“Okay. Will you do this for me? If we become exclusive, will you agree to include me in things — all things?”
“Done.”
“Then, I commit to you, I will never mention you to him.”
++++++
I was working on one of my cases and my phone rang. “This is Jim Anderson, how may I help you?”
“It’s me.” Said Bridget.”
“Well, my day is brighter, already. What’s up?”
“I just found out Rodney, III walked into the office, all tanned and relaxed this morning. Apparently, no one had seen or heard from William Mason in ten days. Rodney asked where he was. No one knew. Rodney claimed he and Mason talked nearly daily and that when he heard nothing, he decided he had to come home.”
“I’ll be damned. You talked to his assistant about a month ago?”
“Five weeks ago, tomorrow.”
“I guess we know your message got through.”
“Maybe it is a coincidence.” She was laughing as she said it. “You know Pepper’s?”
“The watering hole across from the Wellborn Building?”
“The one and only. A bunch of people are going to be there starting about 4:30. It sounds like fun. I am going to go. Will you join me?”
Truth be told, I’d rather do most anything else. But, it was a chance to maybe hear something and Bridget did ask me. “Are you afraid I don’t trust you to be there on your own?”
“No, I’d just like you to be there. It’s really not something either of us does. But this once, it might be fun.”
“I can’t get there until about 5:30, but sure.”
“I’ll wait a bit then, too. If I leave here about quarter to, I’ll be there about 5:00, I’ll be at a table, I suspect, look for me.”
++++++
I walked into Peppers about twenty after five. The joint was jumpin’ as some might say. There were things I liked less than bars full of people full of alcohol and themselves — being a prisoner of war might be one of those things. Maybe as a prisoner, I’d be in solitary — that would be better than this. I looked for Bridget, she spotted me first and waved. She was at three tables pulled together. There were eight people around the tables. One of them was Dave Williams, Director of Chaste Banks and my client, though of course, he didn’t know that.
I approached and Bridget introduced me. She knew me well, I was ‘her friend, Jim’. If I’d had to listen to names, titles, and pedigrees of seven twits, I would have gone nuts. We exchanged first names and I sat in a chair Bridget had saved for me.
Bridget was on my right, directly across from her was Dave — he was all smiles – and about half in the bag.
“Dave, I don’t know that I have ever seen anyone looking happier. Care to share?”
He started to say something, then stopped himself. “You don’t need the gory details, let me get right to it. My wife divorced me. In that process she did everything she could to ruin me. Her new lover ran off, leaving her high and dry. She honest-to-God showed up at my door asking to ‘come home’.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I know, right? You can’t make shit like that up. You know how you fear having an opportunity to do something and freezing, just not able to find the words or actions you need?”
“Absolutely, your smile tells me that was not your issue.”
“She asked to come home and I said, I lost my home recently. Then, I looked at her and said, ‘I hate to see someone down on their luck. I will help as I can.’ I reached in my pocket,” he said as he pulled a folded stack of bills out of his pocket. “I always carry my cash like this. I had maybe three or four hundred dollars. I unfolded the bills and had four ones. I peeled them off the stack and handed them to her. It was priceless.
“She just stared at them, her mouth moving like a guppy — no sound forthcoming. She made no move with the money, so I said, ‘you’re right, that’s a bit more generous than I should be’ and took a dollar back. I told her to have a nice day and closed the door in her face.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed as hard as I can remember laughing, Bridget joined me.
Bridget asked, “Didn’t you want to hear what she had to say, or tell her what you thought?”
“What could she say? The sun was in her eyes? She meant to love me, but forgot? What would I say? I’m disappointed in you, slut? A bunch of meaningless words not worth exchanging with the three-dollar woman.”
Dave looked at me, “Do you think that was too subtle?”
“Dave, that action could be interpreted many ways, none of them would be called subtle; brutal comes to mind. I wonder if there is a word for brutal with a touch of class?”
Afterword (627)
If you think bringing Mason down can’t be that easy, you’re right. The next installment has both Mason and Trey and makes it clear not all is resolved. It is still on the drawing board, which slows things down since it is being done on a computer.
I am interested in revenge by living well. There is no doubt the more popular stories involve acts of revenge on the cheater(s). Men who choose to look forward and ignore revenge are often considered wimps. This series will enable a look at divorce “as a beginning”, whether those desiring that beginning are wimps — and follow a continuing theme of BHA.
The paragraphs which follow have nothing to do with the on-going story.
One of the commenters on Betrayed Husbands said, facetiously, “what could go wrong?” with this little revenge by committee scheme. I thought I’d end each tale with an example of things gone wrong.
++++++
“Harry, you’re a fuck up. I’m leaving with Dave; I can’t take it anymore.”
Those were my wife’s last words to me as she and my best friend Dave were picking up luggage, to leave — for good. I wanted to tell her to stop and talk, but as I got out of my chair, I hit my shin on the coffee table. It caused me to lose my balance. I fell over, pulling the tray with my beer and popcorn off the table, onto my head. By the time I got back up, they were gone.
Some days later, I was approached by a man from BHA and went to a meeting, then a second meeting. At the second meeting I was supposed to tell them my name was Paul; it seemed odd to me — my name is Harry Sampson.
I stood and said, “Hi, my name is Harry Sampson, but for some reason they told me to tell you it’s Paul.” That seemed to create confusion. Several of the guys were frantically talking to one another. I can’t say I blamed them. If they were confused about wanting me to introduce myself by the wrong name, how did they think I felt?
I told my story, that my wife actually called me a fuck up. I wished her new boyfriend would get the crap beat out of him, in public, while I watched. After I said that, I sat down. The guy who was helping me had indigestion, or something — he was in a foul mood. He kept going on about did I have any idea what anonymous meant. I mean really, how dumb did he think I was? I could have asked him why he asked me 8 times, but I didn’t want to belittle him.
A couple of weeks later a man told me to go to Flaming Hot Wings, he wouldn’t say why. We argued about that for a while, and he asked if I wanted to see my wish come true; what am I six? I told him I didn’t like the really hot wings, I preferred Buffalo Wild, and besides, it was closer. I don’t know what it is with these people, but he gets all irritated. So, I tell him I’ll go. I ask if it is all right if I go an hour or so early, I’d like to get home and watch Wonder Woman reruns. Again, with the irritation. Jeezzzz, so now I am going where I don’t like the food, at an inconvenient time.