it wasn’t your husband?”
She smiled. “I don’t know; no one ever said that to me seriously.”
I stared into her deep blue eyes. “Sharon, I love you and worry about you.”
Her head rolled slightly to the right and she closed her eyes. “Brandon, if you just meant that.”
I reached out, put my hand on hers. “Sharon, I meant it.”
She turned her hand over and interlocked her fingers in mine. “Brandon, I could fall in love with you. Please don’t tease me.”
I squeezed her hand. “Oh, Sharon, I meant every word of it. I love you.”
She pulled her hand back from mine, seemingly pulling back from her dream world to the real world. “Really?”
I smiled. “When I get my divorce, I have a question for you!”
She looked so innocent. “What question?”
I smiled bigger. “I can’t tell you the question, but if you answer it correctly you get a ring.”
She looked at her ring finger. “Want to go to my apartment?”
I tried to control my eagerness. “Yeah, I do, but maybe we should go bowling.”
Sharon made a face. “You sure know how to ruin my party.”
I reached out and took her hand again. “I want you to know that you can trust me and that I am not after a one-night stand.”
She looked straight at me. “There is something that I need to tell you. I love you too!”
We went bowling and she did much better. She actually bowled a sixty-eight. Every time that I looked at her, I wished that we had gone to her apartment.
I had Sharon home and was back at my house by eleven. I took Lori home and didn’t have to tip her.
I went to bed realizing that I had two big problems on my hands, and both were women.
Thursday morning was a repeat of every other weekday; I got the kids up, fed them and took them to school and daycare. Then I went on to work.
I had been at work for quite a while when I realized that I had not heard from Marilyn in quite some time. I looked at my watch and it was nearly noon. I punched in her number, and her phone rang and rang. It never went to voicemail. How unusual.
I went to lunch. The afternoon flew by and before I knew it, it was quitting time. I got in my car and headed out. I called Marilyn again. It rang and rang, still no answer.
I picked up the kids and took them home, fully expecting Marilyn to be there—then I realized: I didn’t know when she was supposed to be back.
At nine, I put the kids in bed and started getting ready myself. At ten I tried her phone one more time with the same results. I went to sleep, again, wondering what had happened to her.
I woke up alone Friday morning. I worked myself up to being angry quickly. I got the kids up, fed them and took them with me. I dropped them off and went on to work. I had tried Marilyn’s phone several more times with the same result.
I got to the office and I looked in my address book and found Bert’s phone number. I called him and he answered, “Hello, Bert Manguss, how may I help you?”
I said, “This is Brandon Thompson. I want to know where my wife is!”
Bert said, “Alls that I can tell you is she missed the plane home. As far as I know she is still in Chicago.”
I said, “Bert, I will be there in one hour. By then you had better know where my wife is, or you and I are going to go round and round.” I hung up the phone. I sat at my desk for thirty minutes planning what I was going to say and do to Bert. In my mind it all worked out well. I could see Bert on the ground after I had beat the hell out of him.
I got in my car and headed out very slowly, I was working my anger up.
When I got there, I walked in and noticed two security guards standing at Bert’s door. I had both fists doubled up as I walked up to them, and they blocked the door.
I said, “Move out of the way or I will move you.”
They both puffed out their chests, and I grabbed one by the arm and jerked him off his feet. He went down hard to the floor. I looked at the other guard. He stepped aside and I went into Bert’s office. He was standing behind his desk holding a paperweight.
I asked, “Okay, where is she?”
His voice broke. “I don’t know, I can’t find her. She doesn’t answer her phone.”
I kept walking up to him. I was about an arm’s length from him when he swung the paper weight at me. I dodged his swing easily and shoved his arm around and grabbed him by his shoulder, forcing his face down to the desk. I raised my elbow up and said, “Try again. I don’t like that answer!”
He shook his head. I said, “This is for trying to give my wife a knockout pill,” and I hit him as hard as I could in the side of the head with my elbow. The entire side of his face began to swell immediately. I stood him up and said, “This is for being a smartass to me.” I hit him with my fist as hard as I could on the chin.
He was down on the floor when the two security guards charged me. My martial arts skills kicked in and I swung around and kicked one up high on his head. He went down. I brought my right hand across and hit the second guard in the cheek with a karate chop; he went down. I walked out of the office to the quiet stares of every one in the office. I thought his employees might applaud me, but they didn’t. I walked to my car, got in and headed back to my office. So far, I was quite happy with myself. It was then that I realized that Bert might call the police. At that moment, I didn’t care one bit.
When I got to my office I got on the internet and began searching the airlines for Marilyn Thompson. She had not been on a plane yesterday or today.
I called my mother. “You need to come get the kids and stay with them until I get back; I have to go to Chicago.”
She didn’t ask why, she just agreed to watch the kids for me.
I called and got a reservation on a three o’clock flight, and I hurried to the airport. By the time that I got through security I barely made the plane. It was a two-hour flight to Chicago.
When I was waiting in the rental car line, I called Marilyn’s hotel, and found out something: she still had a room. I started to ask for the room but had second thoughts. I would surprise her. I got the rental car, and a van took me to it. I drove to the hotel and parked out front in valet. I started up to her room, then I had an idea. I went to the front desk, showed them my driver’s license and got a key to her room. I rode the elevator up and got off at the fourteenth floor. Room 1437 was on my right. I tried the key in the door. It opened and I went inside. The room was clean; it had recently been serviced. I looked in the closet, the drawers and her suitcase. Everything looked like it should have; the only thing missing was Marilyn. Where was she?
I rode the elevator down to the ground floor and went in the restaurant. The server took me to a table and I sat where I could see the door. If Marilyn came in or walked by, I wanted to see her. I watched every single woman that came in or left the hotel. I got nods from a few of the women. Again, I was quite proud of myself. I was actually surprised that any woman would give me a second look; my self worth wasn’t that high. Fact was, I wasn’t sure what any woman saw in me.
I finished the meal and saw no one who looked like Marilyn. I went back up to the room and it was still empty. I laid down on the bed and without realizing it, I went to sleep.
When I woke up, it was eleven and she still had not been back. I went down the elevator to the first floor and as I walked by the lounge, I recognized her blonde hair and I saw her dancing on the dance floor with a short, heavyset man. He had a mustache, a burr haircut, and looked like a typical Marine Drill Sergeant, a tough cookie. He looked like he could take care of himself.
I went into the lounge, sat in a dark spot where I could watch the entire lounge and waited. The heavyset man led her to a table and she had two drinks in front of her. As I watched, she drank both of them, and quickly two more were put in front of her. I had seen enough: she was going to be sick or ma
ybe get alcohol poisoning. She was obviously very intoxicated.
I walked around the room, came up behind her and whispered in her ear, “What are you doing?”
She slowly turned to face me. “I didn’t think you cared!” Her pupils were pinpoints.
I said, “Get up and come with me.”
The heavyset man stopped me and said, “Hey, buster, what gives? That is my woman.”
I held up Marilyn’s left hand and showed him her wedding rings. “She is my wife. I think that trumps your claim.”
I led her to the elevator. She had slipped into a stupor and I wasn’t sure that she even knew her name. I had never seen anyone so drunk before. I held her while the elevator went up. We were nearly at our floor when she started retching. She threw up all the way to her room, and I set her down in front of the toilet and placed her face over the shiny porcelain. She threw up for ten minutes, then dry-heaved for another ten. I took her clothes off and laid her in the bath tub, turned the water on and sprayed it on her for a good fifteen minutes. Then, I stripped down and got in and washed her off. She was limp and seemed unconscious. It took quite an effort to get her clean and then dried off. I put her in bed, naked, and then I took my own shower and cleaned myself up. I called the front desk and reported the vomit in the hallway, then I got into bed with her and was soon asleep.
I woke up to the bed moving. Marilyn was awake and trying to sit up. I pushed on her back and she made it up to a sitting position. She turned