Chapter One
I exhort you to be a perfect servant to our Gods. Follow in the example of the beautiful Desiree, who did witness many proofs of our Living Gods divinity. She stood at our Gods' side when they over threw the False God and proclaimed their Mastery over the world.
----Second Missionaries 1:1-2
Thursday, June 6th, 2013 -- Doug Allard -- South Hill
My gut pushed against the steering wheel of my dinky, gray Toyota; the damned seat was broke and wouldn't push back far enough so I could be comfortable. But with the money Mr. Fitzsimmons was paying me on this job, I'd soon be able to buy a better car. I couldn't wait.
I was parked just up the street from 2932 Mt. View Ct, a rich neighborhood off Shaw Road on the edge of South Hill. The house belonged to my client, Brandon Fitzsimmons, and he was suspicious that his new wife, a smoking-hot Latina woman named Desiree, was cheating on him. I had been following her all week, and I hadn't seen any sign of it so far. She would just go to the gym, run a few errands, do a little shopping, and maybe have lunch with a few friends at a cafe. Then she'd head home early enough to make dinner.
But Brandon was paranoid.
I had found the proof that his first wife, Maryanne, had been having an affair with one of his fellow executives. Now Mr. Fitzsimmons was certain his new wife had to be cheating on him. But so far she seemed perfectly faithful. Of course, that didn't prove anything. I'd have to follower Desiree a little bit longer too be sure. Maybe another two weeks; Brandon was good for the money. He was an executive at a major aerospace company and was rolling in the dough.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it up, a pic of my wife smiling on the screen. "Hey, Tina."
"The toilet handle broke," she pouted.
"I'm on a stakeout, babe. Not much I can do, but I'll pick one up on my way home."
"Are you still following that rich woman?"
"Yep. This is going to be a long job," I answered. "Luckily, she doesn't go out at night."
"So we're going to be able to fix the roof then?"
"Definitely," I answered without hesitation. There went buying a new car. The roof wasn't that bad, and my gut was dying pressed against the steering wheel. But I couldn't make Tina understand that. Her solution was to have me hit the gym--I just didn't have the time for that. "What're you up to, babe?"
"Oh, I'm with a young stud," she laughed. "He's keeping me satisfied."
It was a joke that started between us years ago. I spent my days following unfaithful spouses, and Tina had thought it hilarious to tease me with the possibility of her cheating. I trusted her though, I had to. Being a private eye made me suspicious of everyone, and I just couldn't be that way with my wife. In an odd way, her joking helped to ease my fears.
"Oh, is he hung?"
"Like a horse," she laughed; a buzzer beeped in the background.
"Are you fucking him in the laundry room?"
"I'm washing your dirty underwear. Don't I deserve a young, hot stud to service me as a reward for doing such a chore?"
"Fair 'nough, Tina, I--" My phone vibrated. I had an incoming call. I glanced at the caller ID. "Hey, babe, it's the client. I'll call you back."
"Sure, love ya."
"Love you, too," Tina.
I touched my screen. "Hey, Brandon."
"Any sign of her infidelity?"
"Nope. So far she seems as faithful as a preacher's wife."
"Good," he sighed. "It's probably just my imagination. I know Desiree loves me."
"Course she does," I answered, though I had my doubts. She screamed gold digger to me. If Mr. Fitzsimmons wasn't a millionaire, there was no way he would be pulling a woman as hot as Desiree. Not as short and fat as he was. "She's still at home."
The garage door opened, a white Mercedes pulled out--Desiree was instantly making a liar out of me. I glanced at the clock set in the dashboard. It was about that time for her to leave for the day.
"You're wife's leaving the house," I said, holding my phone up to my ear with my shoulder while I started up my car.
"Where is she going?" he asked, fear tinging his words.
"I'm sure she's just going to the gym," I sighed. "She gone every other day at this time."
"Right, the gym." Mr. Fitzsimmons made a disgusting, perverted laugh. "She has to keep that ass tight."
"I gotta go. I need to follow her."
"Yeah, yeah. Keep me updated."
"I will, Mr. Fitzsimmons."
The phone went dead. I waited until her car was halfway down the block, then I pulled out after her. She made the left onto Shaw Road; heading to the gym, just like I thought. I followed her anyways, I wasn't paid to make assumptions, I was paid to find the ugly truth.
* * *
Desiree Fitzsimmons
I pulled into the parking lot of the Feminine Mystique Gym across the street from the South Hill Mall. An engine roared to life, and I glanced to see a silver mustang backing out from the neighboring unit to the gym in the strip mall--the Heavenly Creatures Salon. Mustangs were such tacky cars; toys for those that thought they had money. I grabbed my purse and sauntered into the store in my tight, black yoga pants that hugged my lush rear--my best asset--and a bright-blue sports bra that almost supported my large breasts.
"Desiree," smiled Diane Harmon, the owner of the gym. She was a beautiful woman with a porcelain face made all the more inviting by the ringlets of black hair that framed it. She was dressed in a pair of black, spandex jogging shorts and a pink sports bra that showed off her athletic body.