"Myra's Little Book Shop"

Uh oh, she got it. I watched as she looked about the room. Finally she found and looked up at the camera. For a few seconds we had direct eye contact. She knew! Voice thin, looking directly into the camera she replied, "No I think that would be too obvious. I mean too obvious to the other men and women in King Priam's court, and especially to...," deep sigh, almost a whimper, "...her hero."

Via the camera we were looking right at each other. She took her reading glasses off, still staring at me she started fiddling with the buttons on her blouse; the melt down had begun!

I answered coolly, "Yes it would wouldn't it. Let me suggest then that there's a woman who feels bored, maybe tired of the regularity, you know the normality of her life with her husband or betrothed. She's sick of the dependable, the loyal. Maybe she wants something extra, you know something different, or perhaps maybe the excitement of doing something she shouldn't, the crazy notion she'd be getting away with something, putting something over on a trusting and unknowing husband or betrothed,"

I closed for the kill, "or maybe it could be all those things; status, some special offering, better sex, and the excitement of doing something dishonest and not getting caught."

She'd been looking directly into the camera the whole time I talked. She turned off her phone, got up, walked around her desk, looked straight into the camera lens, and then put something up that covered it.

Damn! So now she knew! I turned my phone off, and went back to the work at hand.

I got to work, and wow! This was going to be crazy; six monitors at home and four at the bookstore. A question flashed across my mind; did I want Zoey to see what Myra and I had been doing at home? I thought not; but why not? What could I be afraid of; was I afraid Zoey might see me with another woman? That couldn't be it; could it?

I started pulling down everything at the store. The counter for certain, surely the back storeroom, everywhere, things had to start someplace. My guess was Myra's faithlessness most likely started out front. I could be wrong; it might've started with texts, but that could come later.

I'd all but finished the store downloading and was all set to send what I had off to Zoey when I heard the front door. It had to be Myra. I hit send, and off the material went.

Myra walked into my den and said, "I checked the GPS on your IPhone. You spent last night at a Hampton. Mind telling me what's going on?"

'Damn it,' I thought, 'undone by the very tools I was using'. I replied, "You know what's going on." I watched and wondered how long she'd try to dissemble, turned out not long at all.

Myra walked across the room and sat beside me on a wooden chair, "OK, you got me."

"Got what," I asked?

"Don't be coy Curtis. I know you were in the bookstore yesterday morning."

I didn't flinch, "So how long?"

She looked down at her shoes; she had on a pair of black lace up, two inch heels, the thicker kind of heel seen on older women's shoes. She fiddled with the buttons on the sleeve of her blouse, "Just the one time." She wouldn't look up.

I added, "It's all recorded Myra."

She started to tear up. I thought, 'Women and their tears.' Through the moisture and soft whimpering she murmured, "Curtis."

"How long?"

"Since June, right after graduation."

"You mean Saint Agricola's high school graduation just before Memorial Day?"

Still tearful she nodded, "Remember, I'd been invited to their post-graduation faculty party that afternoon; that's when it started," she corrected herself, "No, it was the next day, Sunday."

I felt sick. I knew the feeling. I'd gone through it before with Zoey; things like this deadened the senses, made a person feel numb, detached, disconnected, "Seven weeks."

"Oh Curtis, I'm so sorry."

I heard her, but it was coming from another time zone, another world, "Sure, I know. You're sorry... my oh so sorry wife."

She reached across and touched my hand, "Curtis can't we..."

I guess my face, the dead expression stopped her. I finished her sentence, "I doubt it. I mean what would be the purpose?"

Using her index fingers she wiped the tears from her eyes, "There's Wayne."

I was still someplace else, alive but dead, "Myra we've both gone through this kind of thing before. I thought we agreed we'd been hurt enough to know never to let ourselves fall into the same trap twice. You already told me about your first husband; the hurt, the betrayal, the anger, and the sense of futility, your feelings of inadequacy. I'd told you about Zoey. I thought we understood each other. I thought we agreed."

"Curtis I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I just...well..."

I felt so physically weak. I wanted to go someplace, lie down, and just go back to sleep." I asked, "Just out of curiosity; care to tell me why?"

She'd stopped crying, "It started more as a business proposition I guess. He mentioned my new store. He told me about the children at his school, the contacts he had with the other private schools. He said he could send a lot of business my way," she hesitated; then went on, "he told me there'd be a 'quid pro quo'.

I interrupted, "You get the sales, and he'd get you."

She shivered, "Yes, that's about it..."

As she looked at me; she reminded me of another story. I'd imagined sometimes how Agamemnon's daughter ‎Iphigenia must have looked just before he sacrificed her. Agamemnon had been told the only way to get a favorable wind to Troy was by killing his innocent daughter. In most versions of the story he eviscerated her, in some versions she was rescued and escaped, but in all the versions I'd read the girl's mother Clytemnestra, out of vengeance, ended up axing her husband to death upon his return from Troy. Looking at Myra's piteous face I wondered would I be Agamemnon, the murderous father, or would I be Clytemnestra the vengeful mother. Then I wondered; did it even matter?

I asked, "But that wasn't all was it?"

"No," she sniffed, "when it started I felt cheap and dirty. I knew I was betraying you. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to confess. I told him we had to stop..."

"But things changed didn't they."

"Curtis, Oh I'm so sorry. Try to understand. As it went on it got to be more like playing a game; he even called it that. He had a wife. I had a husband. It was like we were playing hide and seek. I was hiding this nasty awful thing but I pretended it was meaningless and funny. He and I had a secret. In a way it really was a game, just a silly game. He called it a tryst. That's a good word for it; it makes it sounds almost innocent, like in high school, just an innocent silly fun game."

This hurt, my stomach started to ache, "You never thought about what it might do to me?"

She was crying again, she hiccoughed, "I did, but I remembered my first husband's reasons. He'd talked about the fun of it, the idea of it, the idea of keeping a secret, a special secret thing away from me. How much fun it was. How fun it was to do it, not as sex, but as a game."

"You remember what you said to me when you talked about your husband's 'reasons'?"

Oh I do. I do. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to..."

"Oh shut up Myra; just shut the fuck up. You didn't mean to get caught, but you did, and now we're here."

She wilted. The tears tumbled out in big gooey droplets, "Please Curtis. It was so irresponsible. I've been so thoughtless. It was just about selling books, the other, the sex, it didn't mean anything. I mean it; it meant nothing, only that it was kind of a game. I'm so sorry. Please let me make it up to you."

I was being consumed by my heretofore well-hidden rage. If I didn't get her out of the house I knew I'd kill her. I checked the clock; that kept me from looking at her, "Myra," I said, "Get out. Get out now. Go back to work. Stay there."

She got up and backed away, "Can I call later?"

"No, just get out, get out now!"

She grabbed her purse and fled the house.

I got up, went to the living room and made sure she was gone. Now what? Oh yeah the little matter of Dr. Wallace Prendergast, Headmaster at Saint Agricola School. I went back and sat back down again at my computer. With people like him finding out didn't take long; he grew up outside Richmond, private schools, undergraduate Brighton, M.A. William and Mary, Ph.D. Georgia. Professionally he started out teaching history at a private school in Little Rock, from there Memphis, then Mobile, and now here, headmaster outside his home town of Richmond, always the best. He'd come full circle.

Back to work I called Federal Express. I needed a package sent to the Headmaster at Saint Agricola's ASAP. Could they pick something up? They said they'd take care of it. Then I pulled down his yesterday's exploits with my wife. I printed out three pictures. For sure his face wasn't shown, but it didn't matter in a typed note I explained our surveillance system. I left him my IPhone number in the note. By lunchtime I knew Federal Express would have things well in hand.

I called Zoey, "Did you get the material?"

"Yes Curtis. I gave it a quick look over. I'll do more when I get home. I'm taking tomorrow off so I'll have everything finished for you when you come tomorrow night for dinner." She added softly, "Curtis I'm so sorry."

I thought, 'Why did she always have to sound so sincere?' I sighed, "About tomorrow night; would it put you out if I came tonight too?"

I could almost taste her joy through the phone. I remembered her tiny mouth, those cherry red heart shaped lips, "Oh absolutely. I'll take the rest of the day off. The kids will love it. It's been so long; maybe we could do the grill?"

I asked, "That old thing still work."

She chirped, "You know it does. You just used it Memorial Day."

I remembered, 'That's right, Myra had gone to the Saint Agricola graduation and post-graduation reception. I'd taken Wayne to Zoey's to be with all my kids.' I told her, "Don't put yourself out."

"No bother," she giggled, "I'll buy some ground sirloin and some franks. I'll make my homemade potato salad and Cole slaw. I'll make them both just how you like them!"

I was starting to feel gravelly; that's gritty and angry like I wanted to hit someone, but sad and mushy like if I could just lie down and curl up someplace I'd be OK, but men don't act like that. Yeah I remembered, I'd had a good time Memorial Day Saturday so much in fact I'd gone back over when Myra told me she had to spend the day at her store doing inventory. I had to hang up, "Don't put yourself out."

She sounded increasingly excited, "What time can we expect you? I want the kids ready for their daddy!"

'Daddy,' I thought, 'no matter what I'm still a dad, somebody's something. I had a dad. I was a dad. Zoey had hit the right note, but that was how she was. 'Brandon, that Brandon,' I started to get mad again. I said, "Five O'clock, I've got to go."

I hung up and sat for a moment staring at the phone, and at a picture on the desk of Myra and me, our wedding picture, it could have been me and Zoey. I remembered. Zoey and I, big Methodist wedding, three hundred people, nonalcoholic reception in the church social hall; me and Myra, small civil ceremony, quiet restaurant dinner with a few close friends.

Yeah, no matter what, I was still somebody to someone, three of em, could've been five. Thanks Zoey for reminding me, then I broke down. I started to cough back the tears, and once it started I just couldn't stop. I just kept coughing and hiccoughing and brushing away tears. I wasn't crying though; men don't cry.

With Wayne on her hip our au pair peeked in, "Everything all right Dr. Carothers?"

I sat up and wiped my eyes, "Yes, I'm fine thank you."

She gave me a quizzical look and turned back to whatever it was they were doing.

I went over and closed my office door. Sobbingly, I thought, 'What was wrong with me? I needed to get a grip. Who was it; that old dead country singer Vern Gosdin, yeah.'

I thought about what Vern sang, 'this ain't my first rodeo.' I kept telling myself, 'You'll get past this. You've been here before. It's no big deal. Hell it's not like you're alone; you've got... Who the hell did I have? Well there's Zoey. Why her? Why her now? But I knew why. Nothing made sense... The bitch.'

I checked the clock, still mid-morning. What was I going to do? I sure didn't feel like going through a lot of old videos from the house; didn't expect to find or need anything from there anyway. What was I to do?

I guess I could've gone outside. We have a small pool. No, I went upstairs. I took an ice cold shower. I got out some old pictures, pictures of Myra, pictures of Zoey. Now why had I kept and hidden all these old pictures of my first wife? I had our wedding pictures. She was so pretty, so tiny, all dressed in white, her mom's wedding dress; blond hair, blue eyes, white dress, a little fairy princess, my fairy princess. My perfect...

I had pictures from our honeymoon, her pregnant, her pregnant again, another pregnant picture, two babies, three pregnancies. There were pictures of her in bed when we went to New York; her in a light blue peignoir that exactly matched the blue in her eyes. I'd bought it for her, and she'd modeled it.

That night in New York, "Cats", that had been a wonderful night, satin sheets, huge circular bed, big thick pillows, her in the middle batting big luscious eyes, one finger touching ruby red lips. Her soft pink skin, tiny slit, just wisps of blond hair, she trimmed. Heart shaped face, hair curled around her cheeks, luminous liquid blue eyes. Fully engorged labia soaked with moisture, perfect camel toe, vaginal walls tightly wrapped around...oh shit. The even more perfect wake me up; lips kissing, caressing the head of my dick. God she was so warm, so affectionate!

I pulled out my 'Johnson' and I masturbated. Then I went in the bathroom and wiped off, went back in the bedroom lay back down and did it again.

I kept telling myself, "Curtis you are so fucked up! You've got a PH.D. in Classical Literature. Associate Professors in Classical Literature don't jerk off like sixteen year old high school boys."

About lunchtime, still looking at pictures of Zoey I did it a third time; a little sore, but it still felt good.

~~V~~

About 3:30 p.m. I realized that if I went to Zoey's I'd need to take Wayne so I called her, "Zoey is it all right if I brought Wayne with me?"

She seemed out of herself, "You silly, of course!"

What was wrong with me? This was Zoey; why'd I even ask? I loaded Wayne in the special bassinet in the back of my SUV and took off. A couple times I almost stopped. This wasn't fair; it wasn't fair to Zoey. I didn't turn around though.

When I got to my old home even before I pulled in the drive Diana and Keith were bounding across the lawn. The lawn, my lawn, yeah I still cut it. Small yard; only needed a push mower. I used the old Toro every Thursday afternoon, and like clockwork Zoey would be there out there, crop top blouse, tight shorts, lemonade in hand. Sure tasted good on a hot day, and I got to see my kids an extra day.

"Daddy!" yelled Diana.

Right behind was Keith "Daddy, Dad!"

I stopped, turned off the engine and jumped out just in time to be tackled by my two older children. They were all over me!

Diana yelped and pulled my arm, "Come on! Mom's got the grill started. We're having burgers and franks!"

Keith hollered, "Yeah, and mom bought a cake! You're staying all night! Wow! We'll watch a movie! We'll make popcorn! Can't wait till tomorrow!" That's when they heard my youngest gurgling and giggling from the back.

Diana hollered, "You brought Wayne! Can I babysit?"

Zoey was out the front door and down the drive. She was in a too skimpy and too short sundress that billowed as she walked showing a little too much leg, and sandals with two inch heels that nicely revealed slender but muscular calves and thighs. No wonder the dress was so loosely fitting.

Watching her breasts undulate beneath the thin material made me remember when we were first married how sometimes she forgot, hah forgot, to wear panties. I recalled we'd sometimes sit on her mom and dad's back porch, her on my lap facing away with my eight inches, in my dreams, stuffed way up inside her. She'd wiggle, giggle, and bounce. God that was fun!

She yelled, "Come now kids, give your daddy a break," as she got closer she saw and heard Wayne too, "I've got the kiddie pool all cleaned out. Tonight we'll put him in the old nursery; it's still fixed up."

I looked toward the gate that led to the back yard. The back yard; we'd had a hammock. Sometimes later when the kids were asleep and the sun was going down I'd lay in the hammock. She'd sit beside me and every now and then lean over and plant a kiss on my dick till it got hard, then we'd go inside.

I had to stop living in the past.

"Curtis! Earth to Curtis'" she took my arm, and leaned up and kissed my cheek. I let her. Flipping back to Diana she said, "Take your daddy in the house so he can freshen up," she smiled up at me batting those damn eyes. She knew what she was doing. She warbled cheerily, "I'll get Wayne."

I felt a little, no a lot funny, but good funny. I felt relieved, comfortable, like I was home, but I knew I wasn't, "You're sure? I mean it's OK?"

"Oh shut up! You know how I love Wayne, he's so pretty."

I scolded, "Boys aren't pretty."

Zoey scoffed, then sang, "You are!"

I felt myself blanch. Listening to Zoey I reflected how when some women talked, after a few moments they often sounded screechy and harsh; like Margaret Hamilton in "The Wizard of Oz they'd grate on my nerves. Marsha never sounded like that; she always sounded like...well like Dorothy. And me; my brother and father both said I was heartless. I guess that made me the Tin Man. Sometimes I felt that way. Myra sounded screechy sometimes.

She laughed.

Diana and Keith each grabbed a hand and were pulling me up the drive. I had no choice. Zoey got Wayne, his bags, and followed along behind. God, I'd been to the house every Wednesday and most Thursdays for two years, and I'd had them every other weekend, and it was always like this! I knew most divorced men dragged their kids off to movies and malls and such, but we had a pool out back, and in the coldest weather, if it snowed I'd sometimes change days. Somebody had to shovel. After a while it just made sense for me to come over and stay. Zoey mostly left us alone; I mean when she wasn't fixing lunch or something. I didn't stay on the weekends though; the weekends I always took them to my house with Myra.

After I got a chance to take a leak and wash my hands Zoey pushed me out back and showed me the grill. "You bought a new one," I said.

She grinned broadly, "You like it?"

It was a lot like our old one so I understood the mechanics, "Got propane?"

"New tank," she trilled, "I'll go get the burgers and dogs," She turned to my older kids who wouldn't let go of me and said, "Come on you scamps; let daddy get the grill going. Diana get Wayne."

It was just the beginning. We cooked and ate burgers and dogs. We gobbled down homemade Cole slaw, macaroni salad, potato salad, and then we sucked down one of my all-time favorites - ice cream covered chocolate layer cake. All the while the kids laughed and played; all three of them. Wayne mostly gurgled and slobbered.

And Zoey? Well Zoey was her typical self; she wouldn't or couldn't shut up. She kept up a running dialogue about everything from the kids, the neighbors, her mom and dad, to the latest news on world climate change. Just watching her talk was a special experience, the way her breasts shifted and moved, they seemed to twirl about under her dress. It zippered up the front; there was a time I would've zipped it down, the cloth would've pinioned her arms to her sides, and I would have slapped her down on my lap and snuggle in between those two perfect little orbs while her thighs would've spread around my manhood, and I would have slowly slid inside.