Forbidden Fruit

The next day was Friday, and Roger embarked on a plan to acquire more data. However to get it he needed to behave in a very uncharacteristic manner: he was going to act like a detective.

He found a picture of Alan Sauerman in the school's yearbook (Kathy had a copy for every year she'd worked there), and he loitered outside the school at dismissal until Sauerman emerged, chatting casually with a couple of his friends. When Sauerman broke away from them and headed for his car Roger moved to catch up with him.

"Excuse me? Are you Alan Sauerman?"

The boy turned. "Yeah," he said pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

Watching his face carefully, Roger said in an urgent tone, "we need to talk. I'm Kathy Hallstrom's husband."

Alan froze, stiffly, and Roger noted the reaction.

"Uh, what, uh do we need to talk about?" Alan was clearly shocked and alarmed.

"It's kind of private. Can you drive us out to Edison Park, and we'll talk there?"

It was a quiet ride; Alan looked terrified, and asked no questions. When they got there and parked, Roger said, "let's take a walk." He led them a half mile down a trail to a deserted bench, where they sat.

"All right," Roger said quietly. "If you cooperate with me here, I promise you I'll keep this conversation completely confidential. I promise," he repeated.

"Otherwise, you are in a heap of trouble, Alan."

"What is this about?" Alan quavered, trying vainly to sound indignant.

"How long have you and my wife been having sex?" Roger asked.

"What?! That's...that's ridiculous!"

"Your face gives you away, Alan. Plus, I've seen the pictures," Roger lied.

"Pictures?" Alan was stunned, his face drained of color.

"Like I said, Alan—if you're straight with me, I'll keep this a secret. Just between you and me. But don't play games with me."

Roger waited. He almost felt sorry for the kid, who looked terrified and at his wits' end.

"Okay, Alan, tell me all about it. How long it's been going on, exactly what you do, how and when it started. I know most of it," he lied again, "so don't try to snow me. Just tell it straight."

Nearly in tears, Alan provided a complete account. He'd been meeting Kathy once a week for academic tutoring once a week since September. At first he had thought she was being a little flirtatious, but he didn't know what to do about it.

Then in late September he got an email from a friend a year ahead of him, telling Alan that if he made a pass at Kathy she'd have sex with him. The friend, now a freshman at Dartmouth, implied that he'd fucked her the previous year. He never came right out and said it, but hinted rather broadly.

The next week in Kathy's office Alan acted bolder: he looked down Kathy's blouse more obviously, complimented her legs, and sat so that his half-erection bulged at the front of his shorts. After ten minutes or so Kathy had put her book down, said, "do you like me, Alan?" and sat down in his lap. She'd kissed him and slipped him her tongue, and the rest followed predictably. She helped him get his and her clothes off, and they fucked on her desk.

Since then Alan had been fucking Kathy every week during his appointments, though they also used some of the time for studying—she told him he had to do well on his tests, or they might be found out. They did it on her desk, on the floor, and sometimes on a chair. She also gave him a firm lecture about total, complete discretion, pointing out the danger to both of them if they were caught. The threat of a scandal, plus the possibility of not getting to have sex with her any more, had kept Alan from breathing a word to anyone.

Roger sat quietly when Alan had finished. It was just what he'd expected—and worse than anything he could possibly imagine. Not only cheating on him, but with a high school kid! Probably more than one high-school kid, from the story about the Dartmouth freshman. How long had she been doing this? Could it really be almost six years? How many boys would that have been?

"Alan," he said finally. "Here's the deal. You forget we ever had this conversation, and your name stays out of it. Don't tell anyone that we talked—ESPECIALLY Kathy. You'll have to be a good actor, and just keep on doing what you've been doing. If she finds out that we spoke about this there's going to be a major scandal, got it? So you're gonna have to fake it."

Alan looked relieved but wary. "You mean I should...keep, you know, doing it with her?"

Roger nodded grimly. "Yes. She mustn't know that anything has changed. When it all hits the fan, we don't want her to have any idea that you talked to me, got it? And I've got to keep your name out of it.

"If you want to break it off, you can—just be sure to give her an excuse. You know, it's making you too nervous, you're afraid of being caught, etc. Don't say anything about me."

Alan nodded his head. The 18-year old looked about ten years older, and a good bit sadder and wiser, than when Roger had met him outside the high school.

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

What was Roger going to do? He'd done what he was good at: gathering data, analyzing it, and reaching a conclusion. Taking dramatic action in response to that conclusion was unfamiliar territory for him.

Keeping Kathy from realizing what he knew was the easy part. For weeks, as he'd done his data analysis and gotten closer to the truth, he'd been dissembling with her. He'd probably seemed a little more distant and preoccupied than usual; but he'd also been able to smile, to kiss her, even to make love from time to time, though the experience felt empty to him.

So he knew he didn't have to rush home and confront her. She'd been cheating for a long time—perhaps even five years or more. With a succession of high-school kids! The thought just rocked him. He was mostly feeling the shock, the mind-numbing awareness that the last few years of his marriage had been a complete lie, at least on his wife's part.

The anger, the desire to take his revenge, to make her pay for lying to him and humiliating him like this—with teenagers!—was surely going to come later.

But there was no need to hurry. He could work out in his own mind what he wanted, reflect on it, and wait to act until the time was right.

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

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

[AN AFTERNOON IN JUNE:]

Kathy had finally stopped screaming, stopped pounding on the door; Roger heard her stomping down the stairs, and now it was quiet.

He smiled reassuringly at Melissa. "Today's the day! I promised you I'd do this, and now is the day it's gonna happen."

"And then you'll...be free of her?" Melissa was calmer, but still looked worried. How beautiful she was!

"Completely free. In fact," Roger reached for his briefcase and pulled out an envelope, "here is what you and I are going to be doing for the next two weeks."

He handed the envelope to Melissa, who sat, fully-dressed again, on the edge of the bed. She opened it and looked warily at the papers inside, and then her eyes opened wide. "Hawaii?!"

She grabbed Roger and gave him a huge hug, nearly knocking him off the bed. "Oh my God, that's so fantastic!"

She kissed him several times, then pulled back. "I love you, Roger," she said quietly, a little nervously.

"I love you too, baby." He smiled once more, and pulled her to her feet.

"Let me walk you to your car—then there's an unpleasant task I've got to take care of."

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

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

[THREE MONTHS EARLIER:]

Roger sat at his desk, half-heartedly skimming the latest issue of the Notre Dame student newspaper and brooding about Kathy. When he wasn't brooding about her, he was dreaming up ways of killing her and getting away with it; or wondering how he had fallen so short as a husband that she could take up with teenagers. Fucking 18-year olds—was she insane? Was he so totally inadequate?

There was a knock on his half-open door and Melissa Winsted poked her head in. "Professor—do you have a couple of minutes?"

"Of course, Melissa, please come in." Roger's cordial welcome was sincere. Melissa was one of his favorites among the current crop of graduate students. She was very intelligent, and had been the stand-out student in his Data Structures Seminar the previous year. In fact she was probably one of the three smartest students the department had lured to South Bend in his time there.

Moreover, Melissa was very beautiful. She had blonde hair, worn short and flatteringly around her head, and a lovely, trim body: small breasts, long firm legs. She was probably a runner when she wasn't in the library, Roger thought to himself.

"Professor, I've brought a copy of my dissertation proposal, and I wondered if you'd mind taking a look at it."

"Are you up to the dissertation already, Melissa? Oh, that's right, I'd forgotten—this is your fourth year, isn't it?"

She nodded, and he said, "in that case you have to start calling me Roger—no more 'Professor Hallstrom', okay?"

"I'll try—Roger." She giggled. "But it may take a little getting used-to."

She rose to leave, saying, "can I check back with you about the proposal in a week or two?"

"No, don't go—if you have a few minutes, let me read through it and we can talk about it now. I don't have anything today until a 3:00 class."

Roger read the 5-page proposal and was impressed. Surprised, in fact—she grasped the basic issues of her proposed project, and saw the gaps that had to be filled, better than some of his junior faculty colleagues might have done.

They talked about the proposal, exchanging ideas, Melissa taking detailed notes on his suggestions, for nearly an hour. Glancing at his watch, Roger said, "oh, I'm sorry, Melissa—I've kept you here far too long."

"Oh, no, Prof...Roger," she grinned. "This is amazingly helpful; you've given me such good ideas for how to tighten and strengthen this."

"Listen," he said, "it's almost 1:00, how about if we go grab a sandwich?"

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

Over the next two weeks Melissa and Roger met five more times to talk about the proposal and her dissertation plans. His attraction to her grew with each get-together; not only her obvious beauty but her equally obvious intelligence and eager mind drew him towards her. He was delighted that she'd chosen his colleague Kenneth Astrakhan, not Roger himself, for her dissertation advisor; otherwise their relationship would have had to remain strictly professional.

At the end of one of their conversations he leaned forward and quietly said what he'd been thinking of for days.

"Melissa, I wonder if you'd like to have dinner with me? Tonight or tomorrow?"

She looked at him, surprised and alarmed. "Roger, I...thank you. But...I guess I need to know what that means. I mean, you're married."

He smiled, "Yes, you're right. Listen, can we talk for a few minutes about something besides academic stuff? Something personal?"

She nodded, a little tentatively.

"I'm going to ask you to keep this completely confidential, okay? I've learned that my wife has been...unfaithful to me. It's been going on for a long time now, and I'm divorcing her in June, when the school-year ends."

Melissa gasped a little, and said, "oh, Roger, I'm so sorry!"

"You may think it's a bit weird that I haven't walked out, or thrown her out of the house. But it's...complicated. She doesn't know that I know, and for reasons I can't go into I can't confront her about it until June. But it's a done deal—the marriage is over.

"So, yes, I'm a married man asking you out on a date, Melissa. But I swear to you, as God is my witness, I'm really an about-to-be-unattached man."

Roger watched as Melissa sat back, gazing at him pensively. He didn't know if she'd believe him; he didn't know if he would believe himself if he were in her shoes.

"Roger, I..." she began. "I'm very attracted to you," she said, blushing a little. "Our talks together have been fantastic. And I would...well, I'll admit, I've had a little fantasy about you from time to time. But..." she broke off, uncertainly.

"Melissa, we can take it as slow as you want. I am very fond of you, and I would never, ever hurt you in any way."

Roger took her hand gently and held it, watching her wrestle with her thoughts.

Then she smiled shyly. "What time tomorrow night?"

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

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

[AN AFTERNOON IN JUNE:]

Roger and Melissa didn't see Kathy as he walked her to her car. They kissed, Melissa squeezed his hand and wished him luck, and she drove away. Whistling, Roger turned and went back inside.

Kathy ambushed him when he was barely in the front door. She was still furious, and her face was still bright-red.

"This marriage is OVER, you asshole! What the fuck are you thinking? After fifteen years you think you can just fuck some little chippy in our bed and get away with it? You bastard, I'm gonna make your life a living hell. Just wait until the University finds out what you've been up to!"

"Give me a minute, will you Kathy? I need to get my briefcase." As Roger headed up the stairs he heard her shouting behind him in amazement.

"Your BRIEFCASE?! What the hell is wrong with you, Roger? Are you even listening to me?"

When Roger returned he sat down at the kitchen table. Kathy, still fuming, stood and yelled at him from across the room.

"Have you lost your MIND? Fucking a woman in our bed? Did you think there was any way I would stand for this, Roger? You think I'm going to just let this slide?"

Roger looked at her steadily without speaking, for long enough to confuse Kathy a little.

"If I hear you correctly, Kathy, you're saying that cheating on a spouse is a serious matter—maybe even serious enough to lead to a divorce. Is that right?"

She was too baffled by his words and manner even to continue to yell. "Of COURSE, Roger—what is wrong with you? Did you think I would say, 'okay, no problem, sorry to disturb you'?"

"No, Kathy, I pretty much figured you'd react just the way you did. I just wanted to be sure—that's why I set it up so you'd find us this afternoon."

He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a legal document, and handed it her. "I feel pretty much the same about a cheating spouse as you apparently do—so I'm divorcing you."

Kathy glanced at the papers, then gasped, falling into a chair across from him. "You're divorcing ME? I'll ask you again, Roger—have you lost your mind? YOU'RE the one I caught fucking some slut in our bed just now!"

"Actually, Kathy, that wasn't the cheating I had in mind. I was thinking of you and Alan Sauerman."

He watched her, enjoying the moment as her jaw dropped open, her eyes went wide, and her face lost its color.

The seconds passed, and Kathy tried desperately to regain her composure. About the best she could manage, after nearly half a minute, was, "Roger, I...I don't know what you're talking about."

He noticed her hands were shaking on the table.

"No problem, Kathy—I had a conversation with Alan and he told me all about it."

She gasped, but he continued.

"And I know about Joe Nevele, from last year—he's at Dartmouth now, isn't he? And the year before that seems to have been either Cardell McCartney or James Henderson, I couldn't quite tell from your date books. Or maybe both? I've got the rest of them pretty much figured out—it seems like Tom Bjornsen was the first one, wasn't he?"

Another silence followed. Roger waited, seeing the changing emotions flickering across Kathy's face. She sat there, stunned and deflated. She'd never been so much at a loss in the nearly 20 years he'd known her, and he was reveling in her misery.

"Roger, I..." She hesitated, and started again. "Baby, I don't know how to say...how sorry I am. It was...just sex, just a...just a crazy thing I did. It started, and..."

She broke off, perhaps realizing how totally inadequate her explanation sounded.

"Roger, you're the only one I have ever loved. It was just sex, just a...stupid, stupid thing I did. It has nothing to do with you and me."

She had a pleading look on her face, and the tears were starting to flow.

Roger smiled at her, but without kindness.

"Here's how it is, you cunt. You cheating BITCH! You've got two choices, and I'll tell you the second one first. If you don't do just what I want, I'll call the Superintendent, the School Board and the newspapers. Your face will be on the national news for weeks, your job will be history, and you'll be the laughing-stock of the state of Indiana. You'll have to move away, change your name, and probably even dye your hair or get plastic surgery to get out from under this."

He watched her as this sank in and she began to sob.

"Here's your first choice—your only other choice. We divorce quickly, no hassles, for reason of "irreconcilable differences", like it says on those papers. I buy out your half of this house. You quit your job next week when the school year ends, you move at least 500 miles from South Bend, and you NEVER work with students or teenagers again for the rest of your life."

He rose from the table, leaving her crying, her face in her hands.

"I'm going out. You have two hours to get all your stuff and get the hell out of here. I have no intention of seeing you again."

Kathy heard the sound of Roger's car driving away. Then there was silence, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock and her own sobs.

How had this happened to her, was what she kept thinking. How had this happened to her?