The Other Woman (12 page)

****

RITCHIE

Unfortunately, Bradley arrives for our game of squash with Scarlett. No chance speaking to him about it now. We both pull out a fiver each – something we do before every match, and hand it to Scarlett.

“Watch me tear him a new one,” Bradley says to Scarlett.

“We’ll see ’bout that,” I say as I slam the first shot.

Because Scarlett watches us play, I let Brad win. Well, that’s what I tell my friend as he takes my fiver.

She joins us for dinner, which means I can’t speak to Bradley about his wife.

Anyway, I should understand that Scarlett witnessed my own back-dated power of attorney months ago. Without her signature, I would have been in a bind. She did me a tremendous favor, and I owe her too.

Bradley and I order our usual steaks, salad, and beer.

“I’ll have the giant T-Bone with fries, pepper sauce and a Schooner,” Scarlett says to the waitress.

I gawk at her, while Bradley laughs.

“Check her out, Big – eats like a man but still has a bod on her. Can you believe it?”

“Scarlett, I’m heaps impressed, I gotta tell you,” I say. Of course, I refrain from talking about her bod. That would be inappropriate.

She giggles and leans into Bradley, then raises her face for a kiss.

Awkward.

“You sexy bitch, you,” Bradley says and obliges.

While they kiss, I take another look at Scarlett, my friend’s mistress, the woman who stole Rival’s house and who’s now stepped into her shoes with ease. Allegedly.

She’s sexy all right – dressed in a pair of denim shorts that show some of her butt cheeks, a snug white top with tiny straps, perky tits that defy gravity, long, shapely tanned legs, and long blonde hair. Her teeth are really white, and she smiles all the time.

Suddenly, she turns and catches me eyeing her. She bites her little finger and smiles at me from under her lashes.

I quickly look away, my face turning red. “Where the hell’s our food?” I mutter.

When our food arrives, Bradley and I tuck in and devour our steaks, but Scarlett barely touches hers. Just pushes her food around her plate.

It’s confusing to me – why would a woman order such a large steak and then not eat it?

As the evening progresses, I become so uncomfortable with their public display of affection that I start to feel like an intruder.

In the past, I doubt all this would have affected me, but after hearing Arena’s words about the shabby way Bradley treated his wife, even though I fully support Bradley, I’m perturbed enough to want to leave.

“Well, I’ll be off,” I finally say as I throw some bills on the table. “You guys enjoy—”

“So soon?” Bradley asks.

“Kids…”

He nods his understanding. “Well, thanks for the game, the dinner, and the fiver.”

“You’re
not
welcome,” I retort.

“Sore fucking loser!” Bradley chuckles. “See Scarlett,” he says, turning her face toward me, “that’s the face of a sore loser.”

She giggles.

“Night, Scarlett,” I say. “Nice seeing you again.”

“Good night, Ritchie!” she says in a sing-song voice. “Thank you for…dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” I say and hurry away.

Whew! That was uncomfortable.

****

RITCHIE

As I drive, my phone rings. Liefie's number blinks on the screen. My other ex-wife. (Yes, I am the lucky owner of
two
ex-wives, one called Olga and one called Liefie. Long, complicated story cut really short here, remember?)

“Hello.” My voice is short, clipped.

“Hi, Ritchie.”

“Hi.”

“Eh, how are you?”

“Good.”

A short silence follows.

“That’s…
goo—”

“Wassup?” I ask, wanting her to get to the point.

I’m civil to my ex-wife, but that’s where it ends. I no longer want to be friends with her. Not after all the hurt I have suffered because of her.

“Ally’s concert this Friday,” Liefie says.

“Yeah…?”

“Can I get a lift with you?”

“Eh…yeah, but…why?”

“Well, Vlad is working late, and my Territory will be at the repair shop.”

“Okay. But what’s wrong with your Territory?”

“It’s being recalled by Ford.”

“Oh?”

“Some seatbelt issue. Minor. I’m leaving it there Thursday and will pick it up on Friday morning. That way I get to use it during the day to pick up kids and stuff.”

“Okay, don’t use the Ford if there is a seatbelt issue. I’ll lend you my Jeep until the Ford is sorted out. I don’t want you using it if it’s unsafe.”

“But…what will you use?”

“The company ute. I’ll drop off the Jeep this arvo.”

“Thanks, Ritchie. I appreciate—”

“Okay.”

Another short silence follows. “Okay…bye, Ritchie.”

I hang up without saying bye.

Then I do what I do every time I am abrupt and cold toward my ex-wife; I stare at my phone and enter a debate with myself – call back and apologize or let it ride? After a few moments of mulling over it, I do nothing.

If only I got more joy out of being angry and snappy with her. To clear my head of all thoughts of Liefie, I shake my head really hard – a German Shepard type of shake.

It doesn’t help – my remorse is edged with bleakness. By now I should be familiar with desolation, even accept it. Yet I struggle with the gloomy, rainy-day-grey-clouds feeling that always descends when I’m alone. When will it end?

****

RIVAL

The days are getting easier, I tell myself. I’m spending less time in bed and more time outside my room. That’s progress. For sure.

I bake cupcakes, cakes, bread rolls, pastries, pies, and sausage rolls for Arena’s kids. Her kids are well mannered, polite, but a little noisy. I really like them, and they seem to enjoy having me around and can’t seem to get enough of my baking.

When I see them interacting as a family, see the love they all share, I think of Bradley and my girls and a dull ache lodges in my chest.

The gaps in my memory frustrate me. Especially of the early days in Dunhill. Arena says my memory loss is nature’s way of protecting me from unpleasant memories. She could be right, but I’m still frustrated.

Even though I am dying to see my kids, we’re working to fix myself first before I demand to see them. When I look in the mirror, I see dry, Cocker-Spaniel hair, skin the color of freshly poured cement, and three chins. Yes, with all the baking and the reduction in my medication which has led to an increased appetite, the weight has just piled on. I’ve put on ten kilos.

According to Dr. Camda, Bradley wants me to be in better shape physically and mentally before I saw my kids. Apparently they had been severely traumatized when I abandoned them at the mall almost a year ago and aren’t eager to see me.

As much as I long to see them, to touch them, to hug them, to hear their voices, I don’t want to further traumatize them. So Arena’s helping me heal.

I’m meditating twice a day for calm and clarity, taking regular, brisk walks to keep endorphins flowing, and I’ve had my nails done in Copper Silk in an attempt to stop biting them.

Soon, Arena will be taking me for a spray tan. She also plans to have my hair trimmed and styled after we have a couple of Argan oil treatments to nourish and add shine.

I force myself to eat my greens and drink the healthy drinks she juices for me every day.

My long conversations with Arena are both cathartic and distressing to me, but Dr. Camda says it’s best to get everything out from inside of me.

“What is your main goal?” Arena asks as we lounge beside the pool.

“To get back my children.”

“Uh-huh. Your second goal?”

“My second goal?” I spend a few moments thinking about it before I answer. "You wanna know what my second goal is?”

She nods.

I hesitate before I answer. “Revenge – I want to harm her,” I say in a soft voice. “Maim her.”

She turns her whole body to look at me. I can’t see her eyes because of her sunshades, but her rigid body tells me she is alarmed by my words.

“Oh. I see. Okay.” Arena’s voice is shrill, and clearly, it isn’t the answer she expected. Guess I was supposed to say my second goal is to get a place of my own, win back my husband, get a job, get my own place...

“You mean like…
murder
her?” I don’t miss the thread of fear in Arena’s voice. After all, I’m from Dunhill – I’m expected to be crazy.

I shake my head from side-to-side. “Not murder her, no.”

“Oh?”

“I want to…I want to do to her what she did to me. I want to
destroy
her, get her out of the picture, and get back my husband, my home, my kids, my life. All that she took is mine and I want it back, Arena. All of it.”

At this moment, I expect Arena to ask me the same question Dr. Camda asked me; “Why forgive Bradley and not Scarlett?”

He was a cad to cheat on me with my friend, steal my home, my money, and my children, and that he will in all probability should we get back together, break my heart and disappoint me all over again.

I expect Arena to say things well-meaning women dish when your man has ditched you:

“Forget him, he’s not worth it.”

“Move on. Best thing to do.”

“Someday, a wonderful guy is going to love you for who you are.”

“You are so young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it thinking about Bradley and Scarlett.”

“Confucious says, when you seek revenge, dig two graves.”

She utters none of those words. “That’s understandable,” she says, a thoughtful look on her face.

I wait for more from her,
brace
myself for her lecture. To my surprise, it does not come.

My turn to shift my body to look at her.

She looks at me and shrugs. “I wanted revenge too, and I got it.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “I understand, Rival.” She removes her sunglasses and nibbles absentmindedly on the tip. “Just remember, to fight a battle or a war, you have to be an extremely fit soldier. So get well and get strong before you enter into a battle.”

Makes sense.

“And prioritize. What you want
first
, what you want second. And what you want last. Do this before you engage in battle, or…you will lose not only the battle, but also the war. Your aim is to
win
.”

I nod. In spite of all the progress I’ve have made since my release, I always think about revenge. Every night I lie in my bed and fantasize about it.

Scarlett
pretended
to be my friend, got me to drop my guard, then
robbed
me. I had not wronged her. I wasn’t the type to. I was a quiet, shy person who was somewhat restrained by my mental issues. That is why I didn’t have many friends. But I was a good person, a loyal friend who didn’t deserve what I got. Aunt Esme always said, “Rival, you are a good girl. A nice girl.” I was
nice
.

As for Bradley, I would like him to pay too. I don’t know how, when or where, but he will. I want him to.

“Time is your friend,” Arena continues. “As each day passes, you get stronger, smarter, and every morning brings a bit more clarity. Never rush into anything. You will get your day, just be prepared for it.
Always
be prepared for that day. What you will wear, what you will say,
how
you will say it. Practice it and keep it ready because…it’s coming.”

I find hope in her words. I was going to get my day. It made me want to drink another glass of her green juice and walk another thirty minutes.

“My therapist once said to me, ‘Arena, you only have a jar of energy each day. You can spend that jar of energy on improving yourself, or spend that valuable jar of energy on the person who wronged you. If you spend it on yourself, you’ll grow stronger and you will progress. If you spend all that energy on the low-life who wronged you, you’ll have none for yourself left, and your progress will be hindered. Who do you want to give that jar of energy to? That is the question.”

I nod as I absorb her words.

“Her words made a difference to me, Rival. I made a note of it, chanted it regularly, and it worked – the end result is that I got Bear, my children, and my home back. I’m happier than I have ever been, Rival. All because I focused on me first, rather than the person who wronged me and all the obstacles he threw my way.”