58 comments/ 23742 views/ 7 favorites Happy is He Who Understands the Meaning of Things By: chilleywilley A story of a bright guy, but pretty ordinary guy trying with moderate success to make his way in this world Copyright Chilleywilley. ***** I didn't have much money for college, so I went to our Community College for two years, worked hard, got decent grades, and then transferred to a four year college into the civil engineering school. I struggled that first semester, a C average, but by the next semester Junior year I was pulling solid B average. I graduated in the middle of my class, loved the class work and imagined myself working on huge projects, like the Panama Canals of the 21st Century, which might have been the case for a couple 2 or 3 honors graduates, the reality was that for me, the job market was thin, and I ended up working for the Municipal Water and Wastewater Authority. Worse yet for my ego, I didn't get hired so much for my civil engineering degree, they were hard up for maintenance supervisors, and impressed that I had the mechanical skills to rebuild an automobile engine, which lots of geezers can do, but I could also read its computer codes, which the old timers generally can't figure out. Everything runs by computer now. Whatever, it worked out well for me, it's steady, interesting work, pays enough to buy a house and start a family. I'm been on a steep learning curve, they put me in the maintenance group, so I spend my nights reading instruction books and get still more schooling part time to get my Wastewater Operator's Certification. My wife Karen has an associate's degree in bookkeeping and some accounting courses but never completed the degree program. She has the brains to get a degree, and would have done it, except for what my Irish grandmother would have called, "for want of money" so she went to work instead. After a few exploitive jobs paying $9/hour for 35 hours but demanding 40 hours for the same pay, she got a job with a new car dealer. She's responsible to see that all of the paper work is done to complete a sale, meaning the money, title, registration, inspection, warranty, dealership statistics, etc. She likes it because she interacts with everybody, sales, customers, service, and management. I knew a lot of the people in the parts department where she works, so we had some common friends. At $15/hour she's not getting rich, it mostly goes for daycare. We aren't planning to start a family for another year or two, so we've beenusing the rhythm method, and using condoms when she was fertile. Whatever! We had an oops, she got pregnant, and being a real company girl, her water broke at work, and she went directly from there to the hospital. Our daughter was born after a rough 20 hour labor. We don't get any paid parental leave, but Red Rabert, the owner of the multi dealerships said while he couldn't hold her job, he'd hire her back when she was ready to return. Dropping to one income meant money was really tight, and while she wanted to stay at home for a year or two, nine months to the day she was back and lucked out by getting her old job back. Still she was happy and a happy wife means a happy family. I really enjoyed my work too, especially when we got a new General Manager at the Sewerage Authority who started a program of offered bonuses for saving money. For several years, I've banked an additional $10,000-$15,000 in bonus from the Authority, based on suggestions I've made and in most cases implemented. The Authority has several water and wastewater treatment plants, and the money comes from the Authority, and the savings allow us to improve our maintenance department. The wastewater plant has a lot of very complicated equipment, and it requires a steady flow of parts to maintain it. I've met the bonus levels by having local shops copy the parts I need, at a fraction of the cost for factory originals. The companies that made our pumps and dewatering equipment regard parts and repairs as their chance to really boost profits, and I took advantage of their markup to make me look good. But there is no sunshine without the storms, my immediate boss Howard Mendel is a fool and thinks, correctly if I were to be honest here, that I make him look bad by saving pots of money that he use to spend when he had my job, so he makes my life as miserable as he can. There's something in my makeup, I hate confrontation! So I put up with his shit, and do what I can to avoid him, mostly by staying in the field with people working with the people who do the actual work. The 8-5 daily routine around town was fine, but I was really looking forward to spending two days in Binghamton NY, training on a new computer diagnostic program for rotating equipment. I'd drive up the night before, spend two nights there and drive home that evening after the school ended. I was spending 8 hours in the car that I wasn't getting paid for, lest you think the Authority didn't get their money's worth, it was still light outside and I was listening to a CD by Lead Belly as I drive past Scranton when a friend in the parts department at the Rabbet dealership called, and after a minimum of small talk, in a quiet voice he said: "Chris, I overheard someone say your wife was going to dinner with Rabert at 7:PM, the Pinwheel restaurant, and I thought that odd, so I figured to give you a heads up." The Pinwheel is a nice place, and some distance from our house. "You're right what the hell would the big Kahuna want with a title clerk? I'll check into it...and Eddie, let me know if anything else like this happens in the future?" "Sure thing Chris, take care." An hour later, the wife called to say she had to work till closing, and that Jill was going to baby sit, so I wasn't to call until 10 PM, which sort of confirmed what Eddie said, so I was pretty sure my wife was lying to me. No way I could be there, and it there was an infinitesimal chance it could be legitimate, Eddy could have gotten it wrong and she really had to work until closing, or it could be a business meeting with Rabert. I get along real good with her mother Grace, frankly I like her more than I do my own mom, so I gave her a call: "Grace, how'd you like a free dinner for two tonight? Sorry about the short notice." "Love it! You cooking, son?" "Nope! The Pinwheel Restaurant but you and whoever you go with, will need to get there between 7:30 and 7:45." "So where does the free come in?" "I'll pay for it, no alcohol though, let me know what it costs...Oh, and no need to trouble your daughter about this." "Really! You're joking! Look, I don't really have..." "Grace, without me going into all the details, I was being jolly and affable here, but in fact I really need you to do this for me . But it stays between you and me." "Oh! Well aren't you the mystery man, then. Sworn to silence, free dinner. Will you tell me why some time?" "Sure, in a month or so, maybe sooner if you don't figure it out tonight." "Deal! I owe Helen a dinner, and she loves a mystery. I'm calling her right after we hang up." I called Grace back at 9:00 when I figured she'd be home. She answered on the second ring. "So Gracie, you see anyone there you knew?" "Sure did! Surprised me, as you probably could guess, I saw Karen having dinner with Red Rabert. She wasn't doing anything bad, but entirely too attentive to that cocksman as far as I was concerned, so I walked right over to 'em! You should have been there! 'Been proud of me. Karen jumped a mile when she saw me. Red was surprised too. Did you know I dated him? Almost 40 years ago, not for long though, we had sex once, and I found out he wasn't my kind of guy, but we see each other in passing, when we're out and about. "I sort of ignored Karen, figured to talk past her about things that Red wasn't going to mention, so with a big fake smile on my face. "Look at You, Red Rabbit! The last time I saw you in almost as nice restaurant as this one, why it was over forty years ago, and you were wining and dining me, trying to get into my pants, which you did, you sly devil!" "Mom! Really!" So I fired with both barrels and asked Karen: "Like mother, like daughter? That why you're here tonight?" She turned beat red and started to say something, but Red jumped in to shut her up and talked some rubbish about business. I cut him off before he really got going. "Don't bullshit me, Red. You've got three car dealerships and are worth millions and millions, and you're having a one on one business dinner with my daughter the title clerk-bookkeeper? I turned to Karen, "Karen, you should know he was a lousy lay in the old days, I doubt he's gotten better since." "I felt a nudge, Helen had come up behind me and murmured "You're making a scene!" I looked around. Well I was! And wasn't that the point, Chris! Anyway, I had said what I had to, ruined their dinner, and finished by remarking: "You're both adults, you know what you're doing, have a nice dinner." Helen and I walked back to our table. There wasn't much for smiles and laughter at my daughter's table, I tell you! They skipped dessert and coffee and bailed out. And by the way, I'm not taking your money. I brought her up better than that!" "You think she's falling for his line?" "No, but she shouldn't have been there either. Well, of course she told you about it so that's a pretty good sign." "It would be wouldn't it...except she didn't tell me, she said she had to work late until closing." "Oh shit, Chris. Well, at least you know it now...how did you know it then, if she didn't tell you?" I laughed, "Don't you know your Grandpa's old slogan from the war,' Loose lips sink Shits!" "It's ships! Loose lips sink ships!" "I know, but my version is more appropriate in this case." Later that night, Karen called me, and told me all about her perceived future in Red Rabert's corporate empire. "Oh, I ran into Mom at the Pinwheel Restaurant, she and Helen were there. Do you know she dated Red when she was single?" "You said you had to work 'till closing, Your Mom's buying a car?" "Oh, ah no, Red took me to the Pinwheel to talk about business stuff. "So what happened? I don't see the Pin Wheel as a business venue for such a discussion, if it was business. Did Red know you were your mother's daughter" I figured she'd grimace at hearing 'you're your mother's daughter.' I wish I could see her face. "Chris, It was a business dinner, what else would it be? I don't think he knew who my mother was, well I mean, how would he? We have different first and last names." "So about you telling me you were working to closing? Why didn't you tell me the truth?" "At the time I told you, it was the truth. Mona, my boss asked me if I could work until closing because someone called out sick, so I called the sitter, and said yes. Then I got a email from Mr. Rabert saying Mary would be in at 7: to take my place, but he wanted to talk to me over dinner. What was I suppose to do? I didn't much like it, but I had agreed to work late, so I didn't have a good excuse not to." "I have to admire the man, good technique on his part, you already set up babysitting, so you really couldn't have said no if you wanted to, he boxed you in." "What do you mean? I didn't want to go to dinner with him. " "If he asks you out to dinner, and as you suspect, it might not be improper, you could beg off, claim any sort of excuse, babysitting or whatever. So you were legitimately asked to work til closing by your boss, you said yes, called a sitter, it's overtime, good money and nothing out of the ordinary. So when Mary shows up, and you're invited to go to dinner, how can you say no without telling him you think he's trying to fuck you?" "Jesus Christ, Chris, I'm sure he didn't think anything of the kind!" "Well ask your mom what she thinks. You said she knows him from way back when." Bit of hubris on her part, thinking she can fly close to the candle and not get burned. If it's seduction, hopefully I broke the momentum. There something grotesque about him fucking the mother and almost 40 years later fucking the daughter, I hoped Karen saw that. Now Rabert has a reputation of chasing women, he certainly has enough money to buy all the women he wanted, but according to my buddy who works there, he's really cheap, has the second nickel he ever made...spent the first nickel to buy a piggy bank to put the second nickel in. Anything he wants he likes to get it for free. I wasn't too keen on Karen working there in the first place, but I figured what the hell, she's one of at least 100 women working for Rabert. And: A)I don't think she'd cheat, but if she did, B)I don't think she'd want to fuck somebody her father's age. Well at the moment there wasn't much to do. No point in getting into a shouting match, a bit of smoke but no fire. Career wise, I've been talking with people from other plants and started a business on the side, making and selling copy parts for the wastewater industry, and I really wanted to go to a convention in Philly to make some contacts. My asshole boss just laughed at me when I asked if the Sewer Authority would send me to the Wastewater Convention in nearby Philadelphia. He wouldn't even give me the time off to go, with me paying my own way, so I took some vacation time, and went totally on my own. When I told Karen, "What the hell, Chris, why I don't you go over his head to Allen Senior," (the Plant Manager). "After all the money you've saved him, why would he refuse you? "Karen, I'm way down the totem pole here. I mean even my boss doesn't get to go to these things." "Sure, but this one's cheap, no airfare, no hotel, you can commute to it." "Well, yes but I'm mostly going for my business, not the Authority's business. I am staying in a hotel, you want to join me...? While it's a scant two hours away with no traffic, it can stretch to nearly three hours at rush hour. "We can stay at one of the convention hotels, or anywhere you'd like. Lots of stuff you could do, Philadelphia is a nice change from here." "That'd be nice. If I were at my old job, it'd be no problem getting away for a few days, but not now. If there's the slightest chance Rabert will have to pay someone overtime to fill in...forget it, he'd never cut anyone a break." Since I would be alone at the convention, I saw no reason to pay over $250 a night for luxury, and got a room at a very budget motel, for $55 a night. The sort of place that when telling somebody about it, you end your comments with: "...but the rooms were really clean!" because given the overall look of the place, you were genuinely surprised that they were. I left Sunday afternoon for the opening of the conference, and began networking, introducing myself, asking what equipment they had at their plant, what was consuming their maintenance budget and such like. It was fun, I learned all kinds of useful things, and what with supper and entertainment suites in the Hotel, I got back to my motel a bit tipsy at 10 PM, called the wife and we chatted for a bit. I was in bed at 10:30, with a 7AM wake up call. Monday was a repeat of Sunday, only I ran into Allen Senior, our Plant manager "Chris, I really glad to see you here. Considering the money you're saving the Authority, Rodger (my asshole boss) was smart in sending you." "Rodger was all in favor of me going, he let me take three vacation days so I could attend on my own dime." "What?" "Sure! We normally have to give a lot of notice before we can take vacation days, Howard waved the notice." Allen looked confused' "Wait a minute...your own dime? We're not paying you to be here?" "Howard wasn't willing to go that far, turned it down cold, but this is important to me and the Authority, so I'm using vacation and some of the bonus money you gave me." Allen frowned with suppressed anger. "When you get back, submit an expense account including travel and admission costs directly to me. All this is Authority business, and we are paying your way...you're showing excellent initiative and It's to be encouraged." It's nice to be appreciated. I stumbled back to the motel at 10:00, and Karen and I had a bedtime conversation, including the praise I got from Allen, until I nearly dozed off on the poor woman, and we said our 'I love you's', and hung up at 11. Tuesday, I had a problem, I had made a pitch to Gus Rogala, an important guy in the Metropolitan Plant, and decided I needed more time with him to cement the relationship, so I offered to take him and his wife out to dinner. We separated and sometime later met by chance on the convention floor, and now he thought we were best buddies and talked my arm off. Important though he might be, I now found him insufferable. I dreaded spending two or three hours with him, worse yet, I was afraid I would be so irritated at him I probably say something that would piss him off. Shit! The other problem was that business- wise, I realized I was at the point of diminishing returns. There was a lot of interest in what I was proposing, but I was getting ahead of myself, I needed to jump into my new business with brochures, business cards, internet website and all of that stuff to exploit the openings I had identified. In sales speak, I had too many projects in the big end of the funnel, and not enough resources to work them through to the small end. I decided to bail out on the convention and sleep in my own bed. I stopped by Swirling Eddie's, the restaurant on the Delaware River I had promised to take Gus to, and talked to one of the waiters, telling him Gus and his wife would be eating there that night, and signed a blank credit card receipt, with his promise to mail the receipt to me. It would cost me, but less than if I ate there as well. I tracked Gus down on the convention floor, made my excuses and handed him the restaurant's business card, impressing on him that I was on the hook whether he went there or not, so for god's sake go. He was happy, what's not to like about a free dinner for two. I seem to be buying a lot of people free diners lately. Oh well, I went back to work. I had just gotten out of the shower when Wifey called me at 7 PM, to say she was bushed, and wanted to talk before she did the bedtime routine of bath, snack, and story for little Karen. She planned to have a glass of wine, and turn in as soon as she was sure Karen Jr. was down for the night. That would be about 9 PM. She was calling early, so as not to be woken up later. I understood, but thought that a surprise visit would go over well. I packed up my stuff, walked five blocks to have supper at a West Indian restaurant, where for $8.50, I had hot jerked chicken, spicy rice and peas, plantains, and greens. Yum. I walked back to my car and headed on home, stopping for a good cup of coffee on the way. I got there about 10:15 to see a Cadillac Escalade blocking my driveway, so I parked on the street. Who the hell backs into a driveway? What the hell was this! None of Karen's friends could back up a baby stroller without running over their foot. Being a big secret agent man, I walked 20 feet off of the driveway and looked in the front window of the house, and saw my wife, fully clothed, sitting on the sofa with a guy a lot older than us. From his dyed red hair, I assumed he was Red Rabert. His hand was on her shoulder, she had her hand on her own knee. Well it didn't look good, but at least they were fully dressed, with both feet on the floor. Later on I was thinking I should have barged in and confronted them, but... I don't know why, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. Instead I was on a rip! Fuck him and the horse he road in on! I slipped in the side door of the garage, and got an awl from my work bench, a pack of matches from the tin box where my propane torch is stored, and lastly a cigarette from the pack Wifey hides by the trash can. I quit some years ago, but she's clung desperately to her habit, smoking wherever she could, and chewing nicotine gum where she couldn't smoke, like home, work and in the car. I quietly went back out and looked in on them again. Still clothed, but Geezer's hand had slid across the back of her neck, and he was sitting right against her. At least her hand had not moved. Nevertheless, things were going in the wrong direction. Happy is He Who Understands the Meaning of Things . I was about to change that as I slid under the back of the Escalade. One nice thing about these obscene SUV's, there's lots of ground clearance. I was careful not to touch the truck and leave fingerprints in the process as I crabbed on to get to the gas tank. I found a hole factory punched in the metal shield under the tank, and rammed the awl up into the tank. It was really, really tough plastic, of course, it would have to be, wouldn't it! I had to rotate the awl back and forth until it worked it's way through the gas tank wall, making a small hole. When I pulled the awl out, gas trickled out in a steady steam. I rubbed my hand in the grass to wipe off the residue of gas, walked down the driveway, lit the cigarette, ripped the filter off in case it had my DNA on it, and eyeballed the advancing dribble of gas. I set the burning cigarette directly in the path of the advancing fuel, just past the front bumper and figured maybe one or two minutes. I got in my car, and drove off. It takes a few minutes to get to the main road from our street, and from the arterial road, there was a spot where you could just make out our house across a field. I glanced over as I went by, and saw there was a healthy glow from the fire. Eight minutes later, at 10:40, a fire truck passed me going the other way. I made good time back to the motel. One nice thing about hotels with the electronic keycard, you don't have to formally check out, so with my change of plan, at 11:30 I swiped my key in the door lock, and was back in the motel room. No messages on the hotel phone, so I turned in, and tried to sleep. What the hell was she doing? The guy was older than her father. I was also worried that I had just torched a $60,000-$70,000 car which was not the smartest thing to do. I eventually fell asleep. I went through the motions the next day, going back to the convention. I dumped the awl and the cigarette filter in a trash can on the street. I suppose I was paranoid, but I'd never done anything like this, and frankly I hoped my wife could say the same. To make matters worse, I ran into that idiot Gus Rogala. Gus offered to buy me a coffee and raved about the restaurant, and I was pleasant, engaged, and smiled the whole time. When I paid his bill for the coffee and a scone, he asked: "Have you ever been to Swirling Eddies?" "Well, not really, just to sign the credit card, it got good reviews on Zagat, and looked pretty good. Was it a mistake?" Gus laughed, "No no no, it was excellent; very good food. It's a gay bar/restaurant! We were about the only couple there who's genitals didn't match! Actually we had a really good time, and have a fine tale to tell!" "Shit! I'm brain dead! I never got the pun on the name of the place! Oh god! Thank you for seeing the humor here. I absolutely didn't know!" "Chris, whatever, it made no difference to us." We parted friends. I wondered why Wifey hadn't called me with the big news. I mean, it's not every evening a car gets immolated in your driveway, and it had to be the talk of the neighborhood. I really didn't trust Gus to remember to cover for me, and as we were talking, I spotted a good friend, excused myself from Gus, and chatted up Roger Axelson. After some small talk, I asked him if he could cover for me for supper. I told him I took my wife there, but was going to put the meal on my expense account, and needed to name a business contact. No problem! His smile turned into laughter as he said: "So what did you think of the place? The waiters there are so light in the loafers you can't hear them coming. The service is great and the food superb!" I gave the happy face and was on my way. I stopped by the restaurant, and rescued my receipt before it got into the mail. All my sneakiness would not stand up to a real investigation, but I figured as long as it looked good, no one would interview wait staff at the restaurant. As I was on the authority's time, I stopped at the plant about 1:30 PM, and started working on my expense account. One of the operators stopped in my office. As it happens he's a volunteer with the fire police, and had a few questions, like where I was the night of the fire. I liked to shit! Jesus! The goddamn voice inside was hollering guilty! guilty! "Well Robert, I was at a convention in Philly, which I went to on my own, but I ran into Allen, and he said bullshit to the ahole saying the Authority wouldn't pay for it, and agreed to pay for it all. Here, I just finished my expense account, with receipts attached. I stayed at the Ben Franklin Motel, and took Roger Axelson out to dinner last night. We went to Swirling Eddie's. The receipt is right there, I looked at it. Ah, here's the date and time on the credit card receipt, I left about 9:30." "Oh, well, let me make a copy of it. You like the restaurant?" "Sure, nice place, good food?" "My son worked there for three or four years. He's gay so he fit right in. That pretty much settles it, then. It looks like a leaking fuel tank, but we can't find the ignition source, so that is up in the air. We're having a guy look over the vehicle to see if he can figure it out. By the way, Red Rabbet, as he hates to be called, is a pisser. He fucks anything young and remotely good looking, and Karen certainly fits the description" "You're saying my wife is remotely good looking!" "No no no, She's obviously a nice looking woman, everybody would say so, Rabert included, so watch out for her. My cousin worked for him for a while, years ago. Her problems with him ended, when he came up behind her, reached around and squeezed her tits. She was wearing heels, and stamped with all her might on his instep, and then while he was dancing on one foot, she kicked him in the balls. She broke some bones in his foot, and when she kicked him, he fell over and broke his collar bone, and was limping for six months. That ended the harassment; he was polite as can be after that." I thanked him for the information, and went back to work. it looked like a UFO landed in the driveway. Big black spot on the pavement, grass, shrubs and trees shriveled, even some paint boiled off the trim on the house and vinyl siding melted and drooping. The ground was soaked from the fire hose, but not the driveway. Looking carefully, the asphalt close to where the car was oxidized, and to a lesser extent the surrounding area, but I could see a little line maybe a foot long ending where the cigarette was placed! Shit! If I could see it, so could the fire investigators! No note from Wifey inside. She obviously would expect me to call when I saw the damage, so I picked up the phone. I paused as it struck me what a lot of damage I had done, the damn house could have caught fire with my wife and child inside. And I torched the car without much real evidence. After all, they were dressed, not kissing, with my toddler daughter up stairs. If I hadn't wimped out, I could just have walked in on them and had a conniption. There was a very good case to be made that I grossly over reacted, and I should watch out for that in the future. I was eager to talk to her too, if only to see what story she had come up with. She answered on the fifth ring, and claimed that she couldn't talk just then, that she had a lot to tell me when she got home. She added she loved me. I picked Karen Jr. up at day care, and we had a nice toddle about the yard. She's talking quite well, but if she saw the fire, she couldn't tell me about it. I casually asked her if she woke up during the night, but if she did, she didn't remember that either. Karen came home, and started her tale. "President Rabert called her about 7 PM, to say he needed to consult with me on a problem in the accounting department that evening. I told him to come about 9:00, so our daughter would be in bed." "Ah! As soon as you knew he was coming, you called me right? Telling me you were really beat, and going to bed at 9 PM, and not call you later? Why did you lie to me?" "No, right after I called you, he called, and he totally stressed me out! I mean I couldn't tell him not to stop by, and I had to pick up the house, get dressed, bathe Karen and get her to bed. So anyway, he arrived about nine, and we talked about the business, until about 10:00 when we heard the fire truck drive up. I went into the hall as the firemen were pounding on the kitchen door, I could see Red's new Escalade in flames right next to our garage! My god, I ran up stairs to get Karen, and we all had to go out of the house through the back door. She was cute. She slept through the whole thing! We stood over in Mrs. Haney's yard. The firemen had it out in a few minutes, but then they poked over it for the longest time. A cab came for Sam about the time they put the fire out, so he must have called for one as soon as he saw the flames. The tow truck hauled what was left at midnight, and with all that commotion I didn't get much sleep, I'm exhausted!" "What business did you talk about? Your future with Car Deals perhaps? You know he wants to fuck you." I surmised that last remark was true, but from what I saw through the window, it probably wasn't slander. "I knew you wouldn't understand, and there's no call to be crude. In fact we discussed my future with the dealership. I'm a candidate to get Janie's job when she retires later this year. It would be a really big promotion!" "So what was the big hurry that he had to come over to the house?" "Chris, people like him don't just work 9 to 5, he's going all the time!" I wasn't buying a word of it, but, "Well, That's very good news, about the possibility of promotion. You're a bright, hard working woman. What does Jane do?" "She's in charge of payroll and tax compliance, and has several people working for her." The wife's education and experience is in bookkeeping? No fucking way! "Janie probably has a degree in accounting? Karen nodded, "And she also does the tax stuff? So is the company sending you back to school, to finishing your accounting courses and get some courses in tax law? So you were talking for hours, what else did you discuss?" "Well, the accounting policy at the Dealership and that sort of thing." "Well, Karen, it doesn't sound like anything so urgent that El Presidente had to visit you at bedtime to talk about it. That bastard has the reputation of being a ball buster, not the nice guy he apparently was last night... By the way, are you getting overtime pay for your services last night?" "No, of course not! I would never expect that!" "Look, regardless of what you may become in the future, you're not part of his management team yet! Under the Pennsylvania Wage and Salary Law, you are a wage worker, paid by the hour, and by law he must pay you for overtime work, assuming the visit was indeed work, and not a social call." "Well, Chris, it was certainly not a social call." "Then what you two did was business, and you should get paid for it. By the way, did you mention to people at work that I would be away Monday and Tuesday night?" "I don't know, I might have. I mean, I would have no reason to not mention that. You're usually home at night, so it would be remarkable that you were going to be gone, so yes I probably remarked on it." "Hmmh. So President Rabert might have known that you would be home alone, with an infant, of course?" "Well anyone might have known that, but I didn't talk with him. In any event it was a business meeting!" "I'm disappointed in your behavior here..." "What the hell? My boss can't see me about a business matter if you're not here? Is that what you think?" "Of course he can, but please hear me out. For one thing, it would be much more professional for you to have someone here to mind Karen Jr. so President Rabert could have come by earlier, wouldn't have had to be out so late, taking time away from his own loving wife and family. He could have come at 7:00 or 8:00 PM, plus with someone to take care of Karen, you wouldn't have had the risk of interruption. Hard to have a professional conversation when, by your own statement you were exhausted, and right in the middle of a discussion, the baby wakes up crying. With help and an earlier meeting time, you wouldn't have been so tired. Plus, if another adult was here, your mother, or even Mrs. Haney, then there can be no question that this wasn't a business call." "And exactly what questions do you think there are?" "Lets talk about it. There's some problems with your story. It could have happened as you say, but it didn't. You said the fire company got here at 10PM, Bobby Ryan at the fire company says they got there at 10:45, so you spent a lot more time with the President than you 'fessed up to. It is conceivable you called me after you knew he was coming over, ensuring that I wouldn't interrupt anything with my call." "I resent that. I did not! He called after I called you!" "Your cell phone would prove that. Show me and I'll concede the point but it's a minor point. You have the appearance of hiding from me the fact that you were entertaining a gentleman visitor late at night, on an evening where I wasn't expected home. Unfortunately the scorched earth ended any hope of secrecy, and what I'm hearing sounds a lot like damage control. "Only a pervert like you would think that of Mr. Rabert's coming by on business. Really! He's old enough to be my father!" "Hmmh. Well, don't take my word for it, ask your own mother about what's proper. Having others in the house would have sent a signal to President Sam Rabert that to you, this was definitely a business call. Well, my dear, last night was strike two." "What do you mean by that?" "You know, like in baseball, three strikes and your out. The Pinwheel, strike one, Having President Rabert over here, alone with you late at night, and lying to me about it, is strike two, figuratively speaking." "Chris, nothing happened." "It is as you say Effendi, perhaps thanks to the arrival of the Fire Company, but I am not impressed." She stormed off to our bedroom, and locked the door. When I wanted to go to bed, I pounded on the door until she opened it, but it was a cold bed than night. He wasn't gone ten minutes when Skip, our instrument guy, stopped in, and said, "I'm working overtime tomorrow, meet me by my truck in the parking lot at 5:15." He startled me, "Why?" Skip looked around and whispered "You'll see. 5:15." Skip is a little weird, but never this weird. I nodded, and he nodded, and I went back to work. The only thing I could think of was that at 5:15, the parking lot would be about empty. Skip's a guy that pulls his dick out and pisses in the bushes anywhere in the plant, and now he want's privacy? The next day flew by, and I nearly forgot about Skip and his mysterious request, but at 5:15, I walked out to the lot. Skip had moved his truck next to my car. Turns out he heard about the Burning Car incident in my driveway, and assumed the worst. He suspected his wife had been cheating on him early last year, of course not with Red Rabert. I've met his wife, and she's a nice woman, but not to be nasty, probably not up to Rabert's standards. Anyway, he bought a bunch of spy stuff to catch her. I've know Skip for years because he and my dad were buddies until pop died. They were in Vietnam at the same time, although they didn't meet until they got back here. He had tiny video cameras, tracking stuff, microphones, even a directional mike that you point at a noise source, and could hear a quiet conversation 100-150 feet away. I tried to deny that I had a problem, but he was a wise old bird. "Chris, I was lucky, turned out my wife wasn't running around on me, but everybody on god's green earth gets tempted. A lot take a few steps towards broken vows but stop short, and...and well, some end up fucking a lover. You think she's in the early stages. Head her off before she fucks up. You can always divorce her later, but believe me, try to save your marriage, if only for you're daughter's sake. It can't hurt. Not such a big thing her giving somebody a kiss and a feel, you can piss on her and rage about it, but it's not cause for divorce. I'm telling you man, be proactive here!" That night I told Karen about Skip's wife, mentioning there were lots of similar stories, most of which did not have such a happy ending. "I suppose this is your oh so subtle way to bring up President Rabert. Why are you against my getting ahead in business? There's nothing improper happening except in your jealous mind. Mr. Rabert is not trying to get in my pants, and wouldn't succeed if he did try!" "Unlike the idiot at our wedding who got caught by his wife while he was fucking one of the bridesmaids?" "Will you stop the ancient history crap!" and she stormed off. So that night I put the tracking beacon in her car, and later in the week, a camera in the light fixture in our living room. While I was at it, I checked the phone records, which confirmed that she did call me after Rabert invited himself over. I tucked that away until I needed to use it. Bob Fitzroy, the insurance claims adjuster concluded that the damage to the house and driveway was covered by our home owners policy, subject to $1,000 deductable, and then in effect. He cut our out of pocket in half by tossing in $500 in cash for misc 'other.' Our insurance didn't cover the trees and landscape, but he gave me a letter estimating the damage at $4,500, including $2,100 to remove the damaged trees, $900 for new trees, and the balance compensation for the destruction of mature shrubs. Nothing out of the ordinary the rest of the week, and the weekend was quiet. As it happened, her overtime should have been in her check the following Tuesday. It wasn't. So in the role of family bookkeeper, I wrote a letter: Car Deals Inc. Attn: Payroll Dept Subject: Uncompensated Overtime Gentlemen: As you know, my wife Karen Wickander is an hourly employee at Car Deals. Last week Tuesday, President Rabert telephoned Karen at 7 PM to say he wanted to stop at our home later in the evening, and discuss some business matters. Immediately after President Rabert's call, Karen had to change into appropriate dress, and tidy up the house to prepare for the unexpected visitor, etc,etc. The President arrived a little before nine PM. They conducted business and whatnot until 10:45 PM when the arrival of the fire company caused them to notice that President Rabert's Escalade was burning brightly in the driveway. President Rabert called a cab, and left about 11, but it was well after 1 AM before the fire company towed the charred wreck away and Karen was able to return to her personal life. I was out of town that night, so I cannot corroborate my wife's account, but cell phone records, and the fire company are suitable evidence. President Rabert's visit, and its consequences occupied my wife from seven PM to one AM, and is thus entitled, by law, to six hours of overtime pay. Looking further at the payrole stubs, on July 27, Karen was required to attend a dinner business meeting with Mr. Rabert at the Pinwheel Restaurant, which took place from 7 to 9 PM. An after hours business meeting is also covered by the wage and hour rules. Also owed is the additional costs in driving to this venue over and above her normal commute, was 22 miles, as 0.55$/mile is an additional $11. Please correct these oversights. Other but related matters, the immolation or Mr. Rabert's defective car in my driveway during the business meeting caused extensive damage to my property. My insurance company covered the fire damage to the house and driveway, but not the landscaping. The insurance deductable on the house was $1,000 and the landscaping damages not covered, listed in the accompanying documents was an additional $4,500 for a total of $5,500 you need to pay me to make me whole. Happy is He Who Understands the Meaning of Things Your prompt attention to both of these matters would be appreciated. Signed, Christopher Wickander I dropped in the mail box that evening when I was out walking the dog. We must have really good mail service. Two days later, Karen came home in a fury. "How dare you write that letter to my employer, without telling me. Christ, you've fucked up big time!" "Gee Love, is it the property damage or the overtime they won't pay? They really do owe..." "Everybody thinks I'm screwing Rabert! That's what they think! That god damn letter is all over the dealership, and people are snickering when I walk by." "You said only a pervert would think that, remember? If they're a bunch of perverts, maybe you need to change employers." She gave me the middle finger "Fuck you! You bastard" Raising her fist; "Fuck your horse!" And raising her little finger, "and Fuck your dog! I'm going visit my mother for a while, You son of a bitch!" I guess this meant I'd have to pick up our daughter. She left with an overnight bag. On the way to the nursery school, I called her mother, Gert, to give her a heads up, and to see that she really was going there. Gert tried to pump me for details, but I told her Karen would say whatever she wanted to say. I followed her with the tracking device, and she did stop at her mom's, then to a local pub for about an hour then back to her mom's, and at 11PM, she walked in the door. "I'm still mad at you, you can sleep on the couch!" This was getting to be a habit, trying to banish me from the bedroom. "I will not! Arguments end at the bedroom door, either we both sleep on the couch, or we both slept in the bed. I did what I did because I perceived a threat to our marriage, and I love you too much to risk jeopardizing it. If it pissed you off, give me credit for doing it for a good reason! I was acting out of love." The rage tuned from grumbling as she got into bed, to a sigh of resignation we both cuddled for a while. On Wednesday, I caller ID said from Car Deals, a woman's voice telling me my wife and Red Raberts went out for lunch at noon, and came back at two PM. I asked if they knew what restaurant, and was told the Hart and Hound. I thanked the caller, and hung up. "When she got home, over supper I asked: Any good gossip at lunch?" "Oh it was a haul to get through the workload. I ate a bagel at my desk, and didn't get a break all day!" So somebody was lying. After supper, which she only picked at, I got bathed Karen and put her to bed. I poured us both a glass of wine, and sat her down in the living room. "Love, remember long ago, before we got married, we had a discussion about what was and was not appropriate behavior for married couples?" "Oh jesus, not this lecture again! She straightened up, plastered a neutral expression on her face and replied, "Why do you ask?" "Well it's about openness and honesty in our relationships. Rabert is a note worthy cocksman, so when you are alone with a person like that, it is fertile grounds for comment. You should have told me that he was coming over later in the evening, the day his car burned. You lied to me. You called me after he called you." "That's all ancient history, so..." "Stop! Let me finish, they you can have a go here. That's in the past, and not my main point. I appreciate that you and I have every right to go out to lunch or whatever, with other people. You needn't ask my permission, but you do need to tell me later. Skip the lies, and tell me again about lunch to day." "I'm sorry, your right. I had lunch with Red. I was afraid you would go off the handle again." "Continue" "That's it, it was just lunch!" "Ok, you're telling me you took separate cars went to Mc Donald's, each got a happy family meal, sat at different tables not speaking, and fifteen minutes later back to work." "Don't be silly!" "Then don't patronize me. Tell me about lunch. What did you talk about, who said what, were you went, how long you were there, what you ate and drank. Talk to me!" "I resent the inquisition!" "So do I! It shouldn't be this way. Usually we like to tell each other about our day, you know, filling in all the little details? Had you mentioned this earlier, they would be idyll questions, willingly answered. A long lunch with your boss should evoke more than "left work, ate, and got back!" Don't you think?" "Yes I suppose it does deserve more. We went to the pub up there on the Durham road, I forget the name of the place, something about dogs...I had a plowman's lunch and two pints of Killkenny Ale. I about fell asleep at work. Satisfied?" "No. What did you talk about and when did you get back?" "Oh I don't know, 1:30, or so, maybe a little later. Actually he probably was making an indirect pass at me, telling me about his marriage, how unhappy he was. His thinks wife is a real shrew. He was considerate and polite to me, so I treated it at face value." "What did you say about your marriage?" "Well, it didn't come up." "Of course it did. Any woman would have had to talk about her marriage to make the other person feel less like they were the only one baring their soul. What did you tell him about our marriage, and did you believe what you were telling him?" "Chris, you don't have to worry. I love you,I only have the normal gripes that come from raising a child, working and living life. He put his hand on mine, and I pointedly withdrew mine. He said I was getting a promotion at the end of the month, and a $5,000 a year raise. I wish you could be happy for me...for us." "I don't have to worry, but you never said what you told him about our marriage, but at this point, you're in damage control mode, I wouldn't believe you. Of course I am happy for you, but I get scared when you feel you have to lie to me. The old proverb, the guilty flee where none pursue? He is a bastard. I don't believe he's you're friend, and I don't believe he has your best interest at heart. Obviously lots of virtuous women work for his dealerships, and you are still one of them...but I do worry." The next weekend, she was leaving work at noon, and driving about four hours to her sister's house, and coming back Sunday. She has two sisters, and they all get together twice a year. The year we bought our house, and Karen was eight months pregnant, they came to our house. The estrogen fumes were so bad, no man would want to be home for that. Women sitting around in pajamas nipple pokes all around, pajamas and night gowns, flashes of tits and occasional pussy, but no sex for me. I tried to go on line to track her, but something was fucked up, and I got nothing. I wonder if someone found the tracking device. I got another call from the dealership about 1:30 PM saying that Karen left work at noon, and wasn't coming back, And that Red Rabert left a few minutes after that, and wouldn't be back until four. Doesn't it sound like a nice afternoon fuck at a motel. I called four motels before until one admitted to having a Mr. Rabert registered there. I was put through to his room, but no one answered. I called Karen's cell, but got the answering machine. I drove over to the motel. For sure Karen's car wasn't there, but I didn't know what he was driving. There were a several cars that looked like something Rabert might drive, but which one if any? I suppose I could stake them out, but there was no place I could park and see both of the possibilities. Well, in a way, if she's fucking him, it's over, and sooner or later they will do it under my nose and get caught. I went back to work. I spent the evening playing with my daughter, and after putting her to bed went into my shop, trying with only modest success to keep my mind thinking good thoughts. I called Karen, but her phone was still off. Saturday, I worked, trying to catch up on what business I had neglected while I tried to defend our marriage, and doing house work. That afternoon, Gert, her mom invited us to diner. You may have noticed, Gert's a wise woman, who certainly knew we were having marriage troubles. After my daughter was bathed cuddled and put to bed, Gert and I chatted, I yielded enough to her gentle questions to say that things were not right between her daughter and I. That I knew Karen was lying to me about when and who she went out to bars and restaurants with. Gert asked me if I thought she was having an affair. "Gert, if you had asked me six months ago, I would have said no. Absolutely not. Now...at best I think she's considering it, and if she denied it, I don't think I would believe her. That's why I'm depressed. I've caught her lying to me several times, she admits the lie when confronted, and now I can't believe my own wife. You think the unknown is worse than the known, Gert?" "Chris, I can tell you she isn't running around. I'm sure of it." "Well, at one time, I would have been sure of it too...I suppose it will work itself out, won't it, one way or to the other and it may yet be nothing, as you say." My daughter spent the night with her grandmother, went home, and I gave in to depression. I have more than one drink, never more than two, but that night watched bad porn on the TV, and got falling down drunk on a 1.5 liter of pretty good wine. I was sitting showered and shaved, drinking water and coffee at the kitchen table, my head throbbing from a raging hangover the next morning, when Karen blew in the door at 10:30 AM with both guns blazing. "Where the hell were you last night! I called you six times, and you weren't home!" "I went out to a woman's house, and had a home cooked dinner, came home, and got drunk. But why would you care? I tried to call you Friday afternoon and evening, and again on Saturday, but you didn't pick up, so the hell with you." "You god damn bastard, who was the woman, and what did you do, you fucker! You're always going on jealous as hell about me, and you tell me this? Where's my daughter been during all this?" "Don't raise your voice to me. Last night I was with a much kinder, more loving woman than you. Your daughter and I had dinner and later, when Karen was in bed, I had a long talk with your mom, came home, and got drunk. I polished off a bottle of very good wine, followed by half a bottle of table wine that was already open. The empties are in the trash over there. I hope you're happy, 'cause my head is killing me." "You? Drunk? My god, what's happened?" "Well you said you were going to your sister's..." "I did. I told you, that's were I was going." "When did you arrive?" "Well I did some shopping, and got there about supper time?" "Perhaps closer to 7 PM?" She nodded. "Well, Karen, it may be as you say, or...not. President Rabert left the dealership a few minutes after you did, and came back at 4 PM. If you left the motel at 3:45, you'd get to your sister's about when you said you did." "Chris, where the hell! OK, you've got a spy in the dealership, but they are fucking with your head! I have no idea what Rabert did, or who he was with. I went directly from work to the outlets up in Wilkes Barrie, had a light lunch, and on to my sister's house. I was no where near any motel. And I'm sorry about my accusations. I know you wouldn't cheat." I started to cry, I'm not ashamed to say it. "And that is what's eating me up, at one time I would have had no doubts about you. Now that I know you easily lie to me about who you're with, and where you are, and if you tell me something, I don't know, in my heart if I can believe you! It's the trust that's been broken. I can say 'of course I believe you', but deep down I don't. I imagine all kinds of deceitful things which rationally are not likely to be true, but they run around in my head anyway. That's why I got drunk last night. To stop the hate and the fear picking at my brain." Well we had a nice cry fest, both of us bawling like babies, and made up with very good sex. She drove over to her mother's, picked up Karen, and later that night after our daughter was in bed, we made tender love. All was back to normal the following week. We even got away to a B&B in Annapolis Maryland for a nice weekend. Annapolis is the capital of Maryland, and home of the Naval Academy. It's a lovely town, with lots of old buildings, and good restaurants. We picked this weekend because the legislature was out of session, so the politicians were off the streets and out of the restaurants. Thanks to the Naval Academy, there were a lot of young men and women about, doing what frankly we were doing, spending out time in public with obvious affection for one another, and having lots of sex at night. One of the best weekends I could recall. Picking up Karen Jr., Gert winked at me and said 'have fun?' I blushed and nodded. 'Good!' Thursday morning, I was at a machine shop, working with Harold, the owner, on a redesign of the screw conveyor for the wastewater plant that was continually breaking. My cell phone rang, caller ID said unidentified. I answered: "Chris Wilkerson here." "This afternoon, 2 PM, room 146, The Pines Motel." And a click as the line went dead. Oh shit! At 1:30, I cruised past the motel, and saw that from the bank parking lot, I could see room 146 clearly. I called my boss, Howard, and told him I had a personal problem, and that if my wife, or any unidentified person called, I was in the plant, and wouldn't be free until 5PM. "Chris, you're the last person I would ever criticize for ducking out. But I was the about to pick up my phone to call you. That crew on State Street? Ansel (the straw boss) just called and you have to stop by and give a yea or nay on a patch they're making on the water main. Other wise, they'll have to detour traffic, leave the hole open over and quit for the day. Can't take you long, and I'll see you tomorrow morning." "Howard, I'm really pressed for time not..." "Chris, it's on your way home. If nobody's bleeding, just stop for a couple of minutes, OK?" Shit. Well, I should be able to make it in time. Ansel is a good man, but I had to get down into the trench. The pipe saddle they had was the wrong one for the pipe in question, I had to tell him what he needed, and where it was, before I got out of there. Running late, my marriage up the creek, I admit I was speeding, but damn if the cop who pulled me over wasn't the new kid, right out of school, and a by the book cop. The son of a bitch took ten minutes to write the ticket, and lectured me for another two or three minutes. I used the time to think about what I would do when I got there. I'd pound on the door to get their attention. Then Holler strike three and you're out of my life. You can fuck who you want, but, a fresh whore gets $500 in advance. I'll bring your stuff over to your mother's tonight. So long, cunt! What a speech, but too long... Strike three, you're out. Whore's collect $500 in advance. You're a pro, now. Endless babble in my mind. When I got to the fucking motel, drove around to the back side, all but one of the rooms had the curtains open, so no guess needed as to where they were, one car there, a new black Escalade with dealer plates. I knew who's that was, but not who was inside with him. I'd look like an Idiot, hollering and pounding my fist on the door, while Rabert's fucking somebody else, or he's alone, pulling his pud, watching a porno movie. Shit! Then I remembered Skips spy cameras I still had in rattling around in my trunk. All the high tech stuff that had done me no good up to now, I grabbed the video camera and walked over to the motel window. Sure enough, there was a gap at the bottom of the curtain. Walking by you couldn't see anything, but when I held the camera to the bottom of the window, and looked at the screen. I could see a woman with blouse half unbuttoned, bra exposed, kneeling, and an old man who had his back to me, presumably Boss Rabert holding her head in his lap with both hands, one could only assume she was sucking his cock. Unfortunately the sunlight washed out the screen a bit, and he had his leg over the arm of the chair, so I couldn't really make out her face. This went on for a minute or two, which seemed even longer as I was kneeling on a rough sidewalk. She suddenly jerked her head up choking, but her face was obscured by her hair. I was almost certain it was Karen, when Rabert slapped her hard across the face, and it was her, and she was not having fun, that slap hurt, and she was crying. My planned speech went out the door. I looked around for something to knock the window in, and grabbed one of the concrete parking stops. I managed to lift it off of the rebar that pegged it to the pavement and picked up one end. I rested ti on the hood of his car. I squatted down, and centered it on my shoulder. It screeched as it slid off of the car, it took a try or two to get it balanced, and with all my strength, assisted by adrenalin, I stood up, wobbled a bit as I stepped back a few feet, and charged the window, twisting at the last instant so it hit broadside. It blew through the glass, coming down in a hail of shards, to land on Rabert, doubling him over, and smashing the back of the chair. Karen was screaming, as I climbed through the widow. Her bra pulled up, tits out, and her dress bunched around her waist. "My god Karen is that your blood on you mouth? How badly hurt are you?" "OK, I'm OK, OK, Thank god you're here. His blood, oh help me!" I hauled her to the bath room. "Don't swallow, rinse the blood out of your mouth, you don't know what he has. Keep at it." I went back into the room, and checked on Rabert. He hadn't moved, still slumped over, bleeding a little on the back of his head but his back was badly scraped by the glass and the concrete, soaking his shirt with blood. He was barely breathing, and it looked like blood around his crotch. Didn't look fatal. I walked in front of him to pick up Karen's panties and sandals on the table, I tossed the sandals in the bathroom. I hollered for Karen to move her ass, and worried about Rabert being able to breath. I shifted the concrete off of him, and straightened him up. He was still unconscious, but breathing a little better now. Karen came out of the bathroom with her dress mis-buttoned, I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door. She was hysterical. I used her underpants to unlock it and to turn the knob avoiding leaving my finger prints, although there was little chance I'd escape the motel's security cameras. 'Fuck do I know? As we went through the door, I grabbed the camera, and shoved her into my car, I went around to my side, slid the camera under my seat, and drove off. I saw no reason to be here when the cops arrived. I don't think Karen noticed the camera, but it didn't matter. She was sobbing and carrying on, I was afraid she would attract too much attention, so I pulled her head onto my lap, she curled up into a fetal position, and I stroked her cheek, and hair, and told her over and over she was safe, it was over, We would be OK, and drove quietly out the back of the motel, and on home, keeping within the speed limit the whole way. In the old days, there would have been plenty of pay phones, on the street, but no more. I had no way to call the police without them knowing it was me, so I didn't. Sooner or later, somebody would notice the window. I tried to take Karen to a rape crisis center, but she said he only was in her mouth, and refused to go, "Karen, the rape happened to all of you, it doesn't matter where the cock went, mouth, pussy, butt, rape is rape, where he stuck it is not important. He traumatized you for god's sake. This is not a burn or a cut that will go away in a few days. Please!" "No! Everybody will know, it will be documented and the basis for a lawsuit. You'll want to sue in revenge, and it will drag on and on. I want to go home and take a hot shower and a bath!" Happy is He Who Understands the Meaning of Things "Fine, but you see somebody to help you cope later this week, promise?" I didn't push it, I don't really know what to do, I suppose I'm wimping again. I put her in the shower, washed her more or less symbolically, put a night gown on her, took her into our bed, and held her until the adrenalin shivers stopped, and she dozed peacefully. I nodded off as well. I woke up in late afternoon to Karen stripping off her night gown, and with very little foreplay, she climbed on top of me and lowered herself on to me, and leaned forward to lie on my chest. We lay there for a very long while, with my cock filling her, and slowly sliding all the way in, pause, all the way out, with long pauses between the thrusts, just enough to stay hard. We were one, until at last she sat up we picked up the pace of love making and as she rose to her orgasm, her passion set mine off, and we came together in the longest and one of the nicest bits of love making we ever had. What followed was somewhat predictable. It was apparently a case of an older man, seen as powerful, wealthy, and authoritarian, and an inexperienced, not so confident young woman. Attention, flattery, confidential information exchanged, and an escalating level of intimacy and demands. They were supposedly going visit another dealership Rabert was talking about buying, when he pulled into the motel, and ordered her inside. First she was only required to give him a blow job to calm his nerves for the meeting, he said. Hugely inappropriate action for a married woman, (no shit Sherlock) and she shouldn't have done it. When she choked on his cock, he told her she spoiled it, and to pull out her tits, and give him her underpants. She refused, and he slapped her several times. The underpants came off, and he pulled her dress open to the waist, and made her lift the bra over the tits. She knelt back down crying, as he jammed his cock back into her mouth, when with an ungodly boom and crash of glass, Rabert lurched forward, slamming her jaw on the seat of the chair, just as she jerked her head away in a startle response. It was not a good moment for President Rabert. When she spit up and rinsed her mouth, She spit some blood and skin in the toilet, how much skin she didn't know, but it wasn't hers. I wondered when the suspicions would come out, and it didn't take long for Karen to ask: "Chris, thank god you did what you did, but how did you come to be at the motel?" I was ready for the question. "Well, Howard sent me over to Ashland street to help the Water Department with a leak. Since Lennie retired, they don't have the expertise they use to have. I left there, heading back to the plant, and got caught speeding on Turks Head road. I had just turned down hillcrest when the cop caught up with me. "I was idly looking at cars going by fifty yards away on South Main, waiting for the cop to finish writing the ticket, when I saw Rabert in a big SUV go by, there was a woman with him, but it was only a glimpse, and I had no real idea who it was, I don't have to tell you what I was thinking. "When the cop finally released me, I headed down South Main to the motel, and on impulse I drove around the back, and there was the car. I saw Rabert and the woman through a crack in the curtains, but it wasn't until you picked your head up and he slapped you, that I knew who it was. I was pissed. Had I thought it was consensual, I would have called strike three and kicked you to the curb, but it wasn't, so I wanted to end it in a hurry, if I hurt the son of a bitch, all the better, and you know the rest." "Out of curiosity, why didn't you just pound on the door?" "Rage, I guess, do something, scare the shit out of him? Hurt him?" "Like when you torched his car?" Shit! "Wasn't arson, according to the fire police." "Cars don't develop a leak in the gas tank and after sitting for an hour, and spontaneously burst into flame." "Must be Mrs. Haney done it. I have an alibi." "Chris, how many of the volunteer firemen do you know?" "Ahhh, probably four or five. But there's 25 in all, I think. Why?" "Well, it's possible one of them might have done it, or they decided whoever did it, probably will never do it again, and they considered it justice." Rabert didn't fire her, and in fact never talked to her again, proving my point that he was a pussy hound all along. Karen realized that it was all wet kisses in her ear, no raise, no promotion, and took a job with another car dealership. The good news is that I hear Rabert stopped philandering. Whether chastised by his experience with my wife, or a rough circumcision, I've no way of knowing. It's been three years now, we've got two children, and I trust my wife but keep an eye out for trouble.