Zeb and Frances Mercer

******

My wife, as described, was no military genius, but she didn't need to be to find me. As explained, our little town only had only one inn; she figured I might be there. I had no relatives but my dad, and he lived a hundred miles away; and, I had no desire to impose on friends; hence, I would be staying at the Marquee, and she knew it.

It was Saturday morning, and I was in the afterglow of a really serious drunken stupor courtesy of the Marquee's lounge. I hadn't reached the point of the dry heaves; I'd stopped short of that; but I did have a really sensational headache, and my eyes throbbed. The rapping on my door was a major interruption in my growing sense of self-pity. I got the door.

"Frances! What are you doing here. And, you brought the kids with you!" I said, looking past her to Jan Michael and Valerie.

"Yes, they noticed you weren't home when they got up this morning. They figured the problem out: I think they heard us last night. I told them I was going to look for you. They decided that they wanted to come. Well, they are involved in all of this," she said.

"Hi dad," said Jan Michael.

"Hi daddy," said Valerie.

"Hi kids," I said. I knew I must've looked terrible; the looks they gave me were evidence of that.

"You gonna come home daddy? We want you to. Momma too," said Valerie. My wife looked at me smirking. I just knew she'd planned this—this assault on my conscience. It was a dirty trick, but one she was confident would break me down and rein me in.

"Yes, Zeb, you need to come home. You need to clean up, and then we can sit down and talk about this—problem—we seem to have," she said.

"Problem? Problem we seem to have! You're kidding right? Frances Mercer, your capacity for understatement defies belief," I said.

"Kids, go wait for your mom in the car. She and I need to have a word together. Okay?" I said.

"Dad, you really need to come home," said my thirteen year old. I looked him in the eye and nodded.

"We'll see," I said. He smiled.

The two of us watched the two of them head back to the car. "So what do you want, Frances? I mean what do you really want?" We were still standing in the doorway. "You pretty much destroyed me yesterday with your remarks. You figure I should be okay with that?" I said. She sighed.

"No, not okay, but forgiving and forgetting," she said. "I apologize for the things I said to you. They were not only uncalled for they were untrue."

"What you said to me? What about what you and dickhead did to me?" I said. Now, she looked away.

"Yes, that too. You weren't supposed to be home that early. You never should have seen that. But, that said, it doesn't have to be the end of us. It really was no big deal. So he banged me. So what. It was a mistake, and I made it. He and I made it. It won't happen again; I promise you," she said.

"You promise me?" I said.

"Yes. I don't even really like the guy. He just came by to deliver a DVD of my students semester SAT-10 scores, and..."

"You don't like him? And what if you did like him? What would you have been doing then? I mean if you don't mind my asking," I said.

"Look, Zeb, sex is just a means of recreation. You wanna play a little on the side, be my guest. So long, that is, that you don't do it in our bed. For the record Marlon wanted to do it there, and I put the boff on that. That's a place for you and me only," she said.

"Well, hell, I'm glad you have some standards," I said. "You say it'll never happen again. Is that what you said?"

"Yes. I promise. You will never catch me doing that shit again," she said.

Now, I'm a lawyer. My job is to be able to determine when someone is trying to put something over on me. And my everlovin' wife just tried to do that very thing. I smiled.

"But, you do intend to keep on fucking him, right?" I said. She looked me in the eye. I could see her frustration.

"What did I just say, Zebulon?" she said, trying to regain the initiative.

"You said that I wouldn't be catching you at it, not that you wouldn't be doing it," I said. "There's a big difference."

"Look, come home and we'll talk. I'm sorry for everything. Okay? But, we need to talk."

I was actually amused. She apparently thought that I was the village idiot. I mean, and that with our history. She had to know better.

"Okay, I'll come home. We'll talk. But, I'm not giving up my room here until I'm satisfied that some things are going to change. Are you clear on that?" I said.

"Yes. Now let's go," she said.

I hadn't taken anything with me when I'd left the night before, so I did want to get home and get a shower and some clothes in case I'd be needing them. I mean in the event that I wasn't satisfied with whatever she was going to lay on me.

The kids ran to me when I came through the door. "Well, at least some people around here like me," I said to my wife, who was standing behind them. She just shook her head in disapproval.

"I'm going to cook us up some eggs and bacon, okay?" she said. I shrugged.

"I could eat," I said. My stomach was still roiling from the night before. If I could keep the food down, I was pretty sure I would feel a lot better. She nodded and headed for the kitchen.

We ate breakfast as a family. I wondered if this was part of her strategy to get me in a receptive mood for whatever it was that was about to go down.

"Dad, are you going to stay home, now?" said Valerie. I just smiled.

"We'll see baby," I said.

"Yeah, dad, please," said Jan Michael.

I helped her clean up the dishes, and then made the coffee. I needed the coffee. Boy did I need that coffee.

She was drying her hands on a small kitchen towel. She stopped and stared at me. "I guess we should have our little talk," she said. I sagged back into my seat fingering the handle on my coffee cup.

"Yes. I think we should," I said.

"Do you have any questions? I mean before we begin?' she said.

"A few," I said. She waited. "How many, how long, and why?" I said. She sighed.

"Not many. Off and on over the years. As to why—well—it's complicated," she said. I sat there with my mouth wide open and stunned. I'd expected denials. Well, I didn't get them.

"Do you realize what you just said to me?" I said.

"Yes, the truth," she said.

"Well, fucking wonderful," I said. "Like I said, yesterday, I will file on Monday. Thanks for breakfast, missus soon to be ex-missus-Mercer!"

"Sit down, hot rod," she said. "I am not nearly done talking. We're not nearly done talking. Okay?" For the life of me, I sat.

"Zeb, I love you, and only you. I think I always have. I mean always," she said. "Since that first tutorial back in high school. I don't think I realized it then; that's why I blew it at the prom like I did. Actually, I was suffering from a disease at the time." I looked her askance.

"Yes, asshole-itis." I snickered—well, it was funny.

"No argument from me," I said, and I didn't smile. She gave me a look.

"Yes, well, I guess I still have a bit of that disease still in me, Zeb. And, well, I don't know the cure."

"Fran, I have just one more question to ask you. I need a truthful answer. It shouldn't be too hard for you to tell me the truth. I mean you've done such an outstanding job of it so far this morning."

"Yes?"

"Do you intend to keep on cheating on me, Fran? Do you?"" I said. She looked down.

"Cheating on you? No. But, if you ask the question differently. I mean do I still intend to fuck other men occasionally? The answer then is yes," she said. I nodded.

"Thanks for the truth. It is appreciated. Like I said earlier, I'll be filing. I don't share my woman, not willingly. A willing cuckold, I ain't gonna be! I hope you can understand what I'm saying." I'd made a decision, actually two counting deciding finally to get the divorce.

"That said, I will be staying here. You will have to leave, Fran. I will give you a couple of days to find a place, and I will fund your move in costs. But, then it will be on you," I said.

"I'm not going anywhere, Zeb. Unless you figure on manhandling me out of here; it ain't gonna happen, Zeb. But, I will move my stuff into the spare bedroom." I smiled, she had no idea what she was going to be up against.

"Well, then, love of my life, we go to war," I said. She looked suddenly tired—no—worried.

"Zeb, I'm your wife. Your wife of many years. I don't want to lose you. But—I need more than you can give me in the sack. Think about it, Zeb. Don't do this to us."

"I'm not doing anything to us, Frannie, you are. You are doing me real bad, and I cannot let it go. We're finished you and I. I just hope that what you have been getting from your illicit affairs has been worth it because the cost is going to be high—very very high, Fran. And not just for you, but for your lovers too. Depend on it," I said.

"Zeb, please, rethink what you're saying. Please!" she said.

"No," I said. "Oh, and I hope your lovers, any of them that happen to be married, have understanding wives because they are about to see a perfect storm of real bad shit." That one seemed to shake her.

I left her sitting there and went upstairs. She came up and found me on the phone.

"...Yeah, Mark...whatever it takes...yeah, yesterday...Thanks," I hung up.

"Who was that?" she said.

"My business is no longer your business," I said. "Go fuck one of your 'not many' lovers. Maybe they'll talk to you. It won't be long before they're talking about you for damn sure; I fucking guarantee it!"

"Zeb, please, you're going to hurt a lot of people if you carry out your threats," she said. "Children as well as wives and husbands."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!" She had a sad look on her face as she gathered up some of her things from the bedroom. She paused at the door, holding an armload of clothes.

"Zeb, we could still have a wonderful life, grow old together. It's what I want. I love you." The steel in my eyes shut her up. She headed off down the hall.

Later, I was sitting out on the patio. The sun was going down. I had two fingers of Gentleman Jack in the old fashioned glass in front of me; yeah, I'd acquired a taste for the Tennessean product. I was swishing it around in the glass. She came out and stood some feet away from me.

"Okay, Zeb, you win," she said. "I'll stop. But, please, don't do—well—what you were going to do. Please." I looked over at her.

"Zeb, I know it's going to take a little time to get by this. But, please, give me a chance. Please," she said.

She'd surprised me. I didn't think she'd cave so easily. The Frances I knew had way too much ego to give in on anything meaningful. But, she had caved, or so it appeared, and now I had to decide if I believed her or not. And even then, believing her, if I could get by what she said about me and to me and what I'd seen, not to mention the arrogance of her ultimatums.

"Really?" I said, doubt verily dripping from my tongue.

"Please call off your dogs, Zeb. I know that was likely Mark Wilson you were talking to on the phone earlier. Please don't let him ruin anyone's life, Zeb, please."

I could see Jan Michael and Valerie watching from the window. I nodded in their direction and smiled.

"Okay, Fran. I'll call him off—for now. I'll call off the dogs, as you put it. But, Frances, if you double me up..." I said.

"I understand," she said.

Did I believe her? Not on your life. But, on the off chance that she might actually finally get it; well, I did love her, and her moving out was going to be as hard on me as it would be on the kids. So, I decided to give it a shot and eat my pride. I figured I'd know one way or the other in short order, because what I would not call off was Mark keeping an eye on her.

My house, her car, my car, her purse, everything was going to be wired, and that for some time to come. And Mark would be gathering data on mister Marlon Skaggs and anyone else we could discover had ever slipped his dick into my wife's cunt. Oh, I'd not use any of it unless she doublecrossed me. But, just one mistake, just one, and the wrath of Olympian Zeus would be visited on the sinners involved.

******

A day later, I happened to be carrying some dirty clothes downstairs to the service porch when I heard her on the phone. It had to be Skaggs.

"No.No, never again...No, no, no he has resources you have no knowledge of...he would steamroll us...no, not even lunch...find yourself another chickee, I'm a one man woman now; it has to be that way...you too...yes, thanks."

You gonna be satisfied with my skills, and, equipment," I said, as I walked in on her. "And yes, I heard the end of your conversation with—who—Marlon?" She nodded.

"Yes, I just called him to let him know the situation, that we were done, him and me," she said. My turn to nod.

******

The next two years were good. Mark, my resident PI at the office had found nothing in the months following my confrontation with Frannie, and I had de-wired everything and called off the dogs, as she had phrased it. I was feeling good, and confident. I did continue to have her spot checked, her and Marlon Skaggs too, but so far nothing had come up.

The kids were now fourteen and fifteen, me and Frances forty-four and forty-five. She was now department chair for the Arts and Humanities division at her school. My firm was doing well, and some of my clients were very well off and able to afford me. Yes, times were good. But, of late I had been having a small problem with Frannie.

The sex since the fire storm had been much increased, and the quality for some time had been exceptional, at least as far as I was concerned. But of late, while the quantity hadn't dipped noticeably, the quality had. She seemed to be going through the motions. We'd screw, I'd head for the bathroom to clean up, and when I returned she'd have rolled over and been fast asleep. It bothered me, so far not enough for me to say anything to her; but it was getting to that point.

I didn't want it to seem like I was whining, but I was almost at the point of politely asking her about it—her attitude. I was saved the trouble.

Breakfast was good. The kids had gotten off to school. She looked over at me and brought me a cup of java. I smiled. She didn't.

"Honey, can we talk?" I nodded.

"Honey, I think we need to get a divorce," she said. I had been raising my cup to take my first sip. I stopped, holding the cup maybe halfway to my mouth. I lowered it, setting it gently back on the table.

I narrowed my eyes and met her gaze. I think she shivered. "Marlon Skaggs?" I said. She looked down. "Okay, you got it. I will see to it today. You want the house?"

"Honey, I don't care about the house or your money..."

"Maybe not, but he will. He gettin' a divorce from his wife?" I said. Her head snapped around.

"I see. He's not then. The two of you are just going to continue to stab her in the back if not me. That about it? You just want to be free to fuck him." I smiled. She'd really fucked up with her pronouncement. "I was already planning Gotterdammerung for mister Skaggs. Frances figured to be—what—oh yeah, collateral damage.

"Honey..."

"I'm no longer your honey, Frances. I'm mister Mercer to you, Frances Parker," I said. "You will get shared custody until the kids are eighteen. Any problem with that," I said.

"Hon—I mean mister Mercer," she said, "please, can we be friends. I didn't break my promise to you. I didn't go behind your back and fuck him or anybody else. That's why I am coming to you now. You know to be up front with you," she said. I snickered.

"You sayin' you haven't done the dirty with him since we made up two years ago. The truth please," I said. "Oh, and no we can't be friends. Not fucking even."

"Oh my, Zeb. I just wish—" she said. " Zeb, no I haven't done anything with him, not even a kiss. To be honest, I've wanted to do it with him. But, I haven't. Honestly, I haven't. But, working with him every day—well—it's just been hard. More so lately. I don't know, I guess I'm getting to that point in my life when I need..."

"Something more than I've got to give. Is that it, Frances?" I said. She looked down. "I'll tell you this. If what you are saying is true, if you haven't given it up since before, well before—then—I won't destroy you. But, if you are lying to me..."

"I'm not, Zeb, I'm not!" I nodded.

"We'll see, I said. We'll see, oh yes we'll see. Indeed we will." I wiped my mouth with the napkin in front of me. I don't know why I did it; I hadn't sipped my coffee, and now I didn't even want it.

"I'm going to ask you again. Do you want the house? The kids will stay here of course till they go off to college. Whoever has it will be responsible for them and their day to day needs. And the other of us will have free, open, and unrestricted visitation. Any problem with that?" I said.

"No. No problem with that," she said. "And yes, I'd like to have the house if that's all right."

"Okay, we will break it to the children together tonight.

"Oh, and one last thing. Since you will essentially be fornicating with this married, mother-fucking, cheating asshole; he will never be allowed in this house unless he divorces his wife and you marry him. Never! He never comes in here for any reason whatsoever! Your gonna have to fuck him somewhere else. Got it! That's ironclad. You okay with that?" She nodded.

"Yes. I understand, and I agree to your condition," she said. I nodded.

"Okay. I will be back tonight. Do not say anything to the children until I get home. I would not feel real good about being sandbagged. I hope you get my meaning, miss Parker."

"Okay, Zeb, I understand." I stopped and looked at her.

"Frances, be aware, be warned, if you try to screw me over, or if he does; well, my wrath will be all but boundless. And, know that in that event that I will pull out all of the stops to make things right: the way I see them as being right. Clear?" I said.

"Yes sir," she said. I could see her quiver; my tone was not threatening; it was simply stating a reality that she knew I could deliver on.

"I got up and went into the living room where my coat was hanging on the back of a dinette chair. I got it, and looked back toward the kitchen. I could see her still sitting there, brow knitted, eyes watering—well—I might have been wrong about that. I turned and left.

******

She sat across from him. It was their third meet up within the previous two weeks. Denny's had good coffee and they were open twenty-four hours; they seemed to be making a habit of going there to talk.

"So, how did he take it?" he said.

"Not good. Not good at all. I can only say that it's a damn good thing that we haven't done anything because if we had he'd destroy us. But, I did get him to believe me on that one—thank God."

"I just wish we could come to some accommodation with him. Let him know that you don't hate him, that I want to be his friend. We fell in love; it happens. He can rebound from this. He can get another woman. Hell, he's a helluva catch: money, intelligence, social standing, contacts. He's got it all!

"Yeah right: and short, and plain looking, and boring. Any gold digger in town would be happy to be his significant other," she said. She wasn't being sarcastic.

"Frannie, come on. You know what I mean. He has assets. You and I haven assets. That's the way the world is. And anyway, if you thought so little of him, why did you marry him?"

"Marlon, I agree that we need to find a way to ease him into this new—relationship. He and I still have two kids. There will be times when we will be thrown together. As to why I married him, I didn't say he wasn't a great catch; he was and is. I just said he was short, plain, and boring in bed. He's also loving and kind and smart and sensitive to my needs and those of the children. I actually love him more now than I did twenty years ago. But, forget me and him; he and I are quits.