Picture of Betrayal

Copyright © 2017

NOTE: To keep things relatively realistic, I sometimes use terms that are common to the photographic and arts industry but may not be understood by others. In this story I use, "TFP." The literal translations is; "Time For Prints." Now days, of course, we rarely make prints anymore, we make digital images but the term has stayed the same.

It means exchanging services with others in the trade. If a model wants to update her portfolio with a certain look or revise it with new pics, she can call a photographer and ask if he's interested in working with her/him on a "TFP" basis. The end result is that the photographer gets new images that he can use for self-promotion and display and the model gets the images for his/her portfolio.

The same trading system is used for other professionals within the industry as well; make-up artists, hair stylists, set designers, wardrobe consultants, Photo retouchers, etc.

I also talk about "Composite Cards," or (Comp Cards.) These are 8X5 ½ cards that show several shots of a model along with her measurements and sizes. They are sent out to photographers and advertising agencies by modeling agencies to advertise their models.

***

Picture of Betrayal

Some of my friends think I have the most glamorous job on the face of the earth and I have to admit, some days I feel that way myself; this was not one of those days, however.

I'm a commercial photographer and I love it. I wouldn't have any other job in the world, but every once in a while I have to remind myself of that.

I was supposed to be on Peoria's, picturesque river front, shooting two beautiful models for "Feminine Classics," a woman's clothing line. Instead I was in my car heading north on I-55 about an hour from my home in Arlington Hills, a little suburb about twenty-five miles northwest of Chicago.

I had scheduled three full days for the shoot and thought everything was all lined up. I had gone down on the weekend prior to scout out locations and make notes as to what direction the sun would be shining at different times of the day. The models were two of the client's favorites. One was being flown in from New York and the other from Atlanta. Both should have been waiting for us but when we got there neither had arrived yet. A call into the model agency gave us the explanation. The ad agency's account rep had his assistant schedule the girls and he gave them the wrong dates.

I tried calling some of the local models I use from Chicago but nobody could block out three days of shooting on such short notice; we were screwed. The client wasn't about to pay everyone to hang around and enjoy Peoria's hospitality for three days so we all packed up and headed home.

At first I was pissed. I'm self-employed. If I'm not working I'm not making money and now I was looking at three days of sitting around, doing nothing. There was no way I was going to be able to schedule anything as a fill in.

I was just turning onto I-355 for the last leg of my journey home when it hit me, why waste the rest of the week doing nothing. It was only Wednesday afternoon. I still had all day Thursday and Friday. I could make it a four day weekend. My wife, Stacy, and I hadn't really had a vacation or gone anywhere in a while. The sky was blue, there was no rain in the forecast, and I was starting to dream about a quiet little hide-a-way someplace for just the two of us.

My mind started to wander. I pictured us sitting on a private balcony somewhere, sipping a glass of wine and watching a beautiful sunset. As the shadows reached out further from their roots, my lovely wife would stand, and with a pull from her slender fingers, undo the bow around her neck letting the sheer nightgown she adorned, sensually slip to her feet. Now, wearing only a smile, she moves with sultry perfection and kneels by my side. She licks her tantalizing lips as she slowly unzips my pants and reaches in to claim her prize.

I close my eyes and lay back as I feel her tongue salaciously glide from the base of my steel-like cock to its tip. I can hear myself moaning; feel my breathing getting deeper...

My aching dick actually awoke me from my daydream. I had gotten a raging hard-on from my amatory meanderings. The problem was my cock was not in a spot that allowed its growth. I had to maneuver into a position where I could adjust myself—not easy while lashed in with a seatbelt, doing seventy-five miles per hour with traffic all around. The skin was stretched so tight it hurt. If someone passing had a high cab truck where they could look down into the SUV it would have been embarrassing. I finally found relief.

I put my mind in search mode and tried thinking of places we could go on the spur of the moment. The problem was, I didn't just want to go to some hotel or motel someplace, I wanted something intimate and romantic.

I was still racking my brain as I pulled into my garage. It was almost dinner time. I figured Stacy would be in the kitchen. You can hear the garage door go up and down from anywhere on the first floor so I wondered why she wasn't standing in the doorway asking why I was back.

She must be upstairs, I thought as I came in through the empty kitchen. You can't hear the garage door at all from up there. I was just on my way to surprise her when I heard what sounded like high heels hit the tiled hallway at the bottom of the staircase. I rounded the corner to see her standing in front of the mirror.

The vision of loveliness before my eyes stopped me dead in my tracks. She had obviously been to the hair stylist; beautiful full-body waves of silky strawberry-blond hair hung casually over her shoulders. A pearl necklace, the one I gave her for our anniversary, hung around her long, smooth neck and her make-up was impeccable.

The proverbial little black cocktail dress she barely wore was a good four or five inches above her knees and to finish the ensemble she was wearing a pair of black silk stockings with some kind of pattern running through them. A pair of black, four inch heels were what I'd heard announcing her presence.

About the time my mouth dropped open she saw my reflection in the mirror. She literally shrieked. "Shayne! What are you doing home?"

Even from where I was standing, I could see the terror in her face looking back at me through the glass.

"I have a better question, where the hell are you going dressed like that?"

I really caught her by surprise. She stammered all over the place but the best she could come up with was, "I...ah, the girls, honey. I was just going out with the girls."

She had to know how ridiculous it sounded before the words even left her mouth.

"The girls like hell," I fired back. I was so angry I must have had flames shooting from my eyes. "Answer me, damn it! Where the hell were you going and who the fuck is your date?"

She just froze, standing there in a daze, looking scared. Her mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

I spotted her small evening bag on the table by the front door. She evidentially laid it down there to make her final, 'do I look good,' check in the hallway mirror before leaving.

"We'll just see," I declared walking in her direction.

She must have been terrified. She knew damn well I'd never strike her or any woman but she flinched as I reached past her and grabbed the little purse.

"What...what are you doing?"

"I'm checking your phone. We'll just see who lover boy is," I snarled.

"Wait...please Shayne...don't," she begged. "It was a mistake...please..."

I could see her mascara starting to run. In a panic, she tried to grab for the purse but was too slow.

"You try that again and so help me, I'll..." I growled through clinched teeth. I didn't finish the statement because I really wasn't sure what I'd do. Like I said, I'd never hit a woman; however, my voice was so full of anger and malice I know it scared the hell out of Stacy because she retreated back, against the wall.

When I opened the purse I saw one of the reasons for my wife's panic, in addition to her phone, there was also a box of Trojans. I looked back at her with what I can only describe at that moment as disgust.

Stacy looked like she wanted to cry but her fear wouldn't let the tears fall.

I pulled out her phone and threw the bag on the floor. I immediately scrolled through her call log. She had obviously been deleting her call history, but since I wasn't supposed to be home for the next three days, she hadn't bothered with the last few. The first call was to her friend, Joan; the third to her best friend, Gwen Carlson, but the one in the middle was Joe Wexler. He and his wife, Doris, were supposedly friends of ours.

It was certainly no smoking gun; one call wasn't enough to go around making accusations so next I checked for text messages. Even though she deleted the history there as well, there were several messages made during the day that were to and from Wexler. They started a couple hours after I left in the morning. The last one was posted an hour before I got home.

Stacy: Hey lover, hubby is gone. R U sure U can't come by now? I'm still in bed and I am naked.

Wexler: Damn, stop teasing me, gorgeous. U know I can't take the day off. Besides, I thought you said I couldn't come to the house.

Stacy:Hee, hee, I am just teasing you.

Wexler: I will see you soon. Doris thinks I'm going out of town so we have all night.

Stacy:Did you book the room yet?

Wexler: Yes, at the country hills motel. It's right across the street from the restaurant.

Stacy:I hope it has a king sized bed, or should I say play pen.

Wexler:Yes, I made sure it does. ;-)

The next text came from Wexler about four o'clock.

Wexler:Damn, this day is dragging. I can't wait to get inside that sweet pussy.

Stacy:Mmmm, me neither, lover. I bought a new dress just for you.

Wexler:Really? I hope it is designed to come off quickly.

Stacy:There's not much of it to take off. Besides, U haven't had any trouble in the past.

Wexler: Tease! I should be getting out of here right on time. I'll meet you at 6 at the restaurant.

Stacy: I'll be there, lover.

I looked at my watch. It was five-thirty. Country Hills Motel...I knew I had seen it but I couldn't remember where. Just as I started for the computer in my office, Stacy found her voice.

"Wait! Shayne, what are you going to do? Please, let me talk to you. I...I'm sorry, it didn't mean anything, honest. It was just supposed to be a little fun. Please don't do anything rash."

I ignored her pleas but thought of what she said while I continued to my office. Fun, huh? Well I hope they had their fun because from here on in, it's going to be anything but...

I still had her phone in my hand as I bent over my computer desk and typed the name of the motel. As soon as I saw the address I knew exactly where it was. It had been a Sheridan but was bought out about a year prior. Good old Joe was about to get the surprise of his life.

I walked back out to the living room where I threw Stacy's purse. She was still following me, begging me to sit and talk to her. I reached down and took her car keys then went into the kitchen and literally ripped the phone off the wall.

"Shayne, what are you doing?" screamed Stacy. Her tears were pouring down her cheeks by then. With all the mascara streaking down her face, she looked like a clown in the circus.

"Making sure you can't call lover boy to warn him," I snarled.

"Warn him? Shayne what are you going to do? Please honey, please don't do anything stupid."

By the time she finished her sentence I was well on my way to the upstairs bedroom. I grabbed the phone from the nightstand and gave it a good yank, pulling the cord out of the wall and tearing the connector in half.

"Shayne, please stop," she beseeched, "you're scaring me."

I thought, good! Maybe she'll think twice before she cheats on her next husband. I couldn't think of anymore I could do. I knew she could probably run to a neighbor's house and use their phone but I was gambling she didn't know his number by heart. With today's cell phones, who memorizes phone numbers these days; and besides, how would she tell her lover that her husband was on the way to kick his ass, in front of a neighbor?

She followed me all the way to my car yapping hysterically in my ear, but I had tuned her out by that time. All I could think about was what I was going to do to Joe Wexler. I saw Stacy on her knees in the middle of the drive with her face buried in her hands as I backed out. For just an instant my rage subsided and I woefully wondered why she would cheat on me. Was Wexler more of a man than I was? That's when my anger came back and I thought, I guess we'll find out shortly.

There was still a lot of rush hour traffic and it was quarter after six by the time I was pulling into Plato's Place, the restaurant right across the street from the Country Hills Motel.

I parked the car and was headed for the front door when Stacy's phone buzzed with a text:

Wexler: U R late. I hope everything is ok.

"No, everything is NOT okay," I yelled as I streaked past the innocent hostess and into the restaurant.

Wexler's head jerked around toward my voice. His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head when he saw me taking long strides in his direction.

"Shayne!" he blurted out in a panic. He tried to quickly stand up but his heel must have caught on something because he stumbled backwards; both the chair and the asshole who was sitting on it, wound up tumbling to the floor with a conspicuous crash.

There was fear in his eyes when he looked up into my face. He tried scooting in retreat on his butt. Huh, so much for being a better man than me, I thought.

"Hey, what's going on?" I heard someone yell from a distance but I paid no attention. I was focused on lover boy.

"W...Wait...Shayne, don't do anything crazy," he sputtered while clumsily getting to his feet.

That was all I was waiting for. I grabbed the lapel of his sport coat with my left hand while drawing back with my right. He tried putting his hands up to block the punch but was too slow. I heard some women scream as my fist caught him hard against his left cheekbone. Luckily for him, and probably me too, the guy at the table behind him was getting up to intervene and was able to break Wexler's fall to the hardwood floor. At the same time I felt hands grabbing at me from every direction.

"The mother fucker is sleeping with my wife," I yelled.

"Okay, okay, maybe he deserves it, but not in here," I heard someone say.

I knew the fight was over, at least for the time being. Some of the hands that restrained me let go when they felt me start to relax. I looked down and saw Joe had set his phone down on the table after his last text. Most of the eyes were on him as he bounced around with his hands up to the side of his face, moaning like a little girl. The phone was just like mine. I picked it up and stuck it in my pocket.

One of the guys who had grabbed me was now concentrating on dip-shit. I assumed he was either the bartender or the manager by the way he took charge. He yelled for someone named Eddie to call the police.

When I looked around I realized no one was paying any attention to me, everyone was too concerned with lover boy, so I turned around and simply walked out. I knew it would be just a matter of time before the cops came for me but I had something else to do before they nabbed me...ruin Joe Wexler's life!

I walked briskly to my car. Once inside and out of sight, I took Wexler's phone from my pocket and dialed his home number. Of course Doris thought it was her loving husband calling.

"Hi honey, I thought you'd be on the plane by now. Is everything okay?"

"Joe isn't on any plane, Doris. He's not even going out of town. He's at a restaurant called Plato's Place where he was supposed to meet my wife. They've been having an affair," I bluntly announced.

"What! Who is this," she screeched. "I don't believe you, whoever you are."

"This is Shayne Burke, Doris, and I'm afraid it's true." I heard her gasp. Just then I got a signal from call waiting. I was going to ignore it but the number looked familiar. I had a gut feeling so I acted accordingly. I told Doris to hold on a second and hit the flash button then quickly flicked back and hit the flash button again, successfully setting the phone for a three way conference call. Stacy's voice came through loud and clear...

"Joe, Joe, get out of there, NOW. Shayne came home early and caught me as I was leaving. He knows, Joe. He's coming for you. Get out of th..."

"YOU BITCH!" screamed Doris from the other line. "YOU FUCKING BITCH. I'LL TEAR YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT! YOU WANT HIM SO BAD YOU CAN HAVE THE BASTARD!"

There was a brief pause before Stacy realized she was talking to Doris...

"No, NOOO..." cried Stacy.

I could hear her starting to break down in tears again. I heard someone else in the room with her. My suspicions were that it was Gwen, Stacy's best friend. I checked her number on Stacy's phone; it matched the number she was calling from. She lives about three miles down the road from us. Stacy must have walked down there to use her phone because she didn't want any of our neighbors to know what she did. Also, all of us being in the same circle of friends, Gwen most likely had dip-shit's phone number.

The line went dead as Stacy sobbed in the background.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. My mind went into overdrive going over the events of the last hour...two families destroyed, just like that. Stacy and I didn't have any kids yet but Joe and Doris had a son.

My vision was getting cloudy as I stared out the windshield and started to ask myself the infamous question all guys ask themselves in that situation...why? I thought she was happy, what went wrong?

A couple of tears broke free and dropped to my cheeks then continued their journey down my face. I loved her; I loved her with all my heart. How could she betray me this way? I'm not sure how many times I asked myself the same questions but it didn't matter, I wasn't going to find the answer anyway.

I was still sitting there when I heard sirens coming around the corner. A few seconds later, three squad cars pulled up to the entrance of the restaurant.

Shit, I thought, it sure didn't take them long. I sat for a minute trying to decide what to do. Hell, I was sure Joe would tell them who I was. They'd just come to my house to arrest me anyway, might as well face the music.

The problem was my car. I still had my photography equipment in it and I wasn't about to leave it in the lot or let them tow it to some impound yard. I pulled out my own phone and called Marcy, my assistant. She used my car to run errands and had her own set of keys. She had been in Peoria with me and had just gotten home. I hated to do this to her, I knew she was tired after the long drive but when I told her the situation she sprang into action like a trooper.

She told me she'd be at Plato's in half an hour; then she'd leave her car in the lot and drive mine home. I gave her the code so she could put it in the garage. When she was done she'd take a cab back to her car and put the cost of the cab on her expense account. Sometimes I have no idea what I'd do without her.

Since the car issue was resolved I had no more excuses. I walked back into the restaurant. With three squads parked in front, I expected to see the place swarming with cops but everything appeared normal. I looked around and saw a guy pointing at the bar.

"They all went in the back," he told me.

I nodded my head to acknowledge his help and walked behind the bar and down a short hall to a door that read, 'office.' I could hear voices from inside. I knocked.