Just Once... Is All It Takes

Kalimaxos wrote the template "Just Once... If You Don't Mind" offering it up as an opportunity for others to write the ending. There really is only one direction the story could go unless you accepted a forced open marriage scenario, which isn't my usual cup of tea. For me, it was a matter of what price the pound of flesh would be. Please read the original and give the author fair marks. I am picking up where the author left off.

My usual disclaimers apply; if you don't like it, pay me to write your story. I'll take $1.00 a word.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"What do we do? Well, that's quite a question, isn't it, Leslie. I've just had the end of my marriage handed to me and to be honest I don't think it sets the stage for a seduction, do you?"

I looked at her struggling to reply before she pushed the words and syllables out of her moist lips. In another universe, maybe... not this one.

"Rick, you would seriously end your marriage over this? I know Marcy loves you and, my God, if there was ever the perfect picture of a couple."

I looked at her incredulously as I walked over to the fireplace mantle and picked up the wedding portrait next to the family picture with the kids when they were still in high school. The back of the frame held the stiff board keeping the photo in place and with a quick swipe, I tossed it aside and held the portrait in my fingers.

"This is a perfect picture, isn't it? I've always said Marcy looked absolutely radiant in this. Of all our wedding pictures, this has always been my favorite by far."

Leslie stared at me with just a tinge of sadness, a spark of humanity trying to take root in the walking corpse of a bartered whore. Oh, she is a beautiful woman by any measure and were the circumstances different I might take great pleasure in an evening with her. She might even be sincere but she will never wash away the taint of a grand conspiracy with the woman in Bogata. No, there's no chance of that.

"The thing is, Mrs. Nielsen, I've come to the quick conclusion that Marcy has completely forgotten who and what I am. Maybe I'm to blame for some of it, who knows, maybe a lot of it but a perfect picture of a couple?"

I struck one of the long wooden matches we use to start the tinder and held it to the corner of the portrait watching the small yellow flame snake up the side until the sting of its heat sent it flying into the fireplace. It was the strangest thing. The flame consumed most of the picture and died out leaving just my face. Providential, I suppose.

"I certainly thank you for walking this letter over to me but Marcy underestimated things when she offered up my bones for your consumption. I'm going to pass on the offer, however gracious it might be. The Muscato was a nice touch, though.. My favorite."

We both knew the social hour was over and I walked her to the door.

"If you ever change your mind, Rick." She smiled at a vixen's trap.

"I'll keep it in mind but I'm sure it's not likely. Give my regards to your husband."

The door closed to a frighteningly loud silence as I glanced at the ashes in the firebox, the lipstick on the wine stem, the picture frame on the ottoman. In spite of the front I put on for Leslie, the weight of dread was crushing my spirit. I picked up the wine bottle, walked out the back door and heaved it to the other side of the yard before turning to the little cabinet above the fridge where a full fifth of booze waited with devilish glee.

It was the meanness of it, the callous cuckoldry shoved right in my face frosted with the nonchalance of 'meh'. That booze became my best friend that evening, right down to the last drop when my face hit the couch cushion with a soft thump and I ended up on the carpet for the rest of the night.

Morning was no better. I was still alone, stinking from the night before and to kick me when I'm down again, there was no coffee. I did have plenty of Marcy's tea and made the best of it but the weight was still crushing. When the liquor store opened up, I replenished with a case of Woodford; no cheap shit for this soldier, and called into work. I was in no shape to consult and might never be.

That was the routine for the next few days, get shit faced, eat whatever was in the freezer and do it all over again. On the fifth day, I took out the trash and went for a long run, pushing myself and the sun was shining again. When my dad lost his 1st wife to cancer when they were both young, he did something that made a lot of sense to me, especially now. He mourned for several days and burned the grief out of his system. Of course the loss took a long time to heal for him but the burning hurt was gone; he could get on with his life.

I suppose that's how I looked at my marriage in some respects; it was like a spouse had died. It was that fucking letter that blew it to kingdom come and ripped my soul with it's cruel disregard. Now, it was time to act and leave no doubt in anybody's mind who and what I was. Rick Weston is a man, not a cuckold and I'm a goddamn soldier and I'm not taking this shit!

Fuck, if that didn't feel good. Of course I'm not a murderer or a thug who is going to rain special ops hell on a couple of miscreants shacking up in Bogotá but I don't have to take it sitting down either or maybe I was all of those things. The sum of my call with Marcy and her goddamn insulting letter was worth a few pounds of flesh in my opinion and it needed to be peeled off of at least two people and I know some folks...

When I finished out my active duty with twenty eight years so I could be at home for the kids in their last two years in High School, INSCOM out of Fort Belvoir worked it out with G2 command to allow me to work my thirty years off with a stint in the Reserve unit assigned to the post. I was two years into it now with another four to go but the attraction for me other than getting to my thirty years service was that I could go in once a month and a couple weeks a year to hook up with the guys in my old unit.

One of the 'guys' was LTG Laura Porter who was now U.S. Army Deputy Chief of Staff of G2 Operations with responsibility for US SOUTHCOM. Diedre Kiel had been working CIA liaison duties in Miami for SOUTHCOM when I retired and as far as I knew she was still there. When people tell you it's a small world, they don't know how small until they realize how close the CIA's operation in the capital of Columbia is to the U.S. Army command in Miami and G2 in Fort Belvoir.

"Deidre" was all I said when she picked up her desk phone.

"Rick Weston? Oh my God! How are you? What's it been, two, no three years now?"

I have to admit it was comforting and pleasant to hear her voice again. While we had that one discretion together, we both held the other in the highest regard and she always was the first one I could confide in when the need arose. We chatted back and forth for a bit before I got to the meat of my call.

"Marcy told me you visited her and told her about us." I embellished the story a bit but I was also fishing.

"Fuck, no way! Rick, I did pop in for a quick visit but only to let her know you were doing great, I had your six and that she had a wonderful husband who would be home soon. I didn't tell her a thing about what happened between us. I would never do that."

One thing was certain with Deidre; she was a straight shooter. If she said she didn't,

she didn't and it meant Marcy was lying and given the circumstances, I'd take a CIA spook's word over my wife's any day. I went ahead and told her the whole story not glossing over a thing.

"Does Porter know all this?" She asked. "No way." I replied.

Laura Porter was working field ops out of Kuwait when her husband lost his fucking mind and started up with a nineteen year old intern working out of his division back home and ended up knocking her up. The girl gave birth to twins and the University she programmed out of sued both the stupid ass and his company costing the family everything they had saved for ten years. On top of that, the girl sued him for eternal child support and six figure damages for sexual harassment of a subordinate. He settled out of court. Laura settled him out of the country; nobody knows where he is.

"I don't want anybody killed. Other than that, I don't care." I said when we finished our long chat. "And, whatever the case, please do not bring Porter into this."

"Rick, when the shit settles down on this, I'd like dibs."

I pretended I didn't know what she meant. We left off without my being further involved. She'd tell me about it over drinks in Miami.

It had been a couple weeks since my call with Marcy and I had heard nothing from her. The boss at work had pointed me to one of the partners at a law firm he used when he went through his divorce a few years earlier and the meeting with him was pretty anti-climatic; We're a no-fault state and all the joint owned property is split 50-50. She has her own retirement as good as my own and makes enough so that alimony is out of the question. It was all a matter of liquidating and moving on so that is what I put into motion.

Our bank accounts are joint owned and the house is paid for as are all the vehicles. With the kids both out of the house, we were essentially financially fit for life at this point. It was all a matter of placing the assets in two piles and walking away with one of them. I looked at the recent assessment of the house we had done when Kyle left for college and decided to make the decision for Marcy on my own. She could have the house and I'd take the balances in the cash and savings accounts excluding her 401K. That would cover my 50% of the accounts plus half the equity in the house.

We had already funded the college expenses for Kyle so by the time I made all the shifts in assets I had a bit over $500K in cash and the lawyer worked up a quick claim deed transferring my interest in the house to Marcy; not much for twenty something years of fucking married bliss.

The attorney had the separation papers and divorce action worked up and filed at the County Clerk's office with the plan being to serve her when she returned to the airport. It was all set up and done and all I had to do was wait and watch... IF I wanted to.

It was a couple weeks after I had all my belongings, tools and such put in long term storage. After I had a talk with Kyle and his sister Rhonda about the divorce and the reasons for it, everything began to jell together. Marcy was due back in a week and I kicked off the last piece of my response to Marcy's six week run of the 'Just Once' show.

"Weston, you've already completed all but one of the four War College courses. You had those wrapped up when you made O-5. You can finish the last one at Carlisle Barracks with the next class. Besides, you already know everything they are going to throw at you."

LTG Laura Porter laughed and winked when she shook my hand after presenting me with my new active duty orders as MG Gary W. Johnson looked on. I counted both of them as good friends over a long career.

"It's a damn good thing you stayed sharp and crisp otherwise you'd have had to buy new Class A's." Johnson bellowed with laughter.

I had reached out to Johnson after my talk with Deidre and pulled the plug on my retirement gig with the Reserve unit. They offered me a ramp up at Belvoir after I returned from Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania with a move to one of the regional commands, most likely SOUTHCOM. Deidre just might get dibs after all...

I looked around the house for several minutes taking it in. We had been here for quite a while, longer than most assignments and long enough for the kids to get through high school without having to move. That made me feel it was all worth it regardless of how it just ended. I didn't get all Neanderthal and rip and destroy Marcy's belongings. Absent my personal things and the Lazy-boy recliner out of the den, the place looked pretty much like Marcy left it six weeks earlier. I took a couple photo albums, mostly kids pics and some mementos and of course the wedding photo off the mantle was still ashes in the fireplace with just my headshot remaining.

The wall mirror in the foyer held my attention for a long time. The reflection was still trim and fit, a little grey coming in at the temples. I don't know what Marcy wanted in somebody else but I didn't feel like a consolation prize and I certainly wasn't going to be regarded as one. Toying with the gold wedding band on my finger, I removed it and set it in the porcelain bowl we tossed our keys in under the wall mirror. Son of a bitch if there wasn't a tear in my eye when I heard the door close behind me but I'd be damned if I was going to look back.

The ride to the airport and getting parked and positioned in the baggage claim was uneventful. I noticed the server waiting off to the side; I recognized her from the lawyer's office. I was certainly not inconspicuous standing there in polished brass and shoes and the 'full birds' in place on the Class A's. I always wore fatigues when going in for reserve duty and the last time Marcy had seen me like this was when I left the house for my last duty assignment four years ago.

I glanced to my left and saw Josh Washington waiting with a couple other people. He looked agitated and concerned and the couple with him were patting his arm and shoulder. I wouldn't want to be Penny and the fuckwad who walks in with her when the plane lands. I guess I'm a vindictive husband who doesn't like conniving cheats regardless of who she's married to.

The arrivals monitor started flashing an announcement that the international flight out of Bogotá, Columbia had gated and passengers were disembarking. Several minutes later, passengers began arriving in baggage claims and almost immediately off to the far left a loud commotion broke out and I looked up in time to see Josh Washinton pummeling the shit out of some guy with his cheat wife Penny screaming at the top of her lungs. Security immediately pounced on both of the men and dragged them to one of the rooms to the side.

That is when I saw them. Marcy was walking ahead of the man she threw her marriage away for and looking around for something. Then her eyes focused on me and her face drained of color. What the fuck is it with these 'surprised and shocked' fucking women, I thought to myself. What in hell was she expecting? I watched as time slowed down a bit when the process server approached and handed her the malila legal envelope and snapped her picture. I didn't hear what was said but I watched as Marcy shook her head from side to side and looked up at me.

When I approached her, she said "b-but, the Ambassador.. Rick.. not this, please. Why are you wearing your uniform? It can't be this way."

I wasn't listening to her. I was looking at her tawdry fuck buddy, Dr. Trey Cardosa. Our eyes met and fear enveloped his face. Then, I saw the bandages and a smile crossed my lips before I returned my gaze to his eyes as he turned away and left with a porter carrying his bags.

Marcy was still standing there when I turned back. Her eyes were reddened with whatever passes for sorrow, grief, repentance, fear, whatever.

"What happened to your doctor?" I asked.

She mumbled something about being attacked yesterday, drugs, criminals, oh the horror of it all or some such. She was a mess as she stood there and burst into tears. One of the other women in her group came up and offered her a tissue.

"You bastard!" she exclaimed while trying to burn a whole in my skull with her beady little grey eyes.

"Fuck you with someone else's dick" I whispered to her in low tones to avoid being conspicuous while wearing my uniform. She looked all indignant for a moment before slithering away. I never did know who she was.

Marcy had composed herself well enough to ask me again about the uniform.

"This isn't the place, Marcella. It's all explained in the envelope and if you want to know more, just ask the kids. They know everything as do your parents. I will say the kids were mad as hell at you at first but I think they'll come around in a while. You were at least a good mother to them. Your mother, on the other hand, is fit to kill. I'd tread lightly there.

"You can reach me through the attorney; you have his card. Sign the papers; it's already done with a clean 50-50 split. You can keep the house. I won't be living here and I won't be coming back. Move the doctor in or don't. Sell it or tear it down; I don't care."

With that I turned around and walked away, no tears this time and headed to the parking garage where my new Challenger SRT Hellcat waited with flared nostrils and a full tank of Green E-15...

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The waiter brought me another two fingers of Basil Hayden while waiting in the patio garden restaurant at the Barton G on Miami Beach. It was a bit pretentious but I felt like splurging a bit as I relaxed in civvies waiting for my guest. I had received my O-7 commission and star a few weeks earlier and spent the last week inbounding as the Deputy Commander of G-2 operations at SOUTHCOM.

"Oh, there's my handsome General." the sensual voice behind me whispered as she approached the table. "Did you order mine?"

"Whiskey Sour as asked."

Deidre Kiel slid into the seat to my left wearing a short sundress and sandals and set her sunglasses on the table.

"Did you make up your mind on where to live?"

"Just closed on a condo at Brickwell Place south, two bedrooms, couple baths, all the room I needed and I got it at a great price. My Lazy-Boy looks great on the balcony. You'll have to come by and see it."

The laughter knew that was a given. I consummated my growing lust for Deidre Kiel on my 1st visit down here when I matriculated out of the War College in Carlisle. She had been divorced for a long time, before I knew her in the sands and my own divorce had been inked for a bit over a year. Whatever you might call it, the attraction between us was palpable and Marcy might have been a bit justified in concern over Deidre although there was never any threat had she not lost her fucking mind. I loved my wife unconditionally in spite of my temptations and faults. Marcy couldn't honestly say the same thing.

She fought it like hell for a while, trying to drag the divorce out as long as she could hoping I could be swayed back through reconciliation counselling but my attorney deep sixed that pretty effectively. I had one phone call with her through the whole process and when that didn't work she tried the kids but they knew better; we were done for good. The Judge knew it too when he read through the letter she had Leslie deliver to me. It was no fault, 50/50 and stood just as I delivered to her at the airport. She wanted to be set free and bolted out of her cage. The cage just wasn't there when she returned.

As for their last day in the country, it wasn't altogether pleasant. Bogotá has one of the highest crime rates in the world and apparently one of the various gangs in the city targeted a couple of 'tourists' out for a stroll in what should have been a safe, protected neighborhood. Marcy was slapped around a bit and threatened with a rape that never occurred. Dr. Trey Cardosa was bloodied up good and had his manhood stomped on a bit. The perpetrators escaped with a wallet, watch, Marcy's wedding ring and purse. They were never apprehended.

I know I'll still have to deal with the woman for family matters but nothing more and I couldn't be more pleased. I have enough woman on my hands with Deidre Kiel.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

On the Cul-de-sac...

Marcy Weston still lived in the modest three bedroom ranch although it was mostly a lifeless abode with an occasional visit by one of the kids or a neighbor bored with the dull dross of suburban living. She would ask Kyle or Rhonda about their father and they would just acknowledge that he was doing well and leave it at that. After a while she realized that it was probably for the best and tried to put the whole ordeal behind her. She never got together with Cardosa after arriving back home and he never returned to the hospital after tending his resignation the same day he stepped off the plane.