"Myra's Little Book Shop"

And then there was Zoey; she was the precise opposite. It was silly; I'd known Zoey the better part of my life. Excepting for that one awful time I could still read her like an open book. I knew what she wanted. Whereas Myra was glum, ashen, moping about in a state of constant expectation of the worst, Zoey was effusive, light, buttery, fluttering about like a humming bird, sweetness in the extreme.

~~V~~

Most certainly, once the school year began it was just a question of time before both women would lose patience and start that final push.

Myra was first. I thought I was sure what Myra would do, but well, women... The second day of the third week of school I got home my usual time. Zoey usually brought Wayne over around six. Myra would get home a little after eight. I got home that afternoon and found Myra waiting in the kitchen. I expected it. Sooner or later I figured she'd want to have 'that talk'.

She was clothed in a very pretty skirt and blouse set. She was always so prim and proper; that was one of the things that attracted me. Like the quiet introverted librarian Myra was the opposite of the buoyant extroverted Zoey. Hard to believe; was this to be the historic 'seduction scene'?

I came in, sat down, and she started, "Curtis I'm so lonely. I feel so lost and helpless. It's not about sex. I just feel so empty. You're here. I see you every night. I want you. I want you to hold me. I'm not talking about sex. I just need your arms around me. I know I don't deserve anything. I know I'm on the edge here, but just something, maybe a hello, just a little affection. I was wrong, what I did was despicable, but I feel so lost, so dried up, like I've been hollowed out inside."

I was surprised. I said nothing. She went on, "Curt I'm guilty. I'm as guilty as the worst Judas. I deserve nothing. I know my time is running out. When the end comes I won't fight. I'll go quietly, but for now maybe a little charity. Could you grant the whore a little charity?"

She was right; she was despicable, she'd played the whore, she'd played me in the worst way, she deserved nothing, but I knew I had to acquiesce this time. It was an easy decision; she was still my wife, I was horny, and when her comeuppance came it would be on my terms.

She'd dropped her head into her hands on the table. I got up, walked around, and started to massage her neck and shoulders. Her hair was in a bun. I undid some of the pins and fluffed it loose. I gently pulled her head back so she was sitting up. I reached down and pulled the top of her blouse apart and took her chin in my two hands and whispered, "When Zoey leaves..."

She took her hands and held mine. She rubbed her tearful right eye against the back of my hand. With a suffocated sob she whimpered, "Thanks Curt." Her head against my arm, her shoulders shook from her silent sobbing. In that brief moment I wanted to find a way to forgive and put Prendergast and her infidelity behind us. It couldn't happen though; I was mourning a dead animal.

That evening was wonderful, melancholy but still warm and wonderful. Though it had only been a few weeks I'd pretty much put her with Prendergast out of my head, hell there weren't any mental pictures, nothing worth remembering.

Myra had always been someone who wanted what I liked to call 'soft sex'. She'd told me her first husband liked it hard and rough, and he frequently hurt her. I couldn't say she had much of a libido; that was Zoey's world. No, sex with Myra had always been slow and soft and gentle so I was slow and soft and gentle, and when we finished she contentedly nestled herself in my arms.

There was something else too. Myra knew Zoey wanted me. I think Myra felt Zoey closing in. I could see it, the fear. Zoey had her two kids, now she had Wayne. Zoey was swallowing the best parts of Myra's life and she knew it. Did that bother me? No, not really; I enjoyed it, one living with her fanciful illusions, the other in dread.

From that first night until the end we enjoyed each other every three or four days. It helped me by keeping the edge off, and I know it helped Myra, I think it offered her that last granule of security before...well before. She never asked, and I never offered. She knew her doom was nigh; the sword was there, always just above her head. Honestly, I still cared about her, but there was no future in it.

Zoey was different. I knew she wanted it. Even after two years she still wore her rings. She loved sex. She was a tigress. When we were married sometimes she used to tear my clothes off, and in spite of her diminutive size she could throw me from time to time. Yeah she wanted it. I knew she wanted it. She was "Maggie the Cat"! No Minerva her, no sir; she was the classic Aphrodite, ready, able, and always willing, so much the worse for her. I knew since our separation and divorce she'd kept clear of men. She could've had any man she wanted; her problem was she just wanted one, but I still needed to hate her for what she did.

Those mornings I dropped Wayne off, Diana and Keith were already gone, and there she'd be, waiting. She started when school started, she pulled the same trick almost every day; she'd be all decked out in some skimpy romper. She was tiny, but God what a body, eyes that looked like Heaven lips like cherry wine.

It wasn't easy, but I shot her down every time, "Damn it Zoey you know I'm a one woman man, and that means one woman at a time."

She'd stammer back, "But you're leaving her. I know you are!"

I'd laugh, "Your tough luck. I was yours once; you blew it so go put something on." Once she came at me; fists flying, but I held her off.

Finally giving up she shouted, "You know where to find me!"

I scoffed, "We'll see."

Then she'd cry and I'd almost, only almost give in, wondering, 'How could one woman make one man so angry?'

It was a tough time for me. With my new fall schedule I was home till mid-morning and I knew Zoey was always available. It would have so easy to slip one of those little rompers off her shoulders, carry her in the living room or upstairs and enjoy her. She wanted me, and I craved, no I hungered for her, but, but, but, but but! Few men ever turned down a free piece of tail, and she was a delightful little piece, but it was part of the game I was playing. Some game.

~~V~~

So time moved ahead, and with it my plans. My number one target; a certain Headmaster at a certain private school.

I had videos. I had a wife ready to swear to anything if she thought it would save something from her marriage, or was it her little bookshop? What did Prendergast have? He had a wife. He had a prestigious job. He had a career, and he had, to his detriment, one hell of an ego. Plus, he knew I'd be coming for him.

His visits to the bookstore stopped, but the orders from the school increased. Other schools, even one or two of the colleges started sending in orders. Such a fool, I had Myra, and through her I had his balls. Still, not the type to flinch I knew he'd never call. Near the end of September I sent him his first letter. Not a letter really, just another envelope. In the envelope, a few more pictures, more graphic pictures.

I got a call, "What do you want?"

"Let's have lunch."

"Where?"

"The Red Lobster."

We met that first week in October. I got the crab legs. He got shrimp. He asked again, "What do you want?'

I told him, "I want you gone."

"What?"

"Gone, as in out of town. You can leave. Take your wife. Find another school, no scandal, just sayonara."

"Just like that," he asked?

I said, "Just like that."

He pushed back from the table, "Not going to happen. This is my home. Let me make another offer. You throw away the tapes and I don't expose your wife for the whore she really is."

Was I surprised? Of course not, I asked, "Weldon Zimmermann is head of the trustees?"

He grinned, "So what. He already knows. He's with me," then he paused and snarled, "Besides you think I was her first?"

I smiled, got up, "See you soon."

He took the check and got up too, "Next time you pay."

~~V~~

I sent Zimmermann a full video. He got the works, motion pictures, full color, and vibrant mumbling sound. I got a call, and found myself back at the Red Lobster. This time with Weldon Zimmermann; he got the lobster, I stuck with the crab legs.

He went first, "I got your video. You know this is Wallace's home town. He's got roots here."

I smiled, "So do I. So does my wife."

He kept smiling. He looked eerily like a snake. I wondered, 'Where do they get these people?' He said, "Dr. Carothers we can work this out. Wallace is a good man. You can't do this to him over some silly flirtation."

I smiled right back, "You have the visual proof; this wasn't just some silly flirtation, and yes I can. Know what else. I can do you. I can do Saint Agricola too.

He asked, "Is it money? You want money?"

"Money," I scoffed, "you're kidding. I want justice."

He replied, "Justice? You call ruining a man's life and his career justice?"

I had him, or thought I did, "I want him, you, and your precious school."

He stared at me. I didn't blink. He got up and took the check, "Give me a day or two."

I responded, "Sure." Was I surprised? Not especially. I thought the old man might buckle, but then again Saint Agricola's was a rich school with a long tradition, and a big endowment. They had lawyers. They had an 'in' with the County Council. They probably, hell I knew, they had some judges. What was my next move? Go to one of 'their' judges before one of 'their' lawyers came after me.

Down in the old city there was an elderly Federal district court judge, a Saint Agricola alum. No pictures, no videos this time; just a letter. I scheduled an appointment and made a personal visit. He knew I was coming, and from the letter and I presumed from inquiries he knew why. His name was Robert Driscoll. This time there wasn't any food. I had to see him in an anteroom outside his chambers.

I walked in and sat down. He made me wait. Was I surprised? Hell no. This was part of the program. Finally he came in. Dressed in his 'priestly robes' he walked over and took my hand, "Good afternoon I'm Judge Driscoll and you are?"

"Dr. Curtis Carothers."

He played dumb, "And the reason for your visit?"

"You're an alumnus of Saint Agricola's. Your school has an adulterous headmaster. He seduced and abused my wife, and I want him gone."

The judge looked grim faced, "There are procedures for this. Have you secured the services of lawyer?"

I had, "Ye sir I have."

"May I ask?"

"No you may not, but I'll tell you he's done this before."

"You got yourself a gunslinger."

"No sir I got a lawyer."

"So you're ready to go to the wall on this?"

I replied, "I am sir, and if I need to go to the next step I'll be visiting a few more people. I pushed a sheet of paper across the table to him.

He looked it over, "You know who these people are?"

I answered, "They're donors there. There're a couple people in the Church. There's a congressman there. They're all very generous."

"Are you threatening something here sir?"

"No sir. I just want justice for my wife."

He studied the paper I'd given him, "Can I call you back?"

"My number's on the paper."

He stood up, "Thank you for your interest in Saint Agricola's. I'll have my secretary call you with something in a few days."

We shook hands, I said, "Thank you your honor," and we parted ways, me to go back home him to court.

I got a call from Weldon Zimmermann the last day of the week, "I'd like to see you again."

"Red Lobster," I asked?

"No, at the school. Tomorrow, say 9:00 a.m."

That sounded good. I thought, 'A Saturday at the school; wonder what was up next.' I'd already been back and forth through the month of September, and this was near the end of October. They most certainly knew I'd done nothing about divorce, and they'd neither seen nor heard of any videotapes other than what I'd already distributed. Would they risk their school's reputation for the sake of some womanizer, some tin-pot Casanova? I guess I'd find out.

We met in one of the offices of the college placement team. It was just me and Mr. Zimmermann. He started, "First let me say I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry your wife was drawn into something like this. It's all very unfortunate, a tragic misunderstanding."

I realized then he knew I'd hired a private investigator. I bet they'd hired one too. I'd found out Myra hadn't been Prendergast's first conquest. Zimmermann and I both knew it. My guess was, had it been a one off for Prendergast they'd have fought me, but the man was a serial adulterer. I asked, "So where are we?"

He replied, "It's complicated. Dr. Prendergast is a very successful and well-respected man. He's well known. He has his sponsors. He has a wife who's taken a role of leadership in charities and community affairs. Could you, would you give us a breathing spell; say until after Christmas. The fall semester ends in January. That'll give us time to find his successor, plus he'll have time to find another position."

I answered, "My wife; she's not well. This has been very hard on her."

He answered, "I understand. If it's counseling, we can help. But also there's the school. We'd like some assurance that once Dr. Prendergast has departed there'll be no fall out."

I sensed it was almost over. I sat back. I had a couple things on the burner, but had put them aside.

For a while I thought about holding the whole place up for ransom. My attorney mentioned something about moral issues and threatening the school with a lawsuit or some such thing. I rejected that out of hand. I was a college professor, and I didn't want to imperil my own reputation.

I'd thought early on about holding them up for some free tuition. With Diana, Keith, and one day Wayne all bound for high school, why not squeeze them a little? But then I looked into the results of their program; for all Saint Agricola's costs and prestige their S.A.T. results were no better than any of the better public high schools. The only advantage that accrued to an Agricola degree was the contacts it provided, and contacts didn't seem like a problem to me.

I placated the son-of-a-bitch, "I have no interest in injuring the reputation of your fine school, but like I said, my wife. She'll need more than counseling; at the very least she'll need some kind of support."

He looked baffled. He really didn't get it, so I said, "My wife's bookstore."

He got it, he smiled, "A contract. We'll need a contract. I'm sure we can greatly assuage your wife's anguish."

I stood up, "This is what I hoped."

He stood. I waited, but added, "There'll be a Christmas party, a seeing off?"

He nodded and finished our conversation, "There'll be two agreements; some assurance from you, a nondisclosure of sorts, and a general contract from let's say five of the high schools and the college you mentioned for let's say three years. Can we agree to that?"

I said, "Five years."

He replied, "Five it is."

I added, "My wife and I would feel privileged if we could attend that party."

He grinned, "You'll sit at my table."

We shook hands.

I got in my SUV and pulled away. I'd won, or believed I had. I'd wait to look over the agreements. Needless to say I wouldn't look them over; I had a lawyer for that. Prendergast would be gone by January. And a five year agreement was more than generous; who knew what Myra would be doing in five years, and for private schools, with their turnover, five years was a lifetime.

~~~~V~~~~

It was time to settle up with Myra.

So I had the rest of October, November, and the better part of December to work things out with Myra, come to terms with what to do about custody of Wayne, and then there was Zoey and my older kids. Needless to say I had a good income, and there might even be royalties out there somewhere, but with payments on two houses, alimony, and child support I knew I had to come to some kind of accord someplace. Plus there was Halloween and Thanksgiving coming up. I'd been on Zoey's parent's shit list for two years, and my parents, since my first divorce they hadn't been very enamored of me either. It was going to be a busy season.

I never regretted divorcing Zoey; she had it coming, but both sets of parents never saw it that way, and worse, her parents blamed me for her second miscarriage. Well I hadn't known she was pregnant so they couldn't lay that one on me. It was her infidelity not mine.

Her infidelity; I saw it, and she saw me see it so what was the need for marriage or reconciliation counseling? And listening to her whine and cry through a lot of lame excuses; that wasn't in my make-up. Hell, my insurance covered her grief counseling and medications, and when I got back from my trip I'd helped with the kids. I'd helped right up until and even after, especially after, I married Myra. No, I didn't owe Zoey anything. She owed me!

About the coming back that morning, catching her, and me leaving; I hadn't run away I'd just gone on about my business. I'd worked hard. This had been my doctorate, the grand prize! I'd been scheduled for a month long trip to Greece and Turkey to personally examine archaeological sites. This trip was supposed to be the icing on the cake, my cake; my ticket to greatness, my ride to an Ivy League school. So I stayed away a little longer than I should have, maybe a little too long. So I'd done some things I shouldn't have. So I fucked things up! But it was all her fault! Yet as 'they' said when I got back, "The train had passed me by." So what!

Zoey, Myra. Myra, Zoey. What was it? Who was it? Was it me?

When I'd gotten back from my trip I'd had a long talk with my dad. For me and my brother our dad has always been a font of wisdom. Just the same I mostly disagreed with him, particularly on what to do about Zoey.

Zoey had been to see my mom and dad while I was gone; she'd laid it on pretty thick. While I saw the divorce through to the end, I did agree to hear her lying 'story'.

The creep I caught her in bed with was a guy I knew. He'd grown up not far from her and had even dated her from time to time while they were in high school. He was some half-assed artist with a studio who taught some kind of crap classes at the public school for the arts. Nice guy that one, too nice.

Why're the philanderers always like that? They always have the right words, the right mannerisms, all that and the right kind of interests. This one had it, I mean he had it all; the suave, warm, sensitive personality, the right, 'relaxed fit' clothes, just the right amount of facial hair, the just so fashionably spontaneous comforting, gentle, persuasive way of talking. Spontaneity! That's was it, I mean what he had; he had spontaneity. He always knew exactly the right thing to say and the right way to say it. He should've been a used car salesman.

And Zoey! Well Zoey had always been a walking talking advertisement for 'dupe of the month'! That's what drew me to her; she loved everybody, she saw the good in everything and everyone. Me, I admit it, I've been a little judgmental sometimes, a little bit of the 'Hot Spur'. I see a problem I go straight to the source, straight for the throat. Zoey, no, not her, she always took things apart. She had to see all sides of every issue. For her everybody had a point of view, never just black and white, always the shades of grey. So there it was; Zoey the warm hearted caregiver, and the cad, the classic user.

Then throw in Zoey's 'secret pregnancy, and her very real anemia. I know I saw she got her medications every single morning! I know I made sure that morning! I had. I know I had. I know I hadn't let my excitement about my trip distract me. No it hadn't, it couldn't have. I hadn't forgotten! Her medications weren't my responsibility anyway. Not really. Not exactly.