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Cheap Seats Ch. 01

By: ohio



"Hey, C.D., these seats are fantastic--you can practically see the stage from here! That's it down there, right? That thing about the size of a paperback book?"

C.D. grinned at me, unfazed by my teasing. "Fuck, off, Jake. At least you're here in Madison Square Garden, about to hear your favorite band, instead of sitting at home watching NASCAR on TV, or however the hell you rednecks typically spend a hot Friday night in August."

I grinned back at him. I was from Paterson, N. J., not exactly a redneck—but to C.D., born and raised on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, anybody west or south of the George Washington Bridge was a hopeless rube: a redneck, an Okie, or some other sort of hick.

"Besides," he went on, "check out these binoculars. My latest toy. They're unbelievable—when the band comes out, you'll be able to count the zits on Anthony Kiedis's chin. Except he's too old to have zits, I guess."

We were sitting in the next-to-last row of the nosebleed section, the seats highest up in the Garden and nearest the ceiling. It was pretty damn far from the stage, but who cared? C.D. was right: I was going to spend the evening with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beth's and my favorite band for years. I just wished she could be there with us.

We had a couple of beers and half-listened to the opening act, a thoroughly mediocre jam band called Heroin Mattress or something like that. Then when the lights came up and the roadies started setting up for the Chili Peppers, he passed the binoculars to me.

"Here, take a look. Even from this distance you can tell the hot girls from the wannabes."

Taking the binoculars, I made a face of mock-surprise. "You mean you can actually tell the difference?"

I looked around—into the luxury boxes on the other side of the Garden, then at the best seats down on the floor. C.D. was right—the binoculars were incredible. You could see individual faces with clarity, even follow the play of people's expressions as they laughed and talked.

I returned the binoculars to him and went to get us a couple more beers. When I got back, he gestured to me.

"Check this out, Jake. In the VIP seats on the floor, fifth row, right on the center aisle. There's a blonde in a white dress, she looks just like Beth."

I put the glasses to my eyes, focused them and took a moment to locate the person he had in mind. Then my heart stopped.

I put the glasses down, took a moment for a deep breath, then looked again. It couldn't be her! But as I gazed downwards, I knew that it was.

Her hair was down, falling over the shoulders of one of her prettiest white dresses—one I remembered well from the last New Year's Eve party she'd worn it to. Her face was flushed with pleasure and excitement, and she was chattering away happily to a tall man in his 40s standing next to her.

It was Barton Huntington, that asshole, I thought to myself. As I continued to watch, my brain still disbelieving what I was seeing, he reached his arm around Beth's waist and pulled her to him affectionately. Far from moving away from him, she leaned into him and let her head fall momentarily against his shoulder. He slid his hand down to her ass and gave it a squeeze.

I turned and handed the glasses back to C.D.. I must have looked like death. "C.D.," I said, "that IS Beth."

He looked at me, puzzled. "But you said she was working late tonight?"

"I know," I said quietly. "That's what she told me."

The call had reached me around 4 pm at my office. Beth greeted me warmly and then said, with real regret in her voice, "I'm so sorry, baby. The bunch of us just HAVE to get this proposal out to Tokyo tonight—you know that 2 billion dollar deal I told you about? And it looks like Barton is going to have us all here until 11 at least."

I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice as I told her that I understood, that I'd miss her, that I'd see her at home later. The disappointment was understandable—I loved being with my wife, and wished we could start the weekend together. But she loved her work, and it was certainly not unreasonable that she had to stay late once in a while.

Not more than twenty minutes later, as I wondered what to do with myself tonight, C.D. called and said he'd scored two Chili Peppers tickets from a friend in the Sales Department at Bloomingdale's, where he worked as a buyer.

"Are you free tonight, or have you got plans with the ball-and-chain?"

I laughed. I knew C.D. was crazy about Beth, but that didn't prevent him from teasing me about being a henpecked husband—which I wasn't. He just liked rubbing it in my face what a happy, unattached New York gay man he was, and how many great-looking guys he dated.

"Actually, Beth is stuck at the office tonight, and I'd love to go." We made plans to meet at the Garden and I got off the phone. I was too excited even to tease him about not being able to get himself a date to take to the concert.

So now it was 9:30 pm and I was wondering exactly what the fuck Beth was doing at the Chili Peppers concert, wearing her beautiful white dress, being felt up by that cocksucker Huntington, when she told me they'd be working late?

I pulled out my cell phone to call her, but couldn't get a signal inside the Garden.

"Waldo, I've gotta go downstairs and see her. This is bullshit, her with her boss—he's even got his fucking hands all over her!"

In my anger and shock I called C.D. by the nickname he hated. His full name was Charles Darwin Emerson—imagine having parents who would do that to you? He was distantly related to Ralph Waldo Emerson, and a bunch of us at Wharton, where we'd met, used to tease him with the name Waldo from time to time. But he hated it, so I'd tried to stop. Now it just slipped out.

"Okay, Jake—call me from down there when you know what's going on." C.D. looked like he had more to say, but he stopped himself, and I took off for the stairs.

Getting downstairs was easy; getting onto the Garden floor was impossible, with all the Security guys in their bright day-glo green shirts, none of them smaller than 6'4", 225 lbs. I bought two large beers so my hands would be full, in case they asked to see my ticket, and I strode confidently up the center aisle towards where Beth and Huntington were.

Before I'd gotten ten steps my path was blocked by a guy who had to be Shaq's first cousin. "Ticket, sir?"

I gestured with my beer-laden hands. "It's in my pocket."

He moved closer. "Sorry, sir, I'll have to see it."

I thought for a moment. Why not try honesty?

"Listen—I'm actually sitting upstairs, and I just saw my wife with her boss in the fifth row. He had his fucking hands on her ass—I've just GOT to get down there!"

He regarded me coolly, no doubt wondering whether there was any truth to this.

"Sucks to be you," he said, not unkindly, but the bastard wouldn't let me through. I retreated and tried two other approaches but got no closer than about 50 feet. Ditching the beers, I found an empty chair to stand on and managed to get a few quick pictures on my cell-phone. They weren't great, but they showed Beth with Huntington, and in a couple they were clearly being a bit too friendly. A moment later the lights dimmed and the noise level went through the roof as the Chili Peppers came out for their show.

I was too shocked and too pissed-off to go back upstairs to C.D., so I just stood at the back of the Garden floor for the next hour and a half. Never in my life had I had a better vantage-point for a rock concert, and never had I actually heard so little of the music. My mind only had room for Beth and Huntington—for her betrayal, her lie to me, and my hurt and fury.

When the last encore was finally over, I watched to see which exit they headed for. Then I ran down the stairs ahead of them and planted myself in the lobby. I was going to get right in Beth's face with a few choice words, before I went home and packed my stuff. I was angry and devastated, but determined to put on a cool, collected face in front of her.

But my plans went totally to hell. A bunch of teenage girls spotted Madonna and her husband in the hallway, and started screaming and running towards her. In no time there was a stampede, and 200 excited, shouting fans were blocking me from where Beth and Huntington were headed out the door.

I frantically shouted, "Beth! Beth, it's me!" as loud as I could, but they never heard me. In desperation, I shoved through the mob towards the street. They were at the curb, about to get into the open door of a big white limo, beyond hearing range.

Once again I pulled out my phone and managed four pictures of him helping her into the limousine, his hand familiarly on her arm and then caressing her butt. Before I could get close, the limo pulled out into traffic.

Standing panting on the sidewalk, I speed-dialed Beth's phone. After three rings I heard her voice. "Hi, baby!" She sounded excited, and a little strange. Drunk, maybe?

"Beth, it's me!" I shouted. "I'm outside the Garden. What the hell are you doing with..." Somewhere in the middle of my question I heard the sound of the line going dead.

Furious, I called again. The phone rang five times and went to voice-mail. Cursing, I hung up, waited 30 seconds and tried a third time. This time the phone went immediately to voice-mail: she'd fucking turned it off!

I stood on the sidewalk as thousands of people swirled out of the Garden around me, headed their thousands of different places. I was shaking with rage. I didn't have the least shred of a notion why Beth had taken up with that asshole, or even that there was the slightest problem in our marriage. Seeing her with him was the most unpleasant shock I'd ever had in my life.

I realized I owed C.D. a call, so I reluctantly called his number. I got voice-mail, so I just said, "it's me. I tried to confront them after the concert, but I couldn't get through the crowd. I saw them drive off in his limo, that prick. I'm headed home to get some things and move out. I'll call you tomorrow."

I hung up, realizing belatedly that I hadn't ever thanked him for the ticket. I guessed he'd understand.

********************

Too steamed to take the subway or sit in a cab, I walked all the way to our apartment, on 77th between Lexington and Third. It's a small one-bedroom but in a terrific part of the Upper East Side, and between my salary as an accountant with Chaney Magnuson and Beth's more impressive one at her fancy-ass international investment firm, we could afford it—with enough left over for some nice restaurant dinners and an occasional vacation.

The whole way home I tortured myself, trying to figure out why Beth would allow herself to be seduced by her dipshit boss. It HAD to have been a seduction, didn't it? How could she be attracted to that smooth-talking, polished, hypocritical New York old-money piece of shit?

But even if it was Huntington's doing, what the hell was she doing falling for it? Didn't she love me? Didn't we have a terrific marriage? I had certainly thought so. And I knew one other thing: there was no...fucking...way I was putting up with this bullshit from her!

When I got home I found Beth's outfit, the one she'd worn to work that day, tossed hurriedly on the bed. She must have come home, jumped into her white dress, and gone flying out the door with Huntington.

I spent about twenty minutes packing a suitcase with a week's worth of clothes for work, plus my shaving kit and a couple of framed photos of my family. The ones of Beth and me—at our wedding, with friends in Central Park, with her family at Christmas—I left sitting on the bookcase, though it took all my will-power not to just hurl them to the floor.

I checked the machine—no calls from Beth, or from anyone else. Then I called the Vanderbilt YMCA on East 47th St. and reserved a room for a week. I'd stayed there once before, when I'd come up from Philly for a couple of days of job interviews, and I knew it was clean, and about the cheapest I could find in the city. I told them I'd be arriving very late, and they gave me the phone number for the night porter.

Then I uploaded my cell-phone photos to our computer and had a look. Several of the ten were too distant or too blurry to show much, but six of them were pretty incriminating. 

Two were from inside the Garden and four as they entered the limo. And each one showed a degree of intimacy that was totally wrong for a happily-married woman and her boss, who happened to be engaged to an internationally-known fashion model. The worst was a picture of him clearly cupping her ass with one hand, while she smiled back at him over her shoulder.

I printed out two copies of each of the six photos, putting one set in my suitcase and spreading the others out on the oak table in our kitchen. Choke on those, you bitch! 

There was one final touch: the answering machine. I erased the greeting and recorded one that said, "This is Beth Davenport's apartment; please leave a message after the tone. Jake Carvalho doesn't live here anymore; you can reach him on his cell-phone" and I left my number. Then I headed out the door.

When I reached the street I checked my phone for the time: 12:40. I'd planned just to take off downtown towards the "Y", but it was a warm night. Without planning it, I went across the street and sat on the steps of a brownstone that had a good view of our building. I didn't know how long I'd sit there, but I was curious to see when Beth would come home. Would she actually stay out all NIGHT with that son of a bitch? 

As my fury calmed down a little, I started to reflect on Beth and me. I thought and thought, but there was nothing I could come up with to explain this, no sign that I could see of trouble between us or any attraction to her boss.

********************

Beth and I had been living in New York for three years—the happiest years of my life. We married the summer after I graduated from the Wharton School at Penn. Beth had graduated a year earlier but stayed a fifth year to do a Master's in International Banking and to be with me.

We were a pretty unlikely couple, everyone said, though it didn't feel like that to us. Beth was from Philadelphia aristocracy—Elizabeth Marshall Davenport, from the Davenports of Lower Merion, on the stuffy Main Line. Her family used to joke that their ancestors had traveled up to Massachusetts to greet the Pilgrims when they landed there in 1620. Beth was an official Daughter of the American Revolution, like her mother and both of her grandmothers. Her father Walter was the Chief Operating Officer for Mellon Bank, and the family had about as much money as the GDP of Costa Rica.

I was Joaquim Francisco Carvalho, the eldest son of a first-generation immigrant Portuguese couple. My mother and father raised me in Paterson, N.J., where he was a shoe-repairman and she worked in a dry-cleaner's. Our family had about enough money to own a small two-bedroom house (I shared a room with my brother Jaime) and a beat-up Ford Taurus with about 220,000 miles on it.

I was a year older than Beth, but we started Wharton at the same time. Even with the scholarship they'd offered me, I had to take a year off after high school to earn some money. I helped my uncle doing carpentry for a home-building company during the days, and delivered pizzas all over Hawthorne and Fair Lawn in the evenings. After that year I couldn't even LOOK at a pizza for a while, let alone eat one, but I piled up more than $35,000 to pay for school.

Beth was not only beautiful, smart, and funny, she was the most independent woman I had ever met. I found that out the first time I ever saw her, too. We were both headed for Huntsman Hall, which has two sets of entrance doors. I saw a really good-looking girl walking a few feet in front of me, and I ran ahead to hold the door open for her.

"Thanks," she said, giving me a kind of knowing smile. As pretty as she is, I guess she was used to that sort of thing. Then she moved quickly to the inner door and held it open for me!

All I could do was laugh, and say "thanks" in return as I passed through ahead of her. Before I could say another word, she'd turned away, still smiling, and headed down the hall.

Two weeks later, she came running in just as our big Finance lecture class was about to start, and the only empty seat was right next to mine. This time I had a whole class period to think of what to say, and I didn't waste even a moment's time listening to the lecture.

When the professor finished and we were gathering up our notebooks, I smiled at her and said, "if you hold the door for me, I'll buy you a cup of coffee".

For a moment she just gazed at me, poker-faced, and I thought I'd blown it. Then she grinned and said, "it's a deal. But I buy the muffin—and you can hold the door for me when we're done."

We dated the rest of freshman year, and by May I knew it was serious, at least for me. I'd had a couple of high school girlfriends, and even thought I was in love with one of them, but what I felt for Beth was far beyond anything I'd felt in those relationships. I treasured everything about her. Making love with her was wonderful, as I discovered after we'd gone out for a couple of months. 

But so was holding her hand and walking down Spruce Street, or sitting at a table listening to her tell me about Robinson Crusoe, her family's Labrador retriever who almost caught a squirrel once. Or studying side-by-side in Van Pelt Library, watching stealthily over my book as she frowned and bit her lip in concentration.

I had to take another year off to go back to Paterson and make some more money for school, and I feared it might be the end of the relationship. Beth and I had a long talk and I said I didn't think it was fair to ask her to remain committed to me. To my surprise she started to cry.

"It's too late for that, Jake. If you wanted to get rid of me, you waited too long. I love you!"

That led to a reassuring hug, and to kisses, and to a lengthy session in bed in my dorm room. (Blessedly my roommate had a girlfriend of his own—and as she had a single room, he spent most of his nights there.)

And while I was home doing construction and delivering pizzas, we talked on the phone constantly, and saw each other every couple of months, and managed somehow to get through a very hard year.

After that Beth and I were always together. Her senior year we shared an apartment on South 42nd Street—not without raising some eyebrows among the parents on both sides—and we knew we were going to get married after college.

The wedding was quite something! Beth's parents did it up big-time, just to make sure all their Main Line neighbors were suitably impressed. There were 250 guests, unbelievably fancy food, eight bridesmaids and groomsmen, a chamber group from the Philadelphia Orchestra--you get the idea. Plus a whole weekend of rehearsal dinners, picnics, pool parties.... 

For my parents, who had only been outside New Jersey about three times in their lives, it was pretty intimidating. But they'd already had several chances to spend time with Beth, and they loved her. Even better, she really adored both of them, and I was never so proud of her in all my life as when I watched her throughout the wedding weekend going out of her way to make my mom and dad feel comfortable.

She introduced them to all her favorite aunts and uncles, talked about them proudly to everyone, and just made them feel as important as she could. I'd never felt so sure that I was marrying the perfect woman!

I had further proofs of Beth's independence when we moved to New York. She'd landed a job with Ferris & Roberts, an enormous investment firm with offices all over the world. On her resumé and in all her interviews, she completely concealed that she was the daughter of Walter Davenport of Mellon Bank. 


Cheap Seats Ch. 01



On the contrary, when potential employers asked her about it she said, "yes, we're distantly related," in an airy tone that suggested she hardly knew him. She was determined to get a job on her own merits, not because someone was looking to suck up to her father.

She worked in the international division of Ferris & Roberts, one of about 25 employees who reported to Barton Huntington, head of the Far East subsection. With Beth's background in international finance (and even a minor in Japanese) she was a perfect fit, and she loved her job: the money, the excitement, the people, the fast pace. She had also made a great friend in Diane McKenzie, who was the number two person in the same subsection. Diane had been there nearly ten years and was happy to show Beth the ropes.

My job at Chaney Magnuson was not quite as high-powered, but it was the kind of accounting work I'd been trained for, and I was well on my way to earning 5-10 times what my old man had made fixing shoes, so I considered myself damn lucky.

But when it came to apartment-hunting, my trust-fund bride insisted that we live somewhere we could afford on our own. She was not about to draw on Daddy's millions, though he would have been happy to plunk down a few of them for a Central Park West penthouse.

I felt the same way, and had actually feared that we might have a fight about it. I didn't want to depend on her parents, and felt strongly that we should make it on our own, just like any other young couple. But to my happy surprise Beth was even more adamant than I was; I heard her giving her dad a couple of stern lectures on the phone, making clear that she was not taking any of his money.

"I'm sorry, Daddy—but this is something Jake and I can do ourselves, something we WANT to do, something we're going to do." He didn't give up quickly or easily, but nobody changes Beth's mind when she's sure about something!

Her independence and determination to be self-reliant came out in small ways, too. I once wandered into the kitchen to find her perched unsteadily on a rickety chair, trying to reach a piece of glassware on the very top of a cabinet (Beth is only 5'2").

"Why didn't you call me, honey? Here, I can get that." (I'm 6'1".)

"Not a chance, Jake! I'm already up here, and I can reach it!"

I started to say that I'd be happy to help, but the look in her eye stopped me cold. Instead, I watched in terror, waiting to jump in and catch her if she fell. Of course, she didn't; and when she'd reached the floor again she gave me a smug little grin.

"I know you love doing things for me, sweetheart—but I really CAN manage an awful lot by myself, even if I am just a shrimp!"

"Yes," I said, "the spiciest shrimp I've ever eaten!" She stuck out her tongue at me.

********

As I sat on the brownstone step in the warm evening, there wasn't a single thing about Beth or about our marriage that I could draw on to explain what I'd seen at the concert. We were both happy about our jobs, our lives, and (so far as I had known) each other.

Beth talked about Barton from time to time, but no more than a person would normally talk about her boss. Sometimes she admired his smoothness and ease with people; at other times she made fun of his upper-crust accent or the way he charmed rich old-lady clients. She thought he was a bit of a phony, but he ran the office well and treated his employees fairly, and she appreciated that.

He also had a beautiful and high-profile fiancée, the fashion model Elena Riasonovskaya. So it didn't particularly occur to me to see him as a threat.

There had been one strange Saturday afternoon, about four months earlier, at the end of March. I'd gone out to a Knicks game the night before with C.D., because Beth had to go to a big company party and spouses weren't invited. After a few beers with C.D., I got home on the late side and Beth was already asleep.

She slept until after 1 pm the next day, went in to take a long shower, and eventually came out in her white terrycloth robe and pushed her way onto my lap, burrowing into me as close as she could.

She looked troubled. "You love me, right? You really love me?"

"Not a bit. I was just getting ready to dump you, in fact. Why?"

She ignored my lame humor and said, "it's nothing. Something stupid at work I need to figure out. I just wanted to make sure you still loved me, Jake."

I looked seriously into her eyes and said, "more than ever, Beth. More than you could possibly know."

After a pause I added, "what's the work problem? Why don't you tell me about it?"

She sighed. "No, not yet. I need to work this out on my own, I think."

"Okay, Ms. Independence, but can't I at least be a sounding-board for you?"

She kissed me and said, "thanks, honey. I need to chew on it first, and when I'm ready I'll talk with you, all right?"

I knew that was as far as I was going to get, so I let it drop. Beth still seemed quiet for a couple of days, but by Wednesday or Thursday she was back to her usual cheerful self, so I never got around to asking her again what the problem had been or how she solved it.

Now, as I sat in the dark and my cell phone told me it was nearly 3:00 am, I wondered if that Saturday was a clue that I should have understood better at the time. Because it was absolutely the ONLY thing I could think of that might even begin to explain how the love of my life could let herself get felt-up in public by another man—by her boss! And how she could drive off with him in his limo, presumably to fuck the night away in his fancy apartment.

I was baffled, and incredibly hurt. And then, suddenly, out of patience. Beth hadn't come home, and I didn't give a flying fuck any more when she did, or with whom. She could show up at 10 am with the offensive line of the New York Giants and I wouldn't give a shit!

I checked my cell-phone: 3:16 am. I grabbed my suitcase and started down 77th towards Lexington, where I'd try to find a cab to the "Y".

Just as I reached the corner, I turned to look back at our apartment building. A cab was just pulling up to it, and two people got out, one of them in a white dress. It had to be Beth. I couldn't see who the other person was, or even if it was a man or a woman.

I was briefly tempted to go back for a closer look, but they'd be inside the building before I got near enough. "Fuck it," I said to myself, and turned down Lexington Ave.

********************

I spent the next week as you might expect: angry, hurt, confused, and determined not to talk to Beth or anyone who knew her. I almost made it, too—I lasted until Thursday evening.

I left my cell phone off, turning it on a couple of times a day to hear the messages. The first one from Beth didn't come until nearly 3 pm on Saturday. Her voice was full of panic, but I didn't listen past the first couple of words. There were six more from her during the afternoon, and I deleted them all without listening. There was also a message from C.D. asking for an update.

I met him for a sandwich that evening and filled him in. He had known Beth nearly as long as I had—we were all friends from Wharton—and he was utterly stunned.

"This is SO not like her, man! I know we both saw her, so I can't tell you it didn't happen, but it makes no sense whatever!"

"That's the conclusion I reached too. Tell me: did you see any signs of trouble between us? Signs of boredom on Beth's part, or anger? Anything I unknowingly did that might have pissed her off?"

"Not a thing, I swear. You guys are so lovey-dovey it makes my skin crawl sometimes." He grinned, then suddenly stopped.

"I'm sorry, Jake," he said seriously. "Wrong time to joke."

"It's okay—you're my only good friend now, I've got to put up with you." I smiled at him. We were old friends, and I trusted him completely. Like I'd trusted Beth, until about 24 hours earlier. The thought made my face tighten into an angry grimace.

Sunday I spent walking, sitting in the park, and thinking. Getting nowhere. I hadn't any idea how my wonderful marriage could have gone to shit so fast, without me knowing anything about it.

Beth called 21 more times—she left eight messages, all of which I deleted. I just didn't want to hear it, whatever it was. Not yet.

When Monday came I knew she'd barrage Eileen, the receptionist at Chaney Magnuson, with calls. I got in extra-early and was hidden in my office behind a closed door before Eileen arrived.

At 9:15 I called her. "Eileen, listen, it's Jake, and I need to ask you a favor. I don't want to talk to Beth this week, and I'm pretty sure she's going to be calling.

"I'll be coming in early and leaving late, so you can honestly say you haven't seen me. If she calls for me you can put the calls through—I'll see on my phone that it's you and I'll just let it ring. If anyone else calls and I need to answer, just call me from your inside extension and I'll pick up, okay?"

"Sure, Jake, I can handle that." Eileen was a cheerful, competent woman in her 40s, divorced with two teenage sons. She'd seen it all. "Troubles at home? I'm sorry to hear it."

"Thanks, Eileen. I didn't see it coming, but...that's life, I guess."

"Hang in there, baby. Hope it gets better soon."

Beth must have called 50 times by Wednesday, either leaving messages on my direct line or using the main number to talk to Eileen. I deleted her messages, though I did listen to one from Tuesday afternoon out of idle curiosity. Her crying and panic were gone, but she sounded deeply frightened.

"Please, honey, call me back. It's not what you must think, and I'm going out of my mind. PLEASE let me talk to..." I deleted it—that was enough.

I just kept my head down, worked hard, talked to C.D. a couple of times, and stewed. One minute I was so angry I couldn't see straight, another moment hurt, later on just confused. But always I was determined. What Beth had done had killed our marriage, and I wasn't going to play games about it. Let her suffer for a week or so! Then I'd go back to the apartment and tell her it was over.

My plans changed when I got a call on Thursday afternoon from Madeline Rozycki. Along with C.D., Madeline was part of a big gang of Wharton grads who'd come up to New York for jobs. Beth and I had known her well during school—she was always a bit wilder than we were, quite the party-girl. But that hadn't prevented her from graduating in the top 2% of our class, and now she was on a straight line to a partnership at one of Wall Street's biggest firms.

"Jake, thank God I reached you—it's Madeline."

"Hi Mad, what's going on?"

"I need to see you tonight—it's urgent. Can we have a drink after work?"

"Sure, I..."

"Good, I'll meet you at Sorrentino's at 6:30." And she hung up.

I figured it was probably about Beth—no doubt Madeline had been sent as an emissary to deliver some bullshit message of apology, since I wouldn't answer my wife's calls. But I turned out to be completely mistaken.

The drinks had barely arrived at the table when Madeline leaned forward and looked at me intently.

"Jake, listen—I saw Beth last Friday night and she didn't fuck that asshole boss of hers. Let me tell you the story, okay? Don't interrupt me. When I'm done you can ask whatever you like."

I couldn't help but smile a little at her intensity. Madeline was always that way.

"Okay, Mad, I'll listen."

"I was club-hopping that night"—she smiled briefly at me—"and I was just walking out of Jejune when I spotted Beth leaving ahead of me. It was about five minutes to 3. She was with Barton Huntington--I recognized him right away, from all those pictures I've seen of him with his supermodel girlfriend. He had his arm around Beth, and seemed to be walking her to a big white limo.

"I called out, 'Beth!' and ran over to her. She turned, pulling out of Huntington's arm, and nearly toppled over. She had a big silly grin on her face, and I could immediately tell she was drunk or high.

"She cried out, 'HI, Mad!', in this strange girlish voice, and practically fell into my arms. She gave me a sloppy hug, and wouldn't let go at first. 'Are you havin' a good evenin'? We're havin' a GREAT evenin', aren't we Barton?'

"Her eyes could barely focus, and I could tell it wasn't just booze. I've seen Beth drunk a couple of times. It seemed like she'd taken Ecstasy, and probably more than one dose. And maybe some alcohol on top of that.

"I turned to look at Huntington, and he was just standing there with a disappointed smirk on his face, like someone had grabbed a piece of candy out of his hand. I turned back to Beth and said, 'what are you doing here? Where's Jake?'

"And she got a confused look on her face and said, 'I don't know—I can't 'zactly remember. Barton, where's Jake?'

"He didn't even answer her, just took her arm and tried to pull her away from me, saying, 'c'mon Beth, time to go'.

"Well I wasn't about to let him get away with THAT bullshit! It was obvious what was going on, so I held onto her and said, 'Beth, you are NOT going home with him! I'll get us a cab.'

"And I looked right at Huntington. My face must have made it clear that he wasn't getting any from Beth that night. He just stared at me, looking kind of frustrated and angry; then he turned on his heel, climbed into the limo, and off it went.

"I turned back to Beth and said, 'what were you doing with him, and why are you out without Jake?'

"She just looked at me, kind of glassy-eyed, trying to remember. 'I know we were at the Chili Peppers concert...and then Barton took me to that club, he was gonna introduce me to them! But I don't remember the rest...was Jake s'posed to be there too? I don't think I saw him....'

"She was so out of it, Jake! I hailed a cab and took her back to your place—she babbled cheerfully to me about the concert the whole time. I got the key from her purse and dragged her inside, taking her straight into the bedroom. I got her out of her clothes and tucked her in, her still jabbering away about how cute John Frusciante was, and how Flea had autographed a napkin for her, it was in her purse. You know what Ecstasy's like, and it seems she had a lot of it!

"Finally I got her to shut up, and after a couple of minutes she was fast asleep. On the way out I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and I saw those photos you must have left. Were you at the concert at the Garden?"

I nodded. "Yeah, C.D. came up with two tickets at the last minute. I saw her with Huntington during the concert and tried to catch her afterwards, but the crowd pushed me away. All I could do was get some photos on my cell phone. Then I tried to call her, but she fucking hung up on me and turned off her phone!"

Madeline leaned towards me, intense as always, and took my hands. "Listen, I'm your friend and I'm Beth's friend. I love you both, and I don't want your marriage screwed up just because the guy she works for is a fucking predator.

"I don't know everything that happened that night, but I can tell you that Beth didn't fuck Barton or anybody else—her panties were clean and dry when I took them off her. And there's no way she got so stoned on her own. I'd bet a year's salary that Barton spiked her drink or something."

I sat back, thinking. I knew Madeline was one of Beth's friends, but I didn't think she'd go so far to cover for her as to make up a story like this. And Beth did look kind of drunk at the Garden; and I did see the cab at our building at 3:15 that night, with a woman in a white dress and someone else.

"Jake, will you talk to her, please? She's going out of her mind. You KNOW she loves you, don't you, you big idiot?"

My raised eyebrows made her smile, and she eased up on me a little.

"It must have been awful—but it really isn't what you thought, I swear to you. Now will you call her? Before she drives ME fucking crazy, too?"

I laughed, and said, "okay, Mad. I wouldn't want you any crazier than you are already. I'll call her and tell her I'll come home to talk."

"To talk? How about just come home?"

I shook my head. "I'm not ready for that yet. I hope you're right, that that dipshit didn't get into her pants. It sounds like he didn't last Friday, but I still have an awful lot of questions that need to be answered."

"Jake, trust me on this one. I've known Beth for nearly eight years. She loves you as much as anybody I know loves anybody. She was not out there cheating on you."

"I hope you're right, Mad, I really do. And I will go see her. But..."

She smiled. "But you still have some doubts—understood. Just let her explain it, okay?"

"Okay, okay, I give up." I put up my hands in mock-surrender. "Can we go get some dinner now?"

********************

Out of perversity, or a residue of my anger, I didn't call Beth right away. I waited until Friday mid-morning and left a voice-mail message at the apartment, saying I'd come over on Saturday at noon to talk. That gave me another day to think about Madeline's story, to chew on the whole thing, and to try to figure out how I felt about it.

In the end I realized I had no idea how I felt. There were still too many unanswered questions.

When I came into the apartment on Saturday, Beth had the good sense not to try to throw herself into my arms. She waited in the front room as I shut the door behind me, looking nervous and gorgeous. She'd brushed out her hair, put on a little make-up, dressed in shorts and a casual tee-shirt that I loved—it says "Rome" and has four images of the Coliseum on it, in different colors. I bought it for her during our honeymoon in Italy.

"Hello, Beth," I said seriously. I wasn't going to make this easy for her!

"Hi, Jake," she replied, her voice even softer than mine. "I'm so glad you came back."

"Just to talk," I said, "at least for now. Madeline told me what she saw that night, and she's persuaded me to listen to what you have to say."

I sat down on the couch. "So talk—I'll listen."

She pulled a chair over in front of me, then sat so she was looking right into my eyes.

"First of all, baby, you have to know how much I love you. I would never..."

"Stop, Beth!" She looked at me in shock.

"I'm not here to hear your protestations of love and affection, okay?" In a cold voice, I said deliberately, "just...tell me...what...happened. Tell me how my faithful and loving wife, who needed to work late on a big proposal for Tokyo, winds up in her loveliest dress at a Chili Peppers concert with her boss—letting him put his slimy hands all over her—and then goes off in his limo, and doesn't arrive home until the fucking middle of the night!"

By the end of this my voice had risen to an angry pitch. I stopped and looked at Beth. She was still meeting my eyes, but I could see her trembling.

"Okay, Jake. The whole story." She took a deep breath, looking down for a moment, then looked back up at me and began to speak.

"I'll give you the big picture first, then the details. Barton set everything up that night to try to get into my pants—including drugging me. And he...I...I think he probably would have succeeded, if not for us running into Madeline. She got me away from him and brought me home.

"Oh Jake, I'm so sorry!" Suddenly she was crying, loudly, her face buried in her hands. I did nothing. I sat back and watched her, feeling cold and empty. I didn't feel the slightest urge to hold her, to comfort her. I felt angry, and sick to my stomach, at the image of my lovely wife being fucked by that creep. And the fact that Madeline seemed to have prevented it—by sheer luck—didn't help much.

After a few minutes she grew calmer, and eventually she wiped her eyes with a tissue and looked at me. I still sat, frozen, staring at her coldly.

"You're not going to say anything?" I shook my head.

"Okay...the details then. I'm holding nothing back, baby—I'm going to tell you all of it. Or at least all that I remember." Her face took on an angry grimace for a moment.




Cheap Seats Ch. 01



"Barton's story about the big proposal for Tokyo was all bullshit, I realized later. He made it sound as though Diane and I and the other four of us would be up past midnight working on it—but at about 6 pm he told everyone but me to take off for the weekend. He said the proposal was nearly done after all, and he just needed me to double-check the translations of a few key paragraphs.

"But first, he said, a toast to all of us for our hard work. And he went into his little side-office and brought out a tray with seven glasses of champagne. He handed them around, and it occurred to me later that he was very careful to give a particular glass to me."

She glared at me. "That son-of-a-bitch! It was all a set-up! Anyway, we had our toast, and everyone else left, and I went through the paragraphs Barton wanted me to look at. By the time I'd done them I was feeling very mellow, and a little strange. When I woke up the next day I instantly realized he'd given me Ecstasy. Remember how we both felt at that party at Alan and Barbara's, back in school, when we had some? It was just like that.

"But at the time I didn't realize what it was, just that I felt very relaxed and loose. I figured it was probably the champagne. Then Barton said he had two tickets to the Chili Peppers at the Garden, and we should go. I asked him, 'what about Jake?' and went to call you. But he stopped me from picking up the phone. He said he'd called and spoken to you, and you said you were going to a movie with a friend and would meet me at home later.

"I know now what bullshit that was, Jake! But at the time, with the E in me, it somehow seemed very reasonable. And you know I adore the Chili Peppers...it just made sense.

"So Barton whisked me downstairs and into his limo. We came back here and he waited while I changed. He had told me to put on something really gorgeous, and like a fool I just did what he said, jumped into that lovely white dress.

"In the limo on the way to the concert we had more champagne, and he must have put more E in mine, because by the time the music started I was just flying. Everything was just colors and sound...I felt relaxed, but full of energy. And you know what it's like—everybody was my friend, I felt a kinship with everyone in the crowd.

"When I saw the pictures you took—with his hand on my ass at the concert—I was shocked, because I didn't remember that at all. But I can believe it happened. I was feeling so mellow! Everything that happened was wonderful, everything he said seemed funny. It was just the Ecstasy--and the champagne, I must have had four or five glasses.

"I just ADORED the concert, and of course I didn't see you. I'm ashamed to say I was too wasted to even think of you--Barton's bullshit explanation had completely convinced me you were off somewhere and everything was fine.

"Then at the end of the concert he looked at me and said, 'how about if we go to the after-party at Jejune and I'll introduce you to the band?' I was incredibly excited, so of course I said yes. Meet the Chili Peppers? Wow!"

She stopped the narrative for a moment and looked at me. "A lot of this I pieced together the next day, Jake--with help from Madeline. It all pretty much slid right by me that night, thanks to Barton!

"Anyway, just when we got into the limo the phone rang and it was you! I started to say hi, and then Barton just reached over and took the phone, and said he'd handle it, and he hung up. It started to ring again, and I said, 'that must be Jake!', feeling a tiny bit worried, but he just shook his head and said, 'it's okay, Jake is fine', and didn't answer. And then he turned the phone off and put it into my purse.

"Jake--all this seemed reasonable, at the time!" She looked anxiously at me.

"I know it must have been horrible for you--I've looked at the pictures a million times, and I can't even imagine how angry you were!! But I swear to you, I was so out of it I just didn't have any sense of doing something wrong."

I said, "go on, Beth". I didn't trust myself to say anything else right then.

"Well we got to Jejune and it was loud and wild, with the flashing lights and everything. Barton kept giving me champagne, and I was hot and thirsty so I kept drinking it. And then the Chili Peppers came in, and he actually did introduce me to them! I think he must know them through Elena, you know? And I got Flea's autograph on a napkin, and shook all their hands, and their publicist had their photographer take a couple of pictures of them with me...

"And then suddenly Barton and I were back outside the club, headed for the limo. I'm sure that bastard was intending to take me back to his place and fuck me, and I just had no idea what was going on." Her eyes were cold and angry.

"Thank God Madeline happened to be there. I was delighted to see her--not because I realized what Barton was up to, just because I love Mad. And she must have told Barton off and brought me home in a cab. I vaguely remember the cab ride, and me babbling on about the Chili Peppers.

"And she brought me up here and dumped me into bed. I slept until 1:30 the next day, and when I woke up I was hungover and confused. I sat up in bed and tried to figure out what had happened, and why you weren't there, but I could only remember little bits of the previous night.

"So I went in to get some coffee, I was sure you would have made some. But the pot was empty--and then I turned around and saw the pictures."

She smiled ironically at me. "I screamed, Jake--literally screamed, and backed away from them like they were snakes right there on the table.

"And then I came slowly back into the room, and sat down carefully, and looked at them, one by one. And I started to piece it together...

"And the more I remembered, the worse it was. And then I just started to cry. I sat here and I cried for an hour, and I walked around the apartment sobbing, and I thought of Barton and I wanted to get a gun and shoot him right in the head!

"But mostly I thought about you, and what you must be feeling. And finally I started calling you, and leaving messages--over and over. But you didn't answer, and didn't call me back, and I got more and more scared.

"So I called C.D., and Brian, and all our other friends that I could think of, but no one had any idea where you were. C.D. told me that you two had seen us at the concert, but I already knew that.

"On Monday I called Mad and begged her to come over, and we talked for three hours. She told me everything that she'd seen, and helped me figure out the rest of it. I showed her the photos and all. And then on Wednesday I asked her to please please go see you, because you weren't speaking to me and I didn't know where you were, and...and..."

More tears, then, and she fell silent. As I watched her, the coldness started to slide away from me. My wife sat across from me, miserable and scared. I rose and gently took her hand, pulling her back onto my lap as I sat down again on the sofa.

She threw her arms tightly around my neck and sobbed into my shirt, as I stroked her back and kissed her hair, until she gradually calmed down.

Finally she looked at me, and in a shaky little voice said, "are we okay?"

I smiled and said, "we will be." I kissed her, and she clung to me and cried a little more, and murmured, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry!" And then we kissed again, for a long time.

And she said, "can we...?"

I nodded, and she jumped off my lap, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the bedroom. I started to pull my shirt off but she said, "No! Let me."

Beth made me sit on the bed facing her, while she stood before me, pulling off the tee-shirt, then stepping out of her shorts, then her panties, until her beautiful body was fully revealed. She smiled a little shyly, and I grinned back.

Then she knelt at my feet, took off my running shoes and my socks, then pulled my shorts and underwear off me. She kissed her way up the inside of one leg, then the other, stopping each time a couple of inches short of my cock, which was getting quite interested in the proceedings.

Then she stood up to pull off my shirt and kissed me hard, rubbing her beautiful breasts all across my chest, letting my hard-on brush against her thighs. And she slid back down me, slowly, letting her nipples glide down my body, until she reached my cock again.

This time she took it in her hand and began to lick it, gently, all the while gazing up into my eyes.

"I've missed you, so much!" she whispered. "And I've missed...him, too," with a gentle squeeze of my dick. 

"I'm so sorry, Jake," she continued.

"Shh," I said softly, my attention distracted by the pleasure her hands and lips were giving me. I'd missed her too! and I was very aroused. "We'll talk about it later."

She returned with a smile to her work on my cock, soon turning it into a loving and prolonged blow-job. Oral sex was not Beth's favorite, though she would do it from time to time to please me, and I knew that today's performance was an act of contrition and a plea for forgiveness. Whatever it was, I was enjoying it very much.

She spent about ten minutes getting me closer and closer to blasting off, then wriggled her way back up my body and slid my hard cock into her. She was very wet and hot, even though I hadn't touched her pussy at all. After a full week without sex I guess both of us were more eager than usual.

I pulled her down tight against me, chest to chest, her head on my shoulder, and we thrust against one another deliciously, grinding our bodies together with each stroke. We kept up a steady pace, and Beth's breathing came faster as she approached an orgasm, finally going right over the top. I could feel the marvelous spasms of her cunt all around my dick.

After a few moments, when she relaxed a little, I rolled us over and got us into missionary position. I held myself up on my arms and gazed into her relaxed, smiling face as I stroked in and out for many minutes, while she sighed and smiled and occasionally kissed my lips or my chest.

Then I pulled out and said, "can you turn over?"

Doggie was my very favorite position, but not hers. Beth always said that she wanted to see me when we screwed, and wanted to feel my body all around hers. But today she wasn't about to deny me. She rolled over and up onto her knees.

I shuffled forward, using my hand to guide my wet cock back into her pussy. I groaned as I slid in; it felt fantastic from behind!

She lowered her shoulders to the bed, arching her back up at me, and said, "just take me, baby." And I did, thrusting in and out faster and faster, harder and harder, until my hips were jerking frantically and I was shooting my cum far up inside her, a week's worth, and it felt like a month's worth.

I collapsed beside her, breathing hard, and pulled her tight into my arms. We kissed for a long time. Then I pulled the sheet up over us, and we slept.

********************

When I woke up the clock said 4:45. Beth was still sleeping peacefully beside me, the sheet rising and falling with her quiet breathing.

I lay on my side and watched her, overwhelmed as I so often was by her beauty and all that she meant to me. I hated what that prick Huntington had tried to do to her, and thoughts of inflicting violent revenge on him mingled with feelings of warmth and affection towards Beth.

Did I blame her for what happened? I didn't see how I could, if it was really as she described it. She'd been working for the guy for three years, and as far as I knew had no reason not to trust him. I wondered why a guy engaged to one of the most gorgeous and sexy models on the planet would go to such lengths to fuck someone else. Beth was lovely, but not in Elena's league.

When Beth opened her eyes and saw me smiling at her, she murmured, "oh, thank God!", and rolled over to take me in her arms, pressing her entire body tightly against me.

"I was so afraid at first that I dreamed it, that you hadn't really come back to me."

"I'm here," I said, and kissed her. We traded gentle kisses for a few minutes, and before long we were caressing each other, and I was sucking on her nipples, and my fingers were in her pussy stroking for her G-spot, and then she was pulling me on top of her.

We made love sweetly in the missionary position, stopping from time to time for a kiss, whispering our love to one another. After a long time she realized she probably wasn't going to come, and she urged me on. "C'mon baby, come inside me--show me you're back where you belong."

I sped up, taking long, deep strokes, my pulse racing, until the pleasure broke over me like a wave and I lost myself in the joy of shooting deep inside her, groaning and squeezing her body tight against mine.

After a few moments I tried to roll to the side, taking my weight off her, but Beth wouldn't let me.

"Stay here, you. Now that you're back, I'm not letting you go."

We compromised by rolling onto our sides, still locked together, until finally we had both caught our breaths. It was time for a shower.

********

We sat at the table in shorts and tee-shirts, sharing a frozen pizza and a Greek salad we'd thrown together, drinking a couple of Coronas, holding hands. Neither of us had wanted to go out, or even take the trouble to order in.

"What are you going to do about your job, Beth? You can't keep working for that dipshit. For that matter, how am I going to keep from going into his office and beating his brains out?"

She looked up at me. Her smile vanished, replaced by a serious, wary look that I didn't understand. "Already taken care of. I marched into his office Monday morning, and in front of Suzanne Dooley, his secretary, told him I quit, and that I'd be filing a sexual harassment claim against him with Ferris & Roberts.

"And then I walked out, before he could stop me or even say a word. You should have seen the look on Suzanne's face!

"I went straight back to my office, Diane helped me put all my stuff in a big cardboard box, and I came home. I sat here all afternoon on Monday writing my complaint, with as complete an account of Friday night as I could remember, and then I sent it by certified mail to Arnold Rappaport, the head of Human Resources at Ferris.

"And then Tuesday I updated my resumé and sent it out, and by Friday I had three job interviews set up for this week! Not bad, Jake, considering I was beside myself about you the whole time."

Beth seemed matter-of-fact about it, but I felt much less certain about the situation.

"Do you really think your case will be that simple, sweetheart? I mean, you know and I know what he did, but won't it be a matter of 'he said, she said'?"

"He doesn't stand a chance, Jake. I have Diane and the others to testify that the proposal deadline on Friday was a fake, and that he pulled out the champagne and then sent everyone but me home for the weekend. And we have your pictures, and Madeline can tell them what she saw."

She looked into my eyes. "Trust me, baby. It's taken care of--you don't have to worry about any of it."

I was still far from convinced. "Beth, I don't mean to be a pessimist--but you've only been at Ferris a couple of years, and Huntington is a big-deal Vice President with a high international profile."

As I got up and started to clear the dishes, a thought struck me. "Has he ever done anything like this before? Have you heard any stories about him and other women, or has he ever hit on you in an inappropriate way before last Friday?"

I turned to look at her and froze. She was blushing deeply and looking away from me, down at the table. Her calm expression had given way to one full of pain and embarrassment.

"Holy shit, Beth," I said. "Is this not the first time? Did he do something like this to you before, and you never told me?"

Tears came into her eyes. "Yes--once. I was so upset, but...but I really felt that I should handle it on my own. I'm not a baby anymore, that's what I told myself, I'm a businesswoman who can take care of herself.

"And I did handle it, Jake! It's been months and everything was fine, until...until Friday night."

"Jesus, Beth!" I was suddenly very angry again, almost as angry as I'd been all that week. "The man harassed you or propositioned you, and you never bothered to say a word to your husband--don't you trust me? Is our relationship that unimportant to you?"

"No, baby! It's not that at all! It's just that--I didn't want to come running to you, or to Daddy, or to anyone. I...needed to feel that I could take care of myself, that's all."

I found myself pacing around the kitchen, brooding. I tried hard to calm down.

"Okay, okay," I said, partly to Beth and partly to myself. "I'm not going to blow up. We've had enough drama this week." I tried to smile.

I paced some more, while she watched me anxiously.

"It wasn't as bad as last week, was it? I mean, the other time. What did he do--make a pass, or offer you a promotion if you'd sleep with him or something?"

I turned back to look at her and got another unpleasant shock. She looked absolutely terrified.

"No, Jake...it was...worse than that."

"Worse! And you never said a word to me? Okay, you'd better tell me now."

A long pause. I looked hard at Beth, Beth looked down at the floor.

"Beth?"

"Please don't be angry baby--you know how much I..."

"Beth--tell me."

Another pause. Then, finally, "it wasn't what you're thinking, I swear. He didn't fuck me."

"Didn't fuck you? Jesus Christ, I should hope not! What DID he do?"

Silence. Then, in a tiny, frightened voice, "he ate my pussy".

"WHAT?!?"



Cheap Seats Ch. 02



"He ate your fucking pussy?! And you didn't think that was worth mentioning to me? I'm only your husband!!"

"Jake, I know it was stupid, I should have..."

I ran right over her. "Damn fucking right it was stupid! Damn fucking right you should have told me. What am I, some casual acquaintance you happen to be sharing an apartment with? For Christ's sakes we're MARRIED, Beth! I'm supposed to be the person you trust more than anyone in the world! What the hell is wrong with you?"

I couldn't stand it. I thought my head was going to explode. "I'm going out--I've gotta get the hell out of here."

"Jake, please, don't go!"

"I'll be back--I guess. But if I don't get out of here now I'm gonna break every piece of furniture in the apartment.

"JESUS, Beth--how could you? How could you possibly not tell me?"

And with that I was out the door, stopping only to grab my wallet and cell phone. I heard her tearful voice behind me, begging me to stay, but I ignored her.

********

Just like the Friday night the week before, I was too steamed to do anything but walk. Fast. Angrily. God help the old lady who gets in my way, I thought to myself.

This time I headed straight west on 77th to Fifth Avenue and into Central Park, ignoring the happy faces of families and young couples out enjoying the beautiful evening. When I came out on Central Park West I stopped and called C.D.

"Hey, it's me. You busy now?...Okay, can I come downtown and take you out for a beer or three? I think I'm gonna need at least that many... Yeah, Beth again, and it's unbelievable--she must be fuckin' nuts!... Yeah, I'm a couple of blocks from the subway on the West Side; I'll be down there in about half an hour."

We sat in a booth at Clancy's, around the corner from C.D.'s apartment in the Village, and worked on a pitcher of Sam Adams. I gave him the whole story--the night of the Chili Peppers concert, Beth's account of what had happened, our making up, then the surreal conversation where she told me it had happened before.

C.D. just sat there, looking at me, shaking his head. "Jesus, man. You always loved how independent Beth is. I guess she went a bit too far with it this time."

I glared at him. "Ya THINK? For Christ's sake, Waldo, she had oral sex with that motherfucker!" I realized I was nearly shouting, and heads were turning in our direction. I lowered my voice.

"I mean, I don't know exactly what went on--I was too furious to stay and hear the whole story. But no matter how it happened, she never told me ONE FUCKIN' WORD about it. She even kept on working for the guy! How can I ever trust her again after this? 

"She says she loves me, and I actually believe her, ya know, the stupid bitch? But some other guy gets his tongue up her pussy, God knows how, and that's not worth mentioning to me. After all, I'm only her husband!"

I stopped at the look on C.D.'s face and I had to laugh. The thought of anyone licking a woman's pussy was quite unappealing to him, and his expression showed it.

"Sorry, man," I said. "Forgot that I might be offending your delicate sensibilities."

He grinned at me. "Not your fault, Jake. But I do wish you had a nice story about anal sex to tell me instead, or maybe a blow-job. I do LOVE hearing a good blow-job story..." He licked his lips in mock-ecstasy and I laughed again. How this guy could make feel better when I was this pissed-off was a mystery, but I was grateful to my friend.

"Well, I'm going to have to get some revenge on that shithead Huntington," I said. "How about if I tie him up and you can fuck him up the ass?"

He laughed. "Oh no, he's far too old for me. And too waspy-looking. You know me, I like 'em young and athletic, all those muscles..." C.D. again licked his lips, looking knowingly at me, and I laughed. He was my crazy gay friend, doing his best to make me feel better. And I appreciated it.

********************

When I got back to the apartment it was nearly 1 am and the lights were out. I was a little drunk, and I figured there was absolutely nothing to be gained by having it out with Beth at that hour, especially since she seemed to be asleep.

I lay back on the couch, my mind going around and around, unable to make any progress. Beth works for a sexual predator, he got into her pants once before, and she doesn't think it's worth mentioning to me? She's going to handle it herself--and she's still WORKING for him?

Is my smart, talented, beautiful wife actually the dumbest woman who ever walked the earth?

More or less on that thought I fell asleep. When I woke up on Sunday morning the first sensations that reached me were the smell of coffee, the pounding in my head, and Beth's sweet voice saying softly, "baby--are you awake?"

She was in her terrycloth bathrobe, fresh from a shower, her hair wet and shiny, her face scrubbed clean. She had dark circles under her eyes--I guess she'd had a rough night too!--but she still looked fabulous. I was tempted to reach for her and pull her down for a hug, until I recalled how angry I was with her.

So I scowled instead, and just said, "can I have a cup of coffee?" She brought it to me silently, and sat on the far end of the couch, gazing at me seriously. Waiting without eagerness for what was to come.

I sipped my coffee in silence, enduring the pain in my head and feeling my anger rising. When I was done I looked at Beth and said, "breakfast first, then we talk. Then we can see if there's anything left that's worth salvaging here."

She looked at me in horror, but made no reply. I guess Beth knew me well enough to recognize when I purposely overstated my anger--or at least she hoped I was overstating it!

Then she said, "go take a shower, baby, and I'll make us some eggs and bacon."

Without a word I headed off the bathroom. Forty minutes later I was clean, full of breakfast, and feeling a great deal more human, though I didn't bother to let Beth see it. We faced each other over the kitchen table, coffee cups in our hands.

"Okay, my darling wife," I began, in a sardonic tone. "When we left off you had Barton Huntington's tongue in your cunt, do I remember correctly?"

She looked stung, but said only, "yes, Jake. Not because I wanted it there, believe me! But yes.

"And if you'll let me tell you the whole story, I will. I know I've been the world's biggest fool, but I hope you'll at least try to see it from my side before you--"

She hesitated for a moment, and then went on, "before you decide you don't want me in your life anymore."

"Okay, I'll listen."

"It was a Friday night back in March, a party just for Ferris & Roberts staff, no spouses, so you went with C.D. to a Knicks game.

"The whole time I'd been working there, Barton had never done the slightest thing that was inappropriate. I knew he thought I was attractive--that's not a hard thing to observe from a man--but he didn't flirt, or touch me the wrong way, or do anything that made me wary of him. And he's engaged to Elena Riasonovskaya, for God's sake, why would be he interested in me?

"But that night he hung around me a lot, joining a couple of groups I was in conversation with, and at least twice when I needed a refill he offered to get it. And there was dancing, and I danced with him a couple of times, but also with other people--you remember Ralph, from our subdivision, and Alex? Several guys.

"Towards the end of the evening I began to feel odd--not just tipsy, I know how that feels, but sort of sleepy and unsteady. Barton noticed something, and he quietly asked if I was all right, did I need to lie down for a minute? It seemed like a good idea, so he led me to the elevator and up to his office, and he helped me lie down on the couch.

"I felt mellow and sleepy--not drunk exactly, but certainly out of it. Barton must have locked the door, and then he sat down on the couch next to me and talked to me quietly, God knows about what.

"My eyes wouldn't stay open, and he told me to just close them, just relax. And then he took my shoes off and started stroking my feet and my calves, gently, still talking quietly. And I just lay there! I was too out-of-it to realize that this was wrong, and it felt good.

"After a while he stopped talking, and his stroking went higher on my legs, and...well, you can guess. He got my pantyhose off and my panties down. With my eyes closed I didn't even know it was him, I think I thought it was you. And after a while he was touching my pussy, gently, pulling my legs apart...

"And it felt good, Jake." She looked at me defiantly, and a bit fearfully. "I didn't know what he put in my drink, but I was drugged and high and it felt good--but I swear to God I never knew it wasn't you.

"And then he started licking me, and I don't remember but I think I maybe had an orgasm. I think I did, because I remember lying back, utterly relaxed, half-asleep.

"Then suddenly there was a knock on the door, and I heard Diane's voice, asking if anyone was inside. And I opened my eyes and there was Barton, standing over me with a hard-on sticking out of his pants! I guess he figured he had me where he wanted, and he could go ahead and fuck me.

"I was too stunned and out-of-it even to scream, I just lay there. He called out, "just a minute", and calmly put his dick away and then somehow got my panties and my pantyhose back on me, with me just lying there being confused.

"Then he went and opened the door, cool as a cucumber, and told Diane I'd been feeling a little unwell and he'd let me lie down in his office. She came in and the two of them helped me up, and he asked if she could take me home. I don't know if she even suspected anything, except that his door was closed. Anyway, she never asked me about it, and I never told her."

I stared at her, trying to take this all in. "Okay," I said. "Assuming I believe everything you've told me--Barton sucked you off, but you were too wasted to stop him..."

"It's true!" she cried. "I swear to you on my life, every word of it is true!"

"All right. Can you PLEASE explain to me why I never heard a word about this--and why you kept right on working for that asshole, instead of quitting and reporting him? Jesus, Beth, what could you possibly have been thinking?"

She looked at me, almost desperately. "You remember the next day, Saturday? When I got up really late, and took a long shower, and then came in my robe and cuddled up in your lap and asked me if you loved me?

I nodded, and she went on. "I was feeling horrible. Just horrible--utterly betrayed, for one thing, and furious, and guilty as hell, even though I didn't think it was my fault.

"And I wanted to KILL Barton!" Her eyes blazed. "I wanted to shoot him right in the head, that bastard!

"But I felt I needed to do it myself, Jake. I couldn't let you or anybody else take care of me this time. I was a grown woman, a businesswoman in a high-stress man's world, and I needed to prove I could handle it on my own.

"So I thought about it all weekend. Monday morning after you left for work, I stayed here and wrote him a resignation letter, and said I was going to report him to Human Resources for attempted rape. C'mere, I'll show you the letter."

She jumped over to the computer, searched through the files, and brought it up on screen. A letter to Barton Huntington dated March 27.

"Dear Barton:

In light of your shameful behavior last Friday at the party, I cannot work for you any longer. I hereby resign, effective immediately.

You may be sure that I am reporting the incident to the Human Resources Department of Ferris & Roberts and demanding a full investigation. I have no doubt that your conduct will lead to your firing, at the very least.

Sincerely, Elizabeth Davenport"

I read the letter, then looked up at her. "So what happened? Why the hell didn't you give him the letter?"

"I did, Jake. I marched straight into his office around 10:30, put the letter in front of him, said, 'I quit', and went back to clean out my desk. Ten minutes later Suzanne called down to my office, saying Barton needed to see me urgently. I told her No, but five minutes after that he was back himself, standing there in front of me.

" 'Please, Beth--I'm sorry', he said. 'Give me a chance to explain.'

"Well, in the end I agreed to a five-minute conversation in his office, just him and me, but with the door wide open and Suzanne right outside in the next room. I didn't trust him a bit.

"He apologized over and over, said he'd never done anything like that before, he was so overwhelmed by how beautiful I looked at the party. He realized it was terribly wrong, he'd abused my trust in him, etc. etc. Just all the bullshit you'd expect. And he asked me what it would take for me to stay at Ferris.

"So I told him I'd think about it, and I left for the day. I walked around New York, I went shopping for a while, and I thought hard."

"And all this time it didn't occur to you to talk to me?!" I interrupted.

"Yes, Jake, of course it did. To talk to you, or to Diane, or--somebody. But I wanted to handle it on my own. Maybe I was the world's biggest idiot, but I was sure I could manage it.

"The next day I went back in with another letter--my list of conditions. I put it down on his desk, and within two minutes he'd agreed to every one of them."

She stepped back over to the computer and pulled up her second letter.

"March 28

Dear Barton:

I will return to my position in your subdivision at Ferris & Roberts; and agree to make no complaint to the Human Resources Department about your assault on me last Friday; under the following conditions:

1) you provide me with a detailed written apology, explaining exactly what took place last Friday evening at the party and in your office;

2) you pledge never again to treat me or any employee at Ferris in an inappropriate fashion: not to make a pass, not to use alcohol or drugs in an attempt to have a sexual encounter, not to offer advancement in exchange for sex or threaten punishment for failure to agree to sex;

3) you agree to treat me at all times with the respect due any employee of Ferris & Roberts;

4) you agree that you and I will never again be alone together at any time.

Sincerely, Elizabeth Davenport"

We moved back to the table and she continued. "By the next day I had a detailed three-page letter from him, which I kept locked in my desk. Turns out he used rohypnol on me--half a dose, he said, so I wouldn't be completely unconscious, just relaxed and vulnerable."

I sat back in my chair. "Beth, this is all a bit too fucking much for me to believe. The guy drugs you, eats your pussy, is stopped from raping you by SHEER LUCK, and you go on working there?"

She blushed, but looked me straight in the eye. "I know it sounds like the stupidest thing in the world--but at the time it felt like a huge victory for me. I made him back down, I got his written confession, he behaved properly at every moment, and I was able to keep working at a job I love. I felt so proud that I had handled it effectively."

I laughed harshly. "Yeah, well, for about four months.... Not exactly a permanent solution, I'd say."

"I know," she said, hanging her head. "And I'm so sorry.

"I was just wrong, Jake! Wrong not to tell you. But I know you, you would have wanted to march in there and kick him in the balls. You never would have let me handle it myself!"

She was right about that, and I knew it. "Maybe so, Beth. But this is one hell of a secret to keep from me. If some secretary at Chaney Magnuson had gotten me drunk and given me a blow-job, how would you feel about that? And if I kept it secret from you?"

"Yes...yes, I know, baby. I would have hated it. I would have wanted to kill you--AND her. I would have gone absolutely nuts."

We sat in silence for several minutes. I was still angry--very angry--but I was just able to see it from her side, at least a little. What she did was fucking stupid, but I understood why she did it. Beth's sense of independence was a big part of who she was. I had to respect that, even if it had led her to make a huge mistake.

I finally broke the silence. "Well, if you have his confession letter from the first time, he should be totally fucked now--he won't have a leg to stand on. Can I see it?"

Now she looked really awful, almost ill. In a tiny voice she said, "I don't have it, Jake. It was locked in my desk, but when I cleared my things out on Monday it was gone. He must have gone looking for it and stolen it over the weekend."

"Jesus CHRIST, Beth, this gets better and better! Have you got a copy, at least?"

She shook her head sadly. More silence, while I did everything in my power to keep from screaming at her some more.

********************

Well, that ended the conversation. She just sat at the table crying and I went out again, for a long walk. When I came back we kind of ignored one another, by mutual consent, and over dinner the only talking was "pass the salt," or "the chicken is good"--"thanks, would you like some more?"

After dinner I sat and watched the Yankees lose to Toronto on the tube, though I can't tell you a thing about the game. Beth hid out in the bedroom, and by the time I came to bed at 11:30 she was either asleep or pretending to be.

I left early for work the next morning, without breakfast or a shower, because I still wasn't ready to talk to Beth. But I called Madeline and she agreed to meet me for a long lunch. She already knew half the story, and I trusted her judgment. Certainly more than I trusted my own at that moment--I was too pissed-off!

Madeline being Madeline, we had our conversation at Le Petit Trianon, the most expensive French restaurant in midtown--God only knows how she'd gotten us a table on such short notice. She listened to me tell her the whole tale, or rather the parts she didn't already know. I watched her face over her martini glass, but she didn't let on a thing about what she was thinking until I finished.

Then she smiled--a unique Madeline smile, combining sympathy, sarcasm, and a predatory sharklike expression that I hoped was meant for Barton Huntington!

"Okay, Jake. So where are you now? The woman you love turns out to be just as dumb as the rest of us, or at least she was this time. No, that's not fair--a great deal dumber than most of us have ever been. So what are you going to do about it?"

She asked this challengingly, but not unkindly. That was Mad's style. Blunt. I knew she cared about both Beth and me, but she didn't waste time doing anything but getting right to the point.

"There are two questions, Mad--the obvious ones. First, can Beth and I get past what she's done? It's not just her stupidity, it's that I feel so betrayed. I would trust her with my life, but she nearly gets raped by her boss and says nothing to me about it."

"Well Duh, Jake! Don't you think she felt unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed about that? It's the kind of thing that happens to Penn freshman girls at frat parties--it's not supposed to happen to a grown woman on her way to the top of the international business world.

"Smell the coffee--she felt like a fool! A business mistake, losing a client or something, she would have told you about in a heartbeat, and looked for your sympathy and support. But this--she was probably both ashamed and scared of what your reaction would be. Including, as she said, scared that you'd storm into Huntington's office and take a poke at him, the asshole."

"Yeah," I said with a smile, "I probably would have."

"Well, as satisfying as that might have been for you, it would have been humiliating for her. You can see that, surely."

I nodded my head reluctantly. "Yes--but that doesn't make it right that she kept the whole thing from me."

"I agree. Beth was wrong. As she's said to you, several times. So what are you going to do about it?"




Cheap Seats Ch. 02



I sighed. "You asked me that already. Okay, number one is I want to stay with her. I've never loved anyone the way I love Beth, and no one can make me happy the way she does.

"But Goddammit, she needs to understand that our relationship has to change! We're a partnership, and if she's going to keep things from me just because they're embarrassing or painful, well I'm out the door. And I'm not coming back the next time."

I found myself glaring furiously at Mad, as though she were to blame, while she just smiled calmly back at me.

"Okay Jake, that's a start. And I feel 100% sure that Beth will agree to those conditions. And, in fact, that she'll be disgustingly penitent and submissive for a few weeks or so--so make the most of it!"

With this she rolled her eyes, making a kind of "oh boy, hot sex" face, and I cracked up. After a minute she said, "what's question number two?"

"That one's obvious, too: how the hell do we give Barton fucking Huntington his just desserts?"

The wonderful predatory gleam returned to Mad's eyes as she leaned forward. "Well, I have a couple of ideas...."

We talked about her ideas, and mine, with great pleasure for a little while. When it was time to part she said, "now listen, you have to remember this. Of course you're pissed at Beth, and she does need to make this up to you. But when it comes to acting against Huntington, you have to be full partners. SHE was the one who was abused, so the final decision about what you do has to be hers."

"Yeah," I said a little defensively, "but she'd damn well better include me in all her thinking this time!"

"Agreed," said Madeline promptly. "And I know she will. Jake, she's not a fool--despite how this episode makes her look. And she really, really loves you."

Madeline looked momentarily wistful as she said this. I realized that in the years I'd known her there had been many many flings, some great one-night stands, but no man in her life for more than a couple of months at a time. She must really envy what Beth and I have. The thought sobered me, and saddened me a little. But it also made me feel very lucky.

We'd finished our lunch and said goodbye on the sidewalk, and I'd taken about five steps away, when I turned back and called out, "Mad?"

She turned and looked at me quizzically.

"Okay if I walk you back to your office? I've got another couple of questions," I said.

"Sure, Jake. Fire away."

We strolled across town, not paying too much attention to the passersby around us.

"Madeline, you're my friend as well as Beth's, right?"

"Of course, Jake."

"Well--if you found out I'd been cheating on Beth, would you tell her?"

Madeline's eyes blazed. "Damn right I would! If I didn't tear you limb from limb myself!"

I smiled at her. "Okay. Then if you found out Beth had been cheating on me, would you tell me?"

This made her stop in her tracks. She looked a little uneasy for a moment. "I'm...not sure, Jake. To be honest. I think I probably would, but I'd think about it first."

We resumed walking. "Thanks for telling me the truth, Mad. So: how am I to know she isn't cheating on me now? What's to say that she isn't screwing around with that asshole Huntington, and these elaborate stories aren't purely for the purpose of keeping me in the dark?"

Madeline laughed, somehow relieved by my question. "That's an easy one, Jake! First of all: even if I might not tell you right away about Beth cheating on you--which is never gonna happen--there's no way I'd lie for her to cover for her. The story about that Friday night outside Jejune is the God's honest truth.

"And second: if Beth WERE cheating on you, why would she have confessed to the first time Huntington drugged her? You didn't know anything about it, right? So why wouldn't she just have never mentioned it?"

I considered that, while Mad regarded me triumphantly. She was absolutely right, of course. If Beth were cheating on me with Huntington or anyone else, the last thing she would ever have done is told me the story about the infamous pussy-licking incident.

Finally I said, "yes, you're right, Mad. And thank you--that helps."

She took my arm and squeezed it tightly. We walked on, in silence for a little while, and then our conversation turned naturally to other things. When I'd dropped her off I headed back to my office, feeling better than I had in a couple of weeks.

********************

A week later, on a Tuesday morning, I walked right past Huntington's secretary Suzanne, who gave me a smile and a "thumbs up", and into his office, closing the door behind me.

He looked up in annoyance, not recognizing me at first. "Who are you, and how did you get past my secretary?"

"What's the matter, Barton, you don't remember Beth's husband? From what I've heard, you take quite an interest in her."

I could see the recognition dawn in his face. He picked up the phone, looking a little worried, and said, "if you don't leave this office instantly I'm calling Security."

Smiling, I turned to lock the door behind me, then turned back to Huntington. "You might want to wait a moment before you do that, Barton.

"Here's your choice. You can put the phone down, have a civilized little chat with me, and then I'll go right back out the door and leave you alone. Or you can call Security. By the time they get here and break down the locked door, I will have beaten the living shit out of you.

"I can guarantee that your nose will be broken, probably several ribs as well, and your nuts will certainly have gotten a lot of my attention." I grinned at him.

"And then, if you press charges for assault, I'll make clear to the court the precise reason for my having attacked you so violently--and I'll be sure that the press is there to hear my story. Are you sure that's what you want?"

He glared at me angrily, but I could see him weighing his options. After a long moment he replaced the phone on its cradle. "And if I talk to you, then you'll leave me alone?"

I nodded. "I'll unlock the door and leave it open a couple of inches, so you can call your secretary if I get anywhere near you."

"All right," he said grudgingly, and I opened the door a few inches as I'd promised.

"A wise choice," I said. "Now, I have just a few questions for you. I know exactly what you did to Beth, and when. I just want to know how and why."

I waited, watching him consider. Finally he said, "how do I know you're not wearing a wire or something, to tape everything I say?"

I had anticipated this, and while I didn't like what I had to do next, Beth and I had agreed it was the best option. I had come into his office wearing only a knit pullover shirt, a pair of Penn sweatpants, and flip-flops. Without a word I pulled off the shirt, kicked off the flip-flops and stepped out of my sweatpants. That left me standing there in front of a speechless Barton Huntington in nothing but a pair of thong underpants. 

I did a slow 360 so he could see my back as well as my front, saying to him, "you see a recording device anywhere, Barton? Perhaps you'd like to take a closer look inside my thong?"

He shook his head, and I pulled my clothes back on, then settled into a chair opposite his desk. "Okay, talk."

Barton looked unhappy but resigned. "What do you want to know?"

"You drugged Beth, both times. What did you use on her?"

Without the slightest look of remorse he said, "the first time it was rohypnol--just like I admitted in that goddam letter."

He grinned. "Good thing she left it locked up in her desk, instead of taking it home!"

I said nothing, and he went on. 

"The second time, the night of the Chili Peppers concert, I put Ecstasy in her champagne when we had the toast here in the office. Then I made sure to give her some more later at the club."

Looking directly at me, he said, "she was hot to trot that night. I would've had some of her for sure, if her damn friend hadn't showed up at just the wrong time."

He was enjoying rubbing my nose in it, and I considered but rejected the possibility of jumping over his desk and beating the shit out of him. I knew that keeping him talking was more important.

"And you didn't worry about the consequences--about her reporting you, making real trouble for you at Ferris?"

He shrugged. "I've been here a long time, and I make the company a great deal of money. There might have been some touchy moments, but in the end they would have found a way to keep me--maybe fire Beth, maybe just buy her off.

"Don't look so surprised, Jake--it is Jake, isn't it?" He grinned again, looking more and more sure of himself. "It's the way of the business world: He who brings in the bucks, calls the shots. I assure you this isn't the first time I've, ah, 'entertained myself' with one of the women at the firm."

I pretended to look frustrated and beaten. "Okay, okay--but why Beth, for Chrissakes? Your fiancée is one of the most gorgeous women on the planet! Why did you have to go after my wife?"

His smile broadened. "Variety, my dear boy! One can get tired of even the most beautiful woman after a while, you know.

"Plus--" he leaned toward me, as if to share some confidential information, "Elena is kind of a bore in bed. No imagination. She thinks because she's so sexy, she doesn't have to do anything, just present herself for me to make love to. That gets old, though it might be hard for you to believe."

The smug bastard! My hatred for him only increased, but I kept my focus.

"You still haven't told me why you went after Beth. There are certainly a lot of other attractive women in New York, even here at Ferris."

He leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world as though he was about to pull out a big Cuban cigar and blow smoke rings.

"I could tell Beth would be a firecracker, once I got her going. That's why I only used a small dose of rohypnol the first time--to make sure she wouldn't be too out of it. The second time Ecstasy seemed like a better choice.

"I heard her talking, Jake. She and Diane were talking about sex one day, in her office as I passed by the half-open door, and I stopped to listen. And the way she talked about it...

"Let's just say that I could sense her enthusiasm. She didn't say anything all that graphic, certainly didn't spill any family secrets, Jake, nothing to worry about!" He laughed nastily.

"But I could tell, just from the tone of her voice, that she would be a fantastic lay. Worth going to quite a bit of trouble for. Just bad luck for me, I guess, that it didn't work out."

He sat back, finished with his "confession", a self-satisfied look on his face. Once more I restrained myself from pummeling him.

"I believe I've answered your questions, young man--now I'll ask that you leave my office and let me get back to work."

Pretending to be defeated, I headed for the door. "You're a son-of-a-bitch, Huntington. And one day I'm going to do something about it, that's a promise."

"Yes yes, my boy, I'm sure you will," he replied airily, turning back again to the work on his desk. "Close the door behind you, won't you?"

I went into the outer office to find Suzanne, grinning, sitting at her desk. With her were Beth and a tall, bald-headed man who turned out to be Arnold Rappaport, the head of Human Resources.

Beth ran to me and hugged me tightly. "It was perfect, Jake--we heard every word, clear as a bell! And it's all on tape."

I looked over to Suzanne and said, "thank you, Suzanne."

"Believe me, it was my pleasure, Jake! I knew two of the women he did this to before Beth, and I just hated that he got away with it. All I did was plant the microphone under his desk, and I would have been happy to do more than that."

"Have you got enough, Arnold?" Beth asked Rappaport.

"Oh, no doubt about it," he replied, looking a little grim. "With your letter and this tape, plus what Diane McKenzie and Suzanne have already told me, there's no chance Huntington will get away with this."

He picked up the phone on Suzanne's desk and dialed a number, then waited. "Yes, Security? It's Arnold Rappaport. Would you send two men up here as we discussed? Yes, and make that call to Precinct 88. Thanks."

Hanging up the phone, he marched straight into Huntington's office, leaving the door open so we could enjoy the show.

"Barton, I'm going to have to ask you to move away from your desk. I'm impounding your computer. Two men from Security will be here in a moment to take you downstairs, and then a couple of policemen from the 88th Precinct will be arresting you for sexual harassment and attempted rape."

I could see Huntington look completely bewildered for a moment. Then he dove for his computer, obviously trying to delete something. I rushed in and helped Rappaport pull his rolling chair away from his desk, Huntington shouting and fighting us the whole time.

"You can't do this!" he raged. "What's your evidence?"

"We have a nice tape recording of everything you just said, asshole," I told him with a smile. "I'm sure Elena is going to love hearing what nice things you said about her!"

He started to reply, then thought better of it and shut his mouth. Looking grim, he let himself be led away by the two burly guards from Security.

When he had gone Beth asked, "Arnold, is there any problem about using that tape?"

"As to the criminal charges, it's complicated," Arnold said. "He was taped without his knowledge, but on the other hand he was on the premises of Ferris & Roberts. The courts have not ruled definitively on whether he had a right to privacy in the workplace, especially as regards criminal acts.

"On the other hand, for the purposes of disciplining or firing him, there's no question whatsoever that Ferris is permitted to take the evidence of the tape into account. I imagine the Executive Committee of the Board will terminate him today, and there's an excellent chance he'll be made personally liable for any damages Ferris might be forced to pay to you, should you be the plaintiff in a civil suit."

He winked slowly at Beth, allowing a slight smile to cross his face for a moment. Then he went to Suzanne's desk and retrieved the tape recorder.

"Have your attorney contact me for a copy of this tape, as well as Huntington's original letter to you, if we can retrieve it from his computer. Once you file a suit we're legally required to furnish all relevant documents to you."

He shook Beth's hand and mine, then turned and left the office. Beth gave Suzanne a big hug, then said, "c'mon, Jake, we have to go meet Diane."

I looked at her in surprise and she added, "we're all going out to lunch together, to celebrate!"

********************

When we got back to our hotel room we were both laughing happily, but we were freezing. The beach behind our hotel in Aruba was hot and beautiful, and the clear blue water had been fabulous; but walking through the air-conditioned lobby to the elevators had chilled us both. I enjoyed the sight of Beth's nipples trying to poke through her green bikini top.

She turned off the air-conditioning, then ran to the closet and pulled out two terry-cloth robes, which we quickly pulled on. Then somehow we were standing by the bed in one another's arms, kissing hard, holding one another very tight. I had a hard-on in no time, and I knew Beth could feel it pressing against her.

She pulled away from me finally and with a smile said, "why don't you sit on the bed, Jake?"

As I sat she stood posing before me, a sly smile on her face.

"Remember the long talk we had the other night, about what happened between me and Barton, and what we had to do to get past all that?"

I nodded, and she went on.

"I want you to know that I listened very carefully to what you said. I know I screwed up, Jake, and I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that nothing like that will ever happen again.

"But we also talked about this vacation, and what each of us hoped it would be. And you're about to see that I was listening very carefully!

"Just wait one minute while I run into the bathroom." She disappeared, and emerged a couple of minutes later, still with the robe tightly wrapped around her. Standing just a few feet away from me in the center of the room, she adopted a mock-serious attitude and began to recite.

"Rules for the Beth & Jake 'Forgiveness Vacation'.

"Rule 1: I will spend part of every day of our trip showing Jake how sorry I am for what I did, and how grateful I am for his forgiveness." She undid the belt of her robe, and pulled the lapels apart just far enough for me to see her cleavage--the bikini top was gone.

"Rule 2: Each day I will express my love for Jake." She spread the robe wider, holding it closed at the waist, and her beautiful breasts appeared.

"Rule 3: One way I will do this will be to make love with my husband whenever he wants me, holding nothing back." She turned sideways, then opened the robe lower down to show me her bare hip--the bikini bottoms were gone as well. It was very sexy--Beth was almost never this flirtatious.

"Rule 4: I will give him anything he wants sexually." With a grin, she turned back to face me. Her pussy mound was shaved bald, something I'd always fantasized about but that she'd always refused to try.

"Rule 5: Each day I will...Jesus, Jake!"

I had interrupted her recitation of Rule 5 by jumping off the bed, falling to my knees in front of Beth and beginning to kiss and lick her shaved mound. It was a total turn-on and I had no intention of waiting for the rest of her rules!

"Oh, baby, that's...I was going to...oh, never mind!"

I picked up her and quickly put her on the bed. Within seconds I had my robe and bathing suit off and I was kneeling on the floor, my hands caressing her breasts and my tongue buried in her pussy. I loved the feel of her hairless cunt! It was so fast that Beth almost pulled away from me--I hadn't given her much time to work up to it.

But she didn't stop me, and in a few minutes she was groaning and panting and rotating her hips, pushing her pussy back up at me. I was really turned on, and I ate her like a wild man. I licked, stroked her clit with my fingers and my tongue, reached up inside her for her G-spot, did everything I could think of to get her as excited as I was. I didn't stop until she'd climaxed three times in ten minutes and finally pushed my head away.

"God, Jake," she said in a low, utterly relaxed voice, "I thought I was supposed to be taking care of YOU! That was unbelievable..."

She lay there a few minutes longer, getting her breath back, while I slid onto the bed and held her in my arms. Then she smiled at me and said, "want me to lick you? Or do you want to fill me up with that nasty thing that's pressing against my leg?"

All I wanted right then was to fuck her, and I did. Slowly at first, full of love and tenderness for my beautiful wife; and then hard and fast. I was too excited to last very long, and Beth kept pulling on my ass to get me deeper inside her, moaning and rolling her hips up at me, until I spurted like a fire-hose inside her, crying out with the pleasure of it.

I rolled off her, panting a little, holding her tight, enjoying her little kisses on my cheeks and ears and neck. 

"Shall we wait until tomorrow for Rule 5?" she said, giggling, and I nodded.

*********

When I came out of the shower Beth was already dressed for dinner, looking tanned and lovely in a sleeveless light blue dress, and she was talking on the phone.

I looked at her questioningly and she mouthed, "Diane," then went back to her conversation. I didn't learn much from her side--she mostly said, "uh-huh," and "really?" and "oh my God, that's fabulous!" 

When she finished with Diane she ran to me and gave me a huge hug. "Hurry up and get dressed, Jake, and I'll tell you everything at dinner. It's just TOO good!"




Cheap Seats Ch. 02



We had a great dinner at a seafood restaurant on a balcony overlooking the Caribbean, and Beth could hardly wait to tell me everything that Diane had said. "I'd tell you the bad news first, Jake, but it's all good news. I'm so pleased!"

I looked forward to hearing it, assuming it would be the latest on Barton Huntington's fall from grace. He'd already been fired--that happened the very next day after we'd taped him in his office..

Then came the lawsuit. At my insistence, Beth for once consulted her father, and got the name of the very best sexual-harassment lawyer in New York. (She told her dad it was for a friend.) The lawyer, a guy by the name of Richard Dunraven, proved right away he knew what he was doing.

He filed suit against Ferris & Roberts, then immediately arranged for a settlement conference with their lawyers. The result was an $8 million dollar settlement to Beth, with two provisions suggested by her and Richard. The first was that she would only keep $50,000, with the rest going to charity--Beth was going to donate it to the New York City Women's Shelter.

The second was that Ferris would sue Huntington, who was worth well over $20 million, and seek to recoup from him its entire payment to Beth. She agreed that if for any reason Huntington's payment was less than $8 million, she would accept what a court awarded. But there was no reason to expect that he'd get off paying any less than the $8 million.

It was still unclear what would happen to the criminal charges. Huntington's high-priced lawyers were fighting tooth-and-nail to keep the tape, and his letter of apology to Beth, out of evidence. If they were admitted he was totally screwed--he'd be going to jail for several years. 

"Okay, honey, tell me what Diane said."

"Well, first is that she was promoted to Barton's position: she's going to be running the Far East subsection, and she wants me to come back to Ferris as her assistant!"

"That's fabulous," I said. "But didn't you already commit to the new job at Prentice Warfield?"

"No, Diane asked me a couple of weeks ago to wait before giving them a final answer. She was hoping she could make this work, and now it's been approved."

We had a long kiss, and then a champagne toast to Diane.

Then Beth laughed and said, "but there's more, baby. You surely won't mind hearing that things keep getting worse for poor Barton.

"It appears that Suzanne and Diane went to see Elena Riasonovskaya. She's in town for a major fashion show, and Suzanne has contacted her a bunch of times in the past when Barton asked him to. Anyway, Suzanne made an appointment, to see her, supposedly about a surprise party the firm was planning for Barton. She and Diane had a nice little chat with Elena, and left her a certain interesting audiotape."

She looked at me, eyes sparkling with pleasure, and I gestured to her to continue.

"Well, apparently last night there was a big reception and press conference following the first day of the fashion show--all the local papers were covering it, plus the fashion magazines of course.

"And our Elena made a bit of a scene. She dumped an entire plate of rigatoni in red clam sauce all over Barton's head, while yelling at him, 'so I'm a bore in bed? So you use drugs to rape other people? You are so pathetic!'

"And then she started to walk away from him--but she turned back, pulled off that enormous engagement ring he bought her, threw it in his lap and said, 'here's your piece of shit ring back, you fucking cocksucker!'."

Beth was almost choking with laughter. "The press had a front-row seat for all of it. You know Elena speaks with such an accent, Diane said it sounded like 'you fockingk cocksyucker!' 

"And two newspapers ran the photo of him today, looking stunned and wearing the dinner she dumped over him!"

****************

After lingering over our desserts Beth and I went to one of the casinos, where we had a little too much to drink and gambled for a couple of hours, losing about $150 of Barton Huntington's money; came back to the room and sweetly made love, then collapsed into sleep.

The next morning I awoke to a knock on the door and the sight of my smiling wife in her robe, letting in a waiter with the room-service breakfast she'd ordered. When we were finished eating she quickly pulled on some underwear and a sundress and said, "you're going to be on your own for a couple of hours, honey. Want to take a book and get some sun by the pool? I'll meet you in the garden restaurant for lunch at 12:30."

Beth wouldn't tell me what she was up to, just left me with a mysterious smile. I spent the morning reading, lazing in the sun, and swimming a few laps in the hotel pool whenever I got too hot.

At 12:30 I immediately saw that Beth had been pampering herself: her hair was washed and cut, and her nails were done. We had a lovely lunch together, and then Beth took my hand and led me back upstairs. She seated me again on the bed and stood in front of me, ready to recite.

"Two more rules, Jake. Are you ready? 'Rule 5: Each day of our trip I will give my husband a sexy surprise.' Go take your clothes off the bathroom, baby, and hurry back."

I quickly did as she said, wondering what I was in store for next. When I came back into the bedroom I was stopped in my tracks.

There was Beth, naked on the bed on her stomach, her hips propped in the air by a couple of pillows. Her legs were spread slightly, so she was in perfect position for me to enter her doggie-style, which she knew I loved. She was looking back at me with a smile, and there was something on the left cheek of her ass.

"What the..,?" I came over and looked closely. A beautiful red heart, about the size of a quarter, was tattooed in the middle of her cheek, where even the tiniest bikini bottoms would cover it. Beneath the heart in a lovely script were the words "All Jake's".

I looked at Beth in amazement and she laughed at my expression. "No, baby, not a permanent tattoo--just a henna one for now. A real one would have put me out of action for a couple of days! But if you like it I can have the real thing done when we get back to New York."

I bent down and kissed her deeply, running my hands over her smooth back and beautiful ass, while she stroked my cock until it was fully erect. Then I mounted her from behind, enjoying the sight of the little heart. I slid my cock up and down her pussy lips until we were both wet enough and then entered her, groaning with the pleasure of her muscular cunt around my shaft.

I've never enjoyed making love with Beth as much as I did that afternoon. The physical joy of this position, the excitement of her new surprise and her openness to me, the light and sound of the Caribbean coming in through the window, the feeling of having all the time in the world--it was magical. I took as much time as I possibly could, reveling in the delicious feelings of her body, kissing and stroking her, thrusting gently, trying to make it last forever.

When it was finally over and we were resting together, dozing in each other's arms under the sheet, I said, "there was one more rule, I think?"

She looked at me and said, "yes, baby. If you don't mind I won't get up--I like being in your arms too much. But here it is.

"Rule 6. When the 'Forgiveness Vacation' is over, I will stop apologizing for what I did, and we'll go on with our lives. But the love and affection will continue for as long as we live. And the 'sexy surprises' too, from time to time."

She gazed fondly at me. "If that's all right with you, Jake?"

I told her it was.