Live from the Game Ch. 03

I spent the rest of the day making appointments with every lawyer on the list I could get one with, and I spent the next two days doing the same. I managed 14 in three days, which at the end of it, I considered enough. My evenings were spent taking the kids to their evening events, something that Deanna normally did, but I insisted I needed to do, as part of me being 'more in touch with my own life' or some such rubbish I spouted. I was getting good at it, in fact. Either way, it meant I was not hanging out with her.

I had also selected my lawyer, a barracuda named Sarah Gold. She was divorced, bitter, jaded, smoked nonstop and was reputed to be one of the nastiest divorce lawyers god had ever made. I explained my circumstances and she sat there, astonished, saying only, "The big screen? Seriously?" and then took my case instantly. I left her starting to prepare divorce papers to be served.

Part one of the plan was complete.

Something had been nagging me about the whole thing with Deanna and this Jordan Lawler character. Who was he? How did he fit in? What did he have that she just decided to abandon her vows for him? I wanted to know. The profile we had didn't have the kind of details I wanted to know, so in the end, I made up my mind I wanted to meet him. We also faced the issue that if what I wanted to do came off, we'd possibly face civil suits. Well, I would. We'd be careful not to leave any direct traces back to me, but honestly, if you looked at it, the only person who would do what I envisioned was me. All paths led to my door, even if there was no proof.

If that happened, we'd need some proof that what I said was happening was, in fact, happening. We needed video of them together. This is the part of the plan that I was least happy about. If and when we got this footage, someone would have to watch it, to be sure of what we've got. There was no way I was going to let Solomon or Simon watch it, so that left...me. I wasn't sure I would be prepared for it, but we had to have it, just to cover our own asses.

And that meant we'd need to plant a camera at the scene of the crime. And that meant going into this guys apartment. Someone had to do it. And I wanted that person to be me.

I highly doubted he'd know me. Not unless pillow talk was of Deanna showing him pictures of our family. I doubted that very much. If she was compartmentalizing as much as Crystal said, then I should imagine she was doing the same at the other end. I at least hoped so, or this would be an embarrassing encounter. I just needed to meet the guy, see what the fuss was about.

So I talked to Solomon, and he set me up with a Wifi camera and damn if this thing wasn't tiny. Ninety five percent of it seemed to be battery. The only problem was that its broadcast range wasn't huge. We'd need a PC recorder nearby, some laptop. Again, Solomon came the rescue. He had an old Macbook that he said would work. We just needed to stash it in the building somewhere so it could pick up the camera broadcast and record it. And the laptop would need an external drive, because the one it had wasn't big enough.

To be honest, I started to glaze over after a bit. Again, the stories I'd read weren't really up on this kind of thing. They just had people wiring their houses up with cameras and that was it. It's way more involved and complicated than that; funny how those stories gloss over that.

I'd gotten the recorder in Deanna's car and pulled the conversations off it and listened to some of them. Mostly it was just work stuff, or her gossiping with her girlfriends. Apparently one of the girls in the book group was having an affair! Fancy that! Hearing Deanna's righteous indignation almost made me throw up. I mean, couldn't she have at least thrown out some pointers in keeping the poor schmuck this girl was married to in the dark? She was, after all, so good at it herself.

I listened to a lot of crap music on the radio and small interactions with people on the phone or when she ordered fast food at some chain -- again, the Lit Erotica stories don't deal with this, do they? They say things like "I listened to that night's calls" without going into how fucking tedious that task really was. It's not one that takes ten minutes. It takes hours. I got forty minutes in, then I texted Solomon to ask if he had any ways to make it go faster.

Within seconds, he'd recommended that I download a program called Audacity, which would enable me to load the recorded sound and view it as a waveform. Within minutes I was able to recognize what was speech and wasn't just from looking at the shapes the waveform made. Apparently there was another program, Sound Forge, which was even better at this, and had plugins to do exactly what I was doing by hand, but Audacity was free and Sound Forge cost a lot, so yeah, cheapskate that I am, it was Audacity all the way.

With this new approach, listening went a lot faster and I soon heard the one conversation that broke my heart again.

"Hey."

I noted it wasn't even "Hey, its me." Just "Hey".

That implied a familiarity that was way beyond the initial flushes of infatuation. But then, if Crystal was to be believed, this had been going on for over six weeks now, so I shouldn't be surprised, even if it did make me want to rip someone's heart out with a rusty knife. Even if it was my own.

"You are bad!" She said this while laughing. "You can't answer the phone like that! What if it was your mother calling?"

Oh vomit.

"I know. I needed to check in. Sorry I haven't called. Things at home are not quite right and I need some time here. He's going through something and I need to be around for him. Yeah, he came home from Madison, but he was sick, then he got some bad news about a friend, then he's been spending time with the kids.... No, I know that's great for you, but it sucks for me.... You know why. I'm not going into this again. My home life is my home life and you don't get involved in that, just like they don't get involved in this. If you keep asking, I'm going to end it...Yes of course I can. Just like that, if I wanted to. Yes, of course I can. No, I'm not 'addicted'. You might be, I'm not."

She laughed here, to indicate that yes, of course she was addicted, but she wasn't going to say that. That would just be too obvious. How charming.

"Look, I need some time to reconnect, ok? Maybe I could stop by in a couple of days?...Yes, I know about our thing. Not this week. We can do it next week...OK. Which day? I don't know. Ok ok. Thursday, ok? Happy now? Thursday evening. I can get Crystal to cover. I'll say we have to get a house staged that evening."

Well that wouldn't be happening. I wonder what excuse she'd be using instead?

"We won't have too long, but enough...No, I can't stay. You know why...Yes, you do. No. Maybe we can make a weekend of it sometime, but not now....Yes. You know it. No, I won't say it. I don't. No. I don't. I love what you do, but no, I'm not going to say that. That's for my husband. Yeah, right, you can try. I still have some qualms, you know. No, I'm not going to say anything now that I have to deal with later. No. NO!"

She was still laughing at the end of this, so all the denials in the world weren't really mattering. I knew what he wanted her to say. And she was very close to saying it. My marriage was deader than I had feared it was.

"OK. I'll see you on Thursday evening. Be home. And be showered."

And that was the end of that. I sat there, shaking -- alternating between extreme rage and deep sadness at something ending, in a way I had absolutely no control over, and wondering if it was possible for me to go up stairs and climb into bed next to the unfaithful bitch and not kill her in her sleep. I decided I wasn't going to, and instead I had two shots of Jameson and made myself comfortable on the couch. As I drifted off, I was mentally making up a story about my buddy being in hospital -- how the end was coming faster than predicted. That should get me out of any discussions about not coming to bed.

So the next day I picked up the phone, made a call to Crystal and set up me stopping by the dick heads apartment. I just needed to do it before Thursday, and since that was two days away, I should be solid. The premise was that I was a guy from out west looking for a Chicago base, and being sent on by Crystal. The only stipulation was that I wanted to meet the owner, since I was in the same boat as him and wanted to hear about the amenities and stuff before I bought in.

Crystal said that was unusual; most of the time people did not want to meet the people doing the selling, but in this case, with the way I'd proposed it, it made sense. She'd set it up.

I specifically did not ask about her situation or Deanna. Just easier not to. I already had enough on my plate.

The appointment was for the next day, and once again, that evening, I worked out a way to get out. I took the kids to see the latest Pixar movie, followed by dinner at Red Robin.

Deanna was ok with it since she was going to be out the next evening anyway -- this gave her time at home on her own, something she didn't often get. She gave me some cock and bull story about one of her friends in her book group was getting a promotion and she wanted to celebrate, and could I look after the kids while she 'let her hair down'. Of course I said yes, even though my heart was breaking yet again knowing what she really intended. I was quite surprised I still had any parts of my heart left big enough to break again.

The next day, Wednesday, at 3pm, I knocked on the door of the apartment, having already stashed the laptop in nearby supply closet. Each floor had it's own laundry room, and there was a small room past that with cleaning products in it. It wasn't supposed to be open, but thirty seconds with a credit card got that lock unlocked. I had stashed the laptop on the floor, with some washing paper on top. I'd even found a plug to power it. I just hoped it was still there a couple of days later, when I came back for it.

Then it was time. I knocked on the door and it opened and there he was. I just looked at him as he smiled at me and said, "Jordan Lawler. You must be James Goddard? Come on it."

I looked at his hand, then took it. I didn't want to. I wanted to grab it and deck the bastard, but I had a part to play here. I went in.

The apartment was relatively nice. But what killed me was seeing pictures on the wall that came from my house. There, in the corner, was an ottoman that came from my den. It was just loaded with small touches that were obviously Deanna's. And it made me sick.

So Jordan Lawler -- same basic build as me. Younger, by about five to ten years I think. Very open face, guileless I think the word is. Sandy blond hair. Tan. Easy way about him. Lots of insincere (to me) smiling. I hated him, but then I didn't expect to like him.

He showed me around, and I pulled out my phone and asked him, "Do you mind if get some pictures? Some footage later would really help me make up my mind."

Now this was very carefully phrased. Permission to record in his apartment was important, since my phone was recording everything I said. Ok, it was a stretch and probably would not hold up in court, but what the hell, right? Might as well try.

We wandered the apartment, I took in the view, the bedroom. The apartment was a two-bath place -- one in the corridor to the bedroom and one in the bedroom itself. While I was in the bedroom I couldn't help but stare at the four-poster bed and have my mind run riot with images of Deanna being screwed on it. Jordan saw me looking at the bed and said, "It's pretty cool, isn't it? I can throw it into the price. The four posters are great for tying ladies up, you know."

My stomach turned, and then knotted up and I had to force down the desire to step over to him and break his neck. I settled for just imagining it instead.

I managed to force a grin and said, "Oh, I'm sure. Hey, do you have a beer? I'm parched. It would be great to just sit in here, have a beer and just imagine living here."

"Oh, sure, man. Where are my manners?"

He bustled off to get one. Where indeed were his manners? Taking someone else's wife? I was left in the bedroom and I took full advantage, pulling the tiny camera bug out of my pocket and installing it on the bookshelf in front of the bed. What's more, the camera itself was hidden behind a small knickknack thing that was all black wires and glass bead gems sitting on one of the shelves, that I'd bought Deanna while we were on a trip to Vermont for our fourth wedding anniversary. Yet another reminder of what was being lost.

I was on my way out to the living room when he arrived with the beer. I looked at it and debated just leaving, but honestly, I would have liked to know a bit more about this guy. I was sure he was a schumck -- he had a family back in Philadelphia, and he was messing around with mine. By that definition, he was a douche bag.

I mean, I guess it's possible that they just 'fell in love', but I didn't buy that. I couldn't just buy that. If that was true, I'd been even more remiss than I could have imagined, that my wife could just fall out of love with me and in love with someone else. Our marriage wasn't rip roaring drunken monkey sex all the time, but it just wasn't that bad. Not unless she was hiding her true feelings from me all the freakin' time.

But then I thought, she is now, and she's having an affair and she's hiding it well, and I had no idea, so perhaps it was true. Perhaps she was hugely unhappy and just hiding it well. At this point, I still didn't really know what to think.

But I was pretty sure this Jordan guy was a scum bag. I just needed to draw it out of him. So I accepted the beer and went and sat on his couch, and he sat opposite me, raising the beer in salute.

"So, Crystal tells me you are advanced guard for a group looking to build a factory here?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. They want to build in the burbs. They got a great tax deal." I shrugged, indicating that I didn't really want to talk about it.

"What about you? Why are you selling?"

"Time to go back East. I was out here negotiating a company purchase. We are pretty much done now, barring the signature and bringing in a new management team. I bought this place because it was cheaper than rent."

"So," I said, putting down the beer and leaning forward, "What's the best thing about living here? The view? Having your own place? No kids? Chicks? What?"

It was the only way I could think of getting onto the subject.

Jordan snorted and said, "Well, I would say the baseball, but since I'm a Phillies fan and all you've got here are the Cubs and the Sox, well, you do the math. I even bought season tickets for the Cubs this year, just to see what the fuss was about. It's a bit sad, isn't it? So, failing that, without doubt, it's the chicks."

"Oh really," I said, dryly, in that way that indicates that if he's willing to talk, I'm willing to listen.

"Oh yeah. Look, I don't know you, but that's a good thing. They say you can unburden yourself to those you don't know better than those you do. I have a family, but I was stuck here for a year. A Year! All in the name of progress at work. And I have needs. And they aren't being met. So I... got myself a little something to help out."

I just raised my eyebrows at him as I picked up the bottle again. I needed to do something with my hands or they'd make fists.

"Oh she's a little honey. Got some soccer mom life out in the burbs somewhere, with kids and a white picket fence. But when she's here, she's my slut. Big time. Screamer, wants to fuck constantly. It's awesome. She's got this dangerous sex thing going on. It's weird. When I met her, the attraction was instant, but it's like she gets something here she never got before. She wants to fuck in all sorts of weird places. We've done it in my car, down by the lake, in an elevator -- she even prepared for that one, not wearing panties and a skirt that came up instantly -- and even in the bathroom of the Signature room of the Hancock building. Apparently the women's bathroom there has the best view of the city from that high up, not that I saw much. I was too busy looking at another view."

I sat there, listening to this, and marveling at my own ability to remain seated. I was getting it all on my iPhone, but like a scab, I couldn't stop myself picking.

"Are there any...feelings? Or is this just a casual fuck?"

"Feelings...well, not hugely. I mean, I think we both know this wouldn't last forever. I mean, I'm heading back east as soon as I unload this place. And I'm not about to leave my wife and kids over her. But as a fuck toy? Sure, I wish I was sticking around. I've never been as drained as I am by this girl. As it is, I'll be back in town fairly frequently and you can bet she'll be my first call. But as for feelings... can I be honest?"

I gestured to him to continue.

"I don't know why, but I want to get her to tell me she loves me. I have no idea why I need that, but I do. I've tried everything, but not got it yet. But I think it's only a matter of time."

I had to agree. I needed to do something about this and end this, but I couldn't jump the gun. I just had to sit there and take it, for now.

"What about her home life? I mean... isn't this dangerous? For you, too?"

"I think that's part of what she gets off on. As for me, well, they are far away and I've given her no hint of who they are, my home address or anything. She bothers me with a text when I am home, I just dump the phone and get a new one. Problem solved. I mean, she doesn't even have my email address. Her home life? Well it can't be that great if she's doing this with me, can it? She didn't fucking hesitate when I offered her a romp in the sack. No 'Oh, I can't do that, I'm married' -- she was in there and on the bed in seconds, all spread, begging me to fill her. Obviously who she is married to is not fulfilling his side. That's not really my fault."

I couldn't take any more. I had to get out before I killed this guy. I put down the beer and said, "Well, I gotta run. Thanks for showing me your place and thanks for the chat. I'll definitely be thinking about this over the next few days. You'll hear from me pretty soon." I wasn't lying either.

I went to the door and he followed me, and then he said something that really got to me. "Hey, you know what, I'll bet I can pass her on to you. You take the apartment; I'll bet I can get her to service you, too. Same deal!"

I honestly just couldn't even look at it him. If I had, I'd have killed him. I knew I would have. And I didn't want to spend forever in jail for a cheating bitch.

I high tailed to the elevator, shaking the whole time. I needed a drink.

I went straight back to Crystal Lake, and met with Solomon in a bar just off Main Street. He'd been there a while and while he was still lucid, he was quite merry, too.

"So, I been looking into...you know."

"Have you now," I said, ordering a large beer from the waitress. For some reason, Solomon didn't want to use descriptive terms when we were out of what he called a 'secure room'. I thought it was all too tin foil hat for words, but I needed him, and I needed to keep him happy, so I just went along with it.

"And what conclusions have you come to?" I asked.

He grinned at me. There were four empty beer bottles on the table, so as well he should. He should be VERY happy by now.

"All sorted. Took a bit. Had to talk to a few guys in LA who had some experience with this. I even did a practice run at a place in San Diego, just to see if I could get in and do what was necessary. With the docs I have, it works like a charm. The software is actually pretty cool. Makes it very easy, which is what it's designed for."