It's a Jungle Out There

Jasmine became bored quickly. She kept pestering me while I tried to work. On our second day there I snapped at her to allow me to work. This pissed her off. Much later I reflected that I should have known she wouldn't enjoy this experience.

Driving back on Friday I tried to apologize.

"Jasmine," I began, "I am so sorry that I yelled at you. That wasn't fair of me. I guess if you're not working on something, like I was, it would be kind of boring."

She sat silently in the seat next to me, arms crossed, a negative look on her face gazing out the window.. Finally she replied.

"Kind of boring!" She said.

At least she said something.

"Jaz, honey," I said, "please forgive me. I think one of the things that always attracted me to you is that you are different from me. We have different interests. You have shown me a side of life that I may have never known without you." I continued. "I accept that we are different and have different ideas about life. I think this will make us stronger together."

"Do you really mean that?" She asked.

I was overjoyed that her bad mood was lifting.

"Of course I do Jasmine,"I said, "More than anything I want you to be happy."

Little did I know then what her interpretation of my last statement would mean.

Over the next week or so before I went back to Blackstock we got along great, like early marriage great. We made love frequently, we didn't argue, Jasmine seemed more upbeat than she had in a long time. The morning I left for Blackstock she gave me an enthusiastic blow job as a farewell. I felt like our relationship was back moving in the right direction.

I decided I would try to stay more connected with her while I was gone and not get overly absorbed in my work. The problem was she didn't answer my phone calls. I called her twice Wednesday night, Thursday morning and Thursday evening. I finally reached her mid-morning on that Friday.

"Hullo," she croaked into the phone, it was clear I had woken her.

"Jasmine!?" I exclaimed. "Are you still sleeping?" I asked.

"Huh, no I'm getting up." She mumbled into the phone.

"Jasmine, you have morning classes," I said, "what are you doing still in bed." I asked.

"I guess I don't feel too great." She told me.

I didn't accuse her of it, but she sounded more hungover than anything else. I was angry with her. She wasn't taking her studies seriously. I kept quiet and disengaged telling her I'd see her when I got home that night.

That night was a little tense, not the carefree mood we had experienced before I left. I was mad and she acted odd, almost guilty about something. Try as I might, I couldn't get either of our moods aligned correctly.

One night I even suggested we go to Papaya for a drink and an early dinner, knowing that she enjoyed that scene. Jasmine surprisingly was not in favor of this. She seemed to love the atmosphere at Papaya. I wondered why she was opposed to this.

Fairly soon I was back at the farm in Blackstock. This time when I called Jasmine she did answer, but she never wanted to talk very long. She was pleasant when I returned on Friday but something was off. I couldn't quite figure out what was wrong. I believed she was happy with our marriage, but we were just off track.

Over the next week and a half I tried hard to get our relationship back going in the right direction. I was overly solicitous. I overlooked some of her lack of discipline on certain things, like her schoolwork. I brought her flowers and other small gifts. I was trying hard to make my marriage work.

And though there were glimpses of the positive loving married relationship we once had, it did not sustain. Driving home one night a few days before I was to head back to Blackstock I suddenly had this thought. Jasmine seemed bored with our marriage.

I had to think about that.

Over my three days at Blackstock I thought of what I could do to get her more engaged. And then I thought of our honeymoon in Cancun. I remembered the carefree days of sunshine, beaches, swimming pools, and great sex. Lot's of great sex. This was just the thing I thought. This could jump start the marriage and get us back on track.

Friday morning I got up early and got all my work done at the farm. I left just after one PM. I was excited to surprise Jasmine with the news about our trip. It would be like a second honeymoon. I very rarely spent money on anything and certainly not on something like this. She will be very surprised.

When I arrived at home I took my bag up to the apartment, Jasmine wasn't there. I knew Friday her classes were in the morning, maybe she was working at Papaya, so I walked down to the bar.

I stood in the doorway between the coffee shop and the bar looking for Jasmine. I didn't see her, but then I heard her. I knew her laugh. On the far side of the bar I saw her. And what I saw I didn't like.

She was sitting on the lap of some dude, arms around his neck. I walked up until I was right behind her. She was turned away from me, but the tattooed dude was facing me.

"Help you?" The dude said to me.

I didn't say a word, I just stood there. All of a sudden Jasmine turns her neck to see who the guy was talking to. She had a half smile on her face as she turned. That smile quickly evaporated. Jasmine abruptly stood and disengaged from the lap she had been sitting in.

"Owen!" she said with great alarm. "I, I, thought you wouldn't be home until later," she stuttered.

"Obviously." I said and turned to exit.

"Owen, wait, please," she said, "this is just my friend Jerome. We're old friends." She told me.

I continued walking, Jasmine caught up and grabbed my arm to stop me. I yanked it back away from her. My pent up anger likely made me react strongly, and Jasmine stumbled.

Just then her brother, Claude appeared. His two meaty hands grabbed my lean upper arms.

"What the fuck's going on?" He asks me, his face tilted sideways, angry and confrontational.

"None of your business," I say to Claude, and move to disengage from him, but his grip was too much.

"It looked like you just knocked my sister down," he hissed at me. "That makes it my business."

"Claude," Jasmine said, "it's okay. It's just a misunderstanding, Owen didn't mean to, I just slipped." She told him.

He held my arms for another moment and then released me. All of a sudden a small smile appeared on his face. He reached up and brushed imaginary dust off my shoulders and then gave me an aggressive pat on the back.

"Okay," he said, "my bad. I just want to make sure my little sis is okay," he said. And when he said that he looked back at me, the smile absent for that beat, his eyes giving me a quick hard look.

"Owen, come on," Jasmine said, "Let's go upstairs."

Reluctantly I went, but as we climbed the stairs my mind swirled with images. Jasmine's laugh, her arms around the guy, the comfort she had sitting on his lap, and finally the interaction with Claude Francis. The only way I could interpret his message to me was as a threat.

Our discussion of the incident was pointless. She just maintained her innocence while I had a completely different understanding about how a married woman should act.

Over the next several weeks our relationship was on eggshells. For the first time I began thinking that perhaps the marriage was a mistake. Where originally I thought our differences would make us stronger I began to question that hypothesis.

On the other hand Jasmine seemed to work harder at the marriage. She was more affectionate, both sexually and otherwise. She acted more interested in what I was doing, my work, my family, etc. Before these subjects seemed to bore her.

I knew that her interest may not truly be genuine, but I also appreciated the effort. It was clear that Jasmine valued the marriage and did not want it to end. This was a start I thought.

One thing that did bother me was that all of a sudden this Jerome character seemed to be around the bar a lot more. I have already said that our apartment was in the same building as the bar just a few flights up. To get to the apartment stair entrance you walked down an alley between Papaya and the building next door. This alley was the designated smoking area. Smoking was banned inside the bar.

Occasionally I would see this guy Jerome out in the alley smoking these long thin black mcigar like things. Not a cigarette, but definitely not a big thick cigar. I didn't know enough about tobacco products to know what they were called.

When I'd see him neither of us would ever speak, but he'd give me a funny little smile as I walked by, almost taunting. One time I saw him with a small group all smoking, Jerome with the skinny cigar thing. Once again he gives me the smirking look and I ignore it. But once I had passed the group I heard them all laugh in unison, as if the butt of some joke had just been told.

As much as I loved my lab work on the farm I began to dread the trips. My trust for Jasmine had certainly slipped and many negative images would cloud my imagination while I was gone. When I'd arrive home on Friday evenings I was always slightly nervous about how I may find Jasmine. So far though, other than the incident with Jerome, I had no reason to doubt Jasmine. But my suspicion continued.

This particular Friday I arrived home and saw that Jasmine was working at Papaya. All seemed under control. I trudged up the steps to the apartment. Upon entering I noticed it was cold inside, I saw two windows open and the outside air cooled the rooms. Thinking nothing of it, I closed them.

I sat for a moment thinking. This travel was having an effect on my marriage. I began contemplating talking to my supervisor about changing my schedule. I was dwelling too much on what may be happening while I was gone. I needed to stop thinking such negative thoughts.

As I unpacked I decided I would stow my travel bag under the bed. My thought was that the bag was a reminder of my travels and I wanted to minimize these thoughts. Under the bed would be out of sight and hence, out of mind. I bent down and in the dim light pushed my bag beneath the bed.

I noticed something was disturbed on the other side of the bed. I walked around and saw a small dark cylinder. Rodent droppings I wondered at first? But as I looked closer, suddenly, I realized what I was seeing. And that explained the open window.

It was the stub of a thin black cigar or cigarette. And the only one I'd ever seen smoking these was Jerome.

I pulled my bag out, turned my IPhone flashlight on and inspected. As I examined the area underneath the bed, other than some dust, it was empty. But the stub was telltale.

I sat for some time thinking. It was more than likely that Jerome had been in our apartment while I was gone. And it was more than likely he'd been somewhere near our bed. And, it didn't take great imagination to speculate what that likely meant.

I continued to think about the situation. In the community I was raised in, you rarely heard of this type of thing happening much. People didn't seem to sneak around. There was an honesty that you could rely on in the environment I grew up in. I wanted to believe that Jasmine was faithful, but I wasn't stupid. I needed to know for sure.

Through my sadness I began to develop a plan.

Jasmine texted me and told me she would be done with her shift at eight o'clock and we decided we'd walk down the street for pizza when she was done. I had to act as if nothing was wrong.

At Marnella's we sat and discussed our day together. I gave no hint that I had any suspicions of her dishonesty. We reviewed what we had been doing and the events of our past two days apart. I was telling her about some of the far from interesting events at the agricultural lab at the farm. I noticed her drift into a state of relaxed boredom. Out of the blue I asked her.

"Hey Jaz," I began in a calm offhand voice, "why were the windows open in the apartment?" I asked.

Immediately she tensed up. Her relaxed posture had changed. She looked at me, eyes wide, mouth open, no words coming out. I innocently looked back at her. No anger or incrimination in my expression.

"I, uh," she began, "I guess I was hot and I wanted to cool off." She said and her inflection even started to tail off nearly like a question. As if she was asking if I believed her or not.

Still playing the roll I continued my innocent expression.

"Oh okay," I said as if in agreement with her logic.

After I said this I saw her noticeably relax, she even exhaled what nearly sounded like a "whew", when she thought I had accepted her explanation of the windows. But her guilt had flashed plainly during the short topic of the open windows and while we sat discussing the events of our days another part of my brain was working on the next step in my plan.

On Monday in my office at the university I did something I could never have imagined I would have to do in my life. I called a private investigator. It was actually a little embarrassing to explain the situation. I finally found someone that could see me fairly quickly and we made an appointment for Tuesday afternoon at a coffee shop on the other side of town.

His name was Paul Gamble. He was far from any type of glamorous PI from a television show. He looked like a kindly older uncle, weathered face lined with wrinkles, gray crew cut, sad downturned eyes, and slightly overweight.

He told me he'd retired from the Wichita police force four years ago and started his small investigation business.

I explained to him the circumstances of my suspicions.

"So you think that anything that may be happening, happens when you are at this farm?" He asked as he took a sip of coffee.

He had a small spiral notebook and made occasional notes.

I nodded.

"Can we get into the apartment some time when your wife isn't around?" He asked.

I told him, yes, and I would find out what her schedule was and make plans based on that.

He told me, based on the facts I'd given him, that the most efficient and least expensive way to handle the investigation was to place wireless cameras in the apartment. If that didn't work he could try other avenues, including following her.

"That can get expensive," he told me, "let's start with the electronics and see what happens."

After finding out Jasmine's schedule we determined Thursday afternoon would be the best time for Paul and I to have private access to the apartment. I told him I would meet him there at three PM.

Paul had these tiny wireless cameras. I was concerned that Jasmine may notice them but they really were quite small. The apartment wasn't that big so we only needed to place three of them. The main room, the bathroom, and of course the bedroom.

"I've got the base unit at my office," he told me. "The camera's are dormant unless there is movement and then they begin recording. They have fair battery life but I'm not going to activate them until next Wednesday when you head back to the farm." He added.

I nodded.

After Paul left I first became nervous and then sad. I remembered how positive I was that marriage to Jasmine would be the right thing. I recalled my dad telling me, in so many words, that if I felt strong enough about her to sleep with her, then I should feel strong enough to marry her. And at that moment that made perfect logical sense.

And if the woman that I was with was one of the girls I grew up with in Benton his logic would've applied, but Jasmine wasn't like those girls. At first I liked that she was so different. It gave her an exotic contrast from the more plain girls from Benton.

But, as I was learning, there just may be a steep price to pay for that exotic difference.

Tears dried, face washed, I assumed my easy going trusting demeanor. I was going to have to put on a good act over the next week.

I must have pulled it off because there were no significant reactions to my behavior and all seemed normal. I did notice Jerome once leaving Papaya as I was coming home, he didn't see me.

Driving to the farm that Wednesday morning I was full of anxiety. I literally prayed that Paul would find nothing from his spy cameras and our marriage would go on. I began having thoughts of Jasmine and I moving, buying a house, and raising a family. And then I would flash to that dark, thin cigar butt under my bed and there was really only one logical explanation for that.

These were the thoughts that swirled through my brain over the next three days. I kept my phone conversations with Jasmine brief. Nearly hourly I had the urge to call Paul and get a report on what he had recorded. Finally Friday morning I nervously called him. I got voice mail. An hour or so later I got a text from Paul:

'Out of town until Sunday, let's meet up Monday whenever you are available'

I read the message with a mixture of feelings. Primarily I wanted to find out the truth but I also had temporary relief that I would not know anything potentially bad for a few extra days. My anxiety increased.

That weekend I must have been behaving strangely. I was nervous, unfocused, and not nearly as affectionate as I normally was after being separated from Jasmine for a few days.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

I nodded, yes, everything was fine. But I could feel the falseness of the positive expression. I assumed she most likely saw it too.

Finally, after an uncomfortable weekend I met with Paul at the same small coffee shop. I tried to judge what the results may be of the investigation by his expression, but his face was blank.

I sat across from him, he had a tan file folder in front. We made eye contact for a minute, and then with a deep sign he pushed the folder across to me.

"Owen," he began, "it's not good. I've got more pictures and some video if you want, and you may need it later, but this," and he nodded toward the folder, "will tell you all you need to know."

At first I just stared at that folder, afraid to open it. Finally I couldn't shake the trembling of my hands as I opened the file. There were six photos. Jasmine embracing Jerome in our living room. Jasmine topless with Jerome's mouth on her breast. Jerome and Jasmine naked on our bed! Jasmine sucking his average sized penis. Jasmine on top of Jerome, his penis buried inside her. And finally Jerome taking her from behind hands firmly on her breasts.

I sat there, oblivious to Paul's presence, with graphic confirmation of my wife's adultery. And though tears welled up in my eyes a new emotion was emerging. I was becoming angry. I wanted to kill Jerome and somehow punish Jasmine too.

Paul must have observed this transformation in me, he reached across the table and clapped my arm.

"Listen son," he began, "I know you're upset. Anyone would be, but don't do anything stupid. In my years on the force I've seen plenty of people ruin their lives over things like this. You need to think about your next steps carefully." He added.

And little by little what Paul said to me started to make sense. I needed to develop a plan. As much as I wanted physical retribution I didn't want to ruin my life. I sat there feeling all the love I ever had for Jasmine turning to stone..

"Not sure what you're planning on," Paul quietly said, "but if you're thinking you need a lawyer I've got a recommendation for you. Also if you decide to go down the road to divorce I have something else for you. I hesitate to call it good news, but in this state adultery is grounds for divorce. It might make it easy if you decide to go that route."

I sat and thought about what Paul had just said. In my mind there was no doubt. I couldn't stay married to Jasmine. Even if I did forgive her for Jerome, I doubted I could ever trust her. No, divorce was my only option.

I thanked Paul, paid him, and then asked for the name of the lawyer.