The Anatomy of Cheating: A Novel

by Nesly Clerge

  Half-empty bottle of Scotch in hand, he tramped through the inch-deep snow to his car, laughing in his inebriated state at the fog created by each breath.

  It took three tries to put the correct address into his GPS. The engine in the Porsche grumbled to life. He put the car in Reverse and pressed down on the accelerator, scraping the car parked next to his, and then drove onto the vacant road. Snowplows had cleared the main streets, leaving the side streets for later or for the sun to melt.

  The GPS guided him toward his destination, re-calibrated directions when he made a wrong turn. Once in Luke Thompson’s neighborhood, he scoffed at the cookie-cutter houses. No imagination or frills were needed for people who couldn’t afford better. Just give them a box with walls and a roof.

  Despite the GPS’s accuracy, he slowed, checking addresses on mailboxes and house fronts, until he found Luke Thompson’s. He stopped the car and strained to focus. Two cars in the driveway, both years old. Chelsea was fooling herself if she thought this Thompson guy could afford her.

  Garrett brought the bottle of Scotch to his lips and drank. “My wife’s ass don’t come cheap, buddy,” he shouted inside his car. “And it’s not the best ass out there.” He laughed. “Trust me. I know. I’ve tested more ass than you’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Garrett took another hit from the bottle, capped it and dropped it onto the passenger seat. He reached under his seat. The metal of the Walther was warm from the car heater. He turned sideways and aimed the pistol at Luke’s front door. It wouldn’t take much. Just roll down the car window. Honk the horn until the prick came out. Then pow. Maybe empty the clip into the bastard. Put an end to it. Right here. Right now.

  The window slid down silently. He took aim. It would be so easy. The perfect sitting-duck scenario. Who’d find him guilty? All he was trying to do was save his marriage.

  So what if he played around. It was different for men. Everyone knew that. Then he remembered Frederick Starks. Remembered the humiliation of the public trial and media frenzy. Remembered the scars on his friend’s body. Scars from knife wounds inflicted by inmates.

  His words slurred as he spoke aloud. “You’re lucky, Thompson. This time. But you stay the hell away from my wife! I’ve got scalpels. Turn you into a damn eunuch. She won’t want you then.”

  Garrett tossed the gun onto the seat, rolled the window up, and drove back to the hotel, taking out a few mailboxes along the way.

  He woke with the sun blazing cruelly in his eyes and his face pressed to the car window, drool dripping from his open mouth. He staggered from his car, through the hotel lobby then to his room, not quite making it all the way into the bathroom when his stomach rejected its contents.

  CHAPTER 103

  He was two hours late for work. It couldn’t be helped. After shutting off the alarm clock next to his bed—twice—it had taken that long for Garrett to shower, shave, and force toast and coffee down. And keep it down.

  He scowled at hospital staff who stared then looked away. Heard their comments and snickers after he passed them. To hell with them all.

  Folders and phone messages crowded his desk. Why didn’t everyone just leave him the hell alone.

  He opened his brief bag, twisted the cap off the bottle and drank. Fortification was needed to put up with the crap he had to tolerate. He put the bottle away and sifted through the calls, separating them into important and not-as-important piles.

  His red-rimmed eyes looked up at the sound of a timid knock on his open door. He motioned for the intern to enter. Tried to remember the guy’s name and couldn’t. Tried to focus on the name on the badge and gave up.

  “Dr. Hall, is this a good time?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “It’s just that you don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine. Unless you have another purpose for interrupting me, I suggest you tend to your business.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s just that—”

  “You see this stack on my desk? All these phone messages? Some of us have work to do. If you don’t have any, I can find some for you. I’m sure there are any number of bedpans that need attention.”

  The intern backed out then turned to hurry away. Garrett pulled the bottle from his bag. It was going to be a long day, and another disappointing night. Might as well do whatever it took to get through both.

  CHAPTER 104

  Chelsea’s stomach twisted at the sight of the name on caller ID. Garrett was the last person she wanted to talk to. Might as well get it over with. “What do you want?”

  “You’re such a clever, lying bitch.”

  “You sound drunk.”

  “Not drunk enough.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Don’t you dare. Who the hell do you think you are to cheat on me? On me! The man who’s given you everything.”

  “I’m lucky you didn’t give me a disease.”

  “Right back at you, babe.”

  “We have nothing to discuss, especially when you’re drinking.”

  “You said some pretty shitty things to me. For your information, I’m a terrific lover.”

  “I’ve already said all I’m going to say about that. But I’m sure you could get many of your women to agree with your assessment.”

  Garrett laughed. “Like they say, babe, practice makes perfect.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Don’t forget generous. I’ve decided to take you back.”

  “That’s no longer your decision.”

  “We’re a family, damn it. Think of Kimberlie.”

  “I am thinking of her. I want her to know she has a right to expect her husband to love her and cherish her. To be faithful to her. And, not to strike her. For any reason. So far, her example is an absentee father who screws anyone who’ll let him.”

  “Not anyone. I do have my standards.”

  “Which I’m aware of, since I didn’t meet them. I don’t know why you even married me.”

  “The practice I applied to preferred it.”

  “That’s clarifying.”

  “You shouldn’t have gotten fat.”

  “You shouldn’t have cheated on me while I was pregnant. Don’t try to deny it.”

  “I won’t. Had to do it. Couldn’t get it up for you while you looked like a cow. Also couldn’t be expected to wait for you to get thin again. I’m still waiting.”

  Chelsea gripped the phone. “I was carrying our child.”

  “I’m moving back in. You hear me? You’re ruining my life, bitch.”

  “It’s not me doing that, Garrett. It’s not even three thirty in the afternoon. Where are you? Are you drunk at work?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m a star, remember? They love me. Everyone loves me. Except you.”

  “You destroyed my love. It’s been dead a long time. Time to bury it.”

  “We’ll see who gets buried. If you think I’m going to let that bastard—”

  “That’s enough, Garrett. I have had enough of you. Let our lawyers do the talking from now on.”

  Chelsea cut the phone call off. She fought the tears threatening to spill. And wondered how she was going to make it through the chaos growing worse by the day.

  CHAPTER 105

  Two days later, Garrett strolled into his office at the hospital and stopped a few feet from his desk. Someone had cleared its surface of all folders. No pile of messages waited for his attention. No stack of charts required his expertise.

  He sat in his chair, turned the desk phone toward him, fully intending to find out who’d been in his office, and ream them. Propped against the phone was an envelope, with his name typed on the front. He opened it and began to read the letter printed on hospital stationary and signed by the administrator.

  He was under investigation. According to the letter, as a respected interventional radiologist, he wasn’t being held personally responsib
le for the patient’s infection following the uterine fibroid embolization, nor for the subsequent complications. But the patient’s husband had complained. So they’d been compelled to pursue the matter. Alcohol had been smelled on his breath by those who’d assisted with the procedure. Further reports about the recent change in his appearance and demeanor indicated there was a problem he needed to address.

  Suspended. Without pay. Two months. Two months to get treatment or do whatever was required. Two months until a board review. Or face termination without severance.

  He slammed the letter down on his desk. Who the hell did they think they were to do this to him?

  His hands trembled as he opened his brief bag, fumbled as he attempted to break the seal on the bottle of Scotch. He cursed when he spilled some of the amber liquid on his shirt. Coughed when it didn’t go down as smoothly as he needed it to.

  To hell with them. To hell with everybody.

  CHAPTER 106

  Garrett dropped the bottle of Scotch into his bag and shoved the letter inside his jacket pocket. Staff ducked around corners or kept their heads down as he walked to the elevator, which seemed in no hurry to reach him and facilitate his escape. He watched Nurse Adams hurry into a room to avoid him.

  He took the stairs. Tripped. Cursed when the bottle broke and his bag and the stairwell reeked of whiskey.

  He raged the entire sixteen minutes it took to drive to the hotel. Once parked, he reached under his seat for the Walther. Started to put it into his bag and realized he couldn’t. He tossed the bag onto the rear seat and tucked the gun into his back waistband, fixed his jacket over it and got out.

  Once in his suite, he ordered a steak, salad, and a bottle of Scotch. While he waited for his order to be delivered, he stripped and showered. Tipped the waiter, ignored the food, opened the bottle and began to drink.

  Everyone around him was losing their minds. If hospital staff knew what he was going through, maybe they’d be more understanding. No way would he tell them, though. They’d already lost respect for him. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have snitched about the drinking.

  It wasn’t as though he’d been drunk during the procedure. One drink to clear the cobwebs was all he’d had. If they wanted to see drunk, he could show them drunk. He brought the bottle to his lips and swigged the liquid, ignoring the burn in his throat.

  They’d probably blame him for Chelsea’s infidelity. They knew his reputation with the ladies. Hell, a number of them were on his staff. They’d been willing enough to be catered to, to have his money spent on them. He’d have been smarter to find a couple of high-class professionals, since he paid anyway. One way or another, he paid for his entertainment. And theirs.

  Damn Chelsea. She’d gotten away with cheating by taking advantage of his absences. If Penelope hadn’t told him, how long would it have been before he’d learned the truth? When the damn bastard moved in with his wife and daughter?

  He staggered to the window and stared out, without looking at anything in particular. His family would side with Chelsea. At least, Richard and Chloe would. Who was he kidding? His mother would be furious with him. His father, more disappointed than he could stand. What about Kimberlie? Maybe she’d be better off without him. Maybe they all would.

  He took a long pull on the bottle. Maybe they deserved to find out what it would be like to have to go it alone, without his money coming in. That’s all they considered him good for.

  Garrett got the gun from under his pillow and sat on the sofa. It would serve them right. They deserved it, especially Chelsea. Tears streamed down his face. “Be a man, damn it.”

  He went to the dresser. Studied his face in the mirror—the dark bags under his eyes, the sunken cheeks, the mottled complexion. “Look what you’ve done to me, bitch!”

  Chelsea had said she’d had enough of him. Well, he’d had enough of everyone and everything. Every one of them was stripping him bare of anything that mattered to him.

  Garrett raised the gun, placed it against his temple. “Your hand’s shaking so much, you might miss, asshole.”

  He positioned the gun in his mouth and stared into his reflected eyes.

  It would be over quick.

  He held his breath and pulled the trigger. Heard the click. Nothing had happened beyond his bladder letting go.

  He’d forgotten to chamber a round.

  He lowered the gun. Started to do what was needed and stopped.

  Why should I give the bitch the satisfaction? Or her damn boyfriend?

  Maybe you don’t want a fight, Chelsea Hall, but you’re going to get one.

  Garrett put the gun on the table and ate the steak, now congealed in its juices.

  CHAPTER 107

  Garrett squeezed his eyes closed and reached for his buzzing cell phone. “Who the hell’s calling me this early?”

  The caller cleared his throat. “It’s Aaron Logan, Garrett. And it’s nearly eleven in the morning. Hardly early.”

  Garrett covered his eyes with his free arm. “Dr. Logan. Sorry. I thought … Never mind. How’s your wife doing?”

  “She’s doing somewhat better. Thank you for inquiring. I take it you haven’t had breakfast. Meet me at Fred’s Diner at noon. Sharp. I’m fairly certain you have no other plans.”

  “I don’t know if I can make it.”

  “You’ll make it. If you ever want to resume your position at the hospital, that is. Get up and into a cold shower. I’ll see you at twelve. Garrett?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t disappoint me.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He started the small pot of coffee brewing then stumbled to the bathroom, surprised to find his pants and underwear soaking in the lavatory. He didn’t recall doing that. He threw the sopping garments onto the floor and opened the sink drain. Showered, shaved, gupled the coffee, got dressed. Found a place to hide the gun so housekeeping wouldn’t find it.

  Squinting his eyes against the sunlight, he made it to his car, wondering how damages to various places on the right side had happened. He opened the door, reeled back at the odor, and slammed it shut. There was no way he could drive to his meeting. Twenty minutes to twelve.

  He looked up a car service, told them there was a hundred dollar tip in it, if they got him to Fred’s Diner by noon or a few minutes before.

  He made it there five minutes after. His predecessor, dressed for the office, complete with one of his innumerable, ridiculous bow ties, eyed him from a booth.

  “Sorry, Dr. Logan. Car trouble.”

  “I saw you didn’t drive here. I confess I believed the reason was that you were incapable.”

  “As I said, car trouble. I’ll get it taken care of when I get back to the hotel.”

  Logan arched his eyebrows. “You’re staying at a hotel? It’s time you tell me what’s going on, my boy, because we both know your behavior is uncharacteristic. The bedraggled man sitting across from me is not the man I admire and respect.”

  Garrett exhaled hard. “My life’s in the toilet.”

  “Crude terminology, but I’m listening.”

  It wasn’t easy at first, to reveal what was going on. It got easier as Garrett talked, uninterrupted. Still, he held back some of the details—there was only so much humiliation he should be forced to suffer.

  Aaron Logan sat forward when Garrett stopped speaking. “I’m sorry about your troubles. You should have come to me before letting it—yourself—get to this point.”

  Garrett ran a hand through his hair. “I realized last night how bad it’s gotten, when I thought about ending my life. Then I realized that wasn’t a solution. There’s too much I want to do.”

  “We all have misfortune visit us in our lifetime, but I’m glad you came to your senses. Time for you to buck up. Still, I believe you would benefit by getting some form of assistance. If you’re relying on alcohol or some drug to cope—”

  “I’m not. At least, not relying on it. I just hit bottom.”

  “My boy, yo
u have too much to offer. You’ve decades ahead of you yet. Make them count. You’ve come too far in your career to eradicate all your accomplishments.”

  “You’re right. Time to straighten myself and my life out so I can return to doing what I love and what I’m good at.”

  “What you’re best at.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Let’s order and get some food into you. You have two months to rest, get your head straight, and your life organized. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me. It would be tragic if you were the first person I’d ever recommended for a position who failed to meet expectations.” Logan picked up the menu. “Now, let’s see what’s edible.”

  Garrett pretended to study his menu. Logan and he had very different opinions about what could be considered tragic. There was, however, one person who understood tragedy better than anyone he knew.

  CHAPTER 108

  “I know you’ll do fine on the test.” Chelsea kissed Kimberlie’s forehead. “You studied hard enough.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Kimberlie got out of the car and leaned in. “Watch those feet of yours. My mom, the klutz.”

  Chelsea faked a laugh as Kimberlie closed the door and sprinted to the school entrance. She pulled the car away from the curb, turned right out of the driveway, and headed toward the superstore. A hearty stew and fresh-baked bread would be perfect for their dinner.

  She turned into the store parking lot, glanced left and slowed to watch Penelope drive out and onto the road. Pulse racing, she pulled into the nearest spot, turned off her car, and leaned against the headrest.

  Had it always been Pen’s plan to destroy her? To reveal secrets she’s sworn she’d take to her grave? If Penelope Sanders had visions of Garrett marrying her, buying her a small mansion, an expensive car and lifestyle, she was dreaming. Garrett would never take anyone as gauche as Penelope to a hospital function, especially not as his wife.