I had arranged to have McKlusky come to my apartment building thirty minutes after his marriage counselling session that Tuesday evening. The timing was a little tight, but I knew he would make an excuse and hurry over to my apartment building.
That afternoon I had finalised the last few details of my apartment and flight to Miami, and unknown to McKlusky I was booked on the midnight flight south. As I put my last few items into my bag, brushed my hair and glanced at my watch I figured the marriage counselor should be just finishing up his session.
I always like to travel looking my best. My lipstick was a shade brighter than usual, my eye makeup more vivid, and I had a sense of excitement about the events that were carefully orchestrated and about to unfold.
With McKlusky already feeling flustered and a little disrupted, I made myself a cup of tea, sat down to enjoy the show.
I texted Dora, saying – “Dora, please come over and see me after your counselling session. I feel we should talk urgently.” As you know, I love to be supportive.
Now, if you’ve been reading this story as intended, you’ll remember my friend Micheal. He’d helped out with the McKlusky situation. Well, through the magic of text messaging and a little carefully rehearsed play acting, I had set things up nicely.
By the time McKlusky parked his vehicle and walked up to the front of my building, Micheal was already waiting across the street. Of course, having never actually seen Micheal, McKlusky had no idea that the handsome and well dressed young man crossing the street and walking towards the front of the building was the very same person that had such an intimate acquaintance with the contents of his Walmart boxer shorts.
I watched things unfold from the comfort of my almost empty apartment on the security camera display on the TV. With a cup of Earl Grey tea and a sense of mischief, I watched events unfold with a sense of closure growing, that had been so lacking since McKlusky had bullied me so heartlessly at school.
I watched as Dora’s car pulled up in the background, unseen by McKlusky. And there was Micheal walking up toward the intercom, McKlusky unaware and three or four steps ahead of him.
The intercom buzzed, and I watched as first Micheal drew level, and in the background Dora realised that he husband – infidelity personified – was standing pressing the intercom. The surprise registered on her face as she approached. It was fast replaced by something else, perhaps confusion or something else.
At that moment, as rehearsed, Micheal turned to McKlusky. He opened his mouth, and I watched in silence as he mouthed the words we’d gone over that afternoon. I pressed the intercom voice button, so I could hear the events I was watching on the silent screen before me.
“Dillon,” said Micheal.
Surprised, McKlusky turned to Micheal. A quizzical look on his face. Behind them Dora was almost level with them.
“Dillon, how could you,” said Micheal. “You know I still love you, don’t you?”
Dora’s face was a picture. I felt a little bad for her, though I knew I was doing her a great favor.
“What?” Stammered McKlusky.
“Don’t make this ugly, Dillon, please,” continued Micheal, to McKlusky’s horror. “I can’t keep going, not while you’re lying and pretending…”
By this time Dora was completely aware of what was happening. In her mind she’d joined the dots, the photo, the man breaking up with her husband. It was all making perfect sense to her.
“As much as I loved those evenings after work,” continued Micheal like a tank crashing through McKlusky’s personal life, “I’m not prepared to be part of your lies!”
The look of confusion on McKlusky’s face was a treasure that I will always keep. The misery and pain I had suffered at his hands seemed to melt away, as Micheal turned and walked off into the night, leaving a stunned McKlusky in his wake.
At that very moment Dora piped up, “And nor am I, you pig! Don’t you dare even think of coming home. I’ll have your things put into storage and you can retrieve them from there. I don’t want to ever see you again!”
She shook her head, appalled at her husbands’ infidelity. “You even pretended to care, in therapy… Mummy was right. All men are pigs!”
As McKlusky turned to his wife, anger written all over her face, he looked like a confused little boy. It dawned on me that he possibly felt much as I had all those years ago when he’d made me put on those panties in the boys changing room.
I watched as a tearful Dora returned to her car and McKlusky tried the buzzer once more, looking completely confused and bewildered. He stared at his wife leaving for the last time, and pressed the buzzer yet again.
He was still pressing the buzzer as I picked up my bag and left the apartment. In the elevator down to the parking area I sighed with a sense of contentment. Dora would recover, and Micheal would be laughing about it for days. As for me, I had finally closed the door on a very upsetting chapter of my life.
I sat in my car a moment, sprayed a jasmine perfume behind my ears and savored the sweet stench of revenge that hung in the air.
As I pulled away and headed to the airport, I finally felt satisfied. And that was the last I ever heard of McKlusky. I learned his wife did rather well in the divorce, and the alimony payments continue to this day, a legacy to remember a heartless husband by.