The Other Woman (14 page)

Listen, Rival, I’m sorry you think that Bradley swindled you, but you need to take it up with him…

No, no, no! Using the word “swindled” is a bad idea.

Please don’t drag me into this, Rival. Your beef is with Bradley, not me.
That’s not too bad.

Wait, maybe I shouldn’t use the word ‘beef.’ She may be a vegetarian.

Sorry, Rival, I’m not sure what you are talking about. Have you talked to Bradley about this?

Now that’s way better. Playing dumb might be the way to go.

Nerves make me pace.
Stop. You’re a big boy, you can handle this. She’s a druggie, an alcoholic, a mental case – how hard can it be to deal with her? Who will believe her, anyway?
Maybe I should hide all the booze. After all, her addiction is what sent her spiraling out of control.

Around 6 p.m. Ally yells, “Aunty Arena’s here!”

After blowing out my cheeks, I saunter outside to meet Arena and Rival.

I’m actually surprised at her appearance. First of all, she has put on weight. She now looks a little…chubby in her jeans and brown polo neck. But she’s wearing light make-up and her hair looks neat. No twitch, bulging eyes, or origami arms and legs. I’m surprisingly disappointed at how normal she looks. In her hand is a pink and black clipboard and a tape measure.

“Ritchie, you’ve met Rival, right?” Arena asks, a thread of caution in her voice.

When I don’t respond, my sister widens her eyes at me.

“Yes! Hey there, Rival,” I quickly say. “How you doing?” I put out my hand and hold my breath. “Good to see you…”

“I’m well, thanks,” Rival says, shaking my hand, a bright smile on her face. “Nice to see you again. And thank you for giving me the opportunity to work on your property, Ritchie. I really appreciate it, and I promise to do my best. Won’t let you down.”

She doesn’t remember me being at the hospital!

I exhale. Well, at least we don’t have to worry about that for now. Maybe her amnesia will continue forever.

“Sure, Rival,” I say and sneak a glance at my sister’s face.

“Oh my God, is that a kitten you have there?” she asks, peering inside my jacket.

“Uh-huh.” I explain Mother Cat and her lack of parenting skills. “Problem is, Kit Kat thinks I’m her mother now, and she wants to sleep inside of me even though she is better. Taking advantage of my good nature, she is.”

Rival laughs. “You’re so nice, Ritchie.”

“Huh?” My eyes lock with my sister’s.
She called me “nice.”

“I mean, like, you took a day off work to nurture a
kitten
? That is simply precious, Ritchie.”

Shifting in my shoes, I mumble, “Um…thanks.”

Arena seems to have lost her voice because she says and does absolutely nothing.

“Which is the room?” Rival asks, her blue eyes darting around the place, appearing eager to get down to business.

I gesture toward the stairs leading up to the main bedroom.

“Okay.” She races up the stairs while Arena and I follow.

My sister and I exchange a knowing look.
Whew!

For about thirty minutes, Rival makes notes on her clipboard, takes photos, and draws diagrams. She works silently and in a trance-like state. If I have to guess, I’d say she’s enjoying this project.

“Done," she finally announces with a bright smile. “I will make this bedroom look like you’ve never been here before, Ritchie.”

“That would be…awesome,” I say as we make our way downstairs again.

“You won’t need to sell the house when I’m done.”

“Okay!”

No need to mention that I really don’t believe her, even though she looks like she has her shit together.

“What about this kitchen?” Arena says, looking at Rival. “Can we do something here?”

Rival's eyes slant as she takes in my kitchen. “Eh…yeah, we can—”

“What’s wrong with the kitchen?” I ask.

“You can?” Arena’s voice sounds hopeful.

“Yes, we can spray the doors, glass up the top doors over there…and…and maybe add an island here?” She draws a large rectangle with her hands in the air.

“That sounds wonderful,” Arena gushes, hands clasped to her chest. “Let’s do it.”

“I’ll get some quotes,” Rival says.

I don’t remember giving them the go ahead. “Eh, ladies, what –?”

“And what can we do here?” Again, Arena ignores me and gestures to the TV room.

“What’s it gonna cost?” I demand.

Both women ignore me. Rival’s neck swivels before she nods. “I’ll work on it.” She takes out her camera and begins snapping away at the kitchen and the TV room.

“But what’s it gonna cost?” I wail.

“Great!” Arena claps her hands lightly, a gleam in her eye. “I can’t wait.”

By the time they leave my house, Rival has been commissioned to renovate my main bedroom, my kitchen, my TV room,
and
my study. By Arena.

She also has a key to my property, which means she can come and go as she pleases. I have my meddling sister to thank for the huge bill that is sure to follow.

Nothing I can do but brace myself for psychedelic colors, stick figures on the walls drawn in…in
blood
or something, and a whole mountain of loopy throughout my home.

I mean, this chick has just been released from a mental hospital; would you employ someone who has just been released from a mental hospital to redecorate your
bedroom
? The one you sleep in at night? No? I didn't think so.

****

RITCHIE

Two evenings later, Rival and Arena breeze into my home, talking excitedly between each other, carrying an armful of swatches. Paint swatches, carpet swatches, tile swatches, blinds swatches, linen swatches – all for my approval.

I really don’t know which swatch is for the blinds and which is for the linen. When the colors blur into one another, I do what most men at that time of the evening would do; I bring out a bottle of white and a bottle of red and pour us a glass each. Rival should enjoy this part. Addicts never turn down a chance for a buzz.

“Thanks,” Arena says.

To my utter surprise, Rival turns down the glass of wine.

“Oh? You want something else? I have other kinds of booze since my brother-in-law left.”

She smiles and holds up her hand. “Haven’t drank since I was institutionalized. Not even liquor chocolates. I’m keeping a clear head.”

“Is that a fact?” I say, not knowing what else to say.

While the two ladies congratulate each other on the choice of their amazing swatches, I call Bear.

“Hey, why aren’t you here for moral support? How could you leave me with these two?”

“I’m tired, Big.”

“So am I, you bastard.”

“Listen, Big, just do as I do. When they ask; nod your head, say,
I think so too
, or
Yeah, that could work
, and you’ll be okay. If you get taken unawares, say something like,
I’m
overwhelmed
by
all
of
this
,
but I trust your judgment
.
Glad I have you here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I do it all the time. Now fuck off. I’m watching
Operation Repo
. Arses are being kicked left, right, and center?”

“Really? Can you record it for—?”

The dog hangs up on me. Well, all I can do is drink. Yeah, all the swatches are for my approval, but my sister and her cuckoo friend ignore me and run around the house taking turns to hold up swatches against the walls.

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Isn’t it just.”

“Wow!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Arena finally remembers that I’m around. She looks at me. “Ritchie?”

Slowly, I scratch my chin. “I think so too. Yeah…”

“Great,” she says and high-fives Rival.

I drink up.

When it’s Rival’s turn to look at me a few minutes later, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs, I scratch the back of my neck and say, “Yeah, that could work.”

“Fantastic,” she says.

I drink up. Got to hand it to Bear, he knows his shit.

Drinking this much on a weeknight is not a good idea. I always crave beef kebabs the next day, which is not something I ever crave, other than when I’m hung-over. But these women darting around like tadpoles in a shallow pond give me motion-sickness, and it drives me to drink.

While the women do their stuff, I check out Rival. Surreptitiously. I don’t know if it is the white or the red, but she looks…okay.

Today she’s wearing a sleeveless black t-shirt and black jeans. She’s got that voluptuous thing going on where her tits spill out to the sides. When she bends, I take note of her arse. Not too bad. When she sits forward, I get an eyeful of cleavage.

Her hair is loose, and she reminds me of Liefie when she absentmindedly pushes back the curtain of hair from her face whenever she looks up.

When she is quiet, there’s an air of melancholy about her. Somehow, I find that a little intriguing. But as I said, it could be the vino; it’s been known to instantly Photoshop women. For the better.

Suddenly she turns and looks at me. “What do think?”

“Oh, eh…”
What the fuck is the question?

“I…eh…well, I think it could work...”

A silence follows as both women stare at me. Okay, I’m busted for sure. I raise my glass higher and hide behind it.
What
?

“Great, Ritchie!” Rival says to my surprise. “I’m so glad you have an open mind.”

“Oh, that’s me. Mind
wide
open.”

When Rival smiles, her blue eyes light up. “Okay.” Her smile grows bigger.

“Now, all you have to do is sign this form and…” Suddenly, Rival stops, pen poised in mid-air and stares at me for a moment. She looks at the floor, her eyes scudding, then looks at me again.

I look at Arena. One of her eyes is squeezed shut. Busted.

“It was
you
!” Rival whispers, her pen pointing at me.

I stare at her as I slowly rub my chin. “Eh…that could work?” I say in a weak voice, desperate to distract her. “I’m a bit overwhelmed with all of this, but hey, I trust your—”

“With Bradley. It was you. Now I remember. You…you…” As she looks at me, her bottom lip starts to tremble, reminding me of Ally.

“Rival, look, I was there, yes. Bradley, he asked me to accompany him and I did, and then when you signed all those docs, he asked me to witness them. That was it. I had no idea what was going on. I’m sorry about that, Rival, I really am.”

She shakes her head at me, her eyes accusing.

I feel like a heel.

“I was sick, Ritchie. I shouldn’t have signed those—”

“I know. I know. Absolutely. And trust me, Rival, I feel bad about this. I’m sorry. I really am.”

Rival turns to look at Arena, fingers to her temple. “Can we go? I have a headache.”

“Sure.” Arena jumps to her feet, her brows knitted.

I go from feeling bad to feeling terrible.

At the door, Arena turns to me. “Give her time,” she mouths.

I say nothing, even though I wish she’d allow me to apologize a little more.

Rival gets into the car, never looking back once.

After I shut my front door, I start to pace. It’s not my fault, I tell myself. Her beef is with Bradley, not me. She shouldn’t drag me into their personal battle. Besides, I am a client, a paying one. She should change her attitude toward me if she wants to get paid.

Storming off like that without even a
goodnight
. I’m pissed off with her lousy, unprofessional attitude.

But as the wine wears off, I start to feel like the cad I am. I feel so bad, I wonder if I should text her an apology. Bad idea. She may forward the text to Bradley, and he may get pissed off with me. That would leave two people pissed off with me.

Should I call her? I am far too chicken to do that.

Maybe she’ll come around with time. Literally and figuratively speaking. That hurt look on her face bothers me more than it should. I really don’t like to hurt people. Even in my past experience in SWAT, I always apologized for hurting people when I broke down their doors, ransacked their place, and slapped handcuffs around their wrists.

My team members used to laugh at me and make jokes at my expense. Sometime they got pissed off at me and accused me of making the team look like a bunch of pussies.

I lie in bed in the dark, with Kitty Kat asleep next to me and Rival on my mind. Wish she didn’t look so hurt.

****

RITCHIE

When I don’t see Rival the following day, I’m even more worried. I call Arena.

“Yeah,
Boet
?”

“Arena, Rival, is she like—”

“Just give her time, Rich. We’ve talked about it and I’ve reiterated what you said.”

“Yeah, yeah? What’d she say?”

“Um…look, it’s not important. Just give her time. That’s all you can do. She’s kinda distrusting and slightly paranoid since Bradley pulled a dirty on her. Not to mention her best friend also played dirty.”

“So, I should just—”

“—leave her alone.”

“Okay.” I know that Arena knows best and that she would work on her, because my sister always has my back.

Two days later, I stop by my house in the middle of the day and find Rival in my master bedroom, painting the wall with tiny pots of paint.

She wears a blue scarf around her hair, a loose white shirt, and a pair of denim shorts. Her feet are bare, she has a spot of paint on her cheek, and another on her elbow.

“Hi.”

She jumps at the sound of my voice. “Gosh! Didn’t expect you here,” she says, her hand on her chest.

“Just stopped by for some nanny cams in the garage.”

“Oh.”

“Can we talk?”

With her eyes still on the floor, she says, “About what?”

“Bradley.”

“Oh.” She gives the spot of paint on her elbow her undivided attention.

“Please. I feel the need to explain.”

She looks at me, her lips pressed together. I jerk my head toward the kitchen. Without a word, she walks downstairs and I follow.

“Drink?” I open the fridge.

“Diet Coke?”

“Sure.” I pop the tab on a can and hand it to her.

“Thanks,” she says. Still no eye contact from her.

That gleam, that radiance she wore a few nights ago prior to her discovering my part in the deception, is gone, and I’m really eager to get it back.

“Look, Rival, about those docs you signed…” I repeat everything I said and once again tell her how sorry I am.

She nods several times as I talk, which encourages me further. After I finish talking, there’s a silence. What now? But she looks at me and we lock eyes for a moment. Then she smiles, and it’s like a burst of morning sun. Her whole face lights up. “Apology accepted.”

Whew
!

“Will you show up in court and tell the judge
when
you witnessed the POA? I mean, if you testify that I signed that POA while I was in hospital, a mental hospital at that, the POA will be thrown out of – ”

“Whaaaat?”

“Ritchie, if you are really sorry about what happened to me, you will have no problem telling the truth.”

“Hold on a second now.”

She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her head at me.

I rub my palm across my forehead as I stare at the floor. How can I possibly testify against Bradley after he helped me do exactly the same thing to my ex-wife? He put his career on the line for me. I could never in a million years betray my friend.

I look up at her face. “It’s not…that…that…simple.”

“Oh?” A sneer creeps over her face. “You men, you all stick together. Low-life bastards.”

I say nothing. She’s right after all; we men are sticking together right now.

“I’m sorry, Rival, but Bradley’s helped me in the past, and I just can’t do anything to hurt him right now. I’m sorry. I would like to help you, really I would, but I just can’t.”

She places the can of Diet Coke on the table and glares at me. “Arena is my friend,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to let her down, so as much as I don’t like you, as much as I think you have no morals or scruples, I am going to finish what I started. But I think you’re sleazy, amoral, and a total jerk. So if we can stay away from each other, that will be good.” She turns and flounces off.

Never before has anyone ever told me they didn’t
like
me. And sleazy? Amoral? Me?

****

RITCHIE

Rival works mostly during the day on my house, but some evenings she works till midnight. She is so quiet that sometimes I forget she’s in the house.

Girly plies her with cups of Chinese tea and I hear them laugh a lot. My kids are always hanging around her and are only too eager to help her with anything.

Rival ignores me, though. If I offer her a glass of wine, she still refuses. I understand her desire to say no to that kind of buzz, but I get the feeling her refusal to have a drink with me is also a way of her keeping me at a distance. I have to admit, I’m really bummed out by the thought that someone as fragile as her could despise me. Best to stay out of her way.

Finally, three weeks later, she speaks to me. “Ritchie?”

I spin around to look at her.

“I’m done with the main bedroom,” she says, looking at the floor, then at me.

“Oh? Really now?”

She nods, then jerks her head toward my bedroom.

Arena is out of town, so it will be just Rival and me at the reveal. I take a deep breath and practice my lines.
Not bad. Not bad at all. Good job, Rival.

I plan to nod my head and wriggle my mouth as I compliment her. Then I will shake her hand and the moment her back is turned, I plan to fire a text to Arena.
U owe me ten gs

“Ready?” Rival asks, wringing her hands, a combination of nervousness and excitement in her voice.