You Break It, You Bought It.

"Clint, anything from Michelle?"

"Sorry, Adam—haven't heard a word. I tried calling her just a few minutes ago, but it went straight to voicemail."

"Yeah, I did the same thing. Okay, thanks. If you hear from her, let me know."

He'd waited long enough. He took the card from his pocket and dialed Clay's wife.

"Hello."

"Hello, is this Laura Bartlett?"

"Yes," she cautiously answered. "Who is this?"

"Mrs. Bartlett, my name is Adam Rogers. I don't know if Clay mentioned me or not, he and I worked on some new photos for Terry's campaign."

"Oh, yes," she said, a little friendlier. "Clay's talked the whole neighborhood into sticking the posters in their lawns," she chuckled. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you have any way of reaching Clay. He seems to have his phone turned off."

"Clay is at campaign luncheon in Peoria. I'm sure he has it turned off on purpose."

"The luncheon was canceled, Mrs. Bartlett. My wife is a reporter for the The Windy City Star. She was supposed to be at the luncheon, too. I've been trying to get a hold of her but her phone seems to be turned off as well."

There was a slight delay before she spoke again. "Are you sure it was canceled?"

"Yes, ma'am. I was there when the bus brought everyone back to the campaign headquarters. They had a fire at the Civic Center last night. That's where it was supposed to be held."

"Well..." she stopped a minute to think. "I... I really don't have any other way to get a hold of him, Mr. Rogers. I can hear that you're concerned. Do... do you think they're together?"

This time it was Adam who hesitated before speaking. Her own anxiety level rose in the silence. He finally spoke. "That is my fear, yes."

She didn't reply.

"Mrs. Bartlett, do you have access to his credit card accounts?"

"Ah, I'm not sure. He handles all that stuff. I have one in my name and he has three, but I think he uses the one only for expenses related to the campaign. Give me a minute."

He could hear her moving around. "I'm in his office in front of his computer. Let me see here..."

Adam could hear her typing on the computer keys. "Okay, here are his credit cards. There was more typing. "I'm looking at his account. I don't see anything strange... wait... hmmmm."

"What's the matter?" asked Adam.

"Well, here's a couple bills from Plato's Place. That's a pretty swanky place—kind of romantic, too. I can't picture him taking a client or anybody like that there. He's been home for dinner almost every night, so these would have to be for lunches. The bill is too big for just one person. I'm just wondering who he took there for lunch."

"What about his other credit cards? Can you get into them?"

"Let me take a look... yup!" There was just a brief moment of silence. "SHIT!" she almost yelled.

Adam could feel his heart sink. "What?"

"Isn't the Ohio House a motel?"

Adam felt his last ounce of hope fall away. "Yeah."

"That's where they're at," she said in a voice laced with pure venom.

The line went dead as Adam didn't waste any time. He jumped in his car and headed for downtown. He found Michelle's car without much trouble but had no way of knowing what room she was in. He knew the desk clerk wouldn't tell him and he didn't want to tip them off by having him call their room so he decided to sit on top of her hood and just wait.

He could feel his anger rising and he was developing a headache as he sat there. He took some deep breaths to try and keep his heart from pounding so hard. His mind kept drifting in and out of the moment so he had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when he saw the door to one of the rooms open.

A smiling Michelle stepped out first. Clay was right behind her wearing a big Cheshire-cat-like grin. He hadn't quite closed the door behind him yet when Michelle almost broke his eardrums with her scream. He looked to see Adam heading in their direction and quickly ran back into the room, locking the door behind him and leaving Michelle to face her husband alone.

Tears were already streaming down her cheeks by the time he reached her. "Adam," was the only thing that came out of her mouth.

He first reached behind her and tried the door. It was locked. It was probably for the best, he thought. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop once he started beating the shit out of the asshole. "Your wife knows," he said through the door.

He looked back at Michelle as she stood before him, trembling with fear and regret. "The luncheon was canceled," he told her. "Everyone's been looking for you since ten o'clock this morning. You better figure out what you're going to tell Clint. You may have lost a job as well as a husband."

With that, he turned and walked back to his car. He heard her call out to him but paid no attention. He just slid in behind the wheel and drove off. He used every ounce of self-control he had to keep it together long enough to get home and packed. It wasn't until about an hour after checking into a motel that he lost it. Tears ran down his face while he pounded the pillow so hard with his fists that downy feathers shot out with every blow and gently floated down to the sheets.

After a good ten minutes of completely annihilating the bedding, he sat on the edge of the mattress and tried to calm down. Beating up his pillow wasn't going to do anything but make it hard to get some sleep... as if there was any chance of that happening anyway.

Clay listened at the door for a good twenty minutes before peeking out to make sure Adam had left. That's when he found Michelle sitting aimlessly on the sidewalk. She had her arms holding her legs up tight against her chest with her chin resting on her knees, dried tears streaked her beautiful face. She looked catatonic.

"Did he say my wife knew?"

She didn't answer—just stared out at the parking lot.

"Michelle, did Adam say my wife knew?"

"I think so," she finally mumbled. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?" she repeated.

"I don't know," he quietly replied. "I don't know what either of us is going to do. If Laura knows I cheated on her, she'll never forgive me. I'll be looking at a divorce, I know it. What about you? Do you think he'll forgive you?"

She just slowly shook her head.

"Shit," he responded, "it looks like we're both fucked."

They sat side by side for a while longer, just thinking. "Well, this is getting us nowhere, Michelle. You okay to drive?"

"I knew this was a bad idea," she said, not responding to his question. "I knew it... I knew it and I did it anyway. Why?"

"I didn't force you, you know. You can't say I forced you."

Hearing his pitiful whining voice trying to deny any responsibility for the situation was making things even worse. For the first time since he sat beside her, she turned her head and looked at him. "Fuck you, Clay. Fuck you! Go—get out of here. You make me fucking sick to my stomach, just go!"

Without another word, he indignantly stood up and walked to his car. As he squealed his tires, leaving the parking lot, he was invaded with a dozen different thoughts. Should he call Laura and beg for forgiveness? Maybe it'd be better to go home and do it in person. He wondered if Terry had talked to her. Maybe he was able to smooth things over, convince her it wasn't true. The headquarters was only a few blocks away. He wondered if anyone would still be there.

It was close to six-thirty, but lights were still on. He heard Terry's voice coming from the backroom as he walked in. The room was filled with cigar and cigarette smoke and there was an open whiskey bottle on the table. Three other members of the campaign and his brother looked up when he entered.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?"

His older brother hadn't talked to him in that tone of voice since they were kids. "You know where I've been," he answered. "I told you a couple days ago, remember?"

"So while WE'RE all here trying to figure out how the fuck we replace FIFTY THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS, you're shacked up in some hotel FUCKING SOME REPORTER, way to go little brother."

He couldn't believe his brother just ratted him out in front of other members of the team. This wasn't good. He couldn't ever remember Terry being this angry. "We'll just reschedule it, Terry. Don't worry, we'll still get the money."

"Shit, it took us months to get those jamokes to the table. The damn election will be over before we can reschedule that thing."

"Well," Clay countered, "I've got the names of all the contributors. I'll call them and just ask for their donation."

Terry scoffed, "Yeah, right, good luck with that. By the way, Laura called earlier. Evidently, she knows all about your little day-long fuck fest. She said not to bother going home, she's had the locks changed already."

"Shit, can I stay with you for a little while?"

"Hell no. I'm sure my wife knows by now and probably figures I was covering for you. I'm going to have enough of my own problems trying to convince her otherwise. Go find yourself a cheap motel somewhere."

By that time, Michelle had tired of the looks she was getting from passersby so she locked herself in her car. She had no plans for what to do, she had no idea what she could say that would convince Adam to forgive her. She just sat behind the wheel and remembered all the good times they shared; all the laughs they had together, all the great experiences, and all the times they made love.

Between thoughts, she kept seeing Adam's face. The hurt and pain she saw behind his moisture-laden eyes was like a dagger to her heart.

She wondered if he'd gone home. Then she wondered if she should go home. Knowing him, he'd probably move out of the apartment himself before making her leave. She had to go somewhere; she couldn't sleep in the parking lot.

*****

After putting a real hurt on his pillow and drying a few tears, Adam realized he hadn't had anything to eat all day. He went to the desk and asked the clerk about restaurants in the area.

"Oh, Sir, there must twenty within a three block radius," the young man answered.

He walked out the front door and spotted an Applebee's. Good enough, he told himself. He sat down and ordered, then in a moment of weakness, wondered why Michelle would cheat on him like that. She'd never given him any indication that she was unhappy with his bedroom skills or any other part of their life.

By the time his food came, Adam had decided why she did it really made no difference. The fact was, she did it. In the grand scheme of things that's all that mattered.

While leaving the restaurant, Adam was crossing the street when he saw a familiar figure entering the motel. He couldn't figure out how the asshole could have tracked him down so fast. He looked around the parking lot to see if he'd brought any buddies with him but didn't see anyone else.

Keeping a wary eye out, Adam cautiously made his way through the parking lot and entered the motel. He hung back and saw Clay talking to the clerk at the counter. He didn't dare get close enough to hear what they were saying so he just watched.

Damn, he thought. He must have tracked me down the same way I did him, which means he had to have help from Michelle. Just the notion had him boiling with anger again. He was just about to confront him when he saw Clay reach for his wallet and give a credit card to the clerk while he started filling out a registration card. A big wide grin stretched across Adam's face. He's checking in?

He watched while the clerk gave Clay a keycard then crept a little closer to hear. "Room two-twelve, Mr. Bartlett. Just go up these stairs and turn left."

Clay thanked the clerk and started for the stairs, unknowingly turning his back to Adam.

"Did you find a restaurant okay, sir?"

Adam watched to make sure Clay didn't turn around and see him. "Yes, I did. Thank you for your help," he quietly answered before returning to his own room. Earlier, he had thought about beating the shit of Clay, but decided against it. Yeah, no doubt it would make him feel better, but it wasn't going to unring the bell, the deed was already done. If anything it would make a bad situation worse, but that was before Clay checked in. Two hundred motels in the area—what were the odds he'd come here. No, he told himself, this is fate, this is karma, I can't let this opportunity go by; I'd never forgive myself.

He thought about simply going to Clay's room, knocking on the door and charging in as soon as he opened it, but that would surely land him in jail and might not even work if the asshole realized who was knocking. There had to be a better way.

Clay was lying in bed with the TV on, although he wasn't really watching it. He had tried calling his wife but she wasn't answering either phone. He thought about going home, but he was sure she really did have the locks changed, so what good would it do. He also had to figure out a way to replenish the campaign money they lost so he could get his brother off his back. "Shit," he said while getting up to take a leak, "what a fucking mess."

On his way back from the bathroom, he saw something on the floor by the door. It was a folded sheet of the motel's stationery. The message inside was short and written in a feminine hand.

Hi, my girlfriend and I saw you when you checked in. We're having an intimate little party in room 123 and wondered if you'd like to join us.

His first thought was, I wonder what they look like? Then he answered himself, who cares? A threesome was just what the doctor ordered. Suddenly all his cares disappeared. He remembered seeing a vending machine in the hall. It had toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant, all the comforts of home. He took a quick shower and wished he had a change of clothes. Oh well, he thought, he didn't figure on wearing them very long anyway.

He remembered the little blue pill in his pocket. He brought it just in case, but didn't need it for Michelle. She was more than enough to keep him excited. He was, however, exhausted by the time they were done and that was only a few hours ago, and besides, there were two of them. He unwrapped one of the plastic glasses and took the pill with some water.

Clay had a big grin on his face as he knocked on the door of room one-twenty-three, a grin that wouldn't be there long. The door swung open and before Clay knew what was happening, he was pulled into the room and heard it slam behind him. He stumbled, then turned and was popped in the face by a light left jab.

Adam purposely left himself open for two counter blows by Clay before letting loose. The three quick jabs to Clay's nose were a lot harder than the first one. A hard right-cross sent him across the bed, but Adam wasn't done. He picked Clay up by his suit jacket and hit him hard in the stomach, doubling him over. Adam straightened him up again with a knee to the face and gave him one more hard right hand, putting him down for the count.

With Clay sprawled across the floor, moaning and only half-conscious, Adam went through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. It took several minutes for Clay to get his faculties back. He was still moaning as he sat up and saw Adam sitting in a chair across the room.

"Y... You," he winced in pain with every word. "You won't get away with this. I'm calling the cops right now. I'm going to have you arrested."

"Go ahead," replied a smiling Adam. "How are you going to explain being in my room?"

"What?"

"My room—this is my room. If I was the aggressor wouldn't I have gone to your room?"

"You..." Clay reached into his pocket.

"Looking for the note? I tore it up and flushed it down the toilet," Adam told him.

It was excruciating for Clay to talk but he was too angry to keep quiet. "That makes no difference. You lured me down here and ambushed me."

"Really? Because that's not the way I see it. I checked into this motel a good two hours before you did and the fight took place in my room. To me it looks like you were pissed because I informed your wife about you cheating on her. You followed me here and waited to see if I was going to stay. You then checked in to keep an eye on me. When you knew I was in my room you knocked on the door and punched me as soon as I opened it. I was startled and staggered backward before you hit me again. I'll have the bruises to prove it. I had to defend myself and fought back.

"It sure sounds plausible to me... a lot more so than you and I coincidentally checking into the same motel hours apart and me luring you to my room, don't you think? At best, it's your word against mine. You prefer charges against me and I'll do the same against you. We'll take it to court and see who the jury believes."

There was no way Clay wanted to go public with the whole mess, and Adam knew it. After thinking it over for a minute, Clay struggled to get on his feet and headed for the door.

"This isn't over, asshole," Adam told him before he left. "I'm going to make your life a living hell, just like you made mine."

Clay stumbled out to his car and drove to the hospital. He explained his broken jaw and concussion to the cops the same way he did the doctor, he was jumped in an alley by two men.

Michelle was finally able to drive home. She had never felt as all alone as when she walked into the apartment. For a few minutes, she stood inside the doorway just looking for some sign of life, but of course, there was none. She thought she was all cried out, but new tears found their way down her face.

She went into the kitchen, thinking there was some coffee left over from the morning, but the pot was empty. Moving like a robot, she made more. As she sat, waiting for it to brew, her mind was a moshpit of thoughts, but one came to the forefront. She remembered Adam telling her to call Clint. She inhaled deeply with fear and dialed his number.

"Michelle, are you all right?" He sounded very concerned.

"Yeah, Clint, I'm okay."

"Where the hell have you been? Have you talked to Adam? He's worried sick."

"I... I did a stupid thing, I... I spent the day with a man."

There was a brief silence. "Spent the day? You don't mean you cheated on Adam?" He heard her starting to cry and knew before she answered.

"Yes, I'm afraid that's exactly what I mean, Clint."

"Does he know?"

"Yeah, he caught us coming out of the motel room."

"So you blew off that thing in Peoria and spent the day in bed with another man. What were you going to do about the story?"

"I had enough information on what was going to happen that I could write a generic piece and no one would have known."

Clint was shocked that one of his best and most trustworthy reporters wasn't so trustworthy after all. "Have you ever done this before?"

"No," she said emphatically, "never, Clint, I swear." Again, nothing but dead air. "Are... are you going to fire me?"

"I don't know yet," he angrily replied. "I'll have to talk this over with upstairs on Monday and see what they want to do. Come in on Monday at your usual time. The managing editor might want to talk to you, personally."

"Okay," she wept. She realized he'd hung up without saying anything more. She sat there just staring into nothingness.

After a few minutes, the smell of fresh coffee penetrated her sea of despair. As she poured herself a cup, Michelle thought back to that morning and how happy she and Adam were after a night of love-making. God, she thought, was that really only twelve hours ago? Could her entire life really had fallen apart in just twelve hours?

She wondered about Adam; where was he, was he planning on coming home, was he okay, would he answer his phone? As frightened as she was at what he might have to say, she had to make sure he was okay.

"Yeah?"

Never in her life had she ever detected even a smidgen of coldness in his voice, but now it was unmistakable. "I... called to make sure you're all right, and to apologize."