an attorney … after I hire one."
Helping Heather get Adolf out of the picture meant that I was one step closer to realizing my dream. Then, there was her affair with Henry, the company's president. I discretely asked about the matter, hoping to drive a wedge there, too.
"Oh, it needs to be over," Heather huffed. "Henry's wife and kids are constantly getting in the way. If they're not tripping us up, the paparazzi are driving me nuts. Why, one guy snapped a photo of me in the shower."
"The lucky bastard," I thought, but asked, "What did you do?"
"The guy was a grifter. He extorted $100,000 from me to keep the photo out of the papers."
While pretending to listen, I came up with an idea that I then pitched to Heather. I told her that in order to rid her of Henry, I would gladly provide the cops with spreadsheets containing the most damning evidence of Henry's corporate misdeeds.
He'd be arrested, which meant, finally, Heather would be mine. I was almost certain Heather would joyfully leap into my arms for rescuing her from the two evil men in her life. Oh, how much closer I was to her. Everything was coming together nicely for me. Fantasizing about her and my honeymoon became my nightly ritual, an almost religious experience.
Thursday evening arrived. On my way home from work, I slinked into a hardware store and purchased a painter's set of overalls, a cap, and an assortment of brushes, rollers, and other props.
Early Friday morning, I watched Heather drive out of her garage, just as I had done so many times before. This day, however, I was invited inside. No longer would I sneak onto the property to peer into a window or two.
"Hey," came the gruff voice from the speakerbox. "You painters aren't supposed to be here for another hour. Beat it … Oh, never mind."
"Ah, Adolf," I thought, "you certainly deserve what's coming, you cheating mother …,"
The front door creaked open far enough for an eye to peer out at me. "Go around back and come in through the garage where I've got the paint buckets stored. Where's everyone else?"
"Soon be here. My wife drop me off early so she go to work," I replied with a really poor Spanish accent.
"Fine," he grumbled before shoving the door closed and locking it.
I pretended to trudge, as a painter would, I imagined, to the back of the house, all the while absorbing every detail of my love's home and gardens. The garage door opened slowly, which gave me a few extra moments to study Adolf's candy-apple red convertible. "Clean and tidy," I remarked just before inconspicuously flicking my wad of chewing gum beneath the sport scar's dashboard. "Paybacks are hell, eh, buddy?" I chuckled at the revenge I extracted from his precious ride. "There's more where that came from, oh yeah!" I hummed.
The door at the top of the garage's steps flew open, and a burly, half-naked man filled the doorframe. "I'm working from home today, so you guys need to keep it down, understand? No more loud radios blaring cha-cha music, got it?"
I nodded and said, "Sí, Senor," in my most-southern drawl, mocking the brutish Adolf, but he didn't catch on. I felt energized. Adolf may have the brawn, but I was easily his mental master.
I thought it was strange he was half-dressed. Heather said he works out and showers very early every day; yet, I just saw him dripping wet as if he had taken a shower. "This must mean," I thought, punctuated by a broadening grin, "that his lover is still inside the house."
I was dying to get inside, so I yelled up as I climbed the set of steps, "Senor, bathroom, por favor?" I jiggled the locked doorknob to add to my sense of urgency, a move that I hoped would piss him off enough to open the door to me.
"Across the hall," Adolf barked as he flung the door open and walked away. "Hey, what was that sound?" he angrily asked in response to the click of my camera.
I quickly recovered with, "I must have a nail in my shoe."
"I thought you spoke Spanish," he growled, eyes narrowing.
"Sí, but I know some English. My sister teach me," I said, proudly patting my chest like a stereotypical buffoon.
He pointed his index finger at me and snarled, "I'm watching you, punk. Don't try to steal anything or I'll toss you and your pals out on your asses."
I nodded and waved in understanding as I stared at the ground, pretending to have been humbled. I watched for Adolf to turn around and walk down the long hallway before I ducked into the bathroom. I smiled when I heard the sound of a woman's laugh. It came through the overhead air duct. "Bingo … gotcha now, you gorilla!" After a brief look at the photos I'd already taken, I slid my camera into a chest pocket, then flushed the toilet and pretended to wash my hands. I remained in the bathroom when I heard the doorbell ring and Adolf's muffled answer.
Soon, a horde of painters were assembled in the garage. Thankfully, as I slipped in among them, most didn't know each other. We all grabbed paint cans and marched up the garage's steps and into the house. I heard an upstairs door slam just before the job's foreman said, "Okay, boys, we have only three hours to paint the rooms and hallway. Get to it."
We meandered up the inside staircase and fanned out, each heading for our assigned room. I ducked into the master bedroom and snapped a dozen photos, many containing a pair of women's pants that couldn't have belonged to Heather; the legs were much longer than hers. Then, the bra lying alongside the pants was a 34C. Heather was clearly at least a 40D. As a boy, I studied the Sears catalogs – I knew bra sizes.
Then, I raced out of the bedroom and dipped my paintbrush into a paint can just as Adolf opened the door to what appeared to be his office. He shoved past me, muttering. I watched as he stopped in front of the foreman and warned him of the consequences if anything was stolen or broken.
"I have to leave, with my, um, business partner," Adolf grunted while, I thought, he was looking directly at me. Startled by his piercing stare, I frantically searched for a way to escape the house. My desire to flee was cut short when an amazingly tall woman flitted by me. I never heard her approach, so I guessed she had been in the office with Adolf. She dashed into the master bedroom. I heard rustling coming from near the bed, so I assumed the bra and pants were hers. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I was relieved to see that Adolf wasn't paying attention to me. He was arguing with the foreman instead. The statuesque woman poked her head out of the bedroom door, and seeing the coast was clear, sprang after Adolf. Unknown to either of them, I was snapping one picture after another.
Once I heard Adolf's car peel out of the driveway, I dropped my paintbrush and sauntered back into the master bedroom. The bra and pants were gone and the bed had been made. The evidence was overwhelming that Adolf was cheating on Heather.
I climbed out of my painter's overalls and stuffed them into a plastic sack I hid in the pocket. No longer identifiable as a painter, I roamed the house at will, snapping photos for Heather … and for me. I ran my fingers across the fine marbles and woods crafted into furnishings. I opened kitchen cabinets and envisioned what Adolf and Heather discussed during a meal. I smiled at the thought that, very soon, all this would be mine.
How I yearned to be in Adolf's shoes. I grinned. The guy would be gone for a while, so why not? I strolled down the hall and back into the master bedroom. Into his closet I went, rummaging through his clothes, coats, shoes, and ties. There was no point in trying any of the clothes on; Adolf's shirts were tailored to his muscular physique, while his pants were a trim and narrow 34 waist. I think the last time I was able to slip into size-34 pants was sometime during puberty.
Adolf's shoes, however, were a different story. I easily and comfortably slipped my feet into a pair of Ferragamo alligator lace-ups. There was enough space to wiggle my toes. Wow, they felt amazing; so much so that I decided to keep them on. I justified doing so because if I were to be Heather's next husband, I needed to start dressing the part. Besides, Adolf wouldn't miss them. To replace the shoes, he could turn in an insurance claim against the painting contractor.
I was leaving the kitchen to walk onto the back patio when I noticed a fountain loudly gu
rgling outside the master bedroom's window. I jammed my hand in my pocket and fished out a penny and rested it atop my bent thumb and index finger. I closed my eyes and made a wish, praying to be Heather's husband.
The coin plopped into an upper tier of the fountain, and then playfully rolled along the uneven surfaces until it came to rest beneath a tiny, trickling waterfall. I smiled smugly, confident my wish would come true.
A jarring crunch followed by screaming shoved me out of my happy trance. I looked out beyond the patio's rail and then smirked; God was smiling down on me. At the end of the street, two houses away, Heather was standing outside her wrecked car, hands planted on her hips. She was yelling at Adolf and his lover as they scurried to get out of his burning convertible. I loved Heather's ingenuity and cunning: She rammed her car into the side of his to stop them during their return to Adolf and Heather's house.
I slid my camera out of its pocket and then braced my leg against the patio's railing to get the best quality photographs. All my photos would be incriminating enough to provide the coup de grâce to Heather and Adolf's marriage. The day couldn't be going any better for me.
Also, I wasn't worried about Henry and Heather's affair any longer. The day before, I had mailed a large envelope to a judge's office. It was crammed full of spreadsheets that Henry had