The woman unfolded the clump of material to expose a black lace bra and said, "I found it in his car, stuffed in a pocket behind the passenger seat." A tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a shadowy trail of mascara.
Handing a tissue across his cluttered desk the man replied, "And obviously it's not yours?"
"Of course it's not mine, why would I be here if it was?"
"Sorry, I have a tendency to overstate the obvious, it's just a way I have. Could there be any innocent explanation for the bra?"
"It's not just the bra, he's been sneaking around at night, claiming to work late but when I call he's never there. I confront him about it and he gets angry, accuses me of spying on him," she answered, tossing her long black hair back over her shoulder. Picking up her purse, she pulled a small sandwich bag out and continued, "And I found this on his clothes."
Taking the baggy, he held it up to the light where he could see a number of blonde hairs. Tilting his head a bit he asked, "You husband's hair is?"
"Much shorter and brown. That's blonde, much too long for him."
"Your daughter?"
"She is away at school and she has dark hair too. He's having an affair, I just know it... damn him!"
"Now calm down Ms. Mason..."
"It's Andrea... Andrea Mason."
"Ms. Mason, Andrea, you need to focus, look at this calmly. Most times, if the man is having an affair, it happens for a very short period of time and the guy is either overcome with guilt or he finds out how good her really has it and he gives it up. Have you considered just riding this thing out?"
"I have to know, I have to know."
"Are you truly prepared for what I might find? Are you able to look at photographs, perhaps photographs of your husband in very intimate situations?"
"I tell you I have to know."
"Okay Ms... Andrea, I'll follow him, dig around a bit. You've reviewed my rates with my secretary do you have any questions?"
She shook her head no.
"I must ask you one more time, do you truly want to do this? Nine times out of ten I tell someone something they don't really want to know, something that could destroy their way of life. Are you absolutely sure you want me to do this?"
"I'm sure," she whispered, dabbing her eye with the tissue.
"Okay, I'll start on it tomorrow. You go home and try to act as normal a possible. Any change in how you act at home could make him nervous, perhaps make him stop for a while. Since you're paying me by the day, you want me to catch him as quickly as possible. You should try to put that bra back where you found it, how long have you had it?"
"I just found it last night."
"Okay, see if you can't get it back into his car without getting caught."
She nodded and then stood up reaching out her hand, "Thank you Mr. Jamison."
"It's Dirk," he replied, taking her hand and gently shaking it, "kind of rhymes with Jerk."
She smiled for the first time since they met, then turned and walked out of the office.
A little over a week later, Andrea got a cryptic message on her cell phone and called for Dirk. He was out, but his secretary gave her some detailed instructions, directing her to go to a club called 123 Faux. Apparently Mr. Jamison was very specific that she get there for the 7:30 floor show and to be sure to ask for the manager, Mr. Jacobs.
Not sure how secretive she should be about all this, Andrea took a cab to the club, having the driver drop her a little ways down the street from the club. After paying the driver she stepped up onto the sidewalk and watched as an incredibly strange assortment of people went into the club.
Slowly walking toward the entrance she watched men and women in formal evening attire enter the club next to others wearing cut off shorts and halter tops. There were flamboyantly gay couples entering beside what looked to be a conservative married couple arriving from some Republican fundraiser.
Baffled by crowd, she quietly entered and asked for Mr. Jacobs. In a few moments a short, bald man appeared and daintily reached his hand out to her.
"Ms. Andrea, I have a table for you. Mr. Jamison arranged it all."
"What am I here for?"
"I just assumed you wanted to see the show, the table I have for you is one of our best."
"But..."
"Mr. Jamison asked me to reserve a good table for you."
Nodding, Andrea followed the man as he sashayed to the table, pulling out her chair with a dramatic flair. He leaned forward as he helped her slide the chair to the table and whispered, "Enjoy the show."
An odd looking waitress took her order and in a few minutes returned to hand her two double martinis. When she protested... "But I only ordered..."
"Two for one until the show starts honey. Enjoy."
She grabbed a drink and lifted it to her mouth, noticing how the liquid rippled from her trembling. Taking a long sip, she put the glass back on the table just as the house lights went down.
Dazed and confused about the odd events she was witnessing, Andrea tried to concentrate on the show, but nothing seemed right. The crowd was completely unpredictable, offering only a cool reception to some talented performers, but then showing an enthusiastic response to seemingly weak performances by others. One thing that was undeniable, the din inside the club had continually risen until people had to shout just to be heard across the tiny tables.
Just when the festivities seemed to be at their loudest, the room fell suddenly silent. The announcer called out, "Ladies, and I do mean ladies, and gentlemen, please let me present to you Miss Marilyn."
The applause was deafening, but quickly stopped when the lights went completely out. Inside the dark room there was complete silence, even the bartender and waitresses stopped all activity. Then there was a hint of music, slowly rising to a melody. A spotlight flashed on and there stood a stunning, platinum blonde woman, dressed in a knee length white skirt, with a button down white blouse that showed just a hint of a black bra.
The woman began to sing in a low, mournful tone, "I'm through with love, I'll never fall again..." *
Andrea felt herself strangely drawn to this woman, something about the way she moved, perhaps the way she sang, but something disturbed her. Crossing her legs, she felt a warm wetness in her panties and in spite of the warmth in the club, she felt her nipples stand at attention.
"...Said adieu to love, don't ever call again..." *
Looking the performer over, something suddenly grabbed Andrea... the bra. She looked closer, recognizing the lace frill at the edge. Quickly taking a big gulp of her martini, she leaned forward realizing she was watching her husband's lover sing.
"...For I must love you or no one..."
"How appropriate," Andrea thought, "she's singing "I'm Through with Love" while fucking my husband." Enraged now, she began looking over the crowd, their faces lit only by the light reflected off of Miss Marilyn.
Admittedly, the woman was alluring and certainly the crowd of people was enthralled by the woman's husky voice. Andrea looked at face after face of adoring fans, but never spotted her husband. Glancing back toward the stage she tried to see if perhaps he was watching from back stage, peeking through the curtains.
"...Goodbye to spring and all that it meant to me..." *
Marilyn turned slightly, walking a few steps to the right and something caught Andrea's eye. Although the light sparkled off the sheer stockings she wore, there was an odd dark spot on the woman's calf, a birthmark or something. Andrea grabbed the arms to her chair to steady herself. Feeling faint, she took deep breaths as she felt a warm flush roll over her face.
Feeling like she had been kissed, Andrea realized she was not watching her husband's lover, she was watching her husband. Looking into the face, the eyes, she could see it now. The jaw was just a bit too pronounced for a woman, the legs just a bit too muscular, the breasts just a bit out of proportion.
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