A Portrait of the Artist

Likewise, the gentleness and consideration that he always showed her was also becoming less attractive now. Why couldn't he be more like Charles? Charles didn't wait on her, he didn't ask what she wanted; instead, he took what he wanted and he made her like it. While Clint made her feel safe, Charles made her feel extraordinary.

As her thoughts turned back to Charles, her body twitched involuntarily. "I hope he won't be long," she thought.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a beautiful spring afternoon some two months later, so the two women decided they wanted to eat their late lunch al fresco on the restaurant's patio. That decision gladdened the hearts of numerous males passing by, as both ladies were extremely attractive. Susan's friend Jennifer was every bit as shapely as herself, but the latter had dark brown hair that was cut in a shorter style than Susan's.

The two had become close friends in graduate school, and their luncheons together had become a tradition. They used these sessions to catch up on each other's lives, exchange gossip and share intimacies.

As they exchanged hugs and cheek kisses, Jennifer asked, "How's Clint?"

"Oh, he's the same old Clint," was her off-hand response. "Lately I hardly see him all that much. He just spends all his time in his studio, working on his personal stuff. Frankly, he's been a little moody lately and hasn't been that much fun to be around anyway."

Jennifer picked up on the discontent in Susan's voice and she thought she knew the reason for it. She was uncomfortable with this thought, and tried to change the subject. "So how was your last trip to Washington?" Jennifer asked. "Do anything exciting, or was it just more of the same old grind?"

With a sexy grin on her face, Susan leaned her head closer to Jennifer's ear and said in a low voice, "The only grinding going on in Washington was Charles -- with me."

Susan had already revealed her affair to Jennifer, so her friend as not surprised at the risqué remark. This was exactly the topic that Jennifer had hoped to avoid. She didn't want to cast a pall over their get-together, but she felt obligated to registered her disapproval. "You know how I feel about what you're doing, Susan. It's just not right. Besides, you're taking a huge risk with your marriage, and you're going to hurt Clint badly."

"Oh, don't be a scold! Clint is totally clueless; he'll never find out. Charles and I are always careful, and we only get together when we're out of town."

"But it's still a risk," Jennifer objected. "Besides, I don't know why you'd want to cheat on Clint in the first place. He's a good-looking guy and he's completely devoted to you."

Susan sighed. "I know, Jen, but he just doesn't do it for me anymore."

"Is he just not that good in bed?" Jennifer asked.

"No, he's fine," Susan replied. She leaned closer to Jennifer again. "He'd use his tongue on me down there for hours if I'd let him."

"Oh, really," said Jennifer, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yes, and that's the trouble," Susan continued. "Clint treats me like some kind of princess. But Charles treats me like a whore, and for some reason that just pushes all my buttons. I feel so slutty and dirty, and I get turned on like nothing else when he uses me that way."

"You'd better be careful, girl, you're starting to sound like you're obsessed."

"Maybe I am, but it's my obsession, and I don't want it to end."

"Well, you'd better think about what you're doing. If Clint finds out and dumps you, Charles is not going to turn into the white knight who rides in and marries you," Jennifer warned.

"Oh, I know that," Susan responded. "He'd never leave his wife for me. He's using me just the way I'm using him.

"Besides, I have no intention of losing Clint. I love him and plan to keep him. It's just that I need that something extra from Charles that Clint just can't provide."

"But aren't you afraid he'll find out?" Jennifer asked. "Isn't he getting suspicious about all the travel time you're putting in with Charles? And if I can see a change in you, how can you be sure he hasn't noticed anything different?"

"Oh, Clint is totally clueless. He loves me and he loves his photography, in that order. He'd never suspect me of fooling around, and he's so busy on his projects that he doesn't have time to be checking up on me. Besides, between my travel schedule and his little art projects, we hardly spend that much time with each other anyway."

"Well, I hope you're right. It would be a shame if some other women came along and stole him away. He's a real cutie; he wouldn't stay on the market long."

"Not gonna happen," Susan said emphatically.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On a Friday a month later, Susan and Charles were working in the latter's office. They had just completed reviewing the material for the next client presentation when Charles roughly grabbed Susan by the hips and plopped her unceremoniously on the desk in front of him. Without saying a word, he forced her legs apart, reached up under her skirt and ripped her pantyhose. Then he pushed Susan's back until she was leaning on her elbows, tugged the crotch of her panties to one side and began to lick her pussy.

Except for her initial gasp, Susan hadn't made a sound as her boss began to abuse her body so abruptly. But as he continued to take his pleasure from her, her head fell back and she began to pant. Her pussy began to lubricate and her hips to rotate in a subtle rhythm that made clear that she had abandoned all resistance to his further liberties.

As Susan lay there shuddering from his oral assault, the door to Charles' office suddenly burst open and a man Susan had never seen before barged in. Her cheeks flaming in embarrassment, she quickly sat up straight, pulled down her skirt, and turned away to hide her disarray.

Ignoring Susan, the man proceeded to walk straight to Charles' desk and stand facing him, a flat expression on his face. "Are you Charles Magneson, the president and owner of Magneson Consulting Group?" the man asked.

"You know goddam good and well I am," Magneson shouted at him. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my office?"

Maintaining the same bland expression on his face, the stranger reached into his breast pocket, removed some papers, and responded, "I am Special Agent Joseph Mason with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of conspiracy to defraud the federal government." As Magneson gaped at him in stunned surprise, the agent proceeded to read Magneson his Miranda rights.

His face purpling with anger, Magneson ignored the agent and turned to Susan. "Get MCG's lawyer on the phone and get him here immediately!"

Before she could find her voice to respond, the agent turned to her and asked, "Are you Susan Cayce?"

When she nodded in fear, he announced, "Ms. Cayce, I also have a warrant for your arrest as a co-conspirator in attempted fraud on the government." As Susan's knees began to tremble, the agent also read her rights to her.

Then, as he placed handcuffs on Magneson's wrists, a female agent who had followed Mason into the office gently but firmly pulled Susan's hands behind her and cuffed her as well.

Susan and Charles were led into the hallway outside Charles' office, and it seemed to Susan as though everyone in the firm was standing there watching them with wide eyes and open mouths. Agent Mason stopped their procession and turned to the whispering employees. In a loud voice he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, this workplace is now the scene of a federal criminal investigation. You are to leave your desks and computers immediately and go home. You are to remove absolutely nothing from the offices. If you do so, you will be placed under arrest for obstruction of justice. This office will be closed for business until we complete our investigation."

In the silence that followed, Magneson quickly turned to his secretary and ordered her to call the corporate attorney. "Tell him to get to the federal courthouse immediately and get us out."

Mason made no effort to interfere, but as soon as Magneson had finished, he and Susan were escorted down the elevator, out through the lobby and toward waiting black SUVs. As they cleared the building's entrance, a host of news photographers surrounded them, eager to get a picture of the well-known consultant doing the "perp walk," along with his pretty young colleague whose mascara was running down her cheeks.

Before the two of them could be separated for the ride to FBI headquarters, Magneson turned suddenly to Susan and hissed, "As soon as your bail is made, get your ass over to my house so we can talk. Till then, say nothing." The agents quickly pulled the two apart and pushed them into the cars, holding their heads to avoid hitting the roof, just as Susan had seen done on so many cop shows. "My life is now a TV cliché," she thought ruefully.

At FBI headquarters, Susan was immediately taken to a small room for interrogation. She knew enough to refuse to answer any questions until her attorney arrived, and he counseled her to continue to keep silent until they could understand what was happening. Nevertheless, the agents continued their efforts to interrogate her late into the evening, at which time she was turned over to the local authorities for the night. It was not until the next day that their attorney was able to arrange for her release, so Susan had the not-to-be-forgotten experience of spending a night in jail. It was not one she wanted to repeat.

After she had signed for her purse, she was able to call a cab, and, remembering Charles' instructions, told the cabby to take her to his home.

When she arrived, she found Charles awaiting her. He had been released earlier.

They had the house to themselves, as his wife was away on an outing. In the past this would have meant a day of debauchery, but sex was the last thing on either's mind at the moment. Susan's emotions rotated between fear and shame, followed by dread of further humiliation to come. She felt as though she had lost the capacity for rational thought.

For his part, Charles was livid. He paced the floor, talking to himself in anger. "How could they have known? Those assholes in the Pentagon wouldn't know a derivative from a standard deviation!

"It must be a spy. We must have a mole in our group somewhere. That's the only way they could have found out anything!"

He took Susan by the shoulders and shook her to get her attention. Together they began to go through the names of various members of the firm, trying to identify who might have blown the whistle. But neither of them could think of anyone who had the knowledge or motivation to do such a thing.

Suddenly Magneson turned to Susan. "What about your little pet artist at home? Could he have done this?"

Susan was astounded. "Clint? He knows nothing about us and nothing about our work. Even if he did, he wouldn't understand half of it --he's a complete idiot at math. Besides," she continued," he loves me completely – he'd never do anything to hurt me."

Magneson returned to his pacing. "You're probably right. I've met him and he's such a wimp! Besides, how could he have found out anyway? No, it's got to be somebody inside MCG."

Their conversation continued into the night, trying in vain to identify the probable leak and discussing the best course of action to minimize the threat to themselves and the damage to the firm. They ate a meal of cold sandwiches and continued until both were too tired to think. Susan lay down on the sofa and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep; Magneson headed off to his own bedroom to do the same.

In the morning, after a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, Magneson sent Susan away, calling a taxi to take her back to the office so she could pick up her car. Again he reminded her to keep her mouth shut and lie low.

As she drove home after picking up her own car, she suddenly realized that it was Sunday afternoon and that she had been out of touch with Clint for the entire weekend. What was she going to tell him? How would he react to this shocking news? Guiltily, she realized that she hadn't even thought to contact him before now. "He must have heard the news; someone would have told him. But what if he doesn't know? What if he's been worried about me, looking all over trying to find me?" She quickly checked her cellphone to see if she had missed his call, but the only numbers she saw were her parents'.

When she pulled into her driveway, she was so agitated that she rushed to the front door, unlocked it and began to call out for Clint. But her voice echoed through the empty rooms, and she quickly realized that the house was empty. Hoping against hope, she went to his studio, wishing that he was working and somehow hadn't heard her. It too was empty.

In fact, as she walked into the studio, she suddenly realized that Clint was not the only thing missing: his photography, his cameras and all his new computer gear were also gone. It was as though all traces of his presence had been cleared away. But as she looked around wildly, she saw that his desk wasn't completely empty. In the middle sat a sheaf of papers with a hand-written note on top. As she neared the desk, she could make out the words in Clint's handwriting: "You've been served." Underneath the note was a notice of petition for divorce.

"Oh, yes," she thought, "I guess Clint did hear the news, and now he's deserting me. So much for 'for better or worse.'"

She allowed herself to slip to the floor, cursing and weeping.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next twelve months of Susan's life comprised a descent into the lower circles of hell. The federal investigation consumed not only her time but her funds as well. Deprived of its charismatic leader and shunned by its former clientele, Magneson Consulting Group closed its doors within a few months. This not only cut off Susan's primary source of income, it required her to retain her own defense attorney.

Clint's divorce petition added salt to her wounds. She had to hire a second attorney to handle that matter; her criminal attorney didn't handle civil matters. But in truth, the divorce was not as great a problem for her because, although he adamantly refused to meet or talk with her, Clint was being quite fair. The grounds for the divorce were irreconcilable differences, and he sought only an even split of their assets. Given their income disparity, Susan's attorney told her Clint could have sought much more.

At first, Susan was bitter about his abandonment. And the speed with which he had acted was equally galling. She couldn't even figure out how he could have filed so quickly after the news of her arrest broke. "He must have had an attorney on the phone the instant he heard the news about my arrest. And I thought he was committed to our marriage!" she complained bitterly.

But her conscience reminded her that her commitment to her wedding vows was not irreproachable -- she had not exactly "forsaken all others," she admitted. "But Clint never knew about Charles and me, so he really had no call to abandon me the first time things got rough." However, she had to admit to herself that, had the circumstances been reversed and Clint been indicted, she might have abandoned their marriage equally quickly.

The loss of her marriage and her unresolved questions weighed heavily on her, but she had other, more pressing concerns to address. So to save on attorney's fees and enable herself to focus on the little matter of the federal charges she was facing, she decided to agree to the divorce and get on with her life, such as it was.

Soon after she had signed the divorce papers, she got some unexpected and favorable news from her defense attorney. The government was now offering to drop the charge of conspiracy against her if she would provide evidence against Charles. As she thought about it, she remembered how Charles had used her, both sexually and as part of his scheme. His sexual demands and unfeeling treatment, which had aroused such lust in her before, now merely seemed callous, even brutal. She could scarcely recall the excitement she once felt, nor understand how such treatment could ever have seemed desirable to her. Instead, she remembered the love and consideration that Clint used to show her, and she felt a great sadness at what she had lost.

Despite her melancholy, she came to realize that she was extremely fortunate to be offered a chance to regain some semblance of normalcy back in her life. Instead of a humiliating trial, likely leading to her conviction as a felon and the possibility of years in a federal penitentiary, she was being given a way to end her agony with the least possible scars. What loyalty had Magneson shown her? She grabbed the lifeline.

Once she had reached her decision, she spent countless hours with the FBI detailing how she had been able to generate the data used to dupe General Shelton and his staff, and how she had been able to disguise the fraud so that it had looked so convincing. On the one hand, confessing what she had done and providing evidence felt like penance for her sins. Yet she dreaded the coming confrontation with Magneson when she would have to testify in court.

So she felt as though her sins must have truly been forgiven when she learned that her testimony was no longer required. In fact, there would not even be a lengthy trial: when the prosecutors showed Magneson's attorney the wealth of evidence they had assembled, the attorney convinced Magneson to plead guilty in return for a lesser sentence. As he was led away after sentencing, Magnesen could be heard still vowing to find the bastard in his firm who had caused his fall.

Susan could care less at this point; for her the long ordeal was coming to an end and she was only too happy to put it all behind her.

That's not to say that her life returned to its former state of ease. Although she no longer faced the prospect of a prison sentence, she was now deep in debt thanks to her attorneys' fees. She was unemployed with no prospects for duplicating her former income. Even without a felony on her record, her association with the scandal made her unemployable at any of the larger consulting firms where once she would have been a prime candidate. And, of course, there was no possibility that she'd ever be allowed to consult with a federal agency again.

After months of job-hunting, she was able to secure a position as an office manager with a small law firm. The work was a well below her educational level and capabilities, and the pay was a far cry from what she had earned at MCG, but she took the job without complaint because there were no other realistic options available.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

One evening several months after she'd started her new job, she was waiting for a bus to take her back to her apartment. The home she had shared with Clint was, of course, long since sold as part of the divorce settlement, and she could no longer afford the lease on the BMW she had once sported. As she stood waiting in the bus shelter, she noticed a poster on the wall announcing a one-man showing of photography at a fashionable gallery in town. The photographer was Clint!

She was stunned. She would never have believed that he would achieve such prominence, and she couldn't decide if she were pleased for him or jealous for herself. On a whim, she left the shelter and began to walk down the street in the direction of the gallery. "I just want to see his work," she told herself, but, if she were honest with herself, what she really wanted was to see Clint again. She was curious to find out what had happened to him since their divorce and to see how he was doing. Since she had never been able to speak with him after he filed for divorce, she couldn't help but hope to get that chance tonight.