Love Thy Enemy

I entered the large lobby of the hotel where Amber worked as head desk clerk.

There weren't many people about the lobby, which was both a good thing and a bad thing, since I would be able to see Joe and his bitch easily, in turn they'd be able to see me as easily, and I wanted to surprise the bastard! I quickly walked to Amber's office, knocked once and went in. The people who worked the front desk knew me by sight, and I assumed Shelia had clued them in that I was expected.

"Hi, Shela. You look...fabulous! I didn't mean to take you away from whatever put that glow on you, but I thought you might like to know Joe is here."

I hugged Amber warmly, saying, "Thank you for calling. Yes, I do want to know. So don't worry about anything. I'd rather see them with my own eyes than in photos and video. So thanks. Are we going to wait out in the lobby or what?" I asked Amber. In way of a reply, Amber pointed to the three large security screens hanging on the wall.

"We watch from here."

We chatted for awhile, while we waited. Amber kept an eye on the lobby monitor to check on both the guests waiting at the desk and the employees, and, of course, for Joe and his whore.

I filled her in on my escapades with John, which had her blushing and giggling. I knew the feeling. John was one of the company's advertising whiz kids and hot as they came. His body was rock hard and his face very easy on the eyes. Plus, his eight inch cock didn't hurt, either.

About an hour passed before Amber stood, narrowed her eyes, with a look of scorn settling on her face, saying, "He just left the elevator."

We both rushed out to the lobby, but the asshole and his blond headed bimbo were already exiting through the revolving door. I ran to catch up. I was going to let him know just exactly what I thought of him and his cock decoration. And in public! What humiliation! It was perfect.

I pushed through the doors and saw him and the slut puppy walking down the sidewalk. The walk was fairly busy with a dispersed crowd, moving to and fro, going wherever. Oh, yes! This was going to be great!

"Joe! Turn around you lying cheating piece of shit!" I screamed with wild abandon, unleashing the hot fury I felt.

I barely noticed the few people stopping to look. I did catch eye of more than one man having an uneasy look on their face as they glanced around, but Joe and his harlot kept walking away, arm in arm, oblivious to everything but each other. I fumed. I felt like a super volcano about to erupt.

I ran up to the couple, grabbed his arm, yanking it out of the bleached blond bitch's grasp. They both stopped and he turned quickly ready to strike me. I guess he thought he was getting mugged. If only I were so kind.

"Joe! You sorry ass fucker! I caught..."

At that point words failed me.

The man looked like Joe. He looked so much like Joe they could have been twins. Only it wasn't Joe. He carried himself in the same manner as Joe, but had a slighter build. And his face was Joe's. Only Joe didn't have pale blue eyes. Joe's were light brown. And his hair was lighter colored than Joe's hair.

I was confused and my stomach was beginning to feel like a vast void was filling it.

"Excuse me! You have the wrong person. My name is not Joe!" the stranger explained with a arrogant upper crust accent. Joe's accent was heavily mid-western.

The woman with him was eying me curiously, but remained silent. Of a sudden, I felt like everyone was looking at me and laughing in ridicule. I wanted to run away. To slink off and hide in the deepest hole. Then Amber came running up.

"Well, you caught him!" she told me with a note of triumph, then turned to the man, quickly stepping up, nearly colliding with him, yelling, "You cheating fuck! How could you treat her like that? I knew you were no good from the time we first met!"

The man took a step back, away from the stark vehemence expelled by Amber. That's when the blond spoke up. "Hank, have you been batting in another box?" she asked calmly, looking at the man next to her.

Turning to her, he said in a tightly controlled voice, "I've no idea who these two are. But, I think they believe I'm someone with the name of Joe, who is cheating on one of them. With you."

The blond headed woman's gaze grew glaring as it swung back to me.

He looked at me and then to Amber. "Ladies, I've no idea what this is about nor do I care to. It is apparent you have me mistaken for someone else. Whomever Joe is, I am not him. And, unless you want me to call the police and have you charged with harassment, I suggest both of you leave my wife and I alone."

At his words, Amber got a slack-jawed expression; her anger muted, she softly stated, "Wife? But...But...You look just like Joe Pleasent."

I was too numb to be surprised at the mention of the blond being his wife. I couldn't speak as it was. I was petrified by what was unfolding and the void in my stomach was now being filled with molten lead.

They'd both started to walk away as Amber spoke, then he stopped abruptly, and turned around just as quickly.

"Joe who?" he asked in a harsh demanding tone.

Amber looked at me before, in a small, now uncertain voice, replied, "Joe...Joe Pleasent. Shela's husband." Indicating me with one hand.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise and his wife looked on with a expression that I couldn't place.

"You said Joe Pleasent? Is that correct?" he asked of Amber.

She nodded hesitantly, apparently unsure of whether to confirm or deny the answer.

"I see." With a speculative glance at me, he said, "I'm not Joesph. I'm a relative of his. His cousin, in fact. Hank Pleasent."

At his words, the sidewalk disappeared beneath my feet and I fell and fell. Thankfully a darkness came to whisk me away to safety, and away from the nightmare I'd created; mistakenly thinking Joe had been cheating on me. And, of my own undeniably despicable act of unforgivable betrayal.

Chapter Two

"Hello, Mr. Pleasent. I hope you had a pleasant journey." greeted my French driver, as he met me after I'd exited the concourse of the Roissy Airport, otherwise known as the Charles de Gaulle Airport. I quickly glanced at him, but saw nothing more than slight aloofness and a composed expression. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not, but I decided to let it pass.

After replying to his comment and a few minutes of trading inane pleasantries, I asked to be taken to my quarters, a small house owned by the company. It had been a long flight and I was tired. I was in Paris, France, but I didn't feel very touristy. I just wanted to sleep around the clock.

After settling in, I lay on the bed, trying to sleep but ended up thinking about the last several weeks.

After the big meeting, where it had ended very well, I was given a promotion to the international division, and I'd spent the last two months helping my replacement get adjusted, and preparing for my move to France. I'd be heading up the Paris office as managing director. I'd also seen an attorney. My attorney was very interested in the video, however, Steve hadn't finished recovering it. My wife and I live, I should say, lived, in a no-fault divorce state. Meaning that she could fuck everything walking, right in front of the judge, and she'd still be entitled to a good portion of my assets.

I know, it sucks, but there you have it.

The video wasn't directly important as far as the divorce itself was concerned, but its use might be crucial in other ways.

My attorney explained there were a few legal options available to me, like suing my wife and her lover (or lovers) for emotional distress, alienation of affection and the like. Such a case would be trial by jury, and there was a good chance the twelve good people could be swayed to my behalf by her actions. Thus whatever financial loss occurred in the divorce, I might be able to recover through an award. And, in that regard, the video could be very important.

I hadn't found an apartment before my promotion and when I was told my promotion meant moving to France I figured why bother looking for anything? I toughed it out in the motel room until it was time to leave. During that time, while Shela was at work, I finished moving the rest of my stuff out of the house and into storage, which I paid a year in advance. And, no, Shela hadn't had the locks changed, or done all the other stuff one reads and hears about when in the process of a divorce. For my part, my attorney acted as an intermediary, so I had no direct contact with my soon to be ex-wife. Why would I want to? I still didn't want to go to prison.

Only a handful of people knew what had happened with Shela and myself, and even they didn't know the details.

Also, before I left to France, on the advice of my attorney, I hired a private investigator to follow Shela around for a month. It wasn't cheap, but my attorney convinced me that the more evidence I had of her infidelity and with whom, the better the lawsuit I'd have.

I thought about revenge as well, but everything that came to mind involved extreme violence and murder. I thought about going to counseling, but why bother? My marriage was over and I would deal with those feelings as I saw fit, not how someone else thought what was appropriate for me to feel.

No, whatever form of revenge I eventually came up with, would be legal, but on my terms.

Since Shela and I, thankfully, had no children, that was one less thing to worry about. Not that I didn't want a child or two. I did. But, not with Shela. I was glad we'd never had that opportunity for her to become a mother.

I had no idea what Shela told her family and her friends about what happened to us. I couldn't care less. Her folks were okay, but they had a way about them that always made me feel as the outsider. I tried to get closer to them, as Shela was always complaining how they were family. But, it's takes two sides to tango. Shela's younger sister, Leia, and her brother, Sean, although, better with me than their parents, never really became too close either. Sean was married with two children and if he wasn't working, he was fishing, boating, camping, or doing something else outdoorsy. Albeit, without his wife and children, only with his male friends. I sometimes wondered if Sean was gay.

Leia, was a freshman at a out of state university when I married her sister. She couldn't or wouldn't make it to our wedding. So I never got to know her very well. After she graduated, she went to work for a cosmetic firm in California, Although she visited her folks quite often, I never spent much time with her. On our first meeting, after Shela and I had been married about year, Leia looked me up and down, and sarcastically said, "I expect you'll last just long enough to cheat." and walked off.

I don't know where her comment came from. Baffled, I asked Shela about it, she laughed it off, saying Leia was just being Leia. Whatever that meant.

Shela's best friend was another matter altogether.

Amber, Shela's childhood friend and best friend, was one of those man-haters. She hated to pass up any opportunity to be with any man, and afterwards, the only good thing she had to say was that men were too dumb to keep for long. From what I gathered, most of her 'boyfriends' were only too glad to be too dumb to be kept for long. Except for this one guy, Gary Something or other.

Gary actually liked Amber. However, it was obvious from the get go, Amber didn't feel the same about him. She did tell him she wasn't interested, but only after she'd tired of him. Despite that, he tried to win her affection. Until, Amber, tired of this poor guy's attempts to sway her, called the cops on him. She filed stalking and harassment charges against Gary, and he was subsequently arrested. Before they'd gone to court, Gary finally got the message. I'm not sure what happened after that, as I never saw him again.

Amber was also one vindictive bitch.

At any assumed slight she'd go off and let whomever it was, have it, even if she was wrong. Correction, especially if she was wrong. It happened to me once at a party Shela and I had attended. Being that she was my wife's friend, I tried my best to ignore her outburst. Until she slapped me, then I tore into her. The result was out of one of those chaotic movie scenes where everyone is screaming and running around like there's a huge fire engulfing everything, and there is no escape. Only there's really no fire and everyone is talking at the same time and no one is making sense, but it satisfies the director's need for a apocalyptic level of confusion. Thereafter, I rarely saw Amber, although she tried to make my life as difficult as possible, which meant working through Shela. I've forgotten how many Amber arguments we had, but it seemed any argument Shela and I had, Amber was somehow involved.

So I had a few ways to plot my revenge; through Shela's family, or through Amber, or both. I preferred both, but hey, if I had to settle for one, I'd go with Amber.

What love I had for my wife was gone. Sure, they say that you can't stop loving someone at the drop of a hat, but after watching your wife fucking some asshole and then braying to you about it, that kind of goes a long way toward making you forget about any love you had for the bitch. Maybe I wasn't built like some guys, those who moan and groan, wallowing in hurt feelings while seeking any way to reconcile. Nope, Shela hammered the nails into the coffin and I was only too glad to bury it.

What I now felt was a cold anger. I'd been hurt, sure, but I didn't let it control me, anyway the heartache was slowly easing off. I thought of dipping my pen into someone's inkwell, but I wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Nor was I looking to use anyone else that had done me no harm, and the thought of having sex -just fucking- kind of turned me off.

I eventually went to sleep with my mind in turmoil. When I awoke, although my body felt somewhat refreshed my brain felt old and full of cobwebs. I had arrived on a Saturday afternoon, and according to the clock it was now 7:00 AM Sunday morning. In trying to keep my mind off my personal problems I busied myself for the rest of the day preparing for Monday, when I officially took over the Paris office.

I'd been warned that some of the French employees in our Paris office might not be too keen on having a American boss working in the same building, and that I was to ignore any negative, albeit subtle, innuendos that might come my way. I really didn't care what the French might think of me or why. As long as they performed their work properly, they could call me a clown's pony's asshole and I'd be content.

Monday was one of those days that seemed to go on and on. Although no one came right out and called me anything derogatory, they walked around with a fixed expression that wasn't unlike what they might have worn if they'd kissed the wrong end of a skunk. I laid out what I expected of them and I even tried a bit of my limited French on them, and as expected, all it did was to piss them off more.

At least, my office was very spacious, and decorated in what I charitably call European-style. All of the office furniture and decor was designed to give its occupant a sense of home comfort while maintaining a business like ambiance but within the confines of, what else, a French art museum. Still, the office had it's own private bath with an attached dressing room. The floor was of polished ivory colored marble squares shot through with shaded swirls of earthy browns, brilliant oranges and deeps grays. What I hated the worst was the large and loose throw rug behind the door of my office. I'd slipped on it a couple of times that first day as I entered my office. I'd made a mental note to have it removed, but somehow it kept slipping my mind.

The rest of the week was spent getting to know some of the people I'd be working closest with, and getting a feel for the business aura. It was a totally different ballgame and one I was working hard to understand. I figured, if at the very least, I understood the people that were under me, I'd be able to make better use of their talents.

There was one young woman, Norwegian rather than French, who seemed to stand out. She was pretty and somewhat tall, but there was something else about her that made her presence felt even in a crowded office. She had some good ideas, she knew how to plan, and most importantly, when to talk and when to listen. In the beginning, I'd never gotten too personal with most people at work, and early on I didn't know if she was married, single, or attached, not that it mattered as long as she didn't let her personal life interfere with her professional life. I guess you can tell I was all about the job by then. Well, that was another symptom of being betrayed, cuckolded and spat upon by a loving wife. I literally lived and breathed my work, although I didn't expect others to follow me on my road to hell, I did expect that they keep their professional and personal lives separate.

Anyway, her name was Bergit Marum, ironically, she was a fair skinned blond standing a statuesque six foot in height, well proportioned and curvy enough to apply for a job as a California scenic mountain highway. She wore little to no make-up, and had a no-nonsense manner about her, which in my book was a big plus. Her attire was professional yet not as severe as some American business women would dress. I took an instant like to her. She'd been in our Paris office since graduating from a Norwegian university two years before. What she lacked in experience, she made up with her impressive intellect and contagious enthusiasm for her job. She wasn't the only one that had shown themselves to be outstanding, but she was the one that caught most of my attention. I made her my personal assistant.

After a month, Bergit and I had developed a very good working relationship, becoming my yin, and I, her yang. Inevitably, some of the other people in the office found this relationship to be biased and very chauvinistic. I consider myself to be fair and just, even when I didn't want to be, so I put their complaints down to jealousy and decided to show them that their thinking was more biased than what they believed mine to be.

I started including all the upper office echelon in several decisions, soliciting their opinions and advice on several important matters. I didn't just hear them, I listened. At first, they grudgingly cooperated but as they realized I was seriously considering what they said, they began to offer more well thought out and better researched concepts. Within a few months our office was the rising star of our company in the EU. That's not to say everyone liked me, because they didn't, but most had come to respect me and that went a long way in our type of business.

While all this was going on, I stayed in touch with my attorney. During that time, he stated that Shela had contacted him several times, at some points begging to talk to me. As per my instructions, he told her I was out of the country and had no idea when I would return. Shela of course had called my former office and inquired how to get in contact with me. I didn't get the full story, but what from what little I was told, she'd been informed that since we were no longer living together and estranged, they couldn't divulge any information to her. I've no idea what her reaction to that explanation was. I can only hope it hurt deeply and left her feeling out in the cold.

As for the video...Steve had recovered most of it, and the only portions missing were a couple of minutes that I'd not seen. I had sent, what Steve had saved of the video, over to my attorney, who, after viewing it, mentioned something about malicious intent which seemed to make him happy. I'm glad someone was.

The private investigator had followed Shela for two weeks and his report was a bland mix of everyday events of her life. She went to work, came home, shopped a bit, and that was about it. No evidence of a boyfriend or a fuck buddy. Shela was not dumb, even if her actions did lead to divorce proceedings, so I figured she was playing it cool until after the divorce, probably on the advice of her attorney.