The Buster Gets Busted

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Cheaters used to be my favourite TV show. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I would stay up if it was airing at 11pm. I would watch it till late and the next day sit for the re-run. Thrills. I loved the drama, the adrenaline.


Later came Moment of Truth (MoT). As the guests answered the questions so would I. I wanted to be the one on the hot seat. Have my ass burned as I was stripped naked infront of a live audience. Watch my family and friends’ faces show utter disbelief at the sheer immorality I had engaged in.


A simple Yes. Or a dismissing No. I would then walk out with a couple of thousand dollars. No one thereafter wanting to associate with me. But with money, you don’t need to search too much. Everyone crumbles at your feet.


Look at me. So much rambling about nothings. My fantasies. Ain’t nobody got time for that.


Affairs. They come in different varying intensities. They hurt more if you stood in that altar, staring into each others starry eyed as you utter the vows. Is there any moment more divine?


That was Sasha’s story. It’s not her real name, I either don’t remember or I’m honouring the anonymity value or I’m pulling your leg.


10 years. 1..7..10 years of a marriage. The usual squalms but nothing too serious to tear them apart. We could say they were a happy couple.


It is in the tenth year that the wife sought the services of a PI(Private Investigator). Reason? She had suspicions (and bits of evidence) that the husband was cheating on her.


Lately he had been hiding his activity on the internet from her. Whenever he sat on their home computer and she would check later, it was all gone. Deleted.


Worry streamed in. He is surely cheating. What else would make her 10 year man start acting like a chameleon? There was another woman in the picture. No other explanation works.


With that background story, she presented to the PI his latest online purchase. Lingerie. In annoying shouting bright pink. It was delivered to a certain address. That is where he should start.


Coincidentally, he had also accidentally sent her (the wife), a steamy text that was meant for the mistress.


“He has never written me such texts before.” Poor Sasha cried.


The PI shook his head, from his experience he found it a difficult accusation to believe. A man can be clumsy but send the wrong text? Never. It was easier finding his used condom or hotel receipt than a text to the wrong woman.


Sasha wouldn’t hear any of it. She had made up her mind. He was cheating on her. The PI decided to deal with the job at hand rather than to engage her.


After delving into the matter, the PI got to know the name of the said mistress. Clandestine. He made a call to the client to inform her of his findings so far.


The woman was Francesca. It hit her like a bomb. There could be a million other Francesca’s in the world but this Francesca was none other than her best friend. Other than that, she had been the chief bridesmaid. The maid of honour.


Sobbing, she ended the call. Her own best friend? Why? From the back and forth text messages she had been sent, a luxurious getaway in the outskirts of Nairobi was secretly underway.


As far as she was concerned, in the decade of their marriage, they had had no such vacation. Bitterness brewed. How could the people dearest to her heart betray her by hooking up?


As in these “reveal the cheater” shows, Sasha decided on confrontation. She wanted closure. The PI would give her details of the “adulterers” next date. He would also be present to prevent the situation getting out of hand.


Weave in a ponytail, a touch of makeup and a little sling bag, she was ready. Anxious as hell. You could smile at her and in exchange get a hot slap for mocking her. She wanted to kill.


They were sitted at the bar, the perfect view to anyone coming into the restaurant. They were facing each other although the detective constantly checked if their target had arrived. Sasha was to keep the facade, lest she was recognised and they bolted.


“They are here.”


She wanted to turn. Run to them and scream “A-ha! Gotcha.” But she was asked to wait as there was nothing conclusive about coming into a restaurant.


Are they holding hands? Signs of PDA? She wondered.


A waiter walked up to them as soon as they were in their pre-booked booth. Red wine. That gets one into a celebratory mood. They were using it to bury their anxiety, the wife thought.


“They are raising their glasses to a toas..” The PI reported.


She was up. Fleeing. Cheat on me then toast to it? Hah.That she wouldn’t allow. She was ending it.


“What are you doing here?” They both asked when she banged the table separating them.


“That is what I should ask both of you!”


The heated exchange continued and it took the manager to escort them out of the restaurant.


“Why would you accuse me of cheating with your husband? I thought we were friends!” cried the distressed “mistress”.


The decade old husband looked at his wife. He had been quiet the whole time. A tear could be spotted in his right eye. He was squatting, head in his hands.


“You know the moment I had a hunch you were cheating on me, I also found someone and had an affair! ” She busted.


And for the first time he made eye contact with her.


“You did whhhat?”


The actual cheating partner stood still as a post as she learned that the holiday was all for her. Francesca was involved because she knew her best. The lingerie was sent to her house to maintain the surprise effect.


After years of saving for his stay-at-home wife, her insecurities took the better of her.


Sasha ended up losing her long time friend. She is still trying to salvage her marriage through counselling.


An eye for an eye. Only this time, there was NO eye.



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About Rehema Zuberi

Teller of 'taboo-d' tales.

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