American Beauty

"When I finally admitted that some of them seemed pretty attractive, it was like I'd flipped his 'on' switch. He became very excited, and for a while I enjoyed all the extra attention I got from him in bed. But when he asked me if I'd consider going out with someone for real, I was hurt and confused. I told him he was the only man I wanted and that 'forsaking all others' was something that I really meant.

"He backed off for a while, but soon he was back at it, asking leading questions, making sly comments. Finally, he told me that if I truly loved him I would actually sleep with another man."

"Why would he do that?" Marge asked, shaking her head in puzzlement. "Was he looking for an excuse to see other women?

"I wondered the same thing," I told her, "but he swore he had no interest in anyone else. He said what he wanted was to see me in action, to watch what I did and how I acted in the throes of passion. He kept saying how much I'd love the experience of sex with other men, and how he wanted to make me happy. I told him the only thing that would make me happy would be for him to forget all this nonsense."

"But he didn't, did he?" Marge asked.

"No, he didn't," I said. "I came home from work one Friday to see a strange car parked in front of our house. When I went inside, my husband was talking with two very large men. He introduced them to me, and then dumbfounded me. 'These guys have the biggest cocks I've ever seen,' he blurted out. 'They're going to fuck you all night and give you a thrill like you've never felt in your life! You're going to love it.'"

I paused to blot the tears that were running down my cheeks. "Marge, I couldn't believe it. All my life men had treated me as though I were a piece of meat, and now my husband, the man I loved and trusted, was doing the same thing. He wanted to give me to two men I'd never even met, just for his selfish gratification. He didn't give a damn about my feelings, my wishes - all he wanted was to use my body for his pleasure, just like all the rest of them. It felt like the ultimate betrayal.

"Anyway, I made an excuse, slipped out of the house, drove straight to my parents' home and never went back. After I got my divorce, I decided to leave town so I wouldn't risk running into him again. That's how I wound up here."

Marge reached over to take my hand. "I'm so sorry, Jess. That must have been terrible for you."

"You know what, that wasn't even the worst thing about it," I went on. "While he was telling me what those men were going to do to me that evening, I glanced around the room and noticed boxes filled with lighting equipment and video cameras. That bastard was going to tape the whole thing. I'd have probably wound up on some porn site if I'd done what he wanted!"

Marge's face paled. "That's just unbelievable!"

I was crying now and couldn't seem to stop. "What gets to me the most is wondering what I did wrong. What did I do to make him want to see me that way? What could I have done differently to save my marriage? I just feel like such a failure."

She squeezed my hand gently. "Jess, you can't blame yourself. You didn't do anything to bring that on, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. It was your ex's problem, not yours."

"Maybe," I said, "but I can't help still feeling that way. In any case, you can understand why I'm not real interested in men right now."

As I sat there wiping my face, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a man approaching our table with two drinks in his hands. But when he caught sight of the tears running down my cheeks, he made an abrupt about-face and headed back toward the bar.

Marge must have seen him as well because she gave a little laugh. "Well, at least one good thing has come out of this: it looks like you've found an effective way to ward off unwanted advances!"

I had to smile at that through my tears.

When we left the tavern, Marge stayed at my side protectively until we reached my car. Then she gave me a big hug and told me, "Hang in there, Jess. It will get better."

I hoped she was right.

The next couple of weeks at work that spring were crazy as we got closer and closer to Expo. This was a critical event for Magnetadyne. The company would be launching its new line of components at the show, and it was counting on landing major orders. A successful show would set the tone for the whole year; a miscue could have serious consequences.

Compounding the frenzy was the rumor that blazed through the office: that my boss, Mr. Moffatt, was about to announce his retirement. I had my doubts. I'd neither heard nor seen anything from him to indicate that was true.

The second part of the rumor was that either Peter or Scott was going to be picked to succeed Mr. Moffatt as vice president. That really stirred the pot, dividing the office into three camps. There were those in the pro-Scott group who hoped to gain from his promotion. The second group, of course, consisted of those who were loyal to Peter and felt their leader should be picked. The third was the "anyone-but-Scott" group: those who were appalled at Scott's arrogance and fearful of what life might be like if he were in charge. The result was chaos, with lots of short tempers exacerbated by tight deadlines.

In the middle of all this ado, Mr. Moffatt called me into his office early one afternoon with an urgent request. Scott had given him some pricing information for the Expo to review, and now Mr. Moffatt wanted Scott to see his comments. But when I called Scott's cellphone I learned that Scott was working from home. He suggested that I bring the materials out to him.

I didn't particularly like the role of messenger, and the fact that Scott wanted me to come out to his home made me suspicious. But Mr. Moffatt needed a quick response, so I got my car out of the parking garage and set my GPS to Scott's home address.

Scott's house was located at the end of a cul-de-sac in the kind of neighborhood I would have expected for an up-and-coming executive. I parked out front and took the packet of materials to his front porch. But when I rang the doorbell there was no answer.

That surprised me, and I tried to peer in the windows to see if anyone was home. Then I checked around the side of the house, but I still didn't see anyone. I pulled out my cellphone to try to call him, but before I could make the call I thought I heard voices coming from around back. I hesitated, but finally I started walking around toward the back of the house.

It quickly became clear that the voices were coming from a screened-in porch at the back of the house. As I got nearer my steps slowed because there was something odd about what I was hearing. Cautiously I peeked around the corner only to draw back in startled embarrassment. The sounds I'd heard were the sounds of Scott having sex with some woman!

I stood there paralyzed by uncertainty. Under the circumstances, I could hardly make my presence known, but I was still supposed to deliver the material for Scott to review. Then, as I hesitated, I heard the woman moaning, and I'm ashamed to admit that prurient interest took over. It had been so long since I'd had sex that the sight and sounds of this unexpected encounter totally overcame my good sense.

It was clear from the sounds she was making that the woman was thoroughly enjoying Scott's attention. As I peeked again, I could see her lying nude on a chaise-lounge, with Scott kneeling at her side. One of his hands was tweaking her nipple while the other was burrowing between her legs, causing her to arch her back in pleasure.

As I watched I felt my breathing accelerate and my panties grow damp. Involuntarily I reached up and rubbed my breast through my blouse, trying to alleviate the need that had suddenly blossomed there. I'd never watched live sex before and I found it both fascinating and arousing.

I realized that I was still holding my cellphone in my hand and, without really thinking about what I was doing, I held it up and began shooting video of the erotic scene playing out before me. As I watched, Scott climbed up on the chaise and the brunette sat up and began worshipping his erect penis. Whatever else you might say about Scott, it was clear that he was physically well equipped for the challenge.

Apparently the woman could wait no longer and scrambled to impale herself on Scott. She straddled him and used her hand to position his penis so she could slip down on him. Even from that distance I could tell that she needed no extra lubrication, and a sudden breeze wafted the scent of her arousal to me. She groaned mightily and held still for a moment as he filled her; then she began to rock her hips back and forth, using him to stimulate her inner depths.

Every now and then she would bend down to kiss him passionately, and I thought to myself, "She is really into Scott." To be honest, it made me a little jealous: why couldn't I have someone to be crazy about in my life?

Apparently Scott was not content to maintain a passive role because he abruptly sat up and pushed the woman onto her back. In an instant he was driving himself into her, and she began to gasp and moan as he drove her to a frenzy. Her arms clasped him tightly as if trying to pull him even deeper into her, her hands clawed and tugged at his back and hips.

Scott had been largely quiet to this point, but suddenly he began to speak to the brunette, goading her with his words. "Do you like that, baby? Does that feel good? Have you ever had better?"

"No, Scott," she groaned, "you fuck me so good!"

"Better than your husband?" he taunted. "Am I better than Peter?"

A chill shot through me, but I told myself it might just be a coincidence.

"Oh, God, Scott," the woman replied fervently, "he can doesn't even come close. He's never made me feel the way you do!"

"Don't you feel guilty fucking me while he's slaving away at Magnetadyne?" Scott teased her, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"I love it," she gasped. "It makes me feel so wicked being here, knowing he hasn't got a clue."

"And when I get promoted to VP," Scott went on, "I'm going to fuck him over just the way I fucked his wife!" he boasted. With that he accelerated his assault and the woman's words dissolved into groans that soon crested into screams.

She was making so much noise that I feared Scott's neighbors would hear her and spot me playing Peeping Tom, so I hurried back to the front of the house. I quickly stashed the papers inside Scott's screen door and then ran to my car. As I drove away, I was so shaken that my hands were trembling.

"Oh, God, what am I going to do?" I kept asking myself. "I can't tell Peter. It would kill him to discover that Callie is cheating on him. And with Scott, of all people! But I've got to tell him - I can't keep something like this from him."

When I got back to the office, I hurried to my desk and did my best to keep busy. But all I could think about was Scott and Peter's wife going at each other while mocking poor Peter. The memory made me sick at my stomach. "He's a good guy and good-looking too. Why would she cheat on him?" I kept asking myself.

Finally, as the afternoon wore on, I couldn't stand it any more. I picked up the phone and made the call I'd been dreading. "Peter? It's Jess. Are you going to be around the office for a while?"

He laughed, "Oh, yeah, I'm probably going to be working late every night till Expo."

"Can I come by and see you for a little while around 5:30?" I asked.

"Sure, come on by whenever you'd like," he said cheerfully. I grimaced; I knew he wouldn't be very cheerful after I talked with him.

Walking to Peter's office felt like walking into a hospital for surgery: you know you have to go, but every nerve in your body is screaming at you to run in the opposite direction. When I got there, Peter greeted me with a cheery wave, but when he saw my expression he sat up in his chair, a look of concern on his face. "What is it, Jess, what's happened?"

I sat down heavily in one of his desk chairs. "I have some bad news, Peter. I don't want to be the one to pass this on, but I just don't have a choice."

"It's alright," he said, "you can tell me."

I couldn't look him in the eye. "This afternoon, Mr. Moffatt asked me to take some documents out to Scott's home. When I got there, no one answered the doorbell, so I walked around outside his house and heard some noise. When I looked on his screened-in porch, this is what I saw."

With that I turned on my cellphone to play back the video I'd taken, then handed it to Peter. When he saw Scott crouched beside the female figure lying on the chaise-lounge, he gave a harsh laugh. "So that's what Scott calls 'working from home,'" he said derisively. "I can't say I'm surprised."

He started to hand my phone back to me, but I pushed it back to him. "Keep watching," I said in a low, sick voice.

I could tell whenthe brunette sat up and began to give Scott head because Peter's face looked he'd been hit stabbed with a knife. I couldn't help it: I began to cry. It's a terrible thing to see a man's illusions shattered before your eyes. His face registered shock, pain and anger, all at the same moment.

As he sat there in anguish, I quickly reached over and tried to take my phone out of his hands because I didn't want him to hear what I knew was coming next. But he wouldn't let the phone go. "There's more, isn't there?" he asked in a strained voice.

"You don't want to watch it, Peter," I said, but I knew that wouldn't stop him.

Then we heard Peter's wife gasping and moaning, and Scott's voice goading her. When she began to talk about how good Scott was and how much she enjoyed screwing behind her husband's back, Peter's face went pale. I silently prayed I might never see anyone humiliated like that again.

Finally the video shut off, and Peter slumped in his chair. After a few moments he raised his head to stare at me with haggard eyes. "You know what really got to me the most? It wasn't just that Callie cheated on me. That's bad enough. But the way she held him and kissed him and caressed him. They weren't just having sex, they were making love."

I groped desperately for something to say that might ease his pain, but nothing would come to me. All I could do was repeat, "I'm so sorry, Peter, I'm so sorry."

As he hung his head in despair, something that had been bothering me all afternoon suddenly came into focus, and I blurted out in a voice louder than I intended, "I just realized something, Peter. Scott must have wanted me to see him with Callie! He specifically asked Mr. Moffatt to have me deliver those papers. He wanted me to hear them and see them together, he wanted to embarrass me and to make me tell you!"

"That son-of-a-bitch," Peter swore. "He's always hated me and this is his way of getting back at me."

"But why?" I asked. "I can understand that the two of you are rivals, but why would he be so vindictive?"

Peter sighed. "Back before you joined Magnetadyne, Scott used to report to me. I thought he was brilliant but somewhat impulsive. I even saved his job one time when he became hyper-defensive about an expense account he'd submitted. Audit asked a routine question about it and Scott flew off the handle. He wrote the head of Audit a snarky memo that essentially said 'How dare you question me - go to hell!' Scott copied me on the memo and I was able to stop it before it was delivered to the VP of Auditing. Then I calmed Scott down, got him to delete the memo and the whole thing went away as far as I was concerned. Sometime later the sales director job opened up, and I recommended Scott for the position."

I shook my head in confusion. "Wait a minute, are you saying that Scott hates you because you recommended him for a promotion? I'd have thought he'd be eternally grateful."

Peter shook his head. "In your world and mine, that would be true. But in Scott's world, no one is as smart as he, and the idea that he owes anything to anyone is anathema to him. You might say he's never forgiven me for putting him in my debt."

Now it was my turn to shake my head. "But I still don't understand why he'd take the risk of revealing his affair. Wouldn't that get him in trouble with Magnetadyne?"

Peter's voice was cold and bitter. "Not really. The company would see it as a personal matter between Callie and Scott; they wouldn't want to get involved. No, I think the reason Scott wanted me to find out is to provoke me into doing something foolish that will get me fired. Even if I don't, he's probably hoping that I'll be so humiliated here in the office that my work will suffer while I'm caught up in a messy divorce."

He looked at me carefully. "And I think he decided to use you as the messenger as payback for resisting his advances."

My cheeks flushed, first in embarrassment and then in anger. But although I resented being used by Scott, I was more concerned about Peter. The tone of his voice worried me. "What are you going to do now?" I asked.

He clenched his fists tightly for a moment, then relaxed. "For the time being, I'm not going to do anything except concentrate on getting ready for Expo. I damned sure can't afford to lose my job now. But once it's over, you can be sure that I'm going to divorce Callie and find a way to even the score with Scott."

"Peter, I've experienced betrayal in my life, so I can understand some of what you're feeling right now. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know. But whatever you decide, don't do anything that will wind up hurting yourself."

"Thanks, Jess," he said quietly. "I appreciate that. I also appreciate the courage it must have taken for you to bring this to me. The only thing I'd ask for now would be for you not to let anyone else know what you've found out. As for me, I'm just going to bury myself in work; that's the only thing I know to do to help with the pain." He looked at me wryly. "It will also give me an excuse to stay away from Callie."

I glanced back at him as I turned to leave and I felt like my heart would break. It was devastating seeing a good, decent man whose whole life had suddenly collapsed on top of him.

There were only a few work days left before Expo, and the tension seemed to ratchet up every day. Part of that tension, of course, was simply a reaction to the deadlines connected with such a high-stakes event, but this time there was an added animosity between Marketing and Sales that seemed to infect almost everyone on the two teams.

Pouring fuel on the fire were the rumors about Mr. Moffatt. Not only did the water-cooler conversation hint that his retirement was imminent, but now the story was circulating that Scott Benson would be succeeding him. The result was that the people on Scott's team became more obsequious than ever trying to curry Scott's favor, while the people who worked with Peter were upset and anxious at the prospect of corporate life under Scott's rule.

I became a sort of de facto member of Peter's group and regularly offered them help wherever I could. The first few times I sat down at the lunch table with them I drew a few questioning looks, but with Peter's obvious approval they accepted me. As a result, they made no effort to hide from me their reactions to all that was going on.

The fervor of their attitudes toward Scott was almost shocking. "If he gets the VP slot, it will be a disaster for the company" was a common theme. "Why would senior management even consider promoting such a terrible boss?" was another. It was disturbing to hear qualified, capable people considering leaving the company if Scott got the VP job.

On the other hand, their regard for Peter was as high as their opinion of Scott was low. Several times when Peter wasn't around, one of his people volunteered a story about how Peter had helped solve a problem. He had a way of offering constructive suggestions that encouraged the person to go back and do a better job. It seemed obvious to me what the company should do, but I knew that executives all too often focus totally on the short-term bottom line and are oblivious to what would be best for the long term.