A major thank you to blackrandl1958 for her thoughts and editing prowess. Another thank you to the crew at Specialized Iterations for its help.
It had been a weird day at the end of a weird week. When Ervin "Dusty" Dustman left for work that morning, he felt a tension in the air he couldn't quite explain. It had been building from a vague nibbling at the back of his mind since a week ago when his wife told him about the party. He couldn't have explained it if someone had asked him, didn't even consciously put his mind to it and it wasn't even a coherent thought, but he felt unsettled, disquieted, almost as if he was subtly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It was just a feeling, and it made him nervous and jittery all day at work. He tried to concentrate... He didn't want to go to the party, truth be told. He never liked going to any of his wife's office parties.
"Fucking smug-ass lawyers... they all think their shit doesn't stink," he thought to himself.
"You can't skip an office Christmas party, Dusty. It just wouldn't be right," he remembered his wife insisting when he tried to beg off.
Of course he would do what his wife wanted. He
always
did what his wife wanted.
As he shut his computer down to end his week, Dusty looked over at the photo of his two sons taken during a fishing trip last year. He smiled brightly. It seemed his relationship with his boys was the only bright light in his home life in the last few months.
Halfway through the drive home, traffic was slowed around an accident in the right-hand lane of the highway. Dusty realized that he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he wasn't even aware of exactly where he was on his drive.
Due to the accident, Dusty arrived home about 15 minutes later than usual. Instead of what was once a hello kiss when he walked in the door, Dusty knew the only thing he was going to get from his wife was a snide comment. She didn't disappoint.
"It's not like you couldn't get home on time for once," Traci griped. "Now get changed into your gray pinstripe suit. That's my favorite."
Dusty silently shook his head. He was planning to wear his dark blue suit, which he felt was more commanding. The gray suit was nice, but he tended to blend into the background more. He most certainly didn't want to blend into the background around
these
people.
James Fielding, the newest partner in Chicago's highest profile criminal law firm, was hosting the firm's annual holiday party in his large north-side home. As they entered, Dusty could feel Traci becoming more and more tense. She was talking rapidly, and her eyes blinked nervously, always a sign that she was feeling stress. As they reached the door to what appeared to be a large entertaining area, Traci's grip on his arm tightened and she pulled him to the side, pressing him back against the wall and wrapping him in her arms.
"Traci... What's going on? Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, I just wanted to say..."
"What?" he asked.
"Listen, Dusty. You know I love you. I always have, and I just want you to remember that. Whatever happens tonight, it doesn't matter between us. Nothing is ever going to change. I just want you to remember that. We're fine. I know you don't like these people, and it may be... shocking, but as long as you remember that nothing is going to change between us, you're going to be okay."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dusty said. "You're right, I don't fit in with all these lawyers and high-powered jerks, but what's different? These events have never been fun for me, but I'll just put up with it like I always have."
"Just remember, we're okay," she said. She stepped back away from him and let him lead her into the room.
Fielding was holding court in front of a large bar, which featured a painting of a naked woman lying on a bed. Dusty moved off to the side of the bar to get a white wine for Traci and a scotch for himself, nodding to Fielding when the two locked eyes for a second. Fielding nodded back and gave Dusty an evil leer. Dusty hated that look; in fact, he wasn't sure he didn't hate Fielding, as well.
Dusty got the two glasses and moved to intercept Traci, who was heading for Fielding and his group. Traci had maneuvered Dusty so his back was to the bar. He stood on the outside of the group. Traci worked her way over to Fielding, who gave her a polite peck on the cheek before going back to pontificating about something.
Standing on the periphery, Dusty really wasn't paying attention to the conversation. He glanced around a bit, catching another quick look at the nude painting, and thought to himself that it was fitting for Fielding to have a nude painting so prominent in the room.
When Dusty zoned back into the room, he thought he saw several people looking in his direction. Instinctively, he looked down at his suit to see if he had spilled something on himself, or, God forbid, his fly was open. He didn't see any spills, and a subtle check on his fly revealed it was up. Still, the looks continued.
Feeling uncomfortable, Dusty turned toward the bar, again glancing at the painting.
The painting was incredibly erotic, Dusty thought. The raven-haired beauty was laying nude and glassy-eyed on a bed, obviously just having had what appeared to be very satisfying sex. It was a look he knew all too well... on a face he knew all too well. The woman in the painting was standing right next to him.
Dusty stopped thinking. For that matter, he stopped breathing, too. He stood open-mouthed staring at the painting. He didn't notice Fielding and his wife exchange smirks. Gradually, others in the room turned toward Dusty, some smirking, others with pity showing on their faces.
After what felt like forever but was probably only 10 seconds, Dusty gathered himself and whispered to his wife, "That's you!"
The room had gone completely silent when Dusty stared at the painting, and his whispered exclamation might as well have been a scream for the volume it carried.
"No..." Traci said quietly. "That woman has black hair, and I have auburn, silly."
She giggled softly, which only seemed to make her disclaimer even more false. Several people looked from Traci to the painting and back again, and several more were laughing quietly. Fielding gave Traci a quick wink.
Dusty looked over at his wife, then shifted his gaze back to the painting. In an almost catatonic voice he said, "Black hair, but auburn pubic hair. Your pubic hair."
Traci looked hard at the painting. Although she had seen the painting before, she hadn't noticed that the painter had left her pubic hair the actual color, not making the change to black like he had with her hair. She quickly wondered if that had been intentional or was a mistake.
Not that it really mattered. Traci had surmised Dusty would eventually figure out that the painting was of her, but she and Fielding had figured it would be later on in the evening, after he had been softened up by a few drinks. Neither had planned on such a quick reveal.
Dusty felt two sets of strong hands grab him by the arms and shoulders. He was hustled out of the main room into a smaller one to the side. Fielding and Traci followed a second later.
Fielding practically sneered at the smaller man.
"Listen, you little nerd. This is how it's going to be from now on. Your wife is going to be my slut, and you get to keep her and your home life when I'm not using her," Fielding said.
"Fight this and the firm will represent Traci and take everything you have, and I'll still be fucking her."
Dusty looked back and forth between Fielding and his wife. He felt both literally and figuratively trapped.
"This has been going on for quite a while now, and you never had a clue," Traci explained. "So you lost nothing. We're not going to change anything. You and I are going to continue on as we always have, and I will continue to see Jim, or I will take half of everything we own in a divorce and continue to see Jim. The choice is yours.
"Most of my co-workers and friends already know you're a cuckold. Just about the only ones who don't know yet are the boys and your friends. This is just about your ego. I mean we can continue to be man and wife, with all that implies, or..."
"Why would I want to sleep with you ever again?" Dusty replied. "You're fucking him. You've made that quite clear. I'm just an afterthought. I'm not taking pity fucks from James Fielding's whore."
"Feel better now, Dusty, now that you've gotten to call me whore? What's next, you going to accuse me of having cooties? God, he was so right about you. You are a just a little man."
Fielding's laughter reverberated in the room as Dusty was escorted out of the room and then the house. Dusty heard the laughter as he left. He held his tears in check--barely.
"Did you see the look on hubs' face when he saw that painting?" crowed Fielding to Traci. "You do know that he's smart enough to figure out when that was done... at least started."
"Yeah, I guess I'm going to have to apologize to him. But when he practically accused me of cheating, I guess I figured I needed to get back at him somehow. The painting was a great idea, Jim."
"But you
were
cheating on him at that point," Fielding laughed.
Traci followed Dusty out, figuring she would need to calm her husband.
In truth, Dusty had questioned his wife several times in the past year when things didn't quite add up, but each time Traci had gotten on her high horse about her husband not trusting her. That argument had successfully backed down Dusty, who felt bad that he questioned his wife of 27 years.
As the two drove home, Dusty reflected back on Traci's 12-year career with Ascott-Hanson LLC. After staying home raising the couple's two sons until they had gone to school, Traci decided she wanted to go back to work. At first, she was assigned to "Old Man" Hanson, the firm's senior partner, but when Hanson retired three years previously, he was replaced by 35-year-old Fielding, a 6-4, 220-pound hulk who made 47-year-old Traci nervous by the way he looked at her, she admitted. Despite that, she chattered on about her new boss for the first two months, then suddenly went radio silent.
Dusty knew that Traci could still turn heads with her long hair, large breasts and curves. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, and often wondered how he had gotten lucky enough to land that prize.
Not that Dusty was an ugly dweeb. He was only 5-9, but a solid 170. He was quiet by nature and analytical, typical traits most people would associate with accountants, which he, in fact, was. When Dusty found out that Traci's new boss was a large, handsome younger guy, he figured he would try to keep track of his wife's comings and goings.
Traci didn't work late with Fielding any more than she had with the "Old Man," at least until about a year ago. Then, the late nights started increasing before a week-long trip to New Orleans with Fielding for some kind of legal symposium. Dusty wasn't happy that Traci had to make the trip, but he understood that as his admin, there were going to be times that she would have to make trips. He still put in his two cents with his wife, at which point she loudly accused him of not trusting her, despite the two being married for more than 25 years.
No longer in the Christmas spirit when he got home, Dusty poured himself a single malt scotch and practically staggered over to his favorite La-Z-Boy. It's not every day when your life turns to shit in a matter of minutes. He cried like a baby for the next five minutes.
