Her Roommate Returns! - FTDS

"First of all, thank you for telling me this. It took a lot of courage to come in here and tell me all this. I sure appreciate it."

She smiled wanly and nodded. "I know what it's like to be betrayed. My husband cheated on me on our honeymoon." Jennifer's eyes watered. "I caught him on day three, flew home and filed for an annulment." Wiping her eyes with the heel of her hands, she added, "My ex is a cheatin' bastard, and when I saw what they were planning, I knew I had to tell you."

It stunned me that any heterosexual man would cheat on such a woman. Suppressing that thought, I asked, "So, my wife and him were that blatant? The way they discussed it?"

She nodded. "Not at first. She's a regular customer and had always been by herself or with a coworker. She's never been friendly with me, but I'm okay with that.

"The first time she and the guy came in together, he hardly said a word that I could hear. The next two or three times, though, he started really opening up with her."

"Were they indiscreet about it?"

"Well, around other customers or people who know her, they keep it low-key. You know, real chatty, like straight-up friends. If someone knows her, Angie introduces him as an old friend from college. No physical closeness, but when you watch them, you can tell there's something there."

"Like familiarity, a history between them," I offered.

"Yeah, like that. "But when there's nobody around them, they change and there's an intimacy there. Not loud or touchy, but different, like they really know each other. And strangely, it's like I'm not even there. I could be part of the furniture for all the attention they pay me." The blonde shook her head in amazement.

As we discussed what Jennifer had seen, the pretty blonde seemed more comfortable with the conversation. She told me more things she'd gleaned from hearing them talk. Sometimes, when the shop was busy, Jennifer overheard bits and pieces of everyday conversation. At slower times, while Jennifer "read" nearby, the conversations were often quite enlightening.

She described how Angie chastised Clark for changing his old cell number, forcing her to hire a private detective to find him. Later, a check of our finances revealed six $500 withdrawals from one of our savings accounts over four weeks. That period ended about six weeks before Jennifer approached me.

"She gave him hell for not having any social media and accused him of ghosting her," Jennifer recalled. "Your wife was also surprised when the investigator found him living so near, right over outside of Boerne," she said. "She figured he'd gone back to north Texas where he's originally from.

"I also learned Angie found Clark a truck driving job through one of her good customers. It's at a lumber yard up I-35 towards San Antonio. She helped him get an apartment near there, too." Jennifer smiled when she added, "Angie threatened Clark if he made her look bad by getting in trouble or not showing up for work."

It was apparent that Angie found Clark, relocated him nearby, and got him a job about two months earlier. Her end game was becoming crystal clear.

Going forward from that first day, Jennifer kept me updated on what she could concerning Angie and Clark. I know she missed a lot of their conversation, but from what she heard, there appeared to be a deliberateness, a kind of build-up to what was going to happen. She recounted how the pair teased each other more, made plans about trips and vacations. Planning their future outings together was a major red flag! Angie even handed him wads of cash on two occasions.

"He made a big show of telling your wife he didn't want or need her money, and she made an equally big deal about telling him to 'take it, because there's more where that came from'!" Jennifer hissed.

Beginning the day after she initially approached me, I had my accountant hire a forensic auditor out of Austin to watch my assets and accounts. I didn't tell Jennifer, but the trail of my wife's subtly looting me was already being documented.

I suspected Angie was cheating. If so, according to the prenuptial agreement, she'd essentially leave with nothing. During the first seven years, divorce over infidelity, which is still grounds for divorce in Texas, gives her 10% of only the marital assets acquired during the marriage.

The key to divorcing her without getting hosed was to prove infidelity. Without infidelity, a no-fault divorce brought her 33.3%, or if I was guilty of physical abuse or demonstrable mental cruelty, she walked away with 40%. After seven years, those two were a full 50%.

During this time, I hired a private investigation firm in San Antonio to do some random checks of both Angie and Clark. Nothing fancy - just eyeball, gumshoe surveillance work. All the investigation revealed was that the pair led two separate lives and met for coffee at Cuppa Joe in Wescott three or four times a week.

They monitored calls and texts, and a check of my wife's cell phone bill revealed up to 14 calls a week, averaging 21-minutes. There were very few texts between them, but the pair was probably using WhatsApp or a similar app for messaging. Angie's car was fitted with a GPS, as was his pick-up. They observed Clark spending frequent evenings at a bar near his apartment. Boring and routine and no apparent cheating, except in the non-legal sense.

While I waited for the other shoe to drop, I enjoyed Jennifer's company at my store. Since I was at the opposite end of Main Street from Angie's workplace and the coffee shop, there was little chance anyone would see her coming in. This end of Main saw no through traffic. Instead, it dead-ended at the old MKT train station, which was now a trendy restaurant.

I enjoyed helping Jennifer with some of her college algebra. Spending time with her, I naturally compared her to Angie, whose flaws were becoming more evident every day. It underscored what a self-absorbed, even inconsiderate person my wife was. As the bloom faded, the flaws in the rose showed more and more.

Earlier this week, on Tuesday, she informed me of their plans to pretend they ran into each other downtown and for Clark to come home with her. This puzzled Jennifer, and she wondered if maybe Angie was going to come clean with me. Maybe it was a 'Honey, we need to talk,' moment. From what she'd heard them say, though. she didn't think their showing up at the Pace home would ultimately pass the husband test.

Clarification wasn't long in coming. As Jennifer fixed an order for a customer, Angie went to the restroom. That's when Jennifer overheard Clark say angrily under his breath, "Use a fuckin' rubber, my ass!" It all became clear to Jennifer, and informing me became her top priority.

"Angie said it would be Friday, so neither of them would have to work the next day." That made sense, because Angie's only weekend day off was Saturday. With a sad expression, Jennifer said, "That sounds bad, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Maybe they're going to do something with me there. Or try and keep him overnight. If so, she's lost her mind if she thinks I'll put up with that!" I could only shake my head at that thought. On the upside, this was a perfect chance to get proof of them cheating, whether it was the first time or fiftieth time since they'd reunited.

As a result of that timely information, I had three days' notice and was ready the night the duo finally came home with whatever surprise they intended. Both pretended that it was a chance meeting, and they were convincing. As Angie's behavior became bolder and became an alcohol-fueled excess, I steeled myself for putting the plan into action. Timing was literally everything in this situation.

Per my attorney, I had to clearly indicate to both Angie and Clark that I didn't approve of their actions if they chose to shove it in my face. Helping my cause was the fact that I own the home. So, Texas being a one-party recording state, I could use the six cameras in my home were to record my wife's adultery. One in the family room. Two in the master bedroom. One in the master bath, and one in each of the other two bedrooms.

I was covered when I thought she'd fuck him in my chair in the family room. The seating area is right where that camera was aimed. True to form, though, Angie is a 'fuck me in bed' kinda girl. It pays to know your wife, which in this case, applies equally to knowing one's enemies.

As for my nascent relationship with Jennifer, we are quite compatible, though I'm nearly six years older.

As mentioned, much of Jennifer's motivation to approach me was because of her failed marriage. She married the son of a family friend the June after graduating from high school, and he was cheating on her during the honeymoon in Cancun! She caught him on the third day, took the last seat on the last flight back to Houston, and filed for an annulment when she arrived back home.

Soon after, Jennifer moved to Wescott, where her friend Marcy lived, and started putting her life back together. Part of that was attending community college and working at Cuppa Joe, which is where she crossed paths with Angie.

We ate a decent meal at Long's Truck Stop, and as much as I tried, it was hard to concentrate and be good company knowing what was happening at my house. Jennifer stayed supportive and encouraging. The conversation flowed well, as it always does with us, and a sort of normalcy descended on us, lightening my mood considerably.

The head of every man entering Long's automatically snapped around to where Jennifer sat. Eyes widened, backs straightened and bellies sucked inward. I knew she was stunning, but it became clear to me that Jennifer had a presence about her. Larger than life both metaphorically and literally.

Without thinking, I said, "Your ex, Burt, is a fool, isn't he?" She smiled and blushed. "I mean, honeymoon, day-three!"

She nodded patted my hand affectionately. "Thank you, Dave." She looked wistful and said, "I don't think poor Burt ever grew up. You see, we met this group of older, single ladies there at the resort's welcome party on our first day. There was this redhead, drunk on her ass, and she flirted shamelessly with Burt. In the end, he couldn't say 'no'.

"His sister, Tiffany, told me how Burt explained it to her. I'm not sure I believe him, but he told Tiffany that for the first time in his life, he had a sexy woman come on to him, no strings attached. He couldn't stop himself." I could see the hurt that immediately changed to anger. "That notion is childish and shallow, Dave. A compulsion that's irresistible shows no self-discipline and certainly no respect for their spouse. What he did is pure bullshit!" Her blue eyes flashed angrily.

"Like Angie."

She sniffed angrily. "Yeah, like Angie."

As we drove to her apartment, we chatted about everything and nothing, carefully steering around the rocky shoals of the adultery occurring at the Pace home. Jennifer was about to say something when the hands-free in my F150 rang, and the dashboard display showed 'Angie'. She inhaled sharply quietened.

I refuse to duck a call or delete text messages or voicemails. That's asinine, because anything she says now imparts or reinforces information. In intelligence circles, this is called COMINT, or Communications Intelligence. [hat tip to ANON for correcting]. Text messages are particularly telling of an event, so why not keep read and them?

Before I answered on the third ring, I removed the pocket digital recorder I keep in the compartment between the front seats. I carry it for recording ideas while I drive. The amber record LED was glowing when I hit the 'answer' button on the steering wheel. My voice tight and angry, I answered, "Yes, Angie?"

"Where are you, honey? I got up and saw you were gone. Whyyyy, Davie? Why'd you leeeeave?" Angie whined, her voice thick with alcohol.

"Damn, Angie. If you gotta ask, then you sure weren't paying attention when you pulled fuck-face upstairs. Hell, what you did downstairs was almost as bad."

"Oh, Davie! Don't be so dramatic. Clark has been in my pussy since way before you met me!" She chuckled drunkenly. "It's not like I picked up a stranger or a phone app hook-up. Shit, he's almost like... like family. She chuckled again.

"Your family, not mine. YOU, dear wife, are my family. You have no right to do what you did."

"Oh, Davie... she admonished sharply.

"Stop it! Stop it right now, Angie. 'Davie' is what my mother called me. Nobody else. Call me Dave, David, Mr. Pace or whatever, but you have no right to call me that. Especially that. And especially under these circumstances. You're calling me that to demean me. Call me that again, and it will be the last conversation we ever have!"

"Oh, sorrrr-yyy," Angie said exaggeratedly. "I told you earlier, Daaaaave, that you don't own my fuckin' body, and you have no right to tell me what I can do with it! But come on, there's enough of me to go around for my two guys. You know how I love sex!"

"I didn't agree to be ONE of your guys, and never will. Ever! Marriage is an exclusive commitment, or at least that was my understanding when we got married, and until fuck-face showed up, I was still under that impression, Angie. Think you might've been wise to run this by me before you spread your legs for your old boyfriend?"

Dripping anger, she retorted, "Oh, Dave! Outdated, Medieval bullshit thought up by the church and kings to keep the peasantry in line. Hell, even those motherfuckers in charge didn't believe their own crap, because the lord or noble or whomever got a crack at the newlywed peasant bride.

"There ya go, Angie. Getting your history from romance novels." She was sensitive about her preferred literature. "All I know is that I clearly told you and that shit-stain not to go off and fuck each other, and you did it anyway," I said, my voice brimming with anger. Jennifer took my right hand in hers and squeezed it warmly.

Sensing she'd pushed me too far, Angie said calmly, "Look, Dave. Come home. I'll send Clark home, and we can talk this out. You can even reclaim me." She inhaled sharply. "The thought of that is so fucking hot, I almost can't stand it." There was a muffled sound in the background, and her voice and breathing changed character. "D-Daaave...pleeease come h-h-home."

Jennifer's face registered surprise about the same time I realized that Clark was fucking my wife while we spoke on the phone! I hit the mute button, and Jennifer shouted, "Those shameless, sorry bastards!" She stared at me open-mouthed in surprise.

I unmuted the phone. "Since you're too busy fucking that turd to talk, I'm hanging up now."

"Come h-home, Dave. Please c-come home, ton-night."

"Ain't happenin'. Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. If he's not out of there in ten minutes, we're fucking done!"

The bitch came roaring back. You're not giving me an ultimatum, buster!"

"Sober the fuck up, Angie. Pull your head out of your cheating ass, send him home, and maybe we've actually got a tomorrow, as a couple!" I looked over at Jennifer and shook my head. I was lying to my wife. We were done, unless she cured cancer, rid baseball of the DH and learned to make a decent margarita by sunrise Saturday. Angie already crossed the Rubicon.

Sensing I was digging in my heels, Angie doubled down. "Come home now, Dave! You are my husband, and we need to talk! Home...this fuckin' minute, understand?"

"I'm hanging up Angie. You crossed a line, and if you wanna save this burning, sinking garbage scow, do asI say!"

"You Coming home? You better!" she threatened, her voice less angry, less confident.

"We no longer have a home, Angie. We have a house. You killed Home for us."

The system disconnect when Angie hung up.

Jennifer watched the highway ahead through sad eyes.

I composed myself. Flatly, I said, "She made her bed, Jennifer. Now she's going to lie in it."

"You can't forgive her." It was simple statement, a sign of our growing understanding of each other. Then, just above a whisper, she added, "That's not true. You'll eventually forgive her, or it will eat you up. What I meant, is that sometimes you get knocked down by somebody you love, and you just don't want to get up. Not for them, anyway. They killed what you had." She knew exactly how I felt. Jennifer absolutely knew.

"You described it perfectly. You've walked in my shoes." Jennifer slowly nodded.

With that, the anger drained out of me, and something like relief bubbled up. "Honestly, Jennifer, this marriage has been stumbling since it hit the ground running on our wedding day. My grandparents and other family tried to warm me, but I took their words as if they thought we were better than her family. I knew we aren't like that, but I wanted what I wanted. I'm only now beginning to appreciate the wisdom of those who've come before us.

"She showed me her true colors, tonight. From what you have told me over these several weeks, she's been deceiving me for a while. Maybe always." I squeezed her hand tightly. "Thanks for helping me get in front of this whole crazy mess. Without you, I'd have been blindsided."

She smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Dave. I'm just sorry it happened to you."

After dropping Jennifer at her apartment, I checked into the Sands Motel out on the truck bypass loop, just off loop 255. My room was a standard, second-tier motel room. Two full-size beds, a table and chairs and a television. Cheap, with a good air conditioner. And wi-fi.

--------------------------------

Of course, the wi-fi wasn't connecting, and after 40-minutes on the phone with "Joey" in Mumbai, who had to pass me off to the 'expert', "Ray" in Danang, I was connected to the Internet and, finally to the server where my home surveillance was being recorded.

Even though it was late, I called my lawyer, Buzzy Feingold-Sanchez. He was expecting it. When he found out I was getting ready to view the surveillance video, Buzzy told me that if I wanted to save my marriage, not to view the video. He maintained that knowing about the deed and seeing it in graphic detail were two entirely different things.

"Before you watch the video, decide whether you want to save your marriage. People can come back from all kinds of things, from awful things, but seeing that shit is usually the death blow. You don't have to watch it. I can view the footage and document what we need to fulfill legal requirements.

"So, please trust me, David, seeing and knowing is vastly different. They'll tell you having all these imagined scenes of your cheating spouse playing in your head is torture, but seeing the real thing is much worse! I've heard it from both men and women, 'If I'd only not watched those damn videos!'"

I thanked him, but knew where we were headed. This was my get out of jail free, card. And my cheating wife had dealt it to me right out of the middle of the deck!

Changing the subject, I said, "Get ready to file, ASAP." I looked at my watch and saw it was ten-past midnight, Saturday morning. "No need to work the weekend. I'll hit the bank first thing in the morning and do all the stuff you gave me."

"Call Adam, too," Buzzy reminded me "He can take care of your investments from home. I gave him a heads-up Wednesday after we spoke. He's set it all up, and all he needs to do is pull the trigger. We'll have the forensic auditor start nailing down everything. If she bought Clark William Deering a pack of Pez, I want to know."

Opening the surveillance site, I watched the live feed from the six cameras. There was no activity, but looking at the bedrooms, I was surprised that they'd moved from the third bedroom to the master bedroom.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" I hissed. They were both naked and entwined, and appeared to be asleep. The bathroom light spilled across them in a bright band through the partially open door. The bed was messed up in a very familiar way, and rising anger replaced the heartache that was simmering under the surface.