The Other Woman (10 page)

“Yes, but…” she shrugs.

I look at Bradley,
stare
at him, my muddled mind racing, all my fingers threaded through my hair.

It feels like I’m on a carousel ride that is spinning out of control.

“This is not happening,” I mutter and turn around slowly. “This can’t be happening!”

As I turn, I notice Bradley holding Scarlett’s hand with both of his
.
Feeling like I have been Tasered, I stare at their linked hands.

At this point, I should be furious with the woman who called herself my best friend, then helped herself to my husband when my back was turned and is now holding my husband’s hands.

I should yell at her, hurl abuse at her, even threaten to kill her. But I’m numb. I sink deep into my chair, draw my knees to my chest, and start to rock. “Where…do…I go with the children?”

“Well, that’s been taken care of. They will stay with Scarlett and me. But you can see them…”

I jump to my feet.

“…whenever…”

“I will not let you take my children, Bradley.”

“It’s…done already, Rival,” Bradley says in a calm voice, the kind he uses on Holly and Phoebe when they’re being unreasonable.

“
Done
? What do you mean by
done
?”

“Rival,” Scarlett says, “The courts…”

“Don’t speak,” I say in a cold voice, my index finger raised in the air, my eyes on Bradley’s face.

“…have appointed…”

“Don’t SPEAK!” I warn.

Bradley quickly shuffles forward in a protective gesture toward Scarlett. “The court appointed me sole custodian after you were charged with child negligence. The drugs, remember? All your visits have to be supervised.”

I stare at him as I try to wrap my muddled mind around what he is saying. “Supervised visits? Me?”

“Well, Rival,” Scarlett says, “you’ve a drug habit…”

“Shut UP, Scarlett!” I say.

“…and the last thing we want to do is to endanger…”

Everything happens so quickly. One minute I am asking Scarlett to shut up, the next I have her on the floor, beating her head with the heavy-duty stapler from David Appleby’s table. There’s blood everywhere and all over me. I hate blood, it makes me queasy.

Both Bradley and David Appleby are unable to pull me off Scarlett in time, and I beat her head like a drum. Six men in white burst into the room and pull me off the woman who stole my husband, my children, my life.

“Let me go!” I yell. “I need to speak to my husband!”

They won’t let me.

“Dear Lord, please don’ let Sister Rival feel any pain over what is happening to her today,” I hear Jesus praying.

I kick, I scream and scratch Scarlett’s rescuers. When they restrain my hands, I bite them – sink my teeth into their forearms, chest, and legs – wherever I can sink my teeth into.

Where I get my strength from, I have no idea, but I am so strong, it takes nine men in the end, including two security guards, to physically restrain my body and head.

“BRADLEY!” I scream. “Talk to me. Don’t do this to me!”

I get no response from my husband.

"Bradley!” Frustrated, I start to spit on the men.

That’s when they place a lace hood over my face, a strait jacket over my body, and then throw me into a padded cell where no one can hear me scream. That doesn’t stop me from screaming and hurling abuse. But when I start to bang my head against the door, they re-enter the room, surround me, and inject me. The last thing I see before I close my eyes is the image of my husband holding his lover’s hand. With both of his.

****

SCARLETT

All done. Right now, I’m dusting my hands and my smile is smug.

Allow me to summarize my successes and gloat for a moment, will you? After all, I deserve to, considering all that I have achieved in such a short space of time.

1) Successfully friended target’s wife and embedded myself into her family.

2) Target’s wife, placed for safe-keeping in the mental institution. Indefinitely.

3) Target’s fabulous house in one of Sydney’s most coveted suburbs “bought” for a
steal
and now firmly in my grasp. (Overnight, I have become a multi-millionaire!)

4) Convinced target’s children to call me “mum.” I just love it when they do that in public or in front of friends. Imagine, I have two gorgeous kids without the hard yakka; no silvery, wormy, stretch marks on my body, no awful, sagging breasts, no flabby tummy that enters a room before I do, and no dark rings under my eyes.

5) Target graduating into Fiancé (make that handsome, successful,
sexy
fiancé) and asking me to marry him.

6) Former friends of Rival (make that former
loyal
friends) bought easily with elaborate dinners and invitations to Norman’s holiday house at the Gold Coast (Bradley believes it belongs to my parents).

7) My two sisters leaf-green with envy at my enviable lifestyle.

8) All my friends leaf-green with envy at my enviable lifestyle.

9) All the above achieved in record time, and…I did it all by myself, with no help from anyone. All my plotting, planning, and executing done solely by
moi
.

Jealous? You should be. I mean, let’s face it, even
I
would be jealous of an achiever like me.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I have so much. (Rarely, though.)

Mainly, I am in a state of euphoria, and I skip around with a big smile. Huge, Colgate-commercial smile. If only I could bottle my euphoria and give it to everyone as a Christmas gift.

See, I told you it could be done. All you have to do is believe in Scarlett Murdoch. Yes, I’ve decided to use Bradley’s name right away, as it is as good as mine.

I’ve earned it. That psycho bitch took a stapler to my head, remember? She whacked me over the head with a
heavy
-duty, rusty piece of shit. Four stitches – that’s how many I had to have.

My platinum lining in that ugly assault episode? Her sentence was doubled, and they doped the shit out of her. And didn’t that just make my life easier.

My fiancé was so sorry for the assault. He bought me flowers and chocolates and the cutest little pink bunny rabbit with blue eyes and a bushy tail and fussed over me.

The kids too, they showered me with hugs, and together, my darling family presented me with a diamond tennis bracelet. (It’s 2014, and no one does tennis bracelets anymore, but it is the thought that counts. Also, I would have preferred a ring, I must admit. A solitaire, flawless, and nothing less than five carats, but…)

Life was just peachy after that, and I didn’t even mind the bit where they shaved part of my head to stitch me up.

Pity about the cops dropping the child endangerment charges against Rival though. But it’s still on her record, and it paved the way for Bradley when he petitioned the courts for full custody, which the courts granted in the blink of an eye.

Marvelous?

Amazing?

Magnificent?

Unbelievable?

Awe-inspiring?

Well, I would say I’m all of the above, so…round of applause please. Feel free to make it thunderous.

I am so delighted with my progress, so satisfied with my methods and techniques, that I have decided
not
to share anymore of my thoughts, my experiences, or my hints on seduction with you. If you want to know more, you will just have to purchase my book.

I mean, I have been more than generous with you, but since I’m on my way to becoming First Lady of Australia, I now have to be very selective with my sharing. I’m sure you understand.

****

(Six Months Later)

RIVAL

I’m in the atrium at Dunhill, where I spend most of my time looking at the pretty flowers. Alone. I speak to no one other than nursing staff, and only when it’s necessary.

“Look, Rival,” Nurse Eden says in a sing-song voice as she enters the garden, “you have visitors.”

I look up at the two ladies in front of me sporting nervous smiles.

“These ladies work with women in need of help like yourself. They are here to support you now
and
when you leave here. This is Arena Shaw, and this lady here is Fatima Khan.”

Ignoring the ladies, I look at Nurse Eden. “Leave here? Why?” I demand in a surly voice. “Where do I go if I leave here? I don’t wanna leave here.”

I’ve become uncooperative, hostile, and have withered away in Dunhill, mainly because I no longer want to leave Dunhill. After I assaulted Scarlett, my discharge from Dunhill was immediately cancelled, my dosage of Lithium and Cerocal was upped, I was moved away from all my friends, and placed in the Extreme Care Unit.

It could have something to do with the fact that I kept trying to smash my head against the wall. That’s what they said, but I don’t remember doing that. They tell me I used the worst obscenities the ward has ever heard. I faintly recall doing that. They tell me I hid my medication and then tried to overdose on it. That too, I cannot remember and don’t care to. It’s better to exist in a blur. What good is clarity when you’re locked up in a mental institution?

All the familiar faces have been discharged from Dunhill, and I refuse to interact with anyone around me. Bradley no longer visits, and I haven’t seen my daughters in nine months. Not even a phone call from any one of them.

Have I gone mad? Maybe. I may have lost my mind the day I lost everything worth living for.

Bring on the blur and just leave me the hell alone.

“Now, Rival, you have money,” Eden reminds me. “Three hundred thousand according to Bradley. You can forge a life with that. You cannot give up on life because a man disappointed you, Rival.”

Yes I can.

“Arena and Fatima will be your support in addition to your therapist’s appointments. You just have to have the will to survive.”

Piss off, Eden.

Arena steps forward, while Fatima stands back and observes me, a nervous gleam in her eyes. “You may not remember me, Rival,” Arena says, “but I know you. My husband, Bear, eh,
Shane
Shaw, does a lot of business with your husband Bradley.”

So what?

“We met at a work-related party two years ago.”

And? That gives you the right to interfere in my life and make me want to live?

“Never mind all that – I wanna help, Rival.”

With my arms folded across my chest, I glare at her. She expects me to trust her? I trusted Scarlett; where did that get me? No thanks. I prefer to be locked up in a mental institution with no release date anytime soon.

“It’s dark where you are, I know that. But you will get through this, Rival. You just have to accept the hand that’s extended to you,” Arena intones.

“Yeah? What do you know about pain and…and about suffering, huh?” My voice is sneering and angry. “I lost…my…children! Get it? I lost my—”

“You can get them back, Rival,” she says in a determined voice. “I did. I got my son back when I lost him to his tyrant of a father. I understand your situation more than you think.”

I cock my head at her, curiosity getting the better of me. I take in her blue jeans, her navy striped top, her woolen navy jacket, her French manicure, and her Guess bag slung across her shoulder.

She seems so well put together, it’s hard for me to imagine her losing a child. I look at the ground, wishing they would leave.

“I…I lost another child,” she says, clearing her throat several times. “My baby. In a…a … under…terrible circumstances.” Her voice drops to a hoarse whisper. “I know pain, Rival. I do.”

“You lost a baby?” I sit up and stare at her. “Like, your baby
died
?”

Nurse Eden’s hand flies to her mouth.

Arena nods, a grim look on her face. “Like my baby…died. I made a mistake and left my baby in the car. An error of judgment, and I’ve never gotten over it. Probably never will. So, if anyone understands…” She taps her chest with her fingers, her eyes full of tears. “I don’t plan to give up on you. I plan to
help
you.”

She has my attention now. Someone out there, someone other than medical personnel, is willing to help me? Sounds fishy, though. She’s probably a scammer wanting to win my trust and then swindle me for the little money I have.

“What do you get out of it?” I demand.

She shrugs. “I guess I appease my guilt at having so much these days. I’ve lost everything, and then I got it all back tenfold. Now I feel guilty that I have so much.” She smiles. “Silly, but it’s a good silliness. Keeps me grounded and brings me to women like you.”

I like her answers, I have to admit. Grudgingly at that.

For a while nobody speaks, they just watch me. Finally, I break the silence. “I don’t do drugs.”

“Okay,” Arena says. “Today is a new day. Forget all that happened yesterday, the past…we are never going to look back. Okay?”

What I want is to hear her say the words, “I believe you.” She doesn’t. But her warm smile, her motherliness, and her sincerity shines through, and I find myself nodding.

She looks behind her at Fatima and exchanges a victorious smile.

****

RIVAL

Arena Shaw visits twice a week, bringing chocolates, flowers, magazines, and soft toys. She even brings liquor chocolates, which I share with staff and patients.

We take leisurely walks in the hospital grounds and have long chats. I tell her about Bradley, Scarlett, how much I miss my children, about the Beagles on the tissue box and the assault.

“So you stapled the crap out of her,” Arena says.

“I did,” I say, and we both smile.

It’s easier to talk to her than to Dr. Camda and David Appleby, as she is not observing, or making notes, or looking for signs that I may want to use a stapler anytime soon.

“Just wish I had more time with her to really…” The fingers of both my hands form claws.

Arena laughs out loud.

Then, for the first time in six months, I laugh.

I find myself looking forward to her visits and request my medication be reduced on evenings prior to Arena’s scheduled visits.

“Tell me about your family,” she says, handing me a pack of nail polish and a manicure set. We paint our fingernails together, Dusky Pink, with a metallic topcoat that adds a lustrous shine.

“My mother died when I was five. Never knew my dad. I was raised by my mother’s sister.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she says. “What was she like? Your mother’s sister?”

“Cold, aloof. But I think she had mental problems. Undiagnosed though. Now I recognize some of the symptoms, because I have them. She used to say, “Rival, you’re a good girl. Not like the other children. Yep, that was me, Rival the good girl.”

She nods, ignoring the sarcasm in my voice. “So you have no family in Sydney?”

I shake my head. “Just friends who I wouldn’t call right now. Not people I feel comfortable calling and saying, ‘Hey, can you come visit me? I’m in a mental institution. Been busted for drugs'.”

Arena giggles.

“Yeah, that’s right, drugs and alcohol, and I got more time because I stapled the shit out of my husband’s lover when I saw him hold her hand with both of his.
Both
.”

Arena laughs out loud. “Hey, how would you like to come spend a night at my place?”

I look at Arena, my palms suddenly getting sweaty and my mouth feeling dry.

“We can take a Day Pass then? To start off with. I’ll bring you back by 7 p.m.”

“That sounds…good,” I say, chewing on my freshly-manicured thumbnail and ruining a base coat, three coats of Dusky Pink nail varnish, and the dry-in-sixty-seconds top coat. Almost an hour’s work. “Maybe next month?”

“How ’bout next
week
?” she counters, locking eyes with me.

My nod is reluctant, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She arranges everything while I stress about leaving Dunhill even for a day.

The outside world seems so scary. I barely watch TV; I never read the papers, so I feel cut-off from it. My forehead suddenly feels clammy.

****

RIVAL

My day pass finally arrives, and I have butterflies in my stomach.