Mustang Sally

"Interesting idea," said Sally. "My husband drives a black Mustang. What does that say about him?"

"That's a very powerful and dynamic image," replied Stuart. "What does he do for a living?"

"He's a lawyer," she replied.

"Well, that's a flamboyant choice of car for a lawyer. I'm not an expert, but I think a mustang is a breed of wild pony. It's safe to say lawyers don't tend to run wild and free through life, but maybe he tempered the image by choosing black to reflect the sombre colour of his lawyer's robes." Stuart frowned, remembering the black car with the parking ticket. "Just out of curiosity, which firm does he work for?"

"Wilsons. You've probably never heard of them. They specialise in criminal law."

"Oh, I've heard of them," he replied. "They're defending that Anderson guy who's supposed to have made millions by scamming old folk out of their retirement pensions."

"That's one way of putting it," said Sally. "My husband's leading Anderson's defence. I don't know any of the details, but it's sub judice, so we should probably avoid discussing it."

"Yes," said Stuart, his lips tightening momentarily. "Let's forget the Anderson case and we can 'park' any further discussion of cars, if you pardon the pun. The point I was trying to make is about the need for product differentiation to segment the target market and help our clients get different types of consumers to buy their products. The key question is which potential customers do we want to target?"

"Well," said Sally with a smile, "an older and wiser friend once told me it's always a good idea to target customers with money."

*

That evening Stuart thought long and hard about what could happen if he told Sally her husband might be having a fling with Tracy. He was aware of the old saying that fools rush in where angels fear to tread. His new job could be on the line if he told Sally about what he thought was going on behind her back.

Apart from what Stuart had witnessed with his own eyes, there was only circumstantial evidence that Sally's husband was the man who had been screwing Tracy. Her husband could claim he was completely innocent and had a legitimate reason for visiting a colleague who was working from home. It could easily be argued they were simply discussing the Anderson case. Besides, it was possible the black sports car with the parking ticket wasn't Sally's husband's car and was unconnected to Tracy's shenanigans.

In the short time Stuart had been working for Sally she had commanded his loyalty and respect and he felt almost duty bound to make her aware of what he thought was going on. What he had to tell her might not go down well, but he decided she deserved to know what he had seen and he would have to take a chance she wouldn't shoot the messenger.

Stuart hadn't bothered to show Tracy the picture of the black sports car with the parking ticket on their last evening together, but luckily he hadn't deleted it from his phone. He decided to show Sally the picture as a starting point for a conversation, but if she thought it wasn't her husband's car, he would avoid pursuing the matter.

Stuart waited until lunchtime the following day to seek out Sally for a one-to-one meeting in her office, where no one would overhear their conversation.

"I've got a photo on my phone I'd like to show you," he said.

"I hope it's not anatomical?" Sally asked, her tone of voice reflecting amused curiosity rather than a warning.

"No. It's to do with our conversation about cars yesterday. Is this your husband's car by any chance?" he asked, handing Sally his mobile.

Sally looked at the picture of the black car on Stuart's mobile phone. "It looks like it, but I'm not sure," she replied, handing the phone back to him.

"Wait a minute and I'll zoom in, so you can see the number plate. There you go."

Stuart showed her the magnified image of the front of the black sports car, where the galloping pony insignia and the registration number were clearly identifiable - LE64LGW.

"Yes," said Sally, laughing. "That's definitely Gerry's car. The 6 is supposed to be read as a G and the 4 as an A, making the word LEGAL and then GW for Gerry Wilson. The personalised number was his idea. I think it's cheesy, but it's not my car. How on earth did you get this picture, anyway?"

"I didn't tell you this before now, but my ex-girlfriend works for Wilsons as a paralegal. She's been very busy recently, checking documents for the Anderson case. Her name is Tracy Brown and she lives on Laurel Park Street. That's where I took the photo."

"Amazing!" exclaimed Sally. "Your ex-girlfriend and my husband are colleagues and they're working together on the same case. It really is a small world."

"I suppose so, but there's more to the story. Five minutes after I took that photo I found Tracy in bed with another man and that's why she's no longer my girlfriend. I'm sorry to say it, but I think that man was very likely your husband."

Sally was stunned. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth and her eyes widened in astonishment before she recovered her composure. Lowering her hands, she finally murmured, "I don't believe it." Taking a deep breath, she added "It might not be him. What did the man look like?"

"I only saw him from the back," replied Stuart. "They were so busy they didn't see me and I didn't hang around to be introduced."

"So you can't be sure who the man was?"

"No. I can't be absolutely sure and the evidence is pretty much circumstantial, but I noticed he had what looked like a small birthmark in the centre of his lower back, directly above the crack of his backside."

"Gerry doesn't have a birthmark," said Sally, sighing with exasperation, "but he has a small tattoo of a mustang pony exactly where you described it."

"I hate to say it, but that's more than likely what I saw," said Stuart. "Look, I'm really sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I wasn't sure whether to say anything, but I have a lot of respect for you and I had to let you know."

"Don't worry," Sally reassured him. "I had a strange feeling something might have been going on. Gerry was spending an awful lot of time on the Anderson case and he's been coming home later than usual every now and again. I just wish there was some way I could be sure before I confront him."

"Maybe there is," said Stuart. "I still have a key for Tracy's place and I doubt she's bothered to have the lock changed. I was going to send the key back to her, but you can borrow it. Today's Thursday and if past form is anything to go by Gerry will probably be visiting her this afternoon."

*

Gerry was disappointed to find dinner wasn't ready when he got home just after 7pm that Thursday evening. There were no signs of food preparation in the kitchen or dining room, so he poured himself a beer and sauntered through to the lounge, where he found Sally sitting on a sofa, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Hi. Sorry I'm a bit late again, sweetheart," he greeted her, flopping into his favourite armchair and flashing a big grin at her. "The Anderson case is taking up tons of my time these days. Are we going out for dinner, or have you ordered a takeaway?"

"I'm not really hungry at the moment," she replied, unsmiling. "I'm not surprised the Anderson case is taking up so much of your time. You probably spend most of it fucking your slutty colleague."

"What the hell do you mean?" exclaimed Gerry in surprise.

"How long have you been fucking Tracy Brown?" asked Sally, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," he blustered. "She's been doing some work on the Anderson case with me. That's all."

"I saw you working with her this afternoon at her place," she replied. "Before you ask, I borrowed a key from her ex-boyfriend. The pair of you were so damn busy in her bedroom that you wouldn't have noticed if a marching band had shown up. And don't give me any nonsense about how it was only the one time."

Gerry realised Sally had caught him fair and square, but he decided to plead for leniency.

"Please understand it was only sex," he said. "There was no love involved. It was purely physical. I didn't go out of my way to seduce her. She was the one who initiated it and I just got carried away. As I said, it was only sex. That's all it ever was. Only sex."

"If you think that's all it was, you're seriously mistaken," she replied, setting her empty cup down on the coffee table. "I don't care who made the first move. I'm not prepared to accept you fucking another woman. You betrayed me and hurt me badly."

She stood and walked through to the hall, followed by her agitated husband, continuing to plead his case for the defence.

"Please don't go, Sally," he implored her, as she put on a jacket. "I'm sure we can sort this out. Tracy Brown will be out of a job first thing tomorrow and you and I can get back to the way things were."

"Too little, too late, Gerry," she replied over her shoulder as she opened the front door. "I've packed a couple of bags and I'll be staying with my parents until I can make other arrangements."

He watched helplessly as she got into her little red Mazda MX5 and zoomed off down the driveway, spinning the tyres and spraying gravel chips in her wake. Gerry quickly checked his Mustang, but none of the chips had hit it.

*

The end of the week was an ordeal for Gerry Wilson. He had some explaining to do when he asked his father to terminate Tracy Brown's employment. The old man made it clear in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen. Tracy Brown had worked for Wilsons for a few years and her employment record was unblemished. The firm couldn't take the chance she would bring a case for wrongful dismissal. Instead, both Tracy and Gerry were given a verbal warning about inappropriate behaviour in the workplace.

Gerry got home on Friday evening to find Sally had emptied the house of all her personal belongings, various furnishings and pieces of furniture. Her favourite pictures were gone and even the bedroom curtains had been taken away. In a foul mood, Gerry ordered a pizza from the local Italian restaurant and washed it down with the best part of two bottles of excellent Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. It was at least of some consolation to discover Sally hadn't made off with any of the contents of their well-stocked wine cellar.

On Saturday afternoon Gerry took his Mustang to be washed, waxed and valeted. While the guys were working on the car he did some food shopping and tried to call Sally, without success. He realised she was obviously still very angry with him and he decided not to irritate her further with repeated telephone calls and messages. He told himself his best bet was to give her some time to get over it.

Gerry treated himself to a rib-eye steak from one of the best butchers in town, accompanied that evening by a bottle of a prize-winning Australian Shiraz. He slept soundly that night, possibly due to the half bottle of vintage port he consumed after dinner.

It wasn't until he crawled out of bed late on Sunday morning that he remembered he was due to meet some friends for a round of golf in the afternoon. After a light brunch of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, he showered, changed and grabbed his golf gear. Exiting the front door, the sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks and he dropped his bag of golf clubs and his golf shoes in horrified surprise.

A large, upside-down paint tin was sitting on top of the roof of his beloved Mustang. Bright white gloss paint had run down all over the roof and windows. Along the side of the car, someone had painted in large capital letters: ONLY A CAR?