Married Lovers (11 page)

“H
ow ow can I please you?”

These were the words Anya used every day. Her mantra. She’d learned to say the same thing in several languages. She’d also learned that if she was to survive she could not be shy and retiring, she had to be aggressive and not lie back and accept everything that happened to her. Velma, a twenty-year-old Polish girl–the most popular whore at Olga’s–had taught her that
.

Anya had spent the first two months cowering away from the men she was supposed to service. They came to the room she was allotted–all shapes, sizes and ages. They unzipped their pants and used her in any way they saw fit
.

She was horrified and ashamed. There was no one to protect her, she was a prisoner with no choice except to lie there while a parade of transient men used her body for their own sexual gratification
.

Twice a day she was allowed to go downstairs to the kitchen where she was given a lackluster meal–mostly soup and bread. It was there that she first saw Velma–a big girl with huge breasts, beehived dyed black hair, lots of dark eye make-up and jammy red lips
.

At first Velma chose to ignore the slip of a girl with the terrified expression. But then she decided that this new girl might have a pretty face, but she was certainly no competition, so after a while she
relented and began speaking to Anya. Mostly she relayed what she considered to be great words of wisdom
.

“You’ll never get a man to request your services again if you lie there like a dead cat.”

“Don’t you have makeup? You’re paler than a glass of milk.”

“Offer to suck his cock first. That way you can get off easy.”

Sometimes Velma came into the room where Anya slept at night and got into her bed. And sometimes Velma touched her with a far gentler touch than the men she was forced to service–including Igor, who felt that because he had brought her in, it was his right to use her whenever he wished
.

“Tell the bastard no more free trips,” Velma advised. “And if he doesn’t listen, complain to Olga, she’ll soon stop him. Olga makes sure everyone pays to use her girls.”

“How long have you been here?” Anya ventured
.

“Too long,” Velma responded, lighting up a cigarette. “But now Olga give me money, and when I put away enough, I leave.”

“Where will you go?”

Velma shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps Holland. I hear a girl can make lots of money in Amsterdam.”

“Can I come with you?” Anya asked, her eyes alive with the thought of getting away from the life she’d been forced into
.

“Maybe,” Velma replied. “I also hear two girls together can be very popular.”

And from that day on the seed was planted and Velma began planning their escape
.

D
riving his car with total disregard for anyone’s safety, Ryan was furious, plus he’d had too much to drink, but he was not about to spare his wife’s feelings. “You’re a fucking mean-spirited
bitch
an’ I want a divorce,” he snarled, barely acknowledging a Stop sign.

His harsh words shocked Mandy into a stunned silence. A divorce! Was he insane? An outburst like this was so unlike her husband, but she was forced to realize that she’d finally pushed him too far by not inviting his stupid family to the party. She should’ve understood that not including his family was red flag time.
Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!

“You don’t understand—” she began, ready with a dozen excuses.

“Oh, I understand only too well,” he responded. “You hate my family, you always have. They’re not grand enough for you, are they, Mandy? They’re not fucking
rich
enough for you. They don’t own big important companies and film studios, they’re not movie stars or celebrities, so why the hell would
you
bother with them?”

“That’s not fair,” she objected.

“I’ll tell you what’s not fair,” he raged. “You throwing me a surprise fortieth and not even inviting my mother, let alone my sisters.”

“That’s because there’s so many of them,” she said, stumbling
over her words. “I thought we’d have a private celebration later this week, a
family
evening at the house. After all, it’s not as if they know any of our friends. They wouldn’t have enjoyed themselves tonight, they’d have felt out of place.”

“Screw you, Mandy, you’re full of shit,” he said, turning the car onto their street.

“Look,” she said, exasperated, “if I’d invited your mother
and
your sisters
and
their husbands, that would’ve been seven extra people. Now where exactly would I have put them?”

“For crissakes save me your dumb excuses,” he muttered as they pulled up to their house.

“I’m not making excuses,” she said stubbornly.

“Get out the car,” he ordered.

“Excuse me?”

“Get out the fucking car. I’m not coming in.”

“Where are you going?”

“None of your fucking business.”

She had never seen him so angry, nor heard him swear so much. He’d be sorry in the morning when he sobered up. But in the meantime, how was she supposed to deal with him?

“Out!” he repeated impatiently. “Now!”

Reluctantly she got out the car, and before she could say a word, he roared off.

Mandy stamped her way into the house. This was not the way she’d planned on ending the evening. Ryan’s behavior was inexcusable. How dare he talk to her in such a disrespectful way! If her father knew about this, he’d be livid.

But her father wasn’t around, was he? He was on a luxury yacht cruising around France and Italy with a woman she hadn’t even met. No doubt another gold-digging bitch with her hands deep in Daddy’s pocket.

Damn Ryan Richards. He did not appreciate anything she did for him. She’d gone to great lengths to throw him a fabulous party, and this is the way he repaid her.

She hoped he got himself arrested for a DUI just like his dumb brother-in-law. It would serve him right.

And with that thought in mind she marched upstairs, stepped out of her designer gown, gulped down two sleeping pills and went to bed.

Ryan was sober enough to realize that he probably wasn’t thinking straight, and he certainly shouldn’t be driving. Christ! The lectures he’d given Evie about her alcoholic husband getting behind the wheel. And now here he was, doing exactly the same thing.

He was filled with mixed emotions. Anger–because of Mandy dissing his family. Guilt–because he’d just met his best friend’s latest crush and he had experienced an overwhelming attraction. And sadness–because there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Reasons?

One–he was married.

Two–she was with his best friend.

Or was she? Because according to Don nothing was going on between them. She wouldn’t go out with him, let alone sleep with him.

And yet…there she was earlier, very
much
with Don, and maybe even now as he drove aimlessly around, they were sealing the deal.

Swerving the car over to the side of the street, he flipped open his cell and made a call. If Don didn’t answer his phone then it was a sure thing that he and Cameron were an item.

And if he did…

“Hey.” Don’s voice.

He’d answered, which meant that she wasn’t there.

Ryan experienced a strong sense of relief.

“What’s up?” Don asked, suppressing a yawn. “Why are you calling? How come you’re not curled up in bed next to your darling wife?”

“My wife’s a mean cunt,” Ryan muttered.

“And so the truth finally dawns.”

“I’m coming over an’ sleeping on your couch.”

“Hey–you’re sure as hell not sharing my bed,” Don quipped.

“I’m on my way over now.”

“Can’t wait!” Don drawled sarcastically.

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

“Unfortunately she chose to go to her own home,” Don said dryly. “Who’d’ve thunk?”

“She’s too good for you,” Ryan said, slurring his words.

“And you would know that after five minutes in her company?”

“Too fuckin’ good.”

“Jesus! You’re out of it, pal. I suggest you get your ass over here, and make sure you drive slowly. I’ll put on the coffee.”

He made it over to Don’s, staggered inside, shrugged off his jacket and immediately collapsed on the couch. By the time Don came at him with a cup of strong black coffee, he was snoring.

Don shook his head, threw a blanket over him and left him alone.

In the morning Ryan awoke with the light streaming through the huge glass doors leading out to the pool, and Don’s dog, Butch, sniffing around his crotch.

“Shit!” he muttered, abruptly sitting up. The events of the previous evening began spinning around in his head. And his head hurt, oh how it hurt. A jackhammer seemed to be pounding away near his right temple, and his mouth felt like a rat might’ve crawled in and died there.

Rolling off the couch he made his way into the guest bathroom.
After peeing, he stared at his reflection in the mirror and realized how crappy he looked. Not only crappy, but there was an unsatisfied look about him. Truth was, he looked fucking miserable. And then it dawned on him–he
was
miserable. Life with Mandy was finally unbearable. He’d said it in anger last night, but the sad reality was that he was seriously thinking of asking her for a divorce. He couldn’t go on living a lie with a woman he did not love anymore. Besides, in the long run it would be better for both of them.

Don was still asleep, his bedroom door firmly shut. Ryan wandered into the kitchen and put on the coffee, then he let Butch out, and contemplated going home and facing the wrath of Mandy. She had an uncanny habit of turning everything around and making
him
feel like he was the one who’d screwed up.

But not this time, oh no, not this time. She’d gone too far leaving out his family on his birthday. It was a big mistake.

He’d spoken to his mom yesterday morning and she’d wanted him to come by their house and celebrate. Not that turning forty was any kind of celebration. Forty was middle-aged, the very thought sent him spinning into a deep depression. He’d told his mother he couldn’t make it because Mandy had planned a quiet dinner for two.

And so the quiet dinner for two had turned into him and her and twenty-six of her fucking friends.

He was
still
angry. What a
cunt
!

After downing a mug of coffee, he decided there was no point in waiting around for Don to surface. Don would only lecture him once more about what a fool he was to stick with Mandy, and he didn’t need confirmation. He finally got it.

Picking up his jacket, he left the house, and who should be walking toward the front door–Cameron Paradise.

They were both startled.

“Oh!” she said, standing quite still. “It’s you. Birthday Boy.”

“Do me a favor and stop calling me that,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her beautiful face. She looked even better in the
light of day with her lightly tanned skin, clear green eyes and natural blonde hair.

“I guess your big day is over,” she murmured, thinking that he looked like he’d slept in his suit. It didn’t matter–he still gave her chills. And those eyes, so blue and intense. She felt short of breath and yet desperately excited for absolutely no reason at all.

“Uh…Don’s not up,” he said, clearing his throat. “Still sleeping.”

“I’m early,” she responded, glancing quickly at her watch. “Couldn’t get to sleep last night.”

Why not?
he wanted to ask.
Why couldn’t you sleep? Were you thinking of me?

How ridiculous would
that
sound? Of course she wasn’t thinking of him, she barely knew him. In fact he was surprised that she even remembered him.

“You could ring the doorbell,” he suggested, sounding like Idiot of the Year. “Or…” he took a long beat and then surprised himself with the next words that came out of his mouth. “You could come and have breakfast with me.”

Silence hung between them. A heavy silence fraught with unsaid words.

He finally broke it. “I think I’m in desperate need of nourishment,” he said.

“Breakfast sounds like a plan,” she replied, experiencing tiny shivers of delight. So what if she missed out on Don’s appointment; she could always call him with an excuse.

“I know a little place on Sunset where they serve great bacon and eggs,” he ventured. “You interested?”

Yes, I’m interested. I’m very interested
.

And then came that annoying voice in her head. Some called it the voice of reason. She called it bullshit.

He’s married
.

I don’t think happily
.

That’s not your concern
.

There’s no harm in breakfast
.

Who are you kidding?

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “Breakfast it is.”

“My car or yours?” he said, his hangover improving by the minute.

“Uh, you take your car, and I’ll follow,” she said, already deciding that if she was to blow off her standing appointment with Don, it wouldn’t be smart to leave her car sitting in his driveway.

“I’ll drive slowly,” he promised, ridiculously elated.

“You don’t have to, I can keep up.”

Their eyes met, and electricity was in the air.

Cameron jumped into her Mustang and waited until the Lexus moved, then she trailed his car, and while they were on the way to wherever he was leading her, she left a message for Don, informing him that something had come up and she couldn’t make it, but that she’d see him tomorrow.

This is an adventure
, she thought.

Yes. An adventure you should not be embarking upon
.

Why not?

You know why not
.

Dammit! Nothing was stopping her now. There was an irresistible force at work, and she was powerless to resist.