This Enemy Town by Marcia Talley

with morbid fascination, taking cruel pleasure at seeing my marriage and the trust I put in my husband erode, buried in an instant, like a home in the path of a California mudslide. One hot tear ran down my cheek, and I hated myself for it. This wasn’t the time to show any weakness.
    I could imagine why Jennifer would hate my husband enough to want to hurt him —she had been failing his course, and Paul refused to give in to her blackmail in exchange for a passing grade. But what did this young naval officer have against me ?
    â€œHe said he was lonely,” she elaborated. “He invited me up to his suite.”
    Suite! The word alone was a knife in my heart. Last time we’d stayed in a hotel it was the $69 special.
    â€œSuch an appetite!” she continued, twisting the knife for all she was worth. “He came for me on all fours, and he threw back his head and roared! Does he roar for you, Mrs. Ives?”
    â€œWhat did you say?” I sputtered.
    She opened her mouth to speak again, but I flapped my hand, waving her lies away. The last thing I needed was corroborative detail, particularly details on a jungle theme. Because now I knew, like a refreshing wave of water washing over me:
    Jennifer Goodall was lying!
    When he was seventeen, Paul had injured his back in a tractor accident on the family farm. As a result, several disks in his spine had been fused. He could no more crawl on his hands and knees, throw his head back and roar than he could fly from BWI to Heathrow without benefit of an airplane. Our lovemaking had always been special, but no acrobatics were involved. It’s a good thing I didn’t carry a gun, because I would have shot Jennifer then and there, square between her lying eyes.
    And yet, I had to be sure. Not 99 and 44/100th percent sure, but 100 percent sure.
    Fight fire with fire, to coin a phrase. If Jennifer could make up a pack of lies, so could I.
    â€œYou make me sick!” I screamed, so loudly that it made my throat ache. “You both make me sick!” I fell against the wall, sobbing. “We got matching tattoos, special, just for us. That’s why Paul got it on his … his …” I choked, as if unable to continue.
    â€œPaul is such a generous man,” she said. “Would you like to see my tattoo?” She tugged at the corner of her shirt, which was tucked carefully into the waistband of her khakis, but I knew she was bluffing.
    Why is there never a tape recorder around when you need it? I wanted our encounter on tape so I could play it back for Paul, so he could hear Jennifer Goodall damn herself in her own words. I couldn’t imagine what Paul had done to her that would engender such hate, a hate that burned just as hotly now as it had half a decade earlier. I could only assume she was mentally ill.
    I confronted her, my eyes like slits. “Paul doesn’t have any tattoos, you lying bitch! I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I swear to God, I’ll get even with you, even if it takes the rest of my life. I’m contacting my lawyer, you’re going to retract everything, and if you ever make up baseless lies about my husband again, I’ll … I’ll …”
    â€œEverything all right, Mrs. Ives?”
    I spun around, both flustered and annoyed by the interruption. It was Midshipman Small, sweet, serious Gadget, standing on the stairway behind me.
    The silence was heavy with unspoken words.
    The auditorium above me was silent, too. No talking, no singing. No happy scrape of bow on string, no friendly trumpet blare. Rehearsal must be over.
    â€œI heard shouting,” Gadget said, moving closer. “Is there anything I can do?”
    My hand dug into the handrail as I struggled for control. “No, thank you, Gadget. I was just leaving. Lieutenant Goodall and I were having a friendly disagreement, is all.”
    Jennifer stared at me placidly, still wearing that maddening