Poor Little Bitch Girl (8 page)

Evelyn’s father was a Judge, her mother the heiress to a textile fortune. The Bamberrys represented old money and excellent breeding.

Gregory would never give that up, especially as he came from more modest stock. His father was a car salesman, and his mother was a former nurse. Quite frankly he regarded his family as an embarrassment, and the less he saw of them the better.

Meeting and marrying Evelyn had boosted his political career no end, allowing him to move into social circles that before Evelyn had been beyond his reach.

Apart from that, he had his children to consider – eleven-year-old Clarence and seven-year-old Miranda. The two shining stars in his otherwise complicated life.

Well . . . only complicated because of his needy assistant pulling the oldest stunt in the business. “I’m pregnant,” she’d said – the words no man wants to hear from a woman he’s banging on the side.

What to do now?

Offer her money for an abortion?

No, he understood Carolyn well enough to know that she would never agree to an abortion.

Set her up in an apartment, wait until she gave birth, and have the baby adopted?

No way would she accept adoption.

What then?

Carolyn Henderson wanted him to leave Evelyn and marry
her
. He had no doubt that was exactly what she expected him to do.

She’d maneuvered him into a corner and now there was no escape.

Or was there . . .

* * *

“Hi,” Kerri Tyson called out as Carolyn passed by on the way to her apartment.

Carolyn stopped short. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed her neighbor emerging from the apartment opposite hers.

Kerri was half-African-American and half-Asian. Plump and pretty with short curly hair and an appealing personality, she was a legal secretary who went through boyfriends, most of whom she found on-line, at an alarming rate.

“You look as if you just won the lottery,” Kerri remarked. “Either that or you’re getting royally laid.”

As Carolyn considered her answer, she wished she could tell Kerri everything. They were friends – not close – but they’d been out to dinner a few times, hit a couple of bars, exchanged ex-boyfriend horror stories.

“Wouldn’t
that
be nice,” Carolyn sighed. “But unfortunately, it’s not true.”

Kerri raised an eyebrow. “No new stud on the horizon?” she inquired. “’Cause you got the glow goin’.”

“It must be my new make-up,” Carolyn answered modestly. “NARS Blush. It’s called Orgasm. It’s obviously working.”

“You bet your ass it is,” Kerri giggled. “Got to grab me some of that. If you’re free tomorrow, maybe we can hit the mall. Whaddya think?”

“I’ll have to let you know,” Carolyn replied, stalling. Now that she’d told Gregory she was carrying his baby, she expected things to change. Even if he didn’t tell his wife immediately, he would probably want to spend more time with her.

“Call me,” Kerri said, heading for the stairs to the street. “I’ll be home later.”

“I will,” Carolyn said, unlocking the door to her apartment.

God! She was so excited, she had to tell
someone
. But whom could she trust? Not her mother, who wouldn’t approve. Certainly not her father, who’d be shocked and disappointed in his little girl.

Then how about Denver, her best friend since school?

Unlike most people, Denver could keep a secret, and she’d be totally thrilled, although she’d also be major surprised since Carolyn had never mentioned that she was involved in a hot and heavy affair with the Senator.

Oh my God
! Carolyn thought excitedly.
I cannot keep it to myself any longer! I’m going to tell Denver. I’ll call her tonight.

* * *

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Miranda squealed, hurling herself against her father’s legs.

“How’s my girl?” Gregory said, bending down to sweep his cute little daughter up into his arms.

“I had a fun day at school,” Miranda announced, stroking his cheek with stubby, slightly sticky fingers. “Did
you
have a fun day, Daddy?
Didju? Didju? Didju?
”

No, I didn’t!
he wanted to scream.
I had an impossible day. The worst!
Although he couldn’t discount the world-class blow-job Carolyn had managed to bestow on him. Satisfying at the time, but now he regretted allowing her to touch him, because as far as he was concerned it was over, even though she did not know it.

Just then, Evelyn floated out of the living room into the front hallway of their well-appointed house. His wife always appeared immaculate, not a white-blonde hair out of place, not a wrinkle in the chic Valentino black cocktail dress on her slim, toned body. At forty, Evelyn was a handsome woman. The problem was that she wasn’t twenty-something, and that’s what Gregory required for sex – a twenty-something girl who worshipped him. A girl who’d put his cock in her mouth and suck him dry. The same girl he’d married twenty years ago, a woman who wouldn’t dream of indulging in oral sex now.

“How was your day?” Evelyn murmured, and without waiting for an answer she announced that they had a fundraiser to attend and he’d better shower and dress.

The interaction between him and Evelyn was never personal. They were hardly ever intimate, as he imagined most married couples might be. The sex when it happened was becoming less and less frequent, perhaps once every two months. And it was always the same. Evelyn flat on her back with a pained expression on her face, while he did all the work.

Evelyn never reached orgasm.

Evelyn thought oral sex was perverted.

Evelyn considered penises ugly and disgusting, and never cared to touch him down there.

The truth was that Evelyn hated sex, so who could blame him for getting his kicks elsewhere?

Nobody, that’s who.

* * *

Carolyn practically danced around her apartment she was so elated. Fantasy names spun around her in head.
Senator Stoneman and his lovely wife, Carolyn. Mrs Gregory Stoneman. Carolyn Stoneman.
They all sounded so perfect. She was ecstatic.

Today is a magical day
, she thought.
Today is the beginning of my new life. I love Gregory so much, and we will be so happy together.

Picking up her cell phone, she called Denver in L.A.

No answer. Voicemail requested that she leave a message.

Hmm . . . this was not any kind of news to announce on voicemail.

“It’s me, Carolyn,” she said at last. “And I have something major to share with you. If you want to hear what it is, call me back. I can’t wait to talk to you, so hurry!”

She clicked off the phone, a big smile on her face. Gregory couldn’t get mad at her for telling one person.

Besides, he’d never find out.

F
rankie had an urge to visit a strip club. Bobby didn’t. M.J. was prepared to go either way. He was a crowd pleaser.

“Why’d you want to go see a bunch of fours in Atlantic City when you’ve got a ten at home?” Bobby said, thinking of Annabelle and how much she was into Frankie.

Frankie was
not
thinking of Annabelle. He had banned all thoughts of Annabelle and her dead mother. Fuck it, he was out to have a blast.

“Jeez, Bobby, sometimes you sound like you’re fifty years old!” he complained.

“Yeah,” Bobby retaliated. “Maybe it’s ’cause I’m smart.”

“Says who?” Frankie said, pulling a face.

“Says me,” Bobby replied, throwing a playful fake punch at Frankie’s stomach.

“Can you two pull it together an’ decide what’s happenin’?” M.J. insisted. “I’m freakin’ starvin’ here. Let’s go Asian.”

“Good thinkin’, ’cause I’m really into Asian pussy,” Frankie leered. “Didja know that Asian girls are screamers. I likee!”

“You likee if it has a pulse,” Bobby deadpanned.

“And you don’t?” Frankie countered.

“Got a hunch I’m more discerning than you,” Bobby said, grinning.

“Yeah, so discerning you only go for the ones you can’t have. What’s
that
about?”

Bobby decided to ignore Frankie’s veiled comment.

“You’re such a privileged prick,” Frankie muttered, only half-joking.

“Go fuck yourself,” Bobby responded good-naturedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Frankie sighed, taking no offence. “If only I could it’d make life so much easier.”

“C’mon, guys, we’re in a casino,” M.J. said. “You got a choice – gambling or food, so somebody make up their freakin’ mind.”

“Steak,” Bobby decided. “I need my strength if I’m spending the rest of the night with this asshole.”

Frankie rolled his eyes. “It takes one to know one.”

“You think?” Bobby said, checking out a sleek blonde walking past with a much older man.

“I
know
,” Frankie responded, his eyes swiveling to take in the blonde’s ass.

They finally ended up in Morton’s Steak House where the waitress was no slouch when it came to spotting three sexy, obviously single young guys. She zeroed in on Frankie, who threw off that bad boy vibe she’d always found irresistible.

Frankie flirted back. Waitresses weren’t his usual style, but this one had an amazing rack, and he wasn’t about to waste a night away from Annabelle. Besides, Annabelle was enjoying a little something on the side, so why shouldn’t he?

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked, after ordering a steak, fries, and his favorite onion rings.

Running her tongue along her lower lip in a most provocative way, she leaned into the table. “Patricia,” she said. “But my friends call me Tree.”

“An unusual name for an unusual girl,” Frankie said, turning on the bullshit charm that always worked so well for him. “You’re too fine to be slaving away at a job like this. How come?”

“I’m actually an actress,” she explained, her expression serious. “Doing this to make the rent until I can afford a move to New York.”

Bobby and M.J. exchanged looks. They knew exactly what Frankie would say next.

He didn’t disappoint. “Maybe I can help,” he offered in his best sincere voice.

Bobby raised a cynical eyebrow. M.J. stifled a laugh.

“Really?” Tree said, wondering if this guy was as full of crap as most of them were.

“Yeah, really,” Frankie continued. “I know people. I got connections.”

M.J. rolled his eyes.

“What time you get off tonight?” Frankie persisted.

Tree paused for a moment. This guy
was
cute enough with his long hair and bedroom eyes, and maybe – just maybe – he could help her.

“Eleven,” she said, licking her lips again.

“Then eleven it is.”

“Y’know,” Bobby said, after the waitress had moved onto another table, “you should get yourself some new lines.”

“Yeah,” M.J. snickered. “It’s way beyond time, man. ‘I got connections’ simply don’t cut it.”

“It’s not a line,” Frankie protested, feeling boastful. “I can make that girl a lot of money.”

“Doing what?” Bobby inquired.

“Something that comes naturally,” Frankie replied. “I’ll give her a test run an’ let you know.”

“Let us know
what
?” M.J. persisted, exchanging another knowing glance with Bobby.

Frankie paused for a moment. Should he tell them about his and Annabelle’s money-making venture or should he not? He’d been dying to show off about pulling in the big bucks, but he knew that somewhere within Bobby there lurked a strong moral streak, and he had a feeling that his friend might not approve of his new business.

On the other hand – fuck it. Bobby ran a club where booze, drugs and getting laid took center stage, so who was he to object?

Frankie decided to go for it and reveal the truth. “I’ve been meaning to tell you guys something,” he began.