Cliche Ch. 02

Sure enough, Sarah's eyes roamed the room while Shithead was distracted. Knowing her as I did, she was checking to see if she was the prettiest in the room. I was looking directly at her when her eyes drifted my way. It was fucking funny the way her lower jaw almost hit the table. The blood completely left her face, and a look of terror replaced it. I could see her reflex to tell her dinner companion about me, but she reined it in. She knew that I knew that Peter was married. If this all blew up on them her chances of making partner were zero squared. To add to her confusion, I gave her a smile and a little wave. I could sense what was going through her mind. 'Dave has seen me holding hands with my boss, wearing a dress he hasn't seen before. Damaging but not unjustifiable with a little fancy footwork.'

I lowered my gaze to the table in front of me and picked up the first of my props. It was a magazine, don't ask me which, one of the ones that I'd glued a printout over the front cover. I picked it up as if reading it, which, of course, faced the cover towards Sarah. The front cover was the glossy advert from another magazine spruiking Prevenar, the same morning after pill that Sarah had twenty-one - or was it now twenty? - of. It told her unequivocally that I knew about the premeditation of her actions. Passing this all off as explainable now wasn't an option. I ensured a smile still inhabited my face.

Sarah once again turned toward Shithead but once again quickly changed her mind. I could see her thinking about coming over but that would cause Peter to become aware, and the situation to spiral out of her control. It already was but she didn't know that yet. I could imagine all the excuses and justifications going through her head.

Putting the first magazine down, I picked up the second one. With this one I'd had to fabricate a picture from scratch. I'd never seen such a picture; I doubted one existed until today. It graphically illustrated a concept familiar to everyone who'd ever read stories of cheating, which included both Sarah and I.

Her eyes flicked to the title of my butchered magazine. Not that I thought of it as butchered. Sure, it took ten magazines and looked a heck of a lot like a ransom note but to me it was a work of art I was proud of. 'The Cheater's Handbook'. She looked at it, at my artwork, then at what she'd just been thinking about, and, unbelievably, her skin took on an even greener pallor. She now knew none of her excuses would work. She looked very panicky all of a sudden.

Knowing she now knew I realised that she'd begun a premeditated affair with her boss, and I wasn't going to listen to her excuses, it was time to make her realise I knew exactly what her motivation was. That was the third magazine, again with a completely fabricated cover. 'Looking At The Glass Ceiling While Lying On Your Back', was soon facing its avid audience of one petrified person.

This was followed by a legitimate copied sheet, 'Divorce In 10 Easy Steps', which told Sarah exactly what the consequences of her actions were going to be.

So, in four simple pictures, Sarah knew there was no point denying she was having an affair, that I knew why she was doing it, that we were headed for divorce and none of the standard excuses was going to affect the outcome one iota.

I could see when I glanced her way that the recognition of her doomed marriage was sinking in. But she was a fighter if nothing else and it just wasn't in her nature to give up without the knowledge she'd expended 110% of her effort. I saw her tap on Peter's arm, trying to attract his attention from his phone. That's when the fifth and final magazine appeared, "How Likely Is A Murder Conviction When No Body Has Been Found'.

At that point I decided I'd had my fun, finished my drink and began to pack up my props. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Sarah had finally been successful in gaining Peter Shithead Walker's attention, he glanced over and suddenly looked as sick as her. I stood, put a final card, end up, on the table and walked out. The card would read, from their direction, 'Mrs. Walker, we need to talk".

As I strode toward the exit, I saw him hurrying after me via the fancy mirror by the restaurant door. Sarah stayed at their table. As he rushed into the lobby, I was just turning into the corridor that led to the meeting rooms. I turned the first corner then spun and waited. I had no idea as to his fighting abilities, shit, he might have a black belt in karate for all I knew, so as soon as he came round the corner, at speed, I planted my gnarled fist straight in his face. He went to ground, curled into a ball and moaned, blood pumping between his fingers. I stepped over him and headed to the elevators and my room.

Ten minutes later I saw an ambulance turn up, but no police car. Thirty minutes after that I saw Sarah check out before dragging her suitcase toward the hotel parking station. If I knew these people as well as I thought their plan was predictable. Sarah was to follow me home, beg, plead or threaten me to not go public and telling Shithead's wife, while he stayed here and tried to salvage the deal.

Me, I returned to my room, opened the bottle of bourbon I'd bought, turned my phone off and had as pleasant an evening as possible in the circumstances.

EPILOGUE

I wandered down to the ground floor for lunch the next day. The door of the meeting room was open, all personal gear was gone, and the cleaning staff were doing a deep clean. I hoped that meant my plan had worked. In her hurry to leave, Sarah had either decided to leave her laptop behind or had been unable to get in the door with the doctored lock. Shithead had taken over the presentation after gaining access to the room. Two slides after re-starting the presentation, the bunch of slides I'd inserted cut in on rapid auto play.

The first was a photograph of Sarah and Peter kissing in the lift two nights before, with the caption 'Sarah and Peter'.

The second was of twenty-four condoms and a packet of Prevenar on a bedspread. The caption of this one read, 'Sarah came prepared for a week with her boss'.

The third was a double, a photo of me on the left and a photo of Peter's wife, from her Facebook page, on the right. They were of course labelled, 'Sarah's husband and Peter's wife'.

The fourth and last slide said, 'Do you really want to do business with people like this?' I'd timed the presentation at a mere eight seconds, hopefully too short a time for Peter to turn everything off.

If the vacant room was any indication, the deal was off. Oh dear, how sad, never mind.

I posted a copy of the presentation to Peter's wife from the lobby of the hotel before spending a couple of days seeing the sights.

Sarah didn't expend too much effort trying to avoid divorce. I even got good terms by promising not to reveal to our kids, extended family, and friends Sarah's behaviour. Alimony was a non-starter as she made more than I did. She didn't get fired but I heard a couple of years later that she still hadn't made partner. I did get a pretty heart-felt apology from her, and she was obviously chastising herself for wrecking a good marriage for career reasons.

I'd decided within minutes of finding out about Sarah's intentions that forgiveness wasn't on the table. Sure, I could have stopped her by simply telling her I knew what she was planning but what was the point of that? She either had to decide our marriage was more important than the partnership or we were finished.

And if that decision didn't come out in my favour, taking into account Sarah's negligent behaviour in the last year, and refusal to participate in any actions to reinvigorate it, then that was fine. I'd pursue a relationship with Gayle from the badminton club..., or Mikaela from the golf club... or Joyce or Jane from the bushwalking club or even the new admin girl at work, or....

THE END

Now lighten up...

Your thanks should go to Jim for this one.

Sad news. After seven years of medical training, my good friend has been struck off after one minor indiscretion. He slept with one of his patients and now can no longer work in the job he loves. What a waste of time, training, and money. A genuinely nice guy and a brilliant vet.