There is a large screen in the middle. It is at the eye level of someone seated in the room's only chair. The other screens are on both sides and above it. The cell also has a cot, a toilet, a sink, and a door with a small view port and a small slot at the floor, presumably for the passage of meals, which I hope are not pure white.
I contemplate how I got here. I was having a drink in a hotel bar while waiting for my lover to arrive. I received a text message from a number I didn't recognize. 'Your lover has been detained. We know about your infidelity. Do we have your attention?'
My blood curdled in my veins. How could I possibly answer this. I dared to hope it was a wrong number, even though the circumstances were suspicious. I answered, '???'
The next message took away my hope. 'SilkyLegs, your husband will soon be told about MisterSilk. Nothing you can do will prevent that.'
Oh shit! I look around the bar, certain that I must be under observation and equally certain that I must look as guilty as I am. 'You have my attention.'
'You have two options. Cooperate or don't.'
I send, 'Define cooperate.'
'Think of it as rehab for unfaithful spouses. Rehab of your marriage.'
'This is extortion.'
'No, we are not offering to prevent or postpone your husband's discovery. This is to offer an option for recovery from that.'
I desperately want to be somewhere else, doing something else. I think of a third option. I send, 'suicide'.
'People who lie, cheat and steal don't have enough honor for that.'
Wow! If I thought I would get any slack by threatening that, I was mistaken. This guy must have a heart of ice.
I send, 'So what is this? An Intervention?'
'Yes, that is a good description, if you add "by proxy".'
'Who are you?'
'Nobody you know.'
'Why are you doing this?'
'To give you the option of cooperation.'
'What does cooperation mean.'
'Like rehab, once you're in, you're in for the duration. You try to salvage what you can.'
'Why should I trust you?'
'Your husband will either hear that you agreed to cooperate or he'll hear that you refused. It doesn't matter to us.'
'Us?'
'You are postponing. Your window for cooperating is closing.'
It was a bitter choice, but I know my husband. Assuming he had remained faithful to our vows, he would feel betrayed and unable to trust me, ever again, unless I took the steps to save our marriage. Whoever this guy was, his 'option' was better than any I could think of.
'I'll cooperate.'
Per the instructions that followed, I went to my car in the hotel parking garage, found a black hood on the windshield, put it on, and waited. A vehicle pulled up and somebody with a smirk in her voice said, "Somebody waiting for a bus to marriage rehab?"
I did not appreciate the humor, but I took some solace in the fact that it was a woman and that she didn't sound hostile. She helped me into what I sensed was a van and drove me away from the hotel. Beyond that, I could not tell where we went. I tried to engage her in conversation, but all she would say is that her job was to deliver me safely. When we stopped, I sensed that we were once again in a parking garage. Being indoors, and knowing this was probably done away from public view, helped reduce the impression that I was doing a 'perp walk'.
She helped me out and guided me down a hallway, into an elevator, down another hallway and through a door.
"You may remove the hood now."
The door closed long before I got the hood off. The next thing I heard was her voice through a speaker. She ordered me to undress and put my clothing and jewelry on the tray beneath the door. Her last comment was, "You might want to wash off that slut makeup and look as pitiful as you can. It sometimes helps."
As I was washing, the tray was pulled out beneath the door. I look around the room. I try the door. As expected, it is locked. I look out through the view port and see only a white wall across a hallway. I look out through the slot under the door and see only a white wall meeting a white floor across the hallway.
I slap my hand on the door and hear only a flat thump. I try to move the cot and find that it is attached to the floor. The chair is, also. The screens are attached firmly to the wall. Other than the roll of toilet paper and my own body, there is nothing in the room that I can move from one place to another.
I hear a woman's voice calling my name. "Jenn-nee." I notice that the center screen is now on, so I sit in the chair. It has armrests and is quite comfortable. I will not be physically suffering while viewing the screens. I see an attractive woman wearing a smart business suit. She has what looks like an earphone in one ear. She is sitting at an office desk, looking to the side at me. She has auburn hair, fair skin and a slender build. I recognize her from the bar. She must have been observing me, but I did not see her texting. She smiles and says, "I am sorry for what's about to happen to you."
"Please don't do this to me."
"I can see you, but I can't hear you. You may leave at any time, but if you value your marriage, you will stay and see this through. You know that we know about your lover. We are about to inform your husband."
'No!', I shout.
"As you've already been told, nothing you can say or do will prevent that. We believe we are preempting an inevitable discovery. We want to control the circumstances of the discovery. Once again, I am sorry. We do this to help you recover from your mistakes. If you cooperate, your marriage has a better chance. Your husband will be here soon. Please nod if you wish to continue."
I am caught in my own web of deception. I cannot bear the thought of losing my husband. I look at the door and reconsider leaving. I choose not to. I look back at the screen and I nod.
She turns away and taps a key on the keyboard in front of her. I sense that she can no longer see me. I sit back and think about how I got to this point. I think about my lover and what he must be thinking, now that he has not found me at the hotel bar. I reminisce about the private moments I have spent with him and realize those days are probably over, but I also acknowledge that they were not all that great.
I hear a knock and she says, "Come in." and stands. My husband enters the room. I try to shout to him, but it is clear he cannot hear or see me. She must have turned off the monitor on her end.
She offers her hand and says, "Thank you for coming, Mr. Randall. My name is Cindy Thomas. Please have a seat."
Mitch shakes her hand and looks around as he sits. He glances over toward me, but it is clear he does not see the camera that is sending his image to me. "Thanks, this is the first time I've been in one of these short term office rentals."
"I wish the circumstances were different, Sir, but we find these to be very suitable for our purposes. Before we get started, please check your email. There should be a recent message from your employer."
I watch as Mitch checks his smart phone. "Hmm. You're right. My trip is canceled and it looks like I'm to take this meeting very seriously. You mentioned purposes?"
"Thank you, Sir. Yes, one of those is the delivery of unfortunate news."
"Oh?"
"Yes, Sir. My company is contracted by your employer to provide executive employee monitoring services. In short, we keep tabs on you and the other high level employees of your firm, to protect the firm from scandal and other losses."
"This sounds serious. Am I being investigated for something?"
"No, Sir. Should you be?"
"What? No."
Cindy pauses and then says, "Thank you, Sir. Our sensors indicate that you are telling the truth. Part of our duty is to monitor the families of the executives. An employee can be compromised, virtually useless to his employer for at least some time, if certain situations occur. One of those situations is divorce."
"Jenny is divorcing me?"
"No, Sir. We've found nothing to indicate that."
A yawning pit suddenly opens in my stomach. Was Mitch already planning to divorce me?
"Then why am I here."
"Please be patient, Sir. This is not pleasant. The problem, is that we've detected behavior that might lead to severe marital strife. Are you aware of your wife's online habits?"
"What? No. What online habits?"
"Specifically, Sir, her association with sexually oriented websites."
"No! That's news to me. I don't pry into her computer."
"We thought that to be the case. She favors one site in particular. It is probably the most popular website for erotic stories, but it also has forums and chats and quite a bit of cyber sex occurs."
I never should have joined that site. I found it addicting. The stories opened my eyes to all the rich sexual variety that others enjoy, or at least fantasize about. My fantasies became so much richer and the chat rooms gave me people to talk to while my husband was away.
"Cyber sex?"
"Chatting about sexual acts, sometimes accompanied by actual masturbation. Some of the participants take it to the next level and meet their online lovers in person. Forgive me for this, Sir, it is the worst part of my job. Your wife has been having an affair with a man she met on this site. We normally don't get involved when such romances remain online only. We step in only after direct physical infidelity has occurred and only when we believe it would devastate our client's employee and compromise his, or her, ability to perform their job."
Mitch looks as pale as I feel.
"Jenny? No, I can't believe it."
"Sir, we would not inform you of this without documentation. We believe we have a complete history of their interactions. Her online persona is SilkyLegs."
"That's my special name for her. She used that to....?"
The other three screens come to life and I see this documentation. Slow scrolls of chats show on the left screen. Photos I exchanged with MisterSilk become a slide show on the right. The screen above runs a video we stupidly made during our first tryst. I don't know how she got that, but I feel most violated. I know that I am caught.
"The documentation is all here, Sir. It's our role to offer options to our clients. You may look at it or not. It's your choice."
"I won't believe it if I don't see some proof."
I watch as he peruses a laptop screen. My right monitor now shows the display of the laptop and I see him flinch as each piece of damning evidence appears on the screen.
"Are you convinced, Sir?"
"Yes."
He sounds like a crushed man. I hurt worse than I have ever hurt before and I sense that this is only the beginning of my pain.
"Forgive me, Sir. I have some questions to ask now. They might help to put your future in perspective. Have you ever cheated on her?"
"No. Absolutely not."
Again the pause, and then, "Thank you, Sir. Our sensors indicate that you are telling the truth. Have you ever thought about cheating on her."
"No, um. No."
"Sir, our sensors indicate an incomplete answer."
"Okay, I've been to some, uh, gentleman's clubs and I've seen some dancers... strippers. But never even a lap dance. I have fantasies about women, especially when I travel, but that's it. Just fantasies."
Compared to me, he sounds like such a boy scout. The fact that his conscience bothers him because of these escapades indicts me all the more.
"Thank you, Sir. Our sensors indicate that you are telling the truth. Please understand, Sir, it is not our goal to destroy marriages. We seek to hold them together when possible, and mitigate the effects of inevitable discoveries. We believe you were on a course that would result in extensive damage to your ability to function in your job."
"This is private stuff. You have no right."
"I'm sorry, Sir. This is within your employment agreement. As an executive employee, both you and your wife signed away certain rights. It's fairly standard for corporate executives."
"We thought those were all about financial records."
"I'm sorry, Sir. Your employer has a right to attempt to avoid scandal and decreases in your productivity. Just a few more questions. Have your fantasies ever included sharing your wife with another man or being cuckolded."
"What? No! Hell no!"
"I'm sorry, Sir. It's important that I ask these questions. Opening lines of communication is a key to salvaging a marriage. Our sensors indicate that you are being both truthful and hesitant. May I ask about the hesitation."
"This is very private."
"Yes, Sir, it is. May I remind you that you have been under surveillance as well?"
"What's that supposed to mea...?"
Yes, Mitch. What is that supposed to mean? I so badly want to be asking these questions. I sense the shifting power and I want to stem my losses. This woman is driving my guilt home to me, but she is also prying open his mind so that I may discover where I stand with him.
"Sir. I am aware of your web surfing habits."
"Oh. Then you know. I enjoy viewing male-female-female and female-male-female porn. I have had fantasies of seeing my wife with another woman while I participate."
"Thank you, Sir. So these fantasies include you 'participating' with both women?"
He looks particularly embarrassed now. "Yes."
"Thank you, Sir. Any other fantasies about extra-marital sex?"
"No, that's it."
"Thank you, Sir. Would you be opposed to your wife having a female lover?"
This question shocks me. I have had cyber sex with other women. I can barely breathe as I await his answer.
"No, I suppose not. A woman could provide her with something that I can't.