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Live from the Game Ch. 01

By: jezzaz



Another standalone story here. It was just something I felt compelled to write. I don't usually do BTB stories, but the whole premise came to me in one go and once that happens, well, you have to get it down, right?

This is a standalone story, and not one that fits into the Ingrams universe.

Thank you JonB1969 for editing this, even if he is a year younger than I am.

Chapter 1

I was in Madison, Wisconsin, when my friend Simon pinged me. He used text, which is unusual, since he's a chatty Cathy and likes to drone on and on about whatever it was that was currently consuming his attention.

Simon was one of those guys who fell in love with a new hobby or job, learned everything about it, bought all the gear and gadgets, read all the books, went to all the conventions and stuff, completely immersed himself in it, completely drops it a year down the line and then six months later, he'd find something else and start the cycle over again.

His garage was full of expensive equipment for making electronic music, radio controlled airplanes, fishing gear and podcasting, all of which hadn't been touched since he and his wife Polly moved in a few years back.

When he was in the throes of his current interest, he'd talk of nothing else, and would spend hours telling you all measure of esoterica about whatever his current spare time love affair was. Polly had learned to just say, "Yes dear, no dear. Really dear?" a lot and try and stay away from the receipts when he came home with items for his latest love.

Polly was long suffering, but she loved her husband with all her soul, and we all loved her because of it. I'd known the two of them since they were married, and Simon before that, when we met at college. We'd both moved to Chicago, and settled in Crystal Lake, a small suburb north and west of Chicago proper. It was a nice little city. A bit rustic, on the main commuter line and close enough to the city to be there in an hour and half and far enough away that it was its own independent town. We were happy there. Or I thought we were, anyway.

Anyway, so Simon called me and said... oh wait. Me. Right. I get into the story so fast I forgot to talk about myself.

I'm Ryan. Ryan Tomlinson. I live in Crystal Lake (did I mention that?) with my wife Deanna. Or I did, anyway. We'll see where that goes.

I work for a company that makes cabinetry. The company -- Dresdin Furniture -- has two lines. One was the standard high-end office furniture and the other was made-to-measure custom installations. So we did the high-end exec office furniture, all wood and leather and gloss, and we also did the fitted offices and homes. The top 10% pay us to install libraries and offices at home and do a unique job every time. We've built entertainment rooms, we've built game rooms, libraries, the whole deal. We even fitted out a bar in Milwaukee with a fact wall of books that opened out into the main bar if you knew which book was attached to the panel actuator. What was particularly clever about that job was that from the back, different books could be set, so each day the barman would pick a different book in the book case to act as the trigger, so the entire wall would open and the patrons get into the bar.

So yeah, I do that stuff. Well, I don't do it. I sell it -- the service that is. Well, to be honest, I don't even do that, most of the time. I run the three guys who do the selling for us. I used to sell it, but we've done well, even in this economy, and now I have a staff and I don't have to travel as much. I still do, on occasion -- there are some clients that demand my attention and it's generally worth it, but my traveling-every-week days are over now, thankfully. At age 39, I was happy about that. It was good to be home every day at a reasonable hour to see the kiddo's when they trooped in from school.

Deanna and I have three kids. Paula, the eldest, at 12. Then Saffron (Honestly, I lost the bet involving the TV Show Absolutely Fabulous and I've been paying ever since, as has she) comes next at 10 and lastly, my boy, Jamie, follows up at 8. Those kids are the light of my life. Jamie is adopted -- Deanna had complications with the birth of Saffron and can no longer carry to term and had her tubes tied to prevent it, so we went the adoption route with Jamie and we are just as happy with him as we are with the biological kids. I've learned that biology has nothing to do with how much you love your kids.

Deanna and I met in a bar in Chicago -- not necessarily the best place to meet your future wife, but it worked out for us. It was a nightclub called The Crobar. We go back once in a while for old times sake, but that lifestyle has passed us by now, I think.

When I met Deanna, she was in full-on goth regalia and I was dressed as a gladiator. It was Halloween, and I shall never forget her Elvira costume she was wearing that night. She still fits in it, too. I got her to put it on a year ago.

So Deanna is slim, well packaged, always nicely turned out, but never over the top. She's always restrained in her fashion sense. Nothing too daring, no plunging neck lines or high hems for her. She's not a fuddy duddy either, she's just...subtle. The only time she goes all out is for costume parties, and normally it's a costume that hides who she is. So she can be as slutty as Halle Berry as Cat woman, as long as she's wearing a mask. She LOVES costume parties -- it's such an expression of her that she keeps well hidden for the rest of the time, though.

Deanna is pretty. She has long brunette hair, hazel eyes, and a wide pouting mouth that is equally pursed when she's not thrilled about something, and widely smiling when she is. She has a very gentle twinkle in her eye, she's quick to laugh, and makes a lot of remarks that are deadly funny but go way over most people's heads. She's very on the ball and most of her jokes are references to in jokes and I love that, because only we will get it.

She's 5'6", 38 years old, 136 pounds (NOT 137. Trust me on this. I'll say that again. NOT 137 or above. Gentlemen, learn.) and she walks daily to keep her figure in the winter and swims daily in the summer, at the local YMCA.

Anyway, we met, it was good, I got her number, the usual deal. I won't go into details too much because, honestly, ours is pretty much the same story as everyone else's. We dated, we had fights, we made up, we were a couple, we moved in together, it worked, I proposed, we were married, blah blah blah. Wedding was good, honeymoon better, etc etc etc. You've heard it all before.

The thing is, even with the kids coming along relatively soon, we were happy. At least I thought we were -- I know I was. I'm pretty sure Deanna was too. I still don't know what happened to us. I guess that makes me unobservant or not paying attention or uncaring or something, but I just didn't see it. I didn't see the signs. There were no changes in behaviors, no sudden dropping off of the sex, apart from the fact that we were getting older and finding the time when we were both free and had the energy was harder. But that's every marriage with kids in it. Show me a family and I'll show you two people where the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, five days out of seven.

Our sex life was robust, when we actually got the time and energy for it. When we did have sex, fuck, make love or whatever you call it, we did with energy and passion. We tried new positions, we did different things. I never got to fuck her ass, but that was ok because it was only idle curiosity that I had anyway. It's not like I was desperate or anything -- I was just wondering if it felt any different. The only time I did try she knocked my hand away and moved so I couldn't get at her and said, "No. Not there." I wasn't that upset -- it's never really been important. I know other guys go on about getting access, but I've never really measured myself against how slutty my wife is. That doesn't seem like a valid comparison -- her sluttiness, or lack of it, is not a reflection on me but on her. And I am -- was -- quite happy in that area.

As for the rest of it, well, I got blowjobs if we were actually going for it -- so within an actual session, I'd get them, but I'd not get them as isolated incidents. Never while driving or anything like that. And she would swallow, but only on special occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries and the like. Again, not something I made a big deal about -- I got more than most of my contempories, at least as far as they were willing to be honest when we had a beer and talked about it, so I was ok.

We experimented with dressing up, a little bit of role playing, but neither one of us could be entirely serious about it. We'd try. We'd start out serious, the maid and the business man, and then crack up laughing after ten minutes because it was so silly. So nothing to write home about, but it kept us happy. And the frequency wasn't great, but when we did get it on, we went all out. Quality over quantity I'd have to say. It was good when it happened, but it didn't happen as often as I would have liked, but then I'm a man and unless we have a blowjob on tap, none of us would be one hundred percent happy. At least according to Deanna, anyway.

But wasn't everyone with children in the same boat? Having children is just tiring. Combine that with a working week, and all the minutiae bullshit of living in these times, and there just wasn't the time we'd like. We had to worry about making sure the insurance was paid, and get the pre-roasted chicken for dinner and helping Paula with her homework and making sure the laundry was done and that Jamie was done potty training and all the other crap that goes with life with children.

I just figured that was life, shrugged and made the best of it. And it was good. I loved our life together. It wasn't perfect, but it was certainly making me happy.

There was only one thing I saw that ever gave me pause for thought and...no, I'll wait. It's part of the story.

Oh me? What do I look like? I'm always puzzled that anyone would care in stories like this. On the other hand, pride makes me want everyone to know that I'm not Quasimodo. Far from it. Brad Pitt and me, we could be brothers. I'd be the older one, obviously. Yes, the body of a Greek god and the visage to match, that's me.

Fine. Ok. So not a Greek god. Ok then. Honesty is the best policy, so I'm told; that hasn't really worked out too good for me recently but OK THEN! Yeah, I'm a little pudgy. I'm 6', I'm 210. I don't have man boobs -- NO I DON'T, OK? But, if I am honest, I could lose some weight. Lots of Girodano's pizza does that to man. Yeah, that's my kryptonite. LOVE it. And you can't eat that kind of pizza without a beer, amIright fellas? Of course I am.

I've recently come to the conclusion that I need to do something about the extra weight I was carrying, because when your kids hang off your love handles, then yeah, you realize Something Needs To Be Done. So I joined one of those cycling clubs. With Simon in fact, who was just on the upswing of whatever his new hobby was going to be. And it turned out that he imagined he was going to win next years Tour De France. Good luck with that. I'd just like the drugs, myself. I mean, I don't understand it -- Lance Armstrong won all those races when drugged. When I've smoked a joint, I can't move for falling about laughing. I think the guys deserved to win just because he could handle his ganja. Yeah, ok, weak joke. Welcome to my life.

I don't know quite why I am telling you all this; it's not really that relevant to the story, but oh well. Wordy me will have his day!

So right, yeah. I was in Madison Wisconsin on a job. No, wait, I didn't tell you what Deanna does for a living yet, have I? Yeah, that is relevant.

So to start with, Deanna was a stay at home mom. When we first got together she was studying interior design at college, but while she got that degree, she never actually used it. We were married, kids on the way, she wanted to experience it fully and I was doing ok as a salesman for Dresdin, so she just stayed home. She did that till Jamie hit first grade, and at that point, her days were her own again.

So she hooked up with one of our joint friends, Crystal Rigg, (who is married to Charley Rigg -- you might know him from drive time radio in Chicago? He's a big old talk radio personality. I knew him at college too and we keep in touch here and there.), who is in real estate. Crystal needed someone she could call on to help stage houses. She and Crystal would walk through a house that she was listing and decide where to move the furniture that existed in the house, what to remove, what to replace from her little store of wonders that she had in a small storage compartment we rented and so on. Basically to empty out a house as much as possible, but still allow potential buyers to see it as a furnished house.

She'd done a terrific job making our house a home, spending as little as possible and picking up tons of great furniture, pictures, things to put on walls (I have no clue what any of that is called, nor do I want to know), nick knacks and crap, sorry, awesome stuff and generally cycling it round our house. Every other week something would vanish and other things get moved around and something new would appear. Our house was always in flux, and with that, we ended up with lots of 'stuff' that had once been in our house but was now surplus to requirements. Deanna would never want to get rid of it, so we got a storage unit and slowly filled it.

Sometimes there were some bad moves -- coming home to find the picture above our bed of a photo I had taken when we were on honeymoon in Jamaica had been replaced by some picture of a French clown holding a bottle of champagne comes to mind. Didn't go down well.

Sometimes Deanna needed someone to point out that No, this looked stupid, but by and large she had a good eye for this kind of thing, so it was hardly surprising that she'd want to capitalize on both her skill set and all the things we'd collected over the years. I say we but in all honesty, I never even saw them come and go. I'd just come home, something would be 'different' and I'd have to run the gamut of "Did you get a new hair cut dear? Something is different" and face the narrowing of the eyes brows and pursing of the lips.

So she and Crystal were sort of partners, and they did well, doing a lot of work in both the suburbs and the city. Often they'd be gone all day together, or on a weekend if Crystal had an open house. Never too long, and we would be on the phone a lot and sometimes I'd even drive by wherever they were working and surprise them with Starbucks or something. Both were and are easy on the eyes and Crystal has a sort of easy charm where she can talk to anyone in an intimate way, but never overstep her bounds. She could talk to you about your sex life, but in way that never made you inquire about hers, or imagine the conversation was going to place where flirting would happen, if that makes sense. It was like she was just a friend who knew you well. It's weird now I come to think about it and explain it -- I've no idea why I -- and every one else for that matter -- would think that way, but it's just the way she had about her. Now I think about it and in view of the things that came to light, I think she probably did flirt a lot -- only just with other people. I think I must have gotten a very one sided view of her.

Oh and she was blond too. Very trim. I kept joking that all they'd need was a red head and then I could call them and give them orders and they could spend the days crime fighting. I was working on a name to give their little group -- Pussy power or something slightly less obvious -- but never really got it right. I got a lot of frowns in my direction though.

Right, so now you have the background. Me, Ryan, wife Deanna, friends Simon, I do sales, she works everywhere staging houses and apartments, we have kids, essentials covered I think.

So right, there I was in Madison. What was I doing there? Really? That's what you want to know? Jeez, of all the questions. I was there talking to a client at the University of Wisconsin about his house. He wanted an old fashioned library, complete with two levels and a wheel around ladder, and as he was both a tenured (and well published) professor there, as well as an incredible snob, he'd contacted our company, and used my name and insisted I had to come up. He'd apparently met another satisfied customer -- a video game company owner that was based there in Madison, the company was called Dead Head in a bag or something equally ridiculous -- and we'd done a bang up job putting an office into his 'murder room', as he called the basement of his house. He'd told this professor over dinner or drinks or murdering some poor hooker or something, and the professor then called us and the boss had taken the call and off I went to Wisconsin.

Oh yes, the boss. Paul. Paul Dresdin. So what should I say about Paul? Paul is...lovely. He's the son of the guy who started the company. Wallace died about eight years ago and left it to Paul. Paul is terrific. Heart in the right place, loves his company and employees and job. Nice fella, well meaning and a total idiot. And I mean idiot. He's so incompetent and yet he runs the company. Well, he thinks he does. I actually run it. I interface with him, he tells me what he wants to do, and I go and do what actually needs to be done. Paul is so ineffectual that he can't even remember what he asked me to do last week, and would never even check to see if I did it.

But we, as an employee group, love Paul. It's not a disrespect thing, or us running around having a good snigger behind our hands. It's literally us doing our best to keep the company going so we all have a place to come to work in the morning and to keep Paul going because god knows, if he weren't harmless in the corner office having expensive coffee and being gently ignored by his secretary, he might be out in the real world causing some well meaning disaster.

We keep that company going because we love working there and we love working for Paul, even if we don't ever do what he says. I'll give you an example. Three weeks ago, Paul decided we should be entering in the Ikea Market. His brainchild was to create a showroom, like Ikea, to compete with them, because, well, no one was on that scale, where they? Chink in the market.

Rather than sit there and explain the economics of Ikea to Paul, and how long it took them to get where they are, and how they are subsidized by other governments in other countries so they can offer the deals they do in the US -- something Paul would never grasp -- I just said, "Sure, Paul, great idea! I can't believe no one has spotted this missing market yet!"

Then I left the listings for a couple of warehouses on his desk, and never heard another thing about it. A week later he wanted to make portable desks for the military, so 'they could carry them in their packs and always have a surface at hand.' Sure thing, Paul. Let me get right on that.

It sounds callous that I ignored him in quite the way I did, but you have to understand. Paul is like the retarded son that everyone knows is retarded, but has to be treated as a regular guy. He was well meaning, he was very concerned for his staff -- we all got vitamins every morning -- and just generally a terrifically nice person. And in honor of that, and in memory of his father, who was as sharp as a tack, apart from true blindness about how dumb his son really was, we keep it together for him. It's not done because he's an idiot and we disrespect him for it. It's done because he's an idiot and we love him for it.


Live from the Game Ch. 01



Oh and one last thing about Paul. Holy crap he looked good. He may have got the brains of a donkey, but by god he won the Elder Statesman look. He looked great. We trotted him out as our glorious leader every opportunity we got -- any interview, he was there. Obviously we had to baby sit him a lot or he'd say ridiculous stuff I'd have to dig us out of later, but by god, he got us extra business from the blue rinse brigade.

Right. I'm pretty certain that's all you need to know. Probably way more than you need to know, to be honest. I'll probably never even mention Paul again. I just like to talk about him because he fascinates me. I don't know how he puts the right shoes on in the morning, but he's there at work, regular as clockwork, working to blow up the world, one desk at a time.

So I was in Madison, staying in one of the nice hotels just off the main downtown square. It was May and they were having one of their Concerts in the square, where they have a live orchestra with a guest conductor perform in the grounds of the Capitol building. It was a warm day and the square was thronging with people, all sitting on the grass and listening to the music.

Then Simon's text arrived. It was simple and innocuous. 'Watching the game?'

Now that's a strange thing to ask. I'm not really one for many organized sports. I follow the Blackhawks a bit -- I at least know some of the player's names -- but other sports, not at all. I was known for being rabidly anti-organized sport in fact. Famous for it. I had a whole spiel I did about how professional sports people are, in fact, the ultimate in narcissists. And he'd know that, since he's sat through it more than once. So I texted back 'When have you ever known me to follow games? What game are you talking about?'

I got nothing for a bit, then another text arrived. 'The cubs - sox cross town classic. It's today.'

He was referring to the one game where the Cubby Bears played the White Sox, since both are based in Chicago. The cubs are North Side, based at Wrigley Field, right on the edge of boys town, and the White Sox play at Comiskey Park, which is a pretty new stadium on the south side. Once a year they played each other in an exhibition match. There was supposed to be some 'rivalry' between the teams, but honestly, I don't think fans of either team cared that much about the other. There was more than enough disappointment to go around for both sets of fans, frankly.

I replied, 'No, not watching. Couldn't careless. And you couldn't either.' I knew all the double negatives would have him confused for a while and smiled to myself.

Almost instantly a text came back that said, "Dude, get to a bar and watch it. I don't want to say much more than that.'

Intriguing! Something was going on! I love a mystery -- just ask any of the couples who've come to dinner on Saturday night and then stayed to play one of my many murder mystery games. I've even written a few myself. Our guests are spell bound, not at all 'bored rigid and plotting how to leave without offending', as Deanna puts it.

Given that I didn't actually have anything else to do right then -- I still had one more day measuring at Professor Crap Talkers house the next day before I could leave -- I thought, 'why not?'

On went the TV in my room and down the tubes went my marriage, although I didn't catch it immediately.

The game was 7-3 to the Sox at the bottom of the sixth, and between pitches they had the roving camera's going. One of the things that cameramen do at games like this is rove the crowd, when they aren't actually on a play. Quite often they come across a kissing couple or something, and up it goes on the big screens at the stadium, embarrassing the couple. Sometimes they even get a wedding proposal. Sometimes, after they've caught a couple kissing, they'll come back to them later to see if they can embarrass them some more. I'm sure we've all seen it.

They'd obviously done this earlier, since they came back to a couple who were obviously in love -- they were sitting next to each other in the lower bleachers. Obviously good seats, so probably season tickets. They were sitting there, talking animatedly with each other, touching each other and looking at each other in that easy way that couples who are into each other do. The cameraman settled on them, and it went up on the big board in the stadium, and they didn't notice immediately. Then someone nudged them sitting next to them, gesturing to the board -- you could see it happen. They looked up at the board and on the board flashed the message "Kiss Cam! Make it happen!" The couple looked at each other, shrugged and went in for a lip lock. And it was a smacker too -- open mouthed, tongues, the lot. The kind of kiss that is usually closely followed by a game of Hide the Salami, if you get my drift. There was no doubt that these two would be doing that very soon -- probably off in the toilets, with the heat they were giving off.

But I wasn't hot for them. Mainly because the woman in the couple was my wife, Deanna. Oh I was sure. It was her, alright. She was wearing a jacket I'd bought her in a boutique in New York three years earlier. The boutique was owned by the 80's movie star Phoebe Cates, and she was often to be found in there, serving. I have a sort of thing for Phoebe Cates and had persuaded Deanna to go there while we were in town, and once she realized my ulterior motive, she found the most expensive jacket she could find and presented it to me for purchase with the kind of expression on her face that brooked no argument. It was worth it, just because then I could say that Phoebe Cates asked for my address and phone number.

I just sat there, watching, open mouthed, with my world crashing around me, my heart breaking. It's funny, but in situations like that, my mind reacts in strange ways. It jumps to six steps on from where I am now, and makes me worry about things that not only haven't happened, but will only happen in a very convoluted set of conditions, and which isn't important anyway.

My first thought was, "Who is going to take Saffron to her Karate lessons on Wednesday afternoon if we are divorced?" It's stupid I know, but I think it's some kind of self-protection mechanism I have.

The next thing I did was call Simon. He answered on the third ring.

"Hey," he said, obviously unwilling to say anything else.

"I'm watching," I said.

There was a few seconds of silence as Simon considered what to say.

"I'm sorry dude. I thought you needed to know."

"Yeah... I guess... oh I dunno. They sure look like they are into each other, don't they?"

"Yeah," was his simple response.

Then a few more seconds of us listening to each other breath. I could hear the game on his TV in the background echoing mine on the TV in front of me. It's weird, his was a fraction of a second behind mine, so it really did sound like an echo. I remember wondering how, if he was closer to the actual game, how his TV was behind mine. Surely it should be the other way around. Like I said, defense mechanism. Decent into trivia.

"They were on earlier. That's why I texted you. The kiss cam caught them making out. He even had one hand under her jacket. That's why the cameraman went back to them," Simon said, after a while.

"Jesus." I said. Then, "You think this is the first time?"

"It doesn't look like it, does it? Looks like early days but there's an intimacy there..."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

The kiss cam had moved on and play had resumed.

"Surely she knows I'm going to see this? I mean... surely?"

"I think she's a bit preoccupied. Also, quite a lot of what they show on the jumbotron is only shown in the stadium. Given you and your circle of friends, I'm sure she feels safe in that regard."

He had a point there. Like me, most of my friends are decidedly of the cerebral bent, rather than sweaty jock wannabe's. Ok, maybe I'm over stating it a bit. I think most of my friends just don't care. No one talks about sports much, now I come to think of it. I don't know why. Bit strange now I contemplate it.

"I mean, I think they are caught up in the moment, and she's probably now shitting herself hoping you don't see it and that no one she knows does."

That rang more true.

"Probably. Lucky you were watching really."

"I'm over at Tommy's house."

That explained that. Tommy was Simon's brother. He was baseball mad. He and I didn't get on, since he'd made some crack about Deanna's tits at a barbeque we were at and I had to be restrained from decking him. It was considered all round better if we just weren't around them, so we just weren't.

There was more silence as we both watched the White Sox get a third strike and the batter trudge back to the dug out.

"What are you going to do?"

"Do? Nothing. Yet. Need more data."

"Yeah."

There was more silence as the game cut to commercial. Interestingly, the commercials were different on his game than on mine. Different state, different channel.

"So. Um. Not entirely sure what else to say. You gonna be ok?"

"No, but there's fuck all you can do from there, Simon. I'm gonna go get drunk, vomit it up, sleep badly and then work out a plan. In that order."

"Sounds like the best course. Don't do anything stupid, ok? I don't want to have to come get you out of jail and you don't need to be hurting yourself or anyone else. Just be careful dude."

"Yeah. Well, I'm 300 miles away. She'll be home by the time I get home. Like I said, I need more data."

"OK, well, you be safe. Come find me when you get home."

"Will do Simon. And thanks."

All in all, it was a pretty anticlimactic conversation given the subject we were discussing. It sounds...disjointed. Like I was just over it all, when I recount it now. Asking for data instead of reacting. But I think I was partially just on shock and partially that's my personality. I try and learn about everything before I react visibly. At college I'd gotten a reputation for it -- I still reacted internally, but I'd learned to suppress that and not be visual in my reactions until I'd gotten all the information. I'd learned early on that when someone hands you shocking news, the first question is always 'What else do we not know in this situation?' -- because there is always more to know and understand.

When the phone call was done, I tossed my iPhone down on the bed, then had a thought and brought up the Find My iPhone app. Deanna and I shared the same apple ID, so if she bought an app, I got it and vice versa. We shared the ID across all our iPads and iPhones, so if the kids bought something, it was there on all the other devices too. One of the side effects was that all our devices could be located from the others, since they were all on the same id. I hunted out the app, started it up, and looked up her phone. Yep, there she was, at Wrigley Field. I took a screen shot of the app, just in case.

Then I sat down and thought about what I was going to do next. The shock was starting to hit me. I was cold and hot at the same time. I didn't know where to look or what I was looking at. I sat down heavily, and bounced off the edge of the bed and landed on the floor.

As the reaction started to hit, I remember that I couldn't understand what was happening to me. I wasn't the first man to have his wife cheat on him. Others got through this. What was happening?

I woke up an hour later, completely confused as to where I was. I came to and remembered everything and just about made it to the bathroom before lunch came up.

Questions kept hitting me, from all sides. Does she love him? It sure looked like it from what I could see. Who was he? What did he have that I did not? How long had this been going on? Who else knows? Does Crystal? She HAS to know, she's covering for her. Where are they meeting? Is he married? Does he have a big cock? Is it bigger than mine? Is he a better lover than I am? Is she going to leave me? Am I going to leave her? What about the kids? Where will they end up? How did this start?

But mostly, 'What do I do next?' It's all very well to make blasé statements about 'needing more data', and quite another thing to look this full in the face.

I was shaking and I made it back to bed and fell into a fitful sleep, punctuated by dreams of Deanna fucking herself with a dildo attached to a man, and her screaming with laughter. Turns out I didn't need alcohol to have a bad night, I could do it all by myself.

I woke up in the morning sweating and shaking. I started to wonder if there really was some kind of flu in me, but I wasn't cold any more and a hot shower took care of the shakes. I knew I needed food so I hunted out one of the local German bars that did a good breakfast. I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember I didn't taste it at all.

Somehow I managed to get to the client and get the job done, although it's a good thing I can take those kinds of measurements on auto pilot now, because I don't even remember doing it, yet all the numbers are written down in my note book, exactly as they should be. I'm good at my job, apparently even under duress.

Then I was sitting in my car, on i-90, driving back down to Crystal Lake and wondering what I should do. Should I just leave? Go stay in some shitty hotel? Do I confront Deanna? Where would the kids be? Would she have already gone perhaps? She had to know there was a fair to middling chance I had seen the footage -- perhaps she'd cut her losses and just gone. What if she hadn't? Would she try and bluff it out? More questions I didn't have any answers to.

During the two-hour drive, I did make a few decisions. The first was to not be hasty. I was damn sure it was Deanna but there were still too many questions I needed answered. What I had said to Simon was right -- I did need more data. I needed to know how long it had been going on, how serious it was, where I stood.

Of course that line of questioning assumed that I would stand for some degree of this -- that if it had only been going on two or three times, I could get over that, - I wouldn't like it and for sure Deanna would be paying forever - otherwise what was the point of needing to know in the first place? If I there wasn't a position where we could work it out, then I really didn't need to know any more. Once I had the evidence though, the decision was already made. Or was it?

That was the biggest question for me. I didn't know how I felt. I wasn't in a "Kill her right now" mode, although I was angry beyond belief. I knew I still loved her -- I'd not seen any decrease in her affection towards me or the kids, so either she was the best actress in the world, or she really did love us. But how can you reconcile that with a full on affair, that obviously had affection and caring in it?

I decided that I didn't really know how I felt until I knew more about it. I knew what I felt right now, but it was a topsy turvy mishmash of emotions and I may not know much, but I know that making big, life changing decisions in that emotional state was a Bad Move ™. Given that, I had to find out more, and I wasn't going to be able to do that if Deanna knew that I knew, or I confronted her about it. Better to be sneaky than confrontational.

With that in mind, I made my immediate decision and plans. The first thing would be to go and see Paul in the morning. Because Paul had a brother, and he could be very helpful.




I got home in just under two hours and parked my boring Chrysler 300c in its usual parking spot, in the side garage of our house. One thing about Crystal Lake is that it's considerably cheaper to buy property than downtown Chicago, or even Schaumburg or Naperville, so for our money, we actually have a three car garage. We only use two, but one of them is a separate room from the larger two car, and round the corner of the house from the main garage.

I sat in the car, listening to the bodywork ping as it cooled down, and gathered myself together. I've read stories on Literotica about situations like this, where guys have come home knowing their wife has been unfaithful and they then act all lovey, while trying to keep their distance while they gather info for their lawyers, or devise diabolical schemes to get revenge. I just knew that I wasn't that good of an actor. I needed some way to just avoid Deanna -- and by extension the kids, because if I spent time with them, I'd be all over them, because of my fear that she'd get them in the divorce -- see there I went again, swinging from "How much of this can I accept?" to "Who gets the kids in the divorce?"

I just had no idea where my head was at, and as such, I needed to be away from family for a bit to get to it screwed on straight again.

In I went, stumbling and straight to the toilet, even though Deanna was in the kitchen making something. She yelled hello as I went past and I made it to the bathroom making retching sounds. Deanna came and stood outside asking if I was ok. I just made more noises and mumbled, "Sick. Feel like shit. Keep the kids away, don't want to infect them. Dying. Blergh."

To which, my darling wife of so many years, said, "Yeah, right. You thought you were dying when you had indigestion last month. I had to give you an enema and all you needed was a diet coke to make you burp it up. You are fine. I'm making dinner. Come out when you are ready."

Such caring. The thing is though, before now I would have acted the wounded hero and swanned in on my death bed and she'd have stood there, arms folded with a mock stern expression on her face while the kids performed gastric surgery on me. Well, some kind of surgery -- I don't think even the kids knew what it was, but it always involved a saw and pliers. It usually ended in me getting 'medicine' which were usually tic-tacs and that was kinda good.

Now though, knowing what I did, I wondered if she really didn't give a shit rather than the hamming up I assumed it was. Once you know something like infidelity that has been hidden from you, every act of the spouse becomes suspect. In every action you look for hidden meaning. It's just rotten and it eats you from the core, not only because you are doing it, but because you know you'll never actually know the answers. Even if she tells you, you don't trust her any more, so how do you know anything said is real? It makes you paranoid, question everything and never have peace.

I went to bed directly that night, after her. I hid in my den till I knew she'd gone to sleep -- she gets the kids up in the morning and so she goes to bed earlier than I do.

The kids. They'd been in to see me -- I couldn't stop them -- and I just couldn't stop hugging them and kissing them and listening to their stories of the day. I love those kids. I extracted a promise that we could all go to the movies the next day, when I was feeling better. I'd pick a movie that Deanna wouldn't want to see and she'd be pleased of the time to herself at home. She often complained that she never got the house to herself, since when I was at work, she was too.

I slept in the guest room. I have a hazy memory of Deanna putting her head round the door before taking the kids to school and saying good morning, but I really don't remember much. I had slept, but the kind of sleep that when you wake up, you don't feel like you slept at all.

I dragged myself out of bed, took a shower, dressed, grabbed some toast and made it work. I know I looked like shit. I know because everyone told me. From the receptionist, to my group PA, Adriana. Ah, Adriana.

Yeah, I haven't mentioned her, have I? She's... nice, I guess. Well, I think she must be. To someone at least. She's very private. I don't know a thing about her beyond the fact she is hellaciously efficient, gets the job done, shuts down any conversation that is not work related and is totally un-interested in work beyond the time we pay her for. She's personable alright, very polite, nice to the new people. Just completely unavailable in a personal way. No idea why, and to be honest, I think it's a good thing. She's a pretty woman and I could see some of my guys hitting on her, but she radiates Fuck Off in that area, and I think that's a good thing for an office environment. She wasn't anyone's friend, she didn't do the small things that build a relationship, yet the company would just end if she quit.




Live from the Game Ch. 01



So if Adriana told me I looked like shit, then I must look like shit. I sat at my desk for about ten minutes, staring at nothing, then asked Adriana to fit me into Paul's busy schedule. She told me he was free at eleven, which gave me time to type in my notes from the job the day before. Again though, I don't even remember doing it. I was in a daze. The only thing I could think about was Deanna. Was she with him now? What was she doing? How do I get more information?

Time to get my shit together and concentrate on the problem in hand. And this meeting was the first step forward.

"Hey Paul," I said, on entering his room.

Paul's office was like our R&D Lab. He was constantly having us try out new ideas in there. Right now it was laid out like a psychiatrist's office, all muted wood hues and comfort furniture. Last week it looked like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. More power to him for being willing to experiment, I guess. It would drive me up the wall.

"How's my main man?" said Paul, rising from his chair and thrusting out his hand. "You look like shit, by the way."

"Well thanks Boss. You look like crap too! Always nice to be appreciated. Look, I need a couple of favors. I need a bit of time off..." I broke off, disconcerted by his look of approval and joy at that bit of news.

"Good idea son. You've been working it hard recently. How did the job go in, where was it? Milwaukee?" That was Paul, no attention span at all.

"Fine. Look, I just need to go do some personal things. It won't take long, but I won't be here or available."

"Not a problem son. You know I can handle everything while you are gone. Trust in the man, son." I had an involuntary shiver at that one. By the time I'd get back, I wouldn't be surprised if North Korea was a blackened hole in the ground and Iran vanished entirely from the face of the earth, such was Paul's delusion of his ability. Hell, he'd probably take out most of Africa at the same time.

"You take the time you need. It's good for you to get out of the office and spend time with that awesome family of yours. Spending time with Danni would be good for both of you."

"Deanna. OK, so second thing."

"Name it."

"I need to talk to Solomon."

Silence greeted that request, then Paul said, "Why?"

"I have some...things he can help with."

"You know what he is. Are you going to enable him Ryan? I don't want that."

"Paul, with respect, he may be antisocial, but he's damn good at what he does and I need the help right now."

"Is it anything to do with work? I can't afford to have this company associated with his...activities."

"No, this is personal."

There was more silence while Paul considered.

"Alright. This once. Since you've been my right hand man, I guess I can allow it."

Solomon Dresdin was the original black sheep of the family. Quite literally. He was half cast and it was his appearance that had led to Paul's mother being disowned by his father. Solomon himself had grown up with his mother and it had been quite a ride. Solomon suffered from social problems, borderline autism, poor impulse control and unfortunately, on top of all that, he was a genius.

Once he saw a computer for the first time, that was it. He'd been inside it, hacking things within a month. He'd taken down his first bank, in Hong Kong, inside of six months, he'd been arrested by the NSA, who had tried to turn his talents to their advantage and found that a socially maladjusted genius was not the kind of person you really wanted to give access to. There was a disaster with him stalking some Hollywood starlet and eventually he was put away for four years, and then released after a campaign by Justice Now because, as they put it, he was set up by the NSA. Now he was banned from doing anything more than facebook, and after his father died, Paul took him under his wing.

In this one area, Paul was quite astute. He knew that Solomon's skills would be wanted and required by all and sundry -- particularly those who were less than totally legal. He moved Solomon around regularly, doing what he called his 'domestic witness protection act'. He hired a baby sitter for Solomon, who was with him constantly. It was one of the smartest things he'd ever done for his baby brother, in fact. Another reason we loved him.

"OK, so where is he?" I asked, expecting to be sent on some wild goose chase to find him -- visions of having to go to exotic airports and get a bag out of a locker somewhere, while dodging enemy agents filled my mind.

"At home," replied Paul, with a smile.

"He's WHAT?" I said. Paul shrugged.

"He wanted to come home for a while. I thought 'why not'? We gave the baby sitter some time off, since he was home."

I didn't even know where to start with that, but time was passing, so I let it go.

"Thanks Paul. I'm taking off now. Call me if you need me, but..."

Paul reached out his hand again and took mine. "It's ok Ryan. Whatever the issue is, we can all work it out."

I just shook his hand, looked at him and almost disintegrated right there. But I held my shit together and left. 



Live from the Game Ch. 02



I arrived at Paul's house about an hour later. I'd stopped off at the office and talked with Adriana and explained that if Deanna called, I was out of the office on a local job. She'd raised her eyebrow at that, but not asked questions -- her famous 'I don't give a fuck' demeanor in full force.

I knocked on the door to Paul's house and there was Solomon, tired, bleary eyed and obviously just gotten up. He recognized me and shouted, "Uncle Ryan!" and embraced me. He was just wearing shorts and we were on the porch of Paul's very expensive house in a gated neighborhood. In a way, it was funny. God only knew the rumors that would flow from this.

I disengaged and gestured to Solomon to go inside.

I knew Solomon would recognize me. I'd bought him his first video game console, and some games to go along with it. Sometimes Paul gave me shit, saying I'd started Solomon on his path, but I don't regret it. He'd been kicked out of three different schools and the poor kid just needed an outlet, and I gave him one. We'd been friends ever since.

We went inside and Solomon was making coffee. He gestured with the jug and said, "Want some?"

I nodded, sure. Paul had all the gourmet stuff. Solomon poured me a coffee and plonked himself down on the other side of the kitchen island, where we sat, sipping the hot blue mountain java.

"So what's up, uncle Ryan? You didn't come here just for the coffee."

I didn't look at him immediately, just smelled the hot coffee. Then I blurted out, "Deanna is having an affair."

Solomon immediately put down his coffee, got off his stool and came around and just hugged me. It might not have been appropriate, but it was a nice gesture. My body racked with sobs for just a minute, and then he released me and I got control again.

"So...that sucks man. Big time. Are you sure... oh wait. That's why you are here. You want me to... I get it."

Solomon more than made up for Paul's lack of acumen. Honestly, it was like they were one divided person. Paul got the looks and the charm and Solomon got the brains and the social issues.

I looked doe eyed at Solomon. "Would you? I need... details. I need to know more and you know how to get that stuff...I know you aren't supposed to touch a computer but..."

Solomon just smiled at me. "Of course, Uncle Ryan. You don't even need to ask. We'll find out and then we'll take that fucker she's doing to the cleaners. It's all possible."

So that's what we did. Out came his laptop and online he went. It was an instructive morning -- I learned a lot about how hackers work and what goes on. I was expecting a lot of little windows on screen opening with code streaming through them, like you see on the movies. Lots of countdowns and stuff.

Turns out Hollywood lies. Most of the time was spent in chat rooms. Turns out that most hackers are lazy. You want to get into any given system? Chances are, someone else already has. What you need to do is find that person, and get them to either tell you how they did it, or give you the credentials they used. There are hacking chat channels all over the world were people share this info. It's all tit for tat though. You have to give them what they want. Turns out Solomon, with his online name of "Scorbius", was well known and people fell over themselves to give him what he asked for.

Firstly, we needed to get into the booking system at Wrigley field. Simon had been convinced that they were sitting in a season ticket box, so we needed to see. Solomon spent some time talking to some people on line -- turns out none of them had been into the booking system at Wrigley field; it's a sport. They are nerds. Why would any of them care? But it was based on the same software used by various parts of Ticket Master, and they had been in there. Solomon got the instructions, set about the task and was in within twenty minutes.

While he was doing that, I was looking on the MLB website for the game in question -- there were lots of small clips online and I caught one where the camera panned across the crowd and there they were. Thankfully they didn't have the Kiss Cam segment online. I don't think I could have handled that.

From a still of that, we cross referenced the seating plan and worked out where they were sitting. From there, it was a simple matter to interrogate the database and find out if those seats were allocated to a season ticket holder. And they were.

Jordan Lawler. The name of my nemesis. No, my mortal enemy. Nemesis implied he'd already won. And there I went again. Changing my mind. Was I going to fight, or just bury them? I still didn't know.

We got his home address -- it was an apartment building downtown. Unlikely he was married then -- it wasn't the kind of place you'd raise a family. We didn't get his credit card information. That was more learning I got from this experience -- most websites that take credit card information to then charge on them don't actually store those details themselves.

There are a ton of rules and regulations about how credit card details have to be stored -- servers with specific configurations, and access methods and so on, and most places that want to offer stuff for sale over the internet don't have the time, money or experience to put that together, so almost all contract it out to credit card storage companies whose major expertise is that. When you go to a website and put in your credit card details to buy, say movie tickets, that part of the website is actually handled by someone else. All the movie ticket company gets is an index id number that they use to communicate with the credit card company.

The practical upshot of which, we didn't get his credit card details. Solomon assured me he could get it in time, if I really wanted it, but I didn't know yet, so we let that go.

What I did want was some information that Solomon couldn't get. I didn't get how often he'd used the season tickets. I didn't get who he took with him. I didn't get that which I wanted most -- concrete details of this affair. It was a step in the right direction and I knew more now than I had, but I still didn't know what I wanted to know.

We took a break and I suggested lunch. Solomon just waved his hands at me and said he'd do some digging if I went to Burger King and got him the burger he liked. So off I went. I was back in half an hour, and found out that what that kid could do in half an hour, when I wasn't breathing down his neck, was astounding.

He'd compiled a dossier on Mr. Lawler that any PI company would have been proud of. Alright, it was all gained illegally, but I wasn't about to use it in court anyway, so who cares?

As we ate, I went through it. Turns out Mr. Lawler WAS married -- I was wrong. He actually lived in Philadelphia. He had two kids and a wife, and he was in Chicago as point man for a company buy out. He worked for a corporate raider and he was in Chicago negotiating to buy out a large confectionery making company there. He'd been there for at least eight months already, and it looked like he'd be there for another two or three, closing the deal. He'd bought a condo there since he was spending so much time in Illinois -- he thought that he could sell it, make his money back and then not have spent anything on the time he was there. The condo was currently up for sale.

He was also, we discovered, a customer of Royals Realty. Which is where Crystal worked. Connection made. That's how they'd met -- Deanna was staging his condo.

At one point, when I was engrossed in the documents, Solomon gestured at the file and said, "That was fun, putting that together. Deanna needs to cheat more often!"

I just stopped, didn't say anything and let Solomon work out what he'd just said. It took him a second and then he just went, quietly, "oh shit. I'm so sorry man... I didn't think."

Social issues, you see. Not thinking what he was saying. Oh well. Need to move on. I glanced at him, said, "Don't worry about it," and carried on reading.

We were making inroads here, but I still wasn't getting the details I wanted. But then I had a brainwave. Crystal. She had to know.

There was one way to find out. I pulled out my phone, gestured to Solomon to be quiet and made a call. The phone rang and after three rings, Crystal answered.

"Hi Ryan. How are you? Feeling better?" Deanna had spoken to her. Good. Boded well. They were sharing.

"Somewhat. Hey Crystal, you know where Deanna is? I think there's some issue with her phone. I tried calling her yesterday and got no answer, and same today. It doesn't even ring. I think there's some setting or something that got flipped? Maybe she's in a place where there is no service? You got any idea?"

"Oh, I don't know Ryan. She's at a staging downtown today, in an apartment complex off Lower Wacker Drive. She said she needed to get some things from storage, so she's probably on her way out to Crystal Lake right now. I can tell her you called though, if she calls me? Get her to get in touch?"

"Yeah, that's fine. It was like this yesterday too -- do you know where she was then? I was wondering if location had something to do with it."

The $64000 question.

"Oh, she was with me at a showing. We were downtown again. We've got four different apartments I'm showing right now."

Bingo. That was a direct lie. Crystal therefore knew at least something and was covering for Deanna, which means she was my new line of attack.

"Ok, well, not to worry. I'm sure she'll call at some point. Thanks Crystal. Say hello to Charlie for me."

"Sure, Ryan. Feel better, ok?"

Her husband, Charlie Riggs, was a local hero on talk radio. He was half comedian, half right wing mouthpiece. Very popular in Chicago, and I knew he held political aspirations for the future, but right now, he was just happy making people laugh and subtly poisoning their minds with the Tea Party agenda. In some ways, Charlie Riggs was more dangerous than anyone else I knew. When you laugh, you find yourself agreeing subconsciously. I do the same in some of my sales techniques.

Strangely though, even though we were polar opposites in our political leanings, Charlie and I got on. As long as we stayed away from certain subjects, we had a lot of fun. He'd even called me on his show a few times.

So, now I needed leverage on Crystal. She was obviously covering for Deanna and I needed information from her that she had to give me and then not tell my duplicitous soon to be ex-wife. Boom, that pendulum had swung right back again. Now I was divorcing her. At some point soon I would need to get settled on how I felt and what I was going to do. But not yet.

So back to Crystal. How was I going to get leverage? Well, one thing was for sure, I wasn't going to get it sitting around here. But Solomon might.

"Hey Solomon."

"Yeah man?"

"You wanna keep digging? See what you can find on Crystal Riggs. Bank details, work history, anything. She's one of Deanna's friends and covering for her, and I need dirt so I can make her squeal."

Solomon looked at me strangely and said, "You do know you are talking like some mid century gangster, right, Uncle Ryan?"

I blinked and looked back. "Can you do it?"

Solomon was offended. "Of course I can. I'm just wondering what you are going to do with all this..."

"Don't worry, it'll never be traced to you. None of this stuff is admissible in court. I just need to know what is going on."

Solomon eyes were full of empathy. "Yeah, I can get behind that. I'll keep on this -- these fuckers need pain. You need anything, holler, ok?"

"Err, how do I get hold of you?"

"Oh right, you don't have my digits. Hold on," and he grabbed my iPhone and entered a new contact. "There you go. Be careful with that -- it'll only last a couple of weeks till I get a new throw away phone."

I smiled at all the cloak and dagger stuff, and then realized it was the first time I had smiled in almost three days. And then with that realization, it went away again.

Crystal. My new target. I needed to focus.

I sat in my friend Simon's car, sitting outside of the apartment building, waiting for Crystal to emerge. I'd called Simon earlier in the day and asked if I could use his car. He'd just said yes immediately, and I'd then rung his doorbell, since I was outside anyway. We chatted, and I could see the concern in his eyes.

I didn't really have time for a long conversation, so I asked for the keys, gave him mine to use in the mean time, and took off as quickly as was decently possible. Part of me just didn't want to even talk about the situation. I was still yo-yo-ing back and forth on how I felt about the whole situation, where I was likely to go, and I just didn't feel up to talking about it just then.

Luckily, he understood. He just hugged me, told me to be safe, told me how sorry he was again, and if I needed anything, to call.

And I took off. Now, I know where the head offices of Royal Realty are. They are in Schaumburg, near the Woodfield Mall. I'd been there a few times with Deanna, so I was aware of their location. I also knew that Crystal was there since I'd called earlier from a pay phone and put on the most ridiculous accent and asked if she was free for an appointment. The company PA told me she was, but that she had a three o'clock, so it would have to be earlier than that at the company offices. So I knew she was there. She'd probably be fuming at being stood up, but oh well. Can't make an omelet and all that.

At two forty five precisely, I watched Crystal come out of the office and climb into her yellow boxster Porsche. I'd given her shit in the past about that car, going on and on about it being girlie, and how Charlie would never be caught dead in it. It was all good natured, but today, well, things would change. I honestly didn't really know what I was doing, following her. I didn't know what I expected to get from it -- I just needed...something. Some opportunity, if only to talk to her. Maybe find out more about her day, who she was talking to, whatever. Looking back, I think it was probably more the need to be doing something constructive, even if it didn't end up that way.

She drove to Des Plaines, went to her meeting in the apartment building and that's where I was now. I sat there, wondering what I was doing, when she came out again. She was on the phone, talking animatedly, and then it was back in the car -- thank god it was bright yellow; traffic was a bitch at this time and so the fact that it was yellow made it easier to follow.

We both drove off to Mount Prospect, the next town along, and also the town that provided the police car that Jake and Elwood drove in The Blues Brothers. We cruised along Golf Road and eventually pulled off into a motel in the warehouse part of town. It was one of those crappy little motels that do hourly rentals, where all the rooms are in a strip so each has it's own door to the outside world.

Now what could she possibly want here? It because very obvious, very quickly, when she parked next to a BMW seven series in the parking lot, got out and walked to a specific room. The door opened as she approached and a guy in a suit stood in the doorway, smiling at her in the same way that wolves smile at sheep. He was most definitely NOT her husband Charlie, but he sure acted like he was. He grabbed her, kissed her and shut the door and I sat there cursing the fact that I was not prepared and was fumbling with my iPhone trying to get a pic.

I figured they'd be in there for at least an hour, so I went to get coffee from a nearby Starbucks, and came back and just sat there, playing with my phone and wondering what Deanne was doing right then.

The phone rang and I saw it was Solomon number. I answered and he said, "Hey dog. I got an update. You free?"

"Shoot," I said, simply.

"So Royal Realty. Five partners, of which your friend Crystal is one. As a company they are doing well. Several well-paying gigs, lots of cash in the bank. The other partners are one couple, one single woman and a guy. The couple started the company and they and the guy are devout Mormons. Crystal Riggs herself looks clean, but we've found one extra account that has almost two hundred and fifty grand in it. It's off shore and it's never been declared on her taxes. Man, the things she claims! If she's ever audited..."

"Yeah, ok," I said, interrupting.

"Ok, so we aren't finding more than that right now. She's a party girl, from the socialite pages and is often out with her husband, the Radio guy. You know him, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, they look like a loving couple in all the pics I can find. Can't give you more than that unless you know what you want me to look at?"

"Nah, that's enough for now..." I said, absorbing what he'd said. "No, wait. If I give you a license plate, can you run it for me? Or whatever it is you do. You know I've always wanted to say that..."

"Oh give me something hard. Sure. What is it?"

I gave it to him, heard him typing and while he did, he said, "Cracking the DMV is like your My First Hack. Every hacker does this, just because it's so easy. The security is like a joke. Here we are. Alvin Jeffries. Lives in Rolling Meadows. Lets cross-reference his social..." there was more clacking of a keyboard. "Here we go. CEO of Procent Builders... they are building condos off Golf Road in Barrington and... you'll never guess who's helping them sell them."

"Royal Realty?"

"Got it in one. I guess she's sweetening the pot. No wonder she has hidden money. She must be getting kick backs of some kind."

"Well, that's interesting. More leverage. Ok, Solomon, keep rooting around. I'll talk to you..."

As luck would have it, the phone interrupted the conversation and I saw it was Deanne from the caller ID. Without thinking, I switched across to it -- that's what I would normally have done and I just didn't consider the situation.

"Hey Honey! How are you feeling?" she asked, concern evident.

"Oh, I'm ok," I said, then mentally kicked myself. Being sick meant I'd be able to avoid her, and I just wasn't thinking. I was too busy watching the door of the motel and not thinking about what I was saying to my loving wife.

"That's good. Crystal said you were trying to get hold of me?"

Oh shit! That lie. Crap. Make something up, quick.

"Oh nothing particular. I was more worried that your phone doesn't seem to getting my calls. You know, in case I need you."

"Oh. That does seem weird. Seems like I can call you though? You want anything particular for dinner tonight?", she said, changing the subject. I wondered why. Damn paranoia again.

"Err, no. I dunno. Chinese?"

"Oh the kids will like that. Jamie has that thing for dumplings. You've seen him. It's adorable."

I just sat there, marveling at how normal she sounded. In that instant I realized that our life was based on a lie. At least partially -- probably mostly - and it included some of the most important bits.

"Yeah," I replied. I honestly didn't know what else to say.

"Are you ok Babe? You sound distant?"

"I'm kinda in the middle of something. I have to concentrate. Tedious work I'd rather not be doing, but it has to be done," I answered, quite truthfully.

"Oh right. Ok, well, don't let me distract you. Have a good day babe. Can't wait to see you. I have a little something for you!"

She finished that statement in that upward lilt of tone people have when they are saying something that's supposed to be enticing. I couldn't muster up any enthusiasm, so I just grunted and hung up.

I sat there, for a moment, considering the situation. Here I was, sitting outside a motel where I was pretty sure my wife's friend and boss was having extra marital sex. Two days ago, I'd never even considered this kind of thing -- that it was even remotely near my marriage and life. Now, it appeared, everyone was at it. I felt like an idiot. Like someone who runs around with his eyes shut, blissfully ignorant of what is going on around him. It was making me look at everyone and every situation differently. Are the PTSO meetings really PTSO meetings, or meet and greets to find new lovers? What happened to just Not Fucking Around? What happened to people actually, you know, respecting their vows? Where is all this disrespect for their partners coming from? You just never really think about it -- about this kind of thing happening to you. The moment you do, you open your eyes and god knows what you find going on around you.




Live from the Game Ch. 02



I needed some leverage on Crystal, and boom, there it was, because she was as much of a cheating slut as apparently my wife was. It made me want to run home, get my kids and just move to Alaska, where the nearest neighbor was fifty miles away.

I just couldn't really get my head around the whole situation. Was anyone I knew not screwing around?

I adjusted the phone and put it back into camera mode, and at that exact moment, the door on the motel room opened. I was out of the car like a flash, and had them framed on the doorway. He'd lost his jacket and tie, and the back of his shirt was still out the back of his pants.

She was buttoning the last of the buttons on her blouse, and then they gave each other a big full on kiss. And I was getting it all on video.

I've never really understood why people who are cheating stand in doorways and kiss each other. Well, I've never really understood the whole cheating thing at all, but this particular behavior blows my mind. Lets announced it to everyone! Look, I'm kissing this person at a motel in the middle of the afternoon. And I'm tucking my clothes in as I do it. I wonder what we've been doing! And we probably aren't married to each other either! Otherwise, why would we be at a motel?

It just seems really dumb and stupid. But then here I was being basically a peeping tom, so what do I know?

Alvin grabbed his jacket and tie from inside the door and walked to his car, got in and took off. Crystal got in her car and pulled out her phone and started talking and I saw my chance. Strike while the iron is hot, element of surprise. To be honest, I was just tired, frustrated, pissed off and I wanted answers. Now.

So I walked out, opened the passenger door of her car and just climbed in, looking over at her and smiling.

She looked at me, with a very false smile and said to the phone call, "I'll call you back. Something came up," and disconnected the call.

"Hello Ryan. What a surprise! What can I do for you?" she said, politely, while quite obviously wishing I was anywhere else. The dread in her eyes was evident, but she was obviously going to try bluffing it out.

"Oh, I don't think you can do much for me right now Crystal. You are probably tired. Quite a work out eh?" I said, nodding to the motel room door.

She went red and said, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I was meeting a client. He has meetings in the area and he stays here when he does."

"Yeah, I'll bet he does. I wonder why though Crystal. Alvin only lives in Rolling Meadows, and we are less than ten miles away from there. Why do you think he's staying in a motel? And why did he leave when your 'meeting' was done?"

Crystal opened her mouth and closed it again, eyes darting around as she considered what to say.

"Tell you what, there's a bar down here somewhere. Lets drive and go get a drink. I'm sure you need one to settle your nerves and besides, I'm sure you are dehydrated."

She continued to just look at me undecided, until I put on the seat belt and barked, "Drive!" and she jumped.

She hastily put the car in drive and we drove off the Under The Sea Saloon. The bar was every bit as disgusting as it sounds, the kind of place where your shoes stick to the floor. But it had no windows, lots of high backed booths and low lighting -- it was perfect for the interrogation I needed to perform.

We parked, went inside and I ordered myself a club soda and her a brandy. That was her tipple I remembered. But not top shelf. She didn't deserve that.

We sat down and I immediately got my phone out, fiddled with it and then presented it to her.

"Before we even get going, I want to show you this. I've already copied it to myself, and at the touch of a button, Charlie gets this."

She watched aghast as she exited the hotel room, kissing Alvin hard and buttoning up her clothes.

"While we are on the subject, I'm pretty sure Charlie would like to know about that secret account you have as well. I'll bet he doesn't right now, does he?"

That was a total shot in the dark, but worth trying. The way her face tightened up and her hands grasped the glass with the brandy in it told me I'd hit home.

"How did you know about that? What do you want?" Crystal hissed at me.

"You know what I want," I said. I didn't really think about how it sounded, until she recoiled from me.

"I will not sleep with you. I'm not making this worse."

I couldn't believe it. I was so wrapped up in my own woes I'd not considered the situation or how she'd take that comment. I should have known better.

"Crystal," I said, in measured tones, "I do not want to fuck you. I wouldn't put my cock or anyone else's anywhere near your gaping cunt right now. God knows, it's probably got cum seeping out of it as we speak. Why the fuck would you imagine I would?"

Crystal was taken aback at the venom in my delivery. In fact I was too. The anger I had inside over Deanna was coming out and Crystal just happened to be in the cross hairs right now.

Give her her due though. She clenched her teeth, then said, "I'm not the one trying to blackmail you."

Touche. I rolled my eyebrows at her to acknowledge her point.

"Well, I'm not the one cheating. And that's what I need to talk about."

"Look, it doesn't mean anything. You can't tell Charlie. He wouldn't understand."

"No, I'll bet he wouldn't."

"It's just sex. It's just a sweetner on the deal. To...consummate it, so to speak. The money is for our retirement. We are retiring to Florida. Eventually. I want to be sure we have what we want."

"I really don't need your justifications, Crystal. I don't care. You've made your bed, you lie in it, sweaty and stained as it - and you - are. I'm not interested in your sordid little affairs. Your revolting little reasoning that allows you to go home to a man who loves you and works his ass off for you, after you've spent the afternoon with another man's cock in you is not my business."

"Then what do you want?" she asked, defiantly. "Money?"

I scrunched up my face in distaste. "Like I said, you know what I want. I want to know about Jordan Lawler."

Crystal stared at me and then murmured, "Oh shit." She took a gulp of the brandy and avoided my eyes.

"Yes, Crystal. You are about to throw Deanna under the bus, or your marriage will be over before that drink is done. I shouldn't imagine your partners at Royal Realty will be that thrilled with you, either."

"Oh, I think some of them would be proud," she said, quietly.

"Really? Think the devout Mormon couple would be happy to hear about how you're screwing clients on company time? About your little nest egg? Oh I think they'd have quite a lot to say about that, don't you?"

Crystal just stared at me.

"So spill Crystal. Tell me about my whore wife and this fuck face ass wipe. Tell me what you know. I already know a lot, and you don't know what I know or not. One lie, one omission, and this video gets sent out. So do whatever you need to do to get over it, but TELL ME NOW."

I thumped the table at the end of the rant, anger starting to flow. I'd done what I thought was a good job of controlling myself, but now the details were in sight, I wanted them, with no waiting around.

Crystal took a deep breath and, then trembling, said, "OK. Jordan Lawler is a client of mine. He has a loft downtown that he bought last year that he's trying to shift. It's been on the market a few weeks and not moving, so I brought Deanna in to stage it. I've shown it several times, but nothing was clicking. It needed...arranging. She did what she always does, but this guy was home while she was doing it. I don't know the details, we don't go into those. Something clicked between them -- they've been, I don't know what you want to call it, fucking, dating, falling in love. I don't know. She's into him, he's into her. She knows it's short term, or at least that's what she's said to me. She knows he's going back to Philly when the job is done, and she's determined to enjoy it while he's here. There. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Crystal was still trembling. I could see it from her point of view. Delivering the truth to me wasn't going to make me love what she'd been doing any more. Truth might well unhinge me to the point where I pushed that button on her marriage anyway. And she was right to think it, too.

I was trembling too. Here was the proof. The details. The data I needed.

"How long?" I asked, simply.

"I don't know exactly. At least six weeks now. Possibly more."

SIX WEEKS! Jesus. And I'd not suspected anything. Was I an idiot or what?

Apparently my thought processes were displayed on my face. Crystal actually reached out and grabbed my hand.

"Look. It's not you, ok? The little we have talked about it, she's made that clear. She loves you. I know it doesn't seem like it, but she does. She's doing everything possible so you never find out, although she is indulging in high-risk behavior. From what I gather, apparently that's part of the attraction. They've fucked in some strange places, elevators, bathrooms, places like that, where they risk discovery. That's part of the allure for her, from what she's said. She's said you've never go with that -- this is her way of getting that high with no risk to her marriage."

I just looked at her, in shock.

"Yeah, now I say it, I hear how stupid that sounds, too. The whole point of high risk is that is a risk to your marriage," said Crystal, with the facial expression of something smelling a nasty fart. "How did you find out? The jumbotron, right?"

I nodded. She released my hand. "I told her this morning how fucking stupid that was. She just laughed and said there was no way you'd know -- none of your friends are sports fans, and you certainly wouldn't be watching. Besides, it was only on the screen at the stadium."

"No, it wasn't. It was on national TV," I said in a dead voice.

Crystal closed her eyes and winced. "Jesus," she said, "I don't think she's aware of that. She just said it turned them on and they fucked hard afterward."

I sat there, frozen, just listening.

"Is this guy anything special? He good in the sack or something?"

"I don't know," said Crystal. "It's not like I fuck every client."

"Just some, right?" I said, with a touch of bitterness. She looked away and didn't respond to that.

"Look, Ryan, I could go on about it only being sex but I don't know what it is with her. I would never have thought she was someone to do this. When she told me what was going on, I was shocked. I mean, me, I can see it. I've always had straying tendencies. Her? She's Ms. Mom. When I said that to her, she just smiled and said 'not right now I'm not.' I don't know what to say. When I've seen them together, they look like they are in the early stages of love. I hate to say this to you, but I really think this is trouble. In a way, I'm glad you caught me. At least I can be honest with you about this."

I just sat there and scratched my head, not entirely comprehending what I was hearing. My life was crashing around me and I was sitting in a bar and not having a clue what to do next.

"Lots to take in, yeah? I can tell you this Ryan -- she's never done it before. The kids are yours."

That hadn't even occurred to me yet. I looked at her sharply. She put up her hands in front of her. "It's going to occur to you at some point. Those kids are yours, there's no question. She told me she'd never thought she was the kind of woman who'd cheat, which is why she surprised herself.

"Something else I can tell is that she loves you. She's successfully separated out her life with you and this...fling. She's very careful about it never coming home to you. It only happens downtown with him, where there is no chance of you being around. She douches afterward -- you've never gotten sloppy seconds from her. She's never given you a cream pie and she's never done anything with this guy that she hasn't done with you. It's quite strange -- she's very concerned to ensure there is parity here between what you get and what he gets. She says she doesn't want to 'disrespect you' that way. I dunno what to make of that. She has her own way of looking at things, that's for sure. Me? The sex is just that. Sex. With her, it's integrated into the relationship."

"Doesn't want to 'disrespect me'? Apart from sleeping with some other guy, developing a relationship with him and lying to me about it for weeks, you mean?" I was both bitter and indignant.

'Um, not really sure how to respond to that Ryan. I don't think anything I can say will help."

"Oh you've helped enough already," I said, angrily. "Where do you think she got the idea that cheating was ok? Oprah? There you are, her friend, her example in the business world, and what are you doing? Fucking clients to get ahead, then sweetly going home to the man who gets up at 4am to provide for you."

I was laying it on a bit thick here -- Charlie did his radio show because he was a massive show off, but while the point might be labored, but it was still valid.

Crystal recoiled a bit, then her face softened.

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to explain this to you, Ryan. But at root, It's. Just. Sex. I don't know how else to put it. Oh wait. I do. You play tennis, right?"

I looked at her and said, "Do I LOOK like I play tennis Crystal? Seriously?"

"Well, you've played at some point right?" Crystal was exasperated. She was trying to prove a point and I was being facetious. Well fuck her. I nodded anyway.

"Look, when it's just sex, it's like playing tennis. You both get hot and sweaty, everyone has a work out, you feel the burn, and best of all, no one loses. And it means as much. You wouldn't be upset about Deanna playing tennis with someone right? So this is the same. You let her have this, and it gives you leverage and the ability to go out and do it yourself, and she can't say shit. Isn't that every guys dream?"

I just stared at her. I couldn't honestly believe I was getting into the finer points of cheaters philosophy with Crystal Riggs. It was like going over the deeper implications of Warp Theory from Star Trek with the Pope.

"Where to begin? I don't honestly want to deal with this, but some of your justifications are almost certainly going to get trotted out by my soon to be ex wife, so what the hell, might as well deal with them now."

Crystals painted on smile evaporated when I said "Soon to be ex-wife". I probably shouldn't have jumped the gun on that, but I was pissed.

"Firstly, while your argument is logical and well pointed out Crystal," She preened and smiled at that, "it's still crap. You don't play tennis to make children. Sex is intimacy between two people. It's the sharing of bodies. It's the promise that what you share stays between you. It's the giving of yourself to another, in an exclusive deal. It's symbolic of your exclusivity that it's not shared with anyone else. It's not a sweaty afternoon in a motel 6, despite the way you want to look at it.

"Look, if both you and your partner feel the same way about it, then fine, sex can mean whatever you choose it to mean. If it's something you give away freely, then that's up to you, between the two of you. But in this case, it isn't, is it? Charlie has no idea you are playing tennis, as you put it, with some douche bag who owns a construction company. You know this is wrong, or you'd be up front about it with Charlie. You know how he'd react, so while you seem to be extremely 1963 in your outlook, you know damn well Charlie is not, and you know how society treats this kind of thing. And the fact that you ignore that, that knowing how he'd feel about it, you do it anyway, just shows the disrespect you have for him and your marriage. You've carefully constructed this really stupid idea that 'it's ok' because there's no feeling in it so it's of no threat to anyone. And that might even be true for you, but you also know that Charlie isn't going to feel that way, or you wouldn't be sneaking around.

"It's exactly the same as Vegans who go on and on about artificial bacon, quite missing the point that they know bacon tastes awesome, which is why they are trying to replicated with fucking Tofu.

"The bottom line is that the construct you've just put out there is a way to push the blame on to Charlie. Effectively you are saying 'Sex means nothing to me, so it's your problem if it means more than that to you.' Charlie being upset because you've been fucking some other guy is, in your twisted little rational, his fault, not yours.

"And lastly, even if everything you think is true, that's not the case with Deanna, is it? You've already said you have no idea where her mind is at. Well, I can tell you one place its not, Crystal. It's not at home, with her family. She's out having a childfree time, getting laid and feeling wanted and we are at home, doing the normal family thing. She's lying to us, she's deceiving us and she's betraying us. All of us. Safron, Jamie, Paula and me. She already made her choice, in front of all of her family and friends when she married me. She doesn't get to make it again and then say 'Well, I can change my mind and you'll never know, so it doesn't matter.'

"And it's worse because she's indulging in high risk behavior in order to get her self off. I highly doubt she's using any form of protection, and she's also risking someone else's marriage at the same time.

"You say she's compartmentalizing and as such, still loves me as much as she ever did. I say bullshit. That's horseshit. It's the kind of crap cheaters say to themselves in an attempt to not feel as guilty. 'What he doesn't know won't hurt him.' FUCK OFF. Because they always know. Deep down. When you choose to cheat, you know damn well there is a fair to middling chance it's going to come out. When you start loving someone else in that way, you aren't loving the other person as much. Sure, when it comes to kids, love is limitless. When it comes to loving a spouse, it is not. Priorities and desires and fucking time limitations come into play. It's fucking bullshit and I won't accept it."

I stopped, chest heaving after delivering this rant. Crystal looked like she was about to burst into tears.

She just said, "I...I never... that's a different way to look at it."

"No, I'm sure you didn't. But lets be honest, even if it had crossed your mind you'd have found some way to suppress it. You're a cheater, Crystal. You don't hold anyone else's emotional state as important as yours. The bottom line here is that you, like that bitch of a wife of mine, haven't really considered the import of your actions. You've never really sat down and thought about what would happen if Charlie discovered what you've been doing. You've never really contemplated how he is likely to react, and if you have, you've just created some internal 'I'll make it up to him' bullshit that you people tell yourselves so you can feel ok about what you are doing. What do you think he's going to do, Crystal? How do you think he's going to feel? Put yourself in his place for a second. Lets imagine he's been fucking his PA at work."

Crystals faced paled and she looked angry, then her faced changed to a stricken one.

"Right, I think we might be getting somewhere. You can't even begin to imagine the pain and hurt and damage to his ego your slutting around is doing. You just can't. And to protect your own whoreish desires, you've done a really good job of avoiding thinking about it. And now you've got Deanna believing it too."

Crystal's nose wrinkled, and she hesitantly said, "Well, Ryan, lets be fair here. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Do you understand how other people perceive you? Your middle aged, used up, balding, a bit overweight and you wear a rumpled suit twenty four / seven. You aren't exactly lust material."




Live from the Game Ch. 02



I sat there, open mouthed, staring at her in shock, and she warmed to her theme.

"I mean, is it any surprise she's interested in someone else? Look at you. Not exactly making me want to jump your bones. Can you blame her for going to a bit of stranger, who's younger and cuter?"

I closed my mouth, and then I just laughed. Crystal looked disconcerted. She'd had a good little rant there, at my expense.

"Oh my god. Is that what they are teaching in cheaters school these days?" I asked, incredulous. "Seriously? That's it? A good offense is the best defense? Jesus Christ Crystal, you can just fuck right off with that. When we got married, and when you did too, there was nothing in the fine print about being true to each other, unless your spouse maintained a constant 34 inch waist. There was nothing in my vows about being faithful, but it was ok to cheat if one or the other wasn't in the gym every night.

"I mean, of course you are right. I've just let myself go. I should be in the gym way more, obviously. I could do it on Wednesday night -- oh wait, no, I can't. I'm taking Jamie to his Karate lessons then. Hmm. How about Thursday? No, wait, Deanna is at her stupid book club. Lets see, how about Monday? Oh wait, no, that's payroll and I have to oversee that, or people won't get paid.

"Yes, of course, it's my fault that I'm turning 40 and not Brad Fucking Pitt. I should be wearing a lot more Armani, obviously. Maybe get my teeth bleached, so they have little reflections from the sun when I smile. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT Crystal??"

My voice raised a bit and the barman glanced over and I forcibly dialed it down. Crystal had recoiled, clearly afraid at my rant.

"I'm forty. I have three kids. I work sixty hours a week because if I don't the company will fail and forty three people will be out of work. I do the very best I can -- I spend time with my kids as much as I can. I tell my wife she is pretty. I buy her flowers. I compliment her on her dress sense. I work my ass off to bring in cash, so she can play at working by staging houses. And you know what? I also take my wedding vows seriously. Jesus Christ, what a monster I must be. I can't believe she's still with me, since I wear rumpled suits. Jesus Fucking Christ Crystal, don't you EVER fucking tell me this is my fault because I'm not George Fucking Clooney. She's not Meg Ryan either, but I find things to love anyway."

I was really angry and Crystal could tell. She just sat there while I took another sip of my drink and calmed down. I had no idea why I used Meg Ryan as an example -- Amy Adams would have been a much better one, since Deanna had a lot of what Amy Adams has. Showing my age I guess.

"Even if everything you just said was true, it still doesn't make it ok. You don't just ditch your vows and betray the man your promised to spend your life with because he's not exciting enough any more. You fucking talk to him. You tell him that. You ask him to do something about it. Again though, it's not thought out. Imagine how you'd feel if you caught Charlie with your sister and he said to you 'Oh dear, she's just younger than you. You are getting on and she's just much tighter'. Think that would fly for a second?"

I stopped again and took another drink. Crystal just sat there, with the deer in the headlights look.

I took a deep breath, calmed down some more and said, "So, now, with all that out there, what are we going to do with you?"

Crystal eyes went wide at that, afraid.

"I can destroy your marriage, you know that."

Crystal looked thoughtful, and said, "You know you are holding Charlie to blackmail more than me. I do ok, I earn, if our marriage exploded, I'd survive. Charlie, given his right wing leanings, would be eaten alive. Even if I was the bad guy, he'd be made to look a fool. All his political aspirations would just evaporate. You want to hold him to ransom too?"

I honestly believe that Crystal thought I was born the week before. Again, I just stared at her, wondering where to begin. All my statements about what her behavior does to other people and she went right back to using them to get what she wants.

"Crystal, sure, you can look at it that way. But the fact is that all the juice I have is on you. Nothing on Charlie, just you. You've manufactured this situation, not him. Sure, he would get hurt by the fallout, but that would happen because of what you've done. Nothing he's done. You are one hundred percent responsible for this. And if he gets damaged more than you, again, you are responsible for that. The question is, do you really want to wander the earth knowing what you did to him? And you did do this to him. If it wasn't me that caught you, what if it was someone you couldn't attempt to guilt into something? The fact is that right now, you have no bargaining power, and now you are using a threat to someone else -- someone you are supposed to love beyond anyone else - to wriggle free of your own responsibilities.

"Crystal, you are supposed to care more about Charlie than anyone else alive. Why the hell aren't you offering to do anything to avoid hurting him any more than you already have behind his back? Jesus woman, who the fuck are you? Do you know why you are able to get away with all that you have?"

She looked at me for a second then shook her head.

"Because he trusts you. Absolutely and completely. He's not checking up on you or looking into what you are doing. Whatever you tell him he accepts. What you've done with that Alvin fuck -- and with god knows who else - has made that trust something bad. I can't even being to tell you how that feels. You'll never know, because you are the one doing it. You'll never know the agony of understanding that you've been betrayed, and the only way it happened was because your trust of another person was preyed upon. If this comes out, you'll have destroyed his ability to trust in any woman, for years. Deanna has already done that for me. Why would you want that for Charlie?"

There was silence between us for a moment and we both took a drag on our drinks. When Crystal put hers down, she muttered, "Well, you are way deeper than I thought you were, that's for sure. You could guilt mother Teresa for wiping her ass."

I actually gagged at that and spat some of my drink across the table. What the hell, sue me, it was funny. I had no idea I could even still laugh. It was good to know I could.

I quit coughing and put down my drink carefully and said, "Ok, so what do we do about you Crystal? I'll deal with Deanna later, but you? Well, this can't go on as it is. So here's what I propose. I actually read this in a story on a website and I thought it was a great idea. You want to get laid? Terrific. Fuck your husband. Often. With malice of forethought. I like Charlie, and I want to hear him talk about how happy he is. I want you to use imagination. You want seedy motel meets? Fine. Set them up with him. Go buy nasty underwear and porn. Try new things. If he likes them, do it some more. Bring in another woman. Hell, take him to a swing club for all I care, then you can both get some strange, but at least he will know. You are going to make him so happy that he tells all his friends, because Christ knows, I'm not going to ask. And if I don't hear about it, then a video gets released. Are we clear?"

Crystal sat there in shock, eyes wide, and then just nodded vigorously.

"I can do that. I'd... I'd like to that."

"I don't care if you'd like that or not Crystal, you will do that. And added to that, you will refuse to cover for Deanna any more. Tell her you're a born again Christian, tell her the guy has a disease, or he's gay, or your gay and want her yourself. I don't really care. Make it convincing, but you are no longer going to provide my wife with an example, except for the one that states 'what she is doing is very very bad.' Do you understand? And no hint of our conversation gets back to her, or boom, your marriage explodes. And lastly, the cheating on your part stops, obviously. Are we absolutely clear here?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it. You got off light here Crystal. Now fuck off out of my sight. I've had about all of you I can stomach for one day."

Crystal grabbed her bag and almost jumped out of the booth. She was just about to turn and go, when she stopped and turned and said, "You really are a decent guy Ryan. I honestly don't know why she is running around on you. Oh, and they do the game thing on a Wednesday every week -- you know, at Wrigley Field? It's like 'their thing' now. If you want to catch them, that's where you need to be."

When she finished that, she hustled out of the bar, not looking back. I checked my phone and was glad to see the recording of the conversation was still running. I'd got it all. Just in case.

Two things occurred to me as she left. The first was that a germ of an idea had formed. It would basically end my marriage, but in my current mood, after hearing what Crystal had to say, it was done anyway. At some point I'd need to know why from the horses mouth, but right now, I was just seething. Funny how my indecision turned to contemplation of direct action when hearing all the facts.

The second was the fact that Crystal had brought me here, and my car was still parked at the motel. I sighed, picked up my phone and looked up taxicab numbers.



Live from the Game Ch. 03



I went home that night in a foul mood. I caught every red light possible, every moron who's ever driven a car in his life was in my way and I had decided that the stuff people talk about in LitErotica stories about wiring up their houses for video and audio and all that were horse shit. I'd paid a visit to Frys Electronics on the way home and that shit is expensive. Also, it requires wiring and computer skills I don't have. I didn't have a clue how to wire up a phone intercept, and even if I did, it wouldn't do us any good since we don't have a land line any more -- just mobiles.

Sure, it would be a stroll in the park for Solomon, but he wasn't there. I was.

Besides, from what Crystal had told me, Deanna was careful to keep it out of our house. About the only thing I'd get good footage of would be me taking a crap and the kids stashing plastic bugs in our bed at night. That was a favorite of theirs -- stashing bugs in our bed and scaring the crap out one of us when we pulled back the covers. Little shits. I wonder where they got that idea from? Hehehhe.

I parked in my little garage and before I went inside I looked at the boxes I had bought at Frys. They were little voice recorders that were voice activated. The stories on Lit make it look so easy, but looking at these things, they could only record a hundred files at a time, which meant hundred different voice activated incidents, before they were full. That meant I'd need to be recovering them and grabbing the data off them constantly. Ah well. Being James Bond was never going to be easy. I did look good in a Tux though, even if it was rumpled. That little crack from Crystal still rankled. Mainly because it was true.

I went inside and the kids were running around, making more noise than it should be possible for such small packages to make, balanced against the TV which was blaring out the Odd Family, with it's grating and irritating voices. Paula came and gave me an embarrassed kiss -- she was just at that age where romantic idea's were raising their heads, hormones were everywhere and I was, naturally -- and rightly so -, gross.

I nodded at Deanna, who was in the kitchen, sorting through large piles of Chinese food packages. She nodded back and yelled, "Good day?"

"Probably not as good as yours," I screamed back, without a trace of irony.

"Kids, turn off the TV," bellowed Deanna. That got her a chorus of "awww, moooommmmm" before the kids actually did it. Suddenly the noise quotient dropped fifty percent.

I said to Deanna, "I need to go shower. Long day and it's humid out there," and she nodded absently mindedly, while sorting the food containers.

"Don't be long, dinner is almost ready," she replied.

I went upstairs and marveled at how calm and collected she was. No hint of what was going on during her day. No difference in her demeanor. She was a world-class actor, there was no doubt of that. That or she had some serious schizophrenic issues.

I took a very fast shower, just in and out, then looked around at where to stash the first of the three voice recorders I had bought. In the end, I taped it to the underside of her bedside cabinet. I didn't really expect to get anything from the recorders at home, but I wanted to be thorough.

After that, I got dressed in sweats, went downstairs and had dinner. It was the usual rambunctious affair, with three children competing for our attention. After dinner was done and the things tidied up -- and I had managed to plant another recorder in the kitchen, under the bottom of the high counters - Deanna came and plonked herself in my lap.

She game me that special smile, and the noise we made to indicate that dessert was on the menu, if you know what I mean. She whispered in my ear, "You've been home two days and we've not seen each other. Lets send the rabble to bed early and go snuggle down ourselves."

Looking at her, I saw her so differently now. She was offering me a mercy fuck, after probably spending the day in bed with her lover. It wasn't because she wanted to, it was because she thought she had to. It was all I could do to keep dinner down, to be honest, but I nodded weakly.

Then she produced a little package from the coffee table and said, "Tada! Small gift. I saw it and thought of you."

Well, this was weird. What was I to make of this? I opened it and found one of those GPS based running watches -- the ones that are designed for runners and which record heart rate and so on. It came complete with a small insert you put in your shoe to count footsteps.

I looked back at her, and she was looking at me, all expectant. She said, "I thought of you on the bike thing you are doing with Simon now. I thought it would be cool to track all that stuff."

While I looked at her, everything came into focus. My entire life with her, the kids, our day to day life. It was all a lie. Well, it wasn't, but it was less than fifty percent of what she thought it should be. Our lives together were based on routine, rote and unfeeling expectations.

She'd bought me a present. That was nice, no denying it. But what she'd bought me had zero thought put into it -- I already had a tracker for my bike -- my iPhone. Deanna had been with me when I'd bought the mount for it. She hadn't been paying attention and was on the phone in the store, but she was there, and I had been exuberant about getting this thing in the car all the way home. She just wasn't listening -- in one ear and out the other. She had absolutely no interest in what I was doing, beyond being pleased at the concept that I was doing something to stay healthy.

I suddenly realized all the times I'd tried to engage her on the subject, to get minimal attention -- of the kind where you nod and just say things like "hmmm, yes," trying to give the impression of attention when you have none. And the other person just burbles on happily, full of the joy of the purchase and thinking about usage cases, not even really noticing that you couldn't give a rats ass.

What's more, this device was for runners. Bikers couldn't use it -- apart from the GPS part, the idea was to track footfalls. There aren't any when you bike. Sure, I could use some portion of the facilities of this thing, but honestly, the iPhone did it better than this device ever would.

And if she'd asked someone, spent more than 30 seconds in the store and looked around, she'd know. But she didn't. That was our marriage in a nutshell. Do the least amount possible with a smile and get your jollies elsewhere.

I had to balance that with the thought that it had even occurred to her to buy me a gift in the first place, but all I could see was guilt. I know I probably wasn't being fair, but that's what I saw. She was off gallivanting with this guy, I was getting the short end of the stick, so she'd bought me a gift to feel better about it. And the gift itself was totally not thought out, just an off the cuff thing to make her feel better about what she was doing, not for what I wanted at all.

I realized that this had been our life for a couple of years now. I was still trying to keep it alive -- flowers, dinners out, a weekend away. I spent hours trying to get her the right thing for Christmas last year -- agonized over what to get. I went to three malls and went through all their jewelry and in the end bought her a diamond necklace, and also shooting lessons - for her and me. I thought it might be fun for us to do it together. While I paid for them, we did one and never went back. Just never found the time, I guess.

But now I thought about it, she never did that for me. Each year she just demanded an email of links for items on Amazon and that was that. There was no thought. There was no concern. There was the act of the purchase, but I did all the work for her. She didn't think about a gift for me at all. She just clicked the link, put in the credit card info and that was that. Gift giving done.

I was just suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. We were done. All that I had found out came to a head and the realization that she had already internally moved on was there. Love me? Bullshit. She might love me in some way, but the love of her life? He was in some apartment down town. She loved me like... like I loved Paul. OH FUCK.

That realization -- that I was Paul in this marriage -- that just totally pushed me over the edge. I just dissolved into tears. I'm not afraid to admit it. I wept for our marriage, for the fact that it was over. I wept for allowing it to happen, and not even seeing it as it happened. I wept for our children, because divorce was never easy on children -- they'd spend years wondering if it was their fault. And I wept for myself. For being betrayed by someone I trusted with my life.

Deanna was speechless -- she could see some dam had broken, but was clueless about what was going on. Initially she made a joke, saying weakly, "Hey now, it's just a work out device. No need for tears Ryan!"

I just looked at her, bawled some more, and abruptly got up and headed to the bathroom.

"Paula, take the kids up stairs. Watch something in your room. Your father and I need some time," she instructed our eldest, who was watching slack jawed.

Paula gathered up the others, with some complaining from Jamie who was in the middle of playing Lego Starwars on the Xbox.

I could hear Deanna outside the bathroom. I had started to get myself under control and was breathing heavily, just looking at myself in the mirror. How did it get to be this bad? My wife was intent on betraying me and our family in the worst possible way, and what's more, she was getting off on the prospect of being caught. What do you do in that situation? How are you supposed to feel? How are you supposed to react?

Some people would just react out of anger and push back. And on occasion, I felt like that. That there needed to be beatings and pain, so others would know the pain I felt. Other times I just wanted to retreat -- hole up somewhere by myself and retreat from humanity entirely. Obviously it didn't need me to function. Then I thought of my kids, and the pain came from the impact to them, and the realization that no matter what happened, I would never be free of Deanna. She would always be there, as their mother, always reminding me of what she'd done.

I felt trapped. I felt angry. I felt out of control -- not the kind where you want to do damage, although there was some of that, but the kind where your life is happening to you, rather than you making it happen. You are in complete reaction mode and not able to actually effect events, just react to them. I've never felt this way before -- I've been to all intents and purposes a CEO of a midsized company, and I've had to be in control. But now? I didn't know what to do with my life.

All the time I had purpose when I was tracking down the facts, conspiring to trap Crystal and get the details, well, now I had them, and I had to decide what to do.

She had no clue what I knew. I had to make a decision. And like the coward I am, I didn't make one. I just decided I would hold it together and make the decision tomorrow. So I took a bunch more deep breaths, thought frantically for a story to tell my slut wife, and exited the bathroom.

She was hovering outside. "Are you ok, Ryan? This is just...not like you. What's going on?"

"I got some news today. From Simon. One of the guys we bike with has a tumor. I was just getting to know him and enjoy all their company and this happened. He's dying. He has six months at the outside. When you gave me that present, well, it just all came out. It makes me feel for my own mortality, you know?"

It was all utter crap, all absolutely inspired and I couldn't quite believe I was coming out with it. And Deanna bought it. Well why not? She'd been lying to me for weeks -- be nice to get some pay back.

"Oh that's horrible Ryan. Oh my god. Is there anything we can do? I'm so sorry; I didn't mean..." she trailed off.

"I just...need some time, Deanna. I just need to go have a drink somewhere by myself or something."

The inspiration just kept coming. This was great stuff. I was building myself a wall that she wouldn't dream of trying to breach in the short term.

"Of course, Babe. Go, The Mill is open. Go have a beer. Call me when you want to come home, I'll come get you."

"Thanks," I said, giving her my best 'I'll be brave' smile.

And that's how I left it. Before I went to the bar, I stashed another recorder under the front seat of her Town and Country van, then I fled to the Mill Tavern, had a beer, pulled out my phone and called Simon and Solomon. It was time to make plans.

They arrived within half an hour. Solomon was especially interested in the bar; his was not a social existence and this was a new experience for him. He just sat there, looking round with interest at all the other people, the bar maids, the TV's mounted on the wall. I got him a coke, and then Simon arrived, and with it, more beer and suddenly Solomon was understanding what it was that everyone was going on about when it came to that subject. He was suddenly very happy very quickly. I already imagined what I had created here would not end well.

"Right, we are all three here. Simon, this is Solomon. Solomon is very smart and socially inept. That's the right word, isn't it Solomon?"

At this point Solomon was feeling no pain and cheerfully said, "Absolutely. No redeeming social skills what so ever. Wow, she is cute. Look at those tits!"

I couldn't have scripted it better. Simon just stared at me, took a long drink of his beer and looked at Solomon, then he leaned and said, "We aren't going to have to pull him out of a fight, are we?"

"No, I don't think so. Look, I need to fill you in on what I've learned."

Both gave me their full attention as I recapped what I'd done with Solomon, what I'd learned from Crystal, even the whole present thing. At the end I said, "So yeah, Simon, if you get phone calls from Deanna, follow through on the dying comrade ok? Lay it on thick. It enables me to keep away from her in the short term while I am coming to terms with my own mortality."

Simon nodded and said, "You got it, bud."

"So what's next on the Uncle Ryan Personal Plan?" asked Solomon.

"Well, I think we are done. She's just too good to trust any more. She's got this entire other life with this asshole and I have had no hint of it. No hint of unhappiness, no hint of our sex life changing. Nothing. She's just too good at lying and being able to pull the wool over my eyes. Well, that's done and there's a price to be paid for both of them. And I know just want I want to do. They want high-risk sexual activity? I'm -- no, we - are going to give it to them."

I went into the plan I had in mind and both Solomon and Simon sat there, shocked. Then Simon started to laugh and then Solomon did and then I started to chuckle. We all had a good laugh and after we were done, Solomon pointed out something that hadn't even occurred to me. None of it was illegal. Oh, we'd need to go about it in certain illegal ways, but the end result would be one hundred percent legal.

I had no idea how we were going to pull it off, but we were damn well going to try. We spent the rest of the evening talking about how to make it happen, what it would cost, how we would go about it, what each of us would do and generally making plans.

There was a lot that needed to be put in place first though, and I would make a start on that tomorrow, by seeing my lawyer.

I went home that night and thankfully Deanna was already asleep. I'd called and told her Simon was dropping me home, so she didn't need to wait up. She sounded grateful. I'm sure she was. I'm sure the day had been very hard on her, physically. I'm sure she'd need her sleep to recover from the pounding she'd gotten that afternoon, poor baby.

Now that I had plans in place, I needed to start other balls rolling. I knew I had to get away from Deanna, and she had to feel some of my pain. And not the touchy-feely kind where we all sit in a circle and hold hands and cry. No, she needed some humiliation and understanding that I would not put up with this.

It was going to be hard to do some of this. Part of me couldn't wait to get it all in place and enjoy the fall out, and part of me was both sad and ashamed that I could feel that way. I wanted to shield the kids as much as I could, but I also recognize that this is the real world. Whether I did what I did the way I wanted to or just folded my tent and stole off in the night, they were going to have to deal with a house divided. Given that, I might as well do it my way and get some satisfaction out of it.

So the next day, bright and early, I was out before the kids even woke up. I'm sure Deanna wondered at that, but it wouldn't be long and I'd not have to answer to her questions any more.

I went to breakfast at IHOP and made a call to my company's lawyer, Jonathan Bruty. He and I went way back, and he was also a friend, of sorts. I'd dated his wife before he'd arrived on the scene and I definitely got the impression he was not wildly thrilled about that. His wife, Angie, and Deanna were friendlier, doing shopping trips and so on. But we had a relationship and it was ok. Either way, I needed to do this.

So the appointment was at ten am, and when I was shown into his office, he was all smiles and hand clasping, as well he might be, given how much business I'd pushed his way with Dresdin and other companies looking for legal assistance.

I went into why I was there and his face clouded. I don't know if it was because it meant I'd be back on the market and therefore competition for his wife in his mind, or because he didn't want to see a couple he knew break up. Honestly, I didn't care. He wasn't going to have anything to do with it anyway.

"Ryan, I feel for you buddy, I really do. But I don't quite know how I can help? I do business law, not family or divorce law."

"Oh I know. I'm here more for advice on who I should see about this. Who are the best divorce lawyers? Can you give me a list of the best within, oh, ten miles, and then the ten best in Chicago? So I have some choice?"

The entire point here is that once I've had the one hour free initial consultation with each, it means I have a prior relationship with that law firm, and therefore it would be a conflict of interest for them to take her case. I was basically stripping Deanna of legal resources before she could get to them. If she approached any of the people I approached, they would have to refuse her service. Plus I was going to need a lawyer anyway, so I might as well do the research.

Petty, yes, I know. But she had it coming. I was on a mission now, and I was going to see it through.

"Sure, I can do that. I'll get my admin on it. Would you like some coffee while we wait?"

So we had coffee and it was all very civilized and I could see how he was restraining himself from asking more details that he desperately wanted to know. Before I left, I felt it necessary to say, "This is covered by confidentiality, right? No chatting with Angie? I don't want this to get back to Deanna just yet."

Jonathan actually looked hurt at that. "I thought you knew me better than that Ryan. I would never do that."

"I'm glad John. This is just personal and very close to home and I need to tread carefully here. I'm sorry I impugned on your professionalism."

He hesitated and then said, "It's ok, I understand. When this is all over, we need a beer sometime. You need to talk, I'm here. I'm sure Angie would want to offer you her support, too."

That was unexpected. I felt like perhaps I had misjudged Jonathan Bruty. And then the nasty little voice in my head who had been making it's presence felt since I'd discovered what I had said, 'Sure, and then Angie can report back to Deanna!' and I left the office wondering who I was becoming.




Live from the Game Ch. 03



I spent the rest of the day making appointments with every lawyer on the list I could get one with, and I spent the next two days doing the same. I managed 14 in three days, which at the end of it, I considered enough. My evenings were spent taking the kids to their evening events, something that Deanna normally did, but I insisted I needed to do, as part of me being 'more in touch with my own life' or some such rubbish I spouted. I was getting good at it, in fact. Either way, it meant I was not hanging out with her.

I had also selected my lawyer, a barracuda named Sarah Gold. She was divorced, bitter, jaded, smoked nonstop and was reputed to be one of the nastiest divorce lawyers god had ever made. I explained my circumstances and she sat there, astonished, saying only, "The big screen? Seriously?" and then took my case instantly. I left her starting to prepare divorce papers to be served.

Part one of the plan was complete.

Something had been nagging me about the whole thing with Deanna and this Jordan Lawler character. Who was he? How did he fit in? What did he have that she just decided to abandon her vows for him? I wanted to know. The profile we had didn't have the kind of details I wanted to know, so in the end, I made up my mind I wanted to meet him. We also faced the issue that if what I wanted to do came off, we'd possibly face civil suits. Well, I would. We'd be careful not to leave any direct traces back to me, but honestly, if you looked at it, the only person who would do what I envisioned was me. All paths led to my door, even if there was no proof.

If that happened, we'd need some proof that what I said was happening was, in fact, happening. We needed video of them together. This is the part of the plan that I was least happy about. If and when we got this footage, someone would have to watch it, to be sure of what we've got. There was no way I was going to let Solomon or Simon watch it, so that left...me. I wasn't sure I would be prepared for it, but we had to have it, just to cover our own asses.

And that meant we'd need to plant a camera at the scene of the crime. And that meant going into this guys apartment. Someone had to do it. And I wanted that person to be me.

I highly doubted he'd know me. Not unless pillow talk was of Deanna showing him pictures of our family. I doubted that very much. If she was compartmentalizing as much as Crystal said, then I should imagine she was doing the same at the other end. I at least hoped so, or this would be an embarrassing encounter. I just needed to meet the guy, see what the fuss was about.

So I talked to Solomon, and he set me up with a Wifi camera and damn if this thing wasn't tiny. Ninety five percent of it seemed to be battery. The only problem was that its broadcast range wasn't huge. We'd need a PC recorder nearby, some laptop. Again, Solomon came the rescue. He had an old Macbook that he said would work. We just needed to stash it in the building somewhere so it could pick up the camera broadcast and record it. And the laptop would need an external drive, because the one it had wasn't big enough.

To be honest, I started to glaze over after a bit. Again, the stories I'd read weren't really up on this kind of thing. They just had people wiring their houses up with cameras and that was it. It's way more involved and complicated than that; funny how those stories gloss over that.

I'd gotten the recorder in Deanna's car and pulled the conversations off it and listened to some of them. Mostly it was just work stuff, or her gossiping with her girlfriends. Apparently one of the girls in the book group was having an affair! Fancy that! Hearing Deanna's righteous indignation almost made me throw up. I mean, couldn't she have at least thrown out some pointers in keeping the poor schmuck this girl was married to in the dark? She was, after all, so good at it herself.

I listened to a lot of crap music on the radio and small interactions with people on the phone or when she ordered fast food at some chain -- again, the Lit Erotica stories don't deal with this, do they? They say things like "I listened to that night's calls" without going into how fucking tedious that task really was. It's not one that takes ten minutes. It takes hours. I got forty minutes in, then I texted Solomon to ask if he had any ways to make it go faster.

Within seconds, he'd recommended that I download a program called Audacity, which would enable me to load the recorded sound and view it as a waveform. Within minutes I was able to recognize what was speech and wasn't just from looking at the shapes the waveform made. Apparently there was another program, Sound Forge, which was even better at this, and had plugins to do exactly what I was doing by hand, but Audacity was free and Sound Forge cost a lot, so yeah, cheapskate that I am, it was Audacity all the way.

With this new approach, listening went a lot faster and I soon heard the one conversation that broke my heart again.

"Hey."

I noted it wasn't even "Hey, its me." Just "Hey".

That implied a familiarity that was way beyond the initial flushes of infatuation. But then, if Crystal was to be believed, this had been going on for over six weeks now, so I shouldn't be surprised, even if it did make me want to rip someone's heart out with a rusty knife. Even if it was my own.

"You are bad!" She said this while laughing. "You can't answer the phone like that! What if it was your mother calling?"

Oh vomit.

"I know. I needed to check in. Sorry I haven't called. Things at home are not quite right and I need some time here. He's going through something and I need to be around for him. Yeah, he came home from Madison, but he was sick, then he got some bad news about a friend, then he's been spending time with the kids.... No, I know that's great for you, but it sucks for me.... You know why. I'm not going into this again. My home life is my home life and you don't get involved in that, just like they don't get involved in this. If you keep asking, I'm going to end it...Yes of course I can. Just like that, if I wanted to. Yes, of course I can. No, I'm not 'addicted'. You might be, I'm not."

She laughed here, to indicate that yes, of course she was addicted, but she wasn't going to say that. That would just be too obvious. How charming.

"Look, I need some time to reconnect, ok? Maybe I could stop by in a couple of days?...Yes, I know about our thing. Not this week. We can do it next week...OK. Which day? I don't know. Ok ok. Thursday, ok? Happy now? Thursday evening. I can get Crystal to cover. I'll say we have to get a house staged that evening."

Well that wouldn't be happening. I wonder what excuse she'd be using instead?

"We won't have too long, but enough...No, I can't stay. You know why...Yes, you do. No. Maybe we can make a weekend of it sometime, but not now....Yes. You know it. No, I won't say it. I don't. No. I don't. I love what you do, but no, I'm not going to say that. That's for my husband. Yeah, right, you can try. I still have some qualms, you know. No, I'm not going to say anything now that I have to deal with later. No. NO!"

She was still laughing at the end of this, so all the denials in the world weren't really mattering. I knew what he wanted her to say. And she was very close to saying it. My marriage was deader than I had feared it was.

"OK. I'll see you on Thursday evening. Be home. And be showered."

And that was the end of that. I sat there, shaking -- alternating between extreme rage and deep sadness at something ending, in a way I had absolutely no control over, and wondering if it was possible for me to go up stairs and climb into bed next to the unfaithful bitch and not kill her in her sleep. I decided I wasn't going to, and instead I had two shots of Jameson and made myself comfortable on the couch. As I drifted off, I was mentally making up a story about my buddy being in hospital -- how the end was coming faster than predicted. That should get me out of any discussions about not coming to bed.

So the next day I picked up the phone, made a call to Crystal and set up me stopping by the dick heads apartment. I just needed to do it before Thursday, and since that was two days away, I should be solid. The premise was that I was a guy from out west looking for a Chicago base, and being sent on by Crystal. The only stipulation was that I wanted to meet the owner, since I was in the same boat as him and wanted to hear about the amenities and stuff before I bought in.

Crystal said that was unusual; most of the time people did not want to meet the people doing the selling, but in this case, with the way I'd proposed it, it made sense. She'd set it up.

I specifically did not ask about her situation or Deanna. Just easier not to. I already had enough on my plate.

The appointment was for the next day, and once again, that evening, I worked out a way to get out. I took the kids to see the latest Pixar movie, followed by dinner at Red Robin.

Deanna was ok with it since she was going to be out the next evening anyway -- this gave her time at home on her own, something she didn't often get. She gave me some cock and bull story about one of her friends in her book group was getting a promotion and she wanted to celebrate, and could I look after the kids while she 'let her hair down'. Of course I said yes, even though my heart was breaking yet again knowing what she really intended. I was quite surprised I still had any parts of my heart left big enough to break again.

The next day, Wednesday, at 3pm, I knocked on the door of the apartment, having already stashed the laptop in nearby supply closet. Each floor had it's own laundry room, and there was a small room past that with cleaning products in it. It wasn't supposed to be open, but thirty seconds with a credit card got that lock unlocked. I had stashed the laptop on the floor, with some washing paper on top. I'd even found a plug to power it. I just hoped it was still there a couple of days later, when I came back for it.

Then it was time. I knocked on the door and it opened and there he was. I just looked at him as he smiled at me and said, "Jordan Lawler. You must be James Goddard? Come on it."

I looked at his hand, then took it. I didn't want to. I wanted to grab it and deck the bastard, but I had a part to play here. I went in.

The apartment was relatively nice. But what killed me was seeing pictures on the wall that came from my house. There, in the corner, was an ottoman that came from my den. It was just loaded with small touches that were obviously Deanna's. And it made me sick.

So Jordan Lawler -- same basic build as me. Younger, by about five to ten years I think. Very open face, guileless I think the word is. Sandy blond hair. Tan. Easy way about him. Lots of insincere (to me) smiling. I hated him, but then I didn't expect to like him.

He showed me around, and I pulled out my phone and asked him, "Do you mind if get some pictures? Some footage later would really help me make up my mind."

Now this was very carefully phrased. Permission to record in his apartment was important, since my phone was recording everything I said. Ok, it was a stretch and probably would not hold up in court, but what the hell, right? Might as well try.

We wandered the apartment, I took in the view, the bedroom. The apartment was a two-bath place -- one in the corridor to the bedroom and one in the bedroom itself. While I was in the bedroom I couldn't help but stare at the four-poster bed and have my mind run riot with images of Deanna being screwed on it. Jordan saw me looking at the bed and said, "It's pretty cool, isn't it? I can throw it into the price. The four posters are great for tying ladies up, you know."

My stomach turned, and then knotted up and I had to force down the desire to step over to him and break his neck. I settled for just imagining it instead.

I managed to force a grin and said, "Oh, I'm sure. Hey, do you have a beer? I'm parched. It would be great to just sit in here, have a beer and just imagine living here."

"Oh, sure, man. Where are my manners?"

He bustled off to get one. Where indeed were his manners? Taking someone else's wife? I was left in the bedroom and I took full advantage, pulling the tiny camera bug out of my pocket and installing it on the bookshelf in front of the bed. What's more, the camera itself was hidden behind a small knickknack thing that was all black wires and glass bead gems sitting on one of the shelves, that I'd bought Deanna while we were on a trip to Vermont for our fourth wedding anniversary. Yet another reminder of what was being lost.

I was on my way out to the living room when he arrived with the beer. I looked at it and debated just leaving, but honestly, I would have liked to know a bit more about this guy. I was sure he was a schumck -- he had a family back in Philadelphia, and he was messing around with mine. By that definition, he was a douche bag.

I mean, I guess it's possible that they just 'fell in love', but I didn't buy that. I couldn't just buy that. If that was true, I'd been even more remiss than I could have imagined, that my wife could just fall out of love with me and in love with someone else. Our marriage wasn't rip roaring drunken monkey sex all the time, but it just wasn't that bad. Not unless she was hiding her true feelings from me all the freakin' time.

But then I thought, she is now, and she's having an affair and she's hiding it well, and I had no idea, so perhaps it was true. Perhaps she was hugely unhappy and just hiding it well. At this point, I still didn't really know what to think.

But I was pretty sure this Jordan guy was a scum bag. I just needed to draw it out of him. So I accepted the beer and went and sat on his couch, and he sat opposite me, raising the beer in salute.

"So, Crystal tells me you are advanced guard for a group looking to build a factory here?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. They want to build in the burbs. They got a great tax deal." I shrugged, indicating that I didn't really want to talk about it.

"What about you? Why are you selling?"

"Time to go back East. I was out here negotiating a company purchase. We are pretty much done now, barring the signature and bringing in a new management team. I bought this place because it was cheaper than rent."

"So," I said, putting down the beer and leaning forward, "What's the best thing about living here? The view? Having your own place? No kids? Chicks? What?"

It was the only way I could think of getting onto the subject.

Jordan snorted and said, "Well, I would say the baseball, but since I'm a Phillies fan and all you've got here are the Cubs and the Sox, well, you do the math. I even bought season tickets for the Cubs this year, just to see what the fuss was about. It's a bit sad, isn't it? So, failing that, without doubt, it's the chicks."

"Oh really," I said, dryly, in that way that indicates that if he's willing to talk, I'm willing to listen.

"Oh yeah. Look, I don't know you, but that's a good thing. They say you can unburden yourself to those you don't know better than those you do. I have a family, but I was stuck here for a year. A Year! All in the name of progress at work. And I have needs. And they aren't being met. So I... got myself a little something to help out."

I just raised my eyebrows at him as I picked up the bottle again. I needed to do something with my hands or they'd make fists.

"Oh she's a little honey. Got some soccer mom life out in the burbs somewhere, with kids and a white picket fence. But when she's here, she's my slut. Big time. Screamer, wants to fuck constantly. It's awesome. She's got this dangerous sex thing going on. It's weird. When I met her, the attraction was instant, but it's like she gets something here she never got before. She wants to fuck in all sorts of weird places. We've done it in my car, down by the lake, in an elevator -- she even prepared for that one, not wearing panties and a skirt that came up instantly -- and even in the bathroom of the Signature room of the Hancock building. Apparently the women's bathroom there has the best view of the city from that high up, not that I saw much. I was too busy looking at another view."

I sat there, listening to this, and marveling at my own ability to remain seated. I was getting it all on my iPhone, but like a scab, I couldn't stop myself picking.

"Are there any...feelings? Or is this just a casual fuck?"

"Feelings...well, not hugely. I mean, I think we both know this wouldn't last forever. I mean, I'm heading back east as soon as I unload this place. And I'm not about to leave my wife and kids over her. But as a fuck toy? Sure, I wish I was sticking around. I've never been as drained as I am by this girl. As it is, I'll be back in town fairly frequently and you can bet she'll be my first call. But as for feelings... can I be honest?"

I gestured to him to continue.

"I don't know why, but I want to get her to tell me she loves me. I have no idea why I need that, but I do. I've tried everything, but not got it yet. But I think it's only a matter of time."

I had to agree. I needed to do something about this and end this, but I couldn't jump the gun. I just had to sit there and take it, for now.

"What about her home life? I mean... isn't this dangerous? For you, too?"

"I think that's part of what she gets off on. As for me, well, they are far away and I've given her no hint of who they are, my home address or anything. She bothers me with a text when I am home, I just dump the phone and get a new one. Problem solved. I mean, she doesn't even have my email address. Her home life? Well it can't be that great if she's doing this with me, can it? She didn't fucking hesitate when I offered her a romp in the sack. No 'Oh, I can't do that, I'm married' -- she was in there and on the bed in seconds, all spread, begging me to fill her. Obviously who she is married to is not fulfilling his side. That's not really my fault."

I couldn't take any more. I had to get out before I killed this guy. I put down the beer and said, "Well, I gotta run. Thanks for showing me your place and thanks for the chat. I'll definitely be thinking about this over the next few days. You'll hear from me pretty soon." I wasn't lying either.

I went to the door and he followed me, and then he said something that really got to me. "Hey, you know what, I'll bet I can pass her on to you. You take the apartment; I'll bet I can get her to service you, too. Same deal!"

I honestly just couldn't even look at it him. If I had, I'd have killed him. I knew I would have. And I didn't want to spend forever in jail for a cheating bitch.

I high tailed to the elevator, shaking the whole time. I needed a drink.

I went straight back to Crystal Lake, and met with Solomon in a bar just off Main Street. He'd been there a while and while he was still lucid, he was quite merry, too.

"So, I been looking into...you know."

"Have you now," I said, ordering a large beer from the waitress. For some reason, Solomon didn't want to use descriptive terms when we were out of what he called a 'secure room'. I thought it was all too tin foil hat for words, but I needed him, and I needed to keep him happy, so I just went along with it.

"And what conclusions have you come to?" I asked.

He grinned at me. There were four empty beer bottles on the table, so as well he should. He should be VERY happy by now.

"All sorted. Took a bit. Had to talk to a few guys in LA who had some experience with this. I even did a practice run at a place in San Diego, just to see if I could get in and do what was necessary. With the docs I have, it works like a charm. The software is actually pretty cool. Makes it very easy, which is what it's designed for."




Live from the Game Ch. 03



"Good."

Solomon just couldn't see that all I really wanted to do was drink, because then he asked, "Planted ok?"

My drink arrived and I just nodded and pulled it down in one go. As I did so, Simon plonked himself down in the other chair at our table with a deep sigh of accomplishment.

"Mission achieved!" he exulted, waving at the waitress.

I just raised an eyebrow at him, as I finished the last dregs of my drink.

"I found three of them in a bar downtown."

"A bar? At lunch time?"

"They are that kind of people. I just asked one of the people in the vans and they told me that's where they hang out."

"Did you find our boy?"

"Oh yes. Like I said, found three of them. One of them was the guy we were looking for."

"Well, that was lucky," I said. We knew the names of seven people but didn't know which specific guy we'd need. The waitress arrived and we ordered more drinks.

"More than you know. When I sat down and explained what we had in mind, they laughed for a full five minutes. They are in like Flynn. What's even better is that one of the other guys had a suggestion, and he's going to do it."

Simon explained with the other guy had in mind -- while he was doing so, our drinks arrived - and after he was done, we all clinked glasses.

"What's this going to cost me?" I asked, worrying about costs.

Simon smiled at me and said, "Three bottles of Jameson, Absolute and Courvoisier."

I raised my eyebrows and said, "That's all?"

"These guys were totally behind you, dude. One of them had a bad deal with an ex and they are all itching to even up the balance."

"You told them what to say if they are asked?"

"I certainly did. They were already there, though. It's the obvious thing."

"Yeah. Ok, so we need the footage and I'll go get that in a day or so, so we can defend ourselves if need be, and a couple of pictures. Now, the next question is, do we ask his wife about this? Do we give her a heads up? You know we are going to blow up her marriage too."

We'd already found Michelle Lawler on Facebook, connected to her husband's account. We'd found pictures of their family, their address, the whole deal. The question was, do we let her know what we had planned?

"Honestly?" said Simon, "No. No disrespect, Ryan, but you are too soft a touch. If she told you not to, that she would work it out with her husband, then what? You'd do it -- you'd walk away from this and you'd never have closure. The fact is, this guy is a douche bag and she needs to know it in such a way as to not be able to just accept it. She needs to know it in a way that makes her angry and upset and to divorce this fucktard in the most epic way possible."

I just looked steadily at Simon, debating internally what to say. He'd just said what I thought -- what I couldn't say because it was inherently selfish. I was reacting to being betrayed and I was destroying someone else's marriage in the process. Although, from another point of view, I wasn't. My wife and that asshole had already done that. The only issue was that his wife didn't know it yet. What I was doing was lifting that wool from her eyes. Sure, I was going to do it in a dramatic fashion, but at the end of the day, she would know, either way. This way, I got some satisfaction out it.

I ended up just nodding at Simon and saying, "Agreed."

Then I turned to Solomon and said, "You sure you are all set? Everything is ready? Tested?"

"It is indeed. We are all set to go."

"Tomorrow."

I needed the bathroom, so I quickly headed to the john, and when I returned, both Simon and Solomon were studies in casualness, both doing their best not to look at each other and both trying their damnedest not to laugh or giggle. Obviously something frightfully funny had happened while I was in the bathroom.

"What?"

Nothing. Simon looked wide-eyed and innocently at me, while Solomon buried himself in his beer. "What?"

"No 'what', - what have you idiots done now?" I demanded. Then I noticed I'd left my iPhone on the table when I'd gone to the bathroom. Unlocked. Stupid mistake number thirty-seven.

Giving them both the stink eye, I picked it up and looked at it, expecting to see a Facebook post -- since I was still logged in -- about how I was gagging for the cock or some such. Surprisingly there was nothing. I knew these two jokers had done something, but I didn't have the time to get into it right there and then.

So instead, I picked up my Jameson and threw it all down the front of my shirt. Simon got up, concerned and Solomon' beer bottle stopped on the way to his mouth.

"Don't worry. Just getting out of any activities tonight." I smiled at them. "Simon, can you drop me off?"

Simon was as good as his word, and driving home, I got a text from work. Something was afoot there, and I used Siri -- the iPhone voice command thing -- to respond, and it was then that I discovered what my two humorous friends had been up to while I was in the bathroom, when Siri said, "It is my pleasure to do that for you, Bitch." Those asswipes had reprogrammed the name Siri used for me from SuperStud, which is what it used to be, to the new one of 'Bitch'.

"Very fucking funny," I snarled at Simon, and he did his very best to not smile at all.

We arrived at my place and I then staggered into the matrimonial home, pretending to be drunk. I certainly smelled the part. Deanna came buzzing into the kitchen when she realized I was home. I was trying to make coffee, clumsily, and spilling everything everywhere.

She said, sniffing the air and full of disapproval, "Are you drunk Ryan?"

I just smiled stupidly at her. "Something like that. OOhhhh, what are you wearing.. oohh."

Deanna was wearing a diaphanous nightgown -- something very lacey and see through, with a small lace cardigan over the top. She pulled that tight over the top, and crossed her arms. She'd obviously been planning for my arrival -- a nice mercy fuck I'm sure -- and me showing up out of my mind had crimped that. No sex for me!

I blinked slowly and swayed a little as I stood, smiling stupidly. She just stared at me, then shook her head and hissed, "Sleep it off on the couch, you bozo."

And then she turned and stamped off up stairs. I let her get all the way up the stairs, then finished making the coffee and went to see what was on the DVR that I hadn't already seen. 



Live from the Game Ch. 04



The next day I was up and out early, ostensibly to go to work. In reality I just bummed around at the movies and at a tavern in Rolling Meadows. But, as promised, I arrived home early. Deanna didn't even want to talk to me, she was still pissed at me from the night before. Things were very frosty -- words were exchanged when they needed to be and no more.

She came down while I was playing Sky Landers with Saffron and Paula was doing homework. Jamie had a controller but wasn't aware it wasn't connected. He thought he was controlling my character. I knew that I'd be looking over Paula's math homework later -- it was all fractions and she couldn't get some of the concepts behind them, and we'd re-trace the work and I'd explain it to her. It was great, watching her eyes widen when she finally groked a new concept. I did love having kids.

Deanna came down, wearing her pleated skirt, and thigh high stocking socks, 4 inch heels and a thin white blouse, with lace covering her breasts, but that was backless. We'd seen it together in New Orleans, and bought it, then she'd worn it on Bourbon street, getting many bead necklaces.

She was tastefully made up, and wearing the long earrings I got her last Christmas. I looked up and took her in. It was funny, but at that moment I really understood that something big was ending. This wasn't going to happen again. I was going to destroy her and her lover and this idyllic life was going to end. There wouldn't be...this any more. I just remember thinking "This is all going to go away." And I also realized that I was in the drivers seat. I was going to end it. And I hadn't really even given her a chance to stop.

Realizing that, I smiled at her and said gently, "Deanna... stay home. Stay with us. Don't go out. That celebration isn't as important as your family, surely?"

She looked at me, clutching her white purse. I could actually see her hesitate, then look over at Paula, sitting at the table, head down, counting. Then back at Jamie and Saffron, and then at me. When she saw me, her mouth clenched a bit, and she just shook her head and said, "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support my friend in her hour of success?"

She didn't look back at me as she left the house.

Well ok then. She'd made her bed. Time to set fire to it.

The next day, I was up and out early. Straight downtown to Jordan Lawler's apartment building. I honestly didn't want to deal with Deanna, knowing what she'd done the night before. I think that at this point I had realized that I was also part of the problem. I was avoiding her, not giving her any opportunity to even remotely show me her side, not that she would do so explicitly.

Even last night, she'd come home late and I could smell wine on her as she climbed into bed with me. She also smelled of soap -- she'd obviously showered.

I could understand when I read stories about how conflicted the husbands were. So many commentators just want the blood. They have unresolved issues in their own lives, and mix that with a dose of misogyny, and all they wanted was the women in these various stories to suffer. It was all so black and white. Until you've been there, watching the women you love, and who purports to love you, lie to you and betray you, you have no idea how it feels.

And yet, she's still the mother of your children. She still treats you well. She'd tried to get me into bed. Even from the conversations I'd heard from the recorder and from what Crystal and that total fuck bag, Jordan Lawler had told me, she still loved us. Me, the kids and her life. She just had this entire other dimension to her life right now that we knew nothing about.

I mean really, if I'd not known from that phone call from Simon, I'd never have known. I have to admit that. I would never have looked for it, and I'd never have seen it. She honestly didn't feel any different in the way she treated me or the kids.

If I chose to, I could walk away, she'd never know I knew, it would die when cunt face went back to Philly, and hell, if I'd wanted to, I could probably have gone out and done the same as her. Christ knows, she wasn't in a position to object.

Maybe that's what I should have done. Gone out and had my own fling. Let her know about it obliquely, see how she'd have dealt with the betrayal.

The problem is though, I do know. I know all about it. I know all the details. I know the disrespect being placed upon me and my house, despite the absolute bullshit my wife has decided to justify her dalliance with. She's scratching an itch that I never even knew about, much less was given a chance to satisfy.

Plus, I was old fashioned enough to understand that two wrongs never made a right. Sure, it would balance and it would make us even, but more than likely it would destroy us if she were to imagine I'd done the same. Whatever justifications she had in her head, they more than likely weren't thought through in terms of them being applied to her and would never survive me doing the same thing. The hypocrisy would come up, and while she'd find a way to live with it, things would never be the same. She'd never trust me and I, for myself, would never trust her again. Not with the lying and deception ability she'd already displayed.

The fact is, I was angry, betrayed, bitter, upset and ranging between suicidal and plain Seeing Red Rage. I could see no way to forgive this, not in the way that our relationship would survive. I was sure that in the years to come, the anger and pain would dull, but there was no way I was going to spend the rest of my life coming to terms with her betrayal with her sitting next to me.

She'd destroyed my trust and faith in her, and without that, what is a marriage?

In Literotica stories, there always seems to be a woman who comes along to help salve the wounded ego of the guy concerned. Always some high school honey, or some waitress or some woman met in a hotel or something. Always someone there to help pick up the pieces. There wasn't that in this case, and I wouldn't have had anything to do with someone trying anyway. I was damaged goods and I knew it. I'd spend years getting over this, I knew. As I'd said to Crystal, what Deanna had done to me would echo for years. My manhood, my ego, my sexual being, it was all crushed.

And I didn't even know why. I had ideas from all the evidence I'd gathered, but I'd never heard it from the horse's mouth. I knew at some point I'd have sit down and listen, but not yet. Too soon; I'd be too angry. It would be about hurting her, not listening to what she had to say.

So here I was, sitting in a supply closet off a laundry room, looking at video on a Macbook Air screen, and crying my eyes out.

It was all there. I didn't get any footage of them in the living room -- only one camera -- but what happened in the bedroom, well, it was painful on every level.

First, the conversation.

When they stumbled into the bedroom, Deanna's blouse was already almost hanging off -- he'd obviously had his hands up her shirt. When she got on the bed, she'd accidentally flashed the camera up her skirt and she wasn't wearing any panties either.

He was half out of his clothes, his cock hanging out of his boxer shorts. I was pleased to see that he wasn't any bigger than I was, but it was the last thing I was pleased to see that day.

He looked at her, splayed out on the bed and said, "Man, I can't believe you are here. So lovely, so sexy. That husband of yours is an asshole."

Deanna closed her legs and pouted. "That idiot. All I wanted was to give him a night to remember. We haven't had sex in almost two weeks, something is always getting in the way. I honestly wanted to give him my ass. You know my rules, nothing you get, he doesn't. But the fucker came home drunk off his feet. I was all ready and lubed, and he just fucked it all up."

"Your....ass?" said Jordan, clearly interested in what he was hearing.

"Yeah. Thought it was time. You and I have done everything else," she replied. "I'll find some time to get him in there later. We can reverse the order today. He deserves it anyway. He had the chance and he'd rather drink himself to sleep instead. Fuck him."

"I'd rather you did that to me..."

And then it went on. And on. And on. She got him up three times. She even did ass to mouth. I thanked god I'd been asleep when she got home and up early this morning, so she hadn't kissed me.

He still tried to get her to say she loved him. There were lots of, "Oh man, I LOVE doing this with you, don't you?" and "I'm going to miss this when I'm back in Philly. Won't you? Tell me how you feel" and other transparent attempts to get her to say it.

I thought I'd be numb by now. The evidence was there, and there was no getting away from it. I wasn't misinterpreting anything; she was a whore for some other guy. No, a slut. Whore's get paid.

But I wasn't numb. It was so hard to watch. I kept pausing it and crying again. But I forced myself to watch it all. I needed to see it all, if only to keep me on the path I'd set out on. I loved the woman, but I had too much respect for my own self to allow this to be unchallenged.

The ending was painful. Deanna had taken a shower and was getting dressed and he was just lying on the bed, lazy and content.

"So, back to suburbia?" he'd said, contemptuously.

"Back to suburbia," she'd agreed.

"Doesn't it get boring?"

She'd stopped pulling up her sock stockings and looked at him and said, "Why do you think I'm here? Of course it does. Kids, PTSO runs, husband boring me to tears with his day? It's fucking mind numbing. But it's my life, and I do love my kids and the stability I have. I have the love of a good man, and I love him back, but its Just Not Enough. I'm just lucky I have this. We both know this won't last, but I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it while I can, so I have the memories."

Jordan smiled and grabbed his dick. "So, you'll be thinking of this when you fuck him, is that it?"

She smiled back and said, "I'm already doing that, lover."

And that was the final nail through my heart, even if I was confusing metaphors.

I spent half an hour editing the video and transferring it to a USB memory stick, then packed up the computer and power cords and left the building.

I rolled into Sarah Gold's office, breezing in like I owned the place. She looked up from her computer and then pushed her chair back.

"Aha. So, we have more proof?" was her first question. Not "hello Ryan" or even "Can't you wait outside", no, straight to the root of the matter.

I dropped the USB key on her desk and she looked at it, then looked at me and said, as she picked it up, "There had better not be any viruses on this."

She plugged it in, and opened the device -- several files showed up, the first being the video. Naturally, she opened that first and sat watching for about a minute. Then she shut it down and said, "That's quite enough of that."

Then she looked at me and said suddenly, "Where was this...collected?"

"His place."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You idiot. There is no way this is admissible in court. What did you do, break in and plant the camera?"

"Play 'acceptance.wav'" I replied.

She looked at the screen and selected that file. Out came me asking Jordan Lawler for permission to shoot in his place, how footage would be necessary and him assuredly giving permission.

"Clever," snarled Sarah, "But a good lawyer will shred that. He wasn't giving you permission to leave a camera and tape his sexual adventures."

"Oh I know," I said sitting down in front of her desk. "But I'm pretty sure we even just mention that this exists, and that'll change things. And I really needed to know if it was happening, and it is. Plus it might be useful if we get sued for anything."

Sarah stared at me over the top of her laptop monitor and said, slowly, "Are you going to make my life difficult, Mr. Tomlinson? Please tell me you aren't going to do anything stupid."

I was very clear with my response. "No, I will not be doing anything 'stupid', as you put it. I know what is expected of me." I didn't think what I had planned was stupid, and the other statement was purely placatory, without actually saying anything at all.

She nodded and then grabbed a folder from a selection on her desk and threw it to me.

"Well, it's all there. There are two versions, one for you keeping the house, the other with you giving it to her. You know you are going to be paying her child support, even if you get away with no alimony."

"I know. What's your feeling on the alimony?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Hard to know for sure. You are one hundred percent in the right here, and she's one hundred percent in the wrong, so if it was just down to that, you'd not be paying any. But it's all to do with how good her lawyer is, which judge we get and so on. But I'd certainly not say that there's anything in your case where I'd say 'yes, this is likely'. Really, the proof of the pudding will be in the eating in this case."

I nodded -- it was what I had expected.

"So, this'll be filed next Wednesday? Where we said?"

"Yep. The alienation suit is in there too, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope of that one. Worth it just to make him squirm though."

"Ok then. What about the restraining order?"

"That won't be ready till Wednesday. It has to be filed the day you want it in effect. I'm pretty sure we can get it, but you know it won't last. We are going to be stretching the situation here a bit, and once her lawyer sees it and challenges it, it'll be removed."

"I know. It's really only to give me some peace in the interim, to be honest. I'll probably be asking you to rescind it within a couple of weeks anyway. So, I guess we get these served, do the financial stuff, pick up the order on Wednesday and then move on with our lives?"

"Well, you do. I still have to come here and do this soul sucking job," replied Sarah, looking round at her office.

"Well, god bless you for doing it." I was attempting a little levity.

Sarah Gold stared at me, and then said, "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. And pay my bill, cheapskate. I did my part."

I smiled and pulled out my checkbook.

The day it all kicked off, I was at Paul's, with Solomon and Simon. We were watching the game, keeping an eye out to see if the camera's flicked over them sitting in his season ticket seats, or not.

I'd gone back to work that week, and found the utter disaster that Paul had made of a contract with a company who wanted us to build their office for them. There was no way we'd be able to do it for the amount they'd contracted to us, not with all the special stuff they wanted.

But Paul just smiled and cheerfully said, "Make it work, Ryan!"

So off I'd gone, contract in hand, to Jonathan Bruty, handed him the contract, then listened to him swearing for five minutes.

Paul hadn't even passed it by our counsel -- he'd just listened to what the other side said, smiled broadly and signed it. They had to believe all their Christmases had come at once. I spent most of the afternoon going over the contract, looking for weaknesses in order to be able to push up our billing.

In the end we found a clause, and I then had the wonderful job of arranging a meeting with the other company's CEO to explain exactly how he'd tried to take advantage of us, and how we weren't going to accept it, and here was how we'd fight back.

Strangely, the guy laughed. Not the kind of "I'm about to eat your young" laugh, but the raucous laugh of a man who sees the joke.

"Ryan, we couldn't believe it when you weren't there for the negotiations. Of Course we tried to get one over on you. It's business, that's what business is. I quite expected you to come back to me -- that's why that clause is there. I wanted to see if you'd actually do something about it. You have, as I hoped and expected. Now you have, we can do business."

I didn't quite understand, and said so.

"Ryan, what we really want is to get you guys to build facilities for us all over the US. The fact is, we just got a grant from the US Government to create educational facilities everywhere. And we need help building them. The fact is you come very highly recommended as someone with some integrity, and I need that. Now, you want to tear up that contract and take a look at this one, instead?"

He pulled up a sheaf of papers from his desk and tossed them over to me. I just sat there, bewildered.

I took that new contract back to Jonathan Bruty, and this time he just laughed all the time when looking at it. His eyes gleamed when he looked at me over the top of the papers and said, "Now, this is a well written contract. And fair. This is good stuff Ryan. You'll need a lot more staff though, to do all this."

I winced. "Oh, I know. I think we are going to need a second plant."

"Well, that's good then," replied Jonathan. Then he stopped and peered at me closer. "Are you doing ok Ryan? That whole thing with your wife?"

I looked away. "It's under control," I said, deliberately being vague. "So, what's the first thing we need to do, legally?"

That was yesterday, and today I'm about to blow up my marriage, in the most spectacular way possible.

I was sitting at Paul's house, with a beer in hand, watching the game, and idly wondering who was picking up the kids from school, bearing in mind their mother -- who was supposed to be handling it -- was sitting at Wrigley Field with her boyfriend. In fact, who had been handling it the other days when I was completely unaware? On impulse, I called home and found that my sister, Melissa, answered the phone.

I didn't like Melissa much and she didn't like me. She'd made a snap judgment on me at the start of my courtship with Deanna and never bothered to look any deeper to find out if it was true or not. I'd been judged and that was that. Initially I'd tried to reverse her opinion of me, figuring that keeping everyone in Deanna's family sweet was a good call, but she was a lost cause. The more I tried, the more she found fault with everything I did. After a year or so, I just stopped bothering and wrote her off. I got on fine with her brother, and both her parents had died in car accident when Deanna was a late teen.

I did idly wonder if Melissa was aware of what was going on; she struck me as the kind of person who would take delight in my misfortune, and I wasn't about to test that. I just checked in that she had the kids and would be there till either I or Deanna got home. Melissa had the luck to marry a millionaire, who then died on her. I figured he hadn't so much died as much as run away. Either way, she was now loaded and had nothing to do with her day. With no kids of her own, she was a great resource for baby-sitting. I got the distinct impression that she just wasn't interested in men or dating at all; she'd got her payout, now it was all about her.

And her nieces and nephew. I had to give her her due in that -- she did love them and dote on them. She may not have liked me, but she loved those kids. The interesting thing about Melissa was that she was great about sharing her time with us, but it had been made clear that her money was her money and that was that, so don't ask. Not that we would have anyway, but still, that point was made quite forcefully to us. So we just settled for her company and her baby-sitting the kids. And what a joy it was to return home when she'd been there, let me tell you. Kids asking why I wasn't home more, why I didn't teach them to play soccer -- all primed by Man Hating Melissa. Deanna just laughed when this happened but it pissed me off, I have to admit.

Anyway, I spoke to her for a few minutes, then, before hanging up, I asked her if she still had the extra room at her place. She said that she did, why did I want to know? I made a cryptic reference to her having a roommate some time soon and let it go.




Live from the Game Ch. 04



And then it was time. The bottom of the sixth innings. Solomon was on his laptop and he looked at me, asking if we were a go.

I held up my finger and pulled out my phone. I couldn't quite believe I was going to give her one more chance. I called her number and after a few rings, she picked up. I could hear rustling, where she was trying to make sure the phone didn't pick up the announcers voice at the stadium.

"Yes?" she was abrupt.

"Deanna."

"What do you want? I'm with a client."

"Come home. Please. We need you. Come home now. Leave your 'client' and come home."

"Ryan, what's the matter with you? The kids are fine, Melissa is with them."

"I know, I just called home looking for you. Where are you?"

"Why do you care? Look, I'll be home this evening. What's so important that I have to leave now?"

"I just...need you. I need you to come home. Please. For us. For me."

"Ryan, I'm in the middle of an important meeting here. I can't just leave. I'll be home this evening. We can talk then. Whatever it is, it can wait."

And she disconnected the phone.

And, with tears trickling down my face, I nodded at Solomon. Simon put his hand on my shoulder and said, "It's what needs to happen dude. It's going to be alright."

Solomon started typing, saying, "We've been in since the game started. I can see the directors commands."

On the TV, where the game was playing, the stadium jumbotron suddenly did one of its display things, between a play.

"HEY FOLKS!" it said, "REMEMBER THESE TWO? FROM A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO?"

And then it ran a quick image of my wife and Jordan Lawler making out, with the inscription "KISS CAM" at the bottom.

"THEY ARE BACK HERE TODAY!" This is where it got tricky. I had got Simon to approach the cameramen whose names were in the credits for the TV show of the last game and explained what we wanted to do, and the one guy we really needed had agreed to what we'd asked. We'd asked that when the Jumbotron started talking about this couple, he find them with his camera and zoom in on them. This was our problem -- there were seven cameramen working the stadium and we didn't know which one was the guy with the camera opposite where Jordan had his tickets -- he was the one guy we really needed. But it turns out we'd gotten lucky -- one of the other guys had laughed and explained that when the jumbotron started acting up, he'd zoom in on the big screen, to be sure that the details were broadcast on the national feed.

Solomon was zapping between two different laptops -- one was in control of the Jumbotron and the other was taking control of the vision mixing software used at Wrigley Field to decide which camera was being broadcast. The problem was that the software just assigned camera numbers, and we had no idea which camera was which. We'd been watching all game, matching up the camera numbers being selected by the director with what we were seeing, to determine which one was which.

We'd worked it out, and now we could put up whatever camera we wanted on the Jumbotron. And we had. The cameraman -- on camera #5 -- had come through for us and was zoomed in on Deanna and Jordan, who were watching the big screen and laughing, pointing at themselves on the Jumbotron, once Solomon switched the feed to that camera.

On the TV, showing the game, we could also see the jumbotron, since the other cameraman had also done what he said he would, zooming in on it, so everyone would see it.

Then the image switched to a picture of Deanna, taken from her birthday party last year.

"THIS IS DEANNA TOMLINSON." Read the caption.

Then it switched to an image of Jordan, taken from his facebook page.

"HER COMPANION IS JORDAN LAWLER."

Then it switched a picture of me.

"DEANNA IS MARRIED TO RYAN TOMLINSON."

Then a picture of Jordan's wife and kids, again, from facebook.

"JORDAN IS MARRIED TO MICHELLE LAWLER, BACK IN PHILIDELPHIA."

Then back to the live feed of the two of them, yelling, all upset and Jordan looking around franticly, shouting something.

"NEITHER OF THEIR SPOUSES KNOW THAT DEANNA AND JORDAN ARE HERE, AS THEY HAVE BEEN EVERY WEDNESDAY FOR WEEKS."

It cut back to the picture of the two of them making out.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY ARE DOING HERE?"

Then it cut to a very carefully cropped image of Jordan and Deanna, taken from the video I had of them. It was very carefully composed -- it showed Deanna and Jordan's faces -- she was obviously in mid-orgasm, but it was very carefully composed so while it was obvious they were naked, nothing titillating was shown.

"DEANNA AND JORDAN ARE CHEATERS. WE JUST THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW."

And then we returned control of the jumbotron to the people at Wrigley Field, who were no doubt running around like chickens with their heads cut off. We left the image on the jumbotron on the live feed from camera #5. Jordan had taken off and Deanna was sitting alone, slumped down, in tears.

Jordan and Deanna would be served as soon as they exited the field -- we had process servers waiting at both their cars. Jordan was served with an Alienation of Affection writ, and Deanna was served with both a restraining order -- sworn out that morning, as Sarah Gold had promised - and divorce papers.

Originally I had wanted to serve them right there and then, in the field and have the last words on the Jumbotron be "YOU'VE BEEN SERVED!", but that would have made too much of a direct connection to me. As it was, I was the obvious culprit here, but Solomon had assured me that he had enough cut outs that they'd never trace the intercept and hack back to him -- he was routed through seven other computers before he went near them. Plus, I'd never talked to the cameramen, only Simon had. They give them my picture, they could truthfully say they'd never seen me before.

So I had to settle for this. It was done. I'd already spent the day closing accounts and shutting down credit cards -- the only one I'd left running was our main account, because Deanna lived on the debit card we had for that. Closing that would have alerted her, so I just took my name off the account instead.

So that was it. I reached out and turned off my iPhone, then nodded at both of my co-conspirators, and headed out saying, "Gotta finish fixing the locks."

I got home in about twenty minutes and when I got here, Melissa was hostile.

"What the hell did you do? Deanna was on my cell, crying and yelling and incoherent. Did you do something at a ball game or something?"

I sighed, grabbed a diet coke from the fridge and said, "Melissa, here's the deal. Deanna has been cheating on me for weeks. I found out. She's been served and she has a restraining order on her until we can work out visitation. She's not coming in here -- I've already loaded her clothes and toiletries into suitcases in the garage. Now you understand what I said about a new room mate, because she sure as shit isn't staying here."

Melissa was just beside herself with anger. And...strangely, I think there was something else in there too. Understanding.

She muttered, "Why can't anyone just keep it in their pants?" and then she just nodded at me and said, "I'll take care of her. You will need to talk to her."

"I know. Just not now. I'm still too angry at her. Just, when she gets here, give her the clothes and explain she cannot come in -- if she tries to, well, I've already changed most of the locks, I just have to finish the garage entry, and besides, one call to 911 and she's in lockup for the night. She doesn't want that. She's had enough today already. The terms of the divorce are spelled out in her document package and I'm being generous, so she should just take them."

Melissa sighed and did something so out of character -- she hugged me. I couldn't believe it.

"It sucks, doesn't it?"

I just looked at her and nodded.

"Tony," -- Tony was her millionaire husband, "cheated constantly. No one knows. I stuck it out because, well, I loved him and of course, the money. But it fucking sucks, what it does to your ego and how you treat everyone else. I'm so sorry Ryan. That my dumb ass sister could do this. I just don't get it, though. She loves you, she adores her life here with the kids. She keeps telling me. What the fuck?"

"I don't know either, Melissa. Perhaps she'll tell me when she's ready. Because I have no fucking clue."

And then, for the next hour, we just sat and talked, Melissa and I. In a way we never had before. I learned she didn't trust any man because of what Tony had done. I don't think she liked me any more at the end of it, but at least we understood each other, and what more can you ask?

And the Deanna arrived and all hell broke loose. She tried the front door and found her key didn't work, and then she came around to the front windows and started hammering on them, screaming my name.

Melissa went outside and tried to calm a very distraught Deanna, who was screaming for the kids.

I'd already primed them to stay upstairs. I'd explained that Mommy had done something pretty bad and she was going to stay at Aunt Melissa's for a while, and they'd still see her just as much, but that she just wasn't going to be at home for a bit. I also explained she was likely to be upset and yell a lot and they mustn't be frightened -- Mommy was just letting go with her emotions, like they do when they stub their toe.

It took Melissa almost half an hour to calm Deanna to the point where she stopped hammering on the windows. I heard the garage door go up, and them pull the bags out, and then Deanna was back, peering in through the kitchen window.

I was in the doorway, where I knew she wouldn't see me, but I could see her.

"Ryan? Ryan, are you there? I need to talk to you. Please Ryan, please. You can't take my kids from me, please Ryan."

I snorted when I realized she was just concerned about the kids. Not me or what she'd done to use as a marriage, she just wanted her nice safe life back.

I didn't say anything. I could see her looking around, looking to see if I was there. I'm sure she knew I would be. If Melissa was there, then the kids would be, so I would be too.

"Ryan, please. It was nothing. Nothing at all. I love you Ryan. Only you. You've got to believe that. I need to talk to you, please."

I didn't move, and after five minutes, Melissa came round and took Deanna by the shoulders and moved her off, talking to her rapidly. I heard the cars start up and watched Melissa's car leave, which was a smart move. Deanna was in no state to drive.

And that was the last I saw of Deanna for three weeks. Not that she didn't try to call, text and email -- she couldn't have given a shit about the restraining order, and to be honest, I wasn't about to enforce it. It was more symbolic than anything. I actually had it removed two weeks in, once she'd settled down -- I just didn't get around to telling her that.

Two weeks in, my lawyer, Sarah Gold called and told me that Deanna had finally hired her own lawyer -- with Melissa's money, natch. He was, apparently, a nobody ambulance chaser, which was fine by me. But she was point blank refusing to grant a divorce, or any kind of separation agreement. She wanted visitation rights in the short term -- which I was quite willing to grant, given that I rescinded the restraining order, and she wanted time to meet with me.

I knew this had to be coming. And I knew I'd have to let her. Hell, I wanted to know her justifications, but I knew I'd needed some time to let it all recede a bit. Maybe now was the time. Life had settled a bit, Deanna had seen the kids -- I'd had Melissa come get them and take them over to her place, where Deanna was staying -- and we'd started to settle into a routine. The kids were still giving me a lot of grief about where Mom was and why she wasn't at home, but they were also getting on with life.

So I got Sarah to set it up, and also let her know that the restraining order was rescinded and we could make a time for Deanna to stop by and get anything from the house that I had missed.

We ended up meeting at Red Robin, of all places, at 3pm, when I figured they'd be somewhat empty. There was no way I was doing this in front of lawyers, and I wasn't doing it at home, so Red Robin it was. It didn't hurt that they had a full bar there too.

I got there first, sat down and had a beer and within five minutes, Deanna appeared. She always was punctual.

She was dressed slightly differently -- a maxi dress with a low back, I couldn't help noticing. She did look lovely, even with the puffy eyes, and it stabbed my heart. She gave me a hesitant smile and said, "Starting early I see?" and she gestured to my beer.

"You've driven me to drink. What can I say," I replied, only a little bitterly.

Her smile froze, but she made a conscious effort to overcome it as she slid into her seat opposite me at the booth.

"Well, this is your gig. Say what you need to." I wanted to give her the floor. I was bursting with desire to know certain things, and maybe she'd tell me. But I wasn't going to ask.

"Yes, I did. Well, here goes. Firstly, I am so sorry. I just can't understand what I was doing. I think I must have been insane or something."

I interrupted her because I wasn't going to let that slide. "No, you weren't. You systematically and coldly betrayed me, our marriage and the kids. You knew exactly what you were doing. Hell, you even had your 'rules' so it wouldn't blow back at home. You weren't insane - far from it. You knew exactly what you needed to do."

She just looked at me, shocked. I realized that she still didn't know the full extent of what I knew or not.

"I know. What I mean was I don't know what drove me to do it. I love our life. I love our kids. I love you. You are such a good guy. I know what I did, I just don't really know why."

"Oh, I've got some ideas on that. Your sudden desire for high-risk sex, for one. What I don't understand was why you never came to me? Why didn't you ask me? I didn't think our sex life was that bad that you'd need to go elsewhere? But then what do I know. I'm just a rumpled suit."

"You've been talking to Crystal. That's a Crystal statement."

"How do you think I got the inside dope on what you were doing?"

There was silence as she digested this.

"That explains a lot. She rolled? I don't really blame her. It explains why she wouldn't cover for me, and why I got fired. You knew, right? She called me after the stadium debacle and asked me to remove my stuff from the apartments I staged and explained that she'd been told that Royalty Realty didn't want people like me who brought attention like this. I left all the stuff at...Jordan's place. I didn't want to go back there and god knows he doesn't want to see me, either. The only contact we've had is him calling me to rip me apart because his wife is divorcing him. Apparently she got hold of some video of us together and that was that. He blames me, I blame him, and it's all a fucking stupid merry go round."

Deanna never swore, so that was new.

"Can I get a drink?"

"Sure," I nodded, and waved over the waitress. She ordered and was just sat there, silently, till the drink arrived.

"He went ballistic, you know. When your picture appeared on the scoreboard at the stadium. He recognized you as some guy who'd shown up to see his apartment. He knew at the moment it was all going to come out. He swore a lot, and was really angry and then ran off, leaving me. I just sat there, crying, realizing what it all meant. And then I left and got to my car, where there is some girl waiting, chewing gum as pretty as you please, and she asks me my name and hands me this envelope..."

Deanna broke off as a tear came down her cheek. She wiped it with one hand and made a huge effort to control herself.

"I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I didn't think you deserved that."

"What did I deserve Deanna? What do I deserve now?" I asked, as gently as I could. I'd already had my revenge; there was no point in yelling at her now.

"Better than me, that's for sure." She responded softly, looking down at the table.

I just looked at her. I wasn't about to disagree, but there wasn't anything really for me to say.

There was more silence as she reached for what to say next.

"I had a whole speech planned, you know. Everything I wanted to say. But now I'm here and you are there, and you are just so controlled and I'm such a mess."

She took another breath.

"Ok, well, lets get to it. Firstly, you are not a rumpled suit. Well, maybe you are but you are so much more than that. You are a terrific father, a wonderful man, an adoring husband and an amazing lover. Any woman would be incredibly lucky to have you. Ignore what Crystal says -- she's just bitter that her marriage is cratering and she's looking for attention in all the wrong places. We had a heart to heart before she fired me about what I was doing and what she'd been doing. She opened my eyes to a few things that I'd just conveniently ignored. Anyway, what you need to take away from this, if nothing else, is that you did nothing wrong. I was at fault all the way here. Don't let this harm your self image because I couldn't keep it in my pants."

Again, I wasn't about to disagree, but I had to say something.

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You weren't being cheated on. Do you know what that does to a man Deanna? Do you? Do you understand how you look at everything you've ever done and judge yourself for it? How you cannot understand what you did wrong, what you didn't give, what you were insufficient for? Because I was not sufficient to the task, or you wouldn't have looked elsewhere."

The tears started to flow again, and she said, with a tremor in her voice, "It kills me to see you like this Ryan. To know I did this to you. You are nothing but a terrific man. In every way. The only failure here is me. For not seeing what I had. No, that's not right. I knew what I had. And I loved it. I still do. Those kids, our house, our lives. It's what I always wanted. But just, for some reason, it wasn't enough. You know what? I didn't even know I thought that until Jordan came along. I was happy. I was content. And then this opportunity came along. I could get away with it. You'd NEVER know, I'd make sure of that. It was fresh, it was exciting, it made me feel young and that I had a secret all my own. I know how stupid it all sounds now, but the feelings were real. I know I deliberately blinded myself to the consequences of my actions, but at the time, I was just consumed with it. And that's my failure, not yours. Please understand that. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you do more for my ego and happiness than anyone has ever done. The flowers, the attention, it's not lost on me."

"And yet it wasn't enough."

"I don't know what would have been, Ryan. I think I was just weak and it all got out of control. I never came home with...him...in me though. I didn't do anything for him that I didn't do with you I promise you. He got nothing more."

"Apart from your ass." I said, bitterness seeping through.

"Oh god, you know about that too?"

I tilted my head and let the silence happen.

"Shit. Yes, he did. I wanted to give it to you, but you were drunk. Only, you weren't, were you? That whole thing from coming home from Madison. It was a set up, wasn't it? You knew? You just didn't want to touch me. Oh my god, how could I not see that? I knew something was wrong but I thought it was just a combination of things, like you said." I could see the realization hitting her, putting two and two together. She always was smart.

"Don't be down on yourself Deanna," I said dryly, "You fooled the hell out of me for weeks. Call it payback."

She snorted at that. Then she said, hesitantly, in a slightly tight voice, "Did you really have to do that at the Stadium? On the big screen? You couldn't have just had me served later? You had to humiliate me that way?"




Live from the Game Ch. 04



This was classic Deanna. Trying so hard to sound reasonable when she was not infact being reasonable at all. It was the way she approached a lot of things in our marriage, a small amount of guilt manipulation, and all of a sudden, her problem was actually your problem.

That wasn't going to happen here, and I put a stop to it instantly.

"Did you really have to fuck that dude and betray everything that matters?" I replied, bitterly and with great sarcasm.

She looked away. Point Ryan.

She looked back, her eyes widening as she thought of something.

"All that guilt complex that Crystal gave me over my reasoning. That was you, wasn't it? She's not smart enough to come up with those arguments; god knows she's been fucking around for years. All that she said to me, that was you? You got to her, didn't you?"

I just looked back at her. There was nothing really to say. There was silence for a minute while we just stared at each other. Then I took a risk.

"Deanna," I said, asking the one thing I wanted to know. It was the one thing I promised myself I wouldn't ask, but now we were here, and she didn't seem to be volunteering it, I had to know. And I had a feeling I wasn't going to like the answer, which is why she wasn't addressing it. "What was the extent of your relationship with Jordan Lawler? What did you feel about him? You say you love me, but you've not said a word about how you felt about him."

She bit her lip and fresh tears appeared.

"I don't know. I honestly don't. We -- you and I - were just drifting, it seemed -- too much life, not enough living. And then he came along. It was fuck buddies to start with, but I spent time with him. He's a nice guy. I couldn't work out why he was cheating on his wife, beyond what he told me about her being there and him being here and him having needs. I didn't really examine it very closely, because if I did, I'd have to examine why I was, and I didn't want to do that. I just wanted to enjoy it all. But we got close. We were intimate; when I was with him I was one hundred percent with him, if you know what I mean? There was no one else we hung around with -- no other friends, for obvious reasons. It was just us, no kids, no jobs, no outside influences. You can't help but get close to someone in that situation. He's funny, he's cute, he made me laugh and made me feel special. He's like a younger you. You'd have liked him if you'd have met him socially."

I just stared at her with steel in my eyes.

"Well, OK, perhaps not. But I don't know what we were. We weren't in love. I made that clear. And we both knew it was short term. We both knew that, too. I think we were infatuated. With each other and with what we were doing."

"The high risk situational sex?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I don't even know where that came from. He suggested once that we do it in a bathroom of a place we were having dinner, and I thought 'why not', and once I had, well, it just became a thing. The prospect of being caught... it was just so naughty and delicious."

"Why didn't you come to me? Why couldn't I have scratched that itch?"

"Oh I couldn't do that. We don't do things like that -- what would you have thought of me? You are my husband, not my lov...." She trailed off as she realized what she was saying.

And there it was. I was compartmentalized, just as Crystal had said. I was 'this' and not 'that' and right then, 'that' was what she'd wanted.

"Thanks for that. Another kick in the balls of my ego."

"Oh Ryan, I didn't mean it like that. What we do together is Us. What I did with Jordan was just Me. He was like an elaborate doll beyond the sex. It could have been anyone. I didn't even know I needed this till it happened with him."

"Well, that makes it all alright then." Out came the sarcasm.

I honestly was getting tired of this. So many details. And she wasn't even sure what he feelings were.

"Of course not. I'm trying to explain myself; I never said it would make sense. But I can say this with authority and it does make sense. I love you. I didn't and don't love him. I liked him a lot and I enjoyed the time we spent, but I know I love you and everything you've given me. And I never lost sight of that -- well maybe I did. He kept trying to get me to say I loved him -- I don't know why -- and I wouldn't. I just wouldn't. I wouldn't talk about you or discuss you at all. Please know that. I kept the different parts of my lives apart and I worked hard to make sure you saw the same me as always, because it was the same me as always. I just had a new dimension."

I stared at the table when she said this, and she saw it and said, "Talk to me Ryan. Tell me what you are feeling."

My eyes snapped up to her and I said, with feeling, "What I'm feeling? I'm feeling old, used up and unwanted. You think he's a younger me? Well, I'm sorry for growing older Deanna. I'll try not to in the future. I'm feeling like somehow you were falling in love with some other guy and I had no clue. If Simon hadn't called me that day and told me to watch the Cross Town Classic, I never would have known. How blind am I? I just go through life blissful and happy and stupid and fat and I never even saw it. You were excellent at hiding it and I was just fucking stupid.

"And now you tell me you aren't even sure of your own feelings towards him. Well, I can tell you of my feelings towards you, all too clearly. I hate what you've done. I hate everything about it. I hate the betrayal, I hate the fact that I am not enough for you. I hate the fact that honestly, you aren't even that sorry. You are sitting here, telling me all these details, but there's no contriteness in you at all. You fucked this guy, started falling in love with him, hid everything from me, and from your kids. Did you ever consider what would happen to them if this came out? Did you? Fucking no, you didn't. Because if you had, you wouldn't have done it. But you did, so there's that.

"I love you Deanna. I always will. But I will never be with you again. There is no trust -- you've shown yourself to be a very skillful liar and I just can't trust anything you say any more. We are done, you know that, right? There's no coming back from this."

She was weeping now, the tears streaming down her face.

"I knew you'd be this way. I knew this is how you'd see it. From the moment that screen showed our pictures, I knew this would be the end. I don't honestly blame you, but I don't want our lives to end. I love you and I can't function properly without you and the kids. I want a second chance. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need to get past this. Hit me, punish me, do whatever you want, but don't cut me out. These two weeks have been the hardest of my life. I've not stopped crying the whole time. Melissa has found me a counselor who I've started seeing, but it's going to take time for me to understand the roots of all this. I just don't understand how I could have kept it going so long. That's just not me. But I need you. I need you next to me, holding me at night, so I feel safe. I need your sense of humor. I need everything about you Ryan, and it kills me that I blew it and I don't have it any more. And I know you need me, too."

"Yeah, well, I'm spending a lot of time getting passed that need. You did a good job on my heart, Deanna. It's in pieces and I don't really have any inclination to put it back together right now."

"Oh god, please. Please Ryan. I just need some way to get through to you, I'm so sorry. For everything. For doing it, for betraying you, for hiding it and lying to you, for how you found out, for whatever drove me to it, everything. I can't believe it was me doing it. Tell me what you need."

"I need to be away from you, Deanna. The wounds are all too fresh and you are too adroit a liar. You have needs that I obviously cannot fulfill and you need to go on with your life, too. We have the kids and we'll work ok as Co-parents. You know I won't keep you away from them. Whatever else you are to me, your are their mom. Oh and I checked. They are mine."

That statement produced even more wailing. She sobbed, "Of course they are. How could you think otherwise?"

I just looked at her, and she sobbed some more as she thought about it.

"Deanna, if you are seeing a counselor, I'll be happy to help with that. And I hope you got some closure here. If you need absolution, then fine, here is it. I forgive you. Whatever it is you think you need forgiveness for, I give it. But I will not forget, and with that comes the need for my own life, free from someone who has too little regard for it."

"No," she said, simply.

"What?" I said. "I don't know what else I can give you Deanna. You've already had it all. If you imagine that I'm just going to say 'there there, it's all ok, come home now', think again."

"No, I mean, it's not enough. I know you'll never forget, and you shouldn't. Neither will I. But I need you Ryan. I can't explain it. I could only do what I did because you were there at home. If I had honestly believed there was the remotest prospect of you finding out and leaving, it would have ended instantly. I was just too stupid and wrapped up in the situation to understand what I was doing. But, regardless, I need you. I need the kids, and I need our life and I'm going to get it back. I don't know how, but I am. Somehow I'm going to figure out a way to get back in your life and in your bed, and make you happy. Somehow."

I didn't really see how that would happen, but whatever. Let her have her delusions -- they couldn't hurt me any more.

"Well, I wish you luck with that, Deanna." I looked at my watch and said, "I have to pick up the kids. I'll see you around."

I threw down a twenty and got up and left Deanna sitting in the booth crying, and my heart broke one more, final time.

Epilogue.

One last thing did happen. No, I didn't suddenly fall in love, or meet some perfect wonderful hottie who made everything ok.

Deanna and I tried our best to co-parent -- at least on my side. I just tried to get along and not make a fuss and ensure she had as much time with the kids as I did.

Kids are hugely robust, but I know Paula was especially hit hard by us splitting up. At one point she cornered me and asked me point blank, "If Mom had someone else."

I just smiled at her and said, "No honey, she's all yours."

Which was not strictly speaking true, but I wasn't about to further break the heart of a twelve year old.

I don't know if Deanna dated or not. She said she wasn't, that she was waiting for me, but I honestly can't trust anything she says anymore, and I don't have the time or energy to check up on her. She still tries to get me to 'come by and have dinner', but I'm just not over the last heartbreak yet. I don't need another one. She'd been to counseling and I've gone a couple of times as well, to fill out my side, but I made it plain that this wasn't about getting us back together; it was purely so the shrink could hear about me and my life and how I was with Deanna, so she could understand more.

I haven't had a date. I don't know why people seem to think that once your marriage breaks up, women will be lining up to date you. It seems to happen in almost all Literotica stories, where once the guy is free, his PA sets up dates for him with all the available women she knows, who apparently are chomping at the bit for him. In my case, life continued, Adriana continued to be a stone cold bitch, and if she was arranging dates for anyone, it wasn't me.

Work happened. The new plant opened, and Paul officially became the chairman of the board - a position that was both a reward and a place where he couldn't do any harm. Of course I got the CEO position.

Like Fuck I did. The board put the job out to tender and now I have a guy who is ten years younger than me, with no experience and, on occasion, equally as stupid as Paul to guide. I did get a salary increase though -- I don't think he knows it, but I earn more than our CEO does. The board knew what it was doing -- I am, after all, the middle aged balding guy in the rumpled suit. The new CEO also has much better hair than I do.

Which brings us to the last thing that happened. About a month after it all went down, I got a letter from the legal counsel for the Cubby Bears, inviting me to a meeting at Wrigley Field, which I was 'heartily encouraged to come to, to avoid any legal unpleasantness.' Well, faced with such a delightful invitation, how could I refuse?

So there I was, sitting in their conference room, staring at all the signed jerseys on the wall, wondering what was going to happen next. Perhaps they were going to ask me to play! In comes John Upton, Wrigley Fields chief of operations, in a very nice tailored suit, and he just sits down opposite me. He just leans back in the huge boardroom chairs, and stares at me, and I do my best to act nonchalant.

With preamble, he says, "So, Mr. Tomlinson. How about you give me one good reason why I don't hit you with a civil suit for that stunt you pulled?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can think of something..." I said, with studied bravado.

It was totally false -- this was actually the worst blowback I could think of. With a criminal prosecution, they had to prove that it was you, beyond all doubt. With a civil suit, you had to prove it wasn't you, beyond all doubt. And frankly, I couldn't, mainly because I was guilty all the way along the line.

"Look, if you could prove this beyond any doubt, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you, would I? You'd have filed and that is it. The fact is, while I appreciate whoever did this, I cannot claim credit for this. Plus, you sue me, it's public knowledge. You guys have been embarrassed enough over this. You sue me and lose, then what?"

That was almost everything I could think of. I hoped it was enough.

John Upton was a large man, with silver hair and horn-rimmed glasses, that magnified his eyes as he stared at me.

"I see," he said, "We are playing it that way, are we? Ok then. Here's my position Ryan -- I can call you Ryan, yes?"

I nodded.

"I need to make an example of whoever did this. Someone broke into our computer system -- and while that's not a felony and the FBI have been involved, they aren't very interested, since no information was stolen and no threats were made. The fact is, I need to stop that happening again. About the only way I can do that is to make an example out of you. Don't you agree?"

I laughed at that -- it was all so reasonable. No, I didn't agree and I said so. "I don't think so. I think all you are doing is opening yourself up for more embarrassment. But I do have something for you."

I opened my briefcase and pulled out a folder and pushed it to him, across the table.

"What's this?"

"Well, I figured you'd come at me with this, so I spoke to some white hat hacker friends. They took a look at your system and worked out how people might get in. There is a report there you might give to your IT group, make your system more secure."

"And you just happened to do this, out of the goodness of your heart?" asked John, sarcastically.

"Put yourself in my shoes. What would you have done, assuming you are not guilty? I'm trying to take the heat of myself."

John gave an expression you give when someone says something that's true and you hadn't really considered it.

"Well, this is helpful. Got anything else?"

"Yes, this." I pushed across the thumb drive with the video of Jordan and Deanna on it. "It's video of the couple in question fucking. If you get slapped with a defamation lawsuit, you can threaten to release this. Remember, it's only defamation if it's not true. And it decidedly is."

"Yeah, we'd wondered about that. Your actions have opened us up to this. If we don't get sued, it's only because you are lucky. As it is, it turns out I can't even fire any of the cameramen since they don't work for us -- they are contractors for the TV distribution company. I had serious words with them asking if they knew this was coming. I got wide-eyed innocence. When I asked them why they picked out that couple, they just asked me what I would have done, given what was on the screen. The one guy said he remembered where they were before and just zoomed in there."

He was determined to get me to admit it, and I was having none of it.

"I haven't done anything, and I'll thank you to stop saying I have. Remember defamation?"

He rolled his eyes, and kept looking at the file I'd given him. Then he put it down, pulled off his glasses and said, "Ok, Ryan, I'll be straight with you. You are here because I wanted to see what kind of man you are. I've had you looked at, and it looks like you are a decent enough guy. Three kids you are trying to raise with that ex wife of yours. You've been more decent to her than she deserves, and I don't want to ruin your life unless you deserve it. And you don't. So...this won't go any further. But don't do it again, Ryan. Your privileges are all used up."

He picked up the USB drive and the folder and turned to go, saying, "You can find your own way out. Oh and Ryan, it gets better. There are other women out there. Trust me on this. Women that won't break your heart. I found one, you can, too."

And then he left the room, and I was left sitting there, wondering what to do next in my life.



Live from the Game Ch. 05



I don't normally do this – add to a story when it's done. I prefer to write, finish something and let it stand on it's own merits. But I honestly felt that I left part of this story undone. The end confrontation with Deanna just didn't have in it all it should have. Rather than editing what is there, I'm going to add this and see if covers what I think it should.

It's a risk, doing this, because there are going to be those who think the story was perfect the way it was, and those who really want to see this side of the story. I can't really win, so I'm doing this mainly because _I_ think I screwed up and missed an opportunity. This was written over one day, once I had decided I needed to do it, it just flew onto the keyboard.

There will be more from Deanna and Ryan. I'm not done with their story, even though I thought I was. While writing this, I came up with something I've not seen done before on Lit, and I'm going to give it a try. But don't expect it till sometime later – I have Ingrams stories to finish first! 

Happy New Year Lit Erotica!

Chapter 5 – Deanna

The man finished fussing with the microphone, touching it and going "check check check" in that irritating way that people do when fussing with sound equipment. There was a camera on a tripod next to his chair, facing the chair the woman was sitting in. Eventually he seemed satisfied and took the headphones off, went back to his easy chair and sat down.

"OK, Deanna, we are set up. Again, for the record, are you absolutely sure about this? I stand by my assertion that this may be too soon. That some of the behaviors and your responses to it may not be as considered or...obvious to you, as you may want them to be."

"I'm fine with this. I need to do this. It's knawing away at me Jim. I can't sleep at night for not talking to Ryan, not getting to tell him what happened, why, how I feel – not getting him to understand how much I love and need him. You know from the discussions we've already had how this is destroying me. I've got to do something, or I'll go insane."

The older, balding man in the checked shirt and threadbare cardigan sitting opposite her smiled gently. "Yes, Ryan mentioned how strong willed you can be – how you can fixate on something to almost the exclusion of all else. I wonder if that isn't part of your problem, Deanna."

Deanna's eyes flashed at the man she called Jim and she said, tightly, "Look, this is going to be hard enough ok? While we've talked about this stuff here, me going over all of it in one go. It's going to be humiliating enough without you throwing half baked diagnoses at me."

Jim swallowed, thought about his response and then said, "Yes, you are quite right Deanna. I'm sorry – this is going to be hard for you. But to be clear, when you first came in here, you told me you wanted me to be honest and clear and never sugar coat my responses to you. You said you wanted honesty. That's what I'm giving you. And secondly, while this is hard and humiliating for you, you don't have to do it. This is your choice and you are doing it before I would have said it was going to be accurate. So lets not indulge in an orgy of self pity when you are doing something you feel you need to do."

There was just a hard edge to his even delivery, and Deanna stared at him for a moment – the tension between them palpable. Jim swallowed again, wondering if he'd just pushed too hard or not.

After a second, Deanna relaxed and said, "Yes, ok, fair point. I guess you are right. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry Deanna. You are a smart woman and you can see these things too – I think it's just the situation and what you are about to do. Bearing your soul is hard for anyone – when it's something you are deeply ashamed of, well, anyone would be a little...squeamish."

Jim chose his words with care. Deanna could be very prickly and required just the right blend of sharp and soft to get her to actually face up to her own issues. He'd concluded over the past ten weeks of sessions with her that she was definitely smarter than the average person, but at the level of smart where she was extremely good at justifying her own bad behavior, and making it someone else's fault. She wasn't at the smart level which allowed her to actually view her own behavior from someone else's point of view, with their filters in place. She could still only see what she'd done from the inside out, not the outside in, and she'd done a great job putting a lot of filters in place to justify her emotions and her reactions to the point where she was 'reasonable' and everyone else was not.

Ryan, her husband, had been helpful in that regard. Jim had seen him three times, on his own, and the history and his stories and his reactions had given Jim a lot of background to tackle some of what Deanna had shared with him.

When she'd first come in, while she'd ostensibly been looking to find the reasoning for what she'd done to her husband and family, what she'd actually been looking for was justification that what she'd done was not as bad as she feared it was. She was having real trouble with how society and Ryan viewed what she'd done, versus her own internal dialog and justifications – what she really wanted was for a professional to back up those internal justifications, and he just wasn't about to do that. It had taken eight weeks before he'd finally broken the wall of her own filters to show her what she'd done, how she'd destroyed the man she loved and the marriage she loved. How her own justifications where just that, high level reasoning to basically allow her to do whatever she wanted and to hell with the consequences.

"How do you want to do this Deanna? Do you just want to...spill, or do you want me to guide, or ask questions?"

"Err... both I guess. Let me just start out, giving history, and then you can jump in where you think it's appropriate."

"Ok, and to be clear, what are your aims here? What do you want to accomplish with this message to Ryan?"

"I need him to know what happened. I need him to know the progress we've made. I need him to know everything. Whatever decisions he makes over the long term, he needs to have all the facts, however nasty they may be. I can't bear the fact that he's hurting and he doesn't even know why. I think he at least should know everything, where my mind is at now, and then move on from there. I owe him at least that. Well, I owe him a hell of a lot more than that, but this is all I can do. He won't speak to me, and I don't honestly blame him, but I have to do something."

"Right, so a clean breast of it, both in terms of history and your emotive state now? Is that it?"

"Yes."

"Ok then. In your own time Deanna." 

Jim sat back and looked at his watch, idly wondering how long she'd spend on this. Deanna was dead set on doing this and he hadn't been able to dissuade her. He was firmly of the opinion that if Ryan actually watched this – and it was 50/50 that he actually would – it might do her position with him more harm than good. Ryan was, from what he could tell, in a very fragile emotional state. Anytime the kids came up, he almost lost it. The strain of what he'd been through, where he was at, it was adding up. Even though Ryan was doing the best job possible of trying to move forward, he was evidently heading for his own personal fall and this probably wasn't going to help. But she wouldn't be persuaded otherwise, so here they were. At least he would be able to keep her on topic and try and gloss over some of the parts that were really going to hurt.

Deanna took a deep breath. She'd been rehearsing this in her head for days, and now it was here. She was nervous, but determined.

"OK, well, lets go chronologically. I met Jordan at his loft down town about five months ago. It was another standard staging job – a two bedroomed loft that, honestly looked like a jocks dorm room. All baseball pennants on the walls and glossy black furniture. I'd seen apartments like it before – usually in divorced guys. It was obvious what I needed to do, and Crystal and I knew I could do it. I made an appointment with Jordan to do a once through, and honestly, it was just sparks at first sight. I don't know why – I guess there are just people out there with the combination of looks, first impression and raw...whatever it is, that can do it for you. Ryan did the same for me, the first time I met him. Crystal was there, and I did my best to just not be alone or touch this guy – we were as business like as we could be. When we were done, Crystal and I drove back to the offices in Schaumburg and she was like a giggling school girl, and to be honest, I think I probably was too. 

"She said to me, 'Wow. A cutie. He couldn't take his eyes off you, you know.' I just blushed and she looked over at me and laughed and said, "Oh man, Super Mom is in L.O.V.E. What will you tell Ryan? New Toyboy, story at ten!' I said something like 'Shut up Crystal', I dunno. Either way, she'd seen it too, so it wasn't just me.

"Anyway, we had to do the actual staging, and I made arrangements for that to happen. Crystal was supposed to be with me, and normally when I do it, I just have access to the apartment by myself. However, when I got there, he was there. Crystal had begged off at the last minute – I think she was off fucking one her clients."

"Can I interrupt there Deanna. Can we explore that just briefly? You say Crystal was off fucking a client. What did you understand about her life?"

"Oh she was a whore. I mean there's no other word for it. She loved sex. She loved the thrill of the chase, whether it was a man chasing her or her chasing a man. She loved the illicitness of it, and she was not above using it to get better deals. It wasn't like she was a company whore or anything – it just she used her sexuality. She just viewed it as a huge joke. I mean, to be honest, I admired the way she was able to keep her love for Charlie – her husband – entirely separate from what she was doing at work. It was also amazing how she could turn the sex appeal on an off at will. She could talk to two guys, one it would be total friendship and genuine interest in a purely platonic way, and with the next guy, she was just oozing sexuality and flirtation. It was amazing to watch – so completely different from the person I am. I mean, you have to be a pretty together person to be able to do that, right?"

"Well, we aren't here to justify Crystals behavior, Deanna."

"No, I know. I know what she was doing was wrong. But it was...amazing, to watch her get away with it. To navigate life and be so sure of what she was doing. She did get away with it ultimately. Even Ryan didn't bring it crashing down on her. After it all ended for me, we had one heart to heart and she told me she had reconsidered her position and brought up all this stuff about what we'd been doing. I was completely confused to be honest, because it was all the opposite of what she had been doing – and getting away with, quite successfully, I should add. I realized later that Ryan had got to her, and most of what she'd trotted out to me had come from him, but at the time I didn't know that.

"Anyway, the point I was trying to make was that she was doing things I never could or would, and it was...enlightening, being in her company. I didn't approve of it, but it was...titillating. It was so far from my life and all the things I was dealing with."

"Well, we'll revisit that in a bit. Lets get back to the chronology."

"Right. Ok, so the day I go to stage – move in some new furniture, move some of his out into his storage unit in the base of the building – he was there. And I tried. I did. I tried to just get the job done and not respond. But once the job was done, he offered me a beer, I took it, he offered me his cock, and I took that too. We never even kissed each other at that point. He just said, 'You're hot. How about it?' and I was in that bedroom and spread for him in an instant. There was no chase, no silver tongue, nothing. He just asked, and I was there."

"Lets get into that a bit Deanna. Why do you think you did that? Why were you so hot to trot, as the kids say?"

"I...just...I still am not sure. I think I have to give you an idea of my mindset at the time. I mean, it doesn't justify it, but I dunno, perhaps it'll make it more...understand able. I was a soccer mom. And I loved it. I had chosen that, I was happy with the choice. I wouldn't have given up Ryan or the kids or any of it for anything. But... that life is, well there's so much of it, you know? It's all bullshit and minutia. Living in the twenty first century, there are just so many small things to cope with. Making sure there is dinner on the table, dealing with the kids squabbling, listening to yet another fucking episode of Kids Next Door on the TV because the kids love it. Making sure they get to their dentist appointment and that the house appliance warranty is paid. I mean, I chose this life, but it doesn't mean I love every part of it."

Deanna stopped for a moment and took a sip of water from the carafe at her side. She continued.

"It's all like low grade irritation, you know? I know how horrible it sounds. There are lots and lots of great times with the family, and they come at odd times, but a lot of it, the day-to-day, well, it grinds you down. I know Ryan felt that way too, but he handled it differently. There were days when I just wanted to scream. Without the job I had, I'm sure I would have. But we all needed our Third Place – the one thing we have that is just for us. I just didn't have that. I think Ryan did – I don't really know, to be honest. We were in harness together for years, and we knew each other well, but I think both of us got ground down by life with three kids in the twenty first century."

"And you think this is why you were easy pickings?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. It was just a spur of the moment decision. Ryan would never find out, this guy was hot, there were sparks, my life was grinding me down – this is something I would have had. My Third Place, if you will."

"And it didn't cross your mind, the boundary you were crossing? The betrayal you were perpetrating?"

Deanna looked annoyed. "Of course not. Obviously. I wouldn't have done it if I'd been face to face with the consequences, would I?"

Jim acknowledged that it was, perhaps, a silly question. But it was asked to make the point clearly, that Deanna wasn't thinking of home at all. He knew Ryan had said this too, and he needed Ryan to know that Deanna now acknowledged that.

Deanna took another breath and then said, "I know now that this is the root of it. That I should have been talking to Ryan. But I didn't realize at the time, consciously, how ground down I was. I mean, I did, subconsciously, but not at the forefront of my mind. And even if I did, I thought Ryan was as beat down as I was. And saying 'Hey, my life sucks a bit and is missing something' to someone else who is feeling the same way is not the way to get them to come to your rescue. I mean, if I was feeling this way, what was he feeling? How could I expect him to overcome all his own issues and then feed mine? You say to someone else whose life isn't what they thought it should be, 'Hey, my life sucks' and what happens? You just get into a competition on whose life sucks more. Nothing gets resolved.

"And even then, hindsight is 20-20. I didn't realize how the mindset was going to twist my core values at that precise moment. It's hard to head something off at the pass when you don't even know the pass is coming up."

"Well, that's justification again, Deanna."

Her eyes flashed again. "No, it isn't. I'm trying to explain my mindset. I'm not saying it was right or ok, just where I was at. I know that jumping into someone else's bed isn't the way to solve that, but at the time...I was looking at Crystal, I was feeling sorry for myself and this opportunity arrived from a great looking younger man, who was obviously interested, I could get away with it and no one would ever know. I thought it might be the Rejuvenate Button for me personally. And if it wasn't, well, again, no one would ever know. I'm just saying – perfect storm of situation."

Jim just pursed his lips and said nothing.

"Right, so we fucked. I mean, there's no other way to put it. He was good. It was good. It wasn't great, but it was, well, it was better than what I'd had recently. This is hard to express. I know I have to, but this is hard. I just know I'm hurting Ryan even more with this, but I've got to be honest. 

"Ryan and my sex life was ok. It wasn't that frequent – I know I would have liked it more often, and I'm sure he would too – but when we did, it was good. Earlier in our marriage we tried lots of things but over time, well, you know how it is. When you do get to do it, both of you are tired. While we still did it for each other, the opportunities weren't there very much and the fizzle, well... I dunno. I don't think Jordan was better than Ryan, or had a bigger cock or anything like that. To be really honest, I barely noticed what size it was – it was big enough to stick in me and that was really the important bit at the time. It was just exciting. It was unexpected, it was hot, it was illicit, he wasn't bad; it just rang my bell."

Deanna paused. She was trembling. Jim sat there with a raised eyebrow.

"Seriously, unless there's a like a two inch difference between one cock and another, no woman cares that much Jim. Honestly. He might have been slightly bigger, or slightly smaller, I mean, who cares? It's what you do with it that really counts.

"When it was done, we were both lying there and I didn't feel guilty. I felt like I needed to look at the time, to be back home in time to get the kids from school. It was like...I'd done it, it had happened, now I needed to protect myself from possible fallout. There was almost no guilt, at least not then. I just got up and went to shower, and Jordan started telling jokes. I mean, jokes. I know. It sounds so stupid now, but at the time, it really helped relax me. They were so dumb. I remember one – 'how do you communicate with a fish?' answer – 'drop it a line'. I mean how stupid is that? But it worked. I laughed and I relaxed. When I was done showering, Jordan offered me a bottled water and we talked, and there wasn't all that awkwardness you normally feel after a sexual encounter with someone new, you know? I don't know if that was me or him or what, but it was comfortable. He made me laugh, he didn't try to assert any possessiveness or dictate to me. I was just...there.

"Then I left and went home and the guilt started. What was strange was not that I felt guilty about having sex with someone else – I know the value of what sex is, which is basically nothing. It was more about the fact that I'd met someone I liked and Ryan and the family were nothing to do with it. A completely separate part of my life. I felt like I needed that - something just for me, but I felt hugely conflicted about doing it. Of course, I made the vows that I'd never do it again, like every first time cheater does. And I intended to keep it. Of course, life never goes straight, does it? I thought Ryan would see it, and I tried to stay away from him as much as I could, while still being a loving wife at the same time. Have you ever tried to do that? It's impossible.

"I tried to make up to Ryan that night – cooked him his favorite meal, and while we didn't have sex – there was no way I was going to hand him sloppy seconds, nor could I risk him detecting I'd had sex that day – we did the next night and I can't tell you how relieved I was, in his arms afterwards, that it was still good, and I hadn't ruined my relationship with my husband. I had worried that part of me wanted Jordan more, and that Ryan wouldn't be what I wanted anymore. I was confused, and I needed to know that Ryan WAS still my go to guy. And he was. I really remember lying in his arms, eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat, just thinking about my home, the kids, my life, Ryan and all the reasons I loved it."




Live from the Game Ch. 05



"And yet you went back?"

"Obviously. Jordan called a couple of times. He invented some reason I had to go back. He hated the couch I'd put in, said it wasn't comfortable. It was very transparent, but it's my job, so I went. I had steeled myself to resist him – I tried to get Crystal to come but he was working on some deal with some construction company. And I got there, and well, his way of proving the couch wasn't comfortable was to fuck me over it. I had almost no resistance. He was right too."

Deanna gave a small sad smile.

"I got rug burns on my thighs. I had to wear long skirts and slacks for days before they went away. How Ryan didn't see them I don't know."

"And that was the start of it?"

"I don't know. I guess. Something in me just...broke, that day. There was just no more resistance to Jordan and what we were doing. It was clear that it was going to continue, and on the drive home I decided that I was going to compartmentalize, like I saw Crystal do. I made up a bunch of rules for myself. Jordan would never get anything Ryan didn't get. Every time I fucked Jordan, I would fuck Ryan. I would never carry anything home – no sloppy seconds for Ryan. Or for Jordan, for that matter. I would never discuss my home life with Jordan at all. No comparisons. If he tried to put Ryan or my life at home down, I would be gone, right there and then. Jordan could never intrude at home. No phone calls – if he called while I was home, I would ignore it – everything we did was downtown or at his place. It would last as long as it did – I honestly didn't think it would go more than four or five weeks before the novelty would wear off, and then I could go back to what I was before, but with the memories to keep me warm. 

"After the second time, before I left, Jordan and I went out for coffee at a Starbucks and he gave me some lowdown on his situation – he was married, in Chicago for a year, lonely, bored and I had just come along and the sparks flew. He looked me in the eye and told me it would never be more than it was – he was married and he loved his wife. While he loved being with me, I should never imagine he would be leaving his family for me, nor would he expect or want that of me. This was...'fun' but couldn't be more than that. He would relocate back to Philadelphia later in the year and that would be that. He kept stressing how he was no threat to my marriage. What we did was hormones and fun, but nothing more."

Deanna shrugged.

"It all sounded good to me. I didn't want to get lost in emotions I couldn't control. But I did like him, I have to say that. He was easy to get on with, easy on the eyes, funny. I didn't realize till later that what I liked about him was the fact that he was what Ryan used to be, when we first met. When I realized that... well, that's when things got confusing emotionally."

Jim interrupted mildly and said, "We'll get to that Deanna, let's continue the chronology."

"So, we met once or twice a week, when I was down town. He took me to a ball game at Wrigley Field. It was fun. About two weeks in, Crystal took me to lunch, sat me down and just asked point blank what I was doing with Jordan. I was taken aback. If she knew, I was being a lot more obvious than I had thought. We had wine and I just decided to tell her. If anyone was going to understand, it would be Crystal. She just sat there, rocked to her heels. She said something like 'I thought you were Mrs. Mom?' and I said something stupid like 'Not today!' Either way though, she knew. She gave me some tips on keeping it from Ryan, turning off my phone, always having a place I could be when I was at Jordan's. Honestly, the woman could write a book on how to cheat; she's got it all down.

"One thing I do remember though is she did look at me and ask 'Is Ryan really that bad you need this guy? I mean, I always thought Ryan was a bit of a dead fish, but I didn't think he was that bad? Is he that bad in the sack?' and I really had to go to town on her to say that no, he was great. My life was great. I just needed a new dimension. I liked Jordan. She made a bunch of comments about me having to understand that its just sex, not love and I remember just waving my hand at her.

"Anyway, I carried on. I discovered I could do the compartmentalizing thing well. I dunno. It was like I was two people. I was one person with Jordan and the mom and wife I'd always been at home. But it so much easier being that person at home though. Knowing I had this other dimension, this secret, that was just mine, it was like the void was filled. I could be everything I'd always been and be content with it. It's funny, but doing this really brought home to me the value of what I had at home. I mean, it's laughable now – what I was doing would destroy it, but at the time, I just kept thinking 'I wonder how long this will last? At last I have everything I need.' I didn't even contemplate what that statement really means – what it says about where my head was at and what I thought my needs were. I just remember thinking it. I remember thinking how great Ryan was, how much of a terrific father he was, the gentle sense of humor he had, how much he loved me. I remember thinking how I needed to do more to reciprocate that. I tried a few times – buying him a gift or something, but it never seemed to really come through. I remember thinking that when Jordan left, and it was over, I needed to figure out a way to take Ryan on vacation. Just the two of us, so he could reconnect with me the way I was trying to reconnect with him."

She took another sip.

"It was all just mind bogglingly stupid now I look back on it. But that's what I was thinking at the time."

"So, how did the risky sex start?"

"That was an accident. We were out at dinner one evening. Jordan had signed a big piece of the contractual obligation stuff he was working on, and I had a free evening. Crystal had covered us, so we went out for dinner. He took me to the 95th floor – the Signature room, at the top of the Hancock Tower, downtown. I was wearing one of Crystals off the shoulder dresses – it's hard to have a second set of clothes available when you are doing stuff like this, and plus, if any pictures showed up, I wouldn't be wearing anything that Ryan would recognize. Anyway, we were out and it was good, and we'd had a bottle and a half of Champaign. I was certainly feeling no pain, and I said I had to go to the bathroom. The waiter had mentioned the view, so I went and when I came out, Jordan was outside. He said something about wanting to see the view, me sneaking him in, I wasn't making good decisions at the time, so I said yes and we went in. He took one quick look out of the window and then kissed me and Oh My God, I felt it. Down to my shoes.

"I've never felt like that before. I was on fire, every nerve ending was alive. My pussy was dripping and I could feel it. We ended up in one of the stalls and he just fucked me. It's funny, because he didn't do anything different, but me? I was out of control. He literally had to push my panties into my mouth because I was moaning so much. Someone came in while we were doing it and we had to stop – he was hard and fully inside me and I almost came right there, knowing there was someone outside touching up their make up. Just standing still, feeling full of his cock, someone on the other side of the door. It was... well it was nothing I'd ever felt before.

"Anyway, we finished up, I came rather spectacularly, and with force, like never before, and then we went and sat back down. That was awkward. The waiter had thought we'd left without paying. He was very taken aback when he came back to the table and saw us sitting there. I think he knew what we'd been doing – why else would you both leave the table at the same time? And I was certainly feeling a bit flush. Anyway, we paid, we left and neither one of us spoke about it for a while.

"And that was the start of the high risk sex thing. I had no idea where that came from, or that I had that inside me. I would never have even tried it with Ryan, to be honest. I don't think it would have occurred to him to ask, either. I don't say that as a put down, just that my relationship with Jordan was different.

"The time I spent with Jordan was just us, you know? No kids. No minutiae. No friends, just the two of us – for obvious reasons. It was like the best time you could possibly have. There was sex, a hottie with a sense of humor, high-risk activities from time to time. I mean, given what I've already told you of my life, who wouldn't want that? It was my haven, at the time. That's the way I looked at it. I was still the same person at home – I was very careful to not become some harpie or shrew at home because my family was keeping me from my lover. I know it sounds strange, but I was grateful for the time I had with Jordan, and I didn't want to resent my family and home life for the rest of it, so I made damn sure I was what I was supposed to be there. Not just because it would have been a give away, but because I genuinely loved my home life, and the people in it. Jordan was...blowing off steam. What's even worse is I think the high-risk thing perpetuated the affair way past were it would have died naturally. Once I was aware of my own needs in that way, I wanted them satisfied, and Jordan was the conduit for that.

"Were there other examples of high risk situations?"

"Oh yes. We did it in an elevator once. A glass one, in fact, to make it even more risky. I had planned that one out – no panties, flouncy skirt that would come up easily, heels, so I was the right height for Jordan to take. We did it in the bathrooms at Wrigley Field. Jordan would have a hand in my jacket during the game, playing with my nipples. It would get me so hot. We did it in my car, in the parking lot of a pizzeria downtown. We even did it in another apartment I staged. And on the balcony of a hotel, on Michigan Avenue."

Deanna shrugged.

"I was out of control. I don't know what else to say."

"And at no point did you think to talk to your husband about your new found desires?"

"And say what? 'Hey Honey, I just discovered I get off being fucked in high-risk situations. Lets go hang out a funeral'? How could I possibly have brought that up to him without opening a Pandora's box? Ryan's not an idiot – far from it. He'd have seen through it the first time we did it and I get all hot and bothered. How would I have known it if I hadn't already done it? No, there was no way to bring it up. Plus, it just...wasn't my relationship with him. He was my husband, not the experimenter. I just didn't look at Ryan like that. Again, this is my fault, not his. From the conversations we've had, I think you are right, that the affair to date had already changed how I looked at Ryan under the skin, and I couldn't look at him that way any more, because Jordan was filling that slot.

"Again, I remember realizing at this time that some of my own justifications – that the things I was doing with Jordan I could bring home and make my life at home more exciting, wasn't going to fly. But also remember thinking that at that point, I didn't care. I couldn't figure out what was going to happen once Jordan left and I had to return to normal life. I was terrified that I'd just be finding someone else to pick up the slack. I may have been morally bankrupt at the time, but I wasn't that far gone. I knew that if that happened, I wouldn't be able to continue being Ryan's wife. I couldn't have done that. So I just shut my eyes and determined to enjoy it as long as I could and as much as I could before Jordan was gone."

"We talked about this. About your predilection for creating high-level reasoning to justify your decision making, but it working backwards. Instead of taking all the facts, considering it and working to a decision, you appear to start at the decision you want to make and then work backwards, organizing the facts into the order you want to justify the position you've already decided to take," said Jim, mildly.

Deanna looked at him, debating something internally.

"You know it's true. And you know you do that in your daily life, too. You are just smart enough that you get away with it because your back tracking reasoning is so good. You can make anything reasonable the way you do it. And then, when the reasoning is proved wrong or falls apart, you bury your head in the sand, with your fingers in your ears going la la la. This is a classic example of that."

More silence for a moment and then Deanna said, "Well, I guess, yeah. I can see that. At least now. I don't know what to do about it though."

"Nothing you can do right now. Recognition of the behavior is always the first step – believing what you are capable of, no matter how it doesn't sit in your view of yourself. We can find strategies to deal with it later. Now, lets get back to it. What about the anal sex thing?"

"Well, I was chasing the high. Jordan and I had done everything else. I'd um.. swallowed – and I did for Ryan too, on occasion. There wasn't much else to try. I really wanted Ryan to be first. I did, I had it all prepared, and then he came home drunk and I was pissed. I had no idea it was a set up. I don't think he did either. And then, two days later...well. You know the rest."

"How did you feel about Ryan when he came home from Madison?"

"I was terrified. The whole jumbotron thing at Wrigley Field was a huge turn on for us, or me, anyway – Jordan was more than a little concerned about it. It was like the ultimate in high-risk activity. But I wasn't stupid – I knew how dangerous it was. I talked to Crystal about it and laughed it off with her – but you know how these things can spiral out of control. I didn't honestly believe that Ryan would have seen it – he and his friends are just not into sports at all in that way, and we didn't realize it was on national TV. Honestly though, looking back, it was just part of the denial I had over the whole thing in terms of it affecting my home life. I didn't think he'd seen it because I desperately had to believe he hadn't. And then he came home from Wisconsin and I was frantically watching for him to hate me, or react, and all he was was sick. I mean, how stupid am I? I was desperately looking for a very specific reaction and desperately trying to hide that I was watching, and in doing so I completely missed another reaction he was having and the reasoning for it. I was so looking for him being hurt that I entirely missed the fact that one thing after another happened to keep me away from him. I was just mad that I wasn't getting enough time with him to truly figure out what was on his mind.

"When we talked – that one time, three weeks after he threw me out, I mentioned it and Ryan threw my lying to him back in my face. I guess I did deserve it. No, I really did. I just... well the arrogance of a cheater I suppose. I couldn't imagine he could do to me what I was doing to him."

"What happened when it all came apart?"

Deanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and smoothed down her long dress. Eventually she looked up again and carried on. Jim could see one tear on her cheek.

"Well, we all know what happened. Ryan had someone how gotten his socially mal-adjusted friend, Solomon, to hack into the jumbotron and put up that message about us. We were at the game, at Wrigley Field. Ryan had called and asked me to come home – at the time, obviously I didn't realize it was a last chance thing. I just thought he was exerting some kind of dominance thing. I was pissed off, I had been having a nice time with Jordan and there was the promise of some illicit event afterwards. We were talking about going to Lincoln Park and finding some trees to fuck behind.

"When the jumbotron showed us again, we just laughed. Then, when it showed Ryan's picture, Jordan went ballistic. He recognized Ryan and when his wifes picture went up, he went off the reservation. He just ranted a bit at the screen, and when the 'They Are Cheaters' thing went up, he just got up and bolted. I sat there, crying. Right then I knew what had happened. I knew what was going to happen. I knew Ryan knew. I could see what was going to happen from then till, well, now, like a blueprint. And I was right too. I sat and cried for a bit, I called Ryan, and it went straight to voice mail. I called home to talk to my sister Melissa, to see if he was there, and he wasn't. I wasn't entirely coherent then. I went out to my car, and there she was. Some young girl, chewing gum, standing by my car. I knew who she was. She asked me if I was Deanna Tomlinson – she even had a picture of me – and when I said I was, she handed me the envelope and said 'You've been served.'

"I sat in the car for about thirty minutes, going through the documents. Petition for divorce, a restraining order. I didn't really understand the jargon, but I understood the intent. I mean, I was so messed up the first thing I did was drive home to try and talk to Ryan. I had a restraining order, in my hand, and the very first thing I did was break it to try and get to Ryan. The thing is, I had no idea what I was going to say to him. I mean, there was no amount of 'It isn't what it looked like' or 'It's just not true' he was going to accept. I have no idea what I was going to say, I just knew I had to be home. If I was home, with the kids and Ryan, I was safe. So I drove home.

"When I got there, I couldn't get in. My keys didn't work, the garage door opener wasn't working – I knew Melissa was there, since her car was outside. I ran around to the windows, trying to see in side, and I banged on them, trying to get Ryan to talk to me. He had to be there.

"Eventually Melissa came outside. She wasn't happy. She knew what I'd done and she was pissed. She basically told me that I would have to leave – Ryan had a restraining order and if he chose, I'd spend the night in jail. I just pushed her away, and I went round the back of the house, trying to see Ryan. I was sure he was there. But he just...didn't see me. Or chose not to. Melissa came round and just grabbed me and hissed at me that the kids where home, and I wouldn't want them to see me like this. We went round to the Garage, and she went inside and opened the door. I was in instantly, but the door to the house was locked. Most of my clothes and things I would need where in garbage bags in the garage. Melissa loaded them into her car and in the end she basically frog marched me to her car and locked me in.

"Then we drove to her place, where she gave me a sedative and I slept for three days. I was fired right after that, by Crystal. I dare say I can't blame her, although it was a bitter pill to swallow from someone who had been cheating successfully for years. She'd suddenly taken the high road – I had figured if there was one person that would understand my situation, it would be her, but no. I got a lecture on trust, on exclusivity and on communication, and told to remove my stuff from the apartments it was in. I didn't dare go anywhere near Jordan's apartment. I learned later that Crystal had been there and grabbed what she knew was mine.

"I still tried to get hold of Ryan, restraining order be damned. I didn't do anything like physically show up, but I sent him emails, texts, phone calls, everything I could do without physically being there. It's funny, but again, I didn't have a clue what I was going to say. I just needed to hear him. I needed to talk to him, to get an understanding of where his head was at. I mean, I would obviously apologize, but I was more interested in understanding what was going to happen to my life – if there was any chance it would stay the same, if there was any chance of reconciliation. I was still shell-shocked and not thinking.

"I did get to see Ryan, one more time, three weeks later, when he agreed to meet with me. I tried to say things that would matter. To explain that nothing was his fault. He looked shit. He just did. Beat down, depressed, you name it. And it was all my fault. He was bitter and sarcastic and I could see that what he'd done to me weighed on him just as much as what I'd done to him. But I deserved it, and he did not. I just cried and cried for an hour after that meeting, sitting in the parking lot of the Red Robin. I had a good idea of where his mind might be when I got there, but to hear it confirmed, it was just more than I could bear. It still is."




Live from the Game Ch. 05



"Have you heard from Jordan since?"

"Just once, right after Crystal had fired me. He called to bitch at me. His wife had had a video of us delivered, as well as video of the kiss cam from Wrigley field. He was very very angry – I guess I can't blame him for being upset, but he was more angry at Ryan than anything. He said Ryan had been in his apartment, posing as a buyer. He recognized him instantly. I remember saying that if that were true, then Jordan was a lucky man, because I would have expected Ryan to take his head off. I guess it was just curiosity for Ryan. Somehow he must have planted a camera or something, or maybe Jordan was recording our trysts, I don't know. All I know is that Ryan some how got hold of it. It was mentioned at the divorce hearings, but I never saw it and I have no desire to. I dread to think what I might have said. We said things that heightened the sexual tension, but neither one of us meant them. I know at some point I told Jordan I was fantasizing about him while making love with Ryan."

"And were you?"

There was a moment silence.

"I did once. It destroyed the entire love making session with Ryan for me. I had to fake everything because just that once, when it happened, the guilt almost overwhelmed me. I knew right then I had to push that compartmentalizing even more – I couldn't even think about Jordan or what we'd done at home, or I'd collapse. Doing it while having sex – no, making love – with Ryan, that just wasn't going to happen again. I know it really sounds self-serving, but I just didn't want to even think about Jordan and our...adventures, while I was in bed with Ryan. I just wanted to be there, with him, feeling the love and safety and all the rest he made me feel."

"You are right, it does sound a bit self serving and ret-conning history."

"I know, but there's not much else I can say. That's what I felt when it happened. Whether anyone believes me, well, I can't make them believe me. I can't make Ryan believe me. I can only say what I was thinking and feeling at the time. What's even worse is that Ryan tackled me on this directly when we last met, and I said I didn't know. I didn't know what to say, what he wanted from me. I said something stupid. I needed to just say 'no, he's an idiot, and I want to only be with you'. But I said something stupid. Again. I was confused, scared and I don't know what I was saying."

"Do you have any other things to say about your time with Jordan?"

"Not really. There was talk of an audio recording – my lawyer got to hear it and I heard a bit of it, and then had to leave the room, it made me so unwell. There was a part where Jordan apparently offered me up to the next owner of the apartment – Ryan in this case. I don't how serious he was; it's not the kind of thing you say as a joke, but I don't really understand it. Jordan and I happened because of the sparks between us, not because I was desperate. I wouldn't have moved on to someone else, and I know Jordan knew that too. Why he would offer me up, I don't know – he had to know it would never happen. I won't pretend it didn't bitterly hurt because it did – to be handed off like that, even as a joke, is insulting in the worst way. To be viewed that way, as someone you can just hand to someone else, it's just ego destroying and shows nothing but disrespect. But then, by now, I think I just deserved it. I was behaving like a slut, I guess he was just treating me like one. Just one more piece of shit to be shoveled on me, when I was already neck deep.

"I will say this though. I did enjoy my time with Jordan. It was wrong, on every level, but he was kind, he never hurt me, up til hearing about that audio file, and he helped me find a side of myself I would never have found otherwise. I'm not even sure that's a good thing, but you can't close that door now. I know it's there. I just want to be sure I'm not looking through it very much. I know that the time I spent with Jordan was wrong, but at the end of it, it didn't make even a dent in how I feel for Ryan and the kids – for my family. All it's really done is just confirm to me that there is no one else for me, and that what I had, I wanted and needed. I know it sounds stupid, given what I was doing at the time, but I don't know what else to say about it. I wouldn't take a phone call from him now though. Not because I hate him – he just took advantage of a stupid hormonal woman – but because I just don't want to even contemplate going over this ground again. I have no desire for him at all. Easy to say though."

There was a silence for a moment, then Jim said, "Since then, have you had much contact with the kids? How are they taking it?"

Deanna smiled at that – she did every time she talked about her kids. The love she had for family was obvious and never far from the surface. It was something that Ryan had missed when he talked to her, but it was hardly surprising, as damaged as he was both from what she'd done to them, and what he'd done in return.

"Well, Paula has figured out most of what happened. She's no dummy that one. She's incredibly pissed at me and most conversations are monosyllabic. The other two are just confused about why I don't live at home any more. But there is still love there. It's not the same and it's not right and they growing...hardened. I can see it. There's a way they've changed in how they look at the world. Paula, in particular, is far more fatalistic about the world now. I don't know what to do about it – I keep reaching out to her, but she's just not interested. I try and get messages to Ryan about it, through Melissa, since they talk occasionally when she goes to get the kids, but I don't know if it's getting through."

This was the first time Jim had heard this, and he made a note to call Ryan himself. This needed to be addressed.

"What about Ryan? He came here three times, but he made it clear it wasn't about reconciliation – he just told me that he was here to give background from his side because it might help you understand why you did what you did?"

"As far as I can tell, he's as miserable as I am. He's hanging out with Jonathan Bruty a lot more now – Jonathan was someone he knew casually through an ex-girlfriend of his, someone he dated in college. Jonathan is also his company's lawyer. Angie, Jonathan's wife, is a friend of mine, although she does tend to keep me at arms length these days. I think she's lost all respect for me, and it's hard to blame her. I know his friend Simon and Jonathan keep trying to get him to go to Vegas for a weekend, but that's just not Ryan.

"I think he's hurting. I think his ego has been smashed, and I think I did it. I ache for him, for what I've done and I need to do something to try and...well, I can't really salve his hurt, but I need to do something. I can't just sit at home and brood and sit here and whine.

"I worry both that he won't move on and also that he will. I think that, knowing Ryan, he's been so damaged by this, and by his reaction to it, that'll he'll never have the poise and posture he once had. I think his own internal credibility will have taken a massive pounding and he's probably having nightmares about his own perceived ability to make me happy."

Jim made another note. Deanna had proven before that when she wasn't focusing inward, she was unusually perceptive. He could completely believe everything she was saying because it was his prognosis after meeting Ryan too.

"And nothing could be further from the truth. I tried to tell him that, when we met, but I don't think he really heard me. Ryan is nothing but warmth, humor, love, safety, protection and all the best things in a man. He's a great lover, and does it for me. I...lost sight of the value of that, but no more. But I don't know how to get that message to him. Nothing he did was at fault. I don't know what he could have done to prevent this. I failed here, not him.

"The divorce is...reasonable. I don't want it and I keep hoping he'll stop it, but I won't stand in his way. If this is what Ryan needs to move on and have some resolution, then I'll do it. I just hope he'll let me keep his name. Not having the same name as my kids...not having his name, it'll destroy me again. I know, it's not the same as what I did, but it's death by a thousand cuts in my case, rather than the single, hard stab I gave to him. At the end, you are just as dead.

"And then I worry he will move on. If he does, I have no chance. I don't think I could take that..."

There was a pause, while Deanna just looked at hands. She looked small and fragile.

"So, you've gone through all the feelings and justifications you used in the past, what about now, Deanna? What do you think now? The dust has settled, the music is paused, everyone has switched chairs – what do you think of what happened now?"


Deanna looked around the room, looking for something.

"I...this is the hardest part, you know? Facing yourself? Admitting who you were, who you are? I am so ashamed of myself. I am so ashamed of who that person was, the thinking she indulged in. Sometimes I have to distance myself, and consider the past me a separate person entirely, because otherwise it's just too painful. That I could do what I did. That I could compartmentalize what I was doing with another man, then come home and be cheerful miss home body. What kind of person is that? Who can do that? 

"I mean, just the utter utter bullshit I believed in. The rationalizations I trotted out. I just..."

"Take a second Deanna," said Jim, leaning forward and putting a hand on her forearm.

Deanna smiled gratefully at him and put her other hand over his.

"It's ok. I'm...ok. I'm just...so disgusted. How could I be that person? I mean, it took what, eight weeks, before I could even really face it? How fucking blind do I have to be? How immeshed in my own bullshit was I? I've finally had my eyes opened and what do I see what I do? The absolute train wreck I've made of my life, of my family, of my husband, whose only crime was to love me? It's enough to make anyone sick.

"The disrespect I handed out. I don't understand how I could – I mean, you've shown me that you can't do these things without disrespecting your spouse, but I spent some much time justifying that I wasn't disrespecting him, by never giving Jordan anything he didn't have, I didn't see that I was desperately re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.

"I mean, we've talked about this – that it wasn't disrespect for Ryan per se, but more dissatisfaction at my life, at what it was made up of. Jordan was a free pass to child free, responsibility free fun. Ryan just the short end of the stick because he was in the way. But you can't do that without having disrespect for what you have, surely? I can't find anything he did or didn't do that would have made me go 'What a wimp', even subconsciously."

Jim raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well. There must have been something I guess. Maybe he just gave in to me too much. Maybe he wasn't assertive enough. But at the end of the day, I loved him. No, I LOVE him. It's current. I just can't rationalize it."

"Well, we still have work to do Deanna. That's why I said I thought this was premature. We haven't explored everything yet. I'm sure there are more skeletons in the closets yet."

Deanna snorted, and then carried on.

"The fact is, my ability to compartmentalize and justify my own behavior scares me. My own desires in terms of risky sex terrifies me. My reaction to it is just...wrong. I did it without my husband and spent an inordinate amount of time hiding from him and my family."

"Well, Deanna, your reaction to high risk sex is part of your makeup. It's not Wrong or Right. Its just part of your personality. What was wrong was who you were with when you discovered it and what you did with it. Having it, that's not wrong," interrupted Jim.

"Yeah, I know, I'm just short cutting it. The fact is, I behaved so abominably, I hurt the people I love more than life itself, and now I'm sitting here trying to put all the pieces of humpty dumpty back together again and realizing there's a very real chance I can't. That my life is going to be what it is now.

"What is your life like now? How are you coping?"

"My life is just shit. I have a crap dead end job, working as a sales person at Ross Dress for Less. I live in a massive house that is more like a mausoleum than a decent place to exist, with a sister who I've learned was serially cheated on, and as such, regards me as though I've got a social disease. She's made it clear that she is helping me out because we are family and nothing more. My brothers won't talk to me at all – one even put the phone down on me at Thanksgiving, when I called to wish them a good day. Most of our friends won't give me the time of day and I'm hit on constantly by scumbags, looking to get off, once people recognize me. I've been the target of two Internet memes, and believe me, until that happens, you don't know how mean some people can be.

"I've had two dates, and they were both utter utter disasters. I didn't even know I was on one date until the guy told me how bad it was. I thought I was just filling out group numbers for someone at work. The other one was an attempt to find out if I even could move on, and believe me, I did find out. And I can't. He was pissed when I got up and walked out in the middle of desert.

"I have seen Crystal. She took me out to dinner about three weeks ago, looking to reconnect. She wanted to see how I was doing. I think, like Melissa, she thinks she'll be infected by social leprosy if she's seen with me. She told me some things I didn't know, like how Ryan caught her with some guy and how he used that to find out what was going on. She was very worried that I held animosity towards her over that, so she'd let time pass before talking to me again. To be honest, I'm just so grateful for a friend to talk to, I would forgive her anything. She's trying so hard to make it work with Charlie. She even wondered if I would think about a threesome with him, like that's going to happen. It was good though. I was able to laugh. She did too. She said she had to ask – there was almost no one else she could.

"It sucks a bit that she's the one who cheated for years, and when she gets caught, she gets away with it. She has to fuck her husband. That was Ryan's sentence for her cheating, to fuck her husband often. Why couldn't someone have caught me and given me that sentence? I cheated once and my life ended. It's not even remotely fair, but then what I did to Ryan wasn't either, so I can't go on about it.

"She did say she might be able to push me some staging work, but I told her I didn't even want to think about it. I'm thinking about starting a blog for interior design – a sort of How to Stage a House thing. I don't know, I'm just marking time in all honesty. I just need something to do while I wait for the weekends.

"I'm miserable beyond belief, I miss my kids and my life and I live for the weekends when the kids come over. I just want to find some way to talk to Ryan and let him know where I'm at, what happened, that none of it is his fault. This is about the only way I can think of."

"What is it you want, Deanna? What message do you want to send Ryan?" asked Jim, as a final question.

"I just want him to know, I love him. I can't tell him how sorry I am. I mean, now I look back, I can't believe I did it. It's just...not who I thought I was, at all. I don't know where it came from. I keep trying to work out the definitive answer as to why I went into the bedroom with Jordan instead of just slapping him, like I should have. I keep coming up with other reasons but it scares me that I don't know myself enough to be able to say, 'that's it. That's the reason'. How I can expect Ryan to ever give me another chance if I can't even trust myself?

"But I'm not going to give up. That life, that husband and that family is like what I need to breath and I'm not going to give it up without a fight. I want it back. It'll never be what it was, but then I'm not who I was either. Discoveries have been made, and something new needs to form. But I want it, and I want it with Ryan. I want it more than anything and I will give or do anything to have it."

Deanna turned to the camera and looked directly into it and said, lips quivering, "You hear that Ryan? I'm coming for you. I told you I would, and I need to get better and understand myself more, but when I do, I'm coming. I want you, I need you and I love you and I will find a way for us to be together, to get past this, to move on and rebuild. I will. I will do anything. Anything you want, anything I can think of. Anything I can to make this up, somehow. To get your forgiveness and understanding. To make you love me again."

Deanna was becoming agitated and Jim said, in an attempt to calm things down, "Ok, I think we've covered that. I think we have covered what you wanted, right Deanna?"

She looked over at Jim, twisting her hands in her lap and nodded.

"Ok then, time I think to turn this o..."





I turned off the TV and sat back, taking a swig of the Jameson in my glass. The ice had all melted now and diluted the drink. I wasn't sure if I liked that or not. Might be time to invest in some of those steel ice cubes or something. Oh look, more diversionary thinking! I was getting good at spotting that.

The thing is, I just didn't know what to make of it. It all seemed genuine enough, but like I said to Jim, the first time I saw him, I just can't trust her any more. If he'd seen how unbelievably unflappable Deanna was, while we were at home and all this was going on, how I – and I like to think, everyone else – had no clue what was happening, well, what would he expect?

She seemed contrite, but then she had seemed to be exclusive to me at the same time, and gave me no clue she wasn't. She was very good at keeping it all under wraps. Although, there was another point of view on that, as Jim had pointed out. That I truly was clueless. Oh he didn't say it out right, but the intimation was there. I didn't even argue about it. He may be right for all I know.

If what she'd said was true, it did fill in some of the blanks for me. While I knew the story, knowing the background changes how you view the main event a bit. But still, knowing her justifications, where her mind was at, it still doesn't take away the sting of betrayal. The blow to my ego hurt just as much. It's not good saying 'It wasn't your fault, it was all me', because I just didn't believe it. Totally happy wives don't fuck other guys on a second meeting after they wave their cock at them. They just don't.

The biggest problem I had, I realized, through the fog of Jameson's, was that I wanted to believe her, that everything I saw there was true. It would take a load off if it was. But I just...couldn't. I don't know why, perhaps I was just still protecting myself. Hard to know after the events of the past weeks.

I sat there, fiddling with my iPhone for a bit, hoping the kids stayed upstairs. I needed some me time. They had all discovered some new kids show called Phineas and Ferb and were bingeing on it, big time. It looked like a badly draw cartoon of kids with triangle heads to me. Where was good old Tom and Jerry when you really needed them? Kids today. Bah. Not only will they not get off my lawn, they won't mow it either.

I had another Jameson. I could get used to this. It was way smoother than I expected. I'm not much of a scotch drinker – wait, this isn't scotch, is it? It's Irish. I smiled. Solomon would have laughed at that. Now he'd discovered the effects of Alcohol, with a typical sociopaths attention to detail, he was intent on sampling everything. Paul was not pleased, but at least Solomon was doing it in a scientific manner – he even had a blog posted about his thoughts on everything he was trying.




Live from the Game Ch. 05



He was gone, of course. After our little adventure, once Paul realized his part in it, the caretaker had been summoned back, and off he'd gone, onto some other part of the US. I did miss him, even though his lack of awareness of personal space was quite awkward sometimes.

I sat and fiddled with my iPhone again. I opened the email app. I closed it. I checked Facebook and made inappropriate comments on Simon's wall. He and Polly had been nothing but great for me. I was lucky to have a friend like him, no question, so it had to be reciprocated with rudeness on Facebook. I still hadn't forgiven him for Siri calling me a bitch. Polly had tried to set me up on a date, but I wasn't having it. I had too much work to do, the kids needed me more than ever, because there was a very tricky level on Halo 4 that Paula had no interest in helping with. I just wasn't ready and wasn't interested.

I knew what I was contemplating. I knew I shouldn't do it. I knew, if I did it was going to cost me. But I had had two Jameson's and that was my excuse.

With shaking hands, I wrote out a one-line email. It said, "If you were going to try and make it up, what would you do?"

And I sat there, and stared at it, wondering if I would press send or not. And then I had another whiskey and cursed Deanna, my life, the fact that water melts, and most of all, myself.



Deanna and Ryan's story is not done. Literally, writing this, I had an idea of where this might go. And hopefully, it'll be in a direction that's not been done before on Lit, at least I've never seen it, and I've read a fair bit. But don't expect it any time soon – there's a lot of other things to write first.