When We Were Married Ch. 04D

'Okay, Mr. Maitland, do the right thing, but....if I'd ever gotten your dick in my mouth, you'd have been the one crawling across tacks to get back to me. I am very, very good."

As she twitched away from me I said to myself more than anybody else, "I don't doubt that, Ms. Simpson, I don't doubt that one bit."

After that I drank a few more Bloody Mary's and at least two straight Bourbons and one Brandy, after which I should have been hurling on general principles, but somehow I managed to throw up only once after being helped to the gentleman's room by Lew.

I danced with Mona, who flirted with me gently enough to make me feel good but not enough to make me feel guilty about Lew. And I danced with a tall blonde and a short brunette and two redheads who said they were twins working in a lawyer's office two blocks away from our office.

Some of them knew who I was. Some of them, blessedly, had no idea that I was anybody other than a short, bald, middle aged guy who worked somewhere around the courthouse. Even looking like a refuge from a bad boxing movie with a patch over one eye and fading yellowish bruises all over my face didn't scare off a lot of them. They still danced with me. That made me feel good.

I only thought about Debbie a half dozen times, wondering what or who she was doing

About 1 a.m. I told Lew and Mona that it had been fun, but I had to get to the gym. My cases and my divorce were cutting into the important things in my life. Lew reminded me that I'd already been once and then I reminded him there were plenty of days when I made it by twice. Besides, if any of Carlos' boxers were available, I might go a couple of rounds. I hadn't been by there in awhile, maybe a week or two.

Then Lew rather logically pointed out that I couldn't even walk a straight line, much less handle weights and a cycling machine, or get into the ring with a strong, young, sober boxer.

I very logically pointed out in response that you didn't have to be able to walk a straight line to ride a cycling machine. The discussion went here and there but I could never remember the gist of it and the next thing I remember I was waking up, alone, in my bed, with the backlit clock by the bed reading 3 a.m. and I was crying like a baby about something.

Then the world went away again.

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Friday, August 19– 9 p.m.

"Hi, Clint."

She put the DVD player on hold.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"How did it go today? Is it done?"

"Yeah. It's done. 18 years of marriage and 20 years of knowing him, and we're through."

"How come you don't sound like you're celebrating?"

"I don't know. Maybe because a guy I thought I'd grow old with let me and our marriage go? And I cheated on him. And now his life is fucked up and I should be happy and looking forward and instead I'm sitting here looking at DVDs of our life and wondering how everything went to shit."

"Would you like to go out for a drink? Just get out of there. Strictly friends."

"No. Thank you, Clint. But I need to be alone. I go out drinking with you and we'll wind up back in my bed. I know I can because I'm single again..but...I can't put it into words. You're the word man. But I don't feel right about it...tonight."

"I had a Jewish girlfriend once. You're ' sitting shivah'....It's the Jewish expression for mourning someone's death."

"We're both still around."

"But something real died today. You can hate the guy, or want your freedom, and still miss him. You had each other's back for 20 years. You don't walk away from that with no hurt, even if it's your choice."

After a long silence she said, "I'm sorry Clint. You're a good friend, but I just don't feel like talking right now."

"Have a good night. Don't get too drunk. And remember, it'll start getting better tomorrow."

She sat back and clicked the DVD player back on again.

They were standing against the railing with the Pacific sun sinking into the sea below them. It was fairly cool but she wore only an ornate low cut blouse showing off her twin splendors along with a low cut back, and he wore a tuxedo. It had been the night of the Captain's Formal Dinner and Dance the 9th day out from Los Angeles en route to Oahu.

The female cruise director who handled the video cam said, "Intertwine your arms and you sip from each other's glass. And then you toast."

They followed her direction and she sipped champagne while he slurped his with a goofy expression that her laugh and the bubbles went up her nose.

She coughed and choked, "Don't do that, dammit Bill. This is for posterity. We'll show this to our great grands on our 50th golden wedding anniversary. Shit. You got me cursing. Can you go back and re-shoot that so we can cut out the curse words?"

"Don't' bother," Bill told the unseen shooter. He leaned slightly up and forward and caught her lips and they tongue wrestled for a long moment. Then he pulled away and looked into the camera. And she thought he looked so heartbreakingly young.

'I want them to see us as we were, babe. We weren't plaster saints. You were a hot piece of ass, the hottest on planet earth, and when you're 70 and old you still will be. And I'm the goofball that swept in and won the hand of the Fair Princess against all the odds. We've lived a fairytale and when we're old and wrinkled and the great-grands won't be able to imagine us burning up the sheets, I want them to know we were young and in love once."

She shut the DVD off and wept.

Saturday, August 20 – 2 a.m.

She rolled in the bed, her heart racing. Something terrible, utterly terrifying was in the room with her. It was one of those nightmares where you know you have to wake up or you will die, but you can't make your eyes open. And worse, she knew in the logic of dreams mixed with consciousness, that she was utterly alone in the house. Everyone was gone. Except her...and whatever was in the house with her.

And then she was on her knees on rough cement and the smell of piss around her. She blinked and the slab of cock filled her vision and it's male smell filled her nose and then it was pushing against her lips. She opened her lips and it slid in. It was big, hard and its owner pushed it in so hard and fast that it bruised the back of her throat before he was pulling it and then quickly fucking her mouth with it.

She would have fallen but strong male hands held her shoulders and were keeping her upright. She found her hands filled with cock and she was squeezing and running them up and down their hardness. It was like riding a bicycle, she thought inanely. You never forget how to jerk a guy off. Hands were placed over hers and helped her rub harder and faster.

"Oh, God, that feels good, bitch. I want her mouth."

"I want that cunt."

"Are you fucking crazy. You have any idea what kind of bugs she could be carrying. Fuck that. You get off in her mouth. That's safer."

"Keep watching the damned door. I don't want anyone coming here to take a crap until I get off."

"Dammit hurry up. I don't want to come with her jerking me. Let me at her fucking mouth."

"Well, come on up. We'll alternate. She's got a pretty big mouth. She might be able to take both of us."

Then there were two of them, and she tried to open her mouth wider, but they wouldn't both fit. Her head rocked back with the force of the open handed slap and she would have gone over if the pair of hands on her back hadn't kept her upright.

"You fucking slut, open wider or I swear to God I'll knock your teeth out. I think they'd both fit then."

She tried and for an instant they managed to wedge one all the way in and the tip of the other could get inside and then there was a sudden gush of warm fluid and she was choking and gasping as the bastard who was coming started plunging it in even faster.

"Goddamn," one of them screamed.

"What?"

"Look at my dick, you fucking idiot. It's bleeding. The bitch scraped it raw. Goddamn stupid fucking old cunt."

"Sorry man, I think I just gave her a cupful."

"Yeah, you got off, you stupid selfish bastard. I'm fucking bleeding and you got your rocks off. I oughta fuck your ass."

'Hey..."

"Shut up both of you. We got to finish and get out of here. The wrong person walks in here and we're toast."

There was another smashing slap and she went down to the floor and hit her head hard on the cement.

"Alright, dummie, get down there and grab her head."

"Why?"

"I got to cum but I also gotta piss before leave. Why not take care of both at the same time."

"I'm not going to grab her head. I don't want your piss all over me?"

"Just hold her head and stay back. You can wash it off your hands. You don't and I swear to God I'll screw you over bad. You don't wanna be looking over your shoulder for the next six months. Just get down there, grab her head and hold her mouth open. I don't want to waste a drop."

Then she was being dragged to her knees and male hands held her head back and forced her mouth open.

A moment later thick ropes of white cum were spraying all over her face, her naked breasts, her hair. So much hot white cum.

"Whew...I needed that. Now get ready, honey, cause I'll gonna fill your stomach."

A moment later she closed her eyes an instant too late and the burning yellow piss blinded her and filled her nose and went down her throat. She tried to close her mouth but the hand handing her hair yanked so hard she tried to scream but just gulped as the piss pouring down her throat swallowed the sound.

"Hold her good, I got more."

And more and more. Her stomach rumbled as she swallowed involuntarily. She felt it coming back up and vomit and piss met and another hard yank on her hair made her scream, with that scream swallowed as she re-swallowed the upcoming vomit and more piss.

They let her fall to the cool cement and with her head turned she could finally vomit and she hurled so hard her chest muscles screamed in agony.

As she lay there trying to keep expelling the vomit and the foul tasting mix of vomit and piss, she heard them standing around her and laughing.

"God, what a pig. I think I'll take a piss, too."

And then there were twin rivers of hot piss pouring down on her hair and face and breasts and legs. And finally it was almost over. And one of them very carefully placed the toe of his shoe on one fat breast and ground it down hard. The nova burst of pain like nothing she'd ever felt drove her mind into the darkness.

She came to on the floor of her bedroom. She could still smell the piss and the taste was strong and bitter in her mouth. As she remembered how she'd thrown up, she felt her stomach rumbling. Somehow she made it to the toilet bowl before bitter bile and vomit erupted out of her.

She lay against the cool porcelain and kept spitting up drool and bile after there was nothing more solid inside her to expel.

How had she forgotten that night? WHEN had she forgotten that night? It was impossible. Nobody could forget something like that. But she had. Just as she should have told Bill. He would have killed them. Even with their marriage in tatters, he would have hunted them down. But she hadn't. She had just forgotten.

The next morning she woke up and remembered that she had been sick. She lay in bed for hours, somehow unable to get the strength to roll out of bed. What a day. Her marriage ended and some bug hitting her in the middle of the night.

She thought some trace of it must still linger, because her stomach continued to twinge. And worse that that, there was something in the back of her mind. She remembered having a nightmare, but for the life of her couldn't remember exactly what it had been about.

Something terrible. So terrible that she didn't even try to bring it to her conscious mind. She had nowhere to go on a Saturday and so went back to sleep. And there was no one in the house to hear her moans and cries.

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Saturday, August 20– 11 a.m.

I had been unable to sleep later than 9 a.m. so I got up and went by Hurly's Gym and spent nearly two hours driving my body to exhaustion. Despite the fact that I felt like my arms and legs were attached to my body by rubber bands, the workout made me feel better.

Physical conditioning was a part of my new life. I had been fat, truly happy and a blind idiot when I had been married to Debbie. Now I was getting trimmer, I was fairly miserable and I figured I probably had a more realistic outlook on life.

I might never be truly happy again, but I could enjoy sex if the opportunity ever arose and I was doing what I was good at. If Teller had been correct, I had sacrificed my happiness to the greater good. Now that my happiness was lost forever, I might as well make the best of the time I had left.

So I was in my office putting the finishing touches on the killer granny case which I had taken for my own. Cheryl and most of the staff was gone, but there were a few ambitious go-getters and loners without a life like me who came in when the office was empty to get work done.

So I had nobody to screen my calls. Despite the distractions I picked up the phone anytime it rang.

"Would this be Mr. William Maitland? With the District Attorney's office in Jacksonville, Florida?"

The voice had an Irish brogue that reminded me of Father Dunleavy, but the voice on the other end of the line was well spoken, if a little brusque. I picked up irritation. Not going to be a friendly call.

"Yes. To whom do I have the pleasure...?"

"I'm Conor O'Collins. I'm calling politely to ask you to leave me the hell alone, and leave my family the hell alone."

I waited a minute to see if he was going to hang up, but he stayed on the other end without speaking.

"I didn't mean to harass you or your family, Mr. O'Collins."

"The hell you didn't. I didn't take your calls at my place of business and somehow you found my home number and when I wouldn't take your calls on that line you somehow talked to friends of our family who work in and for the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions here in Dublin to intercede. I've been asked by three of my friends in that office and an old boyfriend of my wife to talk to you.

"I don't know what kind of strings you're pulling, but my family is fairly powerful in the Republic of Ireland and public officials usually don't care to irritate us, but you must have called in some very large markers. They've told me that they can't call you off and you'll just keep stirring up trouble until I talk to you. I don't want to talk to you."

"Mr. O'Collins, I am not trying to stir up trouble for you. And I can give you my word that if you'll talk to me for a few minutes today, I will never bother you or your family again. On my honor."

There was another long silence on the other end of the line.

"I was referred to a Philippe D'Archambault in Paris. I was told by my friends in the Director of Public Prosecutions that he knew of you and about you. I called him and we talked and he said you were an honest, hardheaded prosecutor and that I could not buy or scare you off. He said it would be easier just to talk to you. So, talk."

"You know I'm calling about your father, Eagen Dunleavy."

"That's our problem. He's not my father and I have no interest in talking about him, Mr. Maitland. I have no idea why you've made this a personal crusade, but the man abandoned my mother when she was pregnant, and his betrayal led her to take her own life. He chose his career with the Vatican over my mother and me. He never made any attempt to contact me as a child. I never was even aware of his existence until I was a grown man.

" For some reason, maybe his conscience got to him eventually, he finally contacted me. I told him then, as I'm telling you now, that he never wanted me in his life, and I have no need of him now. Your attempts to call me make no sense anyway, because he's dead. What difference can anything you have to say make now?"

"Mr. O'Collins, I met your father on a cruise we took together on the French cruise ship Bonne Chance. I...I won't give you details but I think we became friends. He helped me with a personal problem I had. In the course of the week we spent on the ship, he confided in me about your mother and yourself.

"I believe he told me the truth, although I have no way of ever knowing for sure. But as a prosecutor, I've talked to a lot of people over the years and I think I have a pretty good idea when people are telling the truth. He told me he agonized over leaving your mother, but he had a calling to become a priest.

He told me he didn't know your mother had committed suicide and I'm sure he would have gone to her to try to help her if he'd known his leaving her had devasted her enough to take her own life. I believe he regretted his choice, even though he knew it was the right thing to do in terms of his life. And when he found out he had a son, he tried to contact you. He said your uncles beat him up and they used their power to block him from ever seeing or contacting you."

"A very pretty story, Mr. Maitland. And you just believed him? Not a very professional stance from a man used to questioning people. I don't believe my uncles and my grandfather would have lied to me. They said he never attempted to contact me, never had any interest in me or my mother after he walked away."

"I have no way of knowing for sure, but I know he carried your mother's laminated photo in his wallet. And he found a newspaper picture of you receiving some type of award and he carried that. He said he always carried them with him, and I believe that."

"Why?"

I contacted some friends in Interpol and in the French prosecutor's office immediately after the crash and asked to be notified of anything they found in a search of the crash site. I got a call the next day that they had recovered his wallet. His body – remained intact – when the plane went down and was thrown clear of the wreckage. His wallet was still on him."

I walked with the phone in my ear to a fax machine in the office and asked him what his fax number was.

"Why?"

"I want to fax you something. I assume you have fax capabilities at your home. Is that where you are?"

He gave me the number and I faxed several items to him.

He was standing by the machine and told me the pictures were coming through.

"I've got them, Mr. Maitland."

Then he stopped talking.

"The picture was your mother taken several years before her death when they were planning to marry. And the picture of you was-"

"Taken when I received an award for my family's charitable activities among the poor of Dublin. I was 26. But, these could have been taken-"

"Those are the photos he showed me on the Bonne Chance. He carried them with him, I'm told by colleagues, at all times. And he was carrying them with him when he died. Why a man would carry photos of two people he cared nothing about is somewhat of a mystery to me."

After another moment, I said, "Talk to your grandfather, and your uncles. Time has gone by. Your mother and father are both gone. I think you deserve the truth about who your father was. If they love you, I think they'll stop lying to you."

His voice had roughened.

"What good will it do now, Mr. Maitland, to stir up old memories and old hurts. He's gone."

"You're married and I understand have two teenage children. If I'm right, don't you think they have a right to know where you came from, that they are the grandchildren of a famous and a good man? He's part of your story, as much as your mother. And I just think – he would like to know that the breach between you two has finally been closed."

"He must have made – a very great impression on you, Mr. Maitland, to have gone to all this trouble."

"He made a very big impression, Mr. O'Collins. But in every important way, he was a very big man.