Conrad and Pamela Winston

"Fuck-fuck-fuck!" she screamed. "What kind of miserable wimp are you. Look what you've done!"

"I—I couldn't help . . ."

"Clean it up you wimpy little shit, and if you're man enough to actually go out, make sure you're home before midnight.

"Fuck!" she screamed again.

I watched, sick to my stomach, as she went upstairs to clean up and change.

It took her another forty minutes for her to repair the damage. She came down, still angry, and shot me a glance that was not real friendly. She stormed out without another word said to me.

I was humiliated, but I was also angry. There was no fixing this one. I had to leave, and I had to do it now. I cleaned myself up a little, but not the floor or anything else. I'd shower later; I had an idea.

She had at least a thousand dollars' worth of cosmetics and women's stuff on her vanity. I pulled the bathroom clothes hamper, and it was nearly full, out next to the vanity. Her red dress was in the sink, rinsed, but not yet cleaned of course.

I dumped all of her dirty clothes—which included some of her delicates on the bed, our bed. Then, I went into the closet and pulled all of her clothes out of that and added them to the pile. Next I got her expensive underwear out of the dresser and added them to the mix. I smiled.

Going back to the dresser I got every kind of spray and liquid I could find. I doused the pile flipping the clothes to get at the stuff underneath as I did so. Then, I peed on the pillows. She'd be able to salvage a lot of it I figured, but it would take some work. Then, suddenly, I had an idea. I was going to be very naughty, oh yeah!

I headed down to the laundry room. I looked around. I smiled. A half-gallon of Clorox would do the trick. I took it back upstairs with me. This was going to be fun. This time I made sure I got the mattress and bed clothes too. I was pretty damn sure that this was one message she would understand.

I remembered the red dress in the bathroom sink. I went and got it. I threw it on the pile, kind of the cherry on top, I thoughts.

Now, I did my thing. I showered, collected stuff that I wanted and needed, loaded my truck, and headed out. Then, it occurred to me. I had no idea where I was going. But, then I did. She'd told me to go out and have fun, but to be home by midnight. It was a little after 8:00PM; I decided to follow her instructions.

The Calaboose was a country western bar and disco that I'd stopped at occasionally. I knew the bartender from high school, Jerry Moncrief. And, a plus, he had Philippine Red Horse on tap; well, he was half Flipp, as he proudly announced to anybody who'd listen, so I guess it made a kind of sense; that he had Red Horse on hand that is.

"Hey, Skip, long time no see," he said, as I commandeered a barstool.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "Decided to do some cruisin' tonight."

"Cruisin'? Ain't you still married to that looker from your college days?" he said. It'd been at least a year since I'd been back to this place, but he remembered Pamela. Sign of a good bartender, I thought.

"Yeah, but not for long. She's out with her boyfriend tonight. We're done," I said.

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

"Got any Red Horse," I said.

"Sure do. Let me get you a draught," he said.

"That'd be a winner," I said.

I began surveying the room. Lots of women, but all of them seemed to be taken. Well, it was my first night out alone in years. I'd hook me up sooner or later, and, if it even mattered, later would probably be best anyway.

Ten miles away, at the Elegance night club, I knew the two of them would be talking. And, I didn't have to guess what their topic of conversation might be. No indeed, it would be about her "asshole, wimp" of a husband; of that I was totally sure. Was I humiliated? Of course, but I was also pulling myself up out of that mess: wimp-city would be staring at my back from now on. I started laughing.

Jerry came back up to my end of the bar. He looked me askance. "Something funny?" he asked. I waved him off; then, I changed my mind and called him back.

"Well, yeah, kinda," I said. "Before I left, I sabotaged all of my wife's clothes. I was just thinking about her likely reaction when she discovers it—smells it."

"Her clothes?" he said.

"Yeah, I poured her makeup and a bunch of other stuff all over them," I said.

"Yeah, well, it ain't gonna be so funny if she catches up with you. Does she know how to shoot?" he said, only half in jest.

"No, I don't think so," I said.

"Well, you better be thinkin' about cutting your financial ties right quick or she will rape your economic ass," he said. I know I paled.

"Jesus, you're right, Jerry. I was so upset that I didn't even think about that stuff. I'll be doing that in the early A.M." I said. "Anyway, I can't do any of that now. Besides, I really am Cruisin' tonight. Actually, my personal whore told me to."

"You know, I think I might have someone you might want to meet. Just broke up with her guy too. He traded her in on some younger fluff," he said. I eyed him.

"Really?" I said.

"Buy her a drink. Then, it's up to you," he said.

"Buy her a drink?"

"Yeah, that's her over there talking to her lawyer," he said. I looked where he was looking. Blond hair, porcelain complexion, great overall package, maybe mid-thirties: I liked what I saw.

What's her name?" I said.

"Helena. She's Russian. Some dude brought her over, married her, and dumped her after two years. She's lookin' to hook up," he said. I saw the lawyer get up and head out: business concluded I supposed.

She was headed for the bar.

"Uh—Jerry, can I get a Red Horse," she said. I liked her taste in brew. I threw caution to the winds.

"Uh—miss? I'm well acquainted with the barkeep here. Let me use my influence if you will," I said. She gave me a look that let me know she thought that I was crazy.

Jerry joined us. "Jerry, please get this lady a horse, okay?" I said, playing the big roll.

"A horse?" she said.

"Yeah, drink a horse, ride a cowboy," I said. She laughed.

"I think you have the lyrics mixed up there, mister . . .?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "Conrad Winston."

"Helena, Helena Cross nee Pavlov; and no I don't have any dogs," she said. I smirked.

"Okay. Me neither," I said.

We talked for some minutes, and I asked her to dance. We did and oh did she feel and smell good. I almost forgot why I was there. I was there to follow my wife's instructions. And, then I thought about her final instruction: to be home by midnight.

Helena had joined me at the bar, and we talked up a storm. Her husband was an asshole, she was alone in a strange land. Resources fast running out, I supposed, and nowhere to turn. I made my move.

"Helena. Any chance I could get a date with you for say next Saturday night?" I said. She smiled.

"I think I could go for that," she said. "But, let's dance some more; it makes me feel human again." And we did dance, several times actually.

We were walking back to our seats at the bar after a particularly grueling chacha.

"Jerry, got a post it I can have—and a pen?" she said.

He handed her the requisite items and she wrote down her numbers and her address. I nodded.

"Great penmanship," I said. "Seven o'clock?"

"That'd be good," she said. "I do have to go now. But, I will be waiting for you on Saturday at seven."

"I'll be there," I said. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and was gone.

It was 11:30PM. I smiled at Jerry. "Jer, I gotta go too. See yuh," I said. He waved me goodbye as he polished a glass.

*****

I parked on the next street over, so she wouldn't see my car. I walked to the house. The lights were still out; she wasn't home yet. I figured to go in and hide out. I wanted to be there when she went upstairs and saw the disaster of her clothes. I had to hear her if not see her.

I was in the laundry room, and I had the door to it closed as it usually was. It was highly unlikely that she would go into it this time of night. She'd use the hamper in the master bedroom's bath for the clothes she'd worn for him tonight. I at least had our little frig in the Laundry room from which to extract beer.

I just couldn't miss her reaction: her surprise and shock. It was me that got the shock.

She'd brought the asshole home with her. I checked my cell it was almost 1:00AM. She'd obviously wanted me here so she could rub my nose it for messing up her dress and delaying her leaving. Now, I actually felt good about what I'd done to her clothes. It figured to mess up the fucking good time that they'd planned for I was sure.

"Aren't you—we—kinda rubbing his nose in it?" said Mr. Pollard.

"Yes, I guess. But, her deserves it," she said. She went quiet. "The mess—on the floor—he didn't clean it up! Well, he fucking will tomorrow!"

"Pamela?" said Pollard after a full minute of nothing having been said. "Pamela, this is a statement." I could almost see, feel, her snorting her anger: mentally listing all of the things she was going to do to me.

"He should be here unless he did go out. Let's go upstairs. The wimpy little shit is probably in bed," she said."

"Boy you are mad," he said. "Remind me never to get on your bad side." I heard her snicker.

"Come on," she said. "We'll use the guest room tonight. He can find us in the morning and cry in his wimpy-assed beer."

"He might object to us going that far," he said. "I mean us doing it here. We should just stick to the plan of having you introduce me."

"He might, but you're six-five and he's five-six. I don't see it as an insoluble problem," she said.

"Look, what you say may be true, but fighting him . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know. I was just kidding. If he cries, I'll offer him your handkerchief. Okay?" she said.

I slipped out the laundry room and headed for the stairs. I'd wait at the bottom of the staircase, out of sight, until I heard the screams. I didn't quite rub my hands together in glee.

"What the fuck!" she screamed.

"Sweet Jesus," said Pollard. "The smell! Your clothes . . ."

"There's ten thousand dollars' worth of damage here. And, look at my makeup table.

"And, he is clearly not here," said Pollard. "He's left you."

"Oh my God!" she wailed. "What am I going to do!" I decided to take my parting shot.

"See yuh in divorce court, dear!" I fairly yelled.

The two of them stormed out of the room and leaned over the upstairs railing.

"Conrad! What have you done!" she screamed at me.

"Gotten a measure of revenge for you doing me like you have. And, I see you intended to show him off in front of me tonight. Shove him in my face. Nice!" I said. "Have a nice fucking life the both of you. No, don't; I despise you; be miserable instead."

I had to get out of there; I was beginning to break up. My glee had evaporated at the sight of her. She was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and now; well, now she was somebody else's. I'd be a long time getting over that one if I ever could."

******

"So, you've broken it off permanently with her," said Helena.

"Yes. There's no going back now. At least I can't think of any way," I said.

"You sound like you wish that there were a way," she said.

"We were married a long time. I would like another chance at her if there were some way to guarantee she'd remain faithful. But—well—there isn't," I said.

"You sound like me," she said. "I'd give my left tit to have my Mr. Cross back, but, he kicked me to the curb for some chickee that will be cheating on in right soon if I know anything about such things. So, I guess I'm of a mind to see Mr. Cross on a cross." She laughed.

"Yeah we are a pair," I said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she said.

"You horny tonight?" I said. She smiled and then laughed outright.

"Let's go. I need it; you need it; we can help each other out," she said.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

The sex hand been good. We were naked, relaxing, and quiet. Each of us was lost in our own little world. She broke the spell.

"Conrad?" she said.

"Hmm," I said.

"I will be moving out of here by the end of the week," she said. "I'm broke. I'll be moving in with a friend. So if we are going to be doing this anymore it'll have to be at your place. I hope that's all right because I love doing you." I looked over at her.

"You wanna stay here?" I asked.

"Well, yes, but I can't afford it," she said.

"Forget moving. If you're amenable, I'll move in here and pay the tab. I mean if you want," I said. "I've been moteling it, and that's getting old. I'll take the second bedroom and that way we'll each have a little privacy; well, except on nights when we don't' want any." I was smiling. She looked at me.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "But . . ."

"Don't fret, girl. You can still date anyone you want. I know you're looking for something permanent; and I'm not sure I can fill that bill. Actually, I know I can't right now. Still, if you and I can date some; it'd sure be good for my ego if nothing else," I said.

"Wow!" she said. "Conrad, I'm not sure about the future either. And, you are very right. Down the line I do want to find me a permanent relationship. And, I feel the same way as you; I mean about needing someone near, more or less steady, to hold on to until I can find that mister wonderful."

"Good, then we have an arrangement," I said.

"We do," she said.

******

Helena and I had been doing our thing for three days before she came at me; no, not Helena—Pamela.

I was looking over some plans with one of my subcontractors when I got a tap on my shoulder.

"Hello, Conrad," she said. I turned.

"Pamela, what are you doing here? And, this is a hardhat area; you're not supposed to be here," I said.

"We need to sit down. It's lunch time and there's Cracker Barrel just down the street. Whaddya say?" she said. I looked over at Rory.

"Rory, I'm going to lunch, okay. Call those guys and tell them we need the materials muy pronto," I said.

"Will do," he said.

"Okay, Pam, let's go," I said. "I am hungry." She nodded, and we headed out on foot for the CB.

We settled into a booth with our waters in front of us.

"Nice dress," I said. "New?"

"Not funny," she said.

"Yeah, well you rubbing your tall, dark, and handsome boyfriend in my face was not funny either," I said. She just gave me a hard look.

"I need you to come home, Conrad. I can't make it alone, and you know that," she said.

"Really, and Mr. Pollard gets to use your body but won't pay your way? Is that about it?" I said.

"Mister Pollard is not my husband; you are," she said.

"That figures to be a temporary thing," I said. "Tell him he doesn't get to use your body anymore unless he pays your way. That oughta get him off the dime."

"Damn it, Conrad, we had an agreement. You promised to let me have my little thing on the side. I promised not to short you, and you said okay for me to have him on a part time basis. You did!" she said.

"I changed my mind. I never really said it was okay either. What I said was that I would try to live with it; but I sure as hell didn't like it," I said. "And, after I saw you dressed to kill for him the other night; well, I realized that there was no way that I was going to be able to deal with it, not even."

"Did you have to ruin my entire wardrobe?" she said.

"Spur of the moment revenge after you insulted me and commanded me to be in by midnight. Your implied 'or else' killed our marriage," I said.

"I said that stuff in anger because you . . .and I didn't insult you!"

"Yeah, threw up all over you. That should have been a clue to you what you playing around on me was doing to me. But, were you bothered by it at all, I mean my state of mind, my emotional upset? Not at all. You just got mad at me, threatened me. But, no more, Pamela, no more. I have my head out of my ass now. So no more! Got it!" I said. "And, you did insult me. You called me a wimpy little shit. Well, I may not be tall, but I'm not the things you called me, not even."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay. I said those things in the heat of . . . Anyway, after I had a chance to look at it, the whole thing, and yes I did talk to Ron about it too, I realized that I was being heavy handed with you. Ron, if it matters, agrees with you. Said I was an asshole rubbing your nose in it like I did," she said.

"Hmm, he and I might be able to get along after all," I said.

"Wouldn't that be something," she said.

"Yeah, wouldn't it: he and I comparing notes about how good 'our' woman is in bed," I said, and that about as sarcastically as it could be said.

"I could live with that if you two could get along," she said.

"Not gonna happen, Pamela. Get that! I said.

"Never say never, Conrad, never say never," she said.

After my little face to face with Pamela, I made a couple of decisions. One, I was going to keep my, Helena's and mine, little apartment for the foreseeable future. Two, I wasn't going to go to the trouble of divorcing her. Unless, I met someone who I did want to marry, there didn't seem to be an upside to actually divorcing my personal whore.

I was just going to be cool and not worry about anything.

******

Helena and I did the dirty three and four nights a week. Sometimes at home, sometimes in the backseat of my car. We weren't an item in the sense of long term, but we were close. Then it ended.

"Conrad, he's come back to me. He's come back and on his knees. We're going to try again," she said. "You sure it's what you want, dear heart," I said.

"I think so," she said. I nodded. We kissed, and I helped her pack. I would keep the apartment; it suited me. She'd be moving in with her Mr. Cross.

"The door's always open, girl . . . I mean you know," I said.

"I know, and I thank you for everything, Conrad, and I mean everything," she said.

And then she was gone. I was alone once more.

My nights were once again relegated to a kind of lackadaisical hunt for companionship. And as to that, my luck couldn't have been worse. Even the prostitutes in the neighborhood were too busy to see me. I wondered how my wife was getting on. Doubtless a whole lot better than me; of that I was more than certain.

******

"We have to do something if we are ever going to get him to be my willing cuckold," said Pamela.

"Yeah, well I'm thinking that you're dreaming," said Ronald. "He's never going to be happy with you fucking me or anyone else. Too straight laced for that kind of thing."

"If we could get him to swing . . ."

"Yeah, well as I recall he's already told you no to that idea," he said.

"Yes, but that's because he doesn't think that other women will want him. He's shy of all damn things," she said.

"They probably wouldn't want him. I mean he's short; his dick is marginal, his skills non-existent; oh and yes, he's a nice guy," said Ron.

"He got me?" she said.

"Yes, when he was much younger and doubtless a whole lot better looking than now," he said. "Look, I like the guy; well, what I know about him. But his confidence level is way too low for him to get many women to want to do him. He's got his fucking emotional baggage hanging on his sleeve so that anyone can see it—not a turn on. It's the way it is."

"Maybe, but I have an idea, and you're going to help me," she said.

******

Work-work-work: that was my gig. With my wife history, with Helena gone, I still had the five sisters to keep me company, but after a while they kinda lost their allure. But then, a tiny bit of luck; I guess it was luck. My ex decided it might be time to throw me a leaky life preserver. She catches me on a barstool stirring my beer with a straw—nobody does that; well, nobody who's conscious of the world around himself does.

"How yuh feelin', Conrad," said Pamela, coming up behind me and startling the piss outta me. "What are you doing with that straw?"