As a Matter of Fact, I Do Mind

"How'd you know I was in Vegas? I thought Les was going to..." He looked at Dee suspiciously. "You haven't told me who this woman is and what she's doing in my house." He was starting to sound testy.

"Oh, sit down and take a load off, Vincent. We need to talk. This little lady's heard about you and Leslie's activities and would like to know more about them."

He made the wrong assumption about why Dee wanted to know more--as I intended--and relaxed visibly. Instead of sitting down, he stepped forward with a shit-eating grin and reached out to shake hands with the "little lady." Even though I had a rough idea of what was going to happen I had trouble following the action, which lasted less than a minute.

Dee ignored his hand and slapped him so hard he staggered. Before he had time to react, she rocked him with left- and right-hand slaps that sounded like rifle shots and must have loosened some teeth, then put her whole upper body into a knuckle punch to his diaphragm.

As the air whooshed from his lungs, she danced back and kicked him in the crotch. He folded and started to fall, but she eschewed the favored knee-smashes-nose follow-through ("didn't want to leave any obvious marks"), waited for him to hit the floor, then delivered two more kicks to the family jewels that had me wincing. The strange, high-pitched noises he made sounded eerily like the death throes of a small animal.

Dee stood wild-eyed and panting for a moment, then knelt beside Vincent's head. "Vincent? Nod if you can hear and understand me." When he didn't respond, she twisted his left ear like it was a rusty faucet. "Can you hear me now?"

He groaned something unintelligible. She twisted his ear again, harder. "I didn't tell you to say anything, just nod. Got that?"

He nodded.

"This was partial payback for the way you've treated Leslie the past four years. If you don't do what we tell you there will be another partial payback, then another, until you do as you're told. Do you understand?" He started to grunt something, but when Dee started to reach for his ear he stopped and nodded.

"Good boy. Now, since you rent this house, there's no reason you can't just pack up and leave, so that's exactly what you're going to do. As soon as you're able, you're going to gather everything you want to keep in garbage bags. There's a bunch on the kitchen table." Again, he started to grunt something but thought better of it.

"Next, you carry them out to your car--yes, it's running fine, never mind what Leslie said. Then you get in and drive away to a different town, preferably in a different state. And you stay away. Forever. Do you understand?"

He made the mistake of waiting too long to nod. Instead of twisting his ear, Dee gave him a knuckle punch to the crotch. When he yelped in pain and tried to raise his head, she pushed him back down. "I'll take that for a nod." She patted his head. "Thus endeth the first lesson."

She stood, nodded toward the back door, and walked out on the patio. I followed and caught her in my arms as she sagged into me. "Oh God, Rick, it scares me how much I enjoyed what I did to him. I can't believe I was such a sadist."

"You weren't a sadist, Dee, you were an avenging angel. He deserved all that, and more, for what he did to Leslie. It might take him a while to recover--physically, at least, his pride could take longer--but it's going to take Leslie a lot longer to recover from the years of cruelty and humiliation."

We stayed outside for another 10 or 15 minutes before going back in. Vincent had managed to drag himself up onto the couch and was lying in the fetal position. He tried to sit up when he heard us, but gave it up with a whimper. Dee went into the kitchen and brought back the stack of garbage bags. She tossed them in front of the couch, told Vincent to get with it, and gestured me into the kitchen.

We made a pot of coffee (figured Leslie wouldn't mind us messing with her kitchen) and sat at the table talking as Vincent finally began, albeit very slowly, to start putting his stuff in garbage bags. When it started getting dark, I called Leslie to assure her everything was okay. She said she'd found something to eat, which inspired Dee to offer to go get us something.

She came back half an hour later with a Burger King bag. As we wolfed down Whoppers and fries out on the patio, she said she didn't bring Vincent anything because he was about to leave and could get himself something on the road. For at least the dozenth time that day, I resolved never, ever to get crosswise with Dee.

By the time we finished eating, Vincent had finished loading his car and driven off. Dee made a mock sad face. "Aww, he didn't even say goodbye." The adrenalin rush had left us both a little giddy, and we both thought that was the funniest thing we'd ever heard. I still had a mouthful of beer, unfortunately, which got sprayed over my side of the patio table.

After sopping up the mess with paper towels, I texted Leslie that the coast was clear. We were still laughing when she came through the gate from my place; when we told her what was so funny, she took a minute to absorb the news that he really was gone, then joined in the laughter until we all had tears rolling down our cheeks.

Everyone slept in the next morning (Leslie called us mid-morning to tell us she had just got out of bed and was okay). Dee and I spent the day kicking back, speculating how long it would take for reaction to the video and Marcy's letter and what the reaction might be. We were both tired of fast food, so she went to the grocery store and brought back salad fixings for a late lunch. We napped that afternoon. Separately, of course.

It was getting more and more difficult to avoid picking up where Dee and I left off in Iraq. She wasn't dressing provocatively, but didn't have to: I knew only too well what was under the jeans and sweatshirts she wore pretty much all the time. As far as I was concerned, she looked fabulous. I wanted to run my hands all over that fabulous body, but couldn't as long as I was still married to Marcy, even though she was a world-class slut.

I had to talk with Dee about my problem. We were drinking tea at the kitchen table after a sumptuous dinner of Panda Express takeout when I finally worked up the courage.

"Uh, Dee, I've been thinking--"

I'm not sure how I planned to finish that sentence, but Dee finished it for me.

"--about why we're sleeping in separate bedrooms and why we've only kissed each other on the cheek. That about sum it up?" She looked smug.

"It really isn't polite to interrupt, Ms. Kiel. Or read someone's mind. Yeah, that about sums it up."

"I've never been accused of being polite, Colonel. Here's my next mind-reading trick: You're reluctant to give in to your libidinous urges toward me because you're still a married man, even if you're the only one in the marriage who's honoring it. How'm I doing?" She looked even more smug, if that was possible, and her eyes danced with amusement. I realized at that moment that I wasn't just fond of this woman, I was madly in love with her.

"That's one of the many reasons I love you, Rick. I could probably overcome your reluctance, you men aren't much of a challenge. I'm not going to, though, precisely because I do love you. You've got to get through this dog's breakfast with your integrity intact, and so do I."

"I love you, too, Dee, more than I knew until a couple of minutes ago."

"Oh, I've known that pretty much ever since we hugged on your porch the day I arrived. We girls can tell, you know, and it doesn't have anything to do with flashlights in pockets. But we've got a problem, because my libido is telling me that it can beat up your libido and I'm fresh out of panty liners." Suddenly the glints faded from her eyes, replaced by tears that slowly welled and threatened to overflow.

"That's why I'm catching a plane to London in--" She looked at her watch. "Four and a half hours. I've got to leave here in less than an hour. I change planes at Heathrow. I'm going back to the embassy and you're going to finish what you need to do here. Then we're going to decide how to spend the rest of our lives."

Before I could say anything, she jumped up and ran to her room, calling back over her shoulder. "Don't come after me, Rick, please. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is. It's best, and you know it."

She was right, I did know it, but I sure as hell didn't like it. I could hear her packing her things, and knew she wouldn't be down until shortly before it was time for her to go. There'd be no time for a drawn-out, teary farewell scene, just a not-so-quick hug and maybe a real kiss.

Which is exactly how it went 45 minutes later. Dee was gone, leaving a hole I hoped we'd be able to fill.

I'M NOT ONE to back down, so copies of the video and Marcy's letter pimping out Leslie had gone to the hospital, our kids, her family, my family, and Penny's husband Josh. I resisted the fleeting temptation to upload it to Pornhub, not only because I would probably lose any resulting lawsuit, but also because I wasn't after revenge.

Retribution, on the other hand, quickly arrived. In short order she lost her job, most of our friends (gossip travels at a multiple of the speed of light), and--when he left town to find another job--Dr. Dickhead, who'd also lost his job. Josh told Penny he'd filed for divorce, naming Marcy as a material cause.

Her parents reluctantly let her move in, but made it clear how very disappointed they were. Shortly after she moved in, I had her served with divorce papers that proposed an equal division of assets. We each got to keep our car (they were paid for) and retirement plan, everything else split 50/50: bank and investment accounts, mutual personal property, equity in the house unless one of us wanted to buy out the other.

I didn't have any hidden assets, and I was pretty sure Marcy didn't, either. We paid off our credit cards every month, so the only outstanding debt was the house mortgage. Neat and clean, no attempt to punish anyone for offenses real or imagined.

The kids weren't much of a factor, at least as far as divorce issues were concerned. Both were pretty much on their own. The Navy took pretty good care of Rhonda--at least for the time being, who knew whether she'd ship over? We'd set up a college fund for Kyle that would pay his tuition, fees, books, board and room for four years. He could stay with whichever of us he chose during the summers, and the other would pony up half the cost; I proposed mediation to handle any disagreement on what to do if he wanted to go more than four years (or bailed sooner).

She knew she didn't have any grounds to fight it--couldn't afford a lawyer, anyway--so she agreed to sign if I'd let her come over for a final conversation. I suggested she come to the house for dinner the next night.

The showdown was anticlimactic. We shared an uncomfortable meal of takeout Thai, then went into the living room. I sat in my recliner, she at one end of the couch. At first, it seemed like we were going to manage to part civilly. She admitted she'd been unfaithful several times during our marriage, I admitted that Diedre and I had done everything except actual intercourse (I even used that word).

The civility ended there. Marcy just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"I'm not sure I was ever really in love with you, Rick. Oh, it was great at first. I loved the idea of being married to you, and we raised two wonderful children, but I was never satisfied with our life. I wanted that early-on fun to continue. I wanted more...I don't know, excitement? So I decided to go find it." She tried to look thoughtful.

"I guess that makes me shallow, but that's why those things happened."

I wasn't about to argue with shallow, just wished I'd seen it before we wasted a couple of decades. No, that wasn't right, they weren't a total waste. We both seemed to be head-over-heels happy those first few years, and Rhonda and Kyle were great kids

"You could have said something, Marcy. Maybe if you'd told me you weren't satisfied, we could have done something about it. But I've got to agree, the fact that despite our wedding promises you went off and had sex with other men to find excitement makes it pretty clear that you didn't really love me. At least not the way I loved you."

She didn't buy that. Her voice turned from contrite to harsh. "Yeah, right, you loved me so much you fucked that CIA bitch as soon as you got the chance--"

"No I didn't fuck her, as you so eloquently put it, but we did go too far." She was always going to use that slip to justify whatever she did, including the times she herself cheated before I cheated with Dee.

"Silly me, I felt guilty about that for years, but it doesn't justify the many times you've cheated, especially the times before I even went to Iraq. You know that, but I don't expect you to admit it. Honesty's never been your long suit."

That really set her off, and it was all downhill from there. Neither of us would back down, the accusations and insults piled up. She finally stood, stalked to the front door, and turned for her parting shot. "I hope you're satisfied that you've wrecked four lives, you sanctimonious prick! See you in hell!"

With that she walked out, slamming the door on our conversation and our marriage.

I thought about a date with Jim Beam, but decided I'd done enough of that and fixed a pot of tea instead. As I sat at the kitchen table drinking my tea and letting my mind coast, I found myself second-guessing my decision to retire. If I'd stayed in, I might have been selected for War College, maybe even wound up with my own star and a flag.

It's a cinch that leaving the Army to save my marriage didn't pay off.

Epilogue

MARCY AND Dr. Dickhead each had trouble finding a job. The jungle telegraph ensured that wherever one of them applied--hospital, clinic, government health organization, anywhere at all-- a detailed dossier of their extracurricular activities in Colombia quickly showed up.

Each was about to give up when they both received an invitation to come to the nearest Doctors Without Borders (they were still in the U.S.) for a job interview. Marcy called him and confirmed that he had received the offer, too. They were suspicious, but happened to be a short flight apart, so Marcy joined him.

They went together for the interview, and were quickly offered jobs doing the same work they'd been doing for years, for about a third of what they'd been making. Plus board and room for the first three years, since they'd spend that entire probationary period at mission outposts wherever the need was greatest.

After swallowing hard, they accepted, wondering why that was the only job they were offered.

LESLIE STAYED in town for a few months. She was able to get some counseling through the battered women's shelter (I had to vouch for her story), but her work performance suffered and she wasn't able to keep up the rent. I offered our spare bedroom, but she said she had reconciled with her older sister in Iowa and was moving in with her for a while.

Turned out her sister Sherri was a psychiatric nurse. Leslie was diagnosed with PTSD and qualified for SSDI, which let Sherri set up an intensive counseling regimen. Leslie called me from time to time to thank me and let me know how she was doing. It sounded like she was in good hands.

IT LOOKED LIKE the kids would survive seeing the evidence of their mother's betrayal.

Rhonda was an MMN3 on a Virginia-class fast attack sub deployed out of Guam. Their torpedoes and Tomahawk cruise missiles made them the pointy end of the spear, and China was making unsettling noises about Taiwan and the South China Sea. She didn't see the video and Marcy's letter until she got back from the deployment, and called me as soon as she finished them.

--How are you doing, Dad? I can't believe what my mother did...well, I can believe it, that was pretty clear evidence, but I don't want to.

"I'm okay, Ronnie. It was tough sledding for a while, but I've had time to absorb it. And yeah, I'd have to say the evidence was very clear."

She was quiet for a moment. When she continued, she spoke more quietly, more emotionally.

--It wasn't the first time she did this, was it, Dad? One time I sort of overheard you saying something angry to her about when you were in Korea...

"Don't really know, but it doesn't matter now, that's water under the bridge. We're going to divorce and go our separate ways. I'm thinking about going back in the Army, maybe putting in for a seat at the War College."

Her voice went back to animated, almost happy.

--That's a great idea! I've always wanted to be the daughter of a general. Hot damn!

We chatted for a while, but even though I'd been in Army Intelligence with the appropriate clearances, she was vague about the deployment and stuck to generalities like no internet and cramped bathroom facilities--and especially showers every third day. I refrained from describing what it was like aboard WWII fleet subs. We ended with mutual congratulations and pledges to get together when we could.

Kyle called me, too, after he saw the video and letter. I was astonished how mature he sounded. "They're pretty awful, Dad. I can't imagine how they make you feel." He paused, then continued awkwardly. "But I guess I'm not really surprised--"

"You're not really...why do you say that?"

He sounded uneasy. "I've...suspected for a while that something was going on. A couple of times when I came home without calling first, I heard her on the phone with somebody. Her tone of voice and what she was saying sounded like...like she was talking to you. But the first time you were outside mowing the lawn, and the other time you were upstairs taking a nap."

What a thing for a son to have to deal with. "Why didn't you tell me, Kyle?"

He took so long to answer I was afraid he had put the phone down. "I didn't want to say anything unless...I...I had more proof than that, Dad. I mean, I could have been mistaken...besides, I didn't want to cause trouble between you and Mom. If I was wrong."

I assured him that he hadn't done anything wrong. After a few minutes more of desultory exchanges, he said he had to get back to studying for his Calc II and Physics mid-terms. We ended the conversation with more heartfelt I love you's than usual.

EVERYBODY NEEDS a guardian angel, and I was lucky enough to have a good one. Ski not only had beaucoup sources of good intel, apparently he could read minds, too. He called bright and early the next day.

--Morning, Colonel. Had your coffee yet?

"Funny you should ask, Ski. I just sat down with my first cup."

--Good, because I have a proposition for you that requires Colonel-class evaluation. Remember the instructor in CCC school who chewed your ass for showing off?

"How could I forget? I've always wished I could have put an attaboy in his service jacket."

--You don't have to, he earned a truckload of 'em without your help. He was promoted and assigned to instructor duty at the War College, then promoted again and selected for War College himself. He's a one-star now, here at the Pentagon, doing something related to service needs.

"Good. I'm probably prejudiced, but he deserves it. Balls and brains are a good combination."

--Glad you think well of him, because he's got an offer I don't think you should refuse.

The offer was a resumption of--not return to--active duty. Seems that my retirement paperwork somehow got altered to an assignment as commander of a reserve unit that was almost immediately disbanded. I was authorized two weeks leave and another four days travel time, at which point I had a billet in the next War College class.