The next morning Bill got out of the house early, avoiding Nancy. Shortly after 9AM he called a guy in town who had worked as the client contact on a project that Bill had supervised. He had heard that Joe had gotten a divorce in the last six months. He made a luncheon date.
Bill and Joe played 'Whatever happened to ...' until the food arrived. After the waiter left, Bill started the real conversation. "I was sorry to hear that you got divorced."
"Yeah, shit happens."
"I may be in the same situation. Can I ask what lawyer you used and about some of the mechanics."
"Despite what you hear on TV, everything is pretty straightforward. The first time I met with my lawyer he told me unless we had a prenup or one of us had a lot of money, things were going to be split equitably. In our case we didn't have any children and neither one of us had a lot of money when we got married, so the assets were split 50 – 50. I make somewhat more that she does so I have to pay maintenance for a few years, but then that's over. What else do you want to know?"
"Would you give me your lawyer's name?"
When Bill got back to his office, the email from Joe was already there. He called immediately and got an appointment that afternoon.
The initial interview went as Joe had described. Bill wrote out a check for a retainer. "Can you recommend a private investigator?" Bill asked the lawyer.
"I know you're mad about the adultery, Bill, but more information isn't going to do anything for the divorce."
"I understand what you told me, but I want to find out who this sleaze ball is."
"You're not thinking about doing anything stupid, are you? Despite any stories you may have read, the cops are quite good at solving crimes, even if they happen in back alleys on moonless nights; especially when adulterous spouses are involved."
"I'm a computer nerd. I'm in pretty good shape, but the last time I hit a guy was in the fifth grade. I wouldn't even know where to find a back alley."
The first stop after the lawyer's was his bank. Bill had a checklist of financial changes to make.
It was almost 5PM when he finished. He didn't feel like fighting the rush hour traffic back to his house. He didn't really feel like seeing Nancy today either. He texted her that he was having dinner out and wasn't sure what time he'd be in. Then he shut off his phone.
He stopped at a hotel near his bank in Midtown and wandered into the bar. He started to order a double scotch, but then thought about eventually driving home. "Give me a Sam Adams draft, oh, and bring some chips and salsa."
Bill took a pull on the beer. Had his life gone to shit starting in April or was it like some Greek tragedy where the seeds of disaster were sown twelve years ago? What path was he following now? He pondered these questions while he sipped on the beer and crunched a few chips. By the time a second beer was sitting in front of him, Bill hadn't reached any conclusions. He decided to turn around and survey the room. The stool rotated one way and a woman going the other way collided with his legs. The woman stopped but her margarita kept going.
"I'm sorry," she exclaimed as they both watched the strawberry-colored stain expand over his legs.
"It's really my fault," he replied as he dabbed at the wet areas with a napkin. "I should have looked before I whirled around."
He noticed her almost empty glass. "Let me buy you a refill for what you spilled."
The late-thirties redhead perched on the stool beside him while the bartender was mixing. "In town on business," she asked looking pointedly at his wedding ring.
"No, I live out in East Cobb."
"Wife out of town, then?"
"No. This is going to sound like a cheesy pick-up line. It's not. My wife and I are having troubles."
He was right. It did sound like a cheesy pick-up line, and she'd heard a lot of cheesy lines during the last three years since her divorce. But there was something about his demeanor and the tone of his voice. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Bill started to decline, but he had no one to talk to. Perhaps the beer had gone to his head. "Look, I haven't had anything to eat. Would you let me buy you dinner and talk your ear off? We could just grab one of the tables over there." He indicated an area on the other side of the room.
"Sure." She didn't know why, maybe it was the lost-puppy look.
As they sat down, he started. "I'm Bill."
"Hi, Bill. I'm Patricia."
"Now why do I feel like I'm in an AA meeting. I guess I am addicted in some ways." A rueful grin crossed his face. "I don't know you and we probably don't have any friends in common, but some of what I'm going to tell you – well, I'm ashamed of. Please don't tell anybody else." He looked earnestly at her.
"You've got my word."
He ordered a burger; she ordered a salad. After the waitress left, he cleared his throat. "About twelve years ago..."
He told her about his affair, his marriage, and his kids. "In April I cooked dinner one Saturday..."
He told her about Nancy's announcement. He described how he had adjusted and how things seemed to be going okay, until she wanted to go to New Orleans. "I guess that weekend I began to figure out that things were not going to work out."
"What happened when she got back?"
"She didn't try to see me Sunday night. Monday she cooked dinner and said it would never happen again. I asked her to break it off, but she wouldn't. I've continued to sleep in the guestroom." Then Bill told her about running into Nancy on Saturday.
"Well, she was still covered up." Patricia was trying to defend her gender-mate.
Bill told her about trying to get Nancy to go braless on vacations and around Atlanta. He also told her about the disastrous request on their Caribbean vacation. "Then, yesterday she called me in the morning..."
"Wow! She's really standing there showing off her, uh, her Brazilian Wax job?"
"Of course her back was to the room. With so few people there in the middle of the afternoon, nobody could see her but us. And then this guy pulls out one last picture..."