I had a client who would occasionally hire me to follow her husband. (Yes, that does happen. It’s not always the other way around.) She was rather young, and had inherited a fortune from her father, who had been in the radio business all his life, and left her ownership of over a hundred different radio stations when he passed away.

Georgia knew her husband, Steve, slept around on her. She was practical as well as rich. She didn’t care about her husband’s infidelity; she just wanted to know who he was sleeping with other than her. That’s what she hired me for.

Steve was given five thousand dollars, every month, to spend as he pleased. He didn’t have a regular job; he was a house-husband and “Mr. Mom” to their three children, although a “Mr. Mom” with a Porsche and a large yacht. Most of the time, he’d take his “playmate” on a cruise in his yacht, drop anchor somewhere around Crystal River, Florida, and have a wild night (or several) of passion there. To each their own, as long as it worked.

Georgia called one day and asked if I’d go to Las Vegas to follow her husband. The day she wanted me to go was September 10, which would have been just any other day to most people -- with the exception of me and my wife. September tenth is our wedding anniversary. My birthday is the day after. I agreed with two conditions: One, she’d pay me double the usual rate (which was not cheap). Two, she would allow my wife Nancy to come with me, as my partner, and assistant (and to make up for having to work on our anniversary). Luckily for us, Nancy is a licensed private eye herself, and as it turned out, having her along was very helpful. Of course, it also helped that Georgia never haggled about money. She agreed to my conditions, and we went to Vegas, to work, on our wedding anniversary.

Her husband was staying at the MGM Grand, so that’s where we went, ending up in the room right next to his. He gambled the entire week. We followed him almost around the clock.

The second night, he played blackjack. Nancy and I gambled with him for hours. (Of course, we pretended not to know each other, so she could flirt with him, and hopefully engage him, as the night went on.) His poison of choice was martinis; I stuck to Grey Goose and tonic with lime. For her part, Nancy was looking very fine that night, dressed as seductively as possible, in a short little black cocktail dress. From what I (and others, probably) could see of her cleavage, she felt as sexy as she looked, and it showed quite well through the dress. It was cool in the casino that night.

Steve was a heavy gambler, and doing quite well. Unfortunately for us, Nancy and I were not doing quite as well. Thankfully, Georgia had agreed to pay for our time at the table, and it was part of our expenses. I pretended to “call it a night,” and left Nancy to her own devices; to flirt, and, hopefully, figure out what Steve was up to. I perched at the casino’s bar and watched the scene play out. Despite the fact that she was dressed to kill, he blew her off. She came to me with her tail between her legs, and her ego severely bruised. I would have a bit to make up for later.

Luckily for us, there were no limits on our expense account. I called the most expensive escort service I could find, and ordered their most expensive female escort. An hour later, a blonde bombshell showed up at our door, thinking she was about to have a threesome (for which, no doubt, she would charge an arm and a leg—maybe both arms). If she was surprised when I told her I wanted to pay her to flirt downstairs with a gambler in the casino, she didn’t show it, just quoted me a price of a thousand dollars. Of course, I paid her, since the sky was the limit.

We went downstairs, and Nancy and I watched as the best escort from the most expensive service around tried to seduce Steve... and failed as miserably as Nancy had. He blew her off, too. We had a problem: Georgia’s husband wasn’t acting like his usual self. He was no longer a “creature of habit,” (like most people are, if you watch closely); two gorgeous women had tried to seduce him, and failed.

Steve gambled until the small hours of the morning, and, when he finally went to his room, we could hear that he was watching porn. He left around eight a.m., and when the maid arrived at nine, for a hundred dollars, I was able to get a look at his room, where he’d been hiding his dirty little secret since the night before.

Lying in the bed of the man who’d rejected both my wife and the gorgeous, expensive escort, was the cutest little homosexual anyone could imagine. Toys were all over the room, which looked like a small sex shop, cuffs and whips included. Georgia’s husband was bisexual. She didn’t have a clue.  I wasn’t looking forward to telling her. Georgia was at Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

“I have bad news,” I said. “You’ll want to get a stiff drink and find somewhere to sit down. You’re going to need it.”
Georgia didn’t like the sound of that, but she followed my instructions. “So, what did you find out?” I hated having to tell her, but I had promised to find out the truth. It was, after all, my job.  “Georgia, I really don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just tell it to you straight. Your husband Steve is bisexual.”  There was an indistinct noise from the other end of the line. I could tell Georgia had

nearly fainted. Whatever she’d been expecting – probably another flavor of the week – it hadn’t been that. I felt terrible, but I suspected it would only get worse for her if she kept him.

“I want proof,” she told me angrily. I heard what sounded like a sob, but I couldn’t tell if it was rage or tears. I certainly didn’t blame her for being angry. “I don’t care what it costs. I want proof!” ‘Vengeance is mine,’ I thought, but kept it to myself as she was hungry for her version of justice. What could I do? “I’ll get you your proof,” I replied, grateful I had the resources—and a plan—which would hopefully let me do just that.

Mike was from Atlanta, and had worked for us before. When he wasn’t on the wrestling circuit as “the Gay Cowboy,” he would sometimes work cases for us. Mike was who I needed, so I flew him to Vegas, and sent him to gamble with Steve. The plan was for Mike to take Steve to our wired hotel room, which had hidden cameras and other sorts of gadgets all over the place.

“He’s cute,” Mike assessed upon seeing Steve. “Yeah, I can seduce him – or let him seduce me.

Nancy and I watched as Mike gambled with Steve for several long hours. They eventually left, met Steve’s little pillow pal, and the three of them went to have a wild night in our wired ten- ways-from-tomorrow room. We got their threesome on film. I had the proof Georgia needed. When I phoned her to give her the news, she was happy, if not ecstatic. Then again, she’d raised three children with this man.

Several months later, Georgia called me again, told me she had divorced Steve, and was going

to marry a biker. “At least I know he’ll be straight,” she told me. “Thank you for the video. It was the turning point in the divorce proceedings. It gave me what I wanted.” “So, what did you want?” I asked, partially knowing the answer already, but knowing she needed to tell me herself. “At trial,” she answered, “Steve said I didn’t have proof he was gay, and therefore hadn’t lied. Your video of him having sex with two men was all I needed.” Well, to each his own, I guess.