Live from the Game Ch. 04byjezzaz©
The next day I was up and out early, ostensibly to go to work. In reality I just bummed around at the movies and at a tavern in Rolling Meadows. But, as promised, I arrived home early. Deanna didn't even want to talk to me, she was still pissed at me from the night before. Things were very frosty -- words were exchanged when they needed to be and no more.
She came down while I was playing Sky Landers with Saffron and Paula was doing homework. Jamie had a controller but wasn't aware it wasn't connected. He thought he was controlling my character. I knew that I'd be looking over Paula's math homework later -- it was all fractions and she couldn't get some of the concepts behind them, and we'd re-trace the work and I'd explain it to her. It was great, watching her eyes widen when she finally groked a new concept. I did love having kids.
Deanna came down, wearing her pleated skirt, and thigh high stocking socks, 4 inch heels and a thin white blouse, with lace covering her breasts, but that was backless. We'd seen it together in New Orleans, and bought it, then she'd worn it on Bourbon street, getting many bead necklaces.
She was tastefully made up, and wearing the long earrings I got her last Christmas. I looked up and took her in. It was funny, but at that moment I really understood that something big was ending. This wasn't going to happen again. I was going to destroy her and her lover and this idyllic life was going to end. There wouldn't be...this any more. I just remember thinking "This is all going to go away." And I also realized that I was in the drivers seat. I was going to end it. And I hadn't really even given her a chance to stop.
Realizing that, I smiled at her and said gently, "Deanna... stay home. Stay with us. Don't go out. That celebration isn't as important as your family, surely?"
She looked at me, clutching her white purse. I could actually see her hesitate, then look over at Paula, sitting at the table, head down, counting. Then back at Jamie and Saffron, and then at me. When she saw me, her mouth clenched a bit, and she just shook her head and said, "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support my friend in her hour of success?"
She didn't look back at me as she left the house.
Well ok then. She'd made her bed. Time to set fire to it.
The next day, I was up and out early. Straight downtown to Jordan Lawler's apartment building. I honestly didn't want to deal with Deanna, knowing what she'd done the night before. I think that at this point I had realized that I was also part of the problem. I was avoiding her, not giving her any opportunity to even remotely show me her side, not that she would do so explicitly.
Even last night, she'd come home late and I could smell wine on her as she climbed into bed with me. She also smelled of soap -- she'd obviously showered.
I could understand when I read stories about how conflicted the husbands were. So many commentators just want the blood. They have unresolved issues in their own lives, and mix that with a dose of misogyny, and all they wanted was the women in these various stories to suffer. It was all so black and white. Until you've been there, watching the women you love, and who purports to love you, lie to you and betray you, you have no idea how it feels.
And yet, she's still the mother of your children. She still treats you well. She'd tried to get me into bed. Even from the conversations I'd heard from the recorder and from what Crystal and that total fuck bag, Jordan Lawler had told me, she still loved us. Me, the kids and her life. She just had this entire other dimension to her life right now that we knew nothing about.
I mean really, if I'd not known from that phone call from Simon, I'd never have known. I have to admit that. I would never have looked for it, and I'd never have seen it. She honestly didn't feel any different in the way she treated me or the kids.
If I chose to, I could walk away, she'd never know I knew, it would die when cunt face went back to Philly, and hell, if I'd wanted to, I could probably have gone out and done the same as her. Christ knows, she wasn't in a position to object.
Maybe that's what I should have done. Gone out and had my own fling. Let her know about it obliquely, see how she'd have dealt with the betrayal.
The problem is though, I do know. I know all about it. I know all the details. I know the disrespect being placed upon me and my house, despite the absolute bullshit my wife has decided to justify her dalliance with. She's scratching an itch that I never even knew about, much less was given a chance to satisfy.
Plus, I was old fashioned enough to understand that two wrongs never made a right. Sure, it would balance and it would make us even, but more than likely it would destroy us if she were to imagine I'd done the same. Whatever justifications she had in her head, they more than likely weren't thought through in terms of them being applied to her and would never survive me doing the same thing. The hypocrisy would come up, and while she'd find a way to live with it, things would never be the same. She'd never trust me and I, for myself, would never trust her again. Not with the lying and deception ability she'd already displayed.
The fact is, I was angry, betrayed, bitter, upset and ranging between suicidal and plain Seeing Red Rage. I could see no way to forgive this, not in the way that our relationship would survive. I was sure that in the years to come, the anger and pain would dull, but there was no way I was going to spend the rest of my life coming to terms with her betrayal with her sitting next to me.
She'd destroyed my trust and faith in her, and without that, what is a marriage?
In Literotica stories, there always seems to be a woman who comes along to help salve the wounded ego of the guy concerned. Always some high school honey, or some waitress or some woman met in a hotel or something. Always someone there to help pick up the pieces. There wasn't that in this case, and I wouldn't have had anything to do with someone trying anyway. I was damaged goods and I knew it. I'd spend years getting over this, I knew. As I'd said to Crystal, what Deanna had done to me would echo for years. My manhood, my ego, my sexual being, it was all crushed.
And I didn't even know why. I had ideas from all the evidence I'd gathered, but I'd never heard it from the horse's mouth. I knew at some point I'd have sit down and listen, but not yet. Too soon; I'd be too angry. It would be about hurting her, not listening to what she had to say.
So here I was, sitting in a supply closet off a laundry room, looking at video on a Macbook Air screen, and crying my eyes out.
It was all there. I didn't get any footage of them in the living room -- only one camera -- but what happened in the bedroom, well, it was painful on every level.
First, the conversation.
When they stumbled into the bedroom, Deanna's blouse was already almost hanging off -- he'd obviously had his hands up her shirt. When she got on the bed, she'd accidentally flashed the camera up her skirt and she wasn't wearing any panties either.
He was half out of his clothes, his cock hanging out of his boxer shorts. I was pleased to see that he wasn't any bigger than I was, but it was the last thing I was pleased to see that day.
He looked at her, splayed out on the bed and said, "Man, I can't believe you are here. So lovely, so sexy. That husband of yours is an asshole."
Deanna closed her legs and pouted. "That idiot. All I wanted was to give him a night to remember. We haven't had sex in almost two weeks, something is always getting in the way. I honestly wanted to give him my ass. You know my rules, nothing you get, he doesn't. But the fucker came home drunk off his feet. I was all ready and lubed, and he just fucked it all up."
"Your....ass?" said Jordan, clearly interested in what he was hearing.
"Yeah. Thought it was time. You and I have done everything else," she replied. "I'll find some time to get him in there later. We can reverse the order today. He deserves it anyway. He had the chance and he'd rather drink himself to sleep instead. Fuck him."
"I'd rather you did that to me..."
And then it went on. And on. And on. She got him up three times. She even did ass to mouth. I thanked god I'd been asleep when she got home and up early this morning, so she hadn't kissed me.
He still tried to get her to say she loved him. There were lots of, "Oh man, I LOVE doing this with you, don't you?" and "I'm going to miss this when I'm back in Philly. Won't you? Tell me how you feel" and other transparent attempts to get her to say it.
I thought I'd be numb by now. The evidence was there, and there was no getting away from it. I wasn't misinterpreting anything; she was a whore for some other guy. No, a slut. Whore's get paid.
But I wasn't numb. It was so hard to watch. I kept pausing it and crying again. But I forced myself to watch it all. I needed to see it all, if only to keep me on the path I'd set out on. I loved the woman, but I had too much respect for my own self to allow this to be unchallenged.
The ending was painful. Deanna had taken a shower and was getting dressed and he was just lying on the bed, lazy and content.
"So, back to suburbia?" he'd said, contemptuously.
"Back to suburbia," she'd agreed.
"Doesn't it get boring?"
She'd stopped pulling up her sock stockings and looked at him and said, "Why do you think I'm here? Of course it does. Kids, PTSO runs, husband boring me to tears with his day? It's fucking mind numbing. But it's my life, and I do love my kids and the stability I have. I have the love of a good man, and I love him back, but its Just Not Enough. I'm just lucky I have this. We both know this won't last, but I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it while I can, so I have the memories."
Jordan smiled and grabbed his dick. "So, you'll be thinking of this when you fuck him, is that it?"
She smiled back and said, "I'm already doing that, lover."
And that was the final nail through my heart, even if I was confusing metaphors.
I spent half an hour editing the video and transferring it to a USB memory stick, then packed up the computer and power cords and left the building.
I rolled into Sarah Gold's office, breezing in like I owned the place. She looked up from her computer and then pushed her chair back.
"Aha. So, we have more proof?" was her first question. Not "hello Ryan" or even "Can't you wait outside", no, straight to the root of the matter.
I dropped the USB key on her desk and she looked at it, then looked at me and said, as she picked it up, "There had better not be any viruses on this."
She plugged it in, and opened the device -- several files showed up, the first being the video. Naturally, she opened that first and sat watching for about a minute. Then she shut it down and said, "That's quite enough of that."
Then she looked at me and said suddenly, "Where was this...collected?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You idiot. There is no way this is admissible in court. What did you do, break in and plant the camera?"
"Play 'acceptance.wav'" I replied.
She looked at the screen and selected that file. Out came me asking Jordan Lawler for permission to shoot in his place, how footage would be necessary and him assuredly giving permission.
"Clever," snarled Sarah, "But a good lawyer will shred that. He wasn't giving you permission to leave a camera and tape his sexual adventures."
"Oh I know," I said sitting down in front of her desk. "But I'm pretty sure we even just mention that this exists, and that'll change things. And I really needed to know if it was happening, and it is. Plus it might be useful if we get sued for anything."
Sarah stared at me over the top of her laptop monitor and said, slowly, "Are you going to make my life difficult, Mr. Tomlinson? Please tell me you aren't going to do anything stupid."
I was very clear with my response. "No, I will not be doing anything 'stupid', as you put it. I know what is expected of me." I didn't think what I had planned was stupid, and the other statement was purely placatory, without actually saying anything at all.
She nodded and then grabbed a folder from a selection on her desk and threw it to me.
"Well, it's all there. There are two versions, one for you keeping the house, the other with you giving it to her. You know you are going to be paying her child support, even if you get away with no alimony."
"I know. What's your feeling on the alimony?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Hard to know for sure. You are one hundred percent in the right here, and she's one hundred percent in the wrong, so if it was just down to that, you'd not be paying any. But it's all to do with how good her lawyer is, which judge we get and so on. But I'd certainly not say that there's anything in your case where I'd say 'yes, this is likely'. Really, the proof of the pudding will be in the eating in this case."
I nodded -- it was what I had expected.
"So, this'll be filed next Wednesday? Where we said?"
"Yep. The alienation suit is in there too, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope of that one. Worth it just to make him squirm though."
"Ok then. What about the restraining order?"
"That won't be ready till Wednesday. It has to be filed the day you want it in effect. I'm pretty sure we can get it, but you know it won't last. We are going to be stretching the situation here a bit, and once her lawyer sees it and challenges it, it'll be removed."
"I know. It's really only to give me some peace in the interim, to be honest. I'll probably be asking you to rescind it within a couple of weeks anyway. So, I guess we get these served, do the financial stuff, pick up the order on Wednesday and then move on with our lives?"
"Well, you do. I still have to come here and do this soul sucking job," replied Sarah, looking round at her office.
"Well, god bless you for doing it." I was attempting a little levity.
Sarah Gold stared at me, and then said, "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. And pay my bill, cheapskate. I did my part."
I smiled and pulled out my checkbook.
The day it all kicked off, I was at Paul's, with Solomon and Simon. We were watching the game, keeping an eye out to see if the camera's flicked over them sitting in his season ticket seats, or not.
I'd gone back to work that week, and found the utter disaster that Paul had made of a contract with a company who wanted us to build their office for them. There was no way we'd be able to do it for the amount they'd contracted to us, not with all the special stuff they wanted.
But Paul just smiled and cheerfully said, "Make it work, Ryan!"
So off I'd gone, contract in hand, to Jonathan Bruty, handed him the contract, then listened to him swearing for five minutes.
Paul hadn't even passed it by our counsel -- he'd just listened to what the other side said, smiled broadly and signed it. They had to believe all their Christmases had come at once. I spent most of the afternoon going over the contract, looking for weaknesses in order to be able to push up our billing.
In the end we found a clause, and I then had the wonderful job of arranging a meeting with the other company's CEO to explain exactly how he'd tried to take advantage of us, and how we weren't going to accept it, and here was how we'd fight back.
Strangely, the guy laughed. Not the kind of "I'm about to eat your young" laugh, but the raucous laugh of a man who sees the joke.
"Ryan, we couldn't believe it when you weren't there for the negotiations. Of Course we tried to get one over on you. It's business, that's what business is. I quite expected you to come back to me -- that's why that clause is there. I wanted to see if you'd actually do something about it. You have, as I hoped and expected. Now you have, we can do business."
I didn't quite understand, and said so.
"Ryan, what we really want is to get you guys to build facilities for us all over the US. The fact is, we just got a grant from the US Government to create educational facilities everywhere. And we need help building them. The fact is you come very highly recommended as someone with some integrity, and I need that. Now, you want to tear up that contract and take a look at this one, instead?"
He pulled up a sheaf of papers from his desk and tossed them over to me. I just sat there, bewildered.
I took that new contract back to Jonathan Bruty, and this time he just laughed all the time when looking at it. His eyes gleamed when he looked at me over the top of the papers and said, "Now, this is a well written contract. And fair. This is good stuff Ryan. You'll need a lot more staff though, to do all this."
I winced. "Oh, I know. I think we are going to need a second plant."
"Well, that's good then," replied Jonathan. Then he stopped and peered at me closer. "Are you doing ok Ryan? That whole thing with your wife?"
I looked away. "It's under control," I said, deliberately being vague. "So, what's the first thing we need to do, legally?"
That was yesterday, and today I'm about to blow up my marriage, in the most spectacular way possible.
I was sitting at Paul's house, with a beer in hand, watching the game, and idly wondering who was picking up the kids from school, bearing in mind their mother -- who was supposed to be handling it -- was sitting at Wrigley Field with her boyfriend. In fact, who had been handling it the other days when I was completely unaware? On impulse, I called home and found that my sister in law, Melissa, answered the phone.
I didn't like Melissa much and she didn't like me. She'd made a snap judgment on me at the start of my courtship with Deanna and never bothered to look any deeper to find out if it was true or not. I'd been judged and that was that. Initially I'd tried to reverse her opinion of me, figuring that keeping everyone in Deanna's family sweet was a good call, but she was a lost cause. The more I tried, the more she found fault with everything I did. After a year or so, I just stopped bothering and wrote her off. I got on fine with her brother, and both her parents had died in car accident when Deanna was a late teen.
I did idly wonder if Melissa was aware of what was going on; she struck me as the kind of person who would take delight in my misfortune, and I wasn't about to test that. I just checked in that she had the kids and would be there till either I or Deanna got home. Melissa had the luck to marry a millionaire, who then died on her. I figured he hadn't so much died as much as run away. Either way, she was now loaded and had nothing to do with her day. With no kids of her own, she was a great resource for baby-sitting. I got the distinct impression that she just wasn't interested in men or dating at all; she'd got her payout, now it was all about her.
And her nieces and nephew. I had to give her her due in that -- she did love them and dote on them. She may not have liked me, but she loved those kids. The interesting thing about Melissa was that she was great about sharing her time with us, but it had been made clear that her money was her money and that was that, so don't ask. Not that we would have anyway, but still, that point was made quite forcefully to us. So we just settled for her company and her baby-sitting the kids. And what a joy it was to return home when she'd been there, let me tell you. Kids asking why I wasn't home more, why I didn't teach them to play soccer -- all primed by Man Hating Melissa. Deanna just laughed when this happened but it pissed me off, I have to admit.
Anyway, I spoke to her for a few minutes, then, before hanging up, I asked her if she still had the extra room at her place. She said that she did, why did I want to know? I made a cryptic reference to her having a roommate some time soon and let it go.