Chapter 8
"I'm home, honey!" Howard shouted as he came through the door late that night. He was in a state of great excitement. "I've got great news, darling! You'll never guess what happened to me at work today. Are you ready? That loser Steve Johnson finally broke down and quit. Seems his wife left him for more fertile pastures. You're now looking at the new president of Pinnacle Sporting Goods!"
He stopped and frowned. His wife was not there to look at and admire him. She had not come running to hear his news as he had expected. He began searching the rooms of his house for her, calling.
"Honey, where are you? Honey? Did you hear what I said? I've been promoted to fill Steve Johnson's spot by the board of trustees. It happened just this afternoon. Sorry I'm late, but there were all these emergency meetings to go to and such. Are you there in the bathroom, honey?
Our income is almost doubled now! I'm going to buy a yacht—Steve's yacht! Of course, like Steve, I'll have no time to sail it, but ... Are you there in the closet, honey? Honey, where are you?"
He searched every room and every walk-in closet of the house for her. His excitement at being promoted was such that he had a rare hard-on. He wanted to fuck his wife to celebrate—fuck her real good, just like in the old days. But he could not find her anywhere. Then, belatedly, he remembered that he had not seen her car in the driveway. She was obviously not at home. What is wrong with that woman? he thought somewhat irritably. She should be home at a time like this, not out skinny-dipping in the ocean or dilly-dallying with her friends. His hard-on wasn't going to last forever.
Coming into the living room, he saw that the television set was on and a note was taped to the screen. The note told him to press play on the VCR. Ah, he thought, Susan videotaped herself doing something naughty to please me. This should be interesting.
He did as the note said and pressed play. His wife's beautiful face came on the screen. She was not nude, unfortunately, but she was dressed in a revealing outfit. She sat on the sofa with her purse in her lap and her gorgeous legs curled up underneath her. She spoke to him.
"Howard," she said, "I could not wait until the next time you decided to have sex with me, so I went down to a nightclub tonight to find a man to screw."
Howard received this news like any fellow who was hit over the head with a two-by-four. His jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out. His expression became dumb with shock.
"I will not be coming home," Susan continued, "not tonight, not tomorrow, nor any day in the foreseeable future. I've packed all my clothes and personal items and taken them with me. I've taken half the money out of our savings account as well. I'm staying at a hotel for now, but eventually I intend to move into my own apartment. I'm leaving you for good, Howard."
Howard covered his ears and began to moan, a pitiful, despairing moan. He could not believe what he was hearing. Susan could not be leaving him on the best day of his life. No, she just couldn't be. It was all a bad dream. It had to be.
"I would have liked to have told you this in person, Howard, but I knew you would not have given me your full attention. You listen to the television more than you listen to me, so that's why I made this tape. But we do need to get together and discuss the details of our divorce. I'll call you tomorrow and arrange an appropriate meeting place. Good-bye for now."
On screen, Howard saw Susan's hand reach for the camera. Her image was abruptly replaced with video static. The moan bubbling up from his throat now became a heart-rending wail. He covered his face as tears sprang from his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. His wife wanted a divorce and he had never even seen it coming. Oh, life is so cruel! He desperately wished he had Steve here to hold him and rock him back and forth.