The Anatomy of Cheating: A Novel

by Nesly Clerge

  “Okay,” Adams said, “we won’t be interrupted for a while.”

  “My wife has an account at your bank under her maiden name. Johnson. Chelsea Johnson.”

  “I’m not going to like where this is going, am I?”

  Garrett pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it to Adams. “Maybe twenty-five hundred will help you like it better.”

  “Garrett—”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to help me with this unless I was desperate.”

  Adams glanced around then put the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. “What do you need?”

  Garrett told him what to look for.

  Adams nodded. “I may need a few hours. I’ll have to research between a couple of appointments.”

  “Whatever it takes. Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in.”

  The food arrived. Adams cleaned his plate. Garrett pushed food around on his. They left together, shaking hands in the parking lot.

  Adams said, “I’m not sure what news will be good to hear.”

  “The truth will do.”

  Garrett returned to his room, and continued to ignore every call or text except the one he wanted, which came almost two hours later.

  “What’s the word, Bob?”

  “Seventy thousand. Just as you said. Cash. The signed form for the IRS is still on file in archived records.”

  Garrett ran a hand through his hair. “That account still open?”

  “Yes.”

  “Balance?”

  “Three thousand and change. If this is bad news, I’m sorry to be the bearer of it. I need to go. My next appointment just arrived.”

  Garrett got up. He paced. This couldn’t be real. This happened to other men, not to him.

  He turned and saw the face of Luke Thompson smiling at him from the iPad. Imagined Thompson’s hands and mouth on Chelsea, saw the man humping her, saw her mouth and hands on him. Saw and heard her climaxing—for him.

  The heavy table lamp was in his hand within seconds. He used it to pummel the electronic pill too bitter to swallow, smashed it into fragments, shattered the lamp, battered the coffee table, which Garrett flung across the room, puncturing the Sheetrock. The sounds that erupted from him more animal than human.

  CHAPTER 90

  “This kind of behavior is intolerable.” The hotel manager stood in the middle of Garrett’s room and surveyed the damages. “Just look at this mess.”

  “I had an adverse reaction to a new medication. I’m fine now. I’ll pay for the damages. No need to show me an estimate, just take care of it. Add the cost to my card.”

  “You can count on it. You can also start packing.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  The manager punched a number on his cell phone. “Tyler, prepare an Authorization for Payment of Damages form for Dr. Hall and get it to me in 202 A-S-A-P.” The manager positioned himself, arms crossed, in front of the door. “I don’t see any packing going on.”

  Garrett pulled a plastic trash bag from one of the waste receptacles and began stuffing his clothes, unfolded, inside.

  “No suitcase, Dr. Hall?”

  “I’m traveling light.”

  “As long as you travel away from here.”

  Tyler arrived, form in hand, as Garrett dropped the last of his toiletries into the bag. He signed the form, grabbed the bag and said, “You’re damn lucky I’m not reporting you to Better Business Bureau.”

  “Likewise.”

  Garrett drove to the nearest five-star hotel. He stood at the front desk, confused as to why the desk clerk initally stared at him then avoided looking at him as he completed the registration process.

  Once in the room, he tossed the bag and the battered iPad onto the bed. Caught his reflection in the dresser mirror. His unwashed hair stuck out on one side and was plastered to the other. When had he shaved last? A cut on his cheek, which he hadn’t felt, had left a trail of dried blood on his face and shirt collar.

  He needed more clothes, and a suitcase, but no way could he shop in the condition he was in.

  The shower was hot but not soothing. He shaved around the cut. Did his best to wash the blood from his shirt. And thought about what his next step needed to be.

  He ordered a club sandwich and a pot of coffee from room service. While he waited, he made a list.

  CHAPTER 91

  It had been easy for Garrett to find a phone listing for Eric Eisenberg’s residence, and he was thankful they still used a landline. The last thing he’d wanted to do was show up at their house, but he would have, if that’s what it had taken.

  It had been harder to make the call the next morning, when he was sure Eric was at work, or should be, and it felt safer to use the hotel phone so caller ID wouldn’t give him away and the call ignored. It wasn’t until the phone started to ring that he realized he didn’t know whether or not Patricia Eisenberg had a job. Whatever it took to find her, he’d do it.

  She answered on the fourth ring then made it clear she didn’t want to talk to him. A guarantee of five thousand dollars, cash, to meet with him eased her hesitation. She arrived at the diner a half hour later, pinched-faced, eager to get the money and leave, but not until Garrett swore he’d never reveal that she had given him the details she remembered about the affair.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “Wasn’t that enough?”

  “If you withhold anything—and, Patricia, I believe that’s what you’re doing—I’ll pull half the cash out of the envelope getting warm in my pocket.”

  “Fine. It’s your funeral. Your wife got pregnant. I forced her to get an abortion. No way in hell was I going to let Eric stay involved with her because of his bastard child.”

  “He knew?”

  “I made certain she didn’t tell him. I wanted it and her to go away. Permanently.”

  Garrett gripped his coffee mug then swiped it and the dishes and condiments off the table. All heads turned at the clatter and the slew of obscenities erupting from him.

  Patricia, pale-faced, escaped from the booth. “I’m leaving. Before you get us both arrested.”

  The diner manager rushed over. “You need to leave, sir.” He handed Garrett the bill. “Put your money on the table and get out.”

  Garrett pulled a twenty from his money clip and slung it to the floor. He hurried after Patricia, whose hands were already on the door handle. She rushed outside. He caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Let go of me.”

  He did. “I’m sorry I lost it in there. You have no idea what I’m feeling.” He pulled the envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  She tucked the envelope into her purse. “When you can think straight again, you’ll realize how wrong you are.”

  In one week, he’d been kicked out of his house, a Hilton, and a diner.

  Nobody else was going to oust him from where he wanted to be.

  CHAPTER 92

  He sped back to the hotel, repeatedly slamming on the brakes when traffic lights turned yellow or red. As Garrett waited for the lights to turn green, he beat on the steering wheel and cursed, ignoring the disapproving and sometimes frightened expressions from onlookers in other cars and on the sidewalks. Ignored those who aimed their phones at him.

  Inside the hotel lobby, he grew impatient waiting for the elevator, pounded the button and kicked the doors. “What the fuck is the hold-up?”

  The doors opened. An elderly couple with their two young grandchildren started to exit. “Take your fucking time,” he said. “You’re not in a hurry, so why should I be.”

  He disregarded their shock and admonitions. Hit the button for his floor and the Close button several times, desperate to get to his room and shut everyone out.

  His phone rang as he slid his key into the lock. He dug the phone from his pocket, saw who it was and kicked the door. “What now, Penelope?”

  “We need to meet again.”

  “I can’t. My schedule�
�s too tight.”

  “I’m tighter. After all, it’s been days.”

  Garrett scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Pen, please.”

  “You left before I could tell you more about Luke Thompson.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “Give me a minute.” He let himself into the room and went to the liquor cabinet, removing four small bottles of Scotch. He placed three bottles on the nightstand, opened the fourth then sat with his back against the headboard. “I’m listening. What else do you know?”

  “It’s not like Chelsea told me much, Garrett, nor did she tell me right away. And I practically had to drag from her the little I got. As for where they did the nasty, I told you what she told me. Why don’t you forget her, at least for a while. Let me help you forget.”

  “I’m not hearing any new information.”

  “I wanted—needed—to hear your voice.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Will I see you soon?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Garrett, don’t be like that. Not with me. Not after all these years.”

  “That’s the best I can do right now. I have a lot to take care of.”

  He dropped the phone next to him on the bed. He had proof of the earlier affair. But he wanted irrefutable proof about what was going on with Thompson. Penelope had been right about Eisenberg. She had to be right about Thompson, as well. No matter how much he didn’t want her to be.

  Maybe he should see Pen, or at least one of the other women available; though, Pen would be more willing to do what was needed to ease his anger. He hadn’t gone this long without sex since he was a teenager. But he knew it was a useless thought as soon as he had it. There hadn’t been any action down there since Chelsea had knocked on the door of the Presidential Suite, no matter how much effort he’d expended in the shower. Even the porn movie he’d paid for on TV was shut off after a few frustrating minutes.

  He could follow Chelsea, but there was no telling when she’d meet with Thompson. He might follow her for a week and come up dry. He didn’t have the luxury of that kind of time. Nor did he have the patience to hire a private detective. Plus, there was the humiliation factor. The fewer people who knew, the better.

  The most logical thing to do was what Penelope had recommended: Access Chelsea’s phone. He’d find a way. Tomorrow morning. Once he was sure Kimberlie was at school.

  CHAPTER 93

  The lacy French bra and matching thong were the color of a ripe peach. Chelsea studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. Gone were the days of recoiling at the sight of her fuller figure because of Garrett’s preferences. Luke told her repeatedly that he loved every inch of her and demonstrated it in the best ways. And the most erotic.

  His text message had said to meet at the motel in thirty minutes. He’d sent another text soon after: I’m bringing chocolates. She shivered at the memory of the time he’d done that before, as one of his Christmas gifts. Recalled where he’d chosen to place the chocolates. What he’d done as the candies began to melt on the contours of her body and in the delicate lip-like folds between her thighs. He’d consumed half the box of candy in this way before letting her help him fulfill his own pleasure.

  She tried on several outfits, not that they’d stay on long, laughed at that thought then sighed. Winter was not a season that lent itself to dressing sexy the way spring and summer did. No longer was she content to hide under baggy pants and sweaters. Luke had cured her of that, and of so many other things.

  Garrett parked in the circular drive. He looked around at his property then got out. He inserted his key into the front door lock. It didn’t work. Chelsea had told the truth about changing the locks. He punched the doorbell repeatedly and waited. More than a minute went by before Chelsea came to the door with her purse slung over her shoulder.

  “As you can see, Garrett, I’m on my way out. And, I’m certain it didn’t slip your mind regarding what I said about coming here.”

  “Did you also use my things from the coat closet for your bonfire?”

  “Actually, I forgot about those items.”

  “Then would you mind letting me get my heavy winter coat and leather jacket?”

  “Now’s not a good time. I’ve got to get to an appointment.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  “I said not now.”

  He pushed passed her. “And let you come home and burn them too? No way.” He started for the stairs.

  “Just a damn minute. I don’t want you in my house, much less upstairs.”

  “Your house? Fuck that. What don’t you want me to see?”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I need my damn coat and jacket. It’s bad enough I have to replace my entire wardrobe.”

  “Fine. But I’ll get them. You stay right where you are.”

  “Did you torch my shoes?”

  Chelsea sighed. “Not yet.”

  “Then bring me a couple pairs of good ones. Did our daughter see my empty closet? Did you tell her what you did?”

  “I don’t have time for this, Garrett.” Chelsea tossed her purse onto the small table in the foyer and sprinted up the stairs.

  As soon as she was out of sight, he grabbed her phone from her purse, read Luke’s message to meet him at their usual place and when. No wonder she was in a hurry to get rid of him.

  He waited until he heard Chelsea open the door to the cedar closet in the hall. It wouldn’t take her long to get the items and return. He took screen shots of several of her messages and sent them to his cell phone. But he couldn’t resist scrolling through some of the older messages. They went on for months, all the way back to September.

  He stopped on what he imagined was supposed to be a poem Thompson had written to her, scowling as he read.

  The shoes Chelsea threw at him hit him on the back.

  “What the hell are you doing with my phone?”

  CHAPTER 94

  “Confirming that my so-said aggrieved wife is a lying whore.” Garrett dodged the second pair of shoes Chelsea flung with force at him.

  His coat and jacket fell to the floor in a heap. “Give me my phone.” Chelsea flew at him, grabbing for the phone he held out of reach.

  Garrett shoved her back, into the foyer table. “After busting my ass to pay for the lifestyle you had to have, this is how you pay me back. You fuck this Thompson guy?”

  “I didn’t get involved with Luke to pay you back. I’d have to sleep with half the men in this town to do that.”

  “You actually fall for this crap?” He held the phone high and read from it. “Your magenta lips, honeyed, succulent, call to me. From between your alabaster thighs, they beckon me. I answer the call and from your center, you give forth your nectar. Your sweet nectar feeds my—”

  “Stop! Just stop. You’re making something offered in love sound vulgar.”

  “You’re not even going to pretend to feel ashamed?”

  “Why should I? You don’t.”

  “Are you at least using birth control this time? Or is it your intention to get pregnant with this Thompson prick?”

  Chelsea’s face paled. She backed up a few feet.

  “Or, maybe you want to replace Eisenberg’s bastard that you aborted.”

  “Oh God.”

  “At least now you’re looking as guilty as you are.”

  “There’s only one person who—”

  “Leave Penelope out of this. This is between you and me. And Thompson, when I get my hands on him.”

  “Stay away from him.”

  “Don’t touch your precious Luke?” He threw her phone to the floor. “You got knocked up by another man. A married man. What the hell, Chelsea? You have any idea what knowing that does to me?”

  “After what you’ve done, why should I care? And, how do I know you don’t have a few illegitimate children you’re supporting?”

  “I don’t.”

  “That you know about, you mean. Maybe your women were for
ced into abortions, as well.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Never happened.”

  “You can’t be certain.”

  He fixed his gaze on her. “One hundred and ten percent.”

  CHAPTER 95

  Garrett smirked then threw his head back and laughed. “After Kimmie was conceived, I fixed it so I shot blanks.”

  Chelsea lowered herself onto the staircase. “You kept that from me? You didn’t discuss such an important decision with me? You bastard. You knew I wanted another child. You let me believe it was my fault that I never got pregnant again. That I was being punished because I’d …” She dropped her face into her hands. “All this time.”

  “Since we’re revealing secrets, I have another one for you. You’re going to love this one. Remember how you wanted a natural delivery?”

  Chelsea looked up. “Where are you going with this?”

  “The epidural I insisted you have was for another purpose. So was the screen put up after the birth. I had the delivery doc do a tubal ligation on you. Paid him ten grand, off the books.”

  Chelsea gripped the railing. “You’re lying.”

  “I wanted to make damn sure I never had to see you blow up into a whale again. I didn’t realize you were going to stay one.”

  “You can’t have done such a thing. You’re only saying that to punish me.”

  “And, yet, you never got pregnant again. And you won’t. Not now, not ever. Or did you even worry about it with Thompson? If I hadn’t done what I did, how were you going to explain a mixed-race kid to me, and to Kimberlie? If your lover uses rubbers, he’s wasting his money. Money he doesn’t have to spare, from what I can tell.”

  Chelsea pulled herself to her feet. “You’re even more despicable than I imagined.”

  “What the hell were you thinking to do your fucking around in public places?”

  “I get it. Your whipped-cream queen really paid me back for breaking up your party. I didn’t know you were into such things, not that I would have wanted to. But I was lucky to get it missionary. Lucky if you lasted five minutes. Whereas Luke—”