A Whore and a Thief

It was like having new kids every four years. Actually, it wasn't like that, it WAS that. But at any rate, I loved my job and I was very good at it. I was used to running several committees to help the school or particular groups of students achieve goals.

So when our Principal, Mr. Woodman came to me with a request, I wasn't totally surprised. Mr. Woodman was a brilliant administrator, but his personal skills were not the best. His assistant, Mr. Kotter, seemed to only be interested in a certain group of at-risk kids who attended the school; it looked as if it was up to me.

An extremely rich donor, Marcus Ambrose, wanted to give the school a lot of money. He wanted to tour the school and get to know it over the course of a few days so he could figure out how much money to give and what the money should be used for.

He sounded like a guy with his head on straight. He also sounded as if he knew how the game worked. Nine times out of ten, if a rich donor gave money to a school. It was funneled through the state education budget. Some of the money would be stolen immediately. I guess skimmed is what they actually call it. Some of the remaining money would be ear marked for something the governor or the school board felt was important. Some went to other schools or other projects. Usually ten percent of the donation or less actually went to what it was supposed to go for.

So this guy decided that whatever he wanted to spend the money on, whether it was new gym equipment or whatever ... he was going to purchase it for the school and have it installed himself. That way he could cut out the middle man and put his money or his gift in the hands of the kids, like he intended.

When the guy showed up for our first meeting, I swear there was something weird going on. First off, although I had never met him before, there was something familiar about him, but I couldn't figure out what it was.

He was a huge good looking guy in an impressive suit. He arrived in a chauffeur driven limo and had a couple of body guards and an assistant with him.

The body guards were even bigger than he was and the assistant was a tiny Asian woman who was extremely beautiful. She wore clothes that even with Ray's salary and mine, I couldn't even dream of.

I showed him the office and introduced him to Mr. Woodman first. When Woodman started in on the list of things we needed, Ambrose cut him off with one raised hand. After that Woodman just went back into his office leaving Ambrose and his staff to me.

I started out by showing him the office and pointed out our lack of updated technical office equipment. Then I went to the teacher's lounge and showed him how outdated our computers were. Following that I began the process of showing him around the school.

He decided that he wanted to breeze through and take a look at everything briefly the first day. He would then spend part of his evening going over the notes that his assistant would make and decide what he'd want to spend more time with the next day.

Halfway through the day, we stopped for lunch. We ate lunch in the teacher's lounge. Ambrose had the lunch catered. It was probably the best food that I had ever eaten. It was strange that he seemed to have the lunch for the two of us and his staff only. When Woodman showed up, he ignored him.

After Woodman left he spoke more candidly. "He's a strange little man," he said of Woodman. "Would you like his job?"

"Uh, no," I said quickly. "I like teaching. I like working with my students."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Okay," he said as if my answer bothered him.

"You're a really beautiful woman Mrs. Gunn," he said. I felt butterflies in my stomach. I blushed at his compliment as I had noticed a few lines and wrinkles in my face that weren't there the previous year. But then too, I had recently turned forty, so a compliment from someone like Ambrose turned my head.

It could have been the fact that most of my female high school students had bigger boobs and curvier backsides than I did. I mean, what the hell are they putting in the kids' cereal these days? It just seemed like every sixteen year old was built like a stripper. But hearing the praise and flattery from a rich, handsome, globe-trotting playboy like Ambrose who was all over the tabloids, meant something to me.

This was a guy who dated models and actresses and he thought that I was pretty. It was a real blast to my forty year old ego. So much of a blast in fact that it sent tingles through me. For the rest of the afternoon we both worked on our agendas. I pointed out things worth noticing around the school. And Ambrose mentioned, every so often something that he liked about me. He also asked me questions about my life. The questions got more and more personal, but he asked them in a way that didn't seem like he was invading my privacy.

At the end of the day, he invited Ray and I to have dinner with him the following night after our business was concluded. When he mentioned the restaurant, one that was extremely difficult to get into, I accepted for Ray and myself. I didn't see a problem. Ray would usually do anything I asked of him.

When I got home that evening, I told Ray all about it. Strangely, he seemed to be less than enthusiastic about it. In fact he had a sudden urge to go out and wash his car. I spent a lot of the evening telling Betty about my day, while Ray impressed Archie yet again with his car mods. When I checked on them, Ray was updating his tail lights. He was installing a set of Gen 5 tail lights that he'd gotten from American Muscle.

What I should have noticed was that unlike every other modification that he'd done on the car, Ray didn't want to talk to me about this one. I had hoped that he would, so I could bring up the dinner the following evening. I went back out to the garage at ten p.m. And Ray was still at it. He was stringing wires and doing whatever else he had to do. For once he barely looked at me. God I wish that I'd been smart enough to notice that then.

"Aren't you coming to bed, Honey?" I asked.

"You go ahead," he said flatly. "I don't want to crowd you guys."

At the time, I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but I was getting angry. He had virtually ignored me the whole evening for that fucking car. I'd be willing to bet that Ambrose wasn't the kind of man to put an object in front of his woman."

"Since you'd rather spend all of your time with this fucking car, why don't you sleep with it too?" I spat. I stomped off and left him in the garage.

I heard him come in about an hour later and I knew what would happen. He'd come up the stairs and take a shower and then he would apologize and we'd have make up sex.

I did hear him coming up the stairs. He must've gotten really dirty because he chose to shower in the hallway bathroom instead of the one attached to our room. I knew that Ray would be coming into our room at any moment to apologize. I decided to pretend to be asleep.

I waited, and I waited and I waited and I waited. Ray never came to bed. I was even more upset then. But my anger and confusion reached their peak the following morning, when I discovered that Ray had gone to work before I even awakened.

That put me totally off of my game. Ray and I rarely ever had disagreements. We loved each other so much that we compromised on everything. But Ray was just being an asshole.

As I dressed, I put on a dress that was a bit tighter than what I would normally wear to work. I never needed to tempt or to tease the men to get a reaction out of them. Mr. Woodman was on pins and needles; he was waiting for me in the teachers' lounge when I got there.

"I spoke to Mr. Ambrose after you left yesterday," he said nervously. "Do you have any idea how much money he's going to give us?"

"Not really," I said. "We didn't talk about money."

"Well do whatever you have to do to keep him happy," he said. A few moments later Ambrose and his crew arrived in the same limo they'd driven the previous day."

Ambrose had clearly noticed my dress. He told me several times how nice I looked. His compliments ramped up during the day. Towards the end of the day he was telling me how sexy he thought I was.

He also told me how excited he was to be having dinner with me and Ray that evening. He seemed almost disappointed when I explained to him that Ray was busy and probably wouldn't be there.

He continued to talk about Ray all afternoon, even telling me that he was going to drive one of his cars for Ray to look over.

At the first chance I got, I called Ray at work and begged him to come to the dinner. I explained how important the money we might get from Ambrose was. And I also told him that after the dinner Ambrose would be gone and we would probably never see him again.

"Pleeeeeeeeease, Honey," I begged. I was being unfair. Ray never refused me anything, but I needed this one. As usual, though I could tell he didn't want to, he agreed to do it.

When Ray got home, he didn't even look at me. I reached out to hug him and he pulled away from me. I should have cancelled the evening then. But I was too happy at having my way. Ray went up to change. He put on a nice suit and came down to join me. We were on our way to the restaurant right on time, but I was too stupid to realize that something was off.

We pulled up in the restaurant's parking lot. As usual all of the attendants went gaga over Ray's Mustang. You could tell that they were hoping he'd use the valet service. That is until a black Lamborghini pulled up next to us. Ambrose got out and flung the keys over his shoulder in the general direction of one of the parking guys.

"Hey, you must be Ray," he said. "Nice car. So you're a car guy huh? I am too kind of. Hey, you wanna race? Just for fun of course."

"Uh that's a Lamborghini Diablo," said Ray.

"We're racing for fun," said Ambrose. "Tell you what, if you win, you can have it. If I win, you listen to a proposal I have for you. You don't have to agree. All you have to do is listen."

"Where are we supposed to race?" asked Ray.

"Right down there on that street," said Ambrose.

"What about the police?" asked Ray.

"I'll handle that," said Ambrose. He just looked and the small Asian woman began making phone calls. Ray showed Ambrose the Mustang's engine and told him everything he'd done to it. But the time they were done talking the police were in front of the parking lot, blocking off the street.

"Ray can you beat him?" I asked.

"Hell no," he spat. "That car cost more than ten times what my Mustang GT did. The top speed of that car is over two hundred miles an hour."

"Good," I said. "We have to keep him happy. He's going to donate a half a million dollars to the school."

"So fucking what," spat Ray. "He's a billionaire, Claire. That's chump change to him."

They lined up the cars. They were racing from one traffic light to the next, like hundreds of drivers did daily.

The tiny form of Ambrose's assistant stood between the cars. She dropped her hand and they were off. With an ear splitting shriek and a roar of tortured pistons, Ray's Mustang rocketed away from the line. I hear a huge clank sound and the sound of something grinding coming from Ambrose's car as Ray's screaming yellow Mustang left him at the line.

Ray drove to the next light and then turned around and drove back. Ambrose got out of his car cursing. The he laughed as Ray came over to him.

"Okay, you won," said Ambrose. "I'll have it fixed before I have it delivered to you."

"Don't bother," said Ray. "You keep it."

"It's not the car. It was me," said Ambrose. "I've owned it for three year and have only driven it twice. I'm just not any good with a manual transmission."

"I can't afford that car," said Ray. "It costs ten grand to get a brake job done on that thing. It's just not a practical car for me. Let's just chalk it up to fun and go eat."

Dinner was perfect. The food was amazing. Ambrose had rented the entire restaurant. During dinner we made pleasant conversation. The only damper on the evening was that Ray not only didn't hold my hand, but he moved his when I reached for it. He also wouldn't talk to me except when he absolutely had to to be polite.

After dinner, Ambrose shocked the shit out of both of us.

"I have a proposition for you," Ambrose said to Ray. "Do you remember the movie "Indecent proposal?"

"The one with Demi Moore and Robert Redford?" asked Ray standing up. "Fuck no!"

I had never seen the movie so I had no idea what was going on. "Ray you're being rude!" I said.

"Did you know anything about this?" asked Ray.

"I still don't know anything about it," I said. "Are you guys talking about some forty year old car movie?"

"No," spat Ray. "Mario Can't-fuckin-drive-etti here, wants to pay us to fuck you. So I told him no."

"Shouldn't you hear my offer completely before you say no?" asked Ambrose. "And doesn't Claire have an opinion?"

"No," spat Ray even more angrily. "Claire is mine. I'm not into sharing or swinging or any of that other bullshit."

"Unlike in the movie," began Ambrose. "I don't want her for the entire night. I only require an hour or two. I'll pay the two of you a million dollars and no one will ever know."

"I already told you no," said Ray. "If you ask me again, I'll have to do my talking with my fist, since you obviously can't understand words."

The two bodyguards were suddenly standing between Ray and Ambrose.

"It figures," said Ray. "You can't drive your own car, why the hell did I think you could fight your own fights."

"Why would I ever have to?" smiled Ambrose. "That's what money is for. And I have a hell of a lot of money. The million dollars means next to nothing to me, but it would change your lives to a ridiculous degree."

"Go home and think about it. My offer is good until I leave town on Saturday morning. I think I'd like to do it on Friday night," he said.

My head was spinning. I was reeling from the thought that not only did Ambrose want me, but he was willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money to have sex with a forty year old woman. Even I didn't think my pussy was worth that much.

The drive home was silent.

"Ray, Honey, hear me out," I said as we stepped into the house. "Do you know what we could do with a million dollars?"

"Pay for our divorce?" he spat angrily. "Talking about this Claire is moot. It isn't happening."

"But Ray," I began in my convincing voice.

"No, Claire," he said. "I said no and I fucking meant it."

"Ray, you don't get to decide this by yourself," I said. "It's my body. I can do what I want with it."

"Then you obviously don't want to stay married to me," he said.

"Maybe you don't want to be married to me," I spat. "You talked so much about being practical earlier tonight. You didn't want Ambrose's car because it wasn't practical. But right now you're the one who isn't being practical. I don't love Ambrose, Ray. I only love you. All it would be is sex. You've had sex with me thousands of times over the past thirteen years. All he's asking for is once. We would never have any money problems for the rest of our lives. Don't you trust me?"

"I really thought I could, until now," he said. "You do what you want. You already know how I feel about this." He took off his clothes and headed for the bathroom. For a second night in a row, we slept apart. Ray was just so stupid.

Over the next couple of days things didn't improve. Ray refused to even talk to me. He was up and gone every morning when I woke. And he stayed in the garage until just before he went to bed every night. By Wednesday night I had made up my mind. I called Ambrose and gave him my decision.

* * * * * *

Ray

As I stood there in the park staring at that fountain, I compared my pain. In both cases it was off the charts. That first time though, when that asshole had tried to proposition us had hurt me. Tuesday night I came home and went to the garage. I did the same Wednesday as well. Every time that Claire tried to talk to me, I simply walked away.

I couldn't understand her reasoning. We were married. We had taken vows to be faithful to each other. We hadn't put in any loopholes about except for in the case of assholes who tried to buy Claire like she was a whore. I wish that she could understand that there was no amount of money in the world that was worth half as much as Claire, to me.

I began to think that I had married the wrong woman. We clearly saw things differently. Claire, kept coming over to me, and starting every conversation with; "Ray can we just talk about this?" After the first few conversations where she told me that it was her body and she could do what she wanted with it. And that this had nothing to do with love and everything to do with our future, I just stopped talking to her.

Betty and Archie had been trying to intercede, but without knowing the details it was hard for them to side with either of us. Thursday night after work, I checked into a motel. I didn't want to be there on Friday when she went to meet him. I knew that if I did, I would probably kill one or both of them.

As I sat there in that motel room, I realized that it was the first time since I was twenty two years old that I had gone to sleep without Claire under the same roof. I felt miserable. If I hadn't been a grown man, I would probably have cried. At around eight p.m. My phone started ringing. I saw that it was Claire and I felt too bad to argue with her. I just didn't answer the phone. After five or six calls, she gave up. Ten minutes later the phone started to ring again. This time I took the call.

"Yeah, Arch," I said.

"Can we get a beer and talk?" he asked.

"Not if it's about Claire," I said.

"Jeezus, Ray. Do you have to be such a hard ass?" he asked. "Claire is distraught. She's beside herself. She's..."

"Full of shit," I spat. "Do you have any idea of what we're arguing about?"

"Not really," he said. "But you seem to be fine. Claire is the one who's so upset that she can't keep any food down. She's pale and blotchy. Ray, the woman you love is making herself sick over whatever stupid thing the two of you can't agree on. You need to come home and talk to her."

"Good night Archie," I said. I got into the uncomfortable motel bed and tried my ass off to go to sleep. It took a while. My mind seemed to want to run a greatest hits reel of my life with Claire.

I don't know when I finally drifted off to sleep. But I must've because I did wake up the next morning. It's hard to wake up if you haven't been asleep. I felt as if everything in my life that gave it meaning had been stolen from me. I was more animal than human at that point. I was running strictly on instinct. I checked my phone and found that I had over fifty messages. They were all from Claire. She sounded pathetic. A part of me wanted nothing more than to go to her and comfort her. But people change as they age and Claire was changing in front of my eyes. She would either emerge as the woman I loved or some rich guy's whore.

I had left home because I didn't have the courage to watch her ruin our life together, just for some money that we really didn't need.

The money wouldn't make us happier. It also wouldn't make us love each other anymore. At best it would buy us a few more material things. At worst arguing over it could ruin everything that we had taken years to build. It already had me moved out of the house and contemplating a life without Claire, which was something that I would previously have considered impossible and improbable.

So, with my heart in my throat, and feeling like I would vomit anything I tried to eat, I did the only thing I could think of. I went to work. I buried myself in the minutia of my job. I found temporary solace in regularity. I did the things I did every day. I enjoyed the purely mindless quality of repetitive tasks that I could do in my sleep.