As a Matter of Fact, I Do Mind

Diedre'd been a first lieutenant on TDY to our intelligence team. How should I contact her? A phone call sounded too impersonal. I wanted to jump on the next plane to Brussels, but I needed to stay home until I could come up with a workable plan. But I also wanted Diedre's advice to craft that workable plan. I fell asleep frustrated that I couldn't break that circle.

The circle didn't stay unbroken very long. Diedre called me mid-morning a day and a half later.

--Hello, Colonel. Remember me?

"Dee! How...what--"

--Ski.

Like SHAZAM, that one word carried a world of unspoken meaning. Of course Ski. Who else knew that Dee and I needed to talk with each other, and had the means to make it happen?

"Of course. Had to be Ski. What would we do without him?" I paused, but all she said was mmmhm.

"It's great to hear your voice, Dee. Ski tells me you're in Brussels. I really need your advice about something. Wish we could get together."

Just then the doorbell rang. Damned if I was going to interrupt this conversation. I ignored it.

--I do too, Rick. Who knows, maybe we can." She paused. "Was that your doorbell? Better see who it is.

"They can wait, Dee. I'm talking with you, not some Jehovah's Witness."

--Never mind Jehovah's Witnesses, Rick, just open the bloody door.

The doorbell rang again.

For a former colonel in this man's army, sometimes I can really be slow. I tossed the phone on the couch, hustled to the door, and threw it open. Sure enough, there stood Dee in pinks and greens, rucksack slung over one shoulder, brandishing her phone and grinning ear to ear.

"Could I interest you in the online Watchtower, sir?" She giggled, tucked the phone in her rucksack, and opened her arms for a hug. I put my arms around her and had to hold myself back to avoid crushing her ribs.

We stepped back from the hug, neither sure what to do next. Falling back on a lesson learnt (sic) on a six-month TDY to London, I suggested a cup of tea. She nodded sagely. "Capitol idea, Colonel." Then she grinned again. Over the years, I'd forgotten how much I missed that grin.

We went inside. She put her rucksack down on the hall floor, took out her phone (don't leave home without it!), and we decamped to the kitchen. I dug the teakettle out of the pantry, filled it and put it on to boil, then we sat at the kitchen table. I was curious how Ski got her to come, but she beat me to it.

"Ski called me backchannel yesterday morning, said you wanted to talk about something face to face, and asked if I could take leave on short notice. When I asked him if an hour was short enough, he laughed and told me to put in for emergency leave without specifying why or for how long."

Fat chance a request like that would even be accepted, let alone approved, but apparently Ski could make things like that happen. Never, ever underestimate the power of a sergeant major, especially one welcome in the outer rings of the Pentagon.

"So what do you need to discuss with me in person, Rick? Or is this a Colonel Weston discussion?"

"No, it's a Rick discussion, a dismiss-Marcy-with-prejudice discussion." Just then the kettle whistled. Dee waved me off to fix our tea; I came back with two cups and went on.

"She's off on a six-week shackup with a brain surgeon in Colombia, using Doctors Without Borders as cover. She told me what she was going to do, said I had to live with it because you and I...well, she says she doesn't believe that we didn't...go all the way."

The teenage euphemism sounded silly, but I didn't feel like saying fuck to her. I hadn't intended to tell her the whole sordid story, but when she asked it just sort of fell out. To hold down the time and emotion it cost me, I saved the part about Marcy trying to pimp out Leslie as a quid pro quo for later.

She didn't act surprised, which made me wonder how much Ski knew and how much he'd told Dee. It didn't matter, though, especially if that's what it took to get her to drop everything for the trip. Besides, these were two of the few people in the world I trusted.

"I knew there must have been a good reason that I instantly disliked her when we met a few years ago."

"Yeah, Marcy told me that you stopped by to rub her nose in it by telling her how well you took care of me in Iraq--"

The grin faded, replaced by a mask of fury. "That's bullshit, Rick! You know I'd never tell anyone about what happened between us, least of all your wife. Jesus!"

"I know, Dee, I didn't believe her. Lying like that is all the more reason she needs to regret the decisions she's made, to suffer the consequences of her actions. I'm not looking for vengeance, but..." and went on to explain my feelings about retribution versus revenge. Dee smiled ruefully.

"I don't have your sense of justice or fair play, Rick. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'd like to bitch-slap her into the middle of next week." She grinned again. "But that would be conduct unbecoming an officer and a lady, right? I'll settle for calling her a bitch and slapping my hands." Which she did.

"Works for me. She really is a bitch." I slapped my hands together and we laughed together. It felt good. It felt...right. It felt like time to tell Dee why I wanted to talk with her in person.

"I'm almost sure this isn't the first time Marcy's cheated. I'm definitely going to divorce her, but I can't come up with a way to make her realize just how wrong she's been, how much her bad decisions are going to haunt her. That's what I need you for, to help me find a way to let her see the light without calling down the wrath of God." Dee looked dubious, so I tried to lighten things up a little.

"Piece of cake, right? Hey, if it was easy I could do it by myself." I tried to grin, but didn't think it came off. She still looked dubious as I went off to get second cups of tea.

We spent the next couple of hours talking about other things: what embassy duty was like, how she liked Brussels, my last few assignments (sanitized a bit for security's sake), how a retired colonel spent his time, and the like. I fixed us salads for lunch, then turned the conversation back to my problem by telling Dee about Marcy trying to pimp out Leslie and how I'd handled it.

"That's...unbelievable, Rick. In fact, the whole thing is unbelievable. How could she imagine you'd accept it?" She shook her head in wonderment. "How could she spend 24 years married to you and not know you?"

"Can't answer that. It's obvious that after 24 years of marriage, I didn't know her, either. I mean, I never imagined she'd pull something like this." We sat silent for a few minutes, then Dee yawned.

"It feels like I haven't slept for a couple of days. Got a bed I can borrow?"

I picked up her rucksack and led her to Rhonda's old room. She raised her eyebrows at the blue bedspread with USN in big gold letters. I shrugged. "What can I say? At least she chose a constructive way to rebel against her overbearing father." I told Dee where we'd passed the bathroom--well yeah, I called it the head, considering her quarters--but her head was hitting the pillow as I closed the door.

I decided I could use a nap, too. Set my alarm for an hour. Dee woke up around 6, and we decided that neither of us was eager to cook, so we went out for pizza and beer. After another beer when we got home, we each headed to our separate bedrooms; the day had taken its toll on both of us.

I GOT UP the next morning to find Dee sitting at the kitchen table with a writing tablet and cup of coffee. "Woke up at oh-dark-thirty and my body was trying to tell me it was lunchtime. Couldn't go back to sleep, so I got up and looked for coffee. Glad you've got one of those cup-at-a-time jobs, I wasn't looking forward to figuring out where you kept everything. Want a cup?"

"Not want, need. I'll get it."

In short order I was sitting across from her with my own cup. My second cup, actually, the first went down in a hurry. She sat up straight and took a deep breath (which, even at this early hour, was distracting).

"I've got a suggestion, but want to make sure it meets your specifications." She sounded like she was briefing her boss before an important meeting. "No violence or physical response of any kind, right?"

"Check."

"But you want the consequences to be painful and as permanent as possible."

"Check."

"You don't want her to tumble to the fact that you aren't accepting this, give her any warning that the shit's gonna hit the fan, that you're intending to divorce her."

"Double check."

"Okay. My idea is that you write a letter to Médecins Sans Frontières--Doctors Without Borders--explaining that your wife and another nurse are using an MSF mission in Colombia as cover for extramarital affairs. You want MSF to recall those four people. If they aren't recalled, you will widely publicize their illicit sexual activities and use your influence as a retired US Army Colonel to discredit MSF for condoning such immoral activity."

I shook my head. "I don't think a big, international outfit like MSF will care what I want. This sort of thing probably goes on a lot and they're not gonna want to be morality cops."

"You'd be surprised how sensitive they are to public opinion. Over 90 percent of their budget comes from private donations, and some of those donors don't approve of cheating. I could translate the letter into French and send it to a contact in the MSF offices in Brussels. Their HQ is in Geneva, but your letter should get their attention tout de suite."

She sounded a lot more confident that I was about being able to pressure MSF, but I hadn't come up with any other ideas. "Give me a while to think about it, Dee. It'd be great if it worked, but...well, I guess I don't share your confidence."

She shrugged. "It's the best I could come up with. Let's give it a day or two, and if you don't come up with something else we'll give it a shot. The worst that could happen is they say no."

We spent the rest of the day walking around the neighborhood and going out for lunch and dinner. We didn't feel like cooking, and it gave us something to do other than sit and talk, which meant we might have to address the elephant in the room. Dealing with Marcy's misadventure left me little room for thinking about my feelings for Dee. She, too, seemed intent on dealing with the disaster of my marriage.

I decided not to call Marcy that evening, didn't want to irritate her so much she'd shut her phone off. Again, we retired early to our separate bedrooms.

The next day FedEx delivered a small package while we were drinking our mid-morning coffee. It contained a thumb drive and a brief note: You might find this useful bxwwarmblood. Reassured by Ski's impromptu security code, I fired up my laptop.

It was useful, all right, almost half an hour of Marcy and Dr. Dickhead doing the dirty. As porn it was pretty boring--no Wesson oil or riding crops--but as evidence of adultery it was Oscar material. Dee and I actually high-fived during the opening scenes, then fast-forwarded through most of it.

Dee played critic. "Nice tits, but his equipment's nothing to write home about." I couldn't, and didn't, argue, just laughed ruefully at Dee's cynical humor and tried not to think about what I was watching. "I'm sorry, Rick, I know this has to hurt. I shouldn't have been such a smartass."

"Don't be, Dee. I'm starting to toughen up, and humor's a good way to help that happen." I waved toward the screen still showing them getting it on. "I'd really like to swat them both in the ass, though, good and hard." We high-fived again, then shut off the video.

I was pretty sure how Ski'd gotten his evidence, and hoped it wouldn't jeopardize my plausible deniability, but it gave Dee's suggestion a better chance of succeeding. Identifying the characters in the video as MSF volunteers in a mission to Colombia could well discourage some donations. It didn't take me long to accept her plan.

It took me an about an hour to draft the letter. She proposed a few edits, which I accepted. The final version:

Médecins Sans Frontières

46, Rue de l'Arbre Bénit

1050 Bruxelles, Belgium

To whom it may concern:

My wife, Marcella Minerva Weston, is a volunteer surgical nurse on an MSF mission in Colombia. She is using the mission to cover her affair with a neurosurgeon, Dr. Trey Cardosa. The enclosed video shows how they spend most evenings and their rare days off. A fellow nurse, Penny Washington, is doing the same with another doctor.

I have long been a supporter of your humanitarian work, but will not accept this attack on my marriage. I do not care if this sort of thing occasionally happens on stressful MSF missions, I demand that you immediately recall these four people. I understand that you may be reluctant, but I do not believe you will care for the consequences if you refuse.

I will send copies of these videos--identifying them as MSF volunteers--to their hospital plus all major U.S. health care groups, local and national news media and religious organizations, all our friends and professional acquaintances, everyone I can think of. I will use whatever influence I may have as a retired US Army Colonel to discredit MSF for condoning such marriage-threatening liaisons.

Further, I will urge people to stop contributing to MSF and move their charitable contributions to other, less destructive groups. It would pain me to take such action against a group that does so much good, but I promise you that I will do so if you choose to do nothing. If you do recall them, however, I promise to praise MSF and urge people to donate.

You must act quickly. If these four people remain in Colombia three days from now, I will begin my campaign. The choice is yours.

Respectfully submitted,

Col. Richard M. Weston, USA, Ret.

It was probably naïve of us to think they'd pay attention, but worth the effort. While Dee started work on the translation, I went out and bought a couple of dozen thumb drives, then spent an hour or so copying the video file to them. I'd promised not to condemn MSF if they recalled the cheaters, but I hadn't promised not to send out the videos. I was going to expose the cheaters come hell or high water. The only difference would be whether or not I condemned MSF as complicit.

Dee finished the translation. I couldn't verify its accuracy, but trusted her implicitly. I printed and signed the letter. In short order she encrypted it and the video file and fired them off in an email to her MSF contact, then called and gave them the key verbally. It was going to be a long three-day wait to see how, if at all, they would react.

I called Marcy again that evening, a bit later this time in hopes of interrupting their recreation. Apparently I was successful: she was supremely pissed when she answered.

--What the hell is it this time, Rick? Keep this up and I'll block your number.

"Marcy, your letter made it pretty clear that your attraction to that doctor isn't a new thing. So did parking in that hotel lot a couple of hours before your work shift started while I was gone. You're using Leslie as an excuse to cheat--

--There you go again, Rick, accusing me of something you were guilty of a long time ago--

"Hold on. You're trying to make six weeks of cheating sex equal to my one-time mistake that stopped before full-on intercourse, not to mention your earlier infidelity while I was in Korea and all the before-work get-togethers with Dr. Dick...uh, Trey."

--Okay, so maybe I did look for some satisfaction once in a while. But you were gone so much, what the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't take vows to be a nun, for Christ's sake!

It wasn't easy, but I let that last exclamation of hers go without comment; it was too bizarre for words.

"Please, Marcy, it still isn't too late for us to fix this. Some counseling, maybe a long vacation someplace beautiful and quiet...just come home and we'll start over."

--We've been down this road before, Rick. I can't go back on my commitment to Doctors Without Borders, not if I want to keep any sort of credibility. It just wouldn't be professional. We can talk about your suggestions when I get home.

Once more she hung up with no goodbye. I went to bed more frustrated than ever, and found myself wishing I was cuddling with Dee, just two doors down the hall.

Over coffee the next morning, Dee suggested that Vincent's treatment of Leslie also demanded consequences. With a decidedly non-military leer, she described said consequences in military terms. "Major retribution should include some degree of corporal punishment--private, not public--and as the still-active military partner, I should administer it."

She got a touch more serious. "He likes to beat up women, let's see how he likes getting beat up by a woman. It's time I got to use some of that hand-to-hand they tried to teach us in charm school."

By the time she finished she looked grim. Dee was 5 feet 10 inches and 145 pounds of toughness and dirty-fighting skill; I was pretty sure that Leslie's Vinnie was in for a tough life lesson. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. I went along with her suggestion, but with the proviso that I'd be there for backup in case she needed it. Her grim look turned sour, and I hoped I wouldn't have to step in.

WE DIDN'T HAVE to wait the full three days for MSF to act. Two and a half days later, Marcy, Dr. Dickhead, Penny, and her cheater doctor flew back, not a happy camper among them. They hadn't told anyone they were coming, but our backchannel source alerted us. Dee and I debated whether to nyah-nyah-nyah them at the airport, but plausible deniability demanded we keep a low profile. Pity. Taunting would have felt so good, even if it had been childish.

No surprise, Marcy went home with Dr. Dickhead instead of coming to our place. She probably suspected I had something to do with their abrupt withdrawal, but had no way to prove it. Our confrontation would have to wait until other matters were settled.

Turned out other matters didn't have to wait, either. Leslie called me around noon that same day.

--Hello, Rick. Vincent's plane lands at 2:15. Just like you told me, I said I couldn't pick him up because the car wouldn't start. He got mad, told me I should have got it fixed, but said he'd get an Uber home and take care of things. I'm worried about what he might do to me.

"You did just right, Leslie, and there's nothing to worry about. Like I also told you, leave Vincent to me."

--I hope you know what you're doing, Rick. He can be really mean--

"Not as mean as I can. You shouldn't be there when he gets home, so around 2:00 come to my place. Leave your door unlocked. I won't be here, but the door'll be unlocked. Come on in and make yourself at home, there's soda and beer in the fridge. I'll be back later this afternoon."

--I wish I could be as sure as you sound, Rick, but I'll do what you say. Don't have much choice, really, I've totally fucked up my life with him.

"No you haven't, things get better starting today. Remember, you've got friends who won't let you down." I heard her softly crying as she thanked me and hung up.

Dee and I watched the back yard. A little before 2:00 Leslie came through the gate. We went out the front door, walked around to the front of Nielson's, and sat in the living room to wait for Vince. We killed the time trading war stories until he showed up about an hour later. He wasn't quite sure what to make of me and a woman he didn't know in his house.

"What...where's Les? She said the car wouldn't start. And what are you doing in here, Rick? Who's this woman?"

"Welcome back, Vincent. Have a good time in Vegas? Have a seat." I gestured to the chair opposite the couch where Dee and I were sitting. Vincent was having difficulty putting on his phony affable face.