The Last Girls' Weekend Pt. 01

Abbie, my wife, has two close girlfriends, Becca and Claire. They are referred to by each other and by their husbands as "A", "B" and "C". Abbie is twenty-nine years old and so am I. I'm Mark. We've been married five years. No kids. Becca is twenty-eight. I know that because we went to her birthday party last week. She and her husband Bob have two kids. I also went to Claire's birthday party but that was months ago so I don't remember how old she is. But her and their husbands are about my age. Claire has one kid, one of the daughters.

Since the wives are such good friends, the husbands are expected to show up once or twice a month for rotating dinners and barbeques. And for birthdays and anniversaries. We three husbands get along. We're friendly when we see each other. We talk and are cordial but the three of us are very different so we're not friends. We don't hang out together and wouldn't spend time with each other if it weren't for our wives.

We all live within a few miles of each other in central Florida. I'm an assistant manager at a local H [national chain] hotel in our town. Abbie works as an appointment scheduler in her father's plumbing business.

Our wives, A, B and C go out on occasional girls' nights together and twice a year they go to Miami Beach for a girls' weekend. Since I work at the H and I get a nice discount on stays at our hotels, Abby always makes the arrangements to stay at an expensive resort H has on Miami Beach. They always get one room with two double beds. Sun, the beach, massages, whatever else women hanging out for a weekend at a resort do. Their last girls' weekend at Miami Beach was at the beginning of June. Their next weekend should have been in early November.

But their plans changed. Toward the end of July, Abbie told me, "Becca is pregnant and will be too far along to go in November. We've decided to go to Miami Beach the first week of August so we're back in time for B and C to get their kids ready for school. Is that OK?"

"Fine with me." I didn't mind the girls' weekends. I felt like a bachelor for their weekends away. Eat when and what I want, do what I want. No one to tell me to change the TV channel because she wants to watch something else.

So, Abbie made their arrangements and she and her buddies left for their weekend Friday to return Sunday afternoon. As they usually do. I got pizza Friday night, drank beer and actually was able to watch an entire baseball game, first to last pitch, without interruption.

Saturday morning, I went to the gym and then ate lunch at a fast-food restaurant. Heaven. It was time to think about dinner. A grilled steak, fries and beer sounded good. I was out of beer and didn't have steak or fries so I stopped at the grocery store. I was looking through the steaks when Bob, Becca's husband, came up to say hello. He asked, "Is A feeling better? One of those summer cold things?"

I looked puzzled because I was. I said, "Abbie's doing OK. Thanks for asking."

"So you'll be able to come to dinner tonight after all. That's great. It would have been the first of these get togethers in years where you guys weren't there. Let me tell B that you're coming after all." He pulled out his phone.

I said, "No. Abbie is much better but still coughing and sneezing. We don't want to infect anyone so we're staying home. It's for the best."

Bob replied, "That's too bad. You could come alone. C and Jay [Claire's husband] and B and I would be thrilled if you joined us."

"I think I may be getting it too. And I should stay home and nurse Abbie. But thanks. We'll do it next time. I understand Becca's pregnant. Congratulations."

Bob's turn to look puzzled, "Not that I know of. We're sticking with two kids. B's not pregnant."

"Sorry. I must have misunderstood something Abbie said." We said our goodbyes.

I forgot about the steaks and fries, bought the beer and drove home. I'd last heard from Abbie around 5pm yesterday, which is normally when she calls on their weekends. She told me, "Everything's fine. We're having fun. The weather is great. We were on the beach for only a couple of hours and Becca's already sunburned. What are you eating for dinner?"

"Salad." We hung up and I picked up the last slice of pizza from the box. She'll call me again around dinnertime tonight. Whoever "we" were who was having all this fun it didn't include her girlfriends Becca and Claire.

I know she made a reservation but maybe she wasn't even there? I logged in to the hotel's intranet from my laptop and found that Abbie had indeed checked in.

According to the check-in, Abbie was alone in the room. It was about 2pm now and I decided to call my counterpart at the resort where Abbie was staying. I called and asked for the manager. Gave my name. Hugh Clark got on the phone. Good. An assistant manager like me and someone I've met a few times.

"This is Mark Joiner. I'm the assistant manager in L[where we live]. I think we met a couple of times."

"Sure. I remember you from your gruff voice. Big guy. Permanent eight o'clock shadow. Defensive tackle in college. Made it to the national championship one year but lost. Right?"

"That's me. How have you been?"

"Great. What can I do for you?"

I need a favor."

"Shoot."

"My wife Abbie is checked into room 324 until Sunday morning." I heard his keyboard clicking so I gave him time to get the screen up.

"OK, I see she checked in. Charged last night's dinner to the room. I have the tab up. Two dinners, two deserts, a bottle of wine. Also breakfast this morning and lunch at the pool. From the costs, they also look like they're for two. Do you want me to pull the bills up."

"No. That's OK. I can do that later." I didn't think to look at the stuff she's charging to the room when I checked if Abbie had checked in. Glad Hugh has a brain. "The favor is a big one and I'll owe you. I need to look at the hallway security tapes for 324's hallway. From the time Abbie checked in until you have them for me to look at."

Silence from Hugh. It was a big ask but it's a public hallway in the sense there's no expectation of privacy anywhere in a hotel except the rooms, bathrooms and changing rooms. Who's staying at the hotel is considered private. Common areas are public and can be surveilled and usually are. And Hugh might need a favor from me someday.

Finally, Hugh said, "That's a big favor. I'm sorry you need to do this. I'll have to figure out a way to do it where it doesn't bite either of us in the ass. Give me a couple of hours. I'll call you back."

I grabbed a beer and logged back into the hotel's intranet, the hotels internal website. I got up the breakfast and lunch bills Abbie charged to her room. Two breakfasts, two coffees, two orange juices. Lunch was also for two and three beers. Abbie doesn't drink beer.

I thought it might be prudent to look up our bank transactions. I looked at the bank statements from the time Abbie and her friends went to Miami Beach in June. Nothing unusual except Abbie cashed a check for $500 in Miami Beach at a branch of our bank on the Saturday morning of their June weekend. Nothing else unusual until this morning when Abbie cashed a check for $1000 at the same local branch in Miami Beach.

I looked up our cell phone usage since Abbie's June trip to Miami Beach. Lots of calls to a phone number with a Miami and Miami Beach area code. Not the resort's phone number. I did a reverse directory look up online. I couldn't find any information for that phone number. I don't know what that means.

I did a worldwide search on our intranet to see if that phone number had ever been used when booking a room at one of our hotels. No. I decided not to call the number because I didn't want to talk to the guy yet. At that point, I was sure it was a guy and, if it was, I wanted to talk to him in person and not on the phone. I'll get the guy's name from Abbie when she returns home.

I looked back at our credit card statements from June. Nothing unusual. I was going to look at Abbie's room charges from last June when Hugh called me back.

"I don't know you. We've never talked. Are you logged in?"

"One second. OK, I'm in."

"I'm going to give you an internal website to pull up. It has the security tapes from Abbie's hallway from noon yesterday until about an hour ago. It also has live footage from her hallway which will remain live until Sunday morning check out time. You won't be able to download anything. You'll have both windows on one screen but you can enlarge one or the other if you need to. And you can fast forward the taped video. At 11am Sunday morning, this website will no longer exist. And as far as anyone's ever concerned, it never existed. I'm going to give you the address, your username and password. Write it down because as soon as we hang up, I won't know who you are or that we've ever talked. Got a pen?"

"Ready."

Hugh gave me the information. I wrote it down. He waited on the phone until I was in. "Thanks Hugh. I owe you big time."

"For what? I don't know you and haven't talked to you since the conference last year. But you're welcome. I got divorced two years ago. My wife decided that our twenty-three year old lawn guy was the love of her life. He thought spreading seed included his seed in her. Good luck. I haven't looked at the tape but I hope you don't find anything."

I started looking. Live feed on the left of my computer screen, taped video starting yesterday at noon on the right. My wife walked down the hallway to the room about 1:20pm yesterday. She was alone.

At about 4:35pm, on today's live feed, there was a guy running down Abbie's hallway holding a bikini bottom. He's laughing and looking backward at someone which also provided a good view of his face for the camera. The guy was maybe 6', 185lbs. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was in a bathing suit and a t-shirt. Good looking guy. Then a woman came into view behind. She was bare assed with one of those scarves or whatever they are that women tie at their side to cover their asses when they're in a bathing suit. This scarf was transparent and was too short to cover much of my wife Abbie's bare ass. The guy stopped at room 324 and held the bikini bottoms over his head so Abbie had to jump and try to grab them. After a couple of attempts, he took her in his arms and squeezed her ass with his hands. He kept the bikini but handed her the key card. As she was trying to get the card in the slot, he reached around Abbie from behind and slid his hand down until it was between her legs. She opened her legs and bent a little to accommodate his hand. She stopped trying to get the card in the slot. They both suddenly looked toward the elevator and Abbie got the key in the slot. They hurriedly entered the room and closed the door behind them.

On the taped video from yesterday, a little after 5pm, right after Abbie called me, the same guy walked up to Abbie's room and knocked. He was dressed in a suit and tie and was carrying a small suitcase and a suit bag. Abbie opened her door and rushed into his arms. Big kiss. Lovers reuniting. Abbie was dressed up to match his attire. They went into the room.

I got out my phone. I wanted his picture in case Abbie didn't have one. About twenty minutes later, they left the room and walked toward the elevator. Both Abbie's arms holding onto his arm like she was preventing him from running away. Big smiles on both their faces. I was able to take six photos of his face before they were out of sight. A couple of the pictures had fairly good images of his face.

I really didn't need to see more. Did he spend the night? Who cares? Have they been lovers for years? I don't give a fuck. This woman was dead to me now. In a few days, she'd be out of my life for good.

I paused the recorded video feed. There'd be nothing more on the live feed until they returned. A good time to go shopping. I drove to the local Walmart and purchased two of the largest suitcases they had for sale. Drove home and went upstairs to pack Abbie's stuff. I was able to get all of Abbie's clothes into the two suitcases. I'm keeping her jewelry. I gave most of it to her. I forgot to pack her nightgown she leaves hanging on a hook in the bathroom. I took it and threw it in the trash. I brought the suitcases downstairs and put them next to the front door. They'd be among the first things Abbie would see when she returned home.

I went back to watch the videos. About 11pm on today's live feed, Abbie and her boyfriend came back into view. They were busy playing grab ass as they walked down the hall. They entered the room. I watched until about midnight and he didn't leave. I went to bed.

I got up early Sunday morning and ate breakfast in front of my computer. Abbie and the guy exited the room about 8am. They were both in bathing suits. I guess breakfast and a swim before checkout. Abbie had on a skimpy bikini. The bottom part of her suit was what the guy was waving around in the hallway yesterday. The bottom had side ties so he must have untied them in the elevator. They were walking toward the camera so I couldn't see Abbie's ass in the bikini bottom. But from the front I could tell there wouldn't be much bathing suit back there. There wasn't much in front. If she tried to wear that suit with me on a public beach, it would result in a serious conversation between the two of us about proper beach attire for a married woman. But she wasn't with me.

They returned to the room a little before 10am. Yeah, Abbie's bikini in the back was not much more than a string down her ass crack. Looks like they had breakfast, a swim and got back to the room in time for a quick fuck before checking out.

I went to the gym. Nothing more I needed to see on the feeds. I got barbeque sandwiches with fries for lunch and washed them down with a beer. I turned on the game and waited for Abbie to arrive home.

I heard Abbie pull into the driveway at about 2:30 and then her key in the lock. I was in my recliner in the living room. Abbie walked in, gave me a big smile, "Hi Honey," glanced at the two suitcases and, gesturing toward the suitcases, asked, "What's this?"

I said, "Sit down," pointing to the couch.

She looked at my face and figured she should probably sit down. I said, "Give me your pocketbook."

Confused and alarmed, Abbie said, "What's going on?"

"GIVE ME YOUR POCKETBOOK."

She said, "You're scaring me."

But she gave me her pocketbook and I took out her wallet and checkbook. I took her credit cards and the debit card and put them on the lamp table next to my chair. I dumped the rest of her bag on the floor. There was nothing more of interest.

"Give me your phone."

Abbie turned pale, really scared now. "Why do you want my phone? You're not planning to look through it? When did you turn into the husband who checks their wife's phone? You're not getting my phone. I don't check your phone. Phones are private."

I said, "I don't need to check your phone. I want your phone because you're no longer entitled to have a phone." I held out my hand for the phone. Abbie started to say something and I roared, "GIVE ME THE FUCKING PHONE!" Abbie gave me her phone and I put it with the credit cards.

I said, "The suitcases are all your clothes. You've leaving tonight and I'm divorcing you. I know how you spent the weekend. I know everything." Abbie started to say something and I said, "Shut up. I don't want to hear your lies and excuses." Abbie started crying and started to say something again. I said, "SHUT UP!"

I stared at her for a full minute and watched her cry. Finally, I said, "You have one chance to be completely honest with me. If you're not, you leave now. No credit cards, no phone, just your clothes. I don't want to hear excuses or apologies, just the truth. If you can get me to believe you're telling the truth, then I might, might, let you stay. I'm going to ask you some questions. I just want you to answer just those questions. Don't say anything else."

She looked terrified. Good. "What's his name?"

She said, "It's not what you think...."

I interrupted, "Just answer my questions. I don't want to hear a bunch of bullshit from you. What's his name?"

"Roger Adams."

"Is this his phone number?" I showed her the phone number I found yesterday when I looked at the cell phone usage.

She said, "I think so. If I can look at my phone, I'll know for sure."

I gave her the phone, she opened it, looked at her contacts and nodded.

"Leave the phone open. Do you have any pictures of him on your phone? Selfies with him?" She nodded again and I said, "Let me see the pictures." She tapped the phone and handed it to me. There was a clear picture of him with his arm around my wife. I handed the phone back to her and said, "Text me that picture." She did. "How much money have you given him?"

She was about to deflect or deny that she had given him money so I said, "If you're not honest, you're gone."

She said, "$1500. $500 in June and another $1000 yesterday."

I told her to sit down shut up. I pulled up a number on my phone, tapped it and we heard it dialing. Angie asked, "You're not calling Roger, are you?" Very concerned. I ignored her.

When the call connected, I said, "Lt. Markey, please. This is Mark Joiner." Markey is the local cop who our hotel liaisons with. We do all sorts of favors for him, including employee rates for hotel stays, compted dinners for him and his wife, and more. So he's very friendly and always helpful.

Whoever answered said, "He's not in. Can I take a message or do you want to talk to the Lt. on duty?"

I replied, "I'll call him on his cell. Thanks."

I did. He picked up and said, "Hey Mark. Thanks for helping with the Hawaii trip. We had a great time. Thanks also for all the free goodies in the room. Above and beyond. Really, thanks."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Nothing's too good for our favorite police officer. I'm sorry to bother you at home but I need some information and it's time sensitive. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, what'd you need?"

"I need information on a con man who's using the name Roger Adams."

Abbie started to say, "He's not a con....," but I held up my hand to stop her.

I continued with Markey, "I have the current phone number he's using. It looks like his home base is Miami or Miami Beach. I also have a picture. Can you get me info on him?"

"Sure, text me the phone number and his picture. Give me an hour or so. I'll have to wake up someone in bunko at the station. It shouldn't be a problem."

I texted him the phone number and the picture of the guy with my wife. "Who's the mark with him in the picture?"

"My very stupid, soon to be former, slut wife."

"Sorry man. So this is personal. No problem. I'll get on it and get back to you." We hung up.

Abbie said, "He's not a con man."

I just said, "Shut up. I'm not interested. Only speak to answer my questions."

We stared at each other until Markey called back forty minutes later. I put him on speaker so Abbie could hear, "I'm sorry this took so long but I had to call Miami PD to find out about this guy. I'm going to email you his file summary but here's the short version. His real name is Roger Addison. He and his wife, Cheryl, work out of Miami. They used to do short cons. She'd pick up a married guy at the bar of an expensive hotel in Miami or Miami beach. He's in town for business, wife and kids at home, and she gets him to take her to his room. She gets him out of his clothes down to his skivvies. She goes to the bathroom to get ready for his big night. She texts Roger, waits until Roger knocks on the door and comes out of the bathroom and lets Roger in. Roger bursts in with a gun. A toy gun that looks real to the terrified guy sitting on the bed who's ready to shit his pants. Or his shorts, I guess. 'What are you doing with my wife?' Roger hollers. The guy convinces Roger to take all his money and valuables instead of shooting him. Roger and Cheryl leave. It's a nice con because the guy's afraid to report it. His wife might find out."

I looked at Abbie who had her head in her hands really crying now. I said, "Yeah, we've seen that in my hotel. You said they used to do the short con. What are they doing now?"

"He and his wife are working separately now but essentially the same con. He goes to expensive hotel bars on the beach and looks for married women, divorcees and widows. Women alone at the bar who look like they have money. The wife, Cheryl, does the same thing but with men. He introduces himself, gets the woman talking about herself but eventually lets slip that his wife recently died of cancer. He's broke because of the medical expenses, blah, blah, and can't pay the mortgage so he's about to lose his home. He starts small, anywhere from $100 to $500, depending on how gullible he thinks the woman is. Then it becomes a longer-term relationship. He sleeps with all these women and continues until the money dries up because the woman, or her husband, gets wise or there's nothing left. He can string them along for years.

"Cheryl, the wife, does the same with the men. She also sleeps with the men if they decide it's a good enough pay day to make her fucking the guy worthwhile. Interesting marriage. But they've been married over ten years so I guess it works for them. They're both in their mid-thirties. They've been arrested a few times in the Miami area. These are hard to prosecute because of the embarrassment and the marks don't want their spouses to find out. The only thing I can say in your wife's defense is that this guy is really good at this.

"I'm going to send you the summary rap sheets and Cheryl's picture. I just need you to confirm that you believe you saw this Roger Addison at your hotel and think he's working the place with his wife before I send you their files."

"Absolutely. I'm sure I saw this guy at the hotel this morning. I didn't see his wife but I think he's working my hotel with her."

"OK. We're a little far afield from Miami but they may be spreading out." I'll email you the files now. If you see them in your bar with a mark, call me immediately."

I thanked him and got off. He emailed me their files. Cheryl is a very pretty blonde. Very good-looking couple. He's good looking but probably looks harmless to the women he approaches. She's also good looking and must look like a dream fulfilled to the guys she picks up.

I looked at Abbie. She was in a fetal position on the couch crying her eyes out. I said, "Dumb slut," and went to get a beer.

When I returned, she said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

I said, "Shut up. Only talk to answer my questions. I'm not interested in hearing your bullshit. I'm sick of looking at you. Go take a shower and wash this guy's filth off you. Then go to the guest bedroom and stay there until I want to talk to you again. Go on, get out of my sight."

"How did you find out?"

"You don't get to ask questions. Get the fuck away from me. Stay in the bedroom until I call you."

"Should I take the bags upstairs?" referring to the two big suitcases.

"No. They stay there. You might still be leaving tonight. I haven't decided." Abbie didn't move, she wanted to talk, explain, so I yelled, "GO!" She picked up the suitcase she took to Miami Beach and went upstairs. After a few minutes, I heard the shower.

I opened the recliner and leaned back, closing my eyes. I couldn't believe this was happening. Surreal. What to do now? Not about Abbie. I going to divorce her. That's certain. What to do about Roger?

I called my brother who lives with his family about twenty minutes away, "Hey, I'm going to come by for one of my guns. Can you get the.45 out and fill a clip? I'll also need my belt holster. I'm coming now. OK?"

"What's up? Why do you want your gun?"

"Just for some target practice. I'm working second shift this week so I thought I'd go to the gun range tomorrow or Tuesday. I don't want to get rusty."

I've always been around guns. I've owned guns since I was a teenager. When Abbie and I married, she insisted I get rid of all my weapons. She's afraid of them so I gave the three I own to my brother to store for me.

I took the SIM card out of the phone and put it in my pocket. The checkbook and credit cards I hid in my home office. Abbie has been using her phone to contact good old Roger so I doubted she had another phone. I took the SIM card because she might be stupid enough to call this guy to "get his side of the story." I left to pick up my.45 and my holster.

I was hungry so I put in a takeout order at a Chinese restaurant I like. I picked the gun, clip, and my holster. Then I went to get the food.

When I got home, I yelled for Abbie to come down. She did, wearing an old robe of mine. I'm more than a foot taller than her so she had to hold the hem up to walk. Like a ball gown. She leaned against the kitchen counter. The robe was somewhat open and I could see she wasn't wearing panties. I guess all her panties were packed or dirty. Or she thought showing me her vagina was the way back to my heart. She asked, "I was going to make a salad for us. You've probably been eating crap all weekend and I thought you'd like something healthy. You got takeout. You didn't get any for me?"

"Make yourself a salad. You were eating Roger's cock all weekend. You're the one who needs to eat something healthy."

She looked down like a person found guilty and awaiting sentence. But she made a small salad for herself. She sat down with her salad across the kitchen table from me.

Eating my takeout, I said, "I'm going to ask you some more questions. Just a reminder: If I think you're not being honest, you're out the door. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. I'll be completely honest."

"How'd you meet this guy?"

"It was at our trip in June. I was at the bar in the hotel and he asked if the seat next to me was taken. It wasn't necessarily that he was trying to pick me up. The bar was pretty full so wherever he sat, it would be next to someone. He looked so sad and lonesome. Like he lost his best friend. He asked me if I was staying at the hotel. Where was I from? Was my husband here too? How often do I do girls' weekends. He said he thought I was an interesting person and he'd like to get to know me better. He didn't talk about himself. I was alone and feeling lonely so we talked."

"Where were Becca and Claire?"

"They had left by then."

"Where were they?" Abbie hesitated, looked down, so I said, "You're really going to throw away your marriage to protect those two skanks?"

"Becca has a long-term boyfriend who she spends these weekends with. She leaves to be with him when we arrive at the airport and we don't see her again until we're boarding the flight home. Her boyfriend also visits her here every few weeks.

"Claire doesn't have a boyfriend so she meets guys when she and I go out to clubs. She picks up someone and goes home with him and I return to the hotel. You're not going to believe me, but Roger was the first time I cheated on you. There was something about him, his sadness and how I was able to make him happy, that I was attracted to."

"So where was Claire? Getting ready to hit the clubs?"

"No. Claire met a guy through her work who lives in the Miami area. She had a date with him. She changed in our room and went to meet him at a restaurant. I didn't see her again until we were ready to check out on Sunday. She was wearing the same clothes she left in for her date on Friday."

"How long has Becca been seeing this boyfriend?"

"For years."

"They have two kids. Are they Bob's?"

"Abbie looked down and at barely a whisper said, "She's pretty sure the older boy is Bob's. She thinks the younger daughter is probably not Bob's."

"What about Claire's kid?"

"She won't talk about it but I wouldn't bet money on it. Just because she refuses to talk about it."

"Do you know these guy's names?"

"Yeah. Becca talks about him all the time. Sidney or Sid. She'd probably leave Bob to be with him but he has no money. Bob provides the lifestyle she wants. The boyfriend provides the fun. Claire mentioned her guy's name once on the plane back in June. I only remember it because it's the same as yours, Mark."

I took out the SIM card and put it back in Abbie's phone and turned it on. "Call Bob and tell him about Sid. All the details like you just told me. Make sure he knows he should get paternity tests for both his kids."

Abbie looked at me in shock. "I can't tell Bob about Sid. It will end their marriage. I can't do that to Becca."

"Call Bob now. I don't care about Becca. Bob should know he's living with a piece of shit."

Abbie crossed her arms in protest and declared, "I don't have his cell number."

"I do. Give me your phone." Abbie got up, gave me her phone and started to go back to the couch. "Stay where you are. You're going to tell Bob everything." I was putting his number in Abbie's phone from his contact information in my phone when his name and number popped up on her phone. Bullshit she doesn't have his number. I let it go. I tapped his number, put the phone on speaker and handed it back to her."

Bob answered, "Hi A. Are you feeling better? If you need B she's right here."

"No, I need to talk to you."

"OK, what can I do for you?" He sounded puzzled.

"When we go to girls' weekends, Becca spends the whole weekend with her boyfriend who lives in the Miami area. His name is Sid. He also visits her here every few weeks. It has been going on for years. It's a good possibility that your daughter is his and not yours. It's also possible that your son is not yours either. You should probably get paternity tests for both of them."

A long silence from Bob. Finally, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Mark just found out and he insisted I tell you."

"How long? You said years?"

"At least six years. Maybe longer. Long enough that both your children can be his. I don't really have any more information and I'm sorry to dump this on you but I'd like to get off now. You should probably talk to Becca. You can find out everything from her phone. I'm going to hang up now. Sorry, bye." She hung up the phone.

Abbie was really sobbing badly. She handed me back the phone and turned to sit down. I told her to stay where she is. "You still have to call Jay. I'll save you the lie that you don't have his number and pull it up for you."

I did, hit the number, put the phone on speaker and handed it to Abbie. Jay answered, "Hi A. Sorry you guys missed the dinner last night. Are you better? Why are you calling my phone? Is there something wrong with C's phone?"

"I need to talk to you. Whenever we go away on girls' weekends, Claire picks up a guy on Friday at a club and sleeps with him. Sometimes more than one guy over the weekend. Last June, she spent the whole weekend with a guy named Mark who lives in Miami. Not my Mark. Someone she met through work. I'm telling you this because my Mark just found out and insisted I tell you. I'm sorry. I think you should probably talk to Claire. It's all in her phone. Also, it's possible that Sissy is not your daughter. You should get a paternity test. I'm sorry but that's all I know. I have to get off now. Bye."

Abbie, really bawling now, handed me her phone and went back to the couch. She curled into a fetal position. I watched her cry. For twenty minutes. Finally, I asked, "Did Becca and Claire know you were going to Miami to fuck Roger?" Abbie nodded. "And you came up with the story that you were too sick to attend the dinner party to tell their husbands?" She nodded. "You told me you were going in August because Becca was pregnant. What were you going to tell me when she didn't start showing and no baby arrived?"

"That she had a miscarriage and both her and Bob were so upset they can't talk about it. You wouldn't ask Bob about the baby or miscarriage if I told you not to. You guys don't talk on your own and we agreed no more dinners for a least a month. By then, you would have forgotten about this weekend and wouldn't talk to Bob or Jay about it. You don't talk about me with them anyway. So you'd never find out that Becca and Claire didn't go to Miami Beach with me this time."

"What did Becca and Claire think about your fuck weekend?"

Abbie sighed and said, "They were very encouraging. Happy for me. Every time we went to Miami Beach they hooked up with guys while I was back at the hotel on my own. They couldn't understand why I kept passing up the opportunity to be with other guys. They were thrilled that I finally met someone." Abbie put her hands over her face. More tears. "Oh God, what did I do?"

"OK, walk me through this guy's con. What did he say to you? How'd he get in your pants?"

"That's not what this was about. At least not initially. I thought I was doing a good deed by helping him. The rest just sort of happened. I told you about him sitting next to me in a bar. He asked about me. That's all he wanted to talk about. Me. After a while, it was embarrassing so I asked about him. Did he come to this bar often? What did he do for a living? He wasn't wearing a wedding ring so I asked if he was married. He knew I was. It was one of the first things I told him.

"He said he was supposed to meet a guy here who owed him money. He was desperate for money but the guy didn't show. He couldn't get him on the phone but he thought he'd wait a while to see if the guy finally showed up. He needed a drink so he decided to have one at the bar and wait a little longer. I asked him why he needed money so badly. He said his wife just died of cancer. He nursed her at home and had to give up a really good job to be with her. It was a long painful death. He misses her terribly. He loved her so much. He had tears in his eyes. I wanted to hug him then. He said the medical bills piled up and his savings were gone. He can't get his job back because he had to quit so abruptly to care for his wife. But he's looking for work. It's just that the economy is so bad. He has a mortgage payment he has to pay on Monday or they'll start foreclosure. The guy he was supposed to meet owed him $500 and that would have been enough to hold off on the foreclosure for a while. There were tears running down his face at this point. He said his parents are dead and he's already borrowed more from his brother than his brother can afford. He didn't know what to do. He was relying on this guy to pay him the money he owes him. He guesses he'll lose the house and be homeless. He put his head in his hands. He was devastated.

"I felt so bad for him. Just a nice, sweet guy who'd fallen on hard times because of things out of his control. I asked him if I could buy him dinner. I told him I was by myself and didn't like eating alone. During dinner, I told him I'd lend him the $500. I can write a check now. He told me he no longer has a bank account so he wouldn't be able to cash the check. Unless he went to one of those check cashing places that take half the money. And it was too much to ask for me to give him the money anyway. He'll figure out something else. I thought he was going to start crying again so I grabbed his hand and told him everything would work out. I'll make sure of it.

"I told him I could get cash for him in the morning and we could meet again for dinner tomorrow night. The ATM limit is $200 a day but I can get the money when my bank opens. He shook his head but I told him it was a loan to a friend. I insisted he take it. He said, 'Really? Would you do that for me? You're a wonderful person. I knew that as soon as we started talking. You're not only beautiful on the outside but also on the inside where it really counts. I'll pay you back as soon as I have the money.' He perked up, happier now. Like I'd saved his life. I felt I was really making a difference in this guys life. It felt so good.

"We finished dinner and left the restaurant. He asked if I wanted to walk around. Maybe walk on the beach. It was a lovely night and still early. I had no place to be. I wouldn't see Becca or Claire again until we were ready to go home. So I said, 'OK'. We walked on the beach. At one point, I almost tripped in the sand and he grabbed me before I fell. It was nice being in his arms. He took my hand. I thought it was cute and not a big deal. We continued walking, hand and hand. We walked and talked for hours. He told me all about his wife and I told him about you.

"Around midnight, he walked me back to the hotel and we exchanged phone numbers. He asked if he could give me a hug. Sure. I thought, 'No big deal. It wasn't like I was breaking my marriage vows with a hug.' We hugged for a while. Probably for over a minute. The hug was nice. Hugging him was very.... pleasant. After the hug, he gave me a quick kiss on the lips. It was just a peck so, again, no big deal. We set a time to meet for dinner the next night, Saturday night. I went up to my room and went to bed."

I said, "And you got yourself off thinking about him." Abbie looked down, couldn't meet my eyes. "So let me get this straight. You're sitting in a bar at an elite hotel that charges four or five times more for a drink than any other bar in Florida. And this is the place he's meeting his dead-beat friend? This guy's penniless but he's ordering drinks. The bank's ready to foreclose on his house but he isn't trying to sell it. And you believed that story?"

"I wasn't thinking like that. He seemed like a really nice guy who'd fallen on hard times. Who I thought I could help."

"You weren't thinking like that because you were thinking with your pussy. All you could think about was his dick and what it would feel like inside you." Abbie had nothing to say, so I said, "Go on. What happened Saturday?"

"I got the money out of the bank and spent the day on the beach. He was in the lobby at 6:30, when we agreed to meet for dinner. I gave him the $500. I thought he was going to cry again. He wanted another hug and we hugged. We went to eat. Afterward, we walked and talked again. He held my hand. It would have been rude to pull my hand away. Around midnight we were back at the hotel. He asked if he could kiss me. I thought it would be another peck on the lips so I said, 'OK,' but he took me in his arms and really kissed me. He asked me when I was flying home. I told him, 'Around 12:30pm tomorrow.' He said something about how we've barely gotten to know each other and I'm already leaving. It's not fair. We've spent so little time together. I reminded him so much of his wife. Beautiful with a beautiful soul. I'm the best thing that's happened to him in a long time. He didn't want our evening to end. I invited him up to the room, just for a drink and to continue to talk. One thing led to another and he stayed the night.

"When I got home, he and I started talking on the phone. Not every day but a lot. He told me he missed me, his days are dark and dreary when I'm not around. Sunny and bright when we're together. He wanted to see me and kept pressing me to come back to Miami. I knew it was a mistake but we agreed to meet again this weekend. When I took him for dinner Friday, he was glum. I finally got it out of him that he had to make a hospital payment or the hospital would push him into bankruptcy. He would probably lose the house. $1000 this time. He came with me to the bank Saturday morning and I gave him the $1000. He spent the weekend in my room."

She looked at me crying and pleading, "I know all this makes me sound pathetic. I thought I was helping someone. I didn't realize he was a con man. I was played. I guess I am pathetic. But I want you to know that it was all a mistake. I got carried away by this guy's sob story. I love you. I'll do anything to save our marriage.

"Anything. Just tell me what I need to do. Therapy, if you want. I'll cut off all contact with Becca and Claire. They're no good for me anyway. Just tell me what to do. I'll do anything. Please don't throw me out." More tears.

"Does your boyfriend know what you do for a living?"

"He's not my boyfriend. Don't say that. You're my only boyfriend." More tears. "I told him I work for my father. I didn't say what I do there. What my job is. I just told him my father has a plumbing company and I work there. He really wasn't interested in my job. He wanted to talk more about me and my relationship with you. He was also interested in what our house was like, what kind of cars we drive and what you did for work."

"You'll do anything I ask?" Abbie vigorously nodded her head. "We'll see about that. I'll have some things for you to do. But I'll tell you about them later. I'm going to keep your phone and the credit cards. You're not responsible enough to have them. Right now, go to your room and stay there."

"I'm really sorry, Honey. I don't know what I was thinking. This will never happen again. I won't ever do anything again that will make you ashamed of me. Please forgive me. Please don't divorce me."

"Don't call me 'honey'. You no longer have that right. Go to your room and stay there. Get yourself off by thinking about Loverboy."

Abbie was going to say something but I cut her off, "Just go away." She went upstairs. Her phone started to buzz. Becca. I turned off the phone and took out the SIM card. I got what I wanted from Abbie: A declaration that she'll do anything for me to save the marriage. Anything. We are going to see about that. See how much of "anything" I can get her to do.