Madifan and Jessica Carlisle

"You gotta protect yourself first though, Madigan. Clean out your bank account. Move any and all assets the hell outta her reach—and his.

"Yeah, I suppose," I said. ******

I knew she'd gone shopping after her little meet up with her lover. I was waiting in the front room when she got back; she'd called ahead to let me know she'd be home shortly. Harvey had left no more than twenty minutes earlier, but he wouldn't be far away.

I heard the backdoor open and slam shut. She must have kicked it; she was always doing that when she had an armload of groceries.

I listened while she put things away in the kitchen. She hadn't called out to me to help her. Well, what the hell, I just waited.

"Oh! Madigan, there you are," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Well, mister, you coulda come and helped with the groceries," she said.

"Yeah, it might have saved some wear and tear on the backdoor," I said. "Anyway, I have something for you to see. Come here, have a seat." She did and put her arm around my shoulder. I punched the play button on the remote. The image of the bar immediately came into view with her and good 'ole Mark seated at the table.

"It took you long enough," she said.

"Couldn't help it. This is the city, and this time of day traffic is at best challenging," he said.

"Then leave earlier," she said.

"How you doing?" he said, ignoring her pique.

"Treading water. He's trying to figure out what to do. I have to go slow and try and help him find his balance. He's hurting real bad, and I don't blame him. Your words, my words, must have killed him," she said.

"Yeah, I guess so. But there is no way we knew he'd be there like that. Shit, even I feel sorry for the guy; and I'm the one that wants to get into his wife's pants," he said...

Jessica Carlisle's face was ashen. She pulled her arm from around my neck. "Madigan..."

"Yeah, I know you're sorry. Let it go, Jessica. I just stayed to let you know why I was leaving. We're done now. You never intended to be true to me. I was fooling myself, and I guess I really knew it the day I got back; I just tried to convince myself that maybe just maybe, well like I say, I was foolin' myself. I do have a question or two though, I mean if you think you can be honest at least this once," I said.

"Madigan, I –I—okay, I'll try," she said. She was fighting back genuine tears of regret.

"Why? Was it just the size of my cock, I mean really?" I said.

She hesitated before answering. "Yes. You're so small, Maddy. In every other way I love you more than any other man in the world. It's just—well—I need..." she was starting to cry.

"Yeah, I get it, you need more than I got," I said. She just sniffled. "Helluva thing. Married just four years and my life has already gone all to hell. Helluva thing.

"Last question. Why all the trash talking about me. I didn't do anything to you. Why the two of you gettin' off trash talking me?"

"No good reason. He doesn't know you. He doesn't care about you. He just does it—I don't know, maybe to make himself feel big or tough or something; I don't know," she said.

"Yeah, but you join in with him, and you do know me. So?" I said, and waited.

"I suppose to make him feel bigger than he is. He was never in the military. He knows you were. He knows you're a tough guy. I guess I didn't want him to feel—inadequate," she said.

"You mean like the two of you have made me feel inadequate, that about it?' I said.

She devolved into sobbing big time now. I watched her for a moment. Strangely, I felt nothing—yet. It was over. I got up and went into the hallway, retrieved my one bag, and went outside. Harvey saw me and pulled up to the curb, popped the trunk, and helped me put the bag inside. We drove off.

We made a beeline for the small local hotel where I would be staying for the next couple of weeks. I would be taking care of the little transfers that Harvey had coached me to take care of in the morning. I didn't have that much to do, so it would be no problem getting it done.

I was sad and sick and lonely as hell, and I'd only been broken up with her for a few hours. Jesus the suddenness of it was awful. I'd gone from hopeful to despairing in less time than it took to say it.

After taking care of business in the morning. I headed back to the hotel. The hotel was called the Morning Star, don't know why. It's main virtue was its compactness. It had a quiet bar in the back. The bartender was a looker of maybe thirty-five. Over the next few days I heard all about her life and family. She was Filipina and like most Filipina ex-pats, she was helping to support a number of brothers—mostly lazy bums—back in the mother country. She was worth her salt as a barkeep, offering me moral support in my hour of need. And I was needy. Needy as hell.

Over the next several weeks and months it began to really mess me up, the memories. A man gives everything, his heart, to his woman and then she pisses on it like it was nothing. The anger wouldn't go away. The hurt wouldn't go away. I was becoming demoralized; it was affecting my job. My job. I had a job as counter help in a computer appliance outlet. I was able to sit most of the time which allowed me to not be on my legs all day, something that was almost impossible for me as yet.

The job didn't pay much, but with my military disability, which had finally kicked in, I was at least able to support myself.

The divorce was final a seven months later and I went out with Harvey and got stinkin' drunk. Even got into a fight. My rehab had been pretty successful, I guess; it didn't hurt to hit the guy. I didn't win it, neither did the other guy. We were both so blasted that most of our manly punches were air-punches. We sure did kill that air though. Harvey couldn't stop laughing. Later my opponent bought me a drink and I returned the favor a short time later.

I was shortly after that that I was fired. You can't be late because of drunkenness twenty-one days in a row and hold a job. Well, what the fuck, I didn't give a damn anyway. My disability pay was at least enough to keep me in whiskey and pay the rent and lights.

I'd been able to get a small apartment in a one story building; I was not going to do any stair climbing that I didn't have to. The place was in a tacky part of town, a far cry from my old house—our old house. I gave her that. But, I gave her little else. No alimony no piece of my military benefits. To her credit she didn't fight me over any of that. We did have a little money in the savings and checking; I gave her that too.

At any rate, after all was said and done; I was sad, lonely, heartbroken, and without any goals or hopes. And, I was again out of a job. ******

After being fired I had fallen to sleeping, occasionally eating out, and drinking. It was a masterful plan I had, to feel sorry for myself until I died. That'd show 'em!

My arm had healed okay and was pretty much back to normal size by the time the divorce had become final, but I had lost some fifteen pounds of overall body weight and at five-eight and one-thirty, I was looking pretty frail. Hell, I was frail. I looked more like some pimply-assed junior high school kid than a veteran of foreign wars.

I was sitting under a tree in a nearby park trying to catch my breath. I'd just got done eating the burger I'd gotten from one of the local fast food eateries, and I had been headin' back to my place. But the half mile walk had drained me, no doubt due to my incredible propensity of consuming significant amounts of bonded alcohol. Anyway, I was kickin' back for a few. I must have closed my eyes for a few minutes because the voice startled me.

"Madigan. Madigan. Wake up," she said. I lifted my head and at first didn't recognize her.

"Jess? Jessica? What are you doing here? We're divorced as I recall," I said.

"Madigan, what are you doing to yourself? What's the matter with you! You look like shit," she said.

"Yeah, and my dick isn't any bigger, either," I said, mimicking melancholy.

"Damn it! Those remarks are going to follow me forever, aren't they," she said, seeming frustrated at my quick wit.

"Not if you leave me alone," I said. "I'm sure super stud can make you forget all about me. But, at the risk of repeating myself, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I—I—heard you weren't doin' too good, and I was worried about you. That's all," she said.

"You're kiddin' right. You fuck me over and then worry about me! You gotta be kiddin'," I said.

"You were my husband for four years. I worry about you. And, you're being an asshole doing this to yourself," she said.

"I can always depend on you to make me feel worse than I did yesterday, can't I," I said.

"I'm sorry, Madigan. You're right. I have no right to be here. And, even less right to call you names. I'll go I guess. It was a mistake," she said. She rose and started to walk off.

"Good-the fuck-bye," I called after here. She didn't turn around; she just walked a little faster to escape me.

One minute later, she was back. "Like I said Madigan, I'm sorry for calling you names. But, buster, you need to get a life. Forget about the two assholes, who screwed you over, and move on. Now, I'll go. That's all I wanted to say." She turned again and walked off. This time she didn't return.

I was seething. Who the hell was she to tell me to get a life! She'd stolen mine and I wasn't gonna be gettin' it back. Who the fuck was she! ****** Harvey was sitting two stools down from me. I figured it was because of the way I smelled. But I don't know what his beef was; it was only Wednesday and I'd taken a full shower just last Sunday. Fuck him.

Jennifer, the pretty Filipina bartender, put another shot of Old Overholt in front of me. It was my third. The third of the five I would usually consume before staggering back down the street to my $350 per month hovel.

"So, you gonna drink yourself to death?" said my good bud.

"You gotta better idea?" I said.

"Yeah," he said. "Why dontcha be a man instead of a mouse. She's gone and you ain't gettin' her back. So, let it go."

Jennifer smiled at me. "You always got me, Madigan." That surprised me.

"You don't want a little dicked asshole drunk like me, Jennifer, tempting though your offer is," I said.

Harvey was staring. Not at me but past me. I turned to see what it was that was holding his interest.

"I swear to God I did not know you were here," she said. "I'll find another bar." She started to leave.

"No, no. Don't leave on my account, Jessica dear. A bar is neutral territory. We can just ignore each other and you can watch me cry and whine and drink a lot. Right, Harvey," I said turning to my mesmerized friend.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. Harvey was clearly not thrilled to have the extra company.

"Well, we can both cry in our beer," she said. "Your rival dumped me, just yesterday, for some teenybopper with more substantial, as he said to me—assets." She burst into tears. I handed her my still virgin clean handkerchief. She took it.

"Thank you," she said. "Now, I know how you felt about—about—about my comments. In a way, I'm glad he said those things to me. The way I figure it they're my just punishment for the things I said about you."

"Yeah, well, don't beat yourself over the head about it. Trust me things'll get worse in a very short time," I said.

"Wonderful," she said. "Something to look forward to. You gonna buy a lonely woman a drink?"

"Jen, get the lady whatever," I said. "Nothing I'd like better than to see her sink as low as I have." Jennifer brought her the same as I was drinking without even asking her what she wanted. She downed it in a trice.

"Whoa," I said. "You're the man." I was looking at her with mock admiration as she placed the shot glass down and pushed it toward the bartendress who was almost in front of her.

"Another," she said.

One thing about sitting at a bar drinking oneself into a stupor: wait long enough and somebody with even worse problems will show up to make you feel a little bit better. Watching her suffer actually did make me feel almost—well—good. But, on the other hand, she was pitiable too. Yeah, yeah I know let her die of gangrene brought on by a serious case of rapidly developing leprosy. Well, fuck it, I just couldn't hate her.

I was on my fourth and more or less at the nursing stage drink-wise. She on the other hand was looking at the bottom of her third, but she'd started after me. Harvey was drinking beer, so he figured to last longer than us and our shot's of Rye. "So whaddya gonna do now that your single again?" I said. Well hell, I was an interested party wasn't I?

"I don't know," She said. "You wouldn't be interested in a slightly used whore of a wife, would you?"

"You can't be serious," I said.

"Why not? I'm not talking about marriage, but I need somebody to fuck me and you need somebody to fuck, right? Or, are you chasing bar maids these days?" she nodded in the direction of Jennifer.

"Hmm, well, actually I had thought about checking out Jennifer. But, anyway, with my little dick she'd probably chase me off as soon as I dropped my pants. I mean you did," I said.

"Madigan, please. Your dick is fine. Small or not, it does the job. Cut me a little slack will you. I was an asshole. I admit it. I was wrong I admit it. I'm desperate, and I admit that too. I need somebody to love me, to hold me, to let me cry on his shoulder," she was crying now. "Hell, Madigan, everybody makes mistakes. Everybody makes bad choices. I'm no different, just more pathetic maybe."

Okay, I was feeling sorry for her—and maybe a little for me too. I almost made the mistake of giving in. But I was saved. By who? Why by the asshole that dumped her, Mark Hanson. Who said that that life wasn't stranger than fucking fiction—no pun intended; it sure as hell was.

He came striding into the bar like he owned the place. He took the seat on the other side of her.

"Hey girl, wanna get out of here so we can talk?" he said to her. I just smiled and raised my glass to him. He sneered; that pissed me off. Harvey, not a small man and also one with a lot of killing skills, slid off his seat.

"He's my bud," said Harvey. "You wanna mess with him, you mess with me, and you don't wanna do that."

"Fuck off Jerko," said the asshole. Harvey covered the five steps it took to reach the other guy's barstool and didn't hesitate. He slapped him so hard it knocked him clean off his seat. He landed on his butt flat on the floor.

"Madigan!" screamed Jessica. I looked at her like she was nuts.

"I didn't hit him," I said unnecessarily. "Jennifer you're cleaning these stools too damn good at night; the gentleman just slid off onto the floor and got the seat of his pants all dirty."

"Sorry, Madigan," said Jennifer. "I'll try to remember not to be so thorough next time."

"Well, okay, then," I said. Harvey was smiling and standing over the fallen asshole looking real smug.

"Well, Jessica? Him or me tonight?" I said. She smiled wanly and kissed me on the cheek.

"I'm sorry Madigan. I really am," she said. Oddly, I wasn't fuming. I knew he would be screwing her over soon enough and then she'd have time to reflect on yet another of her bad choices.

"No, problem, Jessica. But, the next time you come around needing a shoulder, and you will—well—you might wanna cast a little wider net; I won't be there," I said.

They left together him rubbing his still stinging cheek, her holding his arm.

I looked over at my bud. "It looks like stud muffin must have struck out with the teenybopper," I said.

"Looks like," said Harvey. "You know, Harvey, she gave me an idea," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Jennifer, you married?" I said.

"Huh?" she said.

"Are you married? I have a reason for asking," I said. She looked at me funny.

"No. Was, but the asshole cheated on me," she said, "so I kicked his worthless ass out."

"A four-inch dick too small to interest you," I said. Her eyes got big.

"What the hell?" she said.

"You heard me," I said.

"Are you asking me out?" she said. "The reason I want to know is because no man whomsoever, that I have ever met, has had a worse pick up line than you."

"I'll bet," I said. "What about it?"

"A four-inch dick, huh? Do you do oral?" she said pushing her face very close to mine and whispering.

"Fuckin'-A," I said.

"Then your miniature tool will be fine, stud," she said. I actually rubbed my hands together. Harvey was smiling his approval. ******

Jennifer moved in a week later. We married six months later. She delivered a year and half after that. Harvey it seems was not done sleuthing. He discovered that Jessica had indeed made another of her bad choices. Stud muffin beat her up. He was arrested for abuse and spent six months in the can. Bad news for Jennifer; she was carrying his kid. Bad choices can sure pile up.

I eventually used the GI bill to get educated, I got my B.S. in Computer Science in three years time. The money got better; the job more challenging. And life improved dramatically for me. Helluva thing.

I didn't see or hear anything more about Jessica for some thirteen years, and then it was a sort of an accident. I'd continued my education over that time, and now held a Ph.D. in Computer Engineering; I was doing quite well, frankly. As a result I was among several others who were hosted by WGRM TV. It was featuring success stories of GI veterans; I was one of the ones picked.

We were on the stage taping, and it became my turn to speak. The moderator was asking me a question about my personal life. I mentioned that I was divorced remarried and had an eleven year-old daughter. The asshole kept pressing me about my divorce, and as I answered his questions, I noticed a woman get up in the third row back and run up the aisle and out of the theater; it was Jessica. My smile faded; the moderator got the message, and moved on.

I wondered about what would have brought Jessica to the theater that day. I later learned that we "honored guests" had been featured in the local newspapers, and our names published. For the record Harvey was with me that day on the stage. He'd seen her too. And, as luck or the design of the gods would have it, he had changed careers too and was now an investigator for an insurance firm; he'd noticed Jessica at the same time I did. He'd looked over at me, and I'd shrugged.

I kept wondering about my ex-wife in those next few days, but didn't do anything about it—water under the bridge. We, Harvey and I, were sitting in a local bar, more or less upscale, a week later when he hit me with it.

"You been thinking about her?" he said.

I knew what, or who, he was talking about, and he knew I knew; and I knew I couldn't bullshit him. "Yeah, some. You know, it would be good to know what happened to her. I'll never forget her. I can't hate her; I just can't. She damn near killed my heart, but I can't hate her. I'm just lucky that Jennifer was there to pick up the pieces," I said. He nodded his understanding.

"I checked up on her," he said.

"What the fuck? Why would you do that? I don't want to be buttin' into her life," I said, "or you either."

He shrugged and changed the subject. The game was on the screen, and "tailback-U" had unleashed its rushing corps and was killing the Longhorns 31-6.

I kept looking at him wondering when he was going to tell me about Jessica, but he'd clammed up. It was up to me.

"Okay, what did you find out," I said.

"Thought you didn't want to butt into her life?" he said, all but laughing at me.

"Fuck that," I said. "Give."

"She'd read about you being on TV with all of the rest of us medal winner success stories. She got some tickets and came to watch. For the record, she still loves you; she just never could get around your..."