Two
667 Words
Two
“I never touched the girl, Margaret. I swear.”
I push back the photo, calling my wife by her first name, not knowing it’s one of the last times.
“Oh, Thomas, I know that. It’s just that on this occasion, when the detective finally got pictures, you smelled the trap and wriggled free. It’s all the other girls, the ones you f****d and my detectives weren’t able to snap the camera. Those are the ones that brought my decision to end the charade. I hired a fine lot of gumshoes but I’m not going to waste more money waiting for them to get the right camera angle. It’s over, Thomas. You lose. Read the prenup.”
I suppose that with all the philandering it was going to happen at some point. Through some five years of marriage my libido seemed to excel and Margaret’s – Mrs. Winthrop’s – well she seemed to lose interest. The girls were the best money could buy and the hotels the most expensive in town. I didn’t think she would so overtly object to a guy having a little fun, assuming I was discreet. But apparently I was not and she did object, hiring a cadre of well trained sleuths to catch me in flagrante delicto – which they never did, but came close enough.
On the occasion the photo was taken with the young trollop, I indeed smelled a rat and on that particular day diverted our path to the hotel dining room. There the young girl and I merely engaged in lunch with the gorgeous former model, at one thousand dollars per hour, smiling for all to see – including the detective and his camera. It was a very expensive lunch. Funny how Pattie so much resembles the girl: an example of Mrs. Winthrop’s wry humor.
But hiring Pattie was not the least of her revenge. The Neosteel chastity belt could be considered more sardonic, locking up what had often strayed in search of young, warm, soft feminine flesh.
“Well, if you’re so anxious to part with $100,000 per month plus a lump sum of ten million dollars then so be it,” I blurt in referencing my pre agreed separation payments.
She laughs.
“Like I said, Thomas, read the prenuptial agreement. Those amounts are for separation when there is no injured party, for when Thomas is a good little boy and I tire of him. Well, it can now be said that I’m tired of you, but Thomas has been far from good.”
Her voice mocks as she tosses a copy of the agreement in front of me. I should have read it more carefully, or been more discreet.
With her eagerness to confront me, she has highlighted in yellow the pertinent sections of the ten page document. I read quickly. Depending on how one interprets my transgressions, it is possible that I get nothing! I choke.
“Margaret!” I exclaim, aghast with my quick skimming of the highlighted paragraphs.
“It’s now Mrs. Winthrop, Thomas. And I suggest next time you need an attorney, select someone other than some reprobate fraternity brother. He screwed up. You so much desire to get laid... well now you’re going to get fucked.”
For a woman of Mrs. Margaret Winthrop De Leroy’s (she never fully used my surname) patrician upbringing to twice use four letter words in the same conversion indicates to me that she is in earnest.
I quickly conclude with all the billions at her disposal, and apparently none at mine, it is not the time to return hostile fire. I calm myself and smile boyishly, hoping to placate.
“So what happens now?” I puckishly shrug like a kid who has not completed his homework assignment.
Mrs. Winthrop stands arms akimbo, flaunting her power and upper hand. I am happy to see a smile slowly evolve... at least I think I am.
“You need to learn discipline, Thomas. You need to learn servitude as well. But first I want you measured, then I think we’ll take the jet on a short vacation. The family has owned some Pacific island for many years. It is probably best such things are taught in seclusion.”
My puckishness turns to exaltation – a reprieve!
- Writer
