A Friendly Affair
I open the door. Bill is standing there. He looks distraught. He follows me into the sitting-room.
"Are you okay?"
"Not really. I think Marge is having an affair."
"Whaat? ... She wouldn't do that."
"I think she is. She’s out virtually every night, and we never have sex."
"That doesn't mean ..."
"It could. You used to be a detective, Jack. You could follow her. Find out."
"I don't think ..."
"Please, Jack. I need to know."
"Don't you trust her?"
"I do, but I can't get the thought out of my head. Please, Jack, we've been friends since university. Please do this for me."
"Okay," I say.
I open the door. Bill is standing there. He looks anxious. He follows me into the sitting-room.
"Did you find out? Is Marge having an affair?"
"No, Bill, she isn't. Ukulele on Monday and Thursday. Zumba on Tuesday. Choir on Wednesday and yoga on Friday. As she probably told you."
"Like she told me. That's such good news. Thank you, Jack. Thank you."
"I'm glad. Now go home. Take Marge out for dinner. Treat her. Why not have … well … you know?"
"I will. I will. Thank you," he says.
I open the door. Marge is standing there. She looks happy. She follows me up the stairs.
"How's Bill?"
"He's fine."
"Suspicious?"
"Not anymore."
"How was the sex?"
"Not as good as it's about to be," she says.
