Reader's Block

"Glad you asked," I state triumphantly. "I asked earlier what kind of man you are. I just told you what kind I am. We're very different, I suspect, but we've both dealt with similar relationship issues. Tell me, John, what do you want to do about...?"

"Tracy," he finishes. That proves he was too self-absorbed earlier to catch me dropping her name.

"Well? You want to burn her down? Get some kind of revenge? Let her be? Try to get her back?"

John contemplates the big question. "I want revenge, but what's the point? I can't do anything to her. All her friends and relatives are on her side. The laws and the courts are on her side too. What can I do?"

It's clear to me that John is at a crossroads. He just doesn't see it. He thinks he's out of options. He just needs someone to grab his shoulders and point him in the right direction. I feel like giving him the push.

"So if you think revenge is off the table, what's the play?" I ask.

"Probably just forget the bitch and get on with my life," he says, deflating into the stool. "It's not what I really want, but it all just feels so hopeless."

"There's always hope, John," I say with an easy shrug. "Tell you what: give me some more details. Tell me about your life and your family. Let me contemplate."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see John turn his head towards me. I don't need to look. I know his face is all screwed up, and he's wondering if he's talking to an undercover cop. Still, John's angry. He's a sad sack, but he's very, very angry. I sound very, very confident. I sound like someone who could help him plan the perfect murder.

"I'm forty-four, and we have one daughter," He says cautiously. He still has no idea why I need to know any of this stuff - or that I already do. "She's fourteen and lives with her mother. I'm also paying child support. My interests WERE my family, so now I don't know what they are. This, I guess. I've never lived anywhere else but here - not as an adult, anyway. Not with any responsibilities."

I signal the bartender for our free sober-up round - a Pepsi for me and coffee for John.

"So let me shift gears here, John," I say. "What did you do last Valentine's Day?"

"I was here," he says, as if that's perfectly normal.

That draws out another sigh from me that cannot be concealed. "Okay, the Valentine's before that?"

"I can't remember. I think we went to dinner, Tracy and I." I can see he's being honest. That's something. Sad Sack John doesn't lie much - not even to himself, really. That's not his thing. His thing is that he's myopic and dense. He doesn't look past his own nose. He doesn't contemplate.

"And what would you do, or how would you feel, if Tracy forgot you on Christmas?" I ask, glaring at him.

"Fan...Mac, I mean Devon...fuck! What are you getting at?" he almost yells, exasperated.

"I'm trying to get you to think about the next time you're up to bat, John," I say. "My grandfather told me when I was a teen that in order to resolve conflicts, I should always take fifty-one percent of the blame, no - of the fault - unless I was sure the other party was one hundred percent culpable."

I let that sink in while checking the front entrance.

"Somewhere along the line, you and Tracy became incompatible - at least partially. Now, I don't think she handled it right. She made herself the victim to end all victims, and used that as an excuse to stop communicating and start cheating. But I'm pretty sure she wasn't a criminal mastermind, John, or an Oscar-winning actress. She was unhappy, she was detaching from the relationship, she was falling for some other guy, and you didn't have a clue.

"At the very least, heaven forbid something like that happens again, you'll have a clue. Why? Because you'll be a better person. You'll be more aware of yourself and your surroundings. It might surprise you how drastically that'll lower the odds of something like this happening again."

"I see what you're saying," he admits. "It's just that she never talked to me about our troubles. But, I suppose, I could have at least been looking."

"There you go!" I exclaim. "Now you're getting it."

John does not answer now. He's deep in thought again, and right where I want him.

"John, do you mind if I tell you about the rest of my life? Some of the better parts, actually?"

He shrugs looking straight ahead. Having him where I want him is one thing. Losing him to a dark place in his head is another.

"My current wife is was also my high school sweetheart. We met at thirteen and dated until eighteen. We talked marriage and growing old together. Circumstances separated us, but thirty-two years later we found our way back. The best part of those early years was - I knew her at her core - her innocent, childhood core - and that's important for me at least, because, while people can change on the outside, there's never been a person alive who could change who they are at their core. We're now reunited and deeply in love. Knowing each other so deeply allows trust and respect to flourish.

"But it took me a long time to get over my second wife. I should clarify, well to get over exacting revenge on her and that son-of-a-bitch she went off with. But I should probably tell it in the correct order."

"I thought you just lectured me about how revenge didn't happen in real life?" he states belligerently.

"I said it requires planning and commitment, and a willingness to accept the risks and costs"

That shuts him up for another moment. I'm really leaning into that whole 'guy who can help you commit the perfect murder' angle.

"Wife number two," I continue, "was a wonderful woman in her own right. She helped me raise my kids in a warm, loving environment. We had one of our own not long after we wed. Life was perfect. At least that's what it looked like to the outside world. We were a power couple; the envy of our friends and neighbors. We were great parents; the children thrived, played sports, did well in school, and were perfectly well-adjusted. I coached all of them in pretty much every sport - volunteer work, no pay. We volunteered for pretty much everything. We were so involved that some people wondered if we even had jobs.

"Like the song goes, 'everything runs right on time; spit and polished til it shines.' The work parts of the relationship were great. Unfortunately, we discovered shortly after getting married that we were not romantically or intimately compatible at all. That led to an almost dead sex life. I was trapped, and so was she. We made it work for almost fifteen years, like two successful business partners. Then I started to suspect."

John is listening intently. I've got him back.

"That's not right, actually," I recall. "I was already gratifying myself online, since we had a sexless marriage. We probably should have just given each other permission to step out, but neither of us had been raised that way. That's a part of my fifty-one percent.

"Anyway," I say, "I was reading all these online stories, like the ones I now write. That's actually why I started to suspect her. It's also where I got the idea to plant a voice-activated recorder in her home office.

"I'll be damned if she wasn't talking about screwing one of our top sales guys - a guy I work with." My voice rises several decibels. "Right there on the god dammed tape recorder. I confronted, she denied. Then I started going through her emails. She'd cleared her history and inbox, but, just like in the stories, she never touched her sent file. There it was."

I take a moment to regroup. Time is running short, and I've been a little long-winded. I guess you never really get over the hurt. Oh well.

"By that time, we were already in marriage counseling over the salesman. This other guy, from her emails, was a regional director for the manufacturer, who was a client of my wife's food brokerage. They rode around once a month together selling shit. Jack was his name - Jack the manufacturer's rep."

John perks up. "That's weird. My wife took up with a guy named Jack. He's in food too."

Here's the part where I hope John doesn't experience too much personal growth all at once. I'm not sure our potential partnership will survive him realizing that I've been stalking him.

Jack had led my investigator to his new main squeeze, one Mrs. Tracy Baker. That had led him, and me, to John. John's actions had inspired me to put together a plan for tonight's festivities.

Like many people, John was a creature of habit. Even after living on his own for several months, John still surfed the net late at night, even though he could have done so naked at five-thirty in the afternoon. Another one of John's habits was dozing off during his nightly activities.

One morning, not long after Tracy left him, John showed up bright and early for a staff meeting. His team consisted of thirteen men and women. That day, John was giving a presentation on the bonus structure for the new quarter. When he opens his laptop, there's a bunch of banner ads from his favorite adult erotic story website still there on the screen. If he had only opened his computer before plugging in the HDMI cable to the big-screen TV, John might be on his way to VP by now. That's why John is now a clerk instead of a foreman at the company he worked for; something, he left out. That's also how my current plan A was born.

I ignore his comment. "It was all too easy. In one email, my wife said: "I had a great time selling with you on Tuesday!

"He replied: Yes! Me too! Next time try to keep your shirt on! LOL

"She answered: As I recall, it wasn't me who took their shirt off, but I guess you can remember it however you choose. Either way, I had soooo much fun!

"He comes back with: Me too. I hope you don't do that with all your male ride-withs! I'll be very jealous.

Then the dagger that ended it all from my fucking ex-wife: Do you ever wonder why I keep a tape measure in my console?

"That was it. I read most of the rest, but she was already dead to me. She swooned over his suggestions about mountain hiking, camping on Mt. Ranier - a bunch of stuff she'd never shown any interest in, in the sixteen years I'd know her. I printed everything using almost a ream of paper. Made an extra copy of that recording on a mini cassette, and then stopped at Home Depot on my way to our next counseling session. I was going to burn that bitch to the ground, just like I'd read about.

"The counselor started by asking me how my week had been. Of course I started my soliloquy, about how certain things had come to light, and so on and so forth. I dropped the ream of paper and the tape measure I'd purchased from under my coat onto the table in front of us, and then set the cassette and my wedding ring on top and said, 'I'll leave you two to talk about my soon-to-be-ex-wife's inability to keep her fucking legs closed, considering she rarely spreads them for me.'"

"Holy shit!" John exclaims, "I bet that felt fucking amazing!"

"Yeah," I sigh. "It did... for about a day, maybe two." I pause for effect. "Who the hell am I kidding? It did feel AMAZING! I get all warm inside and my blood pressure is almost popping out this fake eye of mine, just recounting it to you!"

John looks horrified. "It's a joke, John. No fake eye."

While finishing my story, I'd noticed a group of four hot women had entered and taken a booth against the far wall. Now I'm noticing one of them looking my way.

"Seriously, though." I continue. "My first two wives, like yours, totally screwed me over. But I take the blame on the second one at least, for not confronting the elephant in the room. I don't know if we could have found a solution - well, short of a divorce - that would have worked for both of us, but I didn't even try."

John being John, I decide to make the connection explicit. "You said that Tracy's letter stated that she 'couldn't do it anymore,' but she never said what, and you didn't ask. That's your fifty-one percent, John, own it and learn from it, so you can be better next time.

"Listen though - I need to get going. And you, my friend, need to get back on your horse." The abrupt end to our talk stuns him.

"Tell you what," I say, "John, take a glance over your left shoulder. That table with the four hot women. You go over there, and chat them up a bit, and I'm buying the first round."

John suddenly looks apprehensive. "No - no, I don't think I can do that. I'm not really ready to - you know - get back in the game."

"Sure you are!" I state confidently. "If I can do it, so can you. Besides maybe it just ends up talk. I'll sweeten the pot. If you score tonight, with any of them - hell, with anybody you find attractive, then you let me know..." I lay a blank card on the bar with my personal email written on it, then continue.

"... then I'll treat you to a steak and lobster dinner so you can regale me with the tale of your conquest. If it's a sad tale, we go Dutch okay?"

I know I'm pushing him hard. I've done all I can do, now, though.

"Nice to meet you, John," I say patting him on his back. "Let me know how it goes. Maybe I'll write something about your wild evening and put it in the 'romance' category."

I stay where I am long enough to make sure John doesn't switch direction, mid-stride, and head for the exit. It's a good thing he doesn't, because just a few moments after the women invite him to sit down, John Baker's bitch of an ex-wife, Tracy, comes strolling in with my nemesis, Jack. A man at the far end of the bar looks my way, and I nod. He stands and goes for the front door, clumsily bumping into Jack on his way out.

"Hey, watch where the fuck you're going!" I hear him grumble to Jack, already showing him his back.

With a quick glance back at the booth, I see that Chantal, Ivory and their two friends have the situation well in hand - or at least they will very shortly. I chuckle at the thought.

John Baker, 'lucky' bastard.

I get my debit card back from the barkeep. The check I signed earlier was a ruse; I'd worked out with him before tonight. I stroll right past Jack on my way out. The arrogant prick doesn't even notice me. When I get to the parking lot, Huey is waiting for me.

"Your keys, sir," he states formally, while doing a mock bow and handing me Jack's car keys. Huey was one of the kids allowed to call me 'Fuck Face.' We'd reconnected two years ago at our class reunion. We've since helped each other, let's just say - get a little back for ourselves - with our exes and their wife-stealing boyfriends. I'm the big-picture and logistics guy. It didn't hurt that Huey had picked up a certain skillset - and lots of wallets and keys - during his hippie days on the wharfs of San Francisco.

"This is the last time, right Devon?" Huey asks suspiciously. "We made a deal, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," I reply, pretending to sound defeated. "I'm not even going to fuck up his car tonight. After three times, I'm already pressing my luck. I made bigger plans with Jack's date's ex-husband. "Somehow, I think the two lovers are going to have a very shitty night.

"Hey, can you do me one more favor?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "I'm gonna park his shit over there on the end, so other cars can't get around. Can you call the tow company, and tell them you're the bartender requesting a pick-up for an illegally parked vehicle?"

Huey smiles evilly. Damn, you're cold."

"No," I say smiling right back, even though I guess I am. "I just want John Baker's ex to have to sit and watch, as my two escorts work their magic, all while dick-wad is outside, trying to convince the salvage company to unhook his car."

Huey's still smiling, "And you paid the girls too, didn't you? Fuck Devon, you went all out for this one." Then he considers something else. "He'll know - if they slip and say something - He'll know what you did."

"Who cares?" I say. "By then, he's John fucking Wayne, and he's gonna feel like he just defended the Alamo, single-handedly."

Huey laughs, and we turn away from each other to finish the gig.

I'll be sitting in my car watching and enjoying the action for a while, of course. I've paid a lot of time and money to set this up, after all. I was being honest with Huey, though. This really is my final act of revenge. I'd made them pay many times over, and at this point, the good feelings are being eclipsed by the nagging sense that I am - or ought to be - a better person. Jack had left my ex, high and dry, after my abuse became all too much for him. He'd gone to the cops, but could never prove it was me. I was always somewhere else, in a crowd. My ex, it seems grew tired of his whining about me. He started putting the moves on Tracy Baker, not even two weeks after he bailed.

Later, I'll go home and give my current wife some loving while telling her all about closing my big deal today, and of course our trip. That should earn me a few extra spins when we go to bed. Tomorrow, it's a bright, new day for John Baker. It will be for me too, if I can just stop 'getting even.'