customer call at a quarter to eleven and Carol would duck out ten minutes later. Her excuse was she had a chiropractors appointment. They would rendezvous at a business suites motel out on the interstate.
We had enough evidence to hang the pair in divorce court. The papers were all in order, the cannons loaded, and the war horses were chomping at their bits. It was time to force their hands.
I showed up at Home First Enterprises five minutes after Carol left. I walked in and asked Maria, the receptionist, to let my wife know her hubby was here to take her to lunch.
"I'm sorry Mr. Eaton but your wife left a few minutes ago to see her doctor."
"Doctor?"
"She has an appointment every Friday at 11:30. She skips lunch a couple of days a week and takes a long lunch every Friday."
"Thank you. I must have forgotten."
The day before I purchased a prepaid phone so I could call her on a strange number; it was the last week of the quarter and Carol would have to answer so she didn't miss a sale that could put her in bonus.
"Good afternoon, Carol Eaton speaking." Her voice sounded sweet, almost musical; like a salesman should.
"Is everything alright?" I could barely get the words out.
"What are you talking about?"
"I tried to surprise you by popping in and taking you to lunch. The receptionist said you had a doctor's appointment every Friday. Are you alright?" I tried my best to sound concerned.
"I'm fine. It was nothing... a routine adjustment at the chiropractor." I knew by the tone her jaw was clenched. She was not happy and I hoped that would carry over into the adulterer's bed.
"That's strange because I ran into Doctor Wilczak a couple of hours ago. He said he hasn't seen you in over a year and asked if you were cheating on him. When did you change chiropractors?' No response. "Could you at least tell who our new bone crusher is."
"I really don't have time for this nonsense right now. We'll talk when I get home tonight." She hung up.
On a typical Friday night we ordered pizza, and so it was tonight. I was paying the delivery boy when Carol pulled her jet black BMW into the garage.
"Perfect timing." I announced.
"I don't feel very well. I'm going to lie down for a while." Carol muttered then rushed up the stairs. The next sound was the bathroom door slamming. She was still awake three hours later when I joined her in bed. I pushed it one last time, "Why are you being so secretive about seeing the doctor? Is there something you're not telling me?" I was relentless. "Carol, I'm sick worrying about you. Please, tell me what you're hiding."
"Stop nagging me. I told you, there's nothing wrong.. It's been a long day and I'm exhausted. We'll talk tomorrow."
I had a hard time falling asleep because I could hear Carol crying into her pillow. I don't think she slept for more than a few minutes at a time. I couldn't help but wonder how well Oedipus slept the night before he murdered his father.
Saturday Carol was the bitch from hell from the moment she woke up. If we had a dog she would have kicked it. We never did have the promised doctor conversation. Whenever I tried to initiate it Carol ducked the subject. She managed to avoid me for most of the day but I finally caught up with her after lunch. I pretended nothing was amiss and said we had 6 PM reservations at Antoniccis, her favorite restaurant. "Maybe that will help you out of the funk that seems to have stolen your smile." Her response was a blank gaze and a shrug.
At five I found Carol sitting on our bed staring at the wall. "I bought you a surprise." I handed her a box from Niemen Marcus. She didn't open it. I felt awkward standing there staring. "I hope you'll wear it tonight."
When she came downstairs I complimented her on how beautiful she looked in the new dress. "I was going to save these for a special occasion but it looks like you need them now." I handed Carol a gift wrapped box.
Carol tore the paper off and opened the jewelry box and began sobbing. "They'll look great on your new dress." And the string of pearls did.
Dinner was a study in silence. She was so softly spoken the waitress had a difficult time understanding her order. Even three vodka gimlets didn't loosen her tongue. Most of her dinner went home in a doggy bag.
When I pulled in the garage she didn't wait for me to open her car door. She was out of her seat before I had unbuckled. She paused, turned her head, and said, "Thank you." Her first words in over two hours. I watched her walk up the stairs and lock herself in the master bath. I tippy toed up and listened to the door. As I expected she was talking to Hoffman, no doubt seeking his reassurance they would soon be together.
I retired to my den to await fate. I took a small bottle out of my suit coat's pocket and dry swallowed a hand full of tranquilizers. I had been taking those little pills like candy ever since I learned of my wife's infidelity. They were the only thing that kept me from losing it.
I could see Carol in the family room mixing another drink. I watched as she emptied the glass. She was still wearing the little black dress I surprised her with earlier in the evening. I looked up and smiled. Damn she looked good, I thought. When she caught me she turned away.
Even though I knew "the" conversation was coming it still grabbed me like a heart attack.
I was pretending to read a book when she finally walked in. Carol stood in silence for a good two minutes before making small talk, "Gregory, is that a good book?" When I heard my full Christian name and saw she was looking down at her feet and not at me I the end of my marriage was nigh at hand.
I had been rehearsing for this moment for almost two weeks. I prayed I would be able to stay on script.
I placed a bookmark between the pages, closed it, and said, "Not as good as our marriage. So what's on the mind of the woman who I love more every day? Are you finally going to tell me what is vexing your soul?"
I could see tears welling up in her eyes. "What's wrong my beloved?" I feigned concern. "I am so worried about you." I took her hands in mine.
By now she was sobbing.
"Did the doctor give you bad news?"
