The infamous JPB published "What to do About Edie" in October, 2006 in response to those who always criticize him for allegedly not finishing his stories. That is he wrote his story with a challenge to "write your own finish;" he called his challenge "The Just Plain Bob First Annual Invitational." Apparently it didn't become an annual event, however, because only one other person -- the almost as infamous Ohio -- wrote a sequel, in November, 2006. The Ohio sequel -- as all of his works -- was great, but he is very civilized so those bloodthirsty bibliophiles among you may not have been satisfied. Since I have never been accused of being civilized I'm taking up the challenge almost fourteen years after the fact. If you don't like my story blame Bob or Ohio and send them a nastygram (ha, ha).
To briefly summarize JPB's original story (which I suggest that you read, as well as Ohio's sequel), due to a classic "coming home when unexpected" Jerry sees his wife Edie -- who he thought was faithful -- fuck both the real estate agent (Dan) showing the vacant house next door and a prospective buyer (Jim). After that he hears her on the phone to her friend Bonnie talking about how Edie had fucked three guys that Jerry knows, Marvin, Harry and Joe, but stopped fucking them because they had smirks on their faces when they were around Jerry. Edie now only fucks guys Jerry doesn't know (how kind of her). As JPB's story ends Jerry is driving away from his house wondering what to do (hence the title of the story).
My sequel takes place in the summer of 2017, before Covid-19 and the disruption that it caused in life around the globe.
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As I drove away from my house that Monday afternoon the most obvious thing in the world was that my life had changed dramatically. While I'm not the toughest guy ever -- I was a benchwarmer in High School football, never took martial arts, and cried for two days when my dog died -- I'm no wimp. I couldn't see how I could get past this. In fact the further I drove the angrier I became. I think that this may have been the first time in my life that I faced monumental disappointment (although nothing this major before) and instead of feeling sorry for, or blaming, myself I got irate.
I composed myself enough to get the parts from a vendor for the manufacturing facility that I am a mechanical engineer at, which parts trip was the reason for my excursion home at an unexpected time. When I got back to the plant with the necessary parts I worked with a mechanic and the machine operator to get one of our most important pieces of equipment back up and running. I then told June, the woman in the secretarial pool who usually answered my phone and transcribed my dictated reports, to just take messages for the rest of the day and to tell Tom, the head of engineering, that I would be out until tomorrow morning looking at the new CNC laser cutter that we were thinking of purchasing.
Engineers thrive and solve problems only if they are logical. I pride myself on thriving at work and solving technical problems; I told myself that there was no reason that my Edie problem should be any different.
I went to a remote park, got out my laptop, and on the first page of an electronic document started making lists of my strengths and weaknesses. On the second page of the document I listed the goals that I wanted to accomplish. On the third page I listed the resources that I already had and other things that I might have to acquire. I then reviewed online our portfolio of stocks, and bank accounts, my 401(k), my company insurance policies, and my will.
Included in my strengths for the problem that I had to solve were perseverance, intelligence, hunting and wilderness skills, mechanical abilities, and decent physical fitness. Included in my weaknesses were lack of any acting ability, lack of patience, inability to successfully lie, and inability to fight with my fists.
After I was done with that I still had some time to kill. I had no intention of going home for dinner, or calling Edie to tell her that I wasn't coming home, nor did I have any intention of trying to act normal around her. As indicated above I'm a poor actor and can't effectively lie, and trying to act natural or trying to lie would only make matters worse. I turned off my cellphone and instead of going home I looked on Netflix to see what movies were available that appealed to me.
I honestly don't remember what search criteria I used, but at one point a movie review popped up on my screen called "Surviving the Game." It was a movie about a homeless man who is tricked into a situation where several rich assholes began hunting him for sport. After seeing that review I searched other movies of like ilk and came up with "The Tenth Victim" and "Turkey Shoot," which had somewhat similar themes only with fewer hunters and more hunted humans. I viewed the trailers for all three movies, read several reviews of each, and actually watched (fast forwarding through some spots) "The Tenth Victim" even though in my opinion it was more a Grade B comedy rather than a drama. What the movies did do was initiate the formation of a diabolical plan.
I stopped at Panera for a quick dinner. When I got home at 9:58 p. m. Edie was livid. "Where were you? I slaved making one of your favorite meals and you not only don't show up but didn't have the courtesy to call!"
"Why did you make one of my favorite meals? Guilty conscience?" I shot back. That wasn't the response she expected.
After sputtering for a few seconds she screamed "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Exactly," I enigmatically replied as I walked to the master bedroom, took my favorite pillow and clothes for tomorrow, got out my razor and toothbrush, and moved them into the guest bedroom or bathroom. Edie watched me with a startled expression. I think that she was screaming at me some more but I ignored her, took my laptop into the guest room, and locked the door. She pounded on the door for a while yelling "What the fuck is up with you?" I ignored her until I needed to shower and brush my teeth. I walked right past her and her reddened face into the guest bathroom and locked that door while I got ready for bed. Apparently she got the message and didn't bother me for the rest of the night.
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I got up early and left the house before the slut arose; I did notice her, in her bathrobe, staring out the front door as my car took off down the street. Apparently she had hoped for a confrontation in the morning. I wondered what she would be telling her BFF Bonnie Bellows -- I actually chuckled when I thought about that, the only humorous thing (aside from a few light moments in "The Tenth Victim") to cross my mind in the last 24 hours.
After a breakfast at IHOP, on my way to work that Tuesday morning I stopped off at the company demonstrating the CNC laser cutter. I only needed ten minutes to look it over. I gave Tom the literature and specifications for the cutter and my opinion that we should buy it if we could get it for $250,000 instead of the $280,000 that the seller was asking for it. I then told him that I needed the rest of the day off for a serious personal issue. He didn't ask for details, but just waved his hand. "Since you got our main production machine back-up yesterday I don't really need you here until the production and design meetings next Monday at 1 p. m. and 3 p. m. respectively, so as long as you're prepared for both do what you want until then."
I called Winston, the computer independent contractor that my company dealt with for particularly gnarly problems, and asked for some face time that morning. He said "Come on over right now."
When I got to Winston's office I got right to the point. "I need to take over my wife's email, phone, texting ability, and other social media without her knowing it, so that I can send and receive messages that she doesn't know about and aren't to her advantage."
"Who pays her cellphone bill -- whose name is it in?" he asked.
"All electronic forms of communication including WIFI and cellphones, and utility bills, are in my name and I pay them," I replied.
"Outstanding," he chuckled rubbing his hands together. "What's her phone number and what's the IP address of her computer?"
After I gave him the phone number and IP address I asked "Don't you need the phone and computer?"
"Nah," he chortled. "Come back in two hours and I'll have the project done."
"By the way, this is for my personal account, not the company's," I stated.
"This is going to cost you $300 cash, and I never worked for you -- and my digital fingerprints won't be on this and you can't tell anyone about it even if your name alone is on the accounts," he cackled without making eye contact with me while his fingers drummed his keyboard.
"OK," I shrugged as I left.
The next thing on my agenda was to rent the remote cabin that I had leased for a hunting trip two years ago. I called the agent; she said that it was available the upcoming weekend. I went to the bank and got two grand in cash, went to the agent's office and gave her $200 in currency for a deposit, and then went to the local mega gun store. I had purchased all of my ammo, two shotguns, and three pistols from the proprietor before, and he was also in my bowling league, so he knew me pretty well.
"Daryl, I need a non-lethal gun or other projectile-expelling weapon that can do some damage but has no ability to kill. Got any suggestions?"
Daryl smiled devilishly. "I don't have any 'market' weapons, Jerry, but I've been experimenting myself with just such a weapon. Maybe you can test it out for me," he cackled.
Daryl told his manager to handle the store and then took me into a remote, locked, backroom. He was obviously proud of what he was working on. "This is a classic old .22 revolver," he announced holding up a Smith & Wesson K-22. "I've developed three different types of ammo for it. The first is a rubber bullet that has a much softer tip and lower powder charge than the rubber bullets the cops and National Guard use so unless you hit someone in the head you can't possible kill them, and probably can't do any permanent damage either. The second has a capsaicin ball tip rather than rubber. The third has a bunch of plastic 'beans' that are released when the easily frangible tip shatters. I've got two dozen of the rubber version, and a dozen each of the other two made up. I've tested them on simulated human targets, but I'd sure like some real life testing," he said with a grin as wide as the Mississippi River.
I returned his grin. "Can I test fire one of each?"
"Sure," he said, leading me to another locked room with a ballistic gelatin torso in front of a wall of two foot thick wooden beams. I shot one round each of the rubber and frangible tip rounds; they did just what Daryl had represented. "We need to vacate the room within thirty seconds of you firing the capsaicin one because there might be blowback," he warned since capsaicin is the operative ingredient in pepper spray. There was blowback, but we got out before there was a chance of serious exposure.
"How much to rent the gun for a week and to buy the rounds?" I asked.
