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It's Only Fair Ch. 01

By: Vanadorn



My first submission to this site. I've been reading here for years and have a number of authors current and former that I enjoy following.

This will be a number of chapters and like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. No sex in this one, but there will be in later chapters.

There will be no green berets or severed limbs or cuckoldry or creampies. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story.

Enjoy! -V

"We are on the final approach to New York, JFK International Airport. Thank you again for flying American."

I gripped the seat rest firmly as the mighty engines of the 747 rumbled and the plane buffeted as the wing flaps were engaged with a faint mechanical whine. My eyes closed and my jaw clenched as I waited, waited...waited.

Touchdown.

The plane slowed and momentum lifted me briefly away from the seatback. I allowed myself to cautiously relax and loosen my white knuckled grip; a faint prickling of flowing blood rushed through my fingertips. No matter how many times I have to fly, by choice or business, it doesn't get any easier. A glance at the scratched face of my Bulova showed 11:37 PM, eliciting a grunt from my tired lips. "Nineteen hours," I mumbled aloud.

My neighbor in the next seat, a doughy-faced middle-aged woman in a pair of worn jeans and a shapeless sweatshirt glanced briefly at me, almost bothered that after a 5 hour flight from LA I had the gall to actually say anything.

"Screw you, lady," I thought to myself as I reached under the seat in front of me and pulled out my pleather battered briefcase. Around me, others were getting to their feet and reaching into the overhead bins, even though the plane was still in motion and the flight attendants were making no effort to stop the rising chaos of worn out travelers. I waited until the plane came to a full stop and the metallic jacking sound of the docking walkway could be heard reaching out to the plane's exit. With an audible groan I stood up, getting another frowning glance from my apparent fan club in the next seat, and pulled my grey duffle out of the overhead compartment and waited with quiet patience until it was my turn to finally disembark.

I gave the ever smiling flight attendant a quiet thanks as she wished me a safe trip and made me way to the concourse and then eventually the parking lot where I saw the dull black finish of my wife's Chevy Cavalier. Raising a tired arm and waving, she saw me and drove around the half dozen cabs parked here and pulled up as close as she could.

"Hey, El," I said as she opened the door and came around the front of the car. I was pleasantly surprised to think I was going to get a hug hello, but she instead gave me a brief peck on the cheek and ran her hand across my shoulders as she scooted behind me, opened the passenger door and fell into the seat.

"Hey, Rick," she replied with empty sounding cheer, "You gotta drive home, sweets. I'm too shot. Besides, you've been relaxing on the plane, so it's only fair."

It's only fair. How many times have I been hearing that? It seems to be her constant litany the last year or two whenever she wanted something to go her way. It's only fair. It's only fair. It's only fair. Heaven forbid if I ever utter those words, then I'm just a selfish prick.

Gritting my teeth again I walked around to the driver's side and opened the door, tilting the seat forward to place my briefcase and dufflebag on the floor behind my chair. I glanced at the child's seat in the back seat of the car, grey and yellow and a bit dirty, making sure it was latched down properly before giving a look at the figure belted within.

"Hey, Sunshine," I whispered to the sleeping baby. 11 months old, my daughter Amber was still the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and regular, she was just so perfect as far as I was concerned that I was blown away every time I saw here. "I missed you so much," I added with another whisper, leaning forward to give a soft kiss on her cheek. Pulling back, I stepped out of the car for a second to move the seat back to its original position and got in.

My wife, Elle, was strapping herself in, giving me a weak smile as she settled down. "I hate the airport," she said.

I nodded as I buckled myself in, adjusting the mirrors quickly so I can see behind me. "I know, El. Thanks again for this."

She grunted. "Twice in one day. 4:30 flight this morning and then picking you up here after 11:30. It's not fair."

I merged into what little traffic there was and began driving out of JFK, working my way to the Belt parkway. "I know," I repeated, trying to get her off whatever had her frustration up. "You're the best for taking me in this morning and picking me up now. Really, thanks again, El."

She shrugged her shoulders, "Next time, just pay for parking. This wasn't worth it."

I looked over at her and tried to imagine what had happened to the girl I had fallen in love with. She was still special to my eyes, 5' 2", 130 lbs which was 20 or so more pounds than when we first met 14 years ago, her hair midnight black and skin pale, unable to hold a tan no matter how many times she tried to get any color. Her legs were short, her hips wider than she likes, but she had good muscle tone; a leftover benefit from her teen years and early 20's as a gym rat. She was a bit self-conscious of her breasts, convinced they were small but I told her she looked great and with the right bra, had a bit of high cleavage that stood out in a low cut shirt.

My name was Rick Masters, and at this point was pushing 34, a year younger than my significant other. I was 6', 210 lbs and was getting a bit of a spread from the last 4 years at a desk job. Still had all my hair and was proud that I didn't drink, smoke, or do drugs. I used to joke often that I was the original boy scout.

"I think they liked me," I opened with, hoping to get something positive out of her.

"They should," she replied. "You're willing to do the job for so little."

"$75,000 is not little," I answered. "And Barry knows that with me, they don't need an analyst as well."

She snorted. "So they are getting two positions filled with you, but only paying for one. Hence, you are getting so little."

I wasn't going to get dragged into a fight with her. Elle had a hard time at jobs, always had. She assumed that the bosses of whatever company she worked for were idiots and if they would only listen to her, everything would work out better. This resulted in her having spotty employment at best and no work friends she could relate to.

I tried again to get a conversation flowing, "So, how was Amber tonight?"

She sighed, a weary sigh that made my skin crawl for a moment. "Fine, she was fine."

"Anything special happen?"

I guess it was because I was trying to navigate the turn where the Belt Parkway ended and the Southern State Parkway began, that I happened to look firmly into the passenger mirror to check for any approaching cars that I saw her face. Briefly her expression took on a radiant glow, her eyes seemed glassy, her lips twisted into a sudden smirk before it all faded away and she blandly answered, "Nothing new. Same old." She reached out and pated my thigh. "No more chit chat, Rick. It's late and I'm really tired."

I nodded in reply, saying nothing as I kept my eyes glued to the highway and thought about the strange look I had seen. What the hell was that?

We had been married for 7 years now; I met her when I was 19. She was my then girlfriend's best friend and was engaged to be married to a muffler mechanic named Ronald. I never clicked with him, mainly because the first time we met, he was high as a kite and laughing like a moron. Elle was good natured though and my girlfriend, Joy, really got along with her so in the interest of keeping the peace, I put up with Ronald.

However as the wedding between Elle and Ronald got closer, Ronald lost his job at the muffler shop and seemed uninterested in getting another one. He was smoking more often and I could tell the stress of the relationship was getting to Elle and therefor to Joy and I as well. I know the two of us tried to be supportive to Elle and Ronald but truthfully, I thought Elle was wasting her time with him. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Joy once. She swiftly defended Ronald and downplayed his rampant smoking, saying that the wedding and losing his job was making him unsure of himself.

So I was good boyfriend and kept my mouth shut and said nothing.

For about 2 months.

At 6 weeks before Elle and Ronald's wedding, Elle called it off. She called me up sobbing and asked me to come to her house and give her a hand moving some of Ronald's things out. I was uncomfortable to help out, I mean, she was my girlfriend's best friend and I did not want to be involved without Joy. It was then that Elle informed me that she had caught Ronald and Joy together at Joy's parents' house, naked and screwing each other in the pool.

I helped her that afternoon move all of Ronald's things back to his parents, and she helped me that evening move Joy's few belongings out of my apartment and back to her parents. Throughout the fallout of both relationships, we kept each other company and over the next few months found out that besides both of our respective others being cheating bastards, we had a number of things in common. From movies to books to food to morals, there were more than enough places to build a relationship on and just a few areas that we differed to make it both real and worthwhile.

The only difficulty at that time in dealing with Elle was that every few months she would become depressed, uninterested in anything, and hyper-critical of everyone around her. It wouldn't last more than a month or so and then she'd become full of life, energetic and interested in whatever was going on. It was a few years later that we learned she was faintly bi-polar, not enough to require medication, but something to keep in the back of our minds.

My wool gathering was helping me pass the time as the exits wound their way behind. A glance at the dashboard clock showed 12:13 AM. I wiggled my shoulder blades back under the headrest, trying to relieve the tension that was building there. Getting nowhere I stretched first one arm up and then the other, feeling the sheer weight of my mounting exhaustion and worry settle on me like a yoke. I glanced at my sleeping wife. Was this another one of her bi-polar shifts? How long ago was the last one? I was worried because I really couldn't tell if she had a "happy" period recently and was concerned that her down moods were lasting longer and getting deeper.

I thought about bringing up therapy again but frowned, my brows furrowing as I remembered the furious outburst that suggestion resulted in last time. She tore into me for almost 20 minutes, barely letting me get a word in edgewise, her Italian temper feeding upon itself as she went on and on as to what an insensitive ass I was and that she didn't need any fucking medication or a fucking doctor. It took a week of eating crow and cold shoulders before she calmed down enough to forgive me and our home life to return to normal.

Her disinterested and critical attitude was only part of what I was thinking about as I took the exit to route 231 North, Deer Park and started heading for home. What was bothering me was that strange smirk I saw and the manic glow in her eyes. It did not match her current behavior at all. As I pulled into the driveway next to my dirty-blue Equinox and killed the engine, I sat there in silence wondering what was going on in my life and what was bothering my wife.

"I'll figure it out in the morning," I said to myself, unbuckling my seat belt and reaching over to give Elle a shake. "Honey," I crooned softly, "wake up, we're home."

Blearily she opened her eyes, glancing about our front yard before giving me a toothless smile and patting my arm. "Thanks, honey. Can you bring Amber in, I'm going to bed." She then rolled out of the car without waiting for my response and made her way to the front door, unlocking it and letting herself in.

"What the...?" I wondered, not wanting to argue now, just wanting to get inside and get to bed. 21 hours awake and two cross country flights were having their toll on me; my mind was foggy and my limbs just tired. I unhooked the car seat from its cradle and pulled the carrier from the back of the car. With my other hand I snagged my briefcase and duffle, bumped the door closed with my hip, and made my way to the front door. Thinking, I paused and fumbled my keys off my waist and turned back around, clicking the alarm fob engaging it. The horn beeped twice in response and as I turned back to the house, I noticed the window shade of my neighbor across the street move slightly. The light coming through the blinds was dim but enough to show some sort of shadow move away from the window. "Must be Stan's dog," I muttered, knowing that he was usually asleep by 10 since he did construction and needed to get up early.

I entered the house, glancing to the left to note with dismay the dishes in the sink. "We have a fucking dishwasher, Elle," I grumbled silently, reminding no one that the dishes did not have to be in the sink. Locking the door, I put my briefcase and bag down by the counter and walked down the hall to Amber's room. Painted in pink and lilac, the furniture was off white and prints of Winnie the Pooh and Ariel were on the wall.

I flipped on her nightlight, the softly glowing elephants and giraffes illuminating the far corner of her room. With gentle care I unbuckled my sleeping daughter from her car seat and picked her up, placing her against my chest. I cradled her for a few moments, the faint scent of baby powder and Desitin in the air. With parental practice, I wiggled one finger into the leg of her pajama's and under her diaper, noting it was damp.

"Changing time, sweetheart," I sang as I placed her still sleeping on the changing table. With deft well practiced moves I had her wet diaper off and a fresh one on without waking her up, her pajama's once again pulled back into place and my daughter put into her crib with a last kiss and faint, "Good night."

I went to the bathroom, turning on the light to look at my face. "Tired," I said to my reflection. "You look god damned tired, Rick." I scowled, smiled, thrust out my jaw – watching my image do the same. Then I brushed my teeth and stripped off my sports coat and tie, tossing them to the chair in the hall on the way to our bedroom.

I quickly got undressed and made my way into bed, my hand snaking across the covers to cup Elle's shoulder and pull her against me. "G'night," she muttered, rolling over to rest her leg and arm on my body, her breathing deep and even as she returned to her sleep.

As for me, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was going on with my life and what I was going to do to fix it. This was not the way I wanted to live and I could not for the life of me figure out how it had gotten this far. Every day, just a little bit more coldness and distance than the day before. Until now, a year and a half later, I have this as a family life.

I shook my head, rocking it against the pillowcase, jaw set; my resolve a direct opposite of the pillow's softness. "Tomorrow," I said to the darkness. "Tomorrow."

The darkness did not answer me back. And sleep did not come to me for some time.

It's Only Fair Ch. 02



Continuing the tale. Ok - I completely misjudged the number of pages as displayed on Literotica since my 1st chapter was barely a page! So sorry - I hate those types of stories as well - I figured 2500 words is a good start, post that - so here I am, eating crow!

This entry is over 6500 hundred words and I promise to maintain at least this size or larger going forward. 

Also, the update was a lot less than the 3-7 days that I had read it would take to be posted so I thought I'd already have this chapter finished and submitted. Like you, I hate waiting more than a few days between updates, but as I've known and I'm sure you have as well - life does happen. 

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. 

Again, no army rangers or shotgun blasts to the crotch or cuckoldry or creampies. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. 

Enjoy! -V 

***** 

I awoke to the faint sounds of my daughter, Amber, calling, "Dadadadada!" from her bedroom. Glancing at the clock showing 6:42, almost 20 minutes before the alarm would have gone off on its own. I rubbed my eyes and lifted Elle's arm off my chest, my wife curling back under the blanket and sighing deeply. I rolled upright and swung my legs out, getting out of bed with an all too present ache in my calves and knees. 

"Damn it," I cursed, trying to wake my legs up. I was tired, no two ways about it. And after a long day yesterday, I was suffering from negative sleep. I walked to Amber's room to see my daughter standing in her crib, smiling broadly and almost hyperventilating she was laughing so much. 

"Good morning, sweety!" I said, lifting her aloft and spinning her once around to the tune of her gleeful cries. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are awake," I sang as I plopped her onto the padded table and took care of her morning changing. "Pew!" I exclaimed, making an exaggerated stinky face as I wiped her bottom and threw out the soiled diaper. We giggled back and forth with each other and I then carried her to the kitchen, plopping her into her highchair. 

Breakfast was fast, eschewing anything more complex than yogurt and a handful of strawberries for myself. Amber laughed her way through her soft cereal, making most of it actually get into her mouth for a change. "Up!" she commanded when she saw I was done; emptying the plates into the dishwasher and running the faucet back and forth across the sink to get yesterday's residue off its surface. I scooped her out of her chair and we went to the bathroom together. 

Washing her face and then my own, we sang to each other wordlessly; she was fascinated at how I was brushing my teeth. I shaved swiftly and then moved my way back to Amber's room. Glancing at the hall clock, I scowled to see it was already 7:08. "We've got to move, Sunshine." With long practiced movements I had my daughter dressed in her day's clothes and then a fast brushing of her fine hair topped it all off with a yellow and white flowered clip. I velcroed her shoes in place and stood her up, holding one hand in my own. "Perfect!" I exclaimed, planting a dry kiss on her left cheek. 

Bringing her into the living room, I put on channel 13, the Count coming into view as he talked about how many bats were fluttering over his head. Amber sat raptly as the muppet vampire did his spiel, allowing me enough time to race to my bedroom and strip off my sleeping shorts and tee shirt. Getting dressed, I kept glancing over at Elle's form under the blankets, wondering what was going on in her head. As I whipped my sports coat off the hanger and pushed my arms through the sleeves, I trod across the floor and bent down to my wife's face. "Honey, I'm going to work." 

She groaned in response and sleepily replied, "K, hon. Have good day." 

I placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. "Elle, you ok?" I asked. 

She blinked, focusing on me before giving me a tight lipped smile. "M'ok. Really. Just tired," She yawned. "See you t'night." Patting my hand with her own, she then snuggled under the blanket and closed her eyes once more. 

I stood up, a strange heaviness in my heart, and walked out of the bedroom. "Ok, Amber," I called to my daughter, lifting her up from the floor and shutting the TV on Elmo's high pitched laugh. We walked out of the house and I made sure the bottom handle was locked before pulling the door closed. 

The day was bright, no real clouds in the sky and whatever briskness was in the air was already boiling off from the morning sunshine. I opened the door to my Equinox and plopped the car seat into the mounted cradle. "Ok, young lady," I said good naturedly, "Let's get you ready for a ride." Amber giggled as I placed her in the seat, trying to grab at my hair as I pulled the straps between her legs and across her shoulders, buckling her in place. 

"Hey, Rick!" 

In the confines of the car, I jerked about, startled. Looking over my left shoulder I saw my neighbor and friend from across the street standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Hey, Stan," I answered. "Scared the shi...crap out of me," I corrected myself, glancing at Amber before I dropped the "S"-bomb. I stepped out from the back seat and shook his hand. 

He laughed, shaking his head at my antics. Stan was in his late 40's, almost 50. A bit over 6' tall, his balding head was a mix of black and grey. Today he was wearing a bandana which meant he was expecting to work. His beard and moustache were closely cropped and he had the quiet strength that one got from 25 years of manual labor as opposed to a gym. "She's not going to be able to understand you," he indicated towards Amber, cooing happily in the back seat. 

I grinned, "Yeah, I know. But if I don't start now, I'll end up sounding like my mother." We both laughed at this, knowing the penchant my mother had for her colorful language. "What are you doing home? Late start?" 

He grimaced, eyes flicking over my shoulders for some reason. "Supposed to. My brother's on an estimate. Called a little while ago, said I had some free time until 11 or so." He took a sip of his coffee. 

I glanced at his wrists as he took a sip, noticing they were pretty red and scratched up looking. "Must have been working his ass off yesterday," I thought. 

Nodding, Stan lowered his cup and wiggled his arm, his sleeve sliding down to the back of his hands. He gestured to the west with his cup, "So how was LA?" 

"Good. Went well." I cocked my head. "How'd you know I went to LA?" 

"Elle told me yesterday," he answered, then waving his cup behind me towards the house. "I was wondering where you were." 

"Oh," I nodded. "No problem." I glanced at my watch: 7:33. "Crap, I gotta go. Say, Stan, can I ask you something?" 

"What's up, Rick?" 

"Elle seem a bit off to you lately?" 

"What d'you mean?" 

"I don't know, just...off? Not quite herself. Short of temper, maybe a bit bitchy?" 

Stan smirked, "She got her period?" 

"Dude, that's not the answer to everything." 

He shrugged, "Why not? My ex-wife had her period for 15 years or so, from my last count." 

I smiled, sliding into the driver's seat. Slamming the door closed, I started the engine and rolled the window down. "Blah blah blah, whatever. No seriously though, you're home a bunch. She seem off to you?" 

It was odd, but at that moment I thought I saw a bit of sadness in Stan's eyes. Maybe it was the angle of the sun, maybe it was something else; whatever it was, he just seemed both sad and bothered for some reason. "I dunno, Rick. Maybe. Maybe she's just not herself." 

"If I can ask a favor?" 

"What is it, bud?" 

"Just keep me posted if you see anything odd about her, ok?" 

He nodded, looking down. "Will do." Blinking twice, he lifted his gaze and then patted the hood of my vehicle, "Have a good day, Rick." 

"Thanks, you too." I drove away with a smile, watching Stan in my rear view mirror standing on the apron of my driveway until he was lost as I made the turn off my block. I flipped on the radio, shooting right to 1010 WINS, hoping to get a heads up on the traffic before I got stuck in it. Luck was with me for a change as I heard only delay reports on roadways closer to the city as well as various bridgework and detours. "Smooth sailing, Amber," I said to my kid, looking at her reflection in the corner of my eye. She grinned toothlessly in response. 

I arrived at the daycare just after 8, pulling carefully into the spot since the place was already crowded with parents and kids moving chaotically about the place. I grabbed Amber's day bag, pulled a fresh nuuk from the center console, and popped it into my daughter's mouth, getting a happy smile as she began gnawing on it. I unbuckled her from the car seat and hoisted her up, resting her so her head was over my shoulder. I nudged the door closed and made my way to the entrance. 

"Hey, Mr. Masters!" "How ya doing, Mr. Masters?" "Hey, it Amber! And she brought her daddy with her." 

The day care center was bustling today, typical for a Friday, and I nodded my hellos and greetings back at the other teachers and parents as I wove through the crowd to the receptionist desk. "Hi, Shelly," I said to the woman at the counter, "Busy morning, huh?" I grabbed the mouse and swiftly checked my daughter in to the electronic system. 

Shelly nodded, making googly eyes at Amber who shrieked in my ear and buried her face in my neck, only to look out again for another glance at Shelly. "Always," she answered, shifting her gaze to me and beaming. "You ok, Mr. Masters? You look tired today?" She grinned broader. "Did you have a 'good' night last night?" She made air quotes as she questioned me. 

I laughed with humor I didn't feel. "A gentleman never tells, Shelly." I nodded to the next parent behind me as I finished with the system. "And for the umpteenth time, call me Rick please. All you young people calling me Mr. Masters does absolutely for the old ego, you know." 

Shelly snorted and waved her hand down the hall, "Whatever. You're not even close to old. Have a good day!" 

"You too." I walked down to the second door on the right and pressed my hand on the reader outside. It buzzed once and the light switched from red to green, allowing me to enter. This was the Zebra room, but it only meant that it housed children from 9 to 18 months. There were 15 cribs in here and a variety of toys, mats, and other activity building items neatly strewn about the place. I walked to Amber's spot, festively colored in her outlined in pink and purple, dropping her bag into the open locker by the base of the crib. 

"Hey, Mr. Rick," a voice addressed me from behind. 

I turned, already steeling myself to maintain eye contact. "Hey Kerri," I said, looking down at Amber's daycare teacher. Kerri was short, maybe 5'2", and would never be considered thin, pushing 150 lbs easily. However, even with the extra weight and her faintly roundish face, she had to be one of the prettiest young women I had seen personally in some time. Her eyes were made up today in a splash of orange and her nut-brown hair was pulled to the side with a white daisy shaped clip. She was wearing some sort of glittery pink lip gloss on her plush and pouty lips. But it was her shirt that caught my attention and that I fought against glancing at. 

Kerri was voluptuous. Yes she had a wide waist and her legs were thick as well, but under all the extra weight, her 23 year old form was muscled and curvy. She had a huge chest and took to cutting the necks out of her uniform shirts, turning them into v-necks; opening up her cleavage to a state just shy of pornographic. 

Sensing the struggle behind my eyes she took a deep breath...held it... and reached out, taking Amber from me. "So, we missed you yesterday," she said looking at both Amber and I with a knowing grin seeing the resolve still firm in my eye, "did you have a nice time playing hooky?" 

I shook my head, "No, had to go to California for a day. Business trip I didn't want to take." 

"Aww," she pouted with her pink plush lips, eyes catching mine. "That's no fun." She tickled Amber's nose with her own. "Did Pumpkin here like the plane ride?" 

"No. She stayed home with Elle." 

A faint wrinkling around Kerri's eyes was all I noticed. "Why didn't Elle bring her in?" 

"It's out of her way to come here. This is right around the corner from my job, so it makes sense for me. It's a good half hour or so from home." 

"Well, we missed her...and you too!" She replied, her mood changing from fierce to friendly at the end of her exclamation. 

"Thanks, Kerri." I gave Amber a pat on the head and leaned in, kissing her cheek. I caught a whiff of her teacher's perfume. Backing away I noticed Kerri's gaze playfully locked on mine. "See you all later!" I said, waving to the two other teachers in the room as well. 

"Bye, Daddy! Have a good day!" The three of them called in unison, laughing and giggling afterwards. I chuckled as I left the room, breathing a sigh of relief. Looking around it was no surprise; this was a female industry with mostly post-high school to mid 20's women as teachers. Coupled with the fact that usually it was the mothers that came in and out every day; most of the fathers had to put up with good natured ribbing and flirting from the staff. But with Kerri it was something else, I was sure of it. 

"Rick, my man," I said to myself, "You need to get laid real soon." I made my way to my Equinox and pulled out of the lot. A short trip composed of two lights and a left hand turn and I was at my job. I grabbed my briefcase and entered the double glass doors, "Good morning, Linda." 

"Good morning, Rick," came the reply as I walked past the receptionist, giving her a friendly nod as I made my way towards my office. Linda was wearing her green and purple blouse today, which let me know that she was most likely at the end of her clean laundry. She wasn't the nicest person to look at and her hygiene was often in question, but she was dedicated and had a terrific phone voice - the type that made you imagine someone entirely different from the way they actually looked. 

I unlocked my office door and flipped my lights on. Giving the mouse a shake I was happy to see the screen come up just the way I had left it. I plunked down my briefcase and pulled my chair out, settling in just as a larger presence filled the door frame. "Welcome back, Rick," came the raspy voice. "I heard good things from Barry." 

My boss, Andy Carly, stood there beaming. Just under 5' 8", he was around 280 lbs. and had a polished bald head, making his silhouette appear to be a large ball on an even larger one. 

"Thanks, Andy. Glad he thought so." 

He walked in, punching the air with a stubby fist as he did so. "Knocked 'em dead. Knocked 'em dead." He thrust his thumb towards the back of the building where Operations was situated. "That's what they get on trying to tell us how to do our job." 

I was the accounting manager for D&H Industries and Andy was the CFO and my direct boss. The VP of operations had been complaining that they needed someone to analyze their production numbers and he had a nephew that he wanted to hire to do the job, some 2 year college student on the 5 year plan. I had heard of this and offered to do the job since for the most part, my week was fairly light except for those few days I had to prepare the financial statements. 

The VP fought against it and eventually Andy was asked by Barry Dunwright, the primary owner of D&H, to send me out to LA to meet with him and pitch my skills and capabilities. Obviously, my trip had gone well and Andy was happy to once again butt heads with his Operations counterpart. 

"75 big ones," Andy said with a grin, slapping me on the back. "You're worth every penny, Rick." 

"Thanks, Andy. That means a lot." As I had been doing the last day and a half, I broke the new salary down in my head. "An extra ten thousand dollars a year is roughly an extra 200 a week in my check which translates to maybe a hundred thirty after taxes take home." I smiled to myself as the calculations ran through my thoughts. 

Andy clapped me one more time and then turned away. "Ok, enough of this. Don't want you getting a swelled head at how wonderful you are, or you think you are." He motioned at my 'in' box. "There's a study I need on the paper vendors when you get a chance. Information's in there. And by get a chance, I mean by three today." 

I groaned good naturedly, "Got it. Damn, you're harsh. I'm working on no sleep. With this kind of abuse, I think I'll ask for a raise." 

"A raise!" Andy barked aloud. "Ha! A raise! Ha ha!" 

Throughout the rest of the day I could occasionally hear Andy in his office chuckle and mutter, "A raise! Ha!" The hours flew by and even though I was tired, the work was fairly light. I powered my system down just before 5:00 and threw the last of the work I would need for Monday morning into my briefcase. I turned off the light, bid my farewells to the half of the office still here, and made my way out to the lot. It was only a few minutes back to the day care where I once more cautiously pulled in and grabbed a spot, this time almost at the end of the lot. 

I entered the daycare amidst the bedlam of yelling kids, frantic parents, and tired staff. "Hey Shelly," I called out as I went up to the system to log my daughter out. This time Shelly did not have the same perkiness as this morning; she gave a desultory wave and weak grin in my direction. I zigged and zagged to the Zebra room door and used the scanner to unlock the biometric lock, entering and closing it firmly behind me. "Hey everyone," I nodded to the teachers and the two mothers here to get their own child. Spotting Amber playing on the mat with a squishy red puppet of some sort, I hunched low and approached arms held out, saying, "How was my Amber ray of sunshine today?" scooping her from the ground and giving her a low spin. 

The women in the room all beamed at me and I pretended to not notice their slightly too long glances in my direction. "Good afternoon, Mr. Rick," Kerri said, already bundling up the last of Amber's things and handing it to me. I looped it over my other shoulder as she added, "I stripped her sheets off for you and put them in the bag. Just bring a fresh spare for me to keep in her cubby on Monday, ok?" 

"Thanks Kerri," I hoisted my daughter a little higher in my arm. "You're a life saver. What would I do without you?" 

Her eyes twinkled and I realized I stepped into another landmine of young-20's flirting. Apparently there had to be a manual out there on how to not keep putting my foot in the wrong place and I just needed to get a hold of it and soon. 

"I can't imagine what you would do Mr. Rick without me...or with me either." This brought a chorus of laughter from the associated women which only made my face blush and Amber and the other children present to join in giggling as well. "We'll see, Mr. Rick," she stopped it there, letting me off the hook. "Have a great weekend." 

"You too. Take care everyone." 

The drive home was slower than the one in, everyone clogging the Southern State Parkway in time for the Friday rush so Amber and I didn't get into the driveway until after 6:00. She was getting cranky and I knew she was hungry so I hoped like hell that Elle had the presence of mind to get dinner finished; or at least started. 

I glanced across the street, seeing Stan's work truck was in the driveway. "Half day," I thought, "Poor bastard." I know he needed the work and with the light building season so far this year, he had been hoping to not dip into his savings. That's the problem when people hear you're an accounting manager or a controller; they assume you are a CPA or a financial planner and they come to you for help with their taxes or for advice on how to set up their retirement. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 02



I went to open the door and was surprised to find it locked. "Damn it, Elle," I groused, fishing my keys out while I lightly jiggled Amber in my other arm. Twisting it in the lock, I hipped the door open and called out, "Honey, we're home!" 

"Hey, Babe!" Elle called from the back room, the echo letting me know she was on the computer. "Oh my god, it's after 6! So sorry, I got wrapped up in here. I'll be out in a minute." 

I looked at Amber and counted to five, keeping my expression calm and temper in check. It was a little harder as a look into the kitchen showed, as I suspected, that besides no dinner cooking or cooked, that there was once again, dishes in the sink. After another dozen heartbeats to ease the knot in my shoulders, I asked, "Any mail?" 

"Didn't look. Should still be in the box." 

"Fu..." this time I was barely able to keep myself from cursing. I carefully placed Amber in her rolling chair, giving her nose a tweak, and sent her scampering across the living room floor. I stepped back onto the porch and opened the box, taking out the Pennysaver and the three bills within. I dropped them on the counter, seeing nothing that needed my attention this instant, and walked into the kitchen. "I'm not fucking cooking," I mumbled under my breath as I grabbed the phone and called in a pizza to be delivered. From there I opened the dishwasher and roughly pulled out the rolling drawers, making the dirty dishes within clatter noisily. 

As I was putting the crusty dishes into the washer, Elle came out from the back room and walked towards me. "I got it, honey." 

I looked at her like she was nuts, eyes agog and mouth opened. "Really? Now you got it?" I pushed the drawers in and shut the door. "Thanks." 

She grew irritated, eyes flashing, "Well not now, you came in like a tornado and didn't give me a chance." 

"Get off it, Elle. I was at work all day." 

"So was I!" 

This was the crux of another problem I had been having with her. Since her 7th month of pregnancy, Elle had been working freelance from home. Her company appreciated the artwork she did and did not want to lose her, but they needed someone who was going to able to work 9-5 as they required. So the work around had been to set her up with a system in the back bedroom/office here and she would both get and receive her work via Dropbox. 

This meant that when she was home, she was also working. But her hours were more fluid and as long as she performed, her employer didn't care when she worked. So when I needed her to do laundry, or the dishes, or play with Amber, or make dinner, or anything - she was working. And once again, when I complained about the amount of work I was doing on maintaining the house and our family in relation to her efforts I was informed: that she did more than enough, this was the way it was, and if I had to do a bit more now then that's what I had to do it and it was only fair. 

I bit the inside of my cheek and choked off my reply. "Ok. Got it," I sighed. "Don't want to fight, ok? I ordered a pizza, I don't think either of us want to cook now." 

She seemed to calm down, but her eyes still had that stormy look in them, reminding me that this could blow up if I said the wrong thing. "Ok. Good thinking." She seemed pensive and then leaned in giving me a short hug and a simple kiss on my chin. "I'll set the table, go get changed." 

I nodded my thanks and walked into the bedroom, scowling at the unmade bed. "For fuck's sake." 

Hanging up my jacket I pulled the tie off my neck and quickly put on a grey tee and a set of sweatpants. I walked into the bathroom next and washed my hands. Turning I didn't see a towel but I knocked one of the fancy soaps off the side of the counter where it made a muffled thunk, falling next to the garbage. I shook my hands dry and picked up the dropped soap. In the trash I spotted at least 3 band-aid wrappers along with some cotton balls that this close I scented the acrid faded fumes of Isopropyl alcohol. 

Reentering the kitchen I saw that Elle had set the table and was talking to Amber about what she wanted for dinner. It was going to be one of the what I called "between jar" foods that the kids were eating when they didn't have a full set of real teeth yet but pureed green beans weren't going to cut it anymore. 

"Hey, Elle, you cut yourself today?" 

"Why?" 

I grabbed the Diet Coke from the fridge and poured myself a glass. "Dunno. Saw all the band-aid wrappers in the garbage can." 

She shrugged, very intently looking at the baby food containers. "Nothing bad, really. Couple of papercuts from the Fex Ex mailer is all. Didn't even think of it." She lifted her right wrist and showed me the band-aids there along with her red marked skin. 

I knew about the mailers, the office was littered with them. Her company sometimes had to send physical samples of art work to her for her to work on so the sharp edged cardboard envelopes often times stacked up. "Damn, honey," I said, "be careful. That looks horrible." 

She smiled, only the corners of her lips turning up, "Thanks. It's ok, really." 

The pizza came and we ate, Amber making a typical mess of her dinner. Elle excused herself to go back to the office to finish up whatever work she was doing earlier. This gave Amber and I a chance to take a bath followed by some horsing around in the living room and then a tuck in. I read the story, "Goodnight Moon," to her at least three times, the last one in a parody of Christopher Walken's version I had heard on TV. "Good night, Sunshine," I leaned forward and gave her a last kiss, tucking the blanket under her chin and leaving her to sleep. 

I looked in the office and noticed that Elle was no longer working, instead she was playing World of Warcraft, taking her digital avatar out in the world to join some group. "Hey, honey, turn it off and come lie down with me." 

She nodded at me, grunting in reply as she read the lines of text streaming across the chat box. "In a minute." 

Eyes hardening, I shook my head and placed my hand over hers on the mouse, stopping her. "No, Elle. Come on. Now" 

She whirled, and I could tell she was going to bitch at me, but something in my gaze made her pause and then the moment passed and she deflated. "Ok." She logged off and I watched, making sure she didn't get sidetracked in something else. From the set of her shoulders she could tell what I was doing and resented it. She walked past me to the bathroom and I followed. We brushed our teeth in companionable silence and as the minutes ticked by, an easy smile and playful back and forth developed. 

She scooted behind me, rubbing herself against my ass as she did so with exaggerated slowness, before skipping away to the bedroom. I joined her right after, turning the hall light off and giving the front lock a last check. Elle was standing by her dresser, dropping her shorts to the floor and reaching for her sleeping shirt when I stopped her. "Leave it," I muttered, bending low to bury my nose in her hair and giving her earlobe a lick. 

"Ri-ick," she answered, turning my name into two syllables. She squirmed her head to the side, breaking my tongue's contact with her ear. She placed one hand on my chest as if to push me away. I grabbed her fingers, twining them with mine and leaned in again, this time kissing her on the eyelids; one at a time. 

"No, honey." She said, twisting a little to make my lips hit hers. "I'm not in the mood." 

I kissed her a bit harder, tasting her chapstick and the freshness of the toothpaste she just used. My second hand snaked around her shoulders and pulled her closer to me, her shirt clad breasts pressing against my bare chest. I rubbed myself back and forth as I nibbled, sucked, kissed, and pulled at her mouth with my own; my efforts causing her to breathe harder and her own kisses to grow in intensity. 

"Maybe not, but you're getting there," I replied kissing her once more before sluicing my tongue between her parted lips and between her teeth. She accepted my intruder before reaching down my stomach to grab my inflating arousal. Hearing me gasp, she gave two sharp yanks and then shoved her own tongue out at mine, the two of us dueling into each other's mouths. 

I reached down to the hem of her shirt and lifted it off and over her head, breaking our make out session to do so. She in kind repaid the effort by sliding both of her hands into my sweatpants and skinning them down my legs. We then spent the next few minutes trying to extricate ourselves from our clothing while still maintaining mouth to mouth contact. We fell sideways into the bed and resumed our hungry devourings of each other's tongue. 

"Oh, baby," she crooned as I spread her legs with my thigh, leaning myself down against her flushed body. She rejoined her attack on my mouth, licking me on the chin, cheeks, lips; anywhere she could get. I grabbed her left breast with my hand, kneading the soft flesh while my fingertips teased and flicked the hardening nipple. She gave a brief gasp, diving upwards in response to literally suck my tongue back into her mouth. I rolled her flesh between my thumb and middle finger while my other leg pushed her limbs open wider. 

The scent of her arousal was filling the air, coupled with the hungry smacks and slobbering noises coming from both our mouths. I thrust myself at her slowly and rhythmically, feeling the head of my cock press about her moist opening. I kept this up for maybe a dozen or so thrusts until I felt my tip was fairly lubricated. 

And then I hunched my hips forward, raised my knees slightly, and slid into my wife's hot central core. "Ahhh..." we sighed in unison. I pulled back an inch and then thrust forward again, getting deeper into her muscled channel. We had to break our lips' contact at this point, Elle grabbing me around the waist and placing her mouth against my shoulder. "So good," she drawled, eyes staring upward as I thrust again and again and again into her. 

We kept up the rhythm for some time, my body held over hers by my locked arms, her ankles crossed behind the back of my knees, my cock pulsing again and again inside of her warm welcoming pussy as I made love with my wife. She would often reach up to pull me down for an awkward kiss or to lick my chin whenever she couldn't reach my lips. Our coupling continued, speeding up ever so slowly, my hips thrusting my rigid member in and out of her with inexorable mounting pleasure. She lifted her own body again and again, receiving my impalement with pelvic thrusts of her own. 

We were breathing in ragged gasps and then like a rusty twisting deep inside the base of my soul, my orgasm hit and I blasted over two weeks worth of semen into my wife's eager uterus. "Aggghhh!" I snarled, my legs cramping up and I felt my balls tighten and my cock erupted. Three, four...five times in successively lesser pulses, I emptied myself until on shaking limbs I lowered myself down onto my wife's quivering body. 

A quick look showed me she hadn't quite reached her own plateau yet so I pulled myself out, lay on her side, and plunged my right hand down to her sodden flesh and began working her clit back and forth in rapid forceful hand movements. 

"Rick, Rick," she gasped, her own spine arching as her pleasure began racing its own way up to release, "don't...it's ok, really, Oh my god!" the last was exclaimed as I sucked her entire left tit into my mouth, running my tongue across her nipple with the same speed and intensity might right hand was plowing her pussy. 

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh MY GOD! RIIIIICCCKK!!" She cried as her orgasm overtook her and she spasmed uncontrollably beneath me. I continued to munch on her breast while my flailing hand tried to maintain its place against her fevered nether region. Each time I encountered her engorged clit or rubbed my fingers the right way, she would lift herself off again, hissing in ecstasy as another flare fired off behind her eyes. 

Eventually she grew weary and couldn't pull herself off the bed anymore. She grabbed my hand and pulled it away from her very sloppy pussy, muttering, "No more, no more. It's too much. Too much today. No more, honey." She then gently lifted my head off her breast and brought it up to kiss my lips. "That, Mr. Masters, was absolutely wonderful." 

I smiled in the dark, kissing her back, before settling my head down on her chest. I could hear her heart beating wildly under her ribs, but even I could tell it was slowing as her adrenaline, and mine, bled away. "Anytime, sweetheart." 

We sighed together, holding one another, until sleep came and claimed us both. 

I awoke some time later, my neck sore from the awkward angle I was lying in, and my crotch scratchy from the dried juices of our lovemaking. I looked at the clock, 1:36, and gave Elle a kiss on her sleeping neck. She groaned in her sleep and I dimly saw a smile as I pulled the blanket up over her body. 

Naked, I walked to the bathroom and let loose a stream of urine into the bowl. Not wanting to wake anyone up, I shut the door and flushed. In the mirror I looked at myself; I still appeared tired, but not as 'exhausted' as I had been feeling. "Too late for a shower," I thought. I reached for a washcloth from the pile over the toilet and proceeded to take what I had called a 'Cowboy bath': cleaning my crotch and cock with the warm wet washcloth. 

I went to dry myself when I noticed that there were still no towels on the shelf. "Damn it, Elle." Maybe it was unfair of me to complain after a nice loving session but it had been too many weeks and one 'cumming' didn't erase the problems that I was sensing from my wife. I took the dirty washcloth with me and made my way to the basement stairs, flipping the light on as I padded my way down to the washer and dryer. As I had suspected, the load I had done before going away to LA the other day was still down here and even though I had asked her to do it, my wife did not fold the laundry for me or put it away. 

I went to the basket, my crotch cold and my cock seeming to shiver in its dampness with the chill down here, and took out a clean towel. I rubbed myself both dry and warm and sighed contentedly. I turned to leave and stopped for a moment, something else in the basement catching my attention. 

I flipped on the second light, lighting the rest of the basement floor and saw something by the support column that had attracted my gaze. It was a black velveteen bag maybe a little larger than my hand. I didn't remember seeing it before, and given how much I prided myself on being organized, I was not in the habit of leaving anything to litter the floor. I picked it up and my wife's name, "Elle," was written on the outside of the back in silvery paint marker. But it was the contents that I wondered about. Something inside. Something with some weight. Something metallic. 

Not sure what I was going to find, I dumped it out, spilling the contents into my hand. And in doing so, it raised only more questions to my troubled mind. Questions like, What the hell was this? Why was it in my house? Why was it in my basement? Where did they come from? What the fuck was going on? 

And 

What was Elle doing with a pair of fucking handcuffs?



It's Only Fair Ch. 03



Continuing the tale. I am pretty sure I took care of the "too damn short" problem, so from this point on, all submissions should be that length or longer (as merited). 

A word about descriptions - I like them. That's about it. I call it "front loading": if I set the stage as complete as possible, adding what descriptions I can it frees me up from ever having to refer to them later. Descriptions also tell more about a story and the characters than just saying" what they are doing. Old rule - show, don't tell. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea - but as had been noted on here and from other writers - this is free and most writers write for their own pleasure. 

I noticed that at the end of the first day that my first chapter had about 15,000 views. I am trying to get ahead of myself so I am writing this chapter 3 now, and am assuming that Chapter 2 will be better received. If not, meh. 

Also, taking the advice of a few of the comments and feedback I had received, I am going to try to post a chapter every 2-3 days barring any crazy issue. And as I had indicated, each chapter is going to be longer. I aimed for 5,000 for chapter 2 and hit 6,500. I aimed for 7,500 for this chapter, and hit 8,800. 

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. 

Again, no ninja assassins or black vans in the middle of the night or meek tiny dicked husbands or "willing" cuckold (thanks for whoever caught that!) situations. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. 

Enjoy! -V 

***** 

I paced across the concrete floor of the basement for a half hour, the metal reality of the strange handcuffs passing from one hand to the other. I wasn't really looking at the walls or the floor, I didn't pay attention to the faint tracery of webbing hanging from the drop ceiling. At no time was I conscious about what was in my field of vision. 

What I did acknowledge was the cuffs in my hands. Do you know that after a half hour of constant touch you intimately know something? I could count the number of ridges on the back of the cuff spine. My fingertips knew the exact spacing between the curving ribs. I could tell which link was 'clinking' when I moved the cuffs from left hand to right and vice versa. 

It was only when the numbness of my bare soles could no longer tolerate the cold of the concrete floor that I snapped out of my reverie and returned to the now. I gave the offending restraints a final look, bunched them in my hand, and strode towards the stairs. Clicking the lights off I went into the kitchen next and gently placed the cuffs in the center of the oaken tabletop. I stepped back, looking at them with deep eyes, trying to get them to give up their secrets. 

"What the fuck is going on here, Elle?" 

I was no longer buying her story about the Fed Ex mailers and cutting her wrists. The cuffs could certainly cause the same wounds on her body, of that I was sure. But what was she doing? Some sort of weird bondage thing? I had heard of them before, these mental women that only grace the pages of Penthouse Forum and the darkly psychotic sections of various internet porn - they liked to get trussed up and made to feel helpless. Aggrandizing the mystique of rape without the dehumanizing aspect of actually being raped. Fucked up. 

Was that what my wife was into now? And where the hell did this fetish come from? I shook my head, no closer to answers now than earlier. Was this the sort of shit that was in her head? How do I deal with it? And why had I not heard anything about this until now? 

Exhaustion crawled over my scalp, tingling across my skin in a staccato wave. I yawned deeply, struggling to stay awake a few moments longer. I picked up the handcuffs and carefully placed them in the phonebook drawer, shoving them under the town's yellow pages. Wearily I made my way to my bedroom and crawled into bed next to Elle. 

I was sad to note that as my eyes closed, I did not reach for her this time. 

Sometime later I awoke to the sound of the shower running, Elle missing from the bed, and Amber crying in her room. I sat upright and blearily looked about. 7:48. Great, later than usual. If only I had good continuous sleep I would probably be happier about it. Getting a pair of shorts I pulled them up and wove my way out of the bedroom to get my daughter. 

The stink of wet soiled diaper greeted me at the same time her wails did. She was standing in her crib, eyes screwed up in misery, reaching over the bars for me. My heart broke as I bent over her and lifted her up. "Aww, my baby," I sang, holding her gently as I rocked her in small circles on the way to the changing table. "It's ok, I'm here." She gave another terrifying wail and then calmed down, her tears still falling but her cries fading away. 

I stripped off her clothes and made short work of her dirty diaper. Almost a half dozen wet wipes later she was clean enough to be dressed once more and her cries had disappeared entirely. I pulled a pair of socks on her feet and lifted her up once more. "Ok, Sunshine," I said with a smile, "Let's eat. Daddy's got a big day ahead of him." 

We went into the kitchen where a frying pan, a carton of eggs, and a loaf of bread hit the counter as I went through the motions of getting breakfast ready. I pulled out Amber's cereal and after preparing it, sat her in her highchair with her spoon and told her to eat. She giggled and played, eating with gusto as she worked her way through her meal. 

Just as the eggs were finishing, I heard the shower stop and the curtain rustling. Elle came in wearing a bathrobe and drying her hair with the same towel I had gone down into the basement to get last night. "Smells great, babes," she leaned up and gave me a peck on the cheek. "I needed that shower." She turned to the fridge and rummaged around, eventually pulling out a half gallon of milk and pouring herself a glass. 

She sat down, taking a deep drink, before turning to Amber and saying in a sing-song voice, "And who made the big stinky this morning? You did! You made the big stinky, didn't you?" 

I doled the eggs out on two plates, putting them on the table and turned back to the toaster. "You smelled that?" I casually asked. 

I could hear the grin in Elle's voice as she answered, "You bet! It was so smelly, it was almost a solid!" Amber giggled. 

"Do I want to do this?" I thought. "Do I want to point it out to her and possible wreck my damned weekend? Or do I do what I've had to do for so many months now and just stomach it down in the interests of what's best for the family?" I took the toast out and dropped a piece on her plate and mine, taking in her glassy eyed look, Amber's ever ready smile, and my own pounding headache. 

"It's time," I said to myself, and with that I felt both a weight lift from my shoulders and pain center itself in my chest. 

"So," I said aloud, "Why didn't you change her?" 

Elle look at me quizzically, buttering her toast. "What do you mean?" 

"Amber. She was obviously dirty. Why didn't you change her?" 

"You normally do in the morning." 

"Ah," I nodded as if in agreement. "That's true. While I'm getting ready for work, I do that." I took a swallow of milk, looking at her over the rim of the glass. "So if I normally change her in the morning, when do you normally change her? The evening?" 

Elle's lips tightened. "No, Sometimes I'm working then." 

"Ah," I repeated. I was going to be calm, she was going to rant and rave and I was going to be calm, no matter what. "So if I am changing her in the morning and the evening, then when do you 'normally' change her, Elle?" 

"What the fuck, Rick? I change her when she needs to be changed and I'm around to do it. Why all the questions?" Her voice dropped half an octave, "Are you trying to start a fight?" 

"No, honey. Not at all. Just trying to put this morning in perspective." I ticked off one finger, "I change her in the mornings since I am up first for work. Today I did not have work and you were up." I held up another finger, "I also change her in the evenings, as I did last night, as usual, because you are often working - or at least on the computer. However this is not the night time, it's the morning." I then touched a third finger, "And as you indicated you change her when she needs to be changed, a fact that you certainly recognized this morning by the smell, but again, you did not and I changed her." I held up the three fingers, wiggling them slightly. "That's three points - and we're just talking about our daughter and her crap filled diaper." 

"I don't need to sit here and take this shit from you, asshole," she snarled, her eyes blazing. Her finger lanced out at me. "Go fuck yourself!" 

"Elle, calm the hell down," I kept my voice even tempered as I flicked my gaze at Amber; hoping she'd get the hint. 

Sadly, she was only building up steam. "You limp dicked, cock-sucker. You can shove your points and your perspective down your throat and choke on it, you dick! You fucking dick!" 

"Not today, Rick, not going to put with this today," I reassured myself silently as I climbed to my feet, her constant haranguing growing more caustic. I walked to the phone book drawer, pulled it open sharply until the rollers slammed into the stopper, and whipped out the handcuffs. 

I held them aloft, presenting them to her like a beacon. Her tirade ended in mid-expletive and she just looked at me with an unfathomable expression. "What the hell are these, and what the hell were they doing in the basement?!" I asked, my own tone growing deeper as I struggled to keep my anger in check. I tossed them across the room towards her and she gasped, stepping back as if I threw her a live cobra. 

The cuffs hit the floor with a rattling metallic clank, sliding to a stop at the base of the cabinet. She looked down at them and then and me, eyes wide, pupils dilated, lips pulled back against her teeth. The tableau remained that way for a slow count of three and then I saw a shadow descend over the back of her eyes as whatever darkness was inside of her roared up like a phoenix. 

"You," she drew the word out like a sibilant hiss, literally snarling as she addressed me. "You, fucking, useless, pathetic, shitty excuse of a man!" 

"Elle," I warned her, noting that Amber was beginning to grow upset at the back and forth her parents were having. 

"I should fucking stab you in your sleep, you piece of shit." 

My daughter began to cry, her tiny voice wailing louder and louder. I circled the table, hoping to close the distance to the shrieking apparition that my wife had become, but she backed away and continued her foul invectives. "Elle, enough. I'm serious." 

"No, I'm serious," she crowed, whirling away. "Serious about how much I hate you. I fucking hate you!" She turned back around, hand curled like a talon, "I FUCKING HATE YOU!!" She spat these words in my face as I made to grab her flailing wrist. 

Amber's voice was now yelling in sorrow as she blubbered in her highchair. The plaintive wails of "Daddy! Daddy!" yanked at my heart as I sought to somehow get Elle away from the kitchen (marginally successful now) and calmed down a bit (failing miserably). 

I managed to land a weak grip on her waving hand but she pulled back, roaring at me a unending litany of curses punctuated with the repeated chanting of "I hate you!" every other sentence. We found ourselves just outside the office at this point. "Elle!" I yelled at her, "Enough! Enough! Don't do this! I mean it!" 

"Fuck you!" was her answering cry as she grabbed my computer keyboard and flung it with all her might in my direction like a Frisbee. I ducked just in time to feel it pass over my head and shatter against the hallway wall in a hundred pieces. 

"What the FUCK is wrong with you!?" I cried, my own fury beginning to take hold. Don't hit her, Rick. Don't hit her. You hit her, you go to jail. Don't hit her. Don't hit her, you go to jail, Rick. I looked down at the shattered keys on the hardwood floor, seeing the foot long gouge in the sheetrock just at my head level. 

As I turned back to her though she wasn't done. She had grabbed the wire of my mouse next and tore it from my system, scything it over her head like an Olympian doing the hammer throw. The weighted end whipped around, gaining tremendous velocity before making contact with the left side of my face. 

I felt my glasses burst as the mouse hit, sharpened bits of plastic exploded around me, pain lancing across my left eye. I managed to screw my lids shut just in time. Somewhere in the distance I heard the metallic sound of my glasses hitting the floor. I heard my wife at this point completely lost in her rage. And I heard my daughter crying piteously alone in the kitchen. 

I blinked slowly, the vision in my left eye blurry but still working. Elle had her hand on the monitor next, most likely going to hurl that at me. I strode forward, wrapping both of my hands on her upper arms and squeezed. Don't hit her, Rick. Don't hit her. She let go of my screen in shock, allowing me to whirl her around and push her against the back wall of the office, my anger held in check by the thinnest of threads, her feet dangling uselessly over the floor. Oh God, Rick. Don't hit her you poor bastard. Don't. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I can't live like this anymore, Elle! I can't!" 

"Then leave, you cock sucker!" 

"What's wrong with you!" I bent lower, yelling into her face now. I was aware that I had 10 inches on her and 80 lbs as well. I was a man, she was a woman. If I hit her, and God forgive me, I wanted to, but if I hit her, I would go to jail. "Just get out. Get out and let me clean this place up and get Amber calmed down. Go for a ride and please fucking relax!" 

The dark tide that was in the back of her eyes faded as I held her firmly against the wall. I noted with sadness that she had kicked holes in the sheetrock here as well with the back of her heels. "More shit I'll have to fix," I thought sadly. 

She grew pensive, staring at me like I was a stranger. I eased my grip on her arms and let go. Amber was crying on and on inside, her voice the only noise in the house anymore. "I'm going to get dressed and go out," Elle announced, her tone flat and without emotion. She looked at the wreckage in the office and the hallway, muttering, "Sorry," as she walked into the bedroom. 

I looked about, finding my glasses on the floor and picked them up. The left lens was missing and the frame was buckled there. "Fucking terrific," I sighed, going to my desk drawer and taking out my older spare. I put them on and looked around, seeing that my left eye was still blurry. "Fucking great," I repeated as I stepped over the busted garbage in the hall and entered the kitchen. 

Amber was a mess of tears, snot, and red blotchy cheeks. She was gasping as she cried, unable to get past her own facial fluids, her hands towards me beseechingly. I snatched a handful of napkins from the counter and pulled her out of her high chair, sitting her on my lap as I wiped her face dry. "Oh, my baby. My Sunshine. It's ok, Amber. It's ok. Shhh. Shhh." I held her close, rocking her calm as unbidden tears welled in my eyes. 

I heard Elle at the front door and I looked up, seeing her gaze catch mine. She appeared only slightly chagrined at this morning's antics, instead just staring at me. "I'll be back in an hour," she uttered without emotion, not even offering an apology, and then left, pulling the door closed silently behind her. 

I spent 20 minutes just sitting in the kitchen, rocking my daughter back and forth, watching her stop crying and eventually nap. I placed her back in her crib and then looked at the wreckage that was my system. Keyboard and mouse were shot, but the monitor was ok once I snapped the base back into place. I went into the closet and pulled out a spare keyboard and mouse, plugging them in and starting the system up. There was only a brief pause as it found the new hardware and then it seemed to be working fine. 

I grabbed the trash can and loaded the busted bits from the hall and the office floor inside, fingering the holes in the sheetrock. The hall I could patch, but the office wall was a wreck. I wandered into the kitchen and found a utility blade in the junk drawer. Going back into the office I proceeded to cut out a square of damaged rock, lining the edges up on the closest available studs. I cleaned up the floor here and then went into the bathroom to clean my hands. 

That's when I looked in the mirror. 

The brow above my left eye was a mass of abrasions, the skin seriously marked and scabby looking. I could see the skin was already discolored and knew I would be sporting a black eye. "Bitch." I touched it gingerly; it felt sore. "Fucking bitch."  

There was no way I was going to live like this anymore. I didn't know what to do to help her, but trying to be the only person in the marriage hoping to make it work was not an option. And now this? Where was this shit coming from? 

I heard the front door open and I peered out of the bathroom, looking down the hall to see Elle coming back in. She had an orange colored coffee cup in one hand and a big gulp cup from 7-11 in the other. Seeing me she gave a thin smile and motioned the soda towards me. "Diet coke." 

"Thanks," I replied. I glanced once more into the mirror, frowning at the damage, and strode out to face her. 

She was sitting in the kitchen, sipping her coffee, a pile of purloined brown sugar packets piled next to her tapping fingers. I picked up the big gulp, took a deep sip, and sat down. I leaned back in the chair, staring at her. She was unable to meet my gaze for very long, constantly looking away when she saw my blackening eye. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "I don't want to fight." 

"Me neither." 

"Good." I waited, saying nothing. She eventually continued with, "I don't hate you." 

I snorted. "Could have fooled me." 

Her nose wrinkled. "No, it's true. I don't hate you." 

"Then what the hell is going on? Do we need to go and talk to someone?" 

She shook her head, lips twisting in mockery. "No, we don't need to talk to anyone." 

"Elle, I can't live like this." 

"It'll get better, Rick." 

"When?" 

She shrugged. "Soon." 

"And, the handcuffs?" 

Her shoulders stiffened. "They're mine." 

"Shit, Elle. What the hell for? What are you doing with them?" 

"None of your fucking business," she snapped, her voice getting clipped at the end. 

I held up my hand, "Easy. Relax. We're talking, ok?" 

"No, Rick," she went on, "it's not ok." She shook a finger at me, "I'm not hurting anyone. I am here all fucking day, ok? Just me, and my head, all fucking day. Sometimes I have thoughts and desires and wants that are NOT associated with you, ok?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

She slapped her palm on the tabletop. "See, this is what I was talking about. The cuffs are mine. Anything I do here when you and Amber are out is none of your fucking concern, ok? I'm not hurting anyone, I'm a grown fucking woman, and I don't need your fucking permission for anything?" 

I was wrestling with what she was saying, twirling the straw of my soda in the plastic cover back and forth. "What do you mean? You want to try out handcuffs? OK, I'll try them with you. Just let me in, Elle." 

"Ha!" she laughed out loud, scorn naked in her voice. "You're a boy scout, Rick. You don't have it in you to help me work through this, so don't even try." 

"Holy crap, Elle," I gasped, my mind leaping to a disturbing conclusion. "You better not be fucking around on me. Fourteen years, nine married, and we have a house and a kid together." My finger was shaking in her direction. "Are you? Are you into some shit with someone else?" 




It's Only Fair Ch. 03



It was like a brick wall fell behind her face. Her expression became empty, her eyes soulless. Even the air felt cooler all the sudden. "No," she answered. "And let me tell you something in case you're thinking about fucking me over at one point, Mr. Masters." She thrust her shoulders back, taking on an imperious stance as she proceeded to lay down her thoughts. "I'm the woman, remember that. Which means, that if we get divorced, you're going to get screwed." 

"Give me a fucking break, Elle. I don't want to get divorced." 

"You say that now, but that's only because you don't know shit. I'm telling you, New York is a female friendly state, and if we do get divorced, you're going to have to either lose this house or sell it. Amber will live with me. And you will be fucked." 

"It's not like that anymore, Elle. The 70's called, they want your bullshit statistics back." 

She smirked, "Try me. Just try me." She leaned in, her face less than a foot from mine; that cruel twisting of her lips and almost manic gleam rekindled in the back of her pupils. "You hate me, don't you? I'm driving you crazy, aren't I?" She leaned in closer, now only inches separated us. "Well either hit me or deal with it, because that's the way it is." 

She waited a few seconds to see if I would actually swing at her. I waited a few seconds to see if I would swing at her also, totally in shock at the state of things. This was my wife? This was the woman I made love to last night? The mother of my child? Now she's almost bat shit crazy and talking about divorce and handcuffs and stuff I don't know about? It was obvious to me that there was more going on than I could find out now, and after today's fiasco, she was going to be on guard with whatever she was doing. 

My ruminating was taking too long so she sat back and said, "I thought so," with smug self satisfaction. She looked at my face, "I'm sorry about the eye," she offered, like that was going to make everything better. 

I stood up, taking my big gulp from the table. "Elle. I don't know what's going on, but this isn't healthy. Not for you, not for me, not for Amber. I want to help, but I won't be made a fool of. So keep that in mind before we find ourselves in a place we can't get back from. And trust me, we're just about there." I picked up my keys. "I'm going to Home Depot for a piece of sheet rock. Amber is napping. Please take care of her until I get back." 

She nodded in response, her expression once more serene. She sipped her coffee again as I walked out the door, climbed into my Equinox and drove away. 

Did you ever beat the shit out of your steering wheel? I mean really go to town on it? Squeezing it like it was someone's neck, twisting it like you could choke it? And the yelling - what good is it to beat the crap out of your steering wheel and dashboard if you can't unload every dirty foul curse word you could imagine to the empty seat next to you and then go back to the beginning of the list and scream them all again? 

I had no memory of actually driving to Home Depot, but I am sure that the people who had driven next to me or were stopped at the lights in the next car were getting quite a show. When I finally calmed down I was in the parking lot, my heart racing and my knuckles sore. The interior of the truck didn't appear to be damaged which made me thankful that my rage was not unbounded. I killed the ignition and got out, drawing a shaky breath before exhaling slowly. 

I did this twice more and felt marginally well enough to go in and get what supplies I needed. It didn't take long and within the hour I was back home screwing new drywall into place and cleaning up the worst of the gouges. Amber seemed unfazed from the problem earlier and was happy to scoot around the floor in her wheeled chair. As for Elle, she stayed away from both of us, working on her computer with only the minimal of interactions. A few times I managed to catch glimpses of what she was doing and it was evenly divided between some sort of messenger or chat program and her actual freelance work. 

The day was strained and it passed slowly. Dinner was hotdogs and burgers on the small Weber grill outside, Elle opting not to eat with us, saying she wanted to get everything done tonight. Truthfully, I didn't care. My mind was in turmoil, no solution was forthcoming. Mostly because there was no actual explanation of what the entire problem was either. 

Eventually Amber was put to bed and I took a fast shower after folding the laundry and putting it away. I crawled into bed and rooted around for the latest Destroyerman novel I have been reading. I read maybe 30 pages of Captain Reddy and his fight against the Grik when I realized I was falling asleep. I put the bookmark in, tossed the paperback onto the floor, and turned off my light. 

9:53. I could hear Elle tapping away in the office. She hadn't said a word to me for almost 5 hours and I was wondering, when I woke up in the morning, would she even been sleeping in the bed with me? And then to my shame just before I faded away, I hoped that she wouldn't. 

I awoke Sunday morning feeling like hammered shit. My mouth was scratchy, the left side of my face ached, and my hands hurt. I glanced over and saw that Elle had come to bed at some point, she was still sleeping. I rolled up and eased my way out of bed, hands pressing against my knees as I lifted myself upright. 

7:03. I shuffled to the bathroom and flipped on the light, stopping in shock at the figure in the mirror. I had a big assed black eye. It had gotten worse well before it would get better. Also, the white part of my left eye had a pool of blood in the bottom right corner, making me appear sickly. "Holy shit, Elle. What the hell did you do to me?" I washed my face with care, the skin tender and raw. 

I went into the kitchen, seeing nothing new, and then into the office. Her orange paper cup from 7-11 was here, along with her dish from dinner and two other glasses each half filled with water. I went to go clean it up and then stopped myself. "Fuck her," I muttered and left them there. Most likely she would just plop them in the sink, but even the miniscule victory in inconveniencing her to clean up her own mess from her desk was something, wasn't it? Damn, was this as petty as I was becoming? I hated to think it, but I felt like my actions were something that Elle would do. 

"Crap," I whispered as I went back and cleaned up the plates and glasses. I dropped them in the dishwasher and then perked my head up. Hearing no one moving around, I tiptoed back to her computer and shook the mouse. Her screen flared to life and I dove into her browser history, trying to get an idea where she was yesterday. 

"Fetlife? Kink.com? What the fuck is this shit?" A quick detour to Chrome gave me my answer. "BDSM? Is that what you're doing?" I poked around some more, finding a couple of log in screens. "Fuck, Elle. You actually ON some of these sites?" I then pulled up her gmail login screen and was surprised to find not only her work email address and her personal one, but the system said there was a 3rd address. "Lacycuffs@gmail? Are you fucking kidding me?" 

I did not know her passwords and didn't want to risk poking around. This wasn't some internet story where I was a secret computer guru with a team of ex-CIA hot employees waiting to help me crack some 128-bit encrypted file and then blow me as a reward. What I was was a regular guy who could poke around some and get enough of an overview that there was something else going on in her life and she was exploring it while Amber and I were gone all day. She had nine or ten hours at least to herself every weekday, Monday to Friday. How was I supposed to know what she was doing with her time? 

What did I know? She had been in a 'down' period more often than not since her pregnancy before Amber was born. She had become increasingly separated from me and our life together. She had little interaction with real people outside of the house anymore. She had few actual friends that she could call upon and even her family relations were strained this last year. She flat out refused to see a therapist no matter what I had tried. Her actions had progressed to violence against me for the first time ever. She was no longer willing to talk about or problems and instead devolved to screaming and losing her temper. She had handcuffs that she apparently used in the basement. And she was engaged in some budding interest in some online BDSM activity. 

I didn't want to see her today, knowing it would become something worse. I tore off the back of an envelope and scrawled "Taking A out for the day. Be home before dinner. -R". I then woke up Amber, got her changed and clean, snagged her diaper bag and left the house by quarter after 8. 

Stan was out this morning, I could see his garage door open and from the looks of things, he was going to be mowing his lawn soon. I waved to him as I got in the truck, backing it down the driveway and then stopping on the side of the street as he sauntered over. "Hey, Rick," he greeted me. "Going out today?" 

"Yeah, Elle and I ha..." 

"What the hell happened to you!?" he exclaimed, interrupting me. "Holy shit, Rick!" 

I grimaced. "I know, I know. It's ok, really. Looks worse than it really is." Stan just looked at me, saying nothing as his gaze shot past me through the car window to my house and then back. I held my hand up, "Really, Stan. It's my problem." 

"Rick...I gotta tell you. There's a limit, man." He seemed uncomfortable, rubbing his hands back and forth. "Did...did she do that?" 

"Stan, keep out of it, ok?" 

"Crap, Rick," his voice dropped lower, his eyes unable to hold mine, "Did you hit her?" 

I looked hard at him. "You know me, Stan. You know my story. I'll never, I mean never, hit a girl. Period." 

"I know, I know. But damn, you look like you got your ass kicked." 

I sighed. "Thanks man, rally. It's ok." I looked at my watch. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll see you later today, alright?" 

He backed up, shoving his hands deep into his shorts' pockets. "No prob. Take care, buddy." 

"Will do," I replied and then drove away. 

I made my way to the Sunrise Highway and then travelled east, watching the signposts overhead pass behind until I spotted the exit for Lakeland Avenue. I pulled off the highway and took the residential streets for a few minutes until I arrived at a modest high ranch on a small parcel of property. The lawn looked freshly cut and the bushes were trimmed. Someone had planted small pink flowers around the stoop and black colored mulch had been added to the existing flower beds. "Come on, Sunshine," I said to Amber, unstrapping her and snagging her bag. "Let's go see Grandma." 

I walked up the driveway and climbed the concrete steps to the front door. Peering through sidelight, I could see my mother in the kitchen upstairs, already awake. I rang the doorbell and heard her dog barking in response. The sounds of her descending the stairs came next and then she opened the door with a smile and a greeting on her lips that changed instantly to one of horror and outrage. 

"Rick! What the fuck happened to your face!?" 

"Hey, Ma," I replied, hoisting Amber up a notch and staring meaningfully at her. "Language." 

"Fuck language, oh my god. Come in." She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, taking Amber from my arms in that time honored manner that all grandmothers knew how to do. "Hey sweety," she said to my daughter, kissing her on the lips five times in rapid succession. "You want some breakfast? I can make you breakfast." 

"No, Ma. Nothing for me thanks. But Amber might be hungry." 

"No problem!" We climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor and she entered the kitchen while I paused, looking to the right in what had been called the 'living room' while I was growing up. It had been decorated in whites and oranges, but the focal point was the old upright piano against the back wall and the grey marble urn sitting on top of it. The walls were decorated with pictures of me and my younger sister throughout the years growing up, but a number of them near the piano showed my father instead. His easy smile and large grey 1970's looking moustache were prominent in all of them. 

I turned away and joined the two other women in the kitchen. "So," my mother started. 

"So?" I asked in response. 

"Did you kick the bitch out?" 

I laughed. "No, Ma. I didn't." 

"You should. She should know how good she has it with you." 

"She knows, Ma." 

She grunted, that one sound telling me that she thought I was a moron. "Right. I'm sure." 

"Ma, we bought the house together six years ago. It's her place, too." 

"Your father and I, god rest his soul, gave you the money for that place. It's yours." 

"The courts don't work that way." 

"Well they should." She put a plate of very scrambled eggs down in front of Amber and mushed them up with a fork, taking delight in feeding her granddaughter who cooed and giggled in response. 

My mother still had that Brooklyn mentality to things, even though they had moved out here over 25 years ago. In her mind, everything was simple, straightforward, and only sissys didn't say what they meant. Elle and my mother had gotten along terrifically when we were younger but the last few years had been difficult at best. Elle thought my mother was an opinionated ex-thug and my mother thought Elle was a selfish and self-centered crazy bitch who needed to get fucked and then fuck off. 

Needless to say, we didn't share the holidays this last year. 

"So what are you going to do? Let her punch you in the other eye to even things out?" 

"No, Ma." 

"Holy shit, Rick. What the fuck happened to you? Did she cut your balls off too?" 

I was quiet, looking at the aged face of the woman who had raised me and my sister, loved me, and supported me even when it got tough. "I don't know. It's just so much more...difficult." I folded one hand over the other. "I miss, Dad." 

Her gaze softened. "Me too, honey." She smiled at me. "You know he was very proud of you." 

"I know, Ma." 

"Really, not a day went by that he didn't feel that way. Me too." 

"Thanks." 

My father had been dead now three years. Massive heart attack at 61. No warning, no clue. He was sitting in his chair in the den, watching TV, when he just died. My mother was a wreck for all of two days and then she gathered her emotions together and strangled them into submission. After that, she was just like she had been before my father had died, the only difference was she was now alone and less worried about what people thought. 

"You know, Rick, you don't have to be punching bag for that twat." 

"I know, Ma." 

"If someone hits you, you hit them back." 

I shuddered, "I know, Ma. But the world doesn't work that way anymore. And I'm not some idiot kid, I have a life and a hell of a lot more to lose." 

When I was younger, I was fat. Moving from Brooklyn and the urban world out to Ronkonkoma and the suburban life was a shock to my 9 year old self. I had a hard time fitting in with the kids here and developed a bit of a stutter. This made me a target for my new classmates which made it even harder for me to fit in. I became introverted and turned to staying inside reading every book I could get my hands on and eating to help me cope and stave off the pain of rejection. 

My dad tried to help and signed me up for little league, even taking the time out to coach, but I was not very fast and was disliked by my teammates whenever I couldn't run the bases to their liking or catch the ball every time it came to me. My stuttering eventually stabilized but my weight climbed until I was "the fat kid" that everyone had in one of their classes. By the time my teenage years hit, I was also blessed with terrible acne and the need for glasses to fix my near- sightedness. Long and short, I was a nerd. 

I spent a lot of time on my bicycle, riding all over the neighborhood, familiarizing myself with every street and block; pushing my boundaries out further and further. I also began exploring the large tract of woods near the railroad tracks; climbing and bounding and scrambling everywhere. I contracted poison ivy every summer like clockwork but didn't care. The upside of all this was my weight stopped climbing from all the inadvertent exercise I was getting. And when my growth spurt hit, it transformed into a very solid muscular core. 

My dad got me a weight bench at 15 and I took to lifting with glee. Every morning I would workout and every evening I would do the same; trying to get to the point where I could use the entire 150 lb. set of plates properly. My social life was still a mess though; I had two friends in school and one on the block and none of them were what I would classify as "good friends"; more like serious acquaintances. I was an easy target for the jocks and popular clique and took to wearing my hair long and sporting bulky coats when able. "Rick the Dick" was a common call when I was in the hall, along with "Pizza Face" and "You Homo." 

And then one day, it happened. 

I was seventeen and walking home from school when a car drove by slowly and something wet splashed against my shoulder; the cries of "Loser!" following the vehicle's passing. I looked over and saw that someone had thrown a bottle of grape juice at me, the deep purply stain spreading over my shirt and down to my pants. I looked at the retreating car filled with laughing teens and kicked a nearby rock at it, screaming, "Assholes!" 

By some stroke of luck, the rock actually struck the car, bouncing off the trunk with a sharp metallic clang. There was a chirp of tires as the driver stopped short, bursting from the car and coming around back to look for damage. "What's your problem, Masters?" The other occupants had gotten out, five in total, three guys and two girls, everyone one of them in my classes over the years and part of the larger party of tormentors I had accumulated since moving out here. 

They approached, one of them shoving me hard enough to make me stumble back. I kept my feet and tried to dance away but they kept at it. I heard one of the neighbor ladies cry out from her front window that they should leave me alone and she was calling the police but the five of them didn't seem to care, constantly stepping up to give me a kick or a shove or a slap. 

I remember feeling a peace flow through me, a sense of ease that came upon me at this time, chasing all my fears and worries away. I had never been able to stand up for myself before but on this day, I knew that it was all about the change. When one of them went to give me a punch to the head, I leaned to the side, his blow striking my shoulder instead. Then I reversed direction and stomped on his leading foot with my own, my own clumsily made fist burying itself in his gut. 

He fell down, gasping and choking. Something hit me in the ear and I elbowed backward, striking someone in the chin. And then the fight was on. Three guys to one was not fair, but I was giving as good as I was getting, even better. All the rage I had felt was coming out of me. I fought without skill, only pure anger and eight years of public school angst fueling my punches, kicks, elbows, and knees. I knew I was 'winning' but I didn't care, I was fighting back at long last. 

I know I heard someone yell, "Get off of him," and snatch my glasses from my face. My response was to wind up and whirl to the side, throwing the most anger fuel punch I had delivered to date. It connected and it was then that I realized that my target was not one of the three guys I had been fighting, but one of the two girls. 

I had broken her nose, snapped her head back, and dropped her to the curb where she had bashed her skull on the decorative stones the property owner had placed around the base of the tree. She was bleeding and choking, her face a mangled ruin of what was one a fairly pretty teenage girl. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 03



The cops did come, along with the ambulance. She had gotten a concussion along with other wounds. The neighbor had reported what had happened and since we were all still technically minors, no one got arrested. But I was shunned for the rest of school and even though I had not started it, I was still in the wrong (as per to majority of people) for hitting a girl. Her parents had tried to sue my parents but the case went nowhere and was eventually thrown out when it was proven that I had been long provoked into this. She eventually got better but she was no longer a pretty girl and her eyes looked on me with fear each time she saw me. 

Other girls did the same. It was repeated often that 'Rick the Dick' had held his own against 3 assailants and laid out the girl in question with a single punch. No one fucked with me anymore, but in a way, I was even more alone. When high school ended I went to community college for a semester and then dropped out that time, having no interest in continuing school - even one filled with people who did not know me or my history. A social worker had counseled me for about 6 months after the incident, helping me to get through the trauma of my experiences and how to cope with the after effects of my one terribly sad fight. 

Years later, I could still recall the way her face felt as I unloaded all my anger and fury in that point of contact; I could feel her flesh under my knuckles and her cartilage break. And no matter how many times I washed my hands when I thought of it, did I ever feel clean from the experience. I had made a promise to never hit anyone in anger again. 

I blinked away my reverie and sighed. "Ma, I've got to run a few errands. Can you watch Amber for me for a couple of hours?" 

She smiled, grabbing my free hand with hers and gripping it tight. "No problem, Rick. Go do what you've got to do." 

I thanked her, gave both of them a kiss, and then left. I drove to the mall, walking in to Lenscrafters and getting a replacement pair of glasses. I then wandered around Sears a few minutes before heading out to get gas and lunch. I passed a Bank of America and turned around in the parking lot, driving up to the ATM. "Fuck it," I said to myself as I took out $400 and pocketed it. I know that it wasn't much, but it was a step. I looked at the balance on screen on all the accounts and noticed they were about where I expected them to be. Not sure why, but that made me feel marginally better. 

I ended up back in Ronkonkoma at my mother's at 2:30 where I thanked her for watching my daughter and got another admonishment to "dump the bitch and soon" before hitting the Highway and returning home. 

We came in to find Elle in the kitchen, slicing up a tomato as she was making a salad. "Hey!" she said in surprise. "Rick, you're home!" She put the knife down and walked towards me glassy eyed and smiling. "Have a nice day?" 

"Yeah," I said, wondering what was up. 

"I've got a laundry in, up in a sec." She scooted past me to the basement door and flipped the light on before going down. The spring hinge closed it quietly behind her. 

"Mommy was acting weird, wasn't she?" I asked Amber, knowing she didn't understand me but happy to hear my voice. I walked her into her room and checked to see if she needed a fresh diaper. I heard my wife walking up the basement stairs, her tread sounding heavy for some reason. "Elle?" I called out. "Need help with the baskets?" 

She didn't answer for a few seconds but I did hear the front door latch closed. "Elle?" I called out again, more of a question in my voice. 

"What?" came her reply from inside. 

"Nothing. I thought you left. Heard the front door close." 

"It wasn't shut all the way. And no, I don't need help. It's only sheets." 

I pulled Amber's pants back on, something niggling at the back of my consciousness. We came out into the kitchen where I saw the plastic laundry basket in the living room half filled with the sheets and pillow cases. She was wrapping up the salad and snapping the Tupperware lid in place, placing it in the fridge. "I wanted to know if you wanted pasta tonight?" she asked. 

"Um...yeah. Is that what I'm cooking?" 

Elle shook her head in small motions. "No, I've got it." 

"Ok...thanks." Just great, we couldn't even talk to each other today. I sighed. "I'm going to take care of the wall." 

She flinched as I said it, nodding her head. I walked out, heading to my garage where I opened the rolling door and went to my workbench. I picked up a fresh utility knife, two spackle knives, and some sandpaper. I grabbed my shop vac and started back for the house when I saw Stan coming from across the street, waving at me and holding a small green covered container of spackle. 

"Hey, Rick," he called. 

"Hey, Stan." 

"You're going to need this," he said, offering me the one gallon bucket. 

"Thanks. I think I still have some in the basement, but thanks." I jiggled the supplies to one arm and took the bucket from him. 

"Nah. Don't think you do." He pulled his sweatshirt tighter across his shoulders and smiled. 

"Say? How'd you know?" 

He motioned with his chin to my front door. "A little while after you left, I stopped over to chat with Elle, see if I could find anything out for you. Got nothing new that you don't already know. Saw the walls." He glanced pointedly at my black eye. "Wanted to see for myself, you know? Make sure everything was ok." 

I nodded. "Thanks, Stan." Something was once again niggling at the back of my thoughts but it was drowned by the seemingly ever present headache I had been suffering under. "You're a good friend." I turned back to the front door, "Let me get this going and I'll talk to you tomorrow, k?" 

"No problem." He watched me go, only heading back across the street once I was inside. 

My spackling job was not professional grade, but for a first coat, it more than sufficed. I stopped when Elle announced dinner and the three of us ate with slightly more conversation and ease than we had been having lately. It was after I gave Amber her bath and Elle and I were getting ready for bed that I turned to my wife and asked, "Are you, ok?" 

She said nothing at first, crawling under the crisp clean sheets and pulling the blanket up to rest on her lap. "Well enough, Rick." 

I climbed in next to her, picking up my book and lying there, staring at the ceiling. "We need some help, Elle." 

I felt her get more comfortable, turning off her lamp. "There isn't any. It's just us." 

I watched her as she faced me, her eyes dull and listless. "I know, Elle. But we can't have another weekend like this. We can't, one of us is going to get a stroke." 

She said little, her eyes welling with tears. "I'm not sure what I can do anymore, Rick." 

"We have to figure it out, Elle. Figure it out together." 

She looked at me, her gaze empty, and then rolled over, facing the other way. 

I eventually fell asleep, realizing that I had stared at the same paragraph of my book without reading it for the last ten minutes.



It's Only Fair Ch. 04



Continuing the tale. Thanks to everyone who has been commenting, voting, and offering feedback. I know that you can't please everyone, and that's just fine. As long as I am getting my tale across in a manner that pleases me, I am doing what I sought out to do. And for everyone else who is enjoying it as well, thank you so much! 

Being that everyone has a choice, you also have a choice not to read the story if you don't like it. Very simple: Don't like it, don't read it. Move on to something else. Writing anonymous comments about how much it sucked and you didn't get an erection and pussy this and dumb ass that and I hate you is the internet equivalent to screaming into a metal fan - marginally amusing and totally pointless. Your negative comments aren't fazing me, sorry! 

I have gotten into a rhythm now so these size chapters should pretty much be the norm for me I would think. That should be meaty enough and if it runs longer, it's only a bonus. 

And to placate the naysayers and those who aren't sure, there is an outline and direction and an ending to the story so it won't just meander about and then peter out with some Deux ex Machina quicky resolution. There are a few chapters left and this tale will not drag on any longer than it has to tell its tale. 

Being my first submission here, my major mistake was breaking the tale up into too many parts, could have broken this into 3 parts tops and been done. Faux pas on my part, I'll correct that for the next story. 

Finally I noticed that that at the end of Day 1 of Chapter 2's posting, it had over 14,000 views - which means that I must be doing something right. Sorry to disappoint those who suggested I should "quit and go fuck myself". Chuckle. 

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. 

Again, no white slavery to Sierra Leone or Delta 6 operations or BBC loving or coconut cream pies. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. 

Enjoy! -V 

***** 

The repetitive buzzing of my alarm clock woke me from my restless sleep the next morning. I fumbled back and slapped the snooze button before yawning and getting up. Monday. Normally it never bothered me, but after the weekend I had, I was in no way shape or form ready for today. I stretched and rubbed my face, wincing in pain as I did so, forgetting about my black eye. 

I staggered into the shower and let the hot water run over my body, waking me up better than any cup of coffee could. I toweled myself off and gave my face a last once over in the mirror. Truthfully? I looked terrible. 

I got dressed in the silence of the morning before going into Amber's room and waking her up with a gentle shove. Once her eyes opened and she smiled up at me, I lifted her from her crib and sang, "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the trees are awake." Swiftly I had her changed and dressed and then brought her into the kitchen where we ate a quiet breakfast punctuated only with shared smiles and little giggle noises back and forth with each other. 

As I got her ready to go, I had a thought and looked around the kitchen for the handcuffs, not finding them anywhere. I then checked out her section of the office. Again, no luck. I thought about the basement but a look at the clock showed it was already after 7:30 and I had to leave. So I snagged my briefcase from the floor and took Amber's bag of fresh linens and blankets for daycare and left quietly, not wanting to wake Elle up. Not because I was being courteous, but because I didn't want to talk with her at this time. 

I saw Stan's truck was missing from the driveway, happy he was working today, and flipped on the radio as I backed out of the driveway and drove away. The announcer eventually went through the list of delays this morning, and I was pissed to hear the Southern State was suffering. "Lovely, Amber," I said upon hearing this, "I guess this means you're stuck with me a little longer." She cooed in response. 

The ride in was indeed longer than I'd like, but I arrived at the daycare at quarter after 8; more than enough time to do what I had to and still get to work before 9. It began when I walked up to the counter to check Amber in. "Hey, Shelly," I called out, navigating the system swiftly to find my daughter's log in portal. 

Shelly's head lifted and her perky expression froze, and then fell as she looked at me. "Oh my god, Mr. Masters! Your eye!" 

This immediately drew the attention of the nearby teachers and parents who also came forward to see my damaged face. "Oh my, who hit you? Are you ok? Did you go to the hospital?" The questions came fast and furious as almost a dozen young women crowded around, offering their sympathy and running their fingertips across the bruised skin. 

"Ladies, ladies. I'm ok, really. It was an accident. Honest." 

"Yeah, my ex-boyfriend used to give me 'accidents' too," one of the teachers provided sarcastically. 

"Seriously, Mr. Masters," Shelly asked, leaning over the desk and searching my face, "are you sure you're ok? You can tell us, you know." There were a number of agreeing sounds and bobbing, nodding heads. 

"Thanks everyone. Really. I'm touched. But it was just an accident, that's all." I hoisted Amber a little higher and made my way through the press of well meaning bodies. "Let me get Sunshine here in class or I'm going to be late for work." 

"Aw, Ok Mr. Masters." "No problem, Mr. Masters." "We're here if you need us." 

Their voices quieted as I walked away but I could hear the buzzing of their muted conversation behind me. I made my way into the Zebra room and strode right up to Amber's crib, wanting to get out of here before Kerri saw my face. "Hey, Kerri," I called out to her, the buxom teacher was finishing up the changing of one of the other kids in here. "You have a good weekend?" 

"Hi, Mr. Rick! It wasn't too bad, just short." She was working with fast efficiency and I was just dumping Amber's bag into her cubby. "And lonely." She giggled. "How was yours? Was Pumpkin good?" 

I gave my daughter a fast hug and lowered her to the mat where another little boy was playing with some oversized plush cubes. "It was uneventful. And Amber was delicious as always," I stood up and finished with, "Listen, I'm running late so I'll see you later, ok?" I was trying to make it to the door but she was already done and stepped towards me, child on her hip, smiling as she approached. 

"What's the rush," she asked, glancing at the big clock over the door. "It's barely 8:30 and you're day doesn't start until 9 if I remember...What the hell?" Her eyes grew wide as she finally got close enough to see me. 

"It's nothing Kerri, just a goofy accident over the weekend, that's all." 

Kerri stared at my battered and scratched up face without word; a glistening in her own eyes and a firmness to her lips answered me. 

"Seriously, everyone's making a big deal about it." 

"Mr. Rick, please." She replied. "I know." 

"Know what?" 

"I know what abuse looks like." 

"Kerri, you're way off here." 

She rolled up her short sleeves on her left arm, and showed me the creamy top of her feminine bicep. There were a half dozen strange round scars there, each one a little smaller than a dime. I looked at her, uncomprehending. "Cigarette burns," she said. 

I frowned. "I didn't know you smoked?" 

She lowered her sleeve, head downcast. "I don't. My last boyfriend did." 

I didn't know what to say. 

"Listen, Mr. Rick, and listen good. It doesn't end. It only gets worse. You think it'll end, and you hope for the best and maybe they'll be like you remember them to be, but in the end you are fooling yourself and the abuse just keeps mounting." She pointed to Amber. "And you need to think two things. One, do you want your daughter to ever see someone do that to someone they love? And two, what if your daughter became the next target? Could you accept that?" 

"Way off base here, Kerri. Not a chance in the world, this was a one time thing." 

She put the child she was holding down, allowing her to crawl to the other kids playing together, her gaze watching them wistfully. "I'm sure you believe that, Mr. Rick. But I've listened to you these last two months and I know you never thought you getting hit would ever be a one time thing." She looked up at me. "Meet me for lunch today and tell me what happened. Take me to Wendy's, your treat." 

"Kerri, it's not a good idea..." 

"Why? Because I'm 23 and you're not?" 

"No, that's not it. It's just not proper..." 

"Oh, please," she interrupted me again, "the 19th Amendment passed a long time ago. It's just lunch. Nobody cares. Be here at 12:15, that's my break. Unlike you, I can't take lunch whenever I want." 

I wanted to say no and just get on with my day, but I didn't. The truth is, I really needed someone to talk to. I couldn't talk to a friend because they were too close to the situation. I had already spoken about my concerns with Stan, but he was friends with my wife and I and I couldn't rely on him being impartial. I didn't feel at all comfortable talking at work. I wasn't particularly religious so I had no clergy to talk to. My mother's litany was a constant, "dump the bitch," no matter what I said. And even though I wanted Elle and I to talk to a therapist to help us out, I didn't see the purpose of going to one only for myself. 

Truthfully, Kerri wasn't a bad choice. She was young so might have some insight into what the allure was that my wife was into. She was a woman so I would get a different answer and help then to 'hit her back.' She wasn't a friend so wasn't close to my family. And lastly, I found her alluring on some primal level, and given the number of blows to my self-esteem that Elle had been hitting me with lately, having an attractive woman interested in my life only made me feel better. 

I wasn't an idiot, I was aware that Kerri 'liked' me on some level and most likely had some older-male issues (most of the young teachers in the day care seemed to) but a burger and fries at Wendy's seemed harmless enough for the chance to tell someone what was going on in the wreckage that was my life. 

"Fine. 12:15. Don't make me wait." 

Her smile lit up like a flare, her cheeks dimpling. "Great. See you then." She gave my arm a faint rub and tiny squeeze before turning to the four kids in the room and going into teacher mode. 

I left and arrived at work in time, making my way to my office with a number of stares and "Oh, wow's" in my wake. For the next hour I had to tell everyone from the mail clerk to Andy, my boss, that it was "just an accident" and "nothing to worry about" over and over. It wasn't until 10:30 that I was able to start real work and lost myself in the timecard system and payroll until my Outlook made a pair of 'bongs' and alerted me at 12:05 with: 

Lunch. Wendy's. Kerri. 

I sighed, closing the payroll system down so nosey employees couldn't come in and spy, hit 'dismiss' on the choice box, and walked out. "Andy," I said, poking my nose into his office. From the way he was intently studying the screen I had a suspicion he was playing Farmville. 

He clicked somewhere else on his screen and looked up at me, further confirming my guess, "What's up, Rick?" 

"I'm going out for lunch, be back in an hour." 

"You? Going OUT for lunch?" He smirked. "That raise must be going to your head." He gave a short barking laugh. "Listen, no more than two martini's and bring the rest of your filet mignon back in a doggie bag for later. Ha! Doggie bag!" He punched the air, face getting red from his own mirth. 

"Whatever," I strode away, took two steps back and poked my head in his office and said, "Stop trying to water your fields." 

His laughing calls followed me down the hall as I made my way out of D&H Industries and eventually back to the daycare. I parked in the lot and took a deep breath. "What the fuck are you doing, Rick?" I asked myself. I was unable to answer that question as Kerri came walking out of the center and strode over to the Equinox. I unlocked the door and she climbed in. "Hey, Mr. Rick. Glad you came." 

"Hey Kerri," I watched as she pulled her seatbelt around and fastened it, the belt bisecting her prodigious chest and making my forehead break out in sweat. I turned back to the parking lot and put the truck in gear, noticing a great many number of Kerri's workmates where crowded at the door and staring at our departing vehicle with serious interest. "Thanks again. But this isn't really necessary." 

"We'll see," she replied and then launched into some detail about how her day had been going so far and the crazy antics her wards had gotten into. I drove, listening to her prattle on, feeling myself relax and actually smile at some of her descriptions. We only had to drive on the main road a mile until the glass faced front and bright red sign announced that we had arrived at our destination. 

"Drive thru." 

"What, I asked?" 

She pointed through the window. "Lunch crowd. There's no tables in there. Only four cars on the drive thru. Plus I don't think you really want to tell me what's going on where everyone could listen." 

I shrugged and joined the queue. It went fairly quick plus Kerri's good natured chatter was helping to pass the time. I placed the order for both of us and then eventually drove up to the window to pay. From there I drove to the side parking lot, rolled down both front windows, and stopped the vehicle. 

We ate in companionable silence, the passing cars on the busy road and the faint snippets of conversation we heard from walking diners the only sounds. Finally, our meal done, Kerri took a long sip of her soda and sighed contently. "Thanks, Mr. Rick. That was great." 

"You're welcome, glad you enjoyed it." 

She looked at the clock. 12:37. "OK, enough stalling. What happened? And tell me the truth, no more crap about an accident." 

"It was though." 

She waved her hand. "No, start at the beginning, ok?" She fixed me with her gaze, her lips pursed and eyes ready. 

I started to tell her the story, highlighting only the occurrences of the last two days but she stopped me often, asking for some clarification of a point in the tale, or explanation of why I did what I did. This forced me to go back further and explain more, eventually giving her the entire tale and ending it with last night's nonresolution. 

"Rick, you're abused." 

"I'm aware of it." 

She shook her head. "No Rick, you are in an abusive relationship. Trust me, I know. It's all there." 

I was quiet, pondering this. Was it possible? Can a guy be in an abusive relationship? You watch these whining women on Oprah and Judge Judy and you wonder why they stay with their obvious asshole spouses and now, like a blast of cold water, it's pointed out that I'm one of them? 

"Why are you still with her?" Kerri asked, her question mirroring my own thoughts in the matter. 

"I've been with her for 14 years. Married for 9." 

She bunched one leg under her other thigh and looked at me. "That sounds more like inertia than a reason. Do you love her?" 

"Of course." 

She shook her head. "No, seriously. Remove the image of who you married and fell in love with and look at only the person you described to me. That's who's in your life now. That person, do you love her?" 

"No," I answered, drawing the word out as my mind flared. My thoughts began jumbling about, the pounding between my ears growing more jarring. 

"Tell me what your life was like when you first got together." 

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, the smell of exhaust scenting from the cars idling nearby. "It was like most young couples I guess. We were friends first and sort of fell together when both of our SO's were caught screwing around. We had a lot in common. She was always looking out for me, making me happy. I was doing the same for her." 

My mind filled in pictures along the back of my lids. "We took road trips often. Nothing costly, just two people going places together. Camping in Wildwood, the lighthouse at Montauk, a couple visits to Cape Cod, Six-Flags Great Adventure. We had only the best for one another and knew after a few years we were going to get married." 

"I was working at night, loading cars for UPS when she told me that I should go back to college. She pushed, cajoled, and bribed me, but it was worth it and she was right. So at 24 I went back to college a second time and eventually got my degree in accounting. She already had her degree and was working for Monochange as a graphic designer when we moved in together. We got married and stayed in that shitty apartment we shared a few years until I had finally landed a better job and we bought our house." 

"It sounds nice," Kerri said wistfully. 

"It was. I mean, let's be honest, we had our share of fights over stupid stuff. A couple of arguments over money and the like. But neither one of us had a large circle of friends and we didn't mind, we had one another." 

"So, you did love her and she you." 

"Yep." 

"What happened?" 

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Handcuffs, hitting me, her just 'I'm a cast iron bitch and hate you when I'm not filled with apathy' attitude. I don't understand it." 

"Well," she said, glancing at the clock, "I'm not telling you what to do. But for myself, it never got any better and the abuse continued. The best thing I ever did was take an action for myself and just leave." 

"It's not as easy, there's the house, Amber, and our marriage." 

"I know," she replied, "and that's why your situation is so messed up." She pointed to my eye. "Did you document that?" 

"What? This? No, why? I didn't call the cops. Shit, she's my wife, you don't call the cops on your wife." 

Kerri took out her cellphone and snapped a picture of my face, having me turn to the side to get another view of it. "No 'wife' in her right mind would do what she did. You are lying to yourself, Rick. Working under a two-fold problem. One, you're a man and men don't call the cops when a woman hits them. God's honest truth. And Two, you're an abused partner and abused partners usually have to get knocked around a bunch more before they snap out of it." 

She finished fiddling with her phone and then my own chirped. "I sent them over to you. I suggest you download then to your computer and keep them date marked. This is only going to get worse, you know." 

I nodded. "You see this a lot, Kerri? You seem to be fairly knowledgeable about all this." 

"I've seen my share and been a victim to it too many times. It's pretty common, Rick. I don't know if it's a generation thing or what, but there is an entire crop of 18 to 28 year old guys who have double standards, too fast of a hand, and no respect for us women anymore." She looked up at me, fingers just feathering the left side of my eye. "Your wife is a complete idiot and maybe at one point you two were close together, but she doesn't deserve your love or patience anymore." 

"I...I don't know what to say, Kerri. You've given me a lot to think about." 

She smiled, taking her hand back and tapping the dashboard. "Then I've done my job. It's 1:12 and if you don't leave now, I'm going to be late." 

I started the truck and pulled out of Wendy's, heading back to the day care in friendly silence. I drove into the lot and parked right in front of the building. "Thanks again, Kerri." 

She opened the door and slid her curved posterior out. Grinning she replied, "Any time, Mr. Rick," falling back to her normal interaction. "I'll see you later to pick up, Pumpkin." And then she shut the door and entered the center. I waved goodbye, smiling to see half a dozen of her peers had gathered again near the front door to watch our farewell. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 04



I drove back to work and poured myself into payroll for a few hours until I was finished. I then took out my phone and navigated to the two pictures Kerri had sent me. The second one included the caption, "No one deserves to be hit. Ever." I stared at my own face, black eye marring each shot. 

My conversation with Kerri had brought to the forefront something that I had suspected but was willing to ignore. I pulled up google and looked up the phone number for the 5th precinct. Jotting it down, I went to my office door and closed it quietly, looking for some privacy. I sat down, pulled out my phone, and dialed the number. 

After three rings a pleasant woman's voice answered, "Fifth Precinct, Rafferty. How can I direct your call?" 

"I would, er, well, I was struck over the weekend and I'd like to just have it on file." 

"Are you ok, sir? Do you need an ambulance? Should I connect you with emergency?" 

"No. Not like that. I got into a fight with my wife and I got hurt pretty bad. I wanted to file it somewhere." 

She paused and I wondered if she thought I was a wimp or an asshole. "Would you like us to dispatch someone to your residence?" 

"No. I'll come in if that's ok." 

"That'll be fine sir." 

"Thank you." I hung up, for some reason feeling like a moron. Just go down and talk to them, put something on file and go home. 

The day ended and I left deep in thought. As I drove out of the parking lot I detoured to the deli across the street. I parked the truck and went in. I strode to the small Chase ATM kiosk and put my card in. For the second day in a row I withdrew $400 from the checking account, accepting the $2.95 service fee. I folded the money, stuffed it into my front pocket, and went back to my car. 

What was I going to do with that money? $800 in total? We only had about three grand in savings and maybe $750 in checking. There were a handful of bonds in the file cabinet at home and I know there were two $5k CD's sitting out there, but we weren't rich. Like most couples we were about 5 paychecks from destitute. I guess it was more of the symbology of taking out the money. I had little control to date in the rest of my life so this was something that I could 'do' and 'get done'. 

I entered the day care and was greeted by Shelly who said, "So, Mr. Masters. I heard you had a nice lunch today." 

I tried not to smile. "It wasn't bad." 

"Mm hmm," she watched me carefully. "Well, if you are looking for another lunch one day, you can let me know." 

I fought the rising flush to my cheeks and stepped away with Shelly's laughter following me. "Hey, Mr. Masters, you seem pretty relaxed today." " Must have had a good midday break." "Yeah, I heard something about that." The other teachers kept up their comments as I walked by, stepping into the Zebra room and letting it close behind me. 

"Hello, Mr. Rick," came the greeting from Kerri and the other teacher, calling to me in unison. 

"Hello ladies. How was my daughter, today?" 

Kerri was holding Amber, my daughter gripping her by her cut off collar, giving me more of a view of Kerri's expansive chest. I paused and then reached out, "Come on, honey." She was transferred to my arms, but not before pulling Kerri's shirt further away from her body. 

Yellow bra. 

I pretended I hadn't noticed the same way I pretended I didn't notice that her bra was most likely half a size too small for her. I looked away the way that men had learned to do after getting caught too many times in their teenage years. We all looked, or at least noticed. We learned to glimpse from the corner of our eye, or at a passing glance, or just to stare unfocusedly off to the right of our target. I did the same thing here and smiled blandly at Kerri. 

"Thanks. And thanks again for this afternoon." 

She beamed up at me, "Whenever you want, Mr. Rick." 

"Have a good night guys," I called out and left. I dodged a few more pointed comments from the assorted teachers and made our way out to the Equinox where we loaded up and drove away. 

We travelled towards home but this time I passed our exit and kept going a few further, taking the exit for Fifth Avenue and driving north through Bay Shore until I arrived at the police station. I stopped the car, looking at the blue and whites in the parking lot, deciding on whether I should be doing this. Hearing Amber in the back seat and seeing my black eye in the mirror firmed my resolve and I got out. I unhitched the car seat this time, carrying it in since I assumed I would need my hands free. 

I was like most people, I had only a passing brush with the police and it was when I was younger. There was the incident where I punched the girl, a speeding ticket right after I got my license, and another ticket four years ago for driving without a seatbelt. That was my entire interaction with the police. And here I was, walking into the place. 

The vestibule was clean but worn, the brownish industrial carpet had seen better days some time ago. A couple of plants (most likely plastic from the way they shined) were to the right beyond the second set of doors and a row of hard backed chairs were bolted to the wall and floor on the left. A low counter with three spots for people to greet you at dominated the front of the place and beyond it I could see through an open door a larger room and part of a hallway. 

There were two officers on duty at this time, both female. The one on the right motioned me over and I approached with some trepidation. She was about my age, and from the cast of her skin and her hair I assumed there was some Latino in her background. She looked at me with a no nonsense stare, taking in my stride, face and mannerism as well as the carseat I was toting around with nothing more than a fast observation. "May I help you?" 

"Yes, I called earlier. I wanted to talk to someone about an incident that occurred this weekend." 

She glanced down, scanning something in front of her and then looked up. "You called before. Domestic disturbance. Spoke to officer Rafferty." 

"Yes." 

"I'm Officer Tate. And you are?" 

"Masters. Rick Masters." 

I wasn't very impressed so far, giving Officer Tate all my pedigree information: address, names, phone number, same for my wife. Once she had it all down, typed into whatever system she was working on, she said, "Just wait one moment, Mr. Masters. Please?" 

I nodded and walked over to the chairs, sitting down with Amber's carrier between my legs. I looked down at her, rosy cheeks and smiling, trusting in me to do the right thing for her. Doing the right thing for her would mean though not doing the right thing for us as a family. 

It wasn't more than a minute before a taller female officer came out from the behind the doorway, hand extended in my direction. "Mr. Masters? I'm Officer Rafferty, we spoke earlier today. Thank you so much for coming down." She gently but firmly guided me through a side door and down a hall to a small room with a desk, computer, and little else. "Please, have a seat." 

Once comfortable, she asked, "And is this your daughter?" 

"Yes. Amber Victoria Masters." 

Officer Rafferty smiled, her fingers settling on the keyboard in front of her. "Ok, Mr. Masters. I can see from your eye and your complaint that you were struck by your wife this weekend. Saturday, correct?" 

"Yes." 

"Can you give me the broad strokes of what happened that led up to this?" 

I found myself once again telling the story, this time to a cop. She listened without comment, typing down most of what I was saying without breaking eye contact with me. When my tale wound down she pressed the keys another few moments and then stopped. "Why did you not report this Saturday?" 

"I didn't think anything of it at that time." 

"Really? A black eye and a child in the house?" 

"No. That's not what I meant. I meant that my wife had not been herself lately and even though it had not reached physical abuse levels before, she had been pretty cross with me lately; when she was interested in our life." 

"Do you feel you or your child are in danger?" 

This was the question I had dreaded was coming. But I had to answer it and do so honestly. "Before this weekend, not a chance in the world. Now? I would say 95, 90% we're ok. It's not like she's..." I stopped here, my mouth hanging open. Damn it, I thought, I was doing it wasn't I? I was doing what Kerri had told me that abused partners do. They make excuses. This Officer Rafferty doesn't know me, I have no macho pride to salvage by protecting Elle at this point or show that I can take it. 

"Mr. Masters?" 

"Officer Rafferty, I have no idea what my wife is capable of anymore. She hasn't been herself for a year and a half and although it's not every day, I feel like I'm the only one trying to come across in the marriage. At first it was compromise, and then I take another step, and another and another. Now I feel like I'm almost all the way across the street and it's just not enough. So no, I don't think she'd hurt Amber in the slightest, but then again, before Saturday I didn't think she'd hurl a computer at my head either." 

"Ok, Mr. Masters. We'll have to file an official complaint. You are aware that in domestic disturbances we will have to come to the house and assess the situation. At that point we'll be able to better decide if there is a present danger and if so, we'll take steps to address it." She looked a bit harder at me. "Is there anything else about your situation you'd like to expand upon? Will Mrs. Masters agree to what you've detailed? You didn't perhaps maybe leave a part of the story out to make yourself look better?" 

I stared at Officer Rafferty. Her straw like brownish blond hair was pulled tight away from her face in a snug ponytail and I couldn't see any makeup except possibly some cover-up base. It was her eyes though, cornflower blue and piercing, that were disconcerting to me. "No. I've been as open and honest as I can? You think I like this or being here? I've got a child to look after and I don't know what to do anymore." 

She continued looking at me, weighing my words and rolling them about her mind. Eventually she seemed satisfied and relaxed slightly. "I understand, Mr. Masters. For what it's worth, I believe you." I don't know why, but hearing those words caused my eyes to water. I blinked and looked away, embarrassed at my actions. She continued as if she hadn't seen, "We have your address. This would be best handled if we could get Mrs. Masters to come in here, but given the facts as presented, I don't think that'll be an option." 

She stood and I followed, taking Amber's car seat. "Let me get my partner and we'll follow you to your home." 

"Thanks, Officer Rafferty. I can't thank you enough." 

"Not a problem. If everything is as you reported, you did the right thing by coming in. It was very brave." 

"I don't feel brave, Officer Rafferty; just tired. Until this afternoon, I'll be honest I wasn't going to come in. I had gotten some good advice and it really opened my eyes." 

She escorted me out and to the front door. "Well, you should thank whoever gave you the advice. Too many times the victims don't come forward." She shook my hand, it was warm and dry. "We'll see you very soon. Be shortly behind you. Do not, I repeat, do NOT confront your wife when you get home. Ok?" 

"Will do." 

We left the precinct and I got into my Equinox, my hands shaking and eyes tearing. Holy crap, I can't believe I was doing this. Fourteen years with my wife, we have a child together, twelve years or so of being happy - and I am bringing the fucking cops to our house. As I had been doing lately though whenever my resolve seemed to waver, I looked in the mirror at Amber in the back seat and my own black eye once again - my spine stiffening in answer. 

The drive home was slow, I kept looking back to see if the cops were behind me; they weren't. I got off my exit and drove with exaggerated care to my house, pulling into the driveway and letting the truck come to a gradual stop. I turned off the ignition and let the engine die, staring at my front door. I sat there for a few seconds, just staring. Eventually I took a shuddering breath, feeling the finality of what was about to happen settle over me. 

I got out of the car, unhitched Amber from the car seat, and snagged the bags. My watch face showed 7:22. 

It's time. 

I squared my shoulders and strode with purpose towards the front door. I didn't check the knob, knowing that my wife didn't care enough that I was home to unlock the door for us. My key turned, and the metallic rasp of the lock sliding open resounded like cymbals to my ears. I opened the door and entered, leaving it ajar behind. 

"Elle?" I called out. 

"Here, babes," she replied, voice coming from the back room office. Babes? Doesn't she remember anything? "Oh my god! Look at the time! Hang on." 

I placed my briefcase and Amber's bag by the counter and smiled sarcastically to see dishes in the...goddamned fucking sink again. I could hear her puttering around in the office, drawers closing and her chair scraping. 

When she finally came out I was still standing there, shoulders square, feet apart, hips straight; Amber riding in the crook of my arm smiling. My expression was neutral, bland, emotionless. "Hey, Rick," she said, a weak grin on her lips that faded as she approached; my demeanor and black eye disturbing her. "What's going on?" 

"Nothing, Elle." I looked around. The empty laundry basket was on the couch, I didn't see the mail on the counter. The garbage was at the top of the pail. The floor looked grungy. "How was your day?" 

"Er...ok I guess." She peered about, growing more uncomfortable. "What's going on? Why the attitude? Why are you both so late?" 

"Oh, you were worried about us?" 

She nodded. 

"Because, you know, if you were, you could have called my cell phone to see where I was." I heard something pull into the driveway behind me, and then the sound of two...no three car doors slamming closed. My heart was encased in ice and I felt faint, but I smiled anyway. 

"Rick," she said, her visage taking on a more aggressive bent, "don't start this shit again. And who's here? What's going on out there?" 

She approached the door, striding past me, just in time to see two uniformed police officers (one of them Officer Rafferty) and a strident looking man in a worn green tweed blazer and a striped grey and blue tie climbing up the stoop and approaching the door. "Mrs. Masters?" Officer Rafferty asked. 

"Yes?" 

"I'm Officer Rafferty and this is Officer Blake," she indicated her partner, a 6' tall black male with deep set eyes and a very broad chest. She pointed to the older man with them adding, "And this is Sam Livingstein of Child Protective Services. May we come in?" 

"No." "Yes." 

Elle whirled to me as I gave them permission to enter, her eyes agog, face stunned at my betrayal. The two Suffolk County Cops took my approval without comment, the CPS representative followed behind, immediately looking around the house with an imperious eye. "Thank you," Rafferty continued. "Mrs. Masters we are here investigating a domestic complaint for Mr. Masters. Do you have anything you'd like to say about that?" 

"What? Complaint? Rick? No, nothing." 

"Would you be able to tell me how Mr. Masters received that black eye?" 

"We had a little argument this weekend. It was an accident." 

"I see." 

Meanwhile Officer Blake had stepped further in, walking to the hallway and looking at the spackled area of the hall. "Mrs. Masters," his voice was deep and full of presence, "How did this hole get here?" 

Elle was sweating now, but I could see the fury building in her eyes. 14 years with her and the last year and a half with her slowly descending into whatever had crawled inside her had given me an intrinsic knowledge of how close she was to losing her temper. "We had an accident. Happened during the argument." 

"Really? What kind of accident?" 

At that point Sam Livingstein spoke up, "Mr. Master's, I'd like to see the child's room please." 

"Yes sir, right this way." I maneuvered past my wife and headed towards Amber's room, Sam following and taking note of everything he saw. 

"Rick," Elle called out, "What's going on?" 

"Mrs. Masters, we have a complaint issued against you, by Mr. Masters, that you struck him this weekend, assaulting him in the presence of your daughter. Is this true?" 

I heard her answer, a shrillness gathering in her voice. "We were fighting. Married couples fight, ok? We have a mortgage, a house, bills, and a kid. Of course we fight? Don't you fight with your husband?" 

"My relationship with Mr. Rafferty is not in question here, but I can assure you that I don't resort to violence to resolve our differences. Are you aware that what you did was a crime?" 

"This is fucking preposterous!" 

"Mrs. Masters, I'll ask you to refrain from profanity, please." 

"Holy crap! Are you serious? That...weaselly FUCK in there went and got the cops? That...dripping PUSSY couldn't come and talk to me like a FUCKING husband is supposed to?!" 

I heard Officer Blake move in the hall and Sam laid a hand on my arm when I went to go out and investigate. Catching his gaze he shook his head slowly and held me in Amber's room. Reaching over, he flipped on Amber's music box and the electronic sounds of "Twinkle Twinkle" filled the air, disguising the altercation taking place in my entranceway. He played hide the nose with Amber who sat in my arm trusting and at ease, further distracting her from the tableau inside. 

"Mrs. Masters I have warned you and you have ignored my warnings. We feel that there is probable cause here and confirms what Mr. Masters filed in his complaint. Mr. Masters?" Officer Rafferty's voice called out, "would you like to file charges of domestic violence and endangering the welfare of a child against, Mrs. Masters?" 

"Rick!" 

This was it. My moment. Would I continue to be a victim? What would it take for her to take her violence out against me the next time? Could I really trust her around Amber anymore? Was I fooling myself all this time? 

No, not anymore. 

"Yes," my voice broke, and I almost sobbed. The woman I had befriended, fallen in love with, married, and shared my life with - I had just killed her with my answer. I didn't set up the situation, I didn't want it to be this way, but she had forced my hand and at this point there was no way back. "Yes, I would." 

"You shit! You piece of shit! How COULD you!? I TRUSTED you! Rick!!" 

From the sounds inside it was obvious some struggling was going on. I heard the Officers reader her her rights, the entire situation surreal in my mind. This was my god damned living room and they were arresting my wife! What the fuck? I heard talk about assault and disorderly conduct and then, in a strange bit of serendipity that I found suddenly fucking funny given the gravity and craziness of the situation... 

I heard the sounds of handcuffs snapping closed on Elle's wrists.



It's Only Fair Ch. 05



Thanks to all for your comments, feedback, and votes. Remember - good or bad, you are encouraged to vote and comment - it's your right to do so and you should exercise it whenever and however you want. 

However, you should also recognize that there are others out there who do not and will not agree with you or your thoughts - and that's ok too. The same way you have the right to vote and comment - they have the same right as well. Be respectful of one another and if you come across something you don't like - then move on. 

We are at and past the mid way point of this tale and are coming to the end soon (not this chapter). Unless something changes, Chapter 7 should be the end. It is a difficult subject and not one that everyone is comfortable with. That's ok. What I am doing here is writing for my own enjoyment and crafting a tale that is true to itself and the reality that 99.9% of us live under. I don't think anyone knows someone who in real life actually acts like they bluster and bellow to in some of the stories we all read and enjoy here, but that's ok, I enjoy reading them as well. 

Once again, at the end of the 1st day, Chapter 3 had 14,000 views and 75 comments and Chapter 4 which posted Sunday had 14k views as well on its first day - more proof that I shouldn't choke to death on a dick and stop writing (to paraphrase some of the comments tossed my way). ;) 

This submission is a day later than I expected it to be, but it's also about twice the length of the last submission - 13.9k words. That should be meaty enough for everyone. 

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. 

Again, no 10th degree black belts or Drano douches or guys wearing tutus or hiding in the closet with a ball gag on. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. 

Enjoy! -V 

***** 

"Mr. Masters." 

I turned to Sam Livingstein and asked, "What now?" 

The strident man from Child Protective Services idly played with the frayed end of his jacket's lapel, the synthesized melody of "Twinkle, Twinkle" playing in the background, undercut by the sound of Officer Blake Mirandarizing my wife, Elle. "I would not presume to guess, Mr. Masters. I am here at the request of Child Protective Service as a field investigator to follow up on a complaint of suspected child neglect." 

He looked around Amber's room; the colorful walls, the prints, the lovingly painted furnishings and numerous pictures of her over the last eleven months sticky tacked near her window. "I see that her room is well maintained, clean, and without any obvious signs of danger. I noted the electrical outlets were safety protected, the door to the basement was equipped with a spring hinge, and that there are no outward signs that she is mistreated or is suffering. It is obvious to me that her parent, you, is an affectionate and well meaning guardian who has shown himself to have the child's interests as his primary desire." 

We heard the screen door close and the voices of Elle and the two Suffolk County cops fade as they led her to their patrol car. Sam concluded, "So in this matter regarding Amber Victoria Masters, I see no reason to suggest that she be removed from the home and placed elsewhere while this situation is resolved." 

"Wait, what?" 

"I said, Mr. Masters, there is no reason to remove Amber from her home and your care at this time." 

I blinked incredulously. "Seriously? That was a possibility?" My blood felt like ice around my heart. "You can do that?" 

He nodded. "Of course. That is one of the purviews and powers of Child Protective Services." 

"Oh my god!" I gripped my daughter tighter, holding her against my chest as if this...guy...was going to snatch her away from me right now. "I had no idea." 

"Too many times the child is a victim in these situations." 

"I really had no idea. I still would have done what I had to do, but it might have been something I spoke about with Officer Rafferty first before this. I had no idea that she was going to bring CPS in and I'm just shocked. It would have been nice if she told me about involving you first." 

Sam Livingstein looked down at his phone, flipping something across the screen. "The initial report of child neglect in the regards of Mrs. Elle Masters did not originate with Suffolk PD." 

"It didn't?" I frowned. "Then who?" 

"A Ms. Kerri Hanes from Littletot's Daycare in Levittown." 

I nodded, but something twisted inside my gut. I felt bile rush up to the back of my throat and had to swallow the acrid mixture down, burning the sides of my esophagus, making my breath short and labored. Kerri? What the hell? Why would you do that and risk having Amber taken from me? I gathered my wits and focused on Sam's face. "So how did you get to come here with the Fifth Precinct?" 

"Usually in these matters we request police presence on site if the complaint cites potential violence and the complaint here did so. Two snapshots were included, both showing you sir, sporting the black eye you do now. The complaint had dictated that the minor, Amber, had no such trauma and was continuously in fine health, but it is always prudent to bring along the police if possible." 

I touched my face once again cursing Elle and that fucking black eye. Even now, being taken away by police, CPS standing in my daughter's room and telling me that the one person I had told the story to took it upon herself to risk my losing my kid - I still felt that rage against my wife. I still wanted to hit her, to take something back. Something that she had been stealing from me day after day for months. The little cuts, barbs, hurts - each one by themselves, nothing. But taken as a total, a whole, it's been a torturous journey unlike any other and unequaled to anything I could imagine anyone dealing with on their own. 

And now, being what it was, I felt...robbed somehow. Cheated, one would say, of my chance to...hit back? Reclaim what was mine? Crap - I'd settle for grabbing her about the shoulders and shake her silly while shouting at her, "You stupid dumb bitch! Why? Why? What the fuck is wrong with you? Hasn't my love and sacrifices and bending over backwards been enough for you?!" I know in the deepest pit of my heart I wouldn't strike her, I would never strike her - but I'm allowed to WANT to. 

With what my life was becoming? No one could gainsay me a guilty desire. 

"However," Sam continued, "in this case we were requested by Suffolk PD to have a field agent at the ready as one of the parents, yourself, was already in and filing a complaint against the child's mother." 

"Oh, ok." 

"Mr. Masters, I can tell that has been quite a shock to you and you are still processing this matter. If I might give you some advice from someone who has dealt with this sort of situation for the last 18 years? You need to do things to safeguard your daughter and your current situation. One - get yourself a lawyer and do it tomorrow at the latest. And Two - make all your decisions on what would be best for Amber. Those two guiding principles should steer you through the mess you will find yourself in." 

He turned the page he had been writing on in my direction, and handed me a pen." If you would sign here, you can see that I have given your child's home a satisfactory rating and made the recommendation that there should be no changes at this time." 

I took the pen in nerveless fingers and scrawled my name in the box where indicated after giving the paper a short read. It was some sort of action report, sparsely populated and simple in its layout. But I made sure to note the two boxes near the bottom - one labeled 'unsatisfactory', the other one 'satisfactory'. A large check was emblazoned there. 

Mr. Livingstein took the clipboard back after taking a copy off and handing it to me. "I will file this tonight and I'm sure that someone from CPS will contact you in the near future for a follow-up visit and observation." 

I heard the front door open and Officer Rafferty call my name. I motioned Sam ahead of me and followed, heading off to my living room to speak with her. "Ok. Thanks again, Mr. Livingstien. I'll...take your advice and look for a lawyer tomorrow." I shook his hand and he let himself out as I turned back to the Suffolk Police Officer and deflated slightly. "Well, I'm glad that's over." 

I couldn't help but notice the sorrowful expression that flitted across the cop's face; her eyes softening for a heartbeat or two. It faded and she was once again the professional lawman. "Mr. Masters, we have your wife and are going to be taking her down to the Fifth Precinct. She has calmed down and assures us that she will not have any further outbursts. However, I should inform you that if during our investigation Mrs. Masters continues to show such erratic behavior, we will be taking her down to Stony Brook for a psychological evaluation." 

"Ok," I frowned. "Should I follow? How will she get home? Will you take her?" The muscle on my right eye began ticking and it felt like a dull knife was slowly pushing into the back of my head. "I'm just not sure what it is I'm supposed to do." 

She looked around the house and back at me. "I would suggest you stay here, Mr. Masters. If you are needed we'll let you know. Please stay near the phone and carry your cell phone with you until you hear back from us." Not seeing whatever it was she was looking for, she asked, "Mr. Masters. Is it at all possible you know where your wife has secreted her handcuffs?" 

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. I took a look this morning up here, but did not find them. I would suspect they were in the basement." 

"Can we go look?" she asked, pointedly looking at me with a sense of expectation. 

I wasn't sure why she appeared ready to jump but I nodded my head and replied, "Sure. The basement is through here." I plopped Amber into her rolling chair and knelt down, saying, "Daddy'll be right up, Sweetheart." 

We went down stairs, the spring hinge closing the door behind us. I flipped on both switches and waved my hand ahead. "I first found them by that support column." 

Rafferty grunted and stepped around me, looking at the bare concrete floor and then heading towards the shelving unit I had. It was crammed with old paper records, spare light bulbs, some winter clothes in boxes, a small smattering of holiday trinkets in poorly labeled totes. She gave them all a short look, tilting a couple forward for some reason before letting them fall back. Not finding what she was looking for she then went to the laundry table near the washer and dryer, giving the same sort of intense yet brief search over there. 

She frowned deeper and headed back towards the stairs and I. "I don't see them, Mr. Masters. May I make a suggestion?" 

"Sure." 

"I would like you to look for them and if you find them, hold them here until I call you later today. I don't have time to do a proper search for them and I've left my partner with your wife long enough." We climbed the stairs and shut the basement door behind us. "I am curious as to what kind of handcuffs she has and where she might have gotten them from." 

Amber came rolling over to me, giggling as she did so; the metal edge of the rolling chair smacking into my toes. "I'll take a look. I want to do a little look for a lawyer first. My sister knows one I think. Mr. Livingstein suggested it." 

"I agree." 

I thrust my hand out to her in gratitude, shaking hers warmly and for some time. "I want to thank you, Officer Rafferty." 

"Not a problem, Mr. Masters. It's why we're here." She passed me one of her cards. "I will call you as the evening progresses to let you know what's going on. But just in case, here's my contact information." 

She tipped her hat in my direction and I watched from my front door as climbed into the police cruiser, her partner turning off the rotating strobe lights at this point and backing the vehicle out of my driveway. In the back seat, staring at me with a forlorn expression through the window, Elle locked her tear filled eyes with me until the police car was finally out of sight. 

I turned away from the front door and choking on my sobs, I picked up Amber from her chair and brought her to the dinner table. I strapped her into her high chair and warmed up a prepared meal for her. I got her a sippy cup filled with juice and placed it next to her while I gave a smile and grabbed some leftovers from the fridge. 

I ate two bites and put everything back, unable to swallow my dinner; the taste of vomit permeated every bite I took. Out of Amber's direct line of sight I sagged against the side of the fridge and silently cried, shuddering sobs tearing their way through me. I gasped quietly, not wanting to alert my daughter of the trauma I was feeling. I could not grasp how my life had gotten to this point and from the clues given by both Officer Rafferty and CPS, this matter was far from over. 

*Knock, Knock* 

I looked up, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands. "Who is it?" I croaked out, struggling to get myself under control. 

"Hey, Rick. It's me, Stan." 

"Hey, Stan." I grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped my face clean, "Hang on a sec, bud." I blew my nose, mucus threatening to spill out of the tissue I was holding there was so much of it. Tossing it, I called out, "It's open, man. Come on it. We're in the kitchen." 

I looked over and saw Stan come in. He looked troubled, eyes darting around and hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatshirt. "You ok? What's going on? I can't stay, but I saw the cop car outside before." 

"It's a long story, Stan. They took Elle away for some questioning?" 

"Holy crap? Really? For what? Your eye?" 

I nodded. "Yeah. Also, CPS is now involved and they showed up too." 

"Crap." 

I felt a lump in my throat again. "Damn it, Stan. I was this close to losing my daughter." 

He just stared at me, barely holding it together in front of him. He looked terrible himself, morose and downcast, shoulders rounded and slumped. "My god. I never knew." 

"None of us did, bud." 

Stan stayed in companionable silence a few seconds and then seemed to quiver uncomfortably. "Look, Rick. I am so sorry. I just wanted to come over and make sure you were ok. I've got some stuff I have to take care of. I'll check back on you later, alright?" 

"Thanks, bud." 

He opened the door, offering me a final, "No problem, man," before leaving, closing it behind him. I glanced at the clock: 8:32. Groaning, I clambered to my feet and cleaned up the remains of Amber's dinner, my daughter alternating between yawning and fidgeting. 

I carried her into the bathroom and ran a fast bath for her, more of a sponge down than a full soaking. Once finished I dried her off and got her dressed for sleep. I lay her down and she fussed and whimpered, sensing something was wrong on some level. "It's late, honey," I said patting her forehead and running my hand across her hair in slow measured strokes. It calmed her down and within a few minutes she began to fall asleep. I bent low, gave her a kiss good night, and left her room. 

Mechanically I cleaned the kitchen, putting away the dishes and straightening up the counters. I went to the front door and locked it, heading next into the living room where I picked up the few clothes draped along the back of the sofa and piled them in the bedroom. I went back inside, sat down on my plush recliner, and leaned back, not turning the TV on. 

I stared at the ceiling not seeing anything, just letting my mind wander and thoughts empty from the sheer exhaustive pressure I had been under all day. I reached into my pocket and fished out my cell phone. I scrolled down to my last received messages and looked at the contact information: Kerri H. 

I thumbed across and hit dial. 

The phone rang twice and I then heard the pleasant voice of Amber's daycare teacher through the ear speaker, "Hello, Mr. Rick. I was thinking about you tonight. Did everything go ok?" 

I tried to talk, but couldn't; my voice blocked. I coughed and counted to five very slowly. 

"Mr. Rick? Hello?" 

"Hello, Kerri. Sorry about that." 

"That's ok." 

"Kerri, I want to ask you, did you contact CPS today after our lunch?" 

"Yes, I did." 

I could feel a spark of anger form in my gut. "Why? Why would you do that?" 

"Mr. Rick, whenever..." 

I interrupted her, "Are you aware that I could have lost Amber tonight if the inspector felt this was a bad home for her? Why would you dare do that or risk that? And you didn't even tell me?" 

"Mr. Rick..." 

I pressed on, "Not even a head's up about it. That was over the line and reckless, Kerri." 

"Mr. Rick, that's my job." 

"It's your job to have my daughter taken from me?!" 

"Mr. Rick...Rick...it's my job to contact CPS if at any point we find positive signs of suspected physical abuse on any of the children we are responsible for." 

"There isn't a mark on Amber." 

"I am very much aware of that, Rick," she answered, talking with exaggerated calmness, trying to ease my frustration over the phone. "But you were not. I felt that you and your child were in a dangerous home position and I talked about it with Shelly and the Littletot's directors today after lunch. I didn't tell anyone of what you talked to me about, so don't think that I abused your trust. However, I did show them your pictures and that you had been assaulted by Mrs. Masters over the weekend. They supported my decision to call CPS and agreed to back me up and vouch for the decision should need be." 

I felt a bit out of my element, sort of floundering here. "Is that real?" 

"Absolutely. Teachers in public schools have to do it to." 

"I didn't know that." 

"Yep. If you don't call CPS and you had prior knowledge of child abuse or neglect and something happens after the fact, you can be held liable and sued." 

I grunted, my anger snuffed out. "Crap. I'm sorry, Kerri." 

"It's ok, Mr. Rick. I'm sorry I couldn't give you a warning about it before hand, I'm not allowed. But now that it happened, if you don't mind me asking, is everything ok?" 

"They took Elle away for questioning about an hour ago and CPS left saying that they were leaving Amber here with me." 

I could hear her smile over the phone. "That's good. Great even. Really. So what happens now?" 

"I have to wait for the police to call me back and tell me what's going on. They might take her to Stony Brook Hospital for psychological evaluation." 

"Wow. Why?" 

"She lost her temper in from of the cops and they ended up handcuffing her." At that point I snapped my fingers and said, "Listen, Kerri. Sorry again for getting upset. But I need to make a phone call now. Have to find a lawyer. I think that Amber won't be in tomorrow, I have a feeling this is going to take up most of my day." 

"Ok, Rick. Do you mind if I check in with you tomorrow? Make sure everything is ok? I feel bad about this." 

"Sure, that'd be great. But don't take it personal, it's not your fault at all. I'll talk to you soon, Kerri." 

"Have a better night, Mr. Rick." 

I broke the connection and scrolled through my contacts until I found 'sister'. I called her and waited until I heard her pick up and say, "Hey, bro." 

"Hey, sis. How are you doing? Get any early May snow?" 

My sister moved to Missouri, perhaps an hour outside of St. Louis, a good 5 years ago. She developed a lot of traits and mannerisms from our mother, but her time across the country had smoothed out the 'New York' in her talk and swagger. "No, bro. I think it's all done. Say, funny you should call. Spoke to mom earlier. She said that Elle was hitting you?" 




It's Only Fair Ch. 05



"Yeah. Fucked up fight over the weekend. I've got one hell of a shiner." 

"You didn't pop her back, did you?" 

"You know me better than that." 

"Just checking. So what's the call for? Looking for someone besides mom to convince you to get her into counseling?" 

"The cops came and took her away a couple hours ago." 

The phone was silent on the other side, just the sound of my sister hissing as she let her breath escape. "Holy shit, Rick. That's big." 

"Yeah, I know. Listen, you still talk to Jessica?" 

"Jessica Lanier? Sure. You need a lawyer?" 

"Child protective services suggested I get one." 

"Wow, Rick. CPS too? Let me get in touch with Jessica and have her give you a call. You going to be up?" 

"Yeah. Suffolk PD is going to call me at some point to let me know what's going on." 

"OK, bro. You take care of yourself. I'll have Jess call you and I want to hear the complete report tomorrow as to what's going on." 

"Thanks. Love you." 

"You too." 

She rung off and I hung up the phone. Ok, Rick. Proactive. You have $800, filed a report with the cops, and are on the way to getting a lawyer. What's next? I looked around the living room, fingering my pockets as I took stock of the situation. The truth was I was feeling wound up. Like I had to do something - but there was little I could do. I stood up, grabbed the empty laundry basket, and walked downstairs. 

I put the basket by the dryer and turned to give the basement a solid once over. My gaze settled on the lally column in the center of the room. I walked over and inspected it. Dull reddish color, a spot of rust here and there, one of three supporting the center beam of the main floor above. I walked around it, running my hands along its surface. About 3' up from the floor I felt a series of regular scratches in the steel. The paint was gouged in 2" lengths, well over a dozen of them, all grouped in the same general area. 

I put my hands around that area of the column, touching my wrists together as if they were bound. The scratches were right there, right about where the inside of my wrists were touching the pole. Is this where you were chaining yourself in the basement, Elle? Why? What the hell were you doing? From here I looked around the basement with a critical eye. 

Ok, Elle. You're down here, playing with your handcuffs, strapping yourself to the pole for whatever god damned reason you have. But it's getting late and I'm coming home soon, right? So you unchain yourself and clean up the area - putting your cuffs away but not in an area that would be too difficult for you to get but would be someplace I would most likely not look or find. 

I scanned the basement, discarding anyplace higher than 5' off the ground as it would be too tall for Elle and most likely in my field of vision. The shelving unit was an obvious place but as Officer Rafferty had noticed, most of the boxes and bags there had a layer of dust on it, testament to the little amount of time we used it. There was little else down here. 

I went to the washer and dryer, knowing that she wouldn't hide anything near it since I did most of the laundry. Just to be sure, I did poke around but as suspected, nothing. Growing a bit frustrated at my lack of success I turned off the far light and walked back to the stairs to return to the main floor. 

Stairs. 

The bottom five steps did not have a riser, only the step itself, meaning there was a space behind the stairs that I could reach. I pulled my phone out, flipped it on to flashlight mode, and shone it through the stairs to the alcove like space behind. 

There, shoved behind and resting on the floor, was a decent sized navy blue duffle bag. 

I reached in and pulled it out, the contents clanking and clattering as they shifted within. Feeling elated and a bit nervous, I hefted the bag (maybe 15 lbs?) and took it upstairs where I placed it on the kitchen table with a hefty thunk. 

I walked to the sink and took a mug from the holder, filling it with water. I drank deeply, my mouth suddenly dry. Filling it I took a second drink, the cool water sluicing over my parched throat. Steeling myself, I walked to the duffle, unzipped the top, and pulled it open not knowing what I was going to find. 

Well, isn't this a fine pile of shit, I thought. I reached in and the first thing I plucked out was the velveteen bag with Elle's name on it that held her handcuffs. A quick check showed they were still inside. Remembering Officer Rafferty's admonishment, I tried not to touch the restraints themselves and instead placed the bag on the table. 

The next item that came out was a short hard handled object about as long as my forearm, wrapped in dark brownish black leather. A series of tassels hung off the end, each one about the same length as the main shaft. 

I then pulled out two rolls of silvered duct tape, one of them about half used, the other still wrapped in cellophane. There was a small coil of cord perhaps 25' worth like I would use to hang a clothes line. And speaking of clothes line, a dozen wooden clothes pins on a cardboard holder followed next. A heavy sleeping mask was near the bottom, a container of Neosporin about 1/3 used, and lastly were three worn bandanas - heavily wrinkled along the edges like they had been tied tight at one time. 

I looked this mess over and was more confused than before. I took a deep breath and tried to reason it out. Ok, Elle had some sort of do it yourself bondage and masochism kit. While I'm out with Amber all day, she can come down to the basement and practice strapping herself to the support column? 

That didn't make any sense. What would she get out of it? I know my wife, and even though this was nothing we had ever participated in before, just 'playing' bondage wouldn't do anything for her. 

And then the little voice in the back of my head piped up with, "Unless she wasn't here by herself." 

I hate that little bastard. 

Ok, Rick. New scenario. I'm at work with Amber, Elle is skipping out on her work during the day to play the Marquis DeSade Amateur Hour with someone and then has to work till the late hours of the night to make up for all her play time. 

Sarcasm aside, I felt betrayed. I had no proof of any of this, but I had some strong suspicions and now this duffle bag full of paraphernalia put a big piece of the puzzle together for me. 

My phone rang, startling me. I looking down and saw a number I didn't recognize. "Rick Masters, how can I help you?" 

"Rick? It's Jessica Lanier. Your sister called and filled me in. How're you doing?" 

Jessica was my sister's friend since high school. At one time an awkwardly tall girl who was shy, she had grown into her skin and really blossomed as a person. She had poured her time and attention to her studies, taking the LSAT and eventually passing the Bar exam. She had no real love life from what I had heard, but she seemed to thrive even without one. 

"I could be better, Jessica. I need some legal help and don't know where to turn to." 

"I can talk to my boss tomorrow for you and see if I can get you to come in to meet with him as a personal favor. It's Ron Bekoff of Bekoff and Stelling in Mineola. I'll email you the address and drop you a call when I have an appointment time for you, ok?" 

I settled back in the chair, feeling lightheaded. "Thanks, Jess. I'm kind of floundering here." 

"Listen, don't worry. Just stay focused and take care of Amber, ok? That's your primary mission. Got it?" 

"I do. And thanks again." 

We exchanged farewells and I hung up the phone, looking at the clock on the wall. 10:45. It was getting late and I didn't know what was going with Elle still. I checked on Amber, she was sleeping soundly, and then went into the living room and stared out the window. 

There were few street lights in my neighborhood. Most of the lighting came from the private homes and whatever lights they had outside. I remember that there had been talk last year on adding better lighting but as usual, nothing came of it and most of the streets were pretty dark after nightfall. 

At almost 11 I saw someone walking up the road slowly, head down and striding along. "Kind of late for a walk," I muttered, watching the figure as it came closer, eventually cutting across Stan's lawn and heading up to his front door. It was when the figure got to my neighbor's front door and the light shone directly on him that I was able to tell it was Stan himself. "What the hell is he doing walking this late at night?" I wondered. After the lawyers visit tomorrow I'd ask him. "I'll also ask him if he had seen any strange cars over the last couple of months. I don't believe Elle was here doing this shit herself." 

Restless I went to the bedroom and lay down, picking up my paperback novel and opening to the bookmarked page I was reading last. The words swam about my head, my mind not retaining any of it, but the sheer act of reading was enough to distract me until the phone eventually rang. 11:24 PM. 

"Hello?" 

"Mr. Masters? It's Officer Rafferty." 

"Officer. Thank god, I've been going a bit crazy here." 

"Thank you for your patience, Mr. Masters. I wanted to let you know that we have transported your wife to Stony Brook hospital and she's about to meet the evaluation panel." 

"So...Then what?" 

"That depends on the board, Mr. Masters. She could be deemed not an immediate threat and discharged in which case you would have to come and pick her up. Or they can rule otherwise and involuntarily commit her." 

I blinked. "She's crazy? Like nut house crazy?" 

"No, Mr. Masters. It's not like that. You wife is suffering something at this time but I am not qualified to judge or diagnose. The psychologists will make that determination and then she would be either released or transported someplace else to help her get her problems under control." 

"So, what do I need to do now?" 

"At this point, Mr. Masters, I suggest you get some sleep. The panel will be meeting with your wife in the next half hour and then perhaps another half hour of questioning and evaluations before a decision is made. I will call you at that time, it will most likely be after 12:30." 

"Oh, ok. Thank you Officer Rafferty. By the way, I found my wife's...cuffs and kit." 

"Terrific." She paused. "Kit, Mr. Masters?" 

"Yeah, a duffle bag filled with some kinky stuff was under the stairs. The handcuffs were in there as well." 

"That's good to know, Mr. Masters. I am off shift at 2 AM tonight but I return to work tomorrow at 12. No matter which way this goes, I'd like to collect that bag tomorrow if that's possible." 

"No problem. I'd like it out of the house. Should I drive it to you?" 

"That'd be fine. I'll call you when I hear something new. Get a little rest, Mr. Masters." 

"Will do." And then I hung up. I looked at my cell phone. I hadn't used it this much in a single night in a very long time. I placed it on Elle's pillow next to me, watching its screen fade to black and go dark. I turned off the light and lay there in the blackness, feeling tears trickle out of my eyes and course their way down my cheeks to moisten the pillowcase. 

I must have dozed off because the phone's musical ring was jarring. I flailed about, finally grabbing it and sitting up. "H'lo?" 

"I'm sorry for the late call," came a male voice, the words sounded precisely spoken. "I assume this is Mr. Rick Masters, husband of Elle Masters?" 

"It is." 

"This is Doctor Turell of Stony Brook Hospital. I wanted to take a few minutes out to talk to you about your wife." 

"Please. Tell me." 

"Mr. Masters, it is the opinion of this panel that your wife is suffering from an exacerbated bi-polar incident due to her recent pregnancy that has morphed and evolved into her current manic state. I am given to understand that your wife had been identified as bi-polar before?" 

"Yes. Maybe eight, ten years ago. She was a bit depressed for no reason then and after some time with a couple of doctors she was told that she was mildly bi-polar." 

"Had she ever been medicated for it?" 

"No. She was told it wasn't necessary as her brain chemistry, pardon me if I'm getting the jargon messed up..." 

"You're doing fine, Mr. Masters." 

"Thanks. Anyway, her brain chemistry wasn't that bad. I guess she would have these periods of interest in stuff and be pretty happy, not need a lot of sleep, and was really creative. You know, she's a graphic designer, and it worked out in her favor those times. And then the opposite would happen, maybe a couple months of being sadder, put on a little weight during those times, it was difficult to get her to open up. It wasn't like a switch or a toggle, and there were good and bad days like everyone has during these...I don't know. Swings? But generally that was how it was." 

"We will be requesting records from her OB/GYN but was she ever diagnosed with post partum or anything like that?" 

"No, not that I'm aware of." 

Doctor Turell cleared his throat. "Very well. At this point we are going to have your wife transported to Huntington Hospital. There is an excellent psychiatric facility there referred to as 5 North. You wife will be observed, evaluated, and a treatment regimen will be instituted for her at that time." 

"How long will she be there." 

"It is an involuntary admission so she will have to be there for 30 days. At the end of that time she will be reevaluated and if the hospital feels that the matter has been brought under control, she would be released then." 

30 days. 1 month. I was hearing that my wife was now under an uncontrollable bout of her bi-polar condition and was being taken to some psych ward to get help. Damn you, Elle, why didn't you just LISTEN to me over the last year and a half and go with me to get some help? 

"Thank you, Doctor." 

"Not a problem. I will give this number to the admissions office at Huntington. They will most likely want you to gather some personal effects from Mrs. Masters and have you bring clothes and other hygiene products in for her during her stay." 

I got the address from Doctor Turell along with a list of acceptable items to bring for Elle, thanked him for his time, and then fell over staring at the ceiling, the phone held in my right hand. 

I had no sooner taken a deep breath when it rang again. Now what? I wondered. 

"Hello?" 

"Mr. Masters, it's Officer Rafferty." 

I smiled faintly. "Hey, Officer. Thanks for the call." 

"I understand that you just heard from Stony Brook?" 

"Yes. They gave me the bad news." 

"I disagree, Mr. Masters. Your wife needs help and she was not going to get it on her own. This is good news and although I understand that it's hard and unbelievable on some level, trust me when I say that this is the best for your wife and your family." 

"I know. I'm still trying to figure it all out." 

"You have my sympathies. You really do. I don't know many people that would have dealt with what you had to for months on end." She cleared her throat. "We are taking care of the transportation of Mrs. Masters now. I promised I would call and let you know." 

"That you did. Thanks again, really." 

"It's our job. I'll see you tomorrow after 12 please, to drop off the duffle bag." 

"Will do, good bye." 

Well, Rick, that's it. I lay back down and was asleep before too long, just staring at the darkness of my bedroom. 

I awoke to the sound of something hard striking the floor somewhere in the house, and my daughter calling out, "Dadadada!" is a commanding tone. I blearily looked around, putting my glasses on and pulled myself up. My body was just tired. Sore and worn out. I looked down with a scowl, noting that I slept in my clothes last night and felt grungy. The clock showed 7:41. 

"Hey, Sunshine," I croaked out a song for Amber, lifting her from her crib with a giggle and took the time to change her. I picked out a simple outfit for her from her drawer and we proceeded to get our morning underway. Once we had both eaten I dragged out the playpen from under the couch, popped it open, and placed Amber inside after flipping on channel 13. Big Bird was talking to someone off camera and it allowed me enough time to tell my daughter, "Hey kiddo. Daddy's got to take a shower. I'll make it fast." I dashed to the bathroom and scrubbed myself clean. I gave myself a shave afterwards and brushed my teeth, toweling myself dry before going to the bedroom and grabbing clothes for today. 

As I was putting fresh socks on I heard my phone ring inside so I went to fetch it, seeing Jessica's number on screen. "Good morning, Jess." 

"Hey, Rick. You sound pretty tired this morning. No sleep?" 

"None that I could remember." 

She gave a chuckle. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to let you know that Ron Bekoff has some time in his schedule this morning to meet with you. 10:30 in Mineola; is that ok?" 

"That'd be terrific." 

"Great, we'll see you then." 

I disconnected and pulled up my email. Jotting the address down on a scrap of paper I finished getting myself together and took stock of what I had to do next. "Let's get this shit out of the house," I muttered, picking up Elle's duffle bag from the table and walking out to put it in Equinox' storage compartment. I noticed that Stan was home today but his shades were drawn. "Guess he's not working." I thought about asking him about any strange cars but realized that I had too much to do this morning. "I'll catch him later." 

Once inside I called my job and told Linda that I would need a personal day. She assured me that she would let Andy know and I hung up, feeling good at getting my day opened. I gave the house a fast cleaning and then turned my attention to the repairs on the walls, sanding them smooth and adding a second coat of spackle. I got another call, this one from 5 North who gave me a short list of what I could bring (toothbrush, deodorant, socks, underwear, sweatpants, no button shirts, no shoes or books or pictures or jewelry) and mentioned that visiting hours were from 2 to 4 and 7 to 9 and I could bring her necessities in at that time. 

I put together two bagfuls of clothes for Elle, feeling both maudlin and angry at the same time that I had to do this. I transported them out to the truck as well. I then went and picked up my checkbook from my office and took a look around. 

"Hmm," I muttered, looking at her computer, "30 days, Rick." I sat down at her chair shook her mouse. Her screen woke up and I looked around her desktop, finding no file of passwords or streaming bits of consciousness spooled out in some readily accessible Word format. Firing up Chrome I was once again taunted by her three email address. Of which I had only known about two of them. 

I tried her normal personal one, typing in a variety of passwords that were permutations of her birthdate, mine, Amber's, our anniversary; anything I could think of. When I would get the warning from Gmail, I would close down Chrome and restart it, trying again and again. No luck. 

Hoping I might get find clue somewhere I backed my chair up and opened her desk drawer. I found her work log, a scratch pad that she often used when writing down job notes and numbers. Thumbing through it I didn't see anything that might be passwords. Looking further there was a Pantone color flip book, two dozen pencils in various stages of wear, and the variety of staples, post it notes, sticky flags, pens, and other bric-a-brac that often time gathered in the desk drawers. 

The system clock showed 9:32. "Time to go," I said to myself, walking out to the living room where I gathered up Amber and her diaper bag and then left the house. I took the main roads north to the Long Island Expressway and headed west towards the city, arriving on the Expressway late enough to not be stuck in the typical morning rush hour. There were a few brake checks along the way where the traffic pulsed, but no real problem or delay. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 05



I got off exit 39 and stayed on the service road until I came to Roslyn Road. From there I travelled south, checking my directions against the streets I was passing, made two small turns and stopped in front of a converted stately home with the swinging green and white painted sign that read 'Bekoff and Stelling, LLP'. 

I parked the truck and after unhitching Amber's car seat from the cradle, I made my way inside. A pleasant young woman was at the desk, smiling as I came in. "Hi. May I help you?" 

"I'm Rick Masters. I have a 10:30 appointment with Ron Bekoff." 

"Excellent, please have a seat and he'll be with you shortly." 

I sat down, the worn but comfortable lobby chairs felt good to me. The air was cool, indicative of the fact that someone had turned the AC on here. The waiting area was tastefully decorated and there were the smattering of standard lobby magazines fanned out on the low coffee table for people to read. I passed the time playing 'try to grab daddy's fingers' with Amber until I heard a door open up and a familiar voice call my name. "Hey, Rick." 

Standing up, I walked over to Jessica Lanier and gave her a hug. "Hey, Jess. It's great to see you." 

She returned it before we pulled away and she looked at my purply/yellow eye with pursed lips and a deep stare. "The same to you. But I don't like what I am seeing." Her expression changed to pleasantly professional, "But that's why you're here to take care of you and your daughter's interests." I grabbed the carrier as she continued, "Come on, let me introduce you to Ron." 

I followed Jessica to another office, this one decorated in deep browns and tans. A large man was sitting behind a battered steel and wood desk, mounds of marbleized reddish folders were stacked on both sides of him and seemed to have spilled onto the floor. He was in his late 40's, had dark bushy hair and a squared off jaw. He had the spread that most men gathered in their middle age but he carried it well and with grace. He stuck his paw of a hand across his desk and grabbed my free one. "Ron Bekoff, pleasure to meet you." He looked at my daughter next and made a goofy face, getting her to smile in return. "Please, have a seat." 

He looked over at Jessica and said, "Thanks, Jess. I'll take it from here." 

"Thanks, Ron," she replied, turning to me. "You're in good hands, Rick," she said and then left. 

From that point on I spent the next 25 minutes telling Ron of my plight and what I had gone through to date. He listened, taking some sloppy notes on a legal sized yellow pad, his pen scratching across the surface in sharp dashes and loops that I was beginning to wonder if even he would be able to read. At the end of my tale we spent the next couple of minutes clarifying some points before he settled back in his oversized chair, the springs underneath it groaning in complaint. 

"Rick, that is a hell of a story. You did the right thing, both in trying to fix the problem and again in realizing you couldn't. I'd like to help you, but by helping you, I think you'd be best helped by someone other than me." 

My face fell. "You mean, you won't take my case." 

"No, no, not that. I'd like to have one of my partners come in and listen to this. He's been doing family law for 30 years and truthfully, I'm thinking that if I was in need of legal counsel and help and I was you, I'd go to him. Can I get him to come in here and listen to this?" 

Feeling better, I agreed, "Sure. Please. I'm kind of a fish out of water here." 

"No doubt." He stabbed the white button on his desk phone and the receptionist's voice same out of the speaker, "Yes, Mr. Bekoff?" 

"Sonia, get Lenny to come to my office please." 

"Right away, Mr. Bekoff." 

We chatted together comfortably a few minutes until a figure appeared in the doorway and Ron broke into a smile. "Lenny, come in," he said standing. "Lenny, this is Rick Masters." 

I turned, shaking this new lawyer's hand. He was shorter than I by four or five inches, and was on the thin side as well. To my eyes he was in his late 50's, maybe 60, and had the look of a math teacher about him. He shook my hand firmly though, pumping it twice and offering, "Lenny Furman, Mr. Masters. Happy to meet you." 

"Lenny," Ron said as his compatriot sat down in the next chair, pulling out his own legal pad and a pen from his inside jacket pocket, "Mr. Masters needs some help here and I told him you were the best." 

"Let's hear what's going on." 

At this point Ron and I told the story, Ron adding his own thoughts and points as I reiterated the tale. Lenny wrote down even faster than Ron did, barely looking down as he put down his own observations, every minute or so the trailing page he was working on was flipped up and he started over on the next one. 

"Well, Rick," he said, putting his pen down and leaning back. "That is one hell of a story." 

"Can you help me?" 

"Sure. But I need to know what's the end game you are looking at? What do you want to have happen?" 

The corners of my mouth turned down as I gathered my thoughts. "What I want? First and foremost I want what is best for Amber. She's my kid, and she's completely innocent in all of this mess." Both men nodded at this, bolstering me as I continued, "I want...I want Elle to get better and become the person I had married and loved and lived with. I want her to get the help she needs and to come home. I understand that if that is not an option for whatever reason, I want only what is best for her and I am not looking to screw up her life." I held up a finger, "But, I will not, under any circumstances, if that is the case, give up my daughter. Period." 

"It's possible, Rick. It depends on a lot of things. But right now you have a window and we should take advantage of it while we can." 

"What do we do?" 

"First thing we do is file an order of protection against Elle for Amber and another one for yourself." 

"But, isn't she already out of the house for 30 days?" 

"True, but if she is cleared, and I've done this before, the Hospital will not want to keep her, she'll be released and she'll be allowed to come back home. This'll put you both back in the same situation you just got her out of, and it'll be that much harder if she comes back in the house to have her removed again. By getting the orders, we safeguard your daughter and you. It also shows to CPS that you are taking the potential threat seriously and being proactive." 

"The CPS guy was there last night and said that there wasn't a problem from what he could see." 

Lenny smiled sadly at me. "Rick, CPS has a case opened now with your and your wife's name on it. They are going to proceed with an investigation and perhaps a dozen visits to your home and your daughter's daycare to check on her and her care. They are going to be allowed to stop by both announced and unannounced. And be aware that even the nicest of CPS workers are looking for problems. And that is already a strike against you; you're a man and the agency is prejudiced against single male parents as responsible and qualified guardians." 

"That's ridiculous! It's my child and I am already pretty much doing the job myself." 

"Then it's our job to make sure that they have no reason to be concerned about you, Amber, or your home. Make sure it's spotless, neat, and I don't know if you drink..." 

"I don't." 

"Good. But if you do or have visitors who do, make sure they don't do it near the child. Think Mother Theresa, that's what you have to be." 

"How long will CPS be in my life?" 

"Typically 6 months to a year, although there have been times where they kept a case open for as much as 2 years." 

I slumped, feeling the wind rush out of me. "Terrific." 

"Also, another thing," Lenny continued, checking his notes, "you do know the police don't have the right to enter your home and check around? According to your story, you invited Officer Rafferty to look around the basement?" 

"Yeah. Was that wrong?" 

Lenny sighed. "Yes and no. No because you were being accommodating to the police in what is a difficult domestic disturbance call. This probably went a long way to smoothing things out for them and making their job easier. But, once you do that, they will then expect that should they have a need to return for more investigation that they can once again enter your home and look around at will." 

"So what do I do?" 

"You go to the 5th Precinct as you were going to, give your wife's bag to this Officer Rafferty, and then you casually mention that you have retained legal counsel and that any further issues or concerns should be passed through me. This will let them know that your 'open and welcoming' position is now closed and they should be more focused on their investigation with what they have at their disposal or get a warrant should the need for one present itself." 

He snapped his fingers, "Another thing. After today, I want you to have no contact with Mrs. Masters. Go to the hospital, bring her clothes, but after that you are to have no contact with her. There'll be an order of protection in place and we don't want anyone to look at your contact between each other as a point of leverage. Does she have any family?" 

"He brother lives in Maryland, but her mom still lives in Lindenhurst." 

"Good. You should get in touch with her anyway and tell her what's going on with her daughter and your marriage. Let her know what's going on and have her act as the go between for Elle and yourself if there are needs that have to be met that neither side are aware of." 

I drummed my fingers on Ron's desk and sighed. "That's quite a bit. But not a problem." 

"Remember, Rick. We're building a team here; a team to protect your daughter and to a lesser extent you." 

"Team Amber," I quipped, getting a smile from both lawyers. 

"Team Amber indeed." Lenny looked over his notes one last time. "The handcuffs and bag of kinky sex toys and duct tape. You indicated that from your wife's comments and your own thoughts that she was not engaging in self-bondage, but might have friends or partners, correct?" 

"Yeah. I stumbled upon some places on her computer where she was visiting sites that cater to this stuff. She also has another email account that I don't know the password to yet, but the email seems to be specific to her newfound interest." 

"We can use that as a further example of your wife's disintegrating family interest, but truthfully unless these actions were performed while the child was home or could be exposed to it, most judges will not put much weight on it. Long and short of it, people are allowed to be kinky in the privacy of their own home. Adultery is not a crime, neither is bondage. For your own peace of mind, you should see what you can do about getting to the bottom of it." 

I nodded. "I will. I have a friend who might be able to tell me about anyone that might have stopped by while I was at work." 

Lenny stood up, extending his hand for me to shake which I did heartily. "Rick, it's good to meet you and I'm sorry it was under these terrible circumstances. I'm your lawyer, and we're going to build a wall around you and your daughter. Team Amber. I'll get started on the orders and will file them when court opens tomorrow. Go take care of what you have to today and remember, CPS is not looking out for you and your daughter's best interests - they are looking out for what they PERCIEVE to be just your daughter's best interests. So be vigilant and ever ready." 

"I will, and thanks again Lenny." 

We finished shaking hands and I did the same with Ron Bekoff. They led Amber and I back to the receptionist's desk where Jessica came out as well. I wrote a check for $5,000 for Lenny Furman as retainer, asking him to please not deposit it until Friday so I could fund the checking account first. He waved his hand dismissively and told me not to worry. A last round of handshakes followed along with another hug from Jessica and we were out of the office and on our way once more, back towards the Expressway. 

My dashboard clock showed 1:17 and I know that Amber was hungry and so was I. I drove along and took the exit for 107 south, eventually stopping at Johnny Rockets; a nostalgic burger place that had been popping up all over Long Island. I placed an order for a burger with the works and a plate of chili cheese fries and then asked for a children's meal of chicken nuggets for Amber. While it was being prepared I took her into the bathroom, locked the door, and used the Koala Bench in the stall to change her wet diaper and take care of my own business. 

We ate lunch together, Amber enjoying her surprise day out with her dad while I mulled over everything that had been presented to me to date. I paid for the meal from the extra cash I was carrying around and then we got back in the car while I worked my way eastward towards Huntington. I plugged in my handsfree wire and thumbed my contacts until I came to 'Elle's Mom' and dialed it. 

The phone rang twice and I heard Elle's mom's raspy voice answer, "Hey, Rick. How are you?" 

"Hey, Jan," I replied. "I've been better. You hear from Elle lately?" I asked, cursing at myself for stalling. 

"No. She hasn't been returning my calls either lately. Wanted to come by and see my granddaughter." 

"Jan, Ellle's been arrested." 

"What!?" 

"She was taken out of the house last night and is now in some Hospital in Huntington under psychiatric care or something like that. From what I was told last night, it's because her bi-polar disorder got thrown out of whack during her pregnancy and she needs help." 

"Oh my god, Rick! I can't believe it. How's Amber, is she ok?" 

"Yeah. She's fine." 

"I don't understand," Jan said, her voice lost sounding, "Why would the police come to your house?" 

I gritted my teeth. "Because, Jan. I asked them to." 

"You? Rick? You!?" I could tell Jan was getting upset. "Rick! That's my daughter. Your wife! How could you call the police on her?!" 

"Jan, please. I didn't have a choice." 

"Of course you did! You don't call the police on your wife!" 

"Jan, she hit me over the weekend." 

"I don't believe you," I could tell she was crying, sobbing as she tried to understand what I was telling her. "She wouldn't." 

"Jan, she threw the computer at me and I have a black eye; could have blinded me. I know you're not there all the time, but trust me, it has been getting difficult living with her. She's just so disinterested in our home life and has this growing anger and violence in her. And it's only going to keep getting worse." 

My heart was breaking, all I could hear was Jan on the other end, crying by herself. "Jan. Jan. Listen to me. CPS came and I had to get a lawyer also. They were talking about taking Amber away..." 

"They wouldn't!" 

"Jan, they could. They really could. So I need your help. Amber needs your help. After today, according to a lawyer I had to get, I am not allowed to have any contact with Elle. None. So I need you to contact her please. Whatever she needs, you're going to have to do, ok?" 

"Of course. Of course." I could tell she was trying to pull herself together. 

"I'm on the way there now to drop off some clothes for her. I'll call you later tonight and give you the information and the address and directions, ok? Then, why don't you come over," I thought ahead, "come over Thursday night for dinner. You can play with Amber and have a visit. I have my mom come too, alright?" 

"Ok, Rick. Ok. I can do that." She sniffled, "I am so sorry. I feel...ashamed, I guess." 

"It's not your fault, Jan. I'll see you soon." 

We hung up and I drove on, taking Exit 49 north off the Expressway and travelled my way towards Huntington Hospital and 5 North. It was a nice looking 6 story building on the side of a hill. The parking was plentiful and I took Amber out of the car along with Elle's bag, walking in and looking over the directory. 

North wing. Fifth Floor. Psychiatric Services. 

Well, now I know where 5 North comes from, I mused. I took the elevator up, a faint buzz announced before the car came to a stop. It opened to a lobby, festooned with older padded chairs set up in a square pattern around a brown and grey circular pattern rug. I followed the one sign towards the large double door marked Psychiatric Services - In Patient, and knocked on the window to the right of it. 

It slid open and a pinched face nurse looked out at me and said, "I'm sorry, no children." 

I held Amber a little tighter and replied, "I'm sorry, I did not know. I am dropping off some clothes and supplies for Elle Masters. Can I give these to you?" 

She looked me over, again with that sour lemon looking face and answered, "One moment," before sliding the window closed. I saw her get on the phone and talk to someone briefly. She nodded twice and then pointed at me and the main doors, indicating I should wait there. 

I stood there with Amber, looking through the reinforced windows, the antiseptic hallway beyond was empty of people, only a number of doorways and openings lined the walls. From about halfway down on the right side, a large shouldered orderly and a nurse strode out and headed in my direction. Behind them, from the same room they emerged from, Elle leaned out of the doorframe and stared past them at me. 

She looked worn out. Her hair was lank and she was wearing the same clothes she had left the house in yesterday. No makeup, eyes red, entire body just leaning on the wall as if it was not there, she would fall over. On seeing myself and Amber she perked up slightly, but I could tell it took some effort to do so. 

The orderly pressed the large bar on the wall on his side and the two doors opened up. "Mr. Masters?" The nurse asked. 

"Yes." I hoisted the bag I was carrying. "I have Elle's things." 

I handed them to the orderly who took them without expression or comment. The nurse said, "Thank you, Mr. Masters. If there is anything else, we'll let you know. Please be aware, that no children are allowed here." 

"I understand that now, I'm sorry. Did not know. As for contacting me, I am going to give you another number and name to call if you can?" I gave her Jan's information and had her remove me as emergency contact, glancing over her shoulder to see the orderly hand Elle her bag and step back from her; letting her have an unfettered view of Amber and I. 

The nurse thanked me and stepped away, the doors closing behind her, leaving Amber and I on one side of the doorway and Elle on the other - looking at one another through the glass. I stayed there long enough to hoist Amber a little higher and pick up her hand to wave at her mother. She giggled at that, her smile pulling one from my wife down the hall. I tried, I really tried to smile as well, but couldn't summon up the effort to produce one. We turned away and took the elevator back down to the lobby and then out to my truck to once more take to the road. 

Fuck. Fuck you, Elle. Fuck you so much, you fucking bitch. I couldn't rail or yell, Amber was in the backseat. But internally I cursed my wife out for what she had done and was doing to us, to me, to Amber. Fuck. Fuck you, you fuck. 

I drove to the 5th Precinct and saw Officers Rafferty and Blake, giving them the bag and subtly informing them of my lawyer and some of the things he had suggested. They got the hint and thanked me for this, letting me know that if they needed to, they would get in touch with me soon. They did look through the bag and Officer Rafferty did let me know that the handcuffs were key style, not safety. Which meant that without a key, there was no pin to press to release them. 

I drove home, that tidbit percolating in my head, making me more confident that there was someone else most likely engaging in this kinky play with Elle. Once in the driveway, I closed the door and stepped across the street, taking Amber with me, walking right up to Stan's door and knocking. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 05



"One minute!" he yelled from within and then came to the door. "Hey! Rick! Amber!" He opened the screen and shook my hand. "You, ok?" 

"As good as can be expected." 

"What the verdict? What's going on with Elle?" 

I filled Stan in on only the highlights of last night and today, trying to keep the day's events to as few details as possible in order to speed the story along. Eventually I got around to my purpose, "Stan, between the police and Elle and some other things I had heard, it seems more obvious that Elle wasn't doing this handcuff and other stuff by herself." 

"You don't say?" he looked past me at my house, eyes unfocused in thought. 

"Yeah. Listen, bud. Really. Do you remember seeing anyone across the street? Anyone at all?" 

"No, Rick. I mean, not that I noticed. I wasn't really looking, plus I have been working a couple days a week." He seemed pensive. "I guess there might have been a car or two now and again, but I didn't know I was supposed to be on the lookout for it." 

"Shit," I groused, glancing at Amber and rolling my eyes. "Slipped out," I muttered. 

Stan grinned, but said nothing. 

"Ok. Thanks anyway, bud. If you can think of anything, anything at all, let me know." 

"Will do, man." 

I turned to go home and stopped. "Say, what were you doing walking so late last night?" 

"Oh. Doctor's orders. Wants me exercising more. Lots of walking. Has me on aspirin too. Says my cholesterol is too high. So I take a walk down to Stanton Drive and back. Takes me about a half hour." 

"Stanton Drive? By 231? Dude, that's too damned far. Take a car." 

We both laughed and I wished him farewell, going home and eventually slumping on the couch. "What a day, dear," I told my daughter, letting her down to run around and work some of her energy off. It was already after 4 and I had little energy left myself. 

I made a fast dinner for us, followed by a long bath and some play time. I called my mother and invited her over on Thursday, filling her in on some of the day's events. I went through my internal list and checked off things that needed to get done. I then spent about 20 minutes trying out various password combinations on Elle's email but getting nowhere. 

Eventually I put Amber down to bed and followed it up with my own, finally falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. 

Wednesday I woke up for the first time in a week somewhat refreshed. The morning progressed without issue. We were ready and out of the house early and even though it was drizzling out, there was only a smattering of traffic in our way. At Littletot's Daycare, check in was swift and Amber seemed thrilled to be back with the other children. 

"Hi, Mr. Rick," Kerri greeted me after giving Amber a kiss on the cheek. "So, was yesterday a progressive day?" 

I looked at her; I could tell she was concerned if I was still angry with her from Monday. "Yesterday was a good day, Kerri. And if I hadn't said it before, let me say it now. Thank you. Really." 

She seemed to deflate, her eyes growing moist, her plush bottom lip quivering. "That's good, Mr. Rick. Didn't want you to be mad at me." She took a half step closer. "Would you like to go to lunch today and tell me what happened? 

I looked around the room for some reason, uncomfortable with making eye contact. "I can't do anything today, I'm sure I'm swamped. But how about tomorrow. Would that be ok?" 

She beamed. "Terrific. We'll do it then." She bent down, giving me a brief glimpse of her cleavage, picking up one of the boys crawling around the room. "Have a terrific day, Mr. Rick." 

I left, driving away but not to work. I stopped at the Bank of America branch and spoke to one of the representatives there, cashing out one of the CD's and having it transferred to the checking account. As I left, heading to work, I thought, "Whoosh! Just like that, about half our savings gone on the lawyers." 

My work day was busy, I had to make up Tuesday's work as well today's. I ate lunch at my desk, crunching the numbers and doing the daily analysis from the production floor as fast as I could. There were some missing data points that I had to get the floor supervisor to send to me, but by day's end I had last week finished and had this week started. Lenny called me after 4 to let me know the orders of protection had been filed that morning with the county clerk and that Elle was not allowed to have any contact with Amber and I. I thanked him, feeling like a dick in doing so, and returned to my work day, no longer able to focus. 

I left work, picked up Amber, and went home alone. 

Was this to be my life now? Was there anything good that was going to come of this? What was going to be next for Amber and I? And Elle, what about her? Assuming she would get better under the hospital's care, would that be enough? Would the care or cure be permanent or was this a temporary thing at best? I wasn't happy, but I was not going to live like I had been any more. So at this point, it was Elle that would need to change. 

I would help and support her if I could, but I couldn't help her fix her own internal issues. I understood the 'in sickness and in health' part of the vows. If she had cancer, it would be a no brainer on my being with her. If she had any disease, I wouldn't think about leaving. But this was different. It was a behavioral issue and it was physically driving me away. 

And in doing so, did she break the 'forsaking all others' part of the vows? How can I be held to my end of the wedding vows but she not be held to hers? That was a double standard and ultimately not fair. 

Not fair. 

It's only fair, isn't that what you said, Elle? Is this fair? Is it? 

Thursday was a repeat for Amber and I with three notable exceptions. First, I did meet Kerri for lunch, this time we went to a deli close by. We ate in companionable silence at an outside table, I spent the majority of the time telling her of what had occurred and some of my thoughts on the matter. She proved herself to be an avid listener and even though I know she had her own agenda and opinions, she kept them fairly close to her chest. 

"So, are you going to take her back in 30 days when this all over?" 

"I don't know. It depends on so many things, things that I don't have the answers to. Only time will tell." 

She sipped her soda. "Well, whatever you decide, make sure it's for the right reasons, Rick." 

When I dropped her off there was an inordinate amount of her workmates hanging outside who made it their business to wish me a good day in loud and smirking voices. Kerri leaned over at the last moment and gave me a brief hug, slipping from the vehicle amidst shrieks of laughter and toothy smiles. 

The second, my mother and Elle's mother came over for dinner where they kept up a constant litany about what was going on, neither one backing down from each other as they tossed verbal volleys back and forth. 

"Elle was looking terrible today when I went to see her," Jan offered. 

"Well, my son is looking terrible after months of being mom and dad and no one gave a fuck about that." 

"Of course we care. Elle cares too." 

"Yeah. She cared enough to give him a black eye." 

"She wasn't in her right mind." 

"When is she ever? What's it been 3 years now?" 

"She's getting help." 

"Big fucking deal. What about Rick, who's helping him?" 

"They got her on some stuff I don't know, Depacote? Some other stuff as well, it's supposed to help even her out." 

"Yeah, that's what she needs. Drugs. That'll fix the problem. Something wrong? Give them some drugs. Feeling down? Drugs. Feeling up? Drugs." 

"Her counselor said that she's responding well." 

"Come off of it, Jan. Hippy bullshit. You ever hear of this sort of crap when we were our kids age? No. You know why? Because it's made up bullshit, that's why. Our parents never needed therapy or this sort of happy horse crap. They did like we did, they fixed their fucking problems and got their head on straight." 

It was a joyous visit. I kept my opinions to myself and tried to not piss either of them off. At least Amber had a good time. 

And that led to the third item of interest. As the two grandmothers were sniping at each other, the door bell rang and I opened it to see a severe looking woman in her late 30's standing there in a navy pants suit and holding a clip board. The image that came to mind was some drill sergeant or maybe Nurse Ratchet from Nicholson's Cuckoo's Nest. "Can I help you?" 

She looked at me like I was some bug she happened to step on. "I am Ms. Marribaum from Child Protective Services and I'm here to observe and evaluate Amber and yourself in her home environment. May I come in?" 

I let her in, she noticed my mother and mother sitting at the table, Amber in her highchair and the two of them playing with her. Introductions were made and I had to take Ms. Marribaum to Amber's room where she, I swear to god, actually ran her hand over Amber's shelves and the top of the picture frames like some 19th century manor house butler. From there I took her around the house where she checked safety locks, hinges, outlet covers, and the cabinets. 

After 15 minutes of this though, my mother finally asked her "what the fuck she was looking for" and that the problem parent "was not here." Jan joined in with her own comments about how "there is no way Amber is in any danger with Rick. He's a good boy, a great son, and a terrific father." 

Ms. Marribaum recoiled from the dual assault, trying to diffuse the situation but was overmatched by the two older women and their strong personalities. Each point she tried to raise and each issue she attempted to address was assaulted and hacked apart. After a half hour though she did come around and the three women were talking like fast friends while Amber and I played in the living room. 

At the end of the hour the CPS caseworker thanked me for my time and patience and told me, "You have some good support, Mr. Masters. I suggest you remember that and lean on them as you need in the coming weeks. I'll see you in a month or less." 

Before long Friday had come and the week was over. As I drove home that night I reflected back on what I had gone through, more at ease with my situation even if I had no more answers. We entered the house and I noticed there was a message on the answering machine. I pressed play and heard, "Hey, Elle. It's Billy Thompson at Monochange. I've tried to reach you on your cell but you haven't answered. We didn't get the last three jobs from you and we want to know what happened. Give me a call." 

Crap. I never got in touch with her job to tell her what happened. I called Billy and left a message on his service that he should call me on my cell. 

I made hot dogs and fries for dinner, dressing up the salad I still had with a few pepper slices from the drawer. Amber ate a kid's version of mac and cheese and gnawed on a couple pieces of hot dog I had made. She had no interest in my salad except to pluck out the tomato pieces and eat them as messily as she could. 

After dinner was completed I went to the DVD cabinet and pulled out a copy of Bambi, putting it on and sitting Amber on my lap. We watched it together; she was attentive at some points, disinterested at others. But while the classic Disney flick played on and Bambi eventually had to run through the forest fire, I wondered if this was a glimpse of what my life was going to become. 

My cell phone rang, drawing me out of my reverie. I reached over and looked at the screen. Thompson, W. "Hello, Rick speaking." 

"Rick! Billy T at Monochange. Thanks for calling me. What happened to Elle's phone, she lose it again?" He laughed at this. Billy was about our age and his company had contract work with dozens of other stores in the malls and markets across Suffolk and Nassau. 

"No, Billy. Elle's been having some problems, and she's getting some help. she'll be out of commission for a month." 

"Crap. Crap, Rick. I wish she'd have told me." 

"It wasn't done on purpose, Billy. Trust me on that." 

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Sucks though. I was counting on her getting the W-240 jobs finished." I could hear him chewing gum or something like it over the line. "Say, Rick. You do me a favor and see if she's got them done? Even if they aren't, anything she's got finished on them will only help me out. I'll make sure she's paid for it." 

"Sure, Billy, hang on." I got up from the couch and helped Amber down to the floor where she could play without danger of falling. I went to the office and sat down at Elle's computer, waking it up from sleep mode. The Gmail login screen was once again staring at me, but I minimized Chrome and navigated to Elle's work folder. "Ok, I'm here. What's the job number again?" 

"W-240. There should be 15 files, each one about 6 to 8 meg." 

I scanned her documents until I came upon a subfolder marked as Billy said. Double clicking on it, it held over a dozen files, less than half of them marked with a '-e' suffix. "Got it. Looks like she finished seven of them." 

"Aw man, that's great! Can you Dropbox them to me?" 

"Sure, hang on." I went to her bookmarks and clicked on Dropbox. "Username and password?" 

"I told her to set it up to remember. Username and password is the same as her email account: Ellemonoc and Cmock7." 

"Got it." I dragged the folder to the "in" box and watched as it uploaded to the site. "Ok, Billy. It's on its way. Estimated time is 5 minutes." 

"Fantastic. Listen, Rick. Tell Elle to get better and give me a call when she's able to work again." 

"You got it, Billy. Be well." 

We hung up and I watched the screen until the bar filled up and the system chimed, indicating it was finished. I shut down her Dropbox account and the next Chrome tab became visible - her Gmail sign on screen. 

I clicked on her work email, and entered the password Cmock7. 

And I was in. 

She had a variety of work emails, job requests, proofs, design notes - just about anything and everything one would expect. I scanned backwards about seven months and saw nothing that was outside the norm. 

Logging out of her work email, I then looked at the other two. Oh, yeah... 

"Amber, time for bed Sunshine." 

I hastened through the good night ritual, my mind back in the office and at Elle's computer. Once Amber was snuggled down and her synthesizer playing its lullaby, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and a package of Oreos from the cabinet. I checked the front door, making sure it was locked and turned down all the lights in the house. Except for the office lamp. 

I sat at her desk, peeling an Oreo cookie open and eating the cream side. "She can't be that stupid, Rick." I popped the plain side into my mouth and crunched down, the sweet texture and taste of the cookie turning to mash across the top of my tongue. "No one's that stupid." 

I clicked on her personal email and entered the same password. And I was then inside her account. I scanned it quickly. The odd joke, recipes, some back and forth with a few friends she used to know - fairly innocent stuff. I closed out of it and then clicked on the last one: Lacycuffs. 

For the third time I typed in her password. 

And her last email account opened up. 

"Fuck me."



It's Only Fair Ch. 06



It has been one hell of a journey and I want to thank everyone for their voices, both supportive and not. 

I ended up combining some of the later parts on my outline to bring the word and page count up to what I feel is an acceptable level. This means that there is this chapter and one remaining. As my first submission to Literotica I cannot be happier with it as I finish up. As some have commented, this is not the normal fare one finds here, and some of the content has been distasteful, difficult, authentic and emotional. 

And to me that's what good writing is supposed to do - it's supposed to generate an emotional response. Elation, terror, fury, ecstasy, confusion - it's supposed to pull something from you, something primal. And then it's supposed to make you swallow it. 

If it does, then damn - you've read something great. 

I will be working on the last chapter after this one is posted and bring the tale to close. Thanks again, everyone. 

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. 

Again, no chainsaws or visits to the cornfield or CFNM situations or masturbation wearing a gimp mask. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. 

Enjoy! -V 

***** 

I scanned the emails, looking through the In Folder with my breath held. 

There were lots of strange spam-like emails offering a wide gamut of kink. For some reason ProFlowers showed up a number of times. Weird. I saw, looking backward through to the first emails she received at the start of this account five months ago, that she had some presence on Craigslist and a number of stranger sites and forums that catered to bondage and the like. Steeling myself, I opened the first email from what I would guess to be a person and read it. 

"I would very much like to get together with you. I am looking for an occasional Dom who is willing to explore this with me. Thanks for the interest and write me back. -Paul, Allentown PA" 

What the hell is this shit? Who the fuck is Paul? Dom, like dominatrix? What the fuck? I read on, picking out every email afterwards that had this shithead's name in it. My eyes picked out random pieces of their email exchange as I flicked down their thread. 

"I have never played with handcuffs before. I hope this will work out. -Paul" 

"Would you be willing to drive out to Jersey and meet me halfway? I can help pay for a room. -Paul" 

"I wish you were here. I'd force you to pleasure me with your tongue. -Elle" 

"College is getting in the way of my fantasies with you. If you gave me the opportunity, I would love to eat you. Let me know if you can meet me. -Paul" College? Son of a bitch is in college? 

"I'm not sure about meeting. It would be tough. I'd feel better if you came here. More in control. Let's be happy with what we have. -Elle." 

My skin felt prickly as I became flush. What the fuck in hell are you doing? Did you do some Mrs. Robinson thing with some farmboy college no nut prick scumbag from Pennsylvania? Did you meet with this piece of shit and have him eat or fuck you? 

I couldn't believe how angry I was feeling. I was mad at Elle, but I had been trying to make it all work out or at least calm down; but this was different. This guy, this Paul, most likely some 20 year old pimply faced nerd, was having an email relationship with my wife. Maybe it was because he was a guy and I didn't know him, I had a focus and direction for my anger; someplace that I can attack. 

I scrubbed the emails in detail, not finding any confirmation that Elle and the Pennsylvania Prick ever actually met up. But I also couldn't find any proof that they didn't. Were there others? 

I left Paul's email thread and looked carefully at any other one that was from a person. I 'starred' each one and when finished counted them up. 

Eleven. 

Holy shit, my wife was having, or had been having, some email correspondence and maybe more with eleven different people that she had met through her newfound interests. Even just hearing it spelled out in my head I found it almost unfathomable. 

I had to get up from the computer and pace about the room. When that didn't work, I walked out of the office and wandered into the kitchen. I tore open the fridge and peered inside, finding nothing that I wanted to eat or drink. I stomped into the living room next but couldn't sit down on the couch I was too keyed up. 

I had to do something, the pressure was building behind my eyes and it felt like my head was going to pop off. Instead I paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, turning with military precision when I came to the end of the room then returning the way I came. My hands were clenched and I could feel the sharp pressure of my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand. 

Easy, Rick. 

It took some time but I allowed my shoulders to unclench and my strides to shorten. My breathing became deeper, no longer whistling in and out of my nose. The red pain in the back of my vision became less until it faded entirely. I felt exhausted and my muscles hurt, but I was no longer in danger of losing the tattered shreds of my sanity. 

Letting out my last pent up breath with a shuddering staccato wheeze, I went back to the office and sat again in front of Elle's system. 

Eleven. 

With nothing else to do, I felt detached as I read through each email chain from the flirty and 'get to know you' beginnings to their assorted ends. 

Of the eleven, Elle identified herself as married to two of them when they were pressing for a meeting; doing so as an obvious foil to cut off their interest in pursuing futher online banter. 

Of the remaining nine, four of them ended when it appeared that they wanted the opportunity to either be the dominant personality in the relationship or if they were interested in a back and forth exchange of assumed roles. 

Of the remaining five, one ended when the other person stopped responding to Elle's attempts at dominating him. Another seemed to go away when the other person admitted he was not from the area but was writing from North Carolina. 

That left three. 

Three potential people who, at the minimum, were having an on-line relationship with Elle who was interested in dominating them and had made no mention that she was married. One was the aforementioned Paul from Allentown, PA, there was a Charlie from Westchester, NY, and there was a Spencer from Elmont, NY. 

Paul, although interested, was not the closest distance wise of the potential get togethers; that dubious honor went to Spencer from Elmont. Fucking Queens County, without traffic, 35 minutes from my damned house. Did this piece of shit come to my home and get chained up in my basement? If he did, he had to know at that point that Elle was married and had a kid. Why would he stay? 

What makes a man want to be beaten or abused or belittled by a sexual partner? I can understand it at least academically from a woman's point of view with the entire 'role-reversal' thing. But a man wanting to be dominated just didn't make any sense. A relationship, at least a real one, was supposed to be two people, treating each other like equals. At any point where the balance starts swinging in one direction and not in the other, you end up with a lopsided result and an unhealthy relationship.  

Like the one I had with Elle. 

I went through Spencer's emails again, hoping to find a phone number. And there it was, he gave it to her about a month and a half ago. 

I grabbed my cell phone and hit *67 to block my number from coming up, and then I called Spencer's; my ire at this faceless prick dictating my actions. It rang, and then rang some more. "Come on, you prick. Answer the fucking phone." Eventually I heard a guy's voice say, "This is Spencer. Leave a message." 

I hung up. 

No fucking way I was going to leave a rambling anger infused message on some random person's phone who might or might not be engaged in some bondage handcuff kinky crap with my Elle. Every other week you hear about Alec Baldwin or that idiot with the basketball team leave a message or comment over the phone and then they are vilified in the media when it comes to light. 

Mother Theresa, that's what Lenny had told me and that's what I was going to be. 

I was just going to keep calling Spencer the Asshole again and again until he picked up and then...well, I didn't quite know exactly then what was going to happen, but I'm sure that it would involve me getting some questions answered and then yelling on my part. 

The entire night had exhausted me and I had nothing left to give. I brushed my teeth and then crawled into bed, eyes closing as I let myself drift away. 

When the morning came and I could hear the sounds of Amber stirring in her room, I felt no more rested than before I went to sleep. "Coming, honey," I croaked as I worked my way to her room, her smiling face and kicking legs brightening my mood a little bit. I changed her and then let her run ahead of me to the kitchen. I took out some cereal for both of us and we ate quickly and without fuss. From here I got us both cleaned up and then dressed her in a nice short's set and longer sleeved yellow and blue checked shirt. 

There was little need to clean up about the house as I had done most of it last night; just a fast making of the bed and straightening up the dishes we ate on. It was horrible to say, but with Elle gone, the place was cleaner and I had less housework to do. I picked up the playpen where it was folded under the sofa and set it up outside on the porch. An armful of stuffed toys followed and then Amber joined them all. "Daddy has to mow the lawn, Sunshine." 

I took out the mower, added gas, and topped off the oil. Two pulls on the starter and the engine rumbled to life. I started on the short side of the property and began walking back and forth across the lawn. Mowing was a good time for me to relax and reflect. It was simple and mindless, yet there was a sense of getting something done; a feeling of accomplishment as you worked your way one row at a time across the tall grass and cut it down to size. It was a mind dump for me and only brought a sense of peace as I maneuvered the mower up and down and back again. 

I finished the front yard and turned the engine off, wiping the beads of sweat from my head as I dragged it to the backyard gate. Shoving the mower through, I went up to the stoop where Amber was gnawing on the three-toned green body of a plush 'Hungry Caterpillar', a sheen of drool all across her chin. "Ugh, Honey," I said, wiping her face with the non-grassy inside of my shirt. "You're a mess." I opened the front door and reached over to the counter, taking out an already prepared sippy cup and a bottle of water for me. 

I sat next to her while we both had our drink, looking at the day and the few cars that passed by. The sun continued to climb and the weather was going to be in the high 70's or low 80's by mid-day. "Don't want to do this later," I said to no one in particular, picking Amber up from the playpen and then dragging it behind me to the gate and eventually the backyard. 

I had a deck I had built here three years ago; nothing special, maybe 12 by 16. It was large enough for my barbeque grill a small glass topped round metal table, four chairs, and a low bench. The wood had been stained an orange-like cedar tone and the edges had been sanded smooth last year after Amber's birth. I pulled the playpen onto the deck and after giving my daughter another kiss on her cheek, put her back inside and continued with my mowing. 

The backyard took longer; it was larger. So it gave me more time to muse on my circumstances and get back around to Elle and what was going on. It was obvious to me she was seeking some sort of sexual thrill with this very vanilla domination game she was participating in with these people she found online. There were a few questions as to how far (if at all) it had progressed that I could not get an answer on. 

I know there were three guys that she was in communication with. One of them lived close enough to have actually driven out here. He did give her his number and it was possible that contact was made. So let's assume that they have been building up to a domination and submission get together. She chains him up in the basement, blindfolds him and duct tape on his mouth. Maybe whips him a bit with that flail looking thing she had and possibly some clothes pins on his skin or wherever (I shuddered). They both think it's great and then...what? He goes home? They have sex? She sucks him off? He plows her ass? What? 

What the hell happened? 

As I was finishing up the mowing I knew that unless I spoke to either Elle directly or to Spencer (or Paul or Charlie), I was never going to really know what happened. 

The rest of my Saturday passed without issue; went food shopping, took Amber to the park, watched Sleeping Beauty, and then when she was asleep, I reread all the emails once more on Elle's system. I was not as riled up this time; the shock had already hit me yesterday. As I read through them I felt that sense of betrayal settle over my shoulders like a cloying blanket, damp and sucking, uncomfortable and smelling foul. 

I had a strong suspicion that I was not going to be able to work through this and would need to talk to Elle. 

Sunday morning was a rinse and repeat of Saturday. I did get a visit from Suffolk County Police, Officer Rafferty drove her blue and white onto my driveway and her and her partner came out to see me. "Mr. Masters." 

"Hello Officer Rafferty. Officer Blake," shaking hands with each of them in turn. "What brings you out here today?" I was curious if they were going to want to look around the house again and if so, I was going to have to use my lawyer's name like a shield. Instead, I was surprised when they handed me back Elle's navy blue duffle bag. 

"Just returning Mrs. Masters' possessions." 

"What? Don't you need this for evidence or something?" 

Rafferty smiled. "Mr. Masters, although you were assaulted, it was not with any of these items that you found. Secondly, it is not a crime to own any of these items, including the handcuffs. Admittedly, I don't see the reason for a civilian to own a pair, but my opinion in the matter has no bearing. This was a domestic disturbance call, it's been handled and resolved, and now it is currently closed. You've been watching too many CSI shows, Mr. Masters. We have no reason to keep this bag any longer." 

I held the bag by the handle, feeling a bit foolish, but nodded in thanks. "Ok. Shows what I know." 

"It's ok, Mr. Masters." Both cops nodded their head at me and bid Amber and I a farewell. "Please take care of yourself and if you find yourself in that sort of situation again, do not hesitate this time to call 911." 

"I will, and thanks." I watched them drive away and brought the bag inside. "Now what?" I emptied the contents on the table and took stock of it all. I put both rolls of duct tape in my garage and the cord and clothes pins I brought down to the basement. I dumped the sleeping mask, the flail looking thing, and the handcuffs in the trash. The bandanas I fingered at first but then decided I don't know what they were used for or where they were used so I trashed them as well. I picked up the Neosporin and put it in the bathroom cabinet 

Feeling angered again, I blocked my phone number and called Spencer once more. It rang 5 times like before and then went right to voice mail. Ok, Spence you cock, keep dodging me. I called his phone twice more today, each time it rang until the voice mail picked up and each time I hung up disgusted. 

I didn't feel like cooking so I ordered a pizza. The delivery guy dropped it off and I decided it was a nice enough late afternoon to eat outside. So Amber and I hung out on the stoop, eating dinner and watching the neighbors and birds and squirrels do their thing. Stan came out and wandered across the street, hanging out with the two of us and passing the time. He dug into his pocket and tossed me a fiver before snagging a piece of pizza and joining me for dinner. 

I talked, again, giving him the overview of what was going on, but not any of the depth of what had been happening. He kept up his end of the conversation but I could tell he was getting uncomfortable. "Hey, bud," I told him, "sorry for dumping on you. Looks like this is bumming you out." 

He nodded. "It's alright, Rick. I mean, you've got to live it." 

"Yeah, hell of a life, isn't it?" 

"Maybe not now, but it could be a lot worse. Look at me? Barely a pot to piss in, living in my dead mom's house, the same one I was born in. I get to stay because my sister and brother each have their own home and family and they don't need the money by selling it out. Best job I have is working for my brother and it's not even full time. You've got a degree, a good job, a great kid, a nice house, and maybe your wife is fucked up right now, but she loves you." 

I shook my head. "I don't know about the last part. How the fuck can she love me and entertain even the thought of other guys?" 

"Rick, she didn't do anything with any of them, right?" 

"Can't prove it. This dumb fuck from Elmont isn't answering his phone." 

"Nah, I know you both. She loves you, man. She's also a bit fucked up in the head right now so maybe that fact has gotten muddy and she isn't paying attention to you and Amber, but it's there." 

"What are you, Dear Abby?" I snorted. "I know she loves me, really I do. But I also know that whatever she has been suffering under that I have tried to get her help with has made her incapable of properly showing that love to me AND incapable of recognizing it when it is given to her." I sighed, "I guess I'll have to just wait and see." 

Stan dusted off his hands on his pants and stood up. "I'm sorry for all this, bud. I am. I envy you, though. It'll work out." 

"I hope so." I told him as he left to back across the street. I cleaned up after dinner, wrapped the last of the pizza and put it in the fridge, and then Amber and I finished up our Sunday night before turning in. My dreams were unfocused and disturbing, and when I did wake up the next day to the sound of the blaring clock I felt unfulfilled. 

The week passed with glacial slowness. I joined Kerri for lunch on Tuesday at her request and again on Friday. Both times they were pleasantly surprising and I had to admit, it was nice having a female friend to talk to. 

Ms. Marribaum from CPS contacted me on Wednesday to see if she could come by for a scheduled visit that night. I agreed and it was a bit less friendly than the end of the last one since my mother and mother were not there, but it was successful. I felt stilted and unnatural in the beginning of her visit, worried that she was watching my every move and weighing everything I did and said to Amber, but eventually I did relax and our interaction became smoother. 

"Mr. Masters," she asked towards the end, "I have had conversation with Littletot's Daycare already concerning Amber and I was curious if your daughter was going to continue to go there." 

I had been given a heads up from Kerri about CPS' phone call the day before so I wasn't surprised to hear that part of her question. "Yes, why do you ask? Is there a problem there?" 

"No problem. I know that daycare is expensive and I was curious how this was going to impact you without Mrs. Master's salary?" 

Crap. I knew it was going to be tight very soon without Elle's contribution. I had gotten the last direct deposit from Bill at Monochange for the work I had sent him, but there was going to be nothing more except what I had coming in. I had already given the lawyer his retainer and we had some savings floating about, but living on Long Island with one income was going to stretch my budget. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 06



"I am paid up till the end of the month and I am sure I have enough to cover June as well." 

She tapped her paper. "I am pleased with everything I've heard about you and Amber to date. I'd like to let you know that New York DSS has some programs that will help subsidize your child's care costs." 

"Really?" I was immediately distrustful and would talk with Lenny the next day about this. 

"Yes. Let me gather the paperwork and resources on this and get them processed for you. It should help while CPS has its investigation open." 

I thanked her for her help and sure enough on talking to my lawyer the next day, he told me that it was an option and to take it. He filled me in on what was going on with Elle at this time. She was participating in the program as defined by 5 North and was on a cocktail mix of three types of medication. The understanding was that the psychiatric team wanted to get her to an even mental state and then work on her therapy in order to get her to understand that this was something she would have to take care of every day. 

On Thursday a visit to Jan, Elle's mom, after work reiterated what Lenny had told me. Jan was growing upset about her visits to Huntington. 

"I don't understand how you put up with her, Rick," she said, her face downcast. "She's my daughter, and I love her with all my heart, but she just doesn't seem to see that what she's done is wrong." 

"I know, Jan. I've lived it." 

"She misses you, Rick. You and Amber both. But she keeps blaming you. I know I've tried to make her understand, but she's very set on that." 

"Really, Jan? How is any of this my fault?" 

"I don't know, Rick. It's what she says. I hope that she'll learn the truth in her therapy sessions." 

And then we came to Friday. I had gotten a call from Lenny that morning, asking me to come down to family court by 1 that afternoon. "What's up?" 

"I need you to come down; we have a meeting before the Judge on your wife. Also, the Law Guardian needs to be formally introduced to this case and entered in record." 

"Law Guardian?" 

"Yes," Lenny replied. "I am your lawyer, and I understand that your wife has her own lawyer, retained this week by her mother..." 

I interrupted with a snort, "Really? That's news to me!" 

"However, neither lawyer is allowed to represent your child who is considered a third party in this matter. So a Law Guardian is assigned and her job is to make sure that your daughter's needs are being best met." 

"I thought we did the Orders of Protection? It's under my name, isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is. However, the courts know that you are biased to your own agenda and a Law Guardian's job is to make sure that Amber is properly represented." 

"Damn it, Lenny? Do I have to pay for this too?" 

"Eventually yes. I'm sorry Rick." 

I told Andy that I had to take half a day and left feeling pretty shitty. I had just gotten a raise 2 weeks ago and here I was taking lunches and days off and leaving early. "Can't lose my job," I muttered. I took Amber out of daycare, knowing I wasn't going to drive back here at the end of the day, resolving to take her to court with me. "Is that going to piss them off? I don't know anymore." Kerri could tell I was frustrated and asked me to call her while driving since she would be on lunch herself. I got a longer than acceptable handshake/handhold goodbye and then we were on the road. 

I called Kerri after 12:15 and we talked. I unloaded on her about this new wrinkle with the Law Guardian and she listened intently and without complaint. I had to give her props, she deflected the conversation to more mundane matters and kept me at ease the remainder of my ride to Family Court. I thanked her and told her I'd call soon, wishing her a nice weekend. 

Taking Amber in with the carrier, I wade my way through the metal detector and climbed up to the second floor. There I met Lenny who shook my hand gladly and smiled down at Amber. "Very smart, bringing her with you." 

"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't leave her at daycare and then risk being late to go back and pick her up." 

"No, trust me. This will go well with the Judge and the Law Guardian." He had me take a seat in the lobby and then joined me. "A thing about the Law Guardian; she's a real lawyer. Don't let her fool you. But she is not your friend. She has a direct pipeline from CPS to her ear and many of the CPS head people are not lawyers, they are usually appointed their positions." 

"Is that bad?" 

He shrugged. "It means that it's a popularity or political matter that gets you appointed. Too many of the upper echelons of Child Services are held by the wives of conservative judges or other people who do not have social working, law, or psychology degrees." He looked pointedly at me and then Amber, "This means that the people who are going to have a major impact on what is told to your daughter's Law Guardian are probably the least qualified people to have any say. So if the Law Guardian says or does something that seems just wrong, stay quiet and let me do my job. Okay?" 

I nodded and then joined him by the courtrooms. There were ten of them, large double doors of heavy deep brown wood, five on each side of the hallway. I noted outside of each court stood an officer of some sort in uniform; not a cop, but looked enough like one. There was an alcove by each, room enough for a dozen people to sit at on the hard oaken benches. 

Lenny indicated at which one I was to wait at and told me he'd come out and get me when it time for me to come in. So I leaned back and tried to get comfortable, watching the people who were here at court today. 

Let me tell you, people have no shame anymore. 

This was court, lawyers in suits, officers, judges, baliffs; everyone that worked here looked the part and was properly dressed. I did come from work but I was wearing a button down shirt and a sport jacket. Some of the people here looked like they were going to mall. Open toed sandals, bad tee shirts, ratty sneakers; too many of them looked and dressed like slobs. And the attitudes? Some of them were stomping about with their hands flailing, railing on their cell phone forgetting that everyone could hear them bitch and moan to Jerold about 'doing that shit again' or to Tina about how 'I don't have any more money, the bitch is bleeding me dry'. 

Don't they have any shame? I am sure I saw one person picking her toenails in the next alcove, flicking the bits of nail all over the carpet. What the hell was I doing here? Have I somehow been lumped in the same class as these people because of my situation? I just felt dirty being here so it was with a sense of personal revulsion that I stood up when Lenny poked his head out of the doorway and motioned for me to come in. 

The courtroom was cool, walls painted a faint industrial looking blue. There were five rows of chairs on either side of a central aisle, only a handful of people sitting in them. I was led up to the front where I was instructed to stand to the right, next to Lenny. The judge, a friendly faced older male wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses, sat up there, talking to another uniformed looking person. A stenographer in a maroon jacket smiled at me as she held her hands over the keys of her machine. Next to Lenny was a heavy set blond woman of middle years dressed in a beige looking outfit, her eyes catching mine and crinkling slightly. Was it almost a smile or a scowl? I couldn't tell. 

The judge spoke first, getting all the information he needed from my lawyer and the woman who was identified as Mrs. Margaret Lauer, Amber's Law Guardian. I was asked to verify my name and other personal information when asked, replying with a simple, "Yes, your honor," when prompted. 

Eventually we got to the heart of the matter. Lenny assured the courts that I was complying in everything that was required of me and was making myself and Amber available to CPS whenever needed. He reiterated that there were two orders of protection on place preventing Elle from contacting us or returning to the home, and that she was currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation at this time. 

The Law Guardian confirmed most of what Lenny had said and added that someone from 5 North wanted to contact me about some of my wife's therapy at this time and would I be willing to talk to them. Lenny agreed that I would and that it would be no problem. And the Law Guardian went on. 

"We'd also like a third order of protection, limited in powers, in the child's name against Mr. Masters." 

My head whipped around and my mouth dropped open in shock. Lenny shook his head subtly and pinched the back of my left arm, ordering me to remain silent. 

The judge pretended to not notice my reaction even though I know he saw it. "Why would that be necessary, Mrs. Lauer?" 

"Currently Mr. Masters is acting as primary guardian for the child and has indicated no interest in establishing a formal separation from Mrs. Masters. We feel that in light of this omission that Mr. Masters might be remiss in his duties as primary guardian for the child and place her in a situation once again where she could be exposed to Mrs. Masters' violent outbreaks." 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I couldn't believe the gall of this bitch to do this. I was going to get in trouble because I didn't decide to divorce my wife while she was in the hospital and I didn't know anything yet or what was going on? Was the judge going to accept this? Was this even possible? How could this fucking happen? 

Lenny shook his head. "Mr. Masters has been acting as primary caregiver for the child practically since the child's birth. He takes care of her daily in all manners and matters. He was the originator of the two existing Orders and has proven himself to be an acceptable guardian for the child. As for Mrs. Masters, Mr. Masters is waiting to learn the results of Mrs. Master's therapy and admission with Huntington before making any decisions regard the possible future for their marriage. Regardless of the outcome, however, his primary focus is the health and long-term well-being of the child." I wanted to give Lenny a high-five at that point, feeling so happy to have him as my attorney. 

"Mrs. Lauer," the judge said, shuffling some papers on his desk, "I understand your concern but I am looking at the same documents you have as well as the Suffolk PD report and they all show that Mr. Masters is doing what he needs to do." 

"That's what we are looking for, your honor." She held up a meaty finger, angled in my direction. "We want a limited order in place against Mr. Masters in the child's name that he will take all steps necessary to keep his daughter safe from Mrs. Masters. We want to hold him responsible that he will make this happen until such time that my office and CPS feel that Mrs. Masters is no longer a potential threat." 

The judge nodded his head. "Done. Have it filed with the clerk downstairs." He turned to Lenny. "I have before me a request of contact from Dr. Harding at Huntington to Mr. Masters concerning Mrs. Masters treatment and therapy. Unless you have a problem with this, I am going to allow this dispensation and allow Dr. Harding to call Mr. Masters." 

"We have no problem, your honor." 

"Done. I want to hear about this matter in three weeks after Mrs. Masters has completed her sessions and is able to come here or at least have her own representative come. Dismissed." 

I followed Lenny out of the courtroom where we were joined by Margaret Lauer. We shook hands but I just knew that this woman was not my friend regardless of how 'motherly' she was behaving to Amber. When it was polite enough we bid her farewell and Lenny walked me down the side exit and to the parking lot. 

"You did well enough in there." 

"I'm sorry I almost lost it." 

He smiled. "It's ok. I'd be more worried if you weren't upset." 

"What the hell was the purpose of that?" 

"That was an example of the system putting another yoke on your shoulders. Now, if Elle contacts Amber or you run into her at the mall when you have your kid or anything that involved Elle and Amber contacting one another, YOU get trouble. Not Elle, you." 

"Is that even legal?" 

"Sadly it is. And it's not a nice thing to do, but that's what you get with family court." He placed his hand on my bicep and squeezed. "Remember, Mother Theresa and Team Amber." 

I smiled but felt even more hollow inside as I walked to my car, strapped us both in, and drove away. It felt like there were landmines all around me and each time I got my bearings, one of these agencies or problems or whatever kept giving me shoves in random directions. 

It was during the evening while I was rereading Elle's emails for the umpteenth time that I received a call from Huntington Hospital. "Hello, this is Dr. Harding, may I speak with Rick Masters?" 

"Speaking. Thanks for calling Doctor." 

"Anytime. Thank you for accepting this call." 

I sighed. "What can I do for you?" 

"Well, Mr. Masters, I wanted to first pass on a message to you from Mrs. Masters that she misses both you and your daughter, is sorry for her actions, and loves you both." 

I felt a lump in my throat and a flare of anger in my heart, neither one gaining dominance. "Thank you, Doctor." 

"I have been instructed by Mrs. Masters to answer any questions you might have during this conversation. What I wanted to talk to you about was some of your observations during these last turbulent months." 

For the next 45 minutes I gave Dr. Harding a comprehensive overview of Elle's and my life, trying to be objective and not vilify her; succeeding somewhat. 

"Mr. Masters, I want you to understand that your wife was not in her right mind." 

"I am aware of that, Doctor. But be that as it may, it doesn't give her an excuse to behave the way she did." 

"Mental illness is difficult on the people who have to live with those afflicted. But in this matter, you have to understand that Elle was not behaving that way against you out or malice or spite." 

My brow rose. "So that excuses her actions?" 

"Not at all. It places them in context. Your feelings and reactions are based upon hers. But hers are based upon whatever prodded her to feel that way internally. Sure there was some guidance based upon the people around her, but it was an internal imbalance of her brain chemistry that had more than a minimal amount of control." 

"And the handcuffs? Has she mentioned them?" 

"Yes she did, at length. Her manic state from her post partum induced bi-polar episode is not to blame for her interest in personal restraints and an expanded parameter in her sexuality. It merely facilitated the ease in which she was able to generate such a rapidly defined interest in this aspect and her desire to explore it. Being manic and untreated, she was able to distance herself from your relationship and that of your daughter without understanding that it was wrong." 

"I don't know, Doctor. It just sounds like a series of excuses to allow her to behave like she did." 

"Again, Mr. Masters. Mental issues like these are hardest on the families, not the patient." 

"Will she get better?" 

"There is no getting 'better' from being bi-polar. It's like green eyes - you either have them or you don't. You can wear contacts, be ill, get jaundice - anything else to mask it, but it doesn't negate the fact that you have green eyes." 

He continued, "Your wife has been bi-polar and will be bi-polar her entire life. With the proper medication and therapy it can be regulated and minimized, but it is something that will never go away. During puberty, pregnancy, menopause, and any period where a trauma might occur like the death of a loved one - the bi-polar condition can be triggered and whatever safeguards, medications, and therapy that had been working to date might suddenly be ineffective when placed against a renewed manic state. So to answer your question, yes, she is getting better. But I want to remind you, it will never go away." 

I digested everything Dr. Harding said, trying to see beyond the now. If I stayed with Elle...if...I would have to be on the lookout for this for the rest of my life. If we had another child, it could happen again. When her mother died, it might happen again. When she hit her 50's and menopause, it could very well happen again. 

It wasn't a matter of whether or not I loved her, because I did. I wasn't going to lie to myself or anyone else after 14 years. I did lover her. I also did not like her right now, not in the slightest. It was whether or not I could live with this hanging over our head and potentially being a victim of her imbalance once more. And on that I wasn't sure. 

And it made me feel like shit. 

But there was one piece still missing, and since I couldn't talk to Elle, maybe Dr. Harding could answer my question for me. 

"I think I understand that part, Doc. I don't agree with the 'excuse' part of it, but that's my own problem to deal with." I cleared my throat. "You mentioned that Elle gave you carte blanche to answer any questions I might have, no matter what?"  

"Yes she did." 

"Doctor, did any chance, Elle mention to you her activity with the handcuffs?" 

"Yes she did, along with other light forms of dominance and bondage." 

I swallowed. "I need to know. Did she mention at all if she had a partner in this or was it all self-inflicted?" 

Dr. Harding paused and I was worried that he was not going to tell me before he finally replied, "She did have a regular partner that she participated with, Mr. Masters. I'm sorry to tell you." 

I cried. One single sob tore its way from me before I could clench my teeth and slam my hand over my mouth. I ignored the stinging in my eyes and willed myself to relax. "Thank you." Fuck you, Spencer! Fuck you, you Elmont prick! "Did she have sex with them or was it just dominance?" 

"I gathered that she did not have vaginal intercourse with her partner although there was mutual bondage and light sexual abuse. I also know that it was just one although she did enjoy pretending to be dominant to a number of internet only partners." 

My brain latched on to something he just said. "So, she was not physically engaged with any of the guys she was emailing with?" 

"No, sir. She wasn't." 

"And mutual? She was dominant and dominated?" 

"Yes, sir. She was." 

"She didn't perchance give you a name, did she?" I felt myself growling. 

"No, Mr. Masters, she did not. She feels a certain amount of shame in this matter and we are trying to get her to a healthy place, not retread over broken ground. Suffice it to say that it is a male, someone she knows, and it was mutual and consensual on both their parts. She has never referred to him by name, only as 'him' in our sessions." 

"Thanks Doctor Harding," I choked out. Looking at the clock, I noted it was after 10. "If there's nothing else, it's late and I have a lot to think about." 

"Not a problem, Mr. Masters. I wish you and your daughter the best and thank you for taking my call." 

I hung up and burst from the couch. Who, Elle? Who the fuck was it? Who the fuck was a part of this? The pounding between my ears was deafening. I went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. I plucked out the bottle of Advil and shook two into my hand. And then a third. I popped them into my mouth and dry swallowed them, leaning forward to rest my hands on the edge of the sink and place my forehead on the cool glass of the mirror. 

Slowly I lifted my gaze and started into my own face. I looked terrible, worse than I had ever appeared since this mess started. I closed the Advil bottle and put it back on the shelf next to band-aids and shut the door. 

The band-aids. 

I opened the door. Next to the band aids was the tube of Neosporin that used to be in her bag. 




It's Only Fair Ch. 06



Neosporin and band-aids on her wrists to cover the cuts. Someone else had chained her in the basement. And she did the same to him. Handcuffs and marks. A guy she knows, but Elle doesn't have many friends. But her wrists were red two weeks ago. Red and chaffed looking. Niggling thought...just there...think Rick. Think. 

Stan. Two weeks ago. 

Stan's wrists and his sweatshirt. 

Stan hunched in his shirt like his back was sore. 

Unable to meet my gaze, embarrassed. 

He lives across the street, has sporadic work schedule, can come and go with ease. 

Both of our friends for 6 years. 

It was odd, seeing the emotions flick across my face in the mirror until my lips curled and my brows fell, the depths of my eyes growing stormy and my nose flared. To see my face transform to one of fury. Fury and anger like I had never felt before. 

Holy...Fucking...Shit. 

I went to the front door and tore it open. I heard it bang against the wall inside and I hoped that it didn't wake Amber up, but it didn't stop me as I strode across the street leaning forward like I was travelling into a wind. I didn't notice how clenched my fists were until I raised one to bang on Stan's front door and glimpsed how white and bloodless the fingers were. 

I hammered his front door twice, and then twice more. I heard him inside stumbling about and a muffled, "Hold on a damn second, I'm coming!" before he opened it, momentarily cross. It changed to surprise on seeing me there. "Rick! What's up, bud? You ok?" 

"Stan," my voice was menacing and low. "I'm not ok." 

"What's up, what's going on?" 

"Stan...have you been fucking around with Elle?" 

His eyes opened wide, but his gaze couldn't seem to stay on mine, it kept drifting off center. "Rick, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

I slammed my fist into the doorframe by his head, the wood making a terrible racket and a bolt of pain driving up my arm. Mother fucker, that hurts! "Don't lie to me. Don't you dare fucking lie to me, man. Six years of fucking friendship, you owe me the truth. You owe the fucking truth." God damned, I think I broke my fucking hand. "Have you been fucking around with Elle?" 

He leaned back a step, still unable to keep eye contact with me. Hs stood as if defeated, long and drawn. But still he refused to answer me, as if silence would by him a few more seconds reprieve. 

"ANSWER ME!" I roared, not caring who heard me in the neighborhood. 

"YES!" he roared back, matching my volume with his own. "Yes, you fucking prick. Yes! Is that what you want to hear?!" 

In my mind's eye, I had already cocked my arm back and tightened my fist. I saw myself lunging forward and projecting each and every terrible feeling I had been experiencing into a single point two inches beyond the reach of my hand. A point that would aim at his smug fucking face and unleash the entirety of my unrelenting fury. 

I was going to feel his skin under my throbbing knuckles bend and fold, the bones splinter, and the meat and flesh that makes up his head beyond that deaden and distend beneath my blow. I would then rear back and do it again and again and again and again until I had nothing left and I had vented all of my unfathomable ire upon him. 

I did see my fist form, and I felt my elbow contract backwards, but I heard in my mind Lenny's voice telling me, "You've got to be like Mother Theresa. Team Amber." 

Fuck. Fuck you Stan. Fuck you Lenny. Fuck you Spencer and Kerri and Rafferty and Ma and Ron and Jessica and Shelly and Margaret and everyone! Fuck all of you!! 

I can't hit him. Not because I don't want to. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to punch Stan in the fucking face. That sense of calm, that peace that I had felt before my one other fight at 17 had me in its wings. I was soaring with the eagles. I could not be touched. But, I can't hit him, because if I do, it's assault and I go to jail. CPS comes and takes Amber away. Elle is in 5 North and is unable to care for a child at this time. I get a record and can lose my job. The house gets lost and repossessed. The Law Guardian will get her way and I'll be declared an unfit parent. 

If I hit him, I'll feel momentarily better and Stan will get a little punishment for his part in this; but my life as I know it is over and my daughter will bear the brunt of her father's singular instance of selfishness and stupidity for the remainder of her life. 

Stan, you fucking scumbag, you are not worth it. 

The haze lifted from my vision and forced my fist to relax. "No, Stan. What I wanted to hear was my FUCKING friend wasn't having some bondage assed sex games with my FUCKING wife while I was work!" 

"Shit, Rick. I am so sorry. Really! If it means anything, we never actually fucked. I swear!" 

"No, you filthy scum fuck. It does mean anything! What kind of lowlife pond scum prick are you? Who the fuck does that to another man's wife? To your FUCKING friend's wife?!" 

I stabbed a finger at him, "You've been to my house. Ate at my table. Shared my food. Played with my daughter! Have you no honor?! No shame?! Where's your fucking loyalty?! At what point did you think to yourself that this was a good FUCKING idea?!" 

"Damn it, Rick! I'm sorry, ok!? That what you want to hear?! I'm fucking sorry man!" 

"Ram your apology up your ass you cock sucking shitbag! I hope you fucking die! I hope you get a terrible disease and waste away slowly and fucking die!" 

I turned, storming off his stoop and began to walk away. "Don't ever come near me again, Stan! You ever cross the street and step foot on my property, I'll kill you. You don't look at me, talk to me, you don't even come outside when I'm out here. You're fucking dead to me! You'll get yours, Stan. It'll happen one day. I just hope I'm there to fucking laugh about it!" 

He had a mixture of horror and sadness on his face, still standing in his doorway, staring at me as I ranted and raved and walked away. "Rick..." 

I gave him the finger so hard it made my hand throb. "Fuck you, scumbag!" I stormed back across the street and went inside, slamming my own front door closed. I immediately checked on Amber, seeing her sound asleep in her crib. I grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped my aching hand around it, hoping to stem the swelling. 

To Hell with this. 

I strode away, went into the office and snagged my cell phone. 

I dialed Lenny's number until his voice service picked up. I waited until I was told to leave a message following the tone. 

*BEEP* 

"Lenny Furman. It's Rick Masters. Friday night, about 11. I'm calling to let you know that I'd like to divorce Elle as soon as possible. Call me when you get the chance. Thanks."



It's Only Fair Ch. 07



This is the final chapter of this story and it should bring the story of Rick, Elle, and Amber to the end. I didn't rush it and let it tell its tale at its own speed. It is not for everyone, and that's ok – because I wrote it and I liked it. I'll admit the 1st 2 chapters are a bit clunky and don't flow as nice as I'd like, but that's ok – I felt the rust blow off my skills as I worked the tale along.

The resolution of this tale is based on the real world that we live in, not the fantasy world of "man, if I had unlimited resources, no morals, and no chance of getting in trouble – I can kick ass and take names."

My tale does not fit comfortably into any sub-genre, and that's not a problem.

Thanks to everyone for reading and please vote and comment. 

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. 

Again, no...actually this time, for this last chapter, there are no restrictions. ;). However, this is still as close to reality as I can get it and still tell the story.

Enjoy! -V




I awoke the next day hyper alert and strangely well rested. Being it was Saturday, I knew that I had a number of things to take care of before progressing to the next part of my day. I got Amber up and we took care of the house and laundry before climbing into the car and hitting the local supermarket. I filled the cart with everything we would possibly need and then left. I got a car wash, topped of the tank, and ended up at my bank as our final loaction.

I had to work with my representative until he understood that I wanted to separate my and Elle's name from the accounts. I had to open two new ones in my name alone, in which I transferred all the savings and about half the checking. I cashed out the other CD and had him deposit it into the original accounts and then stripped my name from them. I had printouts and balances of each of them, proof of my actions at this time.

By this time it was already after noon and Amber was getting cranky from all the errands. As I was driving back home Lenny called me. "Rick! I got your message. What happened?"

"Lenny, I finally got to the truth of the matter. Elle was having her bondage activities with another man."

"I am sorry, Rick. I really wished it was otherwise." 

"Me too, Lenny. There are so many layers of betrayal in this that I'm having a rough time coping with it."

"What are your plans for today? I'd recommend taking it easy and doing something low key to give yourself a mental dump."

I nodded, "That's a great idea. Soon. I just left the bank."

"Rick," his voice became stern, "you aren't cleaning out the accounts, are you? If you do, whatever you take will have to be returned at some point and accounted for in the final dissolution decree."

"No, Lenny. I opened two new accounts in my name, took about half the checking, and gave Elle the other CD. I kept the three grand in savings, because truthfully, I'm going to have to pay the Law Guardian with something."

"It sounds like you have a good foundation, but I feel that you are acting on emotion right now and may be jumping the gun."

"I am documenting everything. You know, Lenny. Throughout it all, I still love her. Isn't that a hoot? I'm not looking to screw her over and I won't, but I can't...I just can't anymore. The cruelty, the ambivalence, the deceptions, the violence, and now the betrayal; it's been a terrible burden on me and I can't keep myself or Amber in this mess. I'll be dead at 40 if I don't break away."

"I'm sorry, Rick. Really," He sounded sad. "I've been doing this for over 30 years, Rick. You know, I didn't want to be a lawyer?"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Scouts honor. I wanted to be a sports announcer. I met Phil Rizzuto years ago, Tony Kubek as well."

"Wow."

"But it didn't happen, and I accept that. What I am though is a very good family lawyer, and let me tell you, as your lawyer, a friend, and someone who respects what you've gone through so far – I am so sorry to hear this. I really hoped that you and Elle would beat the odds and thumb your nose at the current establishment."

"It's killing me inside, Lenny. Between the doctor's terrible news last night and the realization that she had been unfaithful to me during this, it's just too much. I can't do it. There has been too much disrespect and hurt and neglect for too long for this to be ignored."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to draw up whatever paperwork you have to and let's file it as soon as possible on Monday."

"No," he said slowly. "I mean, how do you want to proceed? You once indicated that you wanted only the best for Amber and to not cause Elle any undue stress. Are you looking for an amicable divorce or something toxic? Before you answer, I'll proceed however you want, but my advice is to avoid the negative trappings of a cruel separation and try to make it as friendly as possible."

I didn't have to think very long. "Let's go for the friendly divorce. All I care about and want is for Amber to stay with me. She can have whatever she wants; I'll live under a bridge in a box as long as I have custody of my daughter."

"Understood. Just keep that in mind, because this will tax and drain you. Team Amber."

"Team Amber, indeed."

"I'll get started on this. Eventually though, we'll want all her therapy and medical records to be factored into this and I know that whoever she has an attorney will block this. When she gets out, we're going to have you both visit a Forensic Psychologist and use their findings as the cornerstone of the custody agreement."

"Hey, you're the lawyer, I'm just a number pusher." I paused. "Can't we just use her time at 5 North as proof that she shouldn't have custody? I mean, female friendly state or not, that has to count."

"It won't be enough. They'll release her more likely than not, assign a psychologist for her to see and maybe keep her on medication. But once she's out, she is not required to continue to see a psychologist OR take her medication – and her discharge will be held up by her lawyer as 'proof' of her being cured. No, we'll do this and it'll for the issue into the open and have it presented on the floor for the judge during custody."

I was feeling pretty happy at this point, even though I knew this was going to cost me more money. Looking at my daughter in the back seat though, I knew it was money well spent.

We rung off from each other and I finished the drive back home. My gaze flicked to Stan's house as I pulled in the driveway, and I stared at it intently as I parked the car. I noticed his shades move and it brought a sneer to my face. You dishonorable prick, just stay over there.

Once home and we ate, I gave Elle's mom a call. "Hey, Jan."

"Rick!" she sounded worried. "Did that horrible lady come back from CPS?"

"Yeah she did, but it's ok." I sighed. "Jan, I spoke with Dr. Harding at 5 North yesterday and he filled me on Elle's therapy at this time."

"Yes, she's really trying."

"I know, Jan. I know she is. But...some of the things he told me, some of the things that Elle gave him permission to tell me...well, Jan, they are pretty terrible and I don't know how I'm supposed to get over them."

"Oh, Rick. No. Don't tell me."

"Jan, I can't do it. I really can't."

"Rick, please. She needs you."

"I know, Jan. But I can't do it. I called my lawyer and told him I wanted to file for a divorce."

I heard Jan sob on the phone, her voice blubbering as she tried to deal with this. "But what if she gets better, Rick? What if she gets better and you threw her away?"

"I know, Jan. I do. We have a child together, so we'll always be connected. And it's not like I don't still care about her on some level. I don't want to ruin her or her life, but I have to do what's right for Amber and me."

I continued, "And that's the other piece of it. I feel like a failure. Like somehow, I could have done something else, tried something else, who knows. But when I look in the mirror, I feel like a shit. Period."

"Can't you give her another chance? You've been together for so long."

"There is no other chance, Jan. Another chance just isn't an option...and you know what? For the rest of my life, I'll look back at this moment and play Devil's Advocate. What if I gave her another chance? Would things suddenly be better? Would they? There is no way of knowing, Jan. All I can do is do what's right, at this time."

"You won't forget me or cut me out of Amber's life, will you?"

"Not a chance of that, Jan," I smiled. "You are always welcome here and I'll never take that away."

"Thanks, Rick. I'll let Elle know."

"I...don't know if you should. She's in therapy, and I don't know if it'll hurt her. I heard that she has a lawyer?"

"Yeah, some guy the hospital helped her get in touch with. Er...Ken Williams."

"Ok, I would suggest asking him. Lenny will be filing on Monday."

"I will. And take care, Rick."

"You too, Jan."

I hung up, idly looking at my phone. On a lark, I scrolled down to Spencer's number and hit dial. It was as the phone was ringing that it occurred to me I did NOT hit *67 to block my call. Just when I realized that mistake and wanted to hang up, I heard it connect and a voice say, "Hello? Who the hell is this?"

Well, Rick?

I put the phone to my ear and replied in a deep and menacing voice, "My name is Rick Masters. Is this Spencer?"


"Yeah? What you want to know?"

"Spencer. From Elmont. I understand you've been engaging in some online kink with a woman named Lacycuffs?"

"Who the fuck is this? How the fuck do you know that shit?"

"Spencer, I'm only going to ask you one time." The timbre of my voice was so low, I could feel my chest rattle as I spoke, "Did you ever meet up with Lacycuffs?"

"No. Why? She ain't been answering me anymore. Is she ok? Is she dead?"

"No, Spencer; she's not dead." I chuckled a bit to give him a scare. "But I'm sure she wishes she was. You see, Spencer, Lacycuffs...is my GODDAMNED WIFE!!!" I roared into the phone, forgetting that Amber was in the next room.

"Holy...er, shit." Suddenly, Spencer didn't sound as old or as sure of himself as he did at the start of our conversation. "I never did nothing with her except for online, I swear."

I poked my head in the next room, seeing Amber looking for me, I faked a smile and blew my tongue at her; distracting her from my outburst and getting a giggle in return. I slid back into the office and continued to listen to Spencer prattling on nervously trying to set my mind at ease.

"Spencer. Spence. Relax. Relax." I said soothingly, with an exaggerated falseness in my voice. "It's alright. Listen, your days of contacting Lacycuffs...is over? Understand?"

"Yeah. I got it. You don't have to worry about me. I'll never do nothing no more, I swear it!"

"That's good Spencer. Because, you don't want to make me mad and have to drive out to Elmont to find you." I growled, "Do you?"

"N-n-no, Sir. Not at all."

"Good. Then you have a nice day, Spence," and then I hung up feeling elated, my heart pounding in my chest. 

This was an accidental catharsis for me as I sat there, good-old Spencer from Elmont's words bouncing around my mind. Being he was the most possible of the three to actually come out and meet Elle and it never happened beyond online role-playing, that verified what I had heard from Doctor Harding.

I looked around our house for the remainder of the day, poking my nose into long closed boxes or bags stuffed under the bed. I wasn't sure what I was looking for or if I would find anything; but I was hoping to find something, something concrete I could put my hands on. As the hours passed by, interspersed with time spent playing with Amber and getting dinner on the table, I came to the realization that like Elle's current problems, any answers I were looking for were also in her head.

On Sunday I took Amber to see my mother, filling her in on my decision to divorce Elle. A number of comments followed, but were not limited to: "throw the bitch out" "she should fucking die" and "I hope her pussy rots and falls off" .

When she finally wound down and her tirade came to an end, she asked me, "So, Rick, now you gotta pay for the Law Guardian and most likely this Forensic Psychologist thing?"

"Yeah. I understand that I should get a portion of that back from Elle at the end of all things, but being that she's currently in the hospital and not working, it's gonna fall to me to pay."

"I heard that bitch's mom shelled out the retainer for her fucking lawyer."

I nodded, "Jan told me. Elle is supposed to pay her back, there's a bit over five grand in her name in the accounts."

My mother reached behind her and picked up an envelope from the counter, handing it to me. "Well, I don't want anyone to say that I don't support my son who's a good fucking person, while that twat you married gets a hand out and a leg up from everyone who comes in contact with her."

I opened the envelope, shocked. "Ma! Ten grand?" I pulled out the check. "Where did you get this? I can't take this."

She reached across the table and grabbed my free hand, squeezing it as hard as she could. "You listen and you listen to me good. That's from me to you, ok? Don't fucking try to return it and don't you fucking leave it here. You father, god rest his soul, he was a good man and worked hard his whole life. But he didn't have much and most of what he had went to pay off this house and what few bills we had. I do fine, don't worry about me. There's a small pile of savings left over, and fuck me if you don't need some of it now."

"But Ma," my throat felt tight with emotion, "don't you need this?"

She shook her head. "No I don't. I'd rather you spend it and use it while I'm alive than when I'm dead. Capice?"

Nodding once, I put the check back in the envelope and stuffed it in my pocket. "Yeah, Ma. I understand." I leaned forward giving her a hug, our arms quivering we were holding each other so tight.

When I sat back down she had fresh tears running down her face that she wiped away with the back of her arm. "Fucking pansy," she threw my way, gathering herself under control and smiling.

It felt really good to have someone on my side.

Monday morning had Amber and me on our way, the pounding rain making the trip interminably long as we crept our way through the sodden rush hour traffic. When I arrived at daycare and brought Amber into her room, Kerri had a pensive look on her face. "Hey, Mr. Rick," she said morosely.

"Hey Kerri. What's wrong?"

"Mr. Rick, do you think you can go to lunch with me today?"

"Sure. Not a problem." I chuckled, "With all the issues I've been having lately, it's only fair I listen to your problems. 12:15 as usual?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Rick."

On my way out I stopped at Shelly and asked her, "What's wrong with Kerri? She seems miserable."

Shelly looked at me with one eyebrow cocked a look of disbelief on her face. "Really? Mr. Masters, Kerri really likes you; heck most of the girls here do."

"Shelly..."

"Long and short of it, she didn't call you this weekend on the hopes that you would have called her. And you didn't. That's it."

"Really?" I replied with some ire. "That's it? Some high school crap?"

"Mr. Masters, you consider Kerri a friend, yes?"

"Yes."

"You confide in her and she helps you through your issues, yes?"

"Sure."

"And Kerri tells me that you don't have many other people you can call and talk to like you do with her?"

"True."

Shelly smiled, "Then just give her a call. She wants to help you out but doesn't want to be a pain in the ass or crowd you. She's walking a fine line between being your friend, your daughter's teacher, a confidant, and her own feelings for you and doesn't want to step too far over and piss you off."

I held my hands up, "Ok, I got it, I got it. Thanks Shelly."

"No problem, Mr. Masters! So...we'll see you later today a bit after 12?"

I smiled. "I should be here. Bye!"

My Monday morning at work was busy. We had a server issue and I was unable to connect to the time clocks until after 10, which pushed back payroll by an hour. The rest of my morning was spent playing catch up so it was with some relief and anticipation I walked out and went to pick up Kerri for lunch.

We talked. I informed her that I had found out that Elle was screwing around with someone else while I was at work, along with some online role-playing with at least three regular guys she was dominating. Kerri was heartbroken for me and apologized the rest of the time we ate for her insecurities. I reassured her that it was understandable, but to please realize that my days are filled with turmoil and that just because I don't call her, it doesn't mean I don't respect her or thank her for her time and effort. When I dropped her off at the daycare she leaned in and gave me what had turned into our goodbye ritual of a brief hug. Her plush form never failed to bring a blush to my face as she pressed it against me before leaving.

This time though she turned her head at the last moment before getting out and gave me a swift, yet gentle kiss on my right cheek, dangerously close to my mouth. "Goodbye, Mr. Rick!" she said with a saucy smile while I just stared at her dumbfounded. She slid out of the Equinox and walked into the building, her friends and workmates laughing and waving goodbye to me.

So it was confused and perhaps secretly pleased with myself that I came back to work and headed for my office. As I passed Andy's door I could hear him arguing with someone inside and then a voice bark out, "There he is now!"

Storming out of Andy's office came Victor Sykes, Vice President of Operations and Andy's counterpart. Victor was in his mid 40's and had close cropped dark hair, and a pair of thick glasses that made his eyes appear goggle-like. Coupled with his almost permanent 5-o'clock shadow and his penchant for screaming at everyone on the production floor, most people found him to be a little intimidating.

"Where's the prior week numbers?! I have a conference call with Barry this afternoon and once again I don't have them?"

I kept my face neutral as I answered him. "We had a server issue today which pushed everything back."

"Then you should have used the backup server to get the numbers and finished them in time!"

I gritted my teeth. "I couldn't get on to the backup server either, since IT was working on the network. Which includes the back-up server."

"Fucking excuses." He whirled towards Andy, continuing his ranting. "Always a damned excuse with your people Carly."

"Hey, Victor," Andy yelled back, "lay off and let us get back to work. You'll get your numbers well before 4 in time for Barry's phone call."

"Fucking waste of my time I have to come up here. And on top of it all, he saunters in from disappearing for an hour? Disappeared half of Friday. Fucking hell if you think I won't let Barry know about this."

Again, normally everyone lets Victor rant and rave for a while and then ignore him, chuckling at his actions behind his back. But today, after everything I had been dealing with and the shitty weekend I had, I wasn't going to put up with his crap.

"You know what, Andy?" I said, addressing my boss. "I don't need this sort of abuse. I am feeling unappreciated and truthfully all the rain today has made me feel sick." I whirled on Victor. "You're a schmuck, Sykes." His eyes flared at this, and I knew he was about to lambast me for referring to him by his last name but I pressed on, not giving him a chance. "I've been here for about 5 years and not counting holidays I've taken off 3 days. Three. And they were all for the birth of my damned kid."

"I don't work for you, I don't report to you, I don't answer to you. You don't like the speed I'm working? Too damned bad, I'm working as fast as the system allows me to. As for your numbers? When you relied on your own team to put them together you didn't get them until WEDNESDAY afternoon on average. So don't give me any shit."




It's Only Fair Ch. 07



Victor pointed his finger at me. "You mouthy bastard. Your time here is numbered, buddy-boy. This crappy attitude of yours is what must had earned you that black eye you had. Someone probably put you in your place."

I turned to Andy, barely able to hold my anger in check. "Bang me out sick for the rest of the day, Boss." I stormed off to my office and grabbed my briefcase.

"Victor, you're such a pompous ass!" Andy pushed past the VP and stopped me just before I left. "You go home, and don't worry about this, Ok? I'll talk to Barry. You're my guy."

"Thanks boss." I gave Victor a cold glare and then marched out of the building, his voice and Andy's melding together as the two of them fought on.

I hit the parking lot and just sat in my car, head back and staring at ceiling. Just fucking great, Rick. Might as well now have a shitty time at work to go along with your shitty home life, shitty marriage, and shitty personal life. I started the car and put it in gear, driving slowly to the daycare.

Kerri was very surprised to see me so soon and grew worried after I told her what happened at work.

"Damn, Mr. Rick. It's my fault, isn't it? For making you take so many lunches?"

I shook my head, picking Amber up from her nap and resting her head on my shoulder. "No, Kerri. Victor and Andy have been fighting for years. This is just the latest and truthfully, I wasn't going to take it." I clenched my fist. "I want to strike back at something, somehow. But there isn't anything for me to hit back at. I feel so ineffective, just a loser."

"You are far from a loser, Mr. Rick. No one I know thinks you are and your daughter, even though she can't understand it yet, she could not have a better father than you." She smiled up at me, cheeks dimpling, "So you just shake that and go home. It will work out, you'll see."

I thanked her and wound my way home, the rain a perfect outward expression of how I felt inside. Once home, I changed into a pair of shorts and tee and took advantage of this time to really just play with Amber. Horsey-rides, Airplane, blocks, peek-a-boo; just a perfect stay inside mind dump of an afternoon. Each time I felt myself mulling over my predicament or catching myself staring out the front window to the house across the street I gave myself a little admonishment and refocused my time with my daughter.

Around 5 when I was contemplating what to start making for dinner, my phone rang with a California area code on it. "Fuck me," I muttered, "Barry." I cleared my throat and steadied myself before connecting. "Hello Mr. Dunwright," I said clearly and with confidence.

"Rick. I told you to call me Barry." Barry was in his early 70's but still had no interest in retiring. His daughter had been working with the company for twenty years and when he finally decided to stop working, it was well established that she was going to take over, but for now, all major and a number of mid-level decisions went through him. "I heard you had a conflict with Victor today."

"Yes, Barry. And I want to apologize for my actions."

He chuckled. "Don't bother. I heard from Andy that he was being an ass. Truth is Victor is pissed and looking for any reason to cast doubts on you. He really wanted me to hire his nephew and give the kid an analyst job at $40k." He laughed again. "I told him I would think about it, but he took it as a yes."

"Victor's a great production man. When you have over 120 employees you have to oversee and are on constant daily quotas, you need someone like him running it. Where he lacks though is interfacing with the office but it's obvious that this isn't a surprise to anyone."

Barry continued, "Actually, Rick, I wanted to talk to you about a call I received last week. From Child Protective Services?"

Ah, crap. "Really? I wasn't aware they were going to call."

"Tell me what's going on, Rick."

I gave Barry a very watery version of my tale, light on details but heavy on the gravity of it. "And unfortunately, Barry, this means that sometimes I'll be called away to court, or meetings with CPS, or who knows what."

"Rick, you're a great employee and have a pretty exemplary record, so don't worry. You take care of your family and we'll work around some of these issues unless they become insurmountable." I heard him hum into the phone as if thinking. "Rick, it's hard being a single parent. My sister did it after my brother passed away. My nephew and niece were eleven and eight at the time. It was years ago, but I remember how hard it was on her."

I said nothing.

After a long enough pause, Barry continued, "I expect to hear you've come to work tomorrow."

"I will, sir. And thanks."

"Have a good night, Masters."

I hung up and sighed. Yes it was nice of Barry to call and smooth things out, but I was disturbed that CPS was now in touch with the owner of the company I worked for. What were they looking for? Work history? Discipline issues? What was their angle? I was very distrustful of them and the situation; I only wanted them to leave me alone.

I returned to work the next day, Andy giving me numerous thumbs up and more of his shadow boxing thrusts with his meaty arms whenever I walked by. "Knock 'em dead, Knock 'em dead" he said, punching the air when he could. I took it good naturedly; apparently the majority of the office had heard about Victor's ill-timed attempt to push his weight around and my walking out yesterday. I didn't see him at all, but I did get an email thanking me for the production numbers after I sent them.

By Wednesday Lenny had let me know that the divorce paperwork had been delivered to Elle's lawyer and that she had been informed of my actions. Being there was an Order of Protection in place against Elle, she was going to live with her mother in Lindenhurst upon her anticipated discharge from Huntington. Through a number of phone calls with Jan I promised that I would have Elle's belongings brought there before she was released.

So each night after work and after Amber went to sleep, I went through the house with empty boxes and plastic bags and carefully packed up Elle's belongings for her. Clothes, music, makeup, jewelry, her computer, office supplies, chair, lamp, desk; I even disconnected the spare TV from the office and her coffee maker from the kitchen.

I know that my mother thought I was being a chump in giving all this to Elle but Lenny had given me some terrific advice concerning the division of property during these sorts of things. "Next to custody, the division of assets is the next most contentious part of the divorce. She wants the coffee table? Let her have it! Go buy another. She wants the dishes? Let her have them! Go buy new ones. The person who 'wins' in a divorce is the one who doesn't let the other person drive them crazy. She will want to fight with you over the stupidest thing; and that's what you have to remember – they are just things. As long as it's not a personal item or an heirloom, just let her have it. You'll be happier without the stress and she'll have her arguments short circuited."

I was calmer as the days passed; slowly as time went on the stress Amber and I had been living under while Elle was here faded. The only time my ire flared to life was when I saw Stan across the street. Sometimes he would stop whatever he was doing and stare at my property, as if he was trying to build the courage to come over and talk to me. But thankfully he never did, because I didn't know if I would have the sense of self to not lash out if faced with him again.

Kerri and I continued to go to lunch, two or three times a week. I called her on the weekends and she did the same to me. Our conversations weren't long, maybe 15 or 20 minutes tops. It was nice having a friend who was a woman, but I never led her on nor did I ever follow up on some of her less than subtle flirting.

Two days before Elle was to be released, Lenny gave me a call with a request from Dr. Harding. It seems that the doctor felt that Elle had reached a state of equilibrium and wanted to talk with me while the doctor was present. Did I want to possibly speak with her and if so, Elle's lawyer and Lenny would clear it with the courts for another dispensation. I told him yes and he called me later to say that I should expect a call 8:30 that night.

I tried to make it through the rest of the day but my mind was a mess. All my insecurities, all my worries, all the concerns and fears I had been having and wrestling with; just the thought of talking with Elle was like ripping a scab off – they were open and bleeding and raw. I made sure that Amber was in bed enough time before 8:30 so I would not be interrupted. I sat in the office, staring at the clean square of the rug where her desk sat only a few days ago. The power strip was still on the floor, a layer of grey dust outlining the empty holes where the plugs once were. The symbolism not lost on me as it felt that way in my heart with the thought of Elle missing from my life.

*Ring*

Show time, Rick.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Masters? This is Doctor Harding from Huntington Hospital. Thank you for taking this call."

"Any time, Doctor."

"I have Mrs. Masters here and we have reached a point in her therapy that she would like to address you directly. I will be handing the phone over to her but I will still be in the room. You will have privacy to speak to one another and I will monitor only Elle's side of the conversation. Do you understand?

"Yes, I do."

"Excellent. Here's Mrs. Masters."

I heard the sound of the phone rustling and my mouth suddenly went dry. My vision narrowed down to a small point on the wall as I could feel Elle's presence on the other side of the phone. After was felt like a terrible length of time, I heard her voice ask, "Rick?"

She sounded hoarse like she had been either using her voice too much or not enough. "Yes, Elle. I'm here."

"Hey."

Ok, not the most impressive on conversational starts, but it was all we had at this time. "I heard you're being released."

"Yeah, two days from now."

"That's good."

"It is. I can't wait. Mom is going to let me stay with her."

There was something else about her voice that was driving me crazy as I tried to understand it. She sounded flat; like she was dull or stoned or something. Normally when she talked it was listening to a mountain range with all the highs and lows and everything in between. But this, it was Elle on the phone, but at the same token it also wasn't. It sounded as if the life had been pressed from her. She didn't sound down or depressed or sad – she just sounded flat. It was eerie.

"I've been bringing all your stuff over there. I'm hoping to bring your car there tomorrow night."

"Oh, that's nice, Rick. But I'm not going to be driving for a while. The medication they want me to be on for now make me unable to drive."

"Oh. Well, It'll be there for you anyway."

"That's nice, Rick." She paused. "How's Amber? I miss her."

"She's doing well. Real well."

"That's great. You're a good dad. And how are you?"

I sighed. "Not as good, Elle. To be honest. But I'm doing what I have to."

"I am sorry, Rick." It was odd, she sounded apologetic and dull at the same time. Just talking to her was raising the hackles on the back of my neck. "I wanted to tell you that I was wrong, Rick."

"Wrong, Elle?"

"Yes. For a lot of things. There are so many to be sorry for."

My throat was tight and I could feel tears rise unbidden. "It's ok, Elle."

"No it isn't, Rick. I should never have hit you. Ever. You've never raised a hand to me and I hit you. I should also never have driven you to call the police; that was wrong too. I should also never have lied to you that I was working during the day, because I wasn't. You put up with me during the worst time of life and got nothing in return for it except my anger and abuse."

She continued. "The medication they have me on is working very well. I have a good grip on things and my psychologist is helping me to understand that my problem isn't going to go away. I'll have to be vigilant. I can see that now and I don't want to go back to that kind of person I was before."

"That's great, Elle. I'm so happy for you. So proud."

"So, being that I am working on my side of the equation, I was wondering if I could ask you to work on yours? Is there any chance that you can hold off on this divorce until I am better? I don't want to face this without you, Rick. Can't you wait 6 months until we see that my disorder is under control?"

It's odd, but a month ago I would have said 'yes' without pausing even after getting hit; typical battered spouse. Three weeks ago I would have agreed even after CPS entered my life; making excuses. But for the last two plus weeks I had also learned of her betrayal of the exclusivity of our marital vows...and the betrayal of my neighbor and friend. And she did it with forethought and planning and cunning and in such a way that excluded me and Amber from her life.

True, there was no vaginal intercourse, but the two of them did share an intimacy that was on the same level of actual sex and they did so as my expense.

I also noted that although she listed her apologia, she neglected to bring that specific matter up and it's absence at this time was a glaring omission in her spiel.

"Elle."

"Yes?"

Sigh. "No."

"Oh."

I could tell she was crying, and it broke my heart. "Now I'm sorry, Elle."

"Oh."

"It's not what I wanted, Elle. I isn't. But things aren't so easy and although I love you, damn you have no idea how much I do, although I do, I have to do what's right for Amber and I now. And that means I...well, I just can't."

"That's...really a shame, Rick. I hope you know what you're doing."

"I think so, Elle." I gathered my thoughts. "Elle, can you answer a question for me?"

"I'll try."

"Why? I mean, why the handcuffs and tape and flogger? And why not with me?"

"Oh! You found all that?"

"Yes, weeks ago."

She took a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know, I just wanted to try it."

"That's it? Where did you even hear about that stuff?"

"I had a lot of time and didn't want to work that much during the day. So I took to watching TruTV. Court cases, detective shows, that sort of stuff. On a number of them they discussed victims of sexual games that had gone wrong. Bondage and handcuffs and ropes. I guess it hit me at a time when I was feeling manic and it sort of took over my thoughts."

"Again, Elle. Why not talk to me?"

"I just didn't. It didn't seem like something I wanted to do with my daughter's father. I didn't want her dad to be a part of that culture."

"And how about Amber's mom?" I asked growing cross. "That's ok?"

"I didn't think of myself as Amber's mom. I was pretty much a walking train wreck at this time."

"Elle. How did...how did Stan get involved in this?"

"He asked."

I gulped. "What?"

"He asked. He was off work in November, his brother had no work for him, so he would come over often to chat. And I told him about it when he noticed I was dominating a few people I had met online. And then he asked if he could participate, and I thought, why not?" She gave a small sob. "You're mad, aren't you?"

Mad didn't begin to identify how I felt. The betrayal I had faced from both of them roared up with renewed life. But this time, it was Stan's insincerity that took the higher plane. He wasn't roped in, he wasn't coerced, he wasn't enticed. He...just...fucking...asked.

He asked.

"Elle," I croaked out. "I cannot begin to tell you how I feel. Don't you have any shame? Any remorse for what you've done?"

"I'm so sorry, Rick."

"You've killed me, Elle. You and that...that...that walking piece of shit have killed me. I'll never trust you again. Neither one of you. Do you realize what you've done? Do you have any inkling what you did to me?"

"I know. I know. It's not fair. It's not."

"Fair! HAHAHAHAHHA!! Fair! HAHAHAHAH!" I laughed out loud, tears running down my cheeks. "No, Elle. It's not fucking fair!"

"He called my mom to see if he could visit me here and I told her that I didn't want to see anyone else. I'll never talk to him again, Rick. Never. I didn't tell my mom why, no one has to know why. I'll never talk to him again, Rick. I swear. Just please...please don't leave me. Don't leave me, Rick. Please."

"No, Elle. It's too late."

Her crying became muted and then I heard Dr. Harding get on the phone. "I want to thank you, Mr. Masters for taking this call. I know it was traumatic for both of you, but at this time I believe we have exhausted any of the positive results we might get from such a dialog and should terminate it at this time."

I wiped my eyes dry with the back of my hand. "Thank you, Doctor. I agree."

"Mrs. Masters will be released in two days into the custody of her mother. I don't believe you and I will have the pleasure of conversing again; so I want to wish you only the best Mr. Masters. The best to you and your daughter."

"Thank you again, Doctor."

We hung up with one another and I walked into the living room where I stood at the window and looked across the street.

Stan.

Hate. Such hate. It filled my core like molten fire, burning the sides of my bones, searing my heart, my stomach, my lungs. I could not remember ever feeling this hate, this loathing. The backs of my eyes were awash in acidic bile. The skin of my hands was like poisoned nettles.

I wanted nothing of Elle's here. Nothing at all. I called Jan and asked her if she'd be home in the morning.

"Of course, Rick. Why, what's up? Don't you have work?"

"Yeah, I do. But I wanted to drop off Elle's car for her, even though I understand she not allowed to drive."

"That's so sweet of you. What do you want to do? Leave it here and I can drive you back home?"

"That would be terrific, Jan."

"You know, Rick. I have one better for you. Why don't you leave Amber with me all day and you can take my car to work. I really need an oil change and you know I don't like going." Jan had gotten ripped off at the local Jiffy Lube a few years earlier. Ever since then, she often leaned on Elle or I when it came time for her car's regular maintenance.

She continued, "I'll call your mom up and the three of us can spend the afternoon with Amber. Maybe you'll stay for dinner? Then afterwards she can take you and Amber home. How's that sound?"

I tried to laugh, but there was too much hostility towards Stan still rummaging around in my head; it came out as a low chuckle instead. "Sounds like you have it all planned out. Give my mother a call and set it up. I'll see you in the morning." I hung up, my eyes still locked at the other home across the street.

Stan.

I went to sleep with the hatred coiled around my midsection like a python, squeezing me in its tendrils, swallowing me in its maw.

The next day I loaded the last of Elle's stuff into her Cavalier. Amber and I then drove to Jan's house where I dropped the car, keys, and my daughter off to her grandmother's enthusiastic embrace. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished me a safe ride, the two of them waving goodbye as I drove off to work.

Jan's car was a 2006, off brown Toyota Camry that had seen better days. Jan was not the best of drivers so her car had dozens of little dings and scratches all over it from shopping carts, other cars, even one time she parked too close to a telephone pole and dented her door getting out. But it was reliable and she had owned it for eight years even though it looked like crap.

I got to work and tried to lose myself in the minutia of my day but it was maddeningly impossible. Everything reminded me of Stan's betrayal. I couldn't escape it. The rancor I felt would not let up, would not release me. I was trapped in a never ending circle of remembrance and hostility.




It's Only Fair Ch. 07



My phone rang at 10:30 and I noted it said Kerri H. "Hey, Kerri."

"Hey, Rick!" came her bubbling reply. "I didn't see you or Pumpkin this morning. Is everything ok?"

"Yeah. She's with her grandmas today."

"Aww. So does that mean I don't get to have lunch with you?" she asked playfully.

"You know what? Lunch sounds good. My mind is pretty fried right not and I feel like I'm about to pop."

"Well, don't pop unless I'm there!" she laughed.

"Fine, fine," I replied with a faint easing of the pounding in my temples. "I'll see you regular time?"

"With bells on!"

I reached into my desk drawer and took out a bottle of aspirin, popping two of them. Rick, you've got to let this go. It's not healthy. I thumbed down the contacts until I got to Lenny and called him next.

I was surprised to hear him answer. "Lenny Furman."

"Lenny, Rick Masters. Am I interrupting anything?"

"Rick! No, not at all. I heard from Huntington that the phone call was marginally successful last night."

"I don't know. We had one, but she's just not all there. And she wanted me to hold off on the divorce."

"And? Is that what this call is about?"

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it. "No, Lenny. I love her, but the betrayal is eating me alive. I'll never fully trust her again. Coupled with the abuse, the uncertainty regarding her bi-polar condition, and truthfully, it just isn't good in the long run for Amber, I can't do it."

"No one thinks less of you for this, Rick."

"Except myself." I regrouped my thoughts and continued. "The Forensic Psychologist, can we get that scheduled? I really want to put this behind me as fast as possible and move on with my life."

"I already called them. Cambell and Associates is expecting you to come in in a week and a half on the 14th. They'll want to meet you once or twice, Elle once or twice, you with Amber, and Elle with Amber. They'll work around your work schedule and the meetings will be in the evening."

"Anything I should do to prepare?"

"All I can tell you is to be honest and consistent. Be yourself. And if you get a chance, see if you can get some family and friends to write some character references for you."

"Will do. I'll get right on it."

"Talk to you soon, Rick."

At just after 12 I got up from my desk and wandered my way out to Jan's car, Linda giving me a friendly wave from the main desk as I walked out. No one made any comments about the quantity of lunch's I was taking since my blow up with Victor. Instead, what I got was a series of well wishes and friendly reassurances as I walked by. Did CPS also get in touch with my peers as well? Did Barry say something to anyone? I know I had a number of phone calls over the last month with god knows how many agencies, lawyer's calls, and case workers and too many times I didn't get to shut my door. It was more than possible there could have been enough eavesdropping for my workmates to get the gist of what I was going through.

For some reason, their reassurance and pity only seemed to make me feel even worse.

Kerri came out of the daycare after I tooted the horn and waved from the unfamiliar car. She waved to the other teachers and came bounding out, sauntering up to the Camry. "Hey, Rick!" she said with a smile, leaning over to give me a brief hug. "Wow, so this car, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know." I put it in drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

"No, I get it. You figured you wanted to look the part of a tired old man so nothing says 'Hey world, I have no identity or appeal – check out my brown box-car!'"

"I'll have you know Mrs. Smartypants," I replied with a tired grin, "it's Amber's grandmother's car and I'm taking it in for some maintenance after work."

I drove to Wendy's where we went through the drive-thru and I ordered lunch for us; familiar enough with what Kerri liked that I didn't need to ask her what she wanted. She smiled knowingly when I did so, keeping up the chatter in the car as we pulled up and got our food. The parking lot was pretty packed today and I didn't see an easy spot for us to pull in to. "Want to go in and eat?"

She pursed her lips, looking at me sideways, noting the stiffness to my spine and the set of my jaw. "No, take a right out of the lot and let's go to the ball field to eat."

We drove away for another mile until I arrived at the field and pulled in to the lot. The town maintained these two baseball fields and the adjoining fifty or so car parking lot. During the summer and fall months and after school it was packed with league games and little league; the cars often lining the street on both sides of the full parking lot at least thirty deep. But during the working day it was typically empty except for the odd town vehicle or persons looking to pull over and text.

I eased in to the lot and parked the car near the wooded section by the front, killing the ignition after I rolled the windows down. "Good idea, Kerri."

"I have lots of them," she said jauntily. As she doled out the food she asked, "Ok, Rick. I know you pretty damned well enough now. What's going on?"

In between french-fries I told her about Elle's call last night and the betrayal I had felt from her. I told her about Stan and how he had willingly chosen to do what he did. I told her about the Forensic Psychologist and the fact that Elle was begging me to forgive her and drop the divorce. But mostly I told her how pent up and angry I felt.

"Rick, you've got to let it go."

"I'm trying Kerri. I really am. But every time I get a handle on it something else comes along and knocks my pile of bricks down. It's getting harder and harder to put a lid on it."

She placed the garbage bag of food on the dashboard and leaned over, resting her head on my shoulder and giving me a sideways hug. "Rick. This isn't healthy. You have to talk to someone."

"I know," I said, leaning back in my seat and tilting my head up. "And I will, but not now. I don't have the time to sit with a therapist or a counselor or whatever. I barely have time to take care of Amber and me each night. I go to bed tired, I wake up exhausted, I have all this unrequited rage inside of me, my head feels like it's going to explode, I have every agency in the world knocking on my door and they all are looking for an excuse to bleed me dry or screw us up."

I noticed at this point that Kerri had one arm around my right, and was tracing the inside of my bicep with the fingers of her other. "Um, Kerri. What are you doing?" She didn't say anything, she just kept running her fingers across my skin, causing goose bumps to form as she went up and down and around with the tips of her nails. I started to feel uncomfortable and tensed my arm to pull it free when she held on tighter and shifted herself over to look up at me.

"Rick. You are under a lot of stress. And you don't deserve it. You're a good man, a great father, and a wonderful person. I know enough that you were a caring husband and for the better part of two years you tried to keep it all together." She reached her hand down and laced her fingers with mine; giving my hand a tight squeeze.

"Thanks, Kerri. But I don't think..."

"Rick, I want to help you. Please won't you let me help you?" She released my hand and traced her fingers across my thigh, lightly brushing the front of my pants and my rapidly engorging cock.

"Whoa!" I said, grabbing her wrist and twisting her away. "Whoa, Kerri. I mean. Wow. I'm flattered, really, I am. But this..."

She leaned back in to me, her weight and my reluctance forcing me back against the corner of the seat and the door, her one arm clutching my elbow, her other trapped in my own grip and held just far enough away from my bulging pants. "It's ok. I want this. I do."

"Kerri. This isn't a good time right now."

She hunched one leg under the other and turned her body towards me. The v-neck of her shirt gaped open and I looked. God damn, did I look. So full and young and pendulous, clad in a light purple bra, her cleavage a shadowy dark V staring at me. I felt a rush of heat flow through my loins and I tore my gaze away. The seatbelt was digging onto my left shoulder and I felt trapped, cursing the fact that I didn't unclick it when we pulled up here.

"Mr. Rick...Rick," her voice was husky with want, her eyes heavy with need.

I know I could push her away, but I was actually afraid of touching her at this time. All that hatred and anger was boiling inside of me, mixing now with this fear and a new sensation. Desire. Desire and shame. "Kerri, I'm eleven years older than you."

"I don't care." She leaned closer to me, her face inching it way towards mine. "I want to do this for you."

I let go of her hand and placed it on her shoulder, holding her at bay, her head less than a foot from mine. She dropped her hand to steady herself, once more seeking out my crotch where she gave me a languorous squeeze. My body jerked in response and the edge of my vision dulled to sparks and shadows. "Kerri," I said with weakening resolve, my arm trembling from holding her in place. "Don't...I can't. Married..." I said, my heart racing and my skin flushed, not believing the tone of my own denials even as I said them.

Her fingers found the button of my pants and she pulled it to the side, opening my flap in a single motion. "You are done with that. Done. It's over except the paperwork. Let me, Rick. Let me do this for you, just once. I'll never ask again. Just once." She pulled down my fly and I let her. Oh god help me, I let this girl, a decade younger than me, my daughter's teacher, I let her do it. The fury I had been feeling was being shoved to the side, it's pent up energy flowing sideways and bolstering the inferno that was the heat of my want.

She stuck her hand to the side of my underwear, slithered her fingers under the cotton hem, and wrapped her fingers against the hot fleshy shaft of my manhood.

"Oh, god," I moaned as I relaxed my arm against her shoulder and she pressed her way forward, her lips connecting with mine.

"Rick," she breathed into my mouth as she kissed me, the pouty softness of her lips teasing and caressing my own. Her lipstick was heavy and pink, it tasted delicious on my tongue as it reached out towards her own. I could feel the saliva coated muscle of her ardor as she slithered it back and forth against my own, our mouths melding as one as we shared our passion. Her left hand reached behind my neck, holding my head in place as she proceeded to ream the insides of my mouth, while her right hand had finagled my cock free of my pants and was jacking it slowly up and down with exquisite attention.

I kissed her back, eyes closed and concentrating only on the sensations of our mouths where they connected, and the skin of my cock where she hotly massaged it. I couldn't do this. I could. It wasn't me doing it. I sure as hell wasn't stopping her. Why aren't you stopping her, Rick? Don't you dare stop her.

She twisted as she continued to kiss me, spanning the distance across the center console and resting her weight on my thighs. Half lying on my lap she let go of my dick long enough to grab my free hand and bring it up to her breast before going back to jerk me off some more. She was a big girl, and her breast beneath my hand lent proof to this. I was unable to hold it completely in my one hand and when I squeezed it slightly, my fingers pressed in to her tit-flesh with wonderful pliability; causing her to shudder and moan deeply into my mouth.

We kissed and held each other not for very long, but to my dizzying senses it felt like hours. She pulled away from me, a line of spittle joining the two of us together from my mouth to her hers. "I have been waiting for this moment for a long time, Rick."

"Kerri. We shouldn't be doing this." It was so hard to concentrate with her beautiful face framed with her touseled auburn hair, the pebble-like firmness of her nipple like a poison stinger against my palm, and her fingers dancing up and down my cock, playing me like a virtuoso.

"You need this, Rick. I need this. How long has it been? A month? Longer? It's been five months for me." She jerked me faster, causing me to moan uncontrollably. "Except this time I'm doing it with someone I like, I respect, and I want to be with...so badly." She leaned in again, her weight settling on my lap as she fastened her lips to my own.

As I felt her hungrily munch on my tongue and run the tip of her own across the inside of my lips and across my teeth, I grew bolder and slid my hand inside the open V-neck of her shirt; worming my fingers into the cup of her barely capable bra.

Ah, yes. She jumped as I tweaked her nipple and then started breathing faster as I pressed and pulled and prodded her bare breast, the flesh distending and flowing around my hand with scrumptious elasticity. She quivered and squeaked noises out of her nose, renewing her assault on my mouth with a determination.

She slowed down her manipulation of my dick, her movements becoming erratic, and then stopped altogether. "Ri-ick," she gasped, pulling away and her head looking down. "Oh, Rick. I've got to taste you."

Taste me?

She pulled my hand out of her shirt, reached down to my left and yanked up the seat release. I fell back as the seat reclined until I was in a lying down position. She then pulled my slacks a little further away from my crotch and pointed the head of my dick towards her waiting lips.

"Kerri..."

That was all I got out before she lowered her head and I watched with stupefied fascination as the crown of my dick disappeared between her thick pink lips.

Oh, fucking sweet god. Oh, shit.

I could feel her tongue running across the underside of my head and then a sickening suction as she pulled more of my manhood into her mouth, her lips working their way halfway down my shaft. She pulled back, swirled her tongue again, and plunged down once more; sucking deeply as she did so.

Oh, god. Oh, god. "Kerri," I gasped. This young woman was on my lap in my mother's car and was giving me a blowjob unlike anything I had experienced recently. "Kerri!"

She smiled. This woman actually fucking smiled around my dick that she was facially impaling herself on repeatedly. I was agog as she worked her way across the head, shaft, and underside of my cock; leaving no space untouched, unloved, unfulfilled. She worked up so much saliva that as it ran down the side of my dick, she literally slurped it back up noisily, her lips vibrating dangerously against my manhood.

It had been so long. So long. I wasn't going to be able to hold back. This was wrong, and yet so right. I could still feel the shame and guilt in the back of my head but they were so small and ineffective, I envisioned them actually rooting for this deliciously pleasurable act that Kerri was doing for me.

"You have...you have to stop, Kerri." I could feel the prickling of small electric charges in my balls, gathering in strength as my climax approached with terrible swiftness. "Kerri. Honey. You have to stop, I'm close."

She shook her head imperceptibly and redoubled her efforts. Her head slid back and forth across my shaft with almost punishingly force. Her cheeks were hollowed out as she sucked and swallowed and kept up the vacuum seal on the sides of my engorged member. Her one hand was gripping my thigh, while her other sought out my own, wrapping her fingers around mine and hanging on. As much as I wanted this; as much as my release was coming and would feel so wonderful to me, it occurred to me that this too Kerri wanted. She wanted to feel me come, she wanted to feel me want her, she wanted to hold my hand and do this for me because she wanted to. She wanted.

And I wanted.

And as I felt my balls tighten and the fires in my loins boil over, I gave in to her want and my want and for the first time in a long time...

I just

Let

Go.

Contact.

"KERRI!" I gasped as my cum raced up my shaft like a thousand prickling needles and exploded between her suctioning lips. She groaned aloud as my salty seed tore from my cock and filled the hot pistoning confines of her mouth. I could feel her tongue press my dick against her palette as she swallowed, grabbing a quick breath and then mashing her face into my crotch to gather the next blast.

"Kerri! Arrgh!!" I couldn't help myself, my leg was spasming as she licked and swallowed and devoured my hyper-sensitive manhood. She was gasping and moaning and making love to my dick with her mouth and hands and it occurred to me that she was having a climax herself. Holy crap, she came from sucking my cock! This caused a final burst of semen to race from my wilting dick into her waiting and hungry mouth.

As I felt the stress and worry and concern flow out of my body, my spine relaxing and my body collapsing into the chair, Kerri continued her ministrations on my shaft, sucking softer now and using her tongue to clean up my member hidden behind the portal of her pouting lips. She continued to moan as she came down from her own euphoric high and eventually gasped aloud and released me. The cool air on my saliva soaked cock brought a shiver down my spine as I tried to get my jumbled thoughts under control.

"Kerri," I began but she shushed me, hugging me tighter.

She kissed my shaft and lay her head in my lap once more. "Don't say anything, Rick. Don't tell me that it was wrong."

I shook my head. "Kerri, I'll debate that at another time, but let me tell you, wrong or not, that was the most wonderful thing that anyone has done for me in a long time."

"I wanted that for so long. And you have been such a good dad and friend. I wanted to do that for you."

"I know, Kerri." I sighed. "I'll treasure this moment forever."

Tears came to her eyes and I saw her lick her lips, her pink lipstick long worn off. "Me too. I won't push you, Rick. I won't. But I would love to do this again with you."

"Kerri, I don't..."

"Not now. I know that. It's not the right time. But one day, I'd like to. Again."

I looked down at her, her doe-like eyes, messy hair, her lips reddened and pursed together. She lounged across the car, her wide hips filling the space between the seats, her legs folded against one another on her chair. She was so young, and under normal circumstances, I would never have allowed things to get to this stage. I had been hit on before by other women over the years and it was easy enough to deflect their attention subtly like a gentleman, or kindly decline with a flash of my wedding ring or a simple 'no thanks, but wow!' if need be.

But here I was, divorcing my wife, beset on all sides, victim of abuse and betrayal on multiple fronts, and fighting everything arranged against me to keep the powers that be away from my daughter. And this girl, 23 years old, was lying on my body, naked dick inches from her lips, had just given me a blowjob unlike anything I had gotten for years, and I know she was doing all she could to NOT tell me that she loved me.

I felt dirty. Dirty because I didn't love Kerri. I liked her, she was a good friend and easy to talk to, I could trust her with my daughter, and I did find her sexually exciting. But that was one of the differences between a 34 year old soon to be divorced man, father of 1, and a 23 year old girl with daddy issues. She was looking for love, and I was not. I don't know when I would be, but it wouldn't be for some time. And I didn't have the heart to tell her that the odds were not in our favor.

This might have been a mistake, but given the way I felt before, during, and at the end, I was willing to hold my counsel for now.

"Again, huh?" I said to her, lifting her up slowly while I pushed my sodden prick back into my underwear. "Maybe one day." I massaged her shoulder lovingly, "But let's not do it in my mother's car, how's that?"




It's Only Fair Ch. 07



She giggled and nodded her head, barely keeping her tears from spilling down her cheeks. I pulled her towards me and gave her a kiss, hugging her once firmly and fiercely. I could taste my own essence faintly on her lips as she pushed her tongue tentatively between my teeth and hugged me back. I allowed her a few seconds of making out before ending the kiss and pulling her away. "You are a terrific woman, Kerri. I can't thank you enough."

"And you are a wonderful man, Rick. I am lucky to count you as my friend." She sat up and fixed her shirt, pulling it back into place, her cleavage shining at me as she did so. She noted my longing gaze and smiled deeply. Pulling her shirt and bra cup away from her body, she flashed me her left breast and laughed. "Something to remember me by."

I shook my head, already knowing I was going to be jerking off to today's memories for some time to come. "As if I could forget you, Kerri." I looked at the clock and breathed deeply. "I hate to be a party pooper, but we have to end this and I need to get you back."

We both straightened ourselves up and I tucked my shirt in and zipped myself up. Kerri applied a fresh coat of lipstick and blew me a kiss when she was finished. When I drove into the parking lot she reached over and held my hand. "I'll take what you can give, when you can give it, Rick. This was not a mistake, I wanted this, you needed this. And I will not forget today. Please call me when you get the chance and remember, I'm your friend. You can count on me." Before I could reply she dashed in and gave me a quick peck on the lips and then reversed herself, sliding out of the Camry on her plush posterior. "Thanks for lunch, Rick. It was...delicious!" She slammed the car door and skipped her way toward the door, her friends already gathered there and waving happily in my direction.

The rest of my day was very focused for me. I was riding a euphoric high as the hours passed by, reliving my afternoon again and again. But as the hours ticked along, I could feel the anger and hatred for Stan rebuilding itself in my heart, crowding out Kerri's actions as it wormed its way into my thoughts. It didn't go away, it stayed there, taunting me with its plaintive call; sounding exactly like Stan's voice.

Rick, you're a loser.

Rick, you've been betrayed.

Rick, you have no friends.

Rick, there's nothing you can do.

Rick, I fucked you over.

Rick, I screwed around with your wife.

Rick, you're a loser.

Rick, you're a dick.

Rick the dick. Rick the dick. Rick the dick.

Ugh. There had to be something I could do, Something that would allow me to balance the scales. To even the slights. To make it...to make it fair.

At the end of the day I was asked to stay later to share my notes with Andy and Victor, the first time I had the pleasure of Victor's direct company since the argument. Given the amount of stress I was under and the pleasurable lunch I had with Kerri, I was sharply focused and quick and accurate during the meeting. My answers were short, my explanations concise, and my notes gave all the pertinent information the two of them needed. It was after 6 when we ended the meeting but I did get a professional thanks from Victor and Andy added his own appreciation as well.

I walked out to the lot and drove home, forced to sit in worse traffic since I had left so late. It wasn't until almost 7 that I took the exit for route 231. I drove up to the garage where I managed to get a friendly manager willing to look at Jan's car. I called her up and told her that I was running very late and that the three of them should eat without me. I could hear my mother and Amber playing in the background as Jan offered to 'save me a plate.'

"Not necessary, Jan. I won't be out of here until 8ish. I'm going to dash home from here, grab a set of pj's for amber and something from the fridge, and then I'll meet you at your house."

"You be safe, Rick. And thanks again for this. We'll see you later."

Jan's car was fixed; an oil change and the loose muffler bracket was retightened. I paid the manager and drove her car back to my house. It was already 8:21 and I had a pounding headache. I pulled into the driveway and went into the house exhaustedly. I looked in the fridge and nothing seemed appetizing to me. Seeing nothing else, I plucked out an apple and ate it standing in the kitchen; my eyes focused on the digital clock.

Fuck.

I went into the bedroom and got changed, putting on shorts and a tee shirt, slipping on my sneakers. I grabbed some clothes for Amber and tossed them into a bag.

8:58.

I left the house, letting the door close behind me, as I walked my way deep in thought to the brown Camry. I climbed in and started it up, checking my rear view mirror to make sure the coast was clear. It was safe enough for me to drive, but my attention was firmly on Stan's house. His car was there, no lights were on iside, and his front porch light was lit. "Fucker is probably walking," I muttered as I drove down the block. "Prick should just have a heart attack and die."

When I got to Deer Park Avenue and turned towards Lindenhurst, I drove slowly, my eyes watching the streets on the left side as I passed them. Funny names of trees and Indian tribes and last names of people who lived here long ago.

Like this one, Stanton Drive. The same road that Stan used as his destination to walk to before heading back home. There was a crappy stationary store and smoke shop on the corner here, faded and filthy yellow sign shone with poor illumination over the cluttered store front windows. I put on my left blinker and turned down Stanton.

What was I doing? Why was I looking for Stan?

I didn't have the answer as I drove down the residential neighborhood, only a building sensation of peace that was eating at the unrequited fury in my heart. It flowed up and over my chest, radiating outward as I drove the poorly lit roadway. I could feel the sensation easing across my limbs, down my arms, over my fingertips. I felt so calm and ready.

At the second block my headlights picked out a figure walking on the right hand side of the road. His hands were thrust into the ragged pockets of his battered black sweatshirt. I drew closer I was able to make out his balding salt and pepper head, the lankiness of his frame, the way he walked. When I was half a block away he turned back to note the approaching car and I knew it was Stan. My quarry.

He stepped closer to the curb, head back around to watch the road beneath his sneakers. Not a care in world. Not a worry.

I looked at my speed. 25 mph. Proper speed for a residential block. It was dark. No street lights. The distance closed. I was so calm. It felt right. Like when I first got into that fight. Like when I first kissed Elle. Like when Amber was born. Like when I stood up to Victor. Like today, when I was with Kerri.

At a time in my life when nothing was going my way; when the world was sided against me; when I had precious few I could trust – for a few moments, it all faded away, leaving perfect nirvana in my grasp. A time for me to balance the scales.

And with that sense of ease bolstering me, I lifted my foot from the gas pedal and gently turned the wheel to the right, slamming the front corner of Jan's car into Stan's unsuspecting walking form. I heard the impact, nothing like on TV. It was short and hollow; almost fake. Stan was catapulted ahead and over the front quarter panel of the Camry, bouncing off the hood as the impact of 2,000 lbs of steel, plastic, and rubber smashed into him. I caught a brief glimpse of him out the passenger window before he was out of the car's illumination and lost in the darkness.

I didn't slow down, speed up, or stop. I just drove away with the same feeling one would have accidentally running over a discarded paper cup in the street. It was nothing to me, just so much garbage.

At the next block I turned to the right and made my way out of the residential neighborhood and back to the main road, finishing my drive to Jan's house. I was quiet, thinking about what I had done, weighing it in my mind. I had no opinion yet.

At Jan's, I pulled her car into the driveway and got out; giving the front of her vehicle a once over. Nothing. There might have been a fresh ding but truthfully, I couldn't see it.

Got you, you bastard. I smiled. I got you you fucking prick. I got you and you'll never know it was me. Dark road, at night, in a car you don't know, and I drove the fuck away leaving you there writhing in imagined agony with nary a thought. "Fucking yeah," I muttered as I made my way up the steps and knocked on the door.

Amber was tired and the two grandmothers kept up their back and forth chatter as I got her dressed in her night clothes. I gave Jan a kiss thanks and she passed me a blank check, telling me to fill it in for whatever the cost of the repairs were. From there my mother, Amber, and I got into her car and she drove the two of us home.

"So."

I looked at her, "Yeah, Ma?"

"You seem quiet. You bothered the bitch is getting out?"

I shrugged. My thoughts weren't on Elle at this time, but on Stan and how...good I felt. "No, Ma. As long as she's getting help, that's all I wanted."

"Jan told me that the twat wanted you to forgive and forget." She grinned, "And I heard you must have found your balls in one of her old purses."

"Yeah. I told her no."

My mother was uncharacteristically quiet for a mile or two before she volunteered, "I don't like what she's done to you, Rick. Not at all. But I also know that you deserve better. I give you a lot of flak, but I think you're making the right decision."

"Yeah." I looked down at my lap as she drove. "I guess I just feel like I failed."

"No, Rick. It's not a contest. No one wins and no one fails. Marriage is hard work, you have to bust your ass at it every day. Anyone who tells you otherwise is bullshitting you. But for a marriage to work, it takes two people participating in it." She thumped the steering wheel with her forefinger. "And in your case only one of you was participating."

I grunted. "Yeah. That I know."

"So."

"So?"

"So, let's hope that she stays fucking level headed long enough to figure it out and let you out."

"We'll see, Ma. We'll see."

She dropped us off and I kissed her goodbye, noting that as she left that there was no change to the way Stan's house looked. I stifled a smirk, raised an eyebrow, and went into my house with my daughter feeling pretty damned good all things considered.

The next day had us both up and out on time and I did see that Stan's car was still in the driveway but his front light was turned off. "Whatever."

When I dropped Amber off at daycare I made an effort to behave no different to Kerri. I was friendly, chatty, and just as open as I was before yesterday. The only difference I could see was that she was struggling to keep her excitement at seeing me barely in check. We talked about lunch but I begged off, telling her that I was going to be on the phone with Lenny today due to Elle being released and that I also needed to schedule some meeting with CPS concerning my soon to be ex-wife and visitation (if at all).

The week passed along and I heard through enough channels that Elle was home. She had a small cocktail of drugs she had to take and was seeing a psychologist as well. CPS did not want to have her with Amber as of yet, wanting to wait to hear what her therapist had to say. The Law Guardian was pressing for us to have the meeting with the Forensic Psychologist as she was still unhappy with the status quo.

I didn't see Stan at all and it wasn't until Saturday when I was out mowing my lawn that I recognized his brother's pick-up truck pull in front of his house. He came bounding out, wearing only flip-flops, ragged shorts, and one of his company' tee shirts with the sleeves missing. "Yo, Rick!" he called, coming across the street.

Stan's brother Jimmy was a stand up guy. He looked like his younger brother but seemed both healthier and just more successful. I had never had a problem with him and didn't think I was going to have one now. 'No one knows, Rick. Be cool.' I shook his hand and grinned at him. "Hey, Jim. How you doing?"

"Been better, but who cares, right?" He replied cocksure.

I thrust my chin across the street at his brother's house. "If you're looking for Stan, I think he's home. Haven't seen him much."

"Dude, you don't know?"


I steeled myself, feigning puzzlement. "Know what?"

"Bro got hit earlier this week while walking."

"No shit?" Focus, Rick. Don't you dare fucking smile. "What happened? He ok?"

"Dumb shit was walking near Deer Park Ave at night and someone clipped him pretty good."

"Fuck. Any idea?"

"Nah. It was at night and who ever hit him, probably didn't even know it it's so fucking dark over there." He stretched. "Fucking poor bastard's thigh and hip took the brunt of the blow and are pretty fucked up. Busted bones and such."

"Wow." Keep cool, Rick. No smiles, think of nuns, dead kittens, head lice. Don't smile. "That's fucked up. Where is he?"

"Good Sam Hospital right now. Doc has so many pins in his body, he's gonna be fucked up for a long time. Don't think he's gonna be able to walk for a while, to say nothing of work."

"Shit, Jim. I'm sorry. Doesn't that leave you in the lurch?"

"Nah, my crew's pretty full. Truthfully, if he wasn't my brother, I wouldn't have him work for me; he's just doesn't really give it a good effort." He checked his watch. "Anyway, just here to get some insurance papers and clothes for him. You take care, Rick!"

"You too, Jim. And thanks!" Yeah, thanks Jim for the best news I have heard in a long, long time.

I turned back to my lawn, leaving the mower where it was to scoop Amber out of her playpen and hugging her tight. "Hey, Sunshine?" I asked, nuzzling her cheek, causing her to giggle. "What say we leave this lawn for later and go to the park?"

"Ducks, dada?" She asked, eyes wide with wonderment.

"Yeah, Honey. Let's go feed the ducks!"

It was over a year later that my divorce to Elle went through. It was a difficult year for Amber and I. However I stayed firm with Lenny that it was Team Amber and under no circumstances was I going to give up my daughter. The visits with the Forensic Psychologist were grueling for me but they must have been toxic for Elle, because I had an opportunity to read the report after it was forward to Lenny (and everyone else who required it) and it stated in plain speak that Elle should have limited and supervised contact with Amber for some time and that there was no issue with the child's current home status.

After that report, the Law Guardian eased up her crusade against me. I found out that Elle and I were both on the State Central Registry, some database that was kept in Albany where any person charged with neglect was listed. The idea was that if you were on the Registry, you couldn't get a job working with kids, drive a bus, be a teacher, a foster parent, or be allowed to adopt. I had railed and fought with Lenny about this but he informed me that it was common practice in New York State to tar and feather both parents in any neglect charges.

So in addition to CPS, being a full time single parent, my job, my divorce, and taking care of my life, I also had to file a case against New York state to have my record expunged. It took five months to put it together but the final result was anti-climactic. I met with Lenny and three representatives in some lawyer's office in Melville where they went over the case and all agreed that it was unfounded. And like that, my name was cleared.

The cost of the divorce was high in terms of dollars, but as for stress, it never got as bad as it did those first weeks and months. I was no longer a loser, I was no longer a victim. Elle and I did meet a few times to discuss the division of assets and it was so odd to sit with her.

She was just not the same person. It was difficult to get an emotion out of her and it felt like I was talking to a zombie. She cared about what we were talking about whenever we did talk, but at the same token she didn't care. The drugs had done their job and regulated her bi-polar disorder – but at the expense of what it was that made Elle, Elle.

I had to buy her out for her share of the house, but there was no maintenance or alimony even though I made more than she did. She was required to pay a minimal amount of child support, $25 a week. A token barely. So I remortgaged the house in just my name, paid off every credit card I had, gave her her share of the equity, and rebudgeted my life with just a single income.

That meant I had to watch what I spent my money on. Like lunches.

Kerri understood and I still saw her every morning and afternoon. We spoke every day, twice a day, and I took to calling her now and again at night or on the weekend. She came over a few times when I had barbeques or other friendly get togethers. I could see the longing in her eyes, but I held back and didn't partake. Not because I didn't want to. I found her attractive and god knows Amber liked her. But she was just too young for me, and I had to think with my big head – not my little one.

So Kerri and I remained friends, good friends, but nothing more. She still flirted with me and our kisses goodbye lasted a few seconds longer than proper, but I had to do what was right in the long term for my daughter and I.

As for Stan, he eventually came back home and I saw him now and again for a few months. He was hobbling pretty bad, leaning on a cane in obvious pain as he made his way around his property. His lawn became weedy and overgrown, his shrubs became wild, and I noticed that the place didn't look nearly as neat any more. And then about three months ago after the cold snap of winter had ended, Stan's brother and a number of his work crew had shown up and over the course of a weekend moved Stan out to somewhere else. I didn't ask and didn't care. Since then a Coldwell Banker Realty sign has been hanging in front of the place but so far, no one's moved in.

The day of the decree I was sitting in court across from Elle in the vestibule while our lawyers were inside wrapping up the paperwork. She was dressed in an off blue blouse and grey pants, her black hair combed straight and hanging behind her. We had been talking about Amber's recent 2nd birthday party and that the grandmothers had once again overspent on our child when she cleared her throat and interrupted our train of conversation. "Say, Rick?" she asked in that same flat voice she used nowadays, her eyes dull and listless as she sought out mine.

"Yeah, Elle?"

"I know I've said it. But I'm really sorry."

"I know, Elle. Me too."

"You ever think we'd be here, like this?"

I cocked my head to the side and sighed. "Truthfully, no. But there was nowhere else we could have ended up."

"I just...I just feel like such a loser, Rick."

I leaned forward and took her hand in mine, drawing her gaze to my own. "There is no winning or losing, Elle. You just are. It will get better, trust me in this."

Her eyes grew glassy, not with a rising mania, but with unshed tears. "I know, Rick. It's just not fair."

"No, Elle. It isn't fair." I saw Lenny come out of the court room and motion us to come in. I stood up, pulling her to her feet and turning her to face me. "It isn't fair. But it is what we have."

I gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek and guided her towards the open doors. "Let's go, Elle. It's time."




And that wraps up my first story here on Literotica. I want to thank everyone for reading, commenting, and voting on my tale. I tried to keep the tale as grounded in real life as possible with real world decisions and real life consequences. This is not an autobiography and I am not Rick. I am just a writer, telling a story to anyone who wanted to read it.




It's Only Fair Ch. 07



I already have the outline of my next story and I will be working on it soon after taking a week break from this one (it's been pretty heady stuff). Taking what I've learned from this one, I will post in larger blocks and hopefully lesser chapters – trying to write enough of a buffer ahead that I'm not feeling any sort of deadline pressure.

Be well and thanks again.

-V