The Outside Beer Party

A funny thing happened on my way home from the airport the other day. No, not funny "ha ha", but funny like strange. I saw my wife sitting on another man's lap, and they were all wrapped up in each other and they were in public too.

I had managed to get the client's on-site physical inspection done much sooner than everyone (including me) expected; more than a full day earlier in fact. I had told my wife Abby on Thursday when we last talked that I was sure that the earliest I could fly back into town would be sometime Sunday mid-day, if not into that evening.

Abby told me not to worry about it; she'd call her sister and they would get some supper Saturday and then hang out. I didn't comment on that; Abby knows how I feel about Amy, her older sister. Well, not that much older, they're only 11 months apart in age, and growing up as the only children in a single parent – mother – household, they became more like twins than just 'sisters'.

But Amy is a round-heeled slut, and although I can't prove it, where there's that much smoke, there has to be some fire. I personally know of three marriages she's broken up, counting her own, of course. Still, I knew how devoted they were to each other and it wasn't worth a cold-shoulder couple of weeks at home to make some derogatory remark about her sister to Abby. So I gritted my teeth, and simply and succinctly said, "Whatever..." Even that got me an exasperated intake of breath on the other end of the phone call.

Anyway, I found out that I could finish my inspection project late Friday evening, so I checked out of my motel room that Friday afternoon late, so that I was able to catch the first available flight Saturday morning which I could, and by 2:00 p.m., I was on the ground in Atlanta. I thought about calling Abby, but I remembered that she had said that she and Amy were going shopping that afternoon, before they went out that night. I expected that Abby would go home and change and maybe shower before going out to supper, so I thought I'd just go home and catch her there.

Our neighborhood is what called "transitional"; that is, it's a mixture of residential, multi-family, light commercial and business, with homes ranging from 60-70 year old houses, older and newer apartment complexes ranging from some shabby-chic to really nice expensive multi-story townhomes, and multi-level homes some have called 'Mac-mansions'.

My way home from the airport typically takes me by my favorite liquor and wine store. I remembered that I had asked Murandi (the owner) to order me some of my favorite Columbia Valley Smokerise late harvest California Riesling. He had left a message that he had gotten in a full case for me, so I decided to swing by his store on the way home, and pick it up. Murandi and I talked for a while, and he informed me that a little neighborhood bar called the "Last Drop Inn" located just down the strip mall from him was having an outdoor bar-b-q and beer fest, with live musicians, so he didn't know if I could drive out that way or not. He thought that I might have to retrace my drive back up the main street, and go the longer way around the block instead of going through the parking lot like I ordinarily would to go home from his store.

There was an SUV partially blocking that portion of the parking lot, but the band was still setting up, and it looked like I would be able to drive on through to the other end of the parking area, and back on to the side street that would take me home, instead of making a three-block detour. The "Last Drop" was one of our watering holes, although it was sort of a rough bar, where a fair number of bikers and wanna-be hardasses hung out. But Randy Simmons, who owned the place was one of my clients; my company had installed his video and internal camera security systems and we had an on-going service contract with him, so when Abby or I went in, we never got hassled.

I decided to try getting through the parking lot, so I eased my vehicle by that SUV when I had to stop as a man walked out from behind it toward the outdoor bar area. As I was stopped, I looked the crowd over, and much to my surprise and shock, I saw under an outdoor tent at the far end of the parking area several people sitting and drinking.

That was not the shock; it was that Abby was one of those people, and she was sitting in the lap of Charles Smith. Now Abby and I both knew Charles; he was one of the regulars at the Last Drop, sort of a biker type, who didn't seem to have a steady job but somehow always had money. Although we didn't socialize with him, we saw him more or less on a weekly basis either at the Last Drop, or Sancho Pancho's, our favorite Mexican restaurant, which backed up the Last Drop on the other side of the strip mall.

So the surprise was not so much that Abby was sitting in his lap, it was that they were all wrapped up arms entwined, him nuzzling on her neck, and all out in public. Now this might be the time to mention several relevant factors that caused my shock. One, Abby was not an overly demonstrative person; in fact, it was almost worth a fight to try to kiss her in public, as PDOA's (public displays of affection) were usually not allowed; and two, Charles is black.

Abby and Amy grew up in rural south Alabama, and their mother and especially their maternal grandparents were, at best, rather racist. Since they and their mother lived with the grandparents until both girls were out of high school, it meant that both Amy and Abby were also rather racist. I had heard both, on more than one occasion, bitch about it if they saw a mixed race, black man-white woman couple in public.

I needed to think about this whole scene, that was for sure. I couldn't imagine under what circumstances I would find Abby with a black man, all but making out in public. I put my vehicle in reverse and backed up until most of my Murano was hidden by that Explorer, but I could still see Abby. As I watched suddenly I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Abby had swiveled around and she and Charles were kissing. This PDOA from a woman who had once threatened to slap me if I kissed her on the mouth in public. And where was Amy? They were supposed to be together; but maybe this scene would have been too much for Amy who, if anything, was more racist than Abby.

I slowly backed up, behind the Ford Explorer, and parked. I always carry digital cameras with me, both for use in my job, and because I'm an avid amateur landscape photographer as a hobby. I got out my work day Minolta Maxxum 5D, and put on my 75 – 300 mm long telephoto lens. I stood behind the Explorer and bracing my arm and hand against the back panel, took several different shots of Abby making out – hell, call it what it was, 'swapping spit' with Charles. I heard some loud laughter over to my right, across from where Abby was seated with Charles. Swinging my camera around that way, I saw Amy, sitting with 3 different men, all of whom were (at least) wannabe bikers, two of whom were also black.

Well, this was a side of the sisters that I'd never seen before. I didn't know where this had started, but I'd find out, that was for sure; and I was fairly confident that I knew where it would end, as far as Abby and I were concerned. I consider myself laid-back, easy going, try not to make waves, you know, "go along to get along", as the phrase goes. That being said, however, there was no way in hell that I would tolerate this behavior from Abby, especially when, if it had been me, she would have slapped my face or at least jerked away from me and the cold shoulder scene would be going on.

I took some pictures of Amy and her group also, and then swung back just in time to take pictures of Charles with his arms around Abby and at least one hand was cupping her breast. This was more than I could stand, but rather than making a scene here that could get violent, I decided to go back around the block, go home and wait for Abby to show up before she and Amy went out together. I could only hope that this was some sort of aberration because Abby was drunk, although I doubted it.

I called home when I got back in my vehicle, to document the time. I then called Abby's cell phone, watching her reaction to see what she would do. She pulled the phone out, looked at the number and then let the call go to voice mail. Well, I had a partial answer at least.

"Hi, honey, it's me, just calling to see what you and Amy are up to. I'll be home earlier than I had thought; I'll call you again from the airport when I get in. I left a message at home for you also."

I drove home, deactivated our home security system, and took my luggage into the house. I then went upstairs to our bedroom. Right away I noticed that the bed was not actually made up like Abby did every morning, but that the covers had been just pulled up into place. I got a funny sick feeling as I pulled the covers back down, and noticed obvious signs that someone had had sex in our bed.

I had fallen down one time, while playing golf, and the only thing that I really remember from that fall was how events seem to be moving in slow motion, and that my vision was like tunnel vision, like I was looking through the big end of a telescope. This was the same reaction that I had now when I realized what I was seeing. For a moment a white-hot surge of anger flashed through me; I honestly believe that for the first time in my adult life I could have committed violence against someone, either the man or my slutty wife.

I went into the spare bedroom, and unpacked my luggage. I opened my laptop and logged into my office server to catch up on any matters within the last 12 hours. As I logged in, I saw the icon for my home security system. Maybe it had been activated so that I could see what had happened. When I logged into the home system, however, I saw that someone, apparently Abby, had deactivated the monitoring system last night. Well, that answered yet another question for me. I pride myself, however, on being calm, cool and collected; it was one of the traits that made me and my partner so successful in our security systems business, and that was my ability to stay calm in the eye of the hurricane.

What Abby didn't know was that our home had been wired up with all the bells and whistles, with every available option for top-line home and home office security. Moreover, the system was a show piece that we used for potential clients, and it had a feature that no one but my partner and I knew about. It could be remotely activated, either from my office or from my laptop through a VPN connection to my office, and if activated in this manner, the video monitoring aspect of the system could not be deactivated from home, although if such deactivation was attempted the system would react as if video monitoring had been deactivated.

I then activated the entire system for the first time, other than for a test run for possible clients; everything was hot. The nanny cams that covered every room but the commode area of the bathroom, the audio systems, the video recording that went remotely to a DVD burner in the server in our basement and with a backup to my office.

I waited in the den, in my recliner watching golf until after 8:00; when it became apparent that Abby was not going to come home before going back out. I got back in my car and drove over to Amy's apartment, but although Amy's car was there, Abby's car was not, and the apartment from the windows I could see was dark.

I drove back over to the Last Drop, but everything had been moved back inside. I parked and went up to the door to see if I could see Randy from the door. He was behind the bar, but at the closest end to the front door, so I walked inside and over to the bar. I had never seen Randy look shocked before, but his face when he saw me had a clearly shocked expression.

"Randy, dude, what's up?"

"Marty, this is a surprise; I'd heard that you were out of state on a business trip."

"Really? Who'd you hear that from, my loving wife?"

Randy got a funny look on his face, like he had bitten into something sour. "Yeah, well, I don't know where I heard that, you know."

"So, have you seen Abby and Amy today? I had heard that you had an outside beer bust this afternoon, and that they were planning on coming down."

Randy was silent for more than a long moment. "Marty, we've been friends a long time. You did a great job for me and gave me a great deal on my security system, but I don't want to get in the middle of something here."

"Randy, the best way that you can avoid getting in the middle of anything, as you so artfully put it, is to tell me what you saw this afternoon. I'm pretty sure that you're not really going to shock me."

Randy then proceeded to tell me that when the beer bust was going full-steam, he had gone outside to check on things and he had seen what I had seen; both Abby and Amy making out with Charles and some of his black biker guys. He said that he was shocked and had made a point of going over to speak to Abby, after which she then got out of Charles' lap and sat down beside him. Randy acted like he hadn't noticed what was going on, but he made a point of asking about me, and that was when Abby had told him that I was out of town until Sunday.

Randy had also spoken to Amy and had made a point of how obvious Abby's behavior was in our own neighborhood. Amy had gotten somewhat testy with Randy, and basically told him to mind his own business, that Abby was a big girl, and besides she was just having a little innocent fun with her friends. Randy had gone back inside and when he came back out 30 minutes or so later Abby, Amy and Charles and his two homeboys were gone also. Randy said that he didn't see them leave and didn't know where they had gone.

I was certainly not going to drive all over Atlanta, hoping to spot Abby's car, so I sat down and ordered some supper. Randy came over and sat down with me while I ate what little that I actually could make myself eat. He then apologized for his actions earlier. He said that he just didn't know to react and, judging from the way both Amy and Abby had acted, he thought maybe that I even knew about it already.

"Hell, no, I didn't know about it, but I came home early and drove by here after stopping at Murandi's place. I saw most of what you just told me about. I don't know what she's thinks she's doing, but our marriage is just about to be toast, unless she has some really great and truthful explanations when she comes in tonight."

Randy and I sat and talked for a while longer after I finished eating. Truthfully I was not all that hungry in any event. I tried several different times to call Abby at home, on her cell phone, and at Amy's apartment. Nothing, just voice mail; so I left messages that I was calling, with no indication that I was already back in Atlanta.

I finally went home around 10:30 or so, needless to say, Abby was not home. After desultorily watching some sports for another hour or so, I set the alarm and went to bed in the guest bedroom. To my surprise, I slept rather soundly, as the alarm did not go off to wake me. When I got up around seven'ish or so on Sunday, I checked the master bedroom (funny, how it was already not 'our bedroom' anymore), and of course, Abby was not in bed.

I started calling Abby's cell phone, again no answer, straight to voice mail; then I tried Amy's home phone. The third time I called around 8:30 or so, Amy answered.

"Amy, this is Marty. Where is Abby?"

"Martin (

she always called me Martin because she said I was such a 'tightass'

), she's here with me; hold on, I'll see if she's up yet?" {

If she's up yet, now there's a phrase I could parse

} I could hear talking in the background, at least two different voices, for more than just a short moment. Finally, in a faint voice, I hear Abby. "Hello, Marty. Where are you?"

"I'm back in town, on the way home. Why are you at Amy's?"

"I spent the night here; we both got wasted last night and I'm really hung over."

"Well, are you going to meet me at home, or what are you going to do? You knew I'd be back in town this morning. Why did you get all wasted last night? I tried calling you at home all yesterday afternoon. I called your cell phone up until late last night. You never answered the phone. Where were you that you couldn't answer your cell phone?"

"Marty, I've not been home since yesterday lunch time; I've been with Amy. I guess my cell phone is off, or maybe the batteries ran down; I don't know. Anyway, don't yell at me. My head is killing me, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I can't drive now."

"Okay, then I'll come by there and pick you up. We'll get your car later, or did you ride with Amy yesterday?"

"I drove, and I sure don't feel like even riding anywhere now. I'm going back to bed here, I'll come home later. Why don't you go by the office? You generally have to work on your exit reports, and I'll call you when I'm feel better and ready to come home."

"Abby, this is just great, just fucking great. I'm gone for most of the week, and I come home to this. I've got to go back out to Savannah at least by Tuesday. You need to come home, we need to talk about what in the hell is going on here."

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then she said, "What do mean, 'what's going on here'? There's nothing going on here, and don't give me any crap. I told you my head is killing me, I'm sick at my stomach, and I have to go throw up. Just go to the office, and I'll call you when I'm ready to meet you at home."

"Alright, Abby, if that's the way that you want it. I'm going to the office now. When I finish my reports, I'm going home. I'll be there by two o'clock at the latest. If you're there, we'll talk. If not, I'll pack my bags for my Savannah trip and I'll head out. It's your call... and by the way, don't you ever take that tone with me again. I don't care how sick you are, you don't talk to me that way."

"Fine, whatever. I told you I'm sick. That doesn't seem to mean anything to you, so you do what you have to do, and I'll do what I have to do. Goodbye!" And she hung up on me.

Fuck this shit; I'm out of here now. I finished the laundry that I had started, completed packing my bags, enough for a 2-week stay away from home if necessary, and I was out the door by noon. I went to the office and completed my exit reports on my work in the Richmond area. Just to confirm, I checked in with the home security system every half hour or so and, promptly at two o'clock, I confirmed that Abby was not home. I called her cell phone to see if she was on the way, but again I got no answer. I confirmed that the home system was remotely controlled now, and that the VPN connection with my laptop was secured also.

Shortly after 2:p.m., I loaded my inspection equipment in the car, and headed down I-75 toward Savannah. Just south of Macon at around 3:30 or so, as I was on I-16, my cell phone chimed. I looked at the number; it was Abby's cell phone. I thought for a moment about not answering, but decided what the hell; let's see what she has to say now.

"Hello."

"Marty, where are you now? I told you that I'd call you at the office when I was ready to come home. I couldn't get you at the office and so I came home, and you're not here either."

"Abby, were you so sick that you didn't listen to me. I told you to be home by two o'clock. When I finished up at the office, I went home to clean up and get ready for my Savannah trip. When you didn't show up, I packed my bags and I'm on the road now, in fact I'm already on I-16 headed south."

There was a long silence, so I thought maybe my cell had dropped the call. I looked at the screen but saw that I was still connected. About that time, Abby spoke again. "Marty, look, I was sick, okay? I didn't mean to get so drunk, but there was a big party, lots of people, we were dancing and drinking and it just got away with me."