Stranger Brew

Work went smoothly, and I made a point of leaving on time so I'd be sure to be there to greet Ann. When I heard the garage door open, I stood up expectantly and smiled as she walked up to me.

Whap! She slapped me in the face as hard as she could, causing me to stagger back, my ears ringing. "What the hell was that for?" I yelled.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed at me. "You've been spying on me! You hired a detective agency to follow me, to photograph every move I made. You don't trust me!"

Oh, shit, this is NOT good.

She stood there with her fists clenched at her side, her face red with anger. "I can't believe you would disrespect me like that. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to find out your husband doesn't trust you?" She paused to catch her breath. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

What could I possibly say? She was absolutely right: I hadn't trusted her. I had had her followed. How do I make this right?

I stood there like an idiot, desperately trying to think of something that would save the situation. "But I do trust you, Cookie. I know you've been faithful, honest."

"Sure you do - after you had me tailed for two weeks!" Her face contorted even more. "And don't ever call me Cookie again!"

All I could do was to stare dumbly at the floor. My silence made her even angrier. "I guess I was right after all about this weekend. You were only being sweet to me because you were feeling guilty about what you'd done."

"No, Ann, that's not true," I started, but she cut me off.

"Well if you weren't feeling guilty, you sure as hell should have been." Tears of rage were streaming from her eyes as she glared at me. "I've never been treated so horribly in my life. And to have it be my own husband who did it!"

She whirled around and headed for the stairs. "Right now I can't even stand to look at you." With that she stomped up the stairs, and I heard our bedroom door slam shut.

I slumped down on the couch, my head in my hands. This is terrible - this is the worst. What can I say, what can I do to make it up to her? I stood up and began pacing around the room, my mind going in circles as well. I don't think flowers or candy are going to do the trick. Right now, I don't think there's any gift I could give her at any price to win her back. Price? Oh, damn, what if she finds out how much money I paid Masterson? She'll really flip out then.

My jaw began to ache, so I went out to the kitchen and held some ice in a plastic bag on it. I deserve this. Hell, I deserve a lot worse.

Then an even more terrible thought hit me. What if she wants a divorce? I really couldn't blame her. Why did I let my paranoia take control?

I heard her walking around upstairs and I wondered what she was doing. After a while, she came downstairs and grabbed her purse. Fixing me with a malevolent stare, she spat, "I don't want to be in the same house as you," and headed toward the door.

I hurried after her. "Are you coming back?"

"I haven't decided yet." With that she went to her car and drove away, her tires squealing.

I stood there helplessly for a minute, then decided to go upstairs to find out what she'd been doing up there. At first glance our bedroom looked normal, but when I caught sight of the guest room out of the corner of my eye, I understood. She'd pulled all my clothes out of our closet and tossed them haphazardly on the guest bed. Everything I kept in the dresser drawers had been unceremoniously dumped on the guest room floor.

I sighed and began to pick things up and put them away in the guest room. I guess I'll be sleeping here for the foreseeable future. At least she's not kicking me out of the house.

I wasn't very hungry, but I forced myself to eat some leftovers while I waited for her to come home. It grew later and later, and I finally gave up and went to bed.

Sometime later I awoke to the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I raised up in bed to see her walk by; a moment later the bedroom door slammed shut and I heard the lock engage. I flopped back down on the pillow in misery.

After a night of tossing and turning, I got up early and used the guest bathroom to shower and shave. When I'd finished, I quietly tried the door to the master bedroom, but it was - no surprise - still locked.

Downstairs I made myself some coffee, but I had no appetite so I skipped breakfast. Before I left for work, I glanced up and noticed our message board. I grabbed the chalk and wrote, "I'm so sorry, Ann. Can we talk?" There was so much more I needed to say, but I left it at that.

Luckily for me, there were no major problems at work, because I would have been useless trying to solve them. All I could think about was how to explain what I'd done without making things worse. "Babe, I love you, but I suspected you were cheating on me." Hmm, maybe not the right approach. How about: "Now that I've thoroughly checked you out, I trust you again." Yeah, that would make her feel better.

After agonizing about it for most of the day, I finally decided to tell her the truth. "Babe, I was afraid we were drifting apart and I let paranoia override my better judgment." That had the benefit of honesty, and if I combined it with a heartfelt apology, maybe that would do the trick.

I left work a little early, planning to throw myself on the mercy of the marital court when she got home. But my hopes fell when I walked through the kitchen and noticed the message board. My plea had been erased, and in its place in all caps was, "GO TO HELL." That didn't sound promising. Nevertheless, I set about making a nice dinner for the two of us. Maybe we can talk while we're eating. Two hours later, the foolishness of that plan became clear as I sat alone at the table. Admitting defeat, I ate my dinner and put her plate in the refrigerator.

I had just finished watching the late news when she came home. As she headed for the stairs, I couldn't help myself. "I was worried about you, Ann. I didn't know where you were."

She stared at me with eyes like flint. "Why didn't you call your private eye for a report?" she asked, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. Then she went upstairs and I heard the door to our bedroom slam. All I could do was groan.

That night set the pattern for our relationship: we were in a cold war and there were no negotiations. She came and went as she pleased, and I had no clue about her schedule. We didn't go anywhere or do anything together. I felt certain she was going to divorce me, and I grew wary every time a stranger approached me. But, to my relief, the papers never came.

Over time, I noticed if not a warming, at least a gradual change in our relations. Her anger at me gradually reverted to indifference. She resumed speaking to me, but only about mundane necessities: "Tomorrow is garbage pick-up day," or "Was there any mail for me?" But she absolutely refused to talk about our situation, and the door to the master bedroom stayed closed.

Lying in bed at night, my thoughts cycled from one emotion to another, like those annoying rotating GIF images you see on the Web. I'd start by feeling resentful and defensive at her treatment. How long is she going to keep this up? It's not like I did anything to harm her. It's not fair of her to shut me out like this. But just as quickly I'd cycle to remorse. This is all your fault, David. Think how angry you'd be if she'd done the same thing to you. How long would it take you to get over it? Then I'd go back to resentment.

Most of all, I felt a deep ache. I missed my wife; I missed the physical and emotional intimacy we'd shared. My goal had been to bring us closer, and all I'd accomplished was to drive us farther apart. I couldn't stop remembering the wonderful weekend we'd shared just before everything went to hell, and I found myself mourning my loss.

People around me began to notice my depression, but their questions and concern only made things worse. The last thing I wanted to do was to discuss what I'd done. I had no doubts about the reaction I'd get, especially from my female friends. They'd be outraged at what I'd done.

Even worse, the fact that I'd used a detective to follow Ann - if it got out - was likely to start rumors flying. It could be used against her in a campaign. If I screw up Ann's political future, that would surely be the end of us. I felt trapped in a no-win situation: I was in real distress, but there was no one I could talk to about it. Now I know what Purgatory must be like.

I went out for a hike in the woods one Sunday, hoping the fresh air would help clarify my thinking. After following the trail for an hour, I came to a little clearing and sat down on a log to rest. The serenity of the scene contrasted with my inner turmoil. I can't go on like this. I love Ann, but we don't have a marriage any more. It's not fair to me and it's not fair to her to go on like this. We both played a role, but I have to accept the majority of the blame. Our marriage is dead and I'm the one who killed it.

Strangely, once I reached that conclusion, a sense of relief came over me. I took a deep breath and looked around at the sky, the trees and the clearing. It's so lovely here. I wish Ann could see it with me. Then I realized what I had just thought, and the bitter taste of defeat filled my mouth.

After I'd gotten my work caught up the following Monday, I did a search and found a family law firm that advertised a "non-confrontational approach to the dissolution of marriage in a respectful environment." That appealed to me. If our marriage was beyond repair, I wanted to end it as painlessly as possible. I called and made an appointment for later in the week.

I'd only just hung up my phone when it rang again. "Is this David Davis?" a hesitant voice that sounded vaguely familiar asked.

"It is. Who's calling, please?"

"This is Maria Elena Alvarez. I don't know if you remember me, but we met at Stranger Brew and . . ."

Of course, the damsel in distress. "I remember you, Maria Elena. What can I do for you?

"I need to speak with you about something very important."

"Um, okay, I guess I can do that. What do you need to talk to me about?"

"No, no, this is something I need to discuss in person, face to face."

What is this, some kind of shakedown? She didn't seem like that type, but still . . . "I don't really understand. If you could explain . . ."

"Please, David, it's urgent that I see you right away, if possible. I could come to your office, if that would help."

I started to turn her down, but something about her tone of voice and the whole situation intrigued me. Still, better to be cautious - pick someplace in public.

"No, my office isn't good. How about this: I can be at Stranger Brew in fifteen minutes. Will that work for you?"

"Yes, that's perfect. I'll see you there. Thank you."

What the hell have I gotten myself into now? But she really had seemed like a nice person before, and the urgency in her voice got to me. I put my work away and started walking over to the coffee shop.

She was already waiting at a table in the back when I walked in. She arose and shook my hand when I approached her, and then offered me a cup of my favorite coffee.

I took a sip, trying to figure out how best to start. I decided to temporize with small talk. "So, how is work going at Masterson Investigations?"

She got a sour look on her face. "Not very well: I was fired yesterday."

"Fired! What happened?"

"I'll tell you about it later. First, let me ask you: how are things going with your wife?"

I was shocked. How did she know about Ann and me? Then I mentally dope-slapped myself. Of course she knows. She saw me going in the agency. Hell, she was probably part of the team that had Ann under surveillance. At that moment, all my troubles came rushing to mind, and I felt my depression return.

I slumped back in my chair and shook my head. "They're not going well, not well at all. Somehow Ann found out I'd had her followed, and she exploded!" Then, to my surprise, all my pain and sorrow came pouring out, and I wound up telling this near-stranger the story I'd kept to myself for so long.

She watched me without expression while I recounted my tale of woe. When I finally finished, she cocked her head to one side and asked, "When you met with Mr. Masterson, did he show you the surveillance photographs?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"What did the photos show?"

I was confused. "They were just pictures of Ann going about her routine: meeting with home buyers, going to Council meetings, working in her office. Everything was completely normal, completely innocent. Why?"

She leaned toward me with an intense look on her face. "David, yesterday morning at the agency, I needed to make copies of some documents. When I went to the copier, I found your case folder lying there." She blushed slightly. "I shouldn't have touched it, but I remembered how nice you were to me and I was curious, so I looked inside.

"I saw the pictures you just described, David, but there were other photos there as well, ones that Masterson must not have given you. David, I saw several pictures of your wife in the arms of another man. They were intimate pictures, photos of them having sex!"

"What! That's impossible! Masterson assured me . . ."

"That's not all, David. There were different dates and times on the photos. This was not a one-time mistake - your wife is having an affair with this man."

I couldn't believe it. "You must have made a mistake. That couldn't have been Ann. Why would Masterson lie to me?"

"I don't know, David, but when he caught me with your file, he flew into a rage and fired me on the spot. Why would he react like that if he had nothing to hide?"

"Do you have a copy of any of the photos? I need to see them for myself."

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't have time to make copies."

I looked at her carefully. "Are you sure you're not making this up just to get back at Masterson for firing you!"

Instantly I saw the hurt in her eyes. "Of course I'm angry at Masterson, but I would never use you in any way to get revenge. You were so good to me, you stood up for me even though you didn't know me. I could never repay your kindness in such an evil way."

There were tears in her eyes. Maybe she's a great actress . . . but I dismissed that notion immediately. She's not lying to me.

Nevertheless, I was still having trouble comprehending the implications of what she was saying. "Alright, so who was this other man in the photograph?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. I didn't recognize him."

I started to say something else, but she reached across the table and pressed my hand. "David, there is much I don't understand, but I think I know a possible reason why Masterson lied to you. Your wife is a person of some influence in this city. I believe Masterson is blackmailing your wife!"

That stopped me. There were plenty of others in town who would be glad to use a scandal to unseat Ann in the next election. As ambitious as she was, she'd do almost anything to avoid such an embarrassing revelation.

Without thinking, I rubbed my jaw where Ann had slapped me. Has she been lying to me the whole time? Did she treat me like dirt and then laugh about it with her lover? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

I stood up, went outside and began walking down on the sidewalk. Marie Elena rushed after me and grabbed my arm. "David, where are you going?"

"I'm going to see Masterson right now and find out what's really going on."

"Wait, David. Stop and think about it. If I'm right, Masterson will only lie to you because that's the only way he can keep his leverage over your wife. Besides, by now he's surely removed those photos from your file and hidden them away. You won't get a thing from him."

She saw me hesitate and hurried on. "And the same thing will happen if you confront Ann. Do you really think she'd admit anything?"

She pulled me down to a bench on the sidewalk. "If you confront them with what I've told you, both of them will say I'm just a disgruntled employee. It'll be my word against theirs." She looked earnestly into my eyes. "David, I swear to you that I'm telling the truth. I hope you believe that."

I searched her face and searched my gut. She's not lying, she's trying to repay someone who helped her. "I believe you, Maria Elena."

I saw relief mixed with gratitude in her face, but then she grew intent. "There's something more, David. There's a reason I wanted to see you right away. I found out something else important yesterday. I saw Masterson's calendar - he has a meeting with your wife in half an hour. If you're willing to do a little surveillance, maybe we can find out what he's up to."

"Yes, absolutely! Do you know where they're meeting?"

"I wrote it down." She handed me a slip of paper with an address out in the suburbs.

"2232 Magnolia Lane - why out there?" I growled, more to myself than to her. "That's a residential area." I shrugged my shoulders—I'd figure it out later. "C'mon," I said, "my car is parked near here."

Soon we were driving toward the address Maria Elena had given me. I didn't say anything, but inside I was seething. I'd felt so guilty about not trusting my wife, and now it appeared I had good reason to doubt her all along. That bitch!

And who was her secret lover? How long had her affair been going on? For that matter, how was Masterson involved?

Slow down, I told myself, wait till you know for sure that Ann's cheating on you. Jumping to conclusions is what got you into trouble before. Yeah, but that was because Masterson lied to me. It was hard to keep myself under control.

"There it is!" Maria Elena shouted as I drove blindly passed the address. I drove another block, made a turn, and came back to park on the street two doors down. "Damn, this is a really nice neighborhood. Whose house is it?" I asked, mostly to myself.

Then, as we approached the house, I saw what I'd missed before: the For Sale sign from my wife's real estate brokerage. Suddenly it all came clear. "That's why they're meeting out here: this house is vacant," I told Maria Elena in quiet but urgent tones. "The owners moved out, and she's been trying to sell it for months."

We stayed behind the big privet hedge that surrounded the property and made our way to the driveway. Two cars were parked there; I didn't recognize either one.

"You stay here. I'm going to look around and see if I can spot them," I whispered.

"I'm coming too," she replied fiercely, and I shrugged.

Together we slowly made our way to the side of the house, staying out of sight behind the hedge. We could hear a murmur of sound coming from the back of the house, and when we crept up to the house, we spotted a set of French doors that opened into what must be the den. We both peeked inside and my adrenaline began pumping.

There was Ann, wearing lingerie I'd never seen before, sprawled on a couch and talking to someone we couldn't see because of the angle. Her fingers were playing over the crotch of her tiny black panties. I ground my teeth. She's getting herself worked up.

Suddenly a figure came into view, and it was all I could do to keep silent. Bradley Masterson strolled into the room wearing nothing but a smile. I already knew he was a big man; now I learned that he was big all over, very big.

Ann had sat upright, and her fingers flipped over her nipples as she stared hungrily at him. She spread her legs in a gesture as old as time: "Here I am, come take me."

But instead of going to her, Masterson casually walked to a lounge chair, flopped down and stretched out his legs. Instantly, Ann hurried over and knelt at his feet, running her hands up his thighs toward that giant penis.