Hotel Intervention

HOTEL INTERVENTION

(A short story of loving spouses.)

I am not the type of person that plots long range. My name is Bob Miller. I'm a reaction sort of guy. So, when I saw my wife's car -- a blue Mercedes sedan -- pull into the Marriott, I began walking toward her from my own seat on a park bench across the street. She was supposed to be at her sister's house, thirty miles away.

As I walked, I saw an SUV pull in next to her car. It was one I recognized, not because the vehicle was distinctive, but because it had a Penn State sticker and vanity plates -- PSU 100. Since we were in Virginia, both stood out. The car belonged to Max Beyer, a co-worker of mine at HMD Consulting. He got out of his car, and my wife, Joyce, walked to him. They joined arms and headed toward the main door.

I walked to a side door, entered, and observed them at the check in desk. I sidled by and stopped at the lone elevator lobby. I leaned back on the wall at the far end, behind a potted plant, and waited. There were no ground floor rooms at this hotel, and the restaurant was located past the lobby. If they were having lunch, I'd see them pass by.

They weren't having lunch. The two of them rounded the corner, arm in arm. They were engrossed in each other. Max pushed the up button, and wrapped his arm around Joyce. There was a ding, and an elevator opened. The two of them stepped inside. I hopped quickly toward the car and waved my hand between the doors to keep them from closing. Imagine their surprise when I stepped in. The doors closed before anyone spoke.

"What floor?" I asked this in a polite tone.

"Bob!" Max was stymied.

"That's me all right. How's it going?" I was still polite. No one had pushed the button. I reached back and stabbed the one for the sixth floor -- top floor. The doors closed. Joyce hadn't uttered a word.

I looked at them both. "I assume that you are headed upstairs to fuck."

No immediate response. Joyce was looking down, and I saw she was crying, silently. The elevator started up. Max was sending darting glances at the walls of the elevator. He should have been looking at me, though.

I stepped quickly to him, shoved my left forearm under his chin, lifted, and pinned him to the elevator wall by his neck. I pressed hard. He flailed, but I was too close on him for that to do any good. I let him hang far a few seconds, then I kneed him in the nuts. He wasn't in any position to defend that.

There was a big "ooof" out of him.

Joyce shouted, 'Stop. Stop, Bob." She had come alive, at least to a degree. She started shoving at my shoulder. I kneed Max again.

"Each time you touch me, I'll hurt lover boy here." She stepped back.

"Let him go, Bob. We...we..can talk about this." She was still crying, and she looked frightened. Max's head was lolling onto my arm now. He had lost consciousness.

I let him drop to the floor. He was breathing.

The elevator reached the sixth floor and the door opened. The elevator announced, "Sixth Floor."

"Is this your floor, Joyce?" I was again speaking politely. She didn't respond. I pressed the button for two. The doors closed. She had a wide-eyed look of absolute terror.

"Perhaps you'd like to explain why you're here, and not at Mildred's house."

"You know why. I don't want to explain. You hurt him." She was almost whispering, and tears were running down her face, ruining her make up. Too bad.

"That's true. But I didn't kill him.....yet." Still calm and polite in tone. 'Or you, for that matter."

She looked at me. She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

"What room are you in?" She hesitated. "Now, tell me now!"

"Two ten."

The door to the elevator opened. We were on two. No one was in the hallway. I picked up Max, slung him over my shoulder. I grabbed her hand. I walked around the corner, saw room two ten on my left.

I pointed. "Open it." She did. I pushed the door open, dragged her in, and dumped Max on one of the double beds.

"Now that we have more privacy, most anything can happen. You understand?"

"Yes. Bob, I'm sorry. I got carried away. But nothing happened. I swear. This was going to be the first time. Nothing happened. Don't hurt him any more. You'll get in trouble. You may lose your job."

"I have absolutely no reason to believe anything you say. And I don't. You've already fucked him. He's gonna die. Maybe you as well."

"Bobby, I swear on my life. Oh, please, don't."

Max stirred. I filled a glass of water from the bathroom sink. I tossed it into his face.

He sputtered. He opened his eyes. He closed them again, and groaned.

"What's up, fuckhead? Don't feel so great? Still wanna fuck my slut wife?"

"Bob.......I apologize. She's....you know....sexy."

"Max, I want you to tell me, right now, all of what happened. And remember, I'm here. I know what I know -- enough to head you off here. If you lie, I will punish you very severely."

I turned to Joyce, who was starting to talk..."Shut the fuck up, bitch. One word and I'll knock you right out." She shut her mouth.

I turned back to Max. "Remember, just one lie, and it's over for you."

"I...was attracted to her when we met at your summer party. I tried to come on to her. She pushed me away, but I thought she seemed interested. I kept at it. She......started to flirt.

"When did you first fuck?" I spoke sternly.

"We never. This was it. Just a few dances. A...a...a blow job. Just once."

"When? Where?"

"In my car. We drove to the overlook. It was over fast. I'm sorry. Last week."

"Did she swallow?"

"Yes. I think so. It was dark."

"I did not swallow!" Joyce was worked up.

"Just sucked, then?"

Joyce stepped back. She had a stunned look on her face. "I..." She started to cry again, this time with sobs.

"So, Max. I believe I'll have to tell you wife about this. No other way. Maybe she and I can share.......our divorce lawyer."

"Bob, I have kids. Can we just forget this? I swear I'll never try anything again."

"Sorry. It'll come out in the divorce, anyway."

"Bob," Joyce sobbed, "we can get by this. We can have a long, happy marriage, with kids and all. I messed up. But I love you."

"I don't figure to see much of you, Joycie. I'll just leave the two of you now."

I spoke to Max. "Fuck her if you want to. She's no wife to me. A slut, cocksucker."

I walked out. They didn't follow. I went across the street, sat back on the bench where I first saw Joyce's car. I had been early for my appointment. Assignation, really.

Maryanne Beyer strolled up to the bench and sat down next to me.

I gave her a kiss. We stood and walked to the Holiday Inn behind us. On the way we spoke.

"You know, I saw our spouses headed into the Marriott. Just now." I said this with a chuckle.

"What did you do?" She seemed avidly interested.

I described to her my interactions with her husband and my wife.

"Well," she said, taking my arm, "we can use the same lawyer."

And they did.