A Woman's Wrath

It had been a long three days for Pete, and the "dinner" last night was still with him. As his plane settled in on its final approach to the airport he swore once again that he would never, ever again fly with a hangover. He was still boozed up from the night before but it was the guilt that led his blues. He couldn't believe he had gotten smashed like that. He'd have to think about how he got so bombed. He never drank that much, and he could have sworn he hadn't had all that many drinks. Had the people he was talking with done some business with the bartender and fed him doubles? If so it hadn't helped them this trip and it was going to hurt them the next time he sat down with them. The food had been too late and much too rich and spicy to plop down on top of all the booze. Maybe if he had stayed away from the champagne on the flight he would have been OK. Hell, he knew the quality of airline champagne. He should never touch the stuff.

Those by themselves were enough to put him down but the evening went on to become the night, to the morning after. He hadn't gotten more than fifteen minutes sleep in any one block. On top of everything else the drinking didn't stop until 8:00, then it was time to get back to his hotel to pack and get to the airport.

Pete was inclined to think it was the bottle of champagne he finished off before heading back to his hotel that had set him on his head. But then again, his conscience would have been making his stomach queasy without any of the other.

When it all caught up with him, when his body started that fast inexorable slide off the alcohol and euphoria induced haze, was as the plane left the ground. It didn't make much sense to blame any one thing. In the end he was to blame. He'd never get caught like that. He could hardly wait to get back in negotiations with those apes! He wasn't often vengeful, but what they had pulled was over the top.

Still, the only one he could blame condition was ol' watash'. He gave up looking for scapegoats. All he need was to look in a mirror. And that might be a problem for a while: Maybe he could grow a beard.

Well, in any case it had been an wildly successful sales trip. His bonus for this year was already earned and could only get better as the year progressed.

On the ground he took shuttle to long term parking for his car, then headed home. Susan wouldn't be home yet and for once he was glad. It would give him time to settle himself down. Of course there was no sense in confessing, it would only hurt her. He could save her that, and getting derailed once in a lifetime, well once in twenty-five years, wasn't a bad track record. It wasn't as grand as his record Thursday morning, but still, not bad.

Sure as hell he wasn't going to go through this again. No woman was worth endangering what he had going with Susan. Yet, Maurine did the hoochy koochy as well as he had ever seen it done.

Getting home he first called the office, then looked in the refrigerator to see what Susan may have been planning for dinner. He could give her one of his gourmet meals, or take her out to dinner. It was Friday so Susan would be tired, probably a nice dinner home and then dinner out tomorrow would work out best.

- - - - -

The meal was coming on time, should be ready in half an hour, and Peter had just stepped out of the shower when he heard Susan come in the door. Slipping on the burgundy colored turtleneck sweater Susan had given him for his birthday last month, he finished dressing by slipping on his loafers. Glancing at himself in the mirror he was satisfied. The light gray slacks set off the sweater. The combination, on his slender frame looked good. As the gals did, emphasize your good points and minimize your weak ones. He was slim and straight, the sweater showed his physique well, and allowed the eye to ignore the lack of breadth to his shoulders and his slim biceps. Pete's slim six-foot frame was built to wear the modern styles and he took advantage of it.

"Peter! You up there?" Susan shrilled up the stairs.

"Jesus, what's with Susan?" Pete thought. "Susan must have had a nasty day. I can't remember hearing that tone in her voice before."

Trotting down the stairs he called, "Coming down hon. Dinner is almost ready, I thought we could eat my famous broiled salmon tonight and I'll take you to dinner Saturday for our real celebration. This time we can celebrate both our anniversary and the success of my trip." As he stepped into the living room he was stopped by the stare Susan turned on him. "What's wrong, honey? You all right?"

She stood in the center of the living room, staring at him, just staring at him. Her coppery curls, shining like a halo around her face, did nothing to soften the glare he was receiving. The look she gave him was more like hatred then love. She brushed by him without a word, storming out of the room and up the stairs.

Pete stood in the middle of the living room staring after his wife, wondering what had happened while he was away.

After setting the table with their good china, Pete went up to call Susan for dinner. Entering their room he found her sitting on the bed, just staring into space. She certainly hadn't dressed for any kind of dinner. He always expected her to dress nicely, even for dinner at home when it was a special occasion: At least, she always had before. Feeling his presence she jerked her mind back from where it had wandered, giving Pete another strange, unfriendly look before stalking down to the dining room.

Peter followed her, unhappily looking at the old gray sweat suit Susan had put on after showering. "Honey, this is kind of a celebration. How come you didn't dress up a little?"

After giving Peter another cold look she told him, "We will talk after dinner. I want an appetite for my meal."

"Jesus," Pete thought, "what the hay is going on here? I've never seen Susan act like this. It's almost as if she knew about last night, but that just was not possible. Hell, I didn't know about last night myself until I struggled back to my room this morning to pack for the flight back."

After an excellent meal, served and poisoned by a frozen atmosphere with practically no conversation, Susan stormed to the living room. The longest sentence of the meal she tossed over her shoulder as she left, "Clean up your mess, and come into the living room, Peter. We have to talk."

Stunned, Pete stared after her before bussing the table, then hand washed the good china. They never finished a major meal, a celebration, like this. He always dried while Susan washed. And they played with one another the entire time. Pete was worried now.

Back in the living room his wife was sitting in her favorite paisley wingback chair, her hands primly folded in her lap. Pete had been hoping to find her on the big red leather couch where he could sit beside her and cuddle.

Not a word was spoken as Pete settled himself on the big leather couch. Not even the usual music was playing on the stereo. Finally Susan shook herself before beginning, "Donna Ashley called me this morning, Peter. She had to take a sudden trip to help her daughter who got into some kind of trouble in college. Nothing major, but Donna felt she should show up to give her support and chew her ass in private."

"Since her daughter is living on campus, Donna got a room in town. She was in the same hotel where you spent the night last night. It wasn't the same hotel you were checked into, but of course you already know that."

Pete's stomach lurched at that, then she continue, "Donna didn't know you were there until she opened the door this morning to go to meet her daughter. She was across the hall when the door to the room just down the hall opened and she was stupefied to see you in a clinch with some hussy with a dye job and manufactured 38 DD breasts. According to Donna it was easy to check out her tits, she was naked as the day she was born. Donna was afraid to move, watching the entire time while the bimbo gave you a five-minute smooch while she was literally standing in the hall, naked. Donna had to estimate the time; she was too surprised and mortified to look at her watch until at least a couple minutes had gone by. But she timed you for the last three minutes."

"You were so enthralled with that bimbo you obviously spent the night bonking you never noticed the woman standing in the open doorway just two rooms down from the one where you spent the night fucking." Pete was shocked at Susan's language, she never language like that. "Donna told me the two of you were far from quiet during the night. Even through the walls of that good hotel, across the hall and two doors down the sluts screams were quite clear."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Peter. She called me at lunch and told me. We are like sisters as you know, and after spending way too much time thinking of the fix I'm in, she knew she had to call and tell me. If her late husband had been cheating on her, obviously a regularly thing the way you two were carrying on, she would have wanted to know."

There was a long, brittle silence before Pete tried to talk over the lump in his throat, "Susan, there's no long term anything going..."

Susan just talked over him, "I may decide to leave you, Peter. I love you still, but I'm not sure how to handle not being able to trust you. As for Saturday, tomorrow night, I'll have to think about it. We may not be together by then." Susan buried her face in her hands and began sobbing, "I just don't know Pete, I just don't know!"

Peter was still sitting frozen to the couch when his wife leaped up and ran sobbing from the room. Clambering to his feet he called, "Susan, we have to talk. What Donna thought she was seeing wasn't right. We have to talk..."

He had gotten as far as the foot of the stairs when he heard their bedroom door slam shut. He was still standing there minutes later when he heard the door open again. For a moment his face relaxed with a glimmer of hope,then he heard something hit the floor upstairs and the bedroom door slammed again. This time he clearly heard the lock snap closed.

It was only a standard interior door with a button lock and he knew he could have it open in the time it would take him to climb upstairs and walk to the bedroom door. Still, it didn't seem the time to be upsetting Susan even more as she was making a statement with the locked door.

What he had done was a one-time thing. He had gotten blind drunk at the dinner after negotiations were completed and the owner's PA, who had been vamping him all week long, had finally driven his libido over the edge. The dinner had been in the hotel where the negotiations had been held. The suite where they had talked was booked for them over night and it ended being a convenient place for the two of them to continue their fun and games. He barely remembered going upstairs to the room from the dining room but he knew she must have helped him weave down the hall. He had really been too smashed to walk on his own.

The night played like kaleidoscopic pictures in his mind; the woman leading him to the bed, then the two of them doing things Pete didn't think normal women would do. He knew he hadn't initiated some of the things they had done, he hadn't even imagined such things before. His body had responded but it was as if he were some stranger watching two strangers perform while he stood beside the bed.

He was still trying to figure out how she had managed to twist the two of them into some of the positions he clearly remembered them using.

He had been too drunk to say no. Now he was terrified it may have damaged the only thing he was working for, a better life for Susan and himself as a couple. He trudged upstairs, picked up his pajamas from where they were lying on the floor outside his bedroom along with clothes for tomorrow. She had even tossed his shaving equipment and toothbrush out into the hallway.

Saturday was one of those 'iffy' days. The weather forecaster couldn't make up his mind whether it was going to snow, hail, sleet, sunshine or include a tornado or two. Pete settled for working in the yard until the weather got too bad. Then he had some repairs to do inside and if he ran through those, he could always go into his shop and try creating. He had an idea for a hutch he was certain Susan would really like.

What he had no idea about was what Susan and he would be doing that evening. He made sure once again she knew he wanted to take her out to dinner but she didn't respond one way or another. He loved her despite his sudden fall from grace and they had been planning on celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary for several months. If they did go out he was uncertain whether she would appreciate the gift he had chosen for her, and picked up two months ago. It was something she had yearned for a long time, but he feared she would think he had purchased it only to buy back her good graces.

Susan called him in from his shop about four, asking why he wasn't getting ready for the dinner. Then she told him she had cancelled the reservations he had made, then called Top of the Town for reservations. He trotted upstairs, just as his wife walked out of the bathroom, wearing a light robe and with her hair already up in a French braid.

He took his shower while Susan worked on her cosmetics. He came out just in time to watch his wife drop a new red dress over her head and settle it on her hips and cover up the lingerie outfit he had given her at Christmas time. She had been saving it for a special occasionm not even modeling it for him.

Peter perked up a bit. It looked like she was working toward reconciliation. She wouldn't make it easy, he was sure of that, but the lingerie showed she expected they would enjoy a make up session when they got home tonight.

The ride to the restaurant was a silent one, and the long ride up in the glass-enclosed elevator running outside of the building was deadly quiet. After an excellent meal Susan seemed to loosen up. If there was any problem, it was that she was chattering too brightly. Her gaiety was forced.

As they finished their dessert Susan spoke up, excitedly asking if they couldn't go into the ballroom where a small orchestra was tuning up to play. Susan confessed she hadn't danced in years and she felt like dancing tonight. Not too happy, but respecting his wife's wishes, Pete agreed. He was a mediocre dancer at best. He got on with the wilder dances where he just kind of jumped around to the rhythm of the music but he was even worse with ballroom dancing.

As Susan started to get up, he placed his hand on hers to stop her. Taking the long jewelry box out of his inside coat pocket then handed her his gift. She opened it in a perfunctory manner, then silently studied the emerald and diamond necklace and earrings. She gave him a suspicious glance before thanking him in a matter of fact tone. While he was waiting for her reaction he heard the orchestra get started.

Hoping for more of a response from Susan from the gift, instead she told him told him that she was afraid his lack of ballroom skills was going to be blatantly obvious. She hoped she would enjoy the dancing anyway.

Then she told him she was sure he would be adequate. She was going to have a good time anyway.

As Pete was waiting to pay the bill Susan excused herself to the ladies room, promising to meet him just inside the door to the dance hall wearing the new jewelry.

For some reason the gal on the cash register had trouble with his credit card, then was distracted. It took quite a while before he had his credit card back in his pocket and could go in search of Susan. By that time he was sure she must already be waiting.

Stepping into the dance hall but seeing no sign of his wife, Pete patiently waited in the entrance for her to show up. It was at least ten minutes and two dance numbers before a waiter approached him.

"Sir, are you waiting for your wife?" he asked. At Pete's nod he directed Pete to a table on the other side of the room, telling him his wife had been impatiently waiting for him.

Pete started around the dance floor and spotted Susan sitting at a table. But she wasn't alone. Just before he got to the table the band struck up another number and Susan and the strange man sitting at the table with her rose to dance. His wife saw him and, taking the man's hand, detoured to meet Pete on the edge of the floor.

"Oh, Pete. I'm glad you finally showed up. Devon and I are having this next dance; he's a marvelous dancer. Watch us and see how it's done, darling. Oh, and you might order drinks for us while we are gone." She was gone, pulling Devon behind her, before Pete could say a word.

When the waitress came by, Pete asked her to bring another round of what the wife and Devon had been having, then asked her for a favor. Explaining that he was the designated driver he asked if they had something that looked, and maybe even smelled like either a bourbon and water, or scotch and soda. She assured him she had a grand imitation Scotch and Soda and would pass word on to the bartender to send him one of those whenever he needed another drink. She assured him it even tasted vaguely like Scotch, while the soda was real.

The waitress was back just as the dance ended, with margaritas for Devon and Susan along with his fake drink. The problem was, there was no Devon and Susan. Pete started searching the dance floor for his wife, and finally saw her on the far side of the floor, arms still linked around Devon as they apparently waited for the next dance.

Pete began to wonder what exactly was going on, but suspected his wife was trying to get even with him for his fall from grace at last weeks business meeting. Casually keeping an eye on the couple, he watched as the next dance started. Finally getting a good look at Susan he was startled to see that the bright red, form fitting red dress had seemed to shrink. The hem that had been just to the top of her knee when they left home, now came to only mid-thigh. When she moved with any energy, the top band of her pantyhose was visible; so much so that he began to wonder if she had swapped the panty hose she was wearing when she left the house for thigh high stockings. The top of the dress still clung like silk, but two buttons had been opened, and any casual look was rewarded with a good look at her breasts clad in the filmy bra Pete had given her as a gift. Pete could only imagine what the view was like for Devon, who was dancing with her.

They were dancing if having both hands cupping her ass and Susan holding him with two hands linked around his neck as she leaned back, grinding her pelvis into him was a new step he wasn't familiar with.

Pete sat and watched, as Susan allowed the stranger to take more and more liberties with her person. While he watched and worried, he thought and wondered. He knew Susan was angry but how far was she willing to push this to display her anger to him, or maybe she was looking to get even with him?

Or... Maybe Devon wasn't quite the stranger he appeared to be. What if he was a friend of Susan's, what if she was using the situation to get her own infidelity out into the open and justify it?

That didn't sound like the Susan he knew, but how far was she going to push this. He was very sorry he had eaten a large, rich dinner. His stomach was churning. Maybe the next time the waitress came by he'd ask her to bring him an Alka-Seltzer.

After fifteen or twenty minutes of groping and wriggling together Susan led Devon back to the table. Sitting down, she gave Devon a kiss on the cheek, thanking him for the dance. Without looking at her husband or acknowledging his existence she snared her Margarita and began drinking it, fast. When it was done, she looked at Pete, "Pete, I forgot how HOT I get when dancing. Wow!" Turning to look at Devon, who was sipping at his drink and she added over her shoulder, "Peter, be a dear and get our drinks refilled."