The Telltale Wife

A dark shadow crossed over Bruno's face. No longer the friendly patriarch, he sneered at her. Silently he moved to the door. Fuck with me like this he thought. No one treats me like this. He was furious. I will get my revenge, he vowed glaring at her as he left.

BANG! She slammed the door in her small dressing room backstage as Bruno retreated.

That fucking slimey Bruno. I knew that perverted asshole was getting a little too frisky during rehearsals, but this was, this was blackmail!

He saw me go with Pierre last night, and now he's talking about telling Adam. That is unless I fuck him. He's blackmailing me! In my younger days, before I was married, I just might have. In fact I've fucked guys for much smaller reasons than this.

But not now. Not with Bruno.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thought. I really don't know what to do. I've got to talk to Pierre.

Olivia found Pierre talking to one of the stagehands.

"I've got to talk to you," she told him urgently, interrupting his conversation.

Pierre stood silently for a minute, not replying.

"Now!" She said.

Huh? Thought Pierre. Who does she think she is giving me orders? But, he considered, if I play nice maybe I can fuck her a few more times before I get out of this boring town.

"What is it, O-liv-I-a?" He replied to her sweetly, his acting skills were not confined to the play.

Olivia whispered to him all about Bruno's visit and his demands. She told him she didn't think he'd tell her husband, but she didn't know what to do.

Pierre stared at her. Why in the world did she think any of this was his concern? His boredom with the situation combined with his impatience for the whole drama. He replied.

"Listen," the mask of the handsome, caring, infatuated actor slipped down. "In just over a week from now I'm going back to the city. I've got a new gig lined up. Better than this, and it's in the city. Bruno," he gestured with his arm, "and all this bullshit will be long gone."

Olivia looked at him surprised and concerned with his reply.

"But, we talked about getting together in the city after the play was over?" She said.

Sometimes, Pierre had learned, it's better to say nothing than to walk straight into a conflict. He silently nodded. I may fuck her once or twice more, but that's it. I don't need something like her slowing me down.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The after play drink wound down and I found that Olivia, surprisingly, seemed affectionate tonight, she'd taken my hand as we walked. But there was still something a little off with her I noticed during the short distance home. I told her I enjoyed the play but I was surprised by the level of nudity.

"And the last scene in bed seemed pretty realistic," I told her, wondering about her reaction, an edge to my voice.

"Yeah, you're right." She said, "but that's the actor's goal. To make the audience believe that all is real."

I asked her some more questions about the play and about Pierre. She told me she enjoyed working with Pierre and that he was a professional.

I needed more information. I suspected that she was developing some type of relationship with Pierre. How deep it was, at this point I didn't know. Did I think she'd done something inappropriate, I hoped not. She, to my knowledge, had never been unfaithful before.

But on the other hand she had never been in bed with another man, nearly naked, and simulating the sex act, in front of the whole town.

Maybe the shock of the play, her being naked, and then the realistic sounds in bed had skewed my thoughts. Perhaps all Pierre is an attractive young man she'd become friends with through their acting together. That's what I hoped.

If I found out it was something beyond that. We would have a real problem. These dark thoughts of mine mirrored the sky as we silently walked up the path to our door.

I locked up as Olivia walked down the hall to our bedroom. Several minutes later I entered our bedroom. A single bedside lamp was on and there lying nude on the bed, legs slightly parted, was Olivia. The invitation to sex was obvious and I did not hesitate.

We did not make love this night, we fucked. I thought of her naked in front of all the people in the theater. How many of the men in the audience fantasized about what I was doing right now, I wondered. These thoughts excited me and I climaxed convulsively.

Later, as we lay there I tried to capture the post coital closeness that we normally experienced. It didn't happen. It was as if Olivia was putting up some type of emotional wall.

Drifting off to sleep I realized I still hadn't spoken to Olivia about the financial windfall from the partners meeting. I wondered why I hadn't told her yet?

The following day was Sunday. I knew there was a performance of The Telltale Wife this evening. I was planning on attending. I was going to place extra focus on the bedroom scene in Act Three. I believed I knew my wife well enough to tell if that scene was simulated, or something more.

Throughout the morning we both did the minor chores of the average homeowner. It felt like a normal day, the first normal feeling day lately. I would occasionally kiss her cheek, or swat her butt as I maneuvered by her in the house. She didn't resist any of these small affections, but she didn't really reciprocate either.

Was I examining things too closely?

I had decided to finally tell Olivia my good news about the partners meeting this afternoon before she had to leave for the civic theater.

"Liv, honey," I began, "come in here I have something I have to tell you."

"What!" She replied with urgency, her face scanning mine looking almost frightened.

"Olivia," I smiled reassuringly, "calm down, it's nothing bad. In fact it's good." I continued.

She visually relaxed. That was weird I thought.

I began to tell her the whole story of the partners meeting, going into detail and setting the scene. About ten minutes in, her phone buzzed, a text.

She glanced at it.

"Adam, um," she started looking at the phone, "give a few minutes I'll be right back. I need to, uh, do something."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Olivia, on edge all morning, looked at the text message. It was that fucking Bruno. Threatening her. But being sneaky, he alluded to extra rehearsal time. She knew exactly what that meant. The message was loud and clear to her. For just a moment she thought, maybe I should just fuck him once, get it over with. No, she considered. With an ashole like Bruno, it would never end..

I doubt he'd have the guts to say anything to Adam anyway, she thought. I sure hope that's the case.

She took a deep breath. Now, back to Adam's boring work story.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Olivia finally returned but by this time I was not really motivated to finish telling her what had happened at the meeting or our financial gain. If what I was saying was so unimportant to her, maybe she didn't need to know any of this quite yet.

We both continued our normal activities the rest of the afternoon and then Olivia was off to get ready for tonight's performance. I left a little later and sat in the same approximate spot, but just a little closer.

After seeing the play once already and understanding the plot, I was more focused on Olivia. But right away I could tell there was something a little flat about her performance. Pierre played the role of Marcel just as well as he'd done the previous night.

During Olivia's first nude scene in Act One I studied her for her brief full frontal exposure. She is a beautiful woman. I thought, studying her breasts and the rest of her body, but for some reason she looked different. I could not tell why.

The rest of the play passed quickly and I felt my mind wandering, not paying attention to Olivia or the other actors. I wondered about the future. Specifically, my future with Olivia.

Finally it was the last scene, the bedroom scene. I saw Olivia's and Pierre's shadowed nudity and the simulation of sex. I focused, watched and listened. Then I heard it. It was the distant sound like a smoke detector low on batteries and chirping in a far corner of the house.

Distant but familiar.

I heard the humming Olivia makes when she and I make love. I knew the sound, it was unmistakable.

There was no celebratory drink at The Staghorn tonight. It had been a long weekend and everyone seemed a bit weary. I, also, had a lot on my mind. I was starting to believe the possibility that perhaps Pierre and Olivia were quite a bit closer than I once thought.

When we got home I said something about it.

"You and Pierre really did a convincing job in Act Three," I commented.

She looked at me, once again trying to interpret my meaning. Seeing that I was not smiling she took the offensive.

"For god sake Adam, we are actors, this petty jealousy is getting old!" She spat back at me.

I'd explained previously that occasionally if several factors occured she can get viciously angry. I knew the signs. I did not want to go through that. At least not now, late Sunday night. I decided I would prefer to engage her with this discussion at a different moment. It was an unsettled night of sleep for me and I welcomed my exit to work early the next morning.

On the train ride to the city I had to endure the comments from Charlie Labady about how 'talented' an actress Olivia was. Nothing too inappropriate, just a bit suggestive. There were a few stares from some others but that was it. I tried to ignore all this and keep my emotions bottled up.

An hour after I got to the office I received an unusual email. There was nothing in it to identify the sender. It was from 'a concerned friend'. The upshot was that my wife was in a physical relationship with Pierre Dumond. There were two attached pictures. The first one was at night, but I could tell it was Olivia. The setting was somewhere in Brompton. In the first photo she was entering a residential building with a man.

It was obviously Pierre.

The second photo looked like it was backstage at the theater. In this shadowed photo Olivia and Pierre were in a deep kiss. I couldn't be sure but something about the photo made me believe that this kiss occured Saturday night. The night we all went out to The Staghorn.

And also the night Olivia and I made love. Really we'd fucked.

I paced my office thinking. For the first few moments I wondered who'd sent the email. Quickly I realized that didn't really matter. Then I thought about the content of the message. Was there some alternative explanation?

I sat down at my desk contemplating the situation. I came to the conclusion that there was a good chance my marriage may be over. A wave of sadness overwhelmed me. The sadness began to change to anger. I stood up, and moved to the door to return home and confront her, but then suddenly I stopped.

I realized I needed something first. I needed information. After a few minutes of contemplation I took the stairs down to our IT department. One of our younger associates was a kid, well early adult, named Marshall Bain. He was a strange kid, introverted, and socially uncomfortable. I had befriended him at a few company events.

One thing I'd learned about him, he was an amateur hacker. Not some dark web criminal, just someone who could dig a little deeper than surface level.

I found Marshall alone in his office. I explained that I needed his help. I also asked him to keep everything just between the two of us. Without barely speaking he agreed to help me.

The mission: information about Mr. Pierre Dumond.

"Give me till noon," Marshall told me.

Try as I might, I could not focus on work. My mind continued to drift to the anonymous email and Olivia. And then, what I was going to do. My anger continued to build.at 11:43 my phone buzzed. I had received an email on my personal phone. It was Marshall, with information on Pierre Dumond.

I read through it. It was not a deep dive, but even right below ground level there was a lot of information. He'd fooled us all. Especially Olivia. Pierre Dumond, I thought. What a bunch of shit. And then I reread the legal stuff again. Was there a potential for danger?

Pierre Dumond was actually born Peter Dunfrie, from Akron Ohio. He graduated from Kenmore-Garfield High School. At one point he moved to Montreal and worked in a Starbucks and began acting in community plays. Somewhere within his first few years in Montreal he legally changed his name.

Pierre Dumond was born.

As a teenager in Ohio he was accused of assault against a female. The victim ended up not pressing charges, but the incident was on his juvenile record.

At age nineteen he was convicted of assault. It read like a near date rape. Peter Dunfrie spent six months in the Southern Ohio Correctional Facility. Shortly after he got out he moved to Canada.

In Montreal there was a harassment complaint lodged with The Service de Police. Once again the victim did not press charges. But there was now a record.

Less than a year later there was a stalking accusation by a Starbucks customer. The next entry showed Pierre Dumond living in the city. No other criminal entries were listed.

Reading through the document that Marshall had put together I was getting a bit of a picture of this guy. He was a con man. A potentially violent con man. And it seems like Olivia had fallen for him. The fact that he's a pro certainly excuses nothing.

Armed with my information, which I'd printed, I took the 2:10 train back to Brompton. During the ride I assembled my thoughts and the questions I had for Olivia. The chances of our marriage surviving were less than 50%. But deep down I hoped there could be that path.

By the time I got home it was four o'clock, not yet dark but the autumn sun was low on the western horizon, I was not in a good mood. Olivia was not home. I immediately sent her a text.

WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU! WE NEED TO TALK!!

She almost immediately called me back.

"Where are you?" I demanded

She paused and told me she was running errands. I said I was home and I needed to talk to her, immediately! She sounded put out with my demand but said she'd be back shortly. I changed into my weekend clothes and waited.

I sat in the dining room. My documents in front of me and my angry thoughts organized. It was nearly five PM when she arrived. She did not look happy and there was no affectionate hug or kiss. I knew why I was unhappy, I wondered what her excuse was.

"So tell me about Pierre Dumond?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

For a moment a flash of alarm washed over her. Quickly she reassembled an innocent face.

"Here we go again." She began, "are you really that insecure that a good looking man and I are in a play together and you imagine some kind of affair?"

I let her prattle on about my insecurities for another minute or two. I then tossed her the two printed photos that I'd been sent from 'a concerned friend'.

Abruptly she stopped her diatribe against me and looked at the pictures. Her mouth worked up and down silently, she looked from picture to picture more than once.

"Care to explain these photos?" I asked, my anger rising.

"What the fuck Adam, are you having me followed now." She spat back at me.

"Followed, no! These were sent to me anonymously. But regardless of how I received them, what do you have to say for yourself?" Anger in my voice.

"Pierre and I have become close, so what the fuck!" She spat back at me.

I could see the anger rising in her expression and I knew what that meant. But I didn't care, I was mad too. Madder than I'd ever been at her.

"What do you mean close?" I was yelling now. "Are you fucking this asshole?"

"Pierre is a very talented international actor and he's helping me with my acting! You don't understand someone as complex as Pierre!"

Now she was defending him, and she'd never denied whether she was fucking him or not.

"Talented, international actor," I falsely laughed. "Yeah right!"

She looked at me with anger boiling but also with a questioning look. She was wondering if I knew more than she did about good old Pierre.

She stood up, anger consuming her, a vicious look on her face.

I couldn't help it, I piled on.

"Your complex Pierre's real name is Peter Dunfrie. He's from the sophisticated town of Akron, Ohio. He's been in prison for assault once, and has been accused several more times." I told her, "Here's the report." I flicked the pages across the table to her.

For a moment she glanced down at the sheets of information. Her expression went from surprise, to anger, and then on to fury. I think she hit a level I'd not yet seen.

Still, the attack surprised me. Her fingernails were as sharp as talons as they raked down my face. My arm went up defensively and it knocked her down. Impulsively I bent to help her up. She punched me in the eye stunning me.

I had never been a fighter and certainly any type of violence directed toward a female was an alien impulse. I reached up to cover my stunned eye. Blood was forming on my face from the scratches.

The level of violence had surprised and actually frightened me. I tried to digest what had just happened. I heard Olivia behind me, angry and swearing, and then the slamming of the door.

For a moment, I thought, just let her go. But then I thought, no. We needed to resolve this. I wanted the truth so I could find a path forward for my life, most likely without Olivia.

My face on fire from the scratches and my eye socket swelling I followed Olivia out the door, calling her name. I thought I saw just the slightest flash of her turn right towards the Bluff Trail.

I called for her again as she walked by The Staghorn. Shortly after I passed the restaurant in the dark I saw her brief image climbing the muddy pathway to The Bluffs. I trudged on in the dark, my swollen eye making my vision even worse.

Later, I turned back to home. I took the forest trail back, it was darker this way and harder to see. I didn't want to run into anyone on the way back in my condition.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Olivia's angry rage fueled her swift journey along The Bluffs Trail. In the growing darkness she barely noticed the activity at The Staghorn and the faces in the window as she marched past.

This trail, the view from The Bluffs had always calmed her down. It was the one think she enjoyed about this fucking town. Olivia began to think of Pierre and all the things Adam had said about Pierre. Could they possibly be true?

It seemed so preposterous that he had changed his name, and all those criminal accusations that Adam had told her. Impossible? But then she had seem some odd flashes from Pierre. Could he really be what Adam had said?

She stood alone at the top of the Bluffs looking at the solid rock below and out to the bay. The sound of the water and the flashes of white foam calmed her as she stood alone hands on top of the short railing.

She stayed like this and gradually her anger wound down. She began taking deep breaths. Here in the darkness alone she became calm. She realized she probably needed to talk to Adam and sort this all out.

Just then she heard a sound. Not a bird, or the wind, a different sound, as if someone else were up there at the top of the Bluffs too.

"Hello," Olivia called out, "is someone there?"

Just then a shape appeared.

"Who is it," she called.

And then she recognized who it was, as the figure moved toward her.

"What!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Once home I made an ice pack and poured myself three fingers of Irish whiskey. I hoped the alcohol would calm me down.

I sat in the den, feet up on the leather hassock. I sipped my drink and thought about all that had gone wrong.

First off I approached our discussion angry and emotional, not my normal style. I didn't think through my objective. Further, knowing how volatile she can be, I intentionally pulled the strings to anger her. And it undoubtedly worked.