Authors: Eve Rabi
Seventy-one exhausting and blistering minutes later, I reach the finish line and get a card.
Number eighteen. “Brilliant!” I say and pump the air with my fist.
An hour later, Rival has not arrived. I’m not too worried as I know Bear and Arena are keeping an eye on her. I just hope she drinks her water to keep hydrated.
Even though I can’t feel my legs, I stand at the finish line, hands on my knees, and wait for her.
After a while, I walk back to find her.
About five hundred meters before the finishing line, I spot her limping toward the finish line.
I run up to her. “C’mon, Rival, you can do it!”
She nods, but doesn’t increase her speed. Her legs look wobbly, and her gait tells me she may topple over.
“You know, right now you’re minutes away from reaching your goal,” I say, taking her elbow.
“My legs…they...they…’re …”
“No, they’re not. You tell them not to!”
“O...k…kay.”
“Go, Rival!” Arena shouts from a distance. “You can do it.”
She nods as tears mingled with sweat run down her face.
Even though her spirit appears willing, I worry I may have pushed her too far. “You can stop if you want to, Rival,” I say. “If you
need
to.”
“No,” she says in a strangled voice. “My kids…”
“Okay.” I nod and release her elbow. “I’m with you. Keep going.”
Her legs buckle again, and again she fights to stay on her feet. Stressed, I walk with my hands on my head. What have I done?
But we’re just two hundred and fifty meters away from the finishing line. Will she make it?
“Your kids will brag about your accomplishment.”
She doesn’t answer.
I look at my sister. She stands with her hand over her mouth.
“Want me to carry you back, Rival?”
“No,” she says as she lifts her t-shirt to wipe away her tears. “I have to f…finish this.”
Okay. I like her determination.
“Scarlett will be really pissed off to hear you finished a fifteen-kilometer race, you know that.”
Those are the words that give Rival her second wind – she breaks into a run.
“That’s my girl!”
The moment she gets there, she falls. In spite of my exhaustion, I manage to catch her, and together we fall. For a few moments we just hug.
“I made it!” she cries as paramedics take her out of my arms and into a tent. I follow her inside and hold her hand as they take her blood pressure and give her fluids.
“Just don’t tell anyone about this,” she says, squeezing my hand.
I laugh and kiss her hand. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.”
She smiles as she takes my hand to her lips. “Thank you, Ritchie.”
I can’t help it, I lean in and touch her sweaty forehead with my sweaty forehead.
When I walk back outside, I see Arena standing with a thoughtful look on her face.
“She did it,” I say. “Cool, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her brows knit.
“What?”
“Is there something going on between the two of you?”
“What?”
“I mean, like you two—”
“Arena, that is Bradley’s
wife –
how could you even ask me something like that?”
“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I have to ask, even though I may be out of line. You’re spending a lot of time—”
“Way out of line.”
She doesn’t answer, just stares at me.
“Totally out of—”
“Well, it’s predicable you know. She’s single, you’re single—”
“She wants to get Bradley back, and I’m helping her. You need to keep your predictions in—”
“You know what? You’re right. I apologize.”
“Fine!” I snap.
“It’s just that she’s really fragile, and I worry about her. If, say, anything happened between the two of you and it didn’t work out, the stress may cause her to relapse, you know. And I’m just really concerned about…”
I tap each of my fingers as I talk. “She’s not my type, she’s my friend’s
wife
. We’re not attracted to each other at all, and…you have a nerve to even—”
“Okay, okay!”
“Pig!” I turn around to catch Becky flying at me, arms outstretched. “Rival kicked your arse, Pig,” Becky says, excitement all over her little face.
“Yeah, baby, but you and me, we have to talk,” I whisper as I hug her, aware that people around me are tsk-ing.
“Okay, Pig,” she says and squirms out of my hug.
“No, call me
Dadda
, first. It makes me feel cherished.”
She puts her tiny, sticky hands on either side of my face and plants several kisses my lips, and my heart threatens to burst with love for my little spitfire. “Okay, my booriful dadda.”
“That’s better,” I say.
The moment we get home, even though she can’t even stand, Rival decides to weigh herself.
As she steps on the scale, from the corner of my eye, I see Girly sneak a box of Kleenex behind her back and stroll over to us.
Rival’s hand stays over her eyes as the needle jumps, then stops. “What is it?” she whispers.
I stare at the scale, do some quick calculations, and say, “You’ve lost 11.33 kilos, baby!
She screams so loud, both my kids come running.
“I think your bones have gone small because you swim so much,” Girly says as she hugs Rival. “They shrink in the water, you know.”
We laugh.
Rival turns, lunges at me, and hugs me. “I am grateful for having you in my life, Ritchie,” she says in a voice choking with emotion.
“Aw c’mon, you’re not gonna cry now, are you?”
She looks up at me and smiles.
“You’re welcome,” I say as my arms wrap around her. “
You
did it. Not me.”
“Are you guys gonna kiss?” Ally asks.
Rival and I jerk apart.
“What? No, Ally,” I say. “What a thing to say, Ally.”
She shrugs. “You’re holding her like you used to hold Mum.”
“And you called her baby,” Becky points out.
“Did I?” I sneak a glance at Rival. She’s laughs behind her hand. I look at Girly. She gives me a “you-did” shrug.
Slowly I run my hand over my mouth. Everyone around is just crazy to think there is something between Rival and me.
****
RIVAL
It’s Friday afternoon, and Arena and I are sitting in her car a short distance from Bradley’s office, waiting for Ritchie to emerge. He has met with Bradley for lunch at
Borgis
to soften him up and check out the mood.
Arena drums on the steering wheel with her nails while I check my teeth in the mirror for lipstick. The moment we see Ritchie approach, we sit upright. He walks over to my window and leans in. “He’s had two beers, and I reckon he’s pretty mellow right now. But he’s only going to be in his offices for a few minutes, then he’s heading home. So move it!” He opens my door and steps back.
“Go, Rival!” Arena says. “And good luck.”
With a nod, I step out of the car.
When Ritchie sees my ensemble, his eyebrows shoot up, but he says nothing. Instead, he walks alongside me.
“Now, remember what we discussed—”
“Yeah, agree with everything he says, even if I don’t agree with him.”
“Good. Whatever little he gives you, you are going to say,
thank you
– that’s all. No arguing, no bickering, no guilt trips.”
“Okay.”
“You’re gonna start off with—”
“—An apology. Got it.”
Ritchie stops walking. “Good. Now…smile.”
I flash him some teeth.
“More.”
I show him all my teeth, then chuckle.
He nods. “Good luck. And remember, I’ll be waiting right here.”
“Thanks, Ritchie.” I totter off on my really high heels. After a few minutes of walking, I stop and turn around. Ritchie gives me the thumbs up. I nod and resume my walking.
As I wait at a red traffic light to cross the street, a thirty-something guy stares at my legs, while a twenty-something male in front of me keeps turning to look at me. I smile to myself. A weight loss of 11.33 kilos makes a world of difference, I have to say.
All thanks to Bun, who arrived earlier on at Arena’s place carrying an armful of clothes, a trolley full of make-up, and another bag of hair products and equipment. She took charge, ordered Arena around to fetch and carry while she did my hair and make-up. She refused to let me look in the mirror until I was done.
I was nervous. She was taking far too long on my face. But I said nothing. The deal was that I could wipe off my make-up if I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t look in the mirror while she worked on me, and I couldn’t question her about it.
“Yous should come live with us,” Bun said as she worked her magic on me. “We have a room with its own bathroom. Yous can have that for three-fifty a week.”
Too much bronzer.
“Okay fine, two-fifty a week.”
That blush is far too bright for me. Is she planning on contouring my nose? Does it need contouring?
“One hundred dollars, then.”
I looked at Bun. Her lashes were really long and dark. Could they be false? I wondered.
“Including electricity and water. Okay? Don’t expect me to go lower. That’s a damn good deal, don’t yous think?”
“Yeah…” I said. “Of course.”
When I did look into the mirror, I gasped at what I saw.
My make-up was nothing short of amazing – sneaky flesh tones, but heavy enough to hide every dark circle, even out my skin tone, banish every freckle, and hide my second chin. My nose had been artfully contoured to look like it belonged to Nicole Kidman.
As for my eyes, who knew they could look that blue? That huge? And where was all the redness from the hours of marinating in chlorine?
Her magic did not stop there – she blow-dried my hair using a brush the size of a can of soda, then used large Velcro rollers to give me loose, bouncy curls.
I balked when I saw the dress she chose for me. “A white mini, Bun? Are you nuts? White will show off every lump and bump I
didn’t
know I had. I wanna seduce him, not turn him off.”
“Shut the fuck up and try it on,” she said.
Muttering under my breath, I did. To my surprise, it looked fantastic. Yes it clung to me, but the stiff fabric was forgiving, almost corset-like, and it didn’t highlight any bits I didn’t want resurrected. In fact, I
wanted
to wear it. The bust of the dress is the best part. It’s shaped like clams and shows a fair amount of cleavage, yet, the sheer net detail over it, which goes right up to my neck, fools people into thinking it isn’t slutty. But it isn’t the kind of dress you’d wear to church or to your daughter’s school.
My eggshell stilettos are strappy and look just great with my Hawaiian-copper fake tan. Bun’s patent, oversized clutch in eggshell and silver rounds the outfit out beautifully.
Yes, in a matter of hours, well,
five
to be exact, with Bun’s help, I had morphed from the stapler-wielding zombie to a sexy, stylish chick who drew the eyes of thirty-something and twenty-something males. That hasn’t happened in more than…well, since I married Bradley, really.
What a boost for my paper-thin confidence.
The traffic light turns green. Taking a deep breath, I hold my head high and strut slowly toward Bradley.
I can do this. Bradley is the same man he was when we were married. Nobody can change that quickly. I can do this. I can do this.
But as I near his offices, my anxiety returns with a vengeance, in spite of the layers of concealer, BB Cream, face primer, foundation, and fake lashes. My feet have become cement-encased and my mouth feels dry.
I switch to diaphragmatic breathing that Dr. Camda taught me. Six deep breaths.
Deep in, exhale loudly…deep in…hold…exhale loudly…
It doesn’t help. My palms are sweaty, my mouth feels like I have cotton wool in it, and my upper lip blisters with perspiration threatening to ruin all Bun’s hard work.
Music. It calms me. Think of a song quick. But which one? Kelly Clarkson’s “Because of You”
comes to mind.
Because of you, I always play on the safe side so I don’t get hurt…
no, not that song.
Lady Antebellum?
Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor…s
top! Stop! Stop! That’s a terrible choice. I need something upbeat.
Katy Perry’s “Roar.” Perfect.
You held me down, but I got up…
Taking one last deep breath, I push open the glass double doors to Bradley’s offices and gasp. Am I at the right offices? I look at the gold plaque bearing Bradley’s name above the reception desk. I’m at the right place, but the place looks totally different. The walls have been painted varying shades of dark brown and cream, the furniture has been changed to mahogany and teak, and the carpet is a luxurious chocolate-brown.
Layers of lighting give the place a sophisticated yet warm glow. It’s like I stepped into someone else’s offices. Someone important, older, like the prime minister’s.
Quickly, I compose myself and scan the place for Linda, Bradley’s secretary who has been with him since he started his practice. Linda is pretty, warm, and sincere, and since she and I had both our babies a week apart, we always have a lot to talk about whenever I visit Bradley. She is nowhere in sight.
Instead, I am greeted by a woman in her fifties. Unsmiling, heavily powered face, massive pearl earrings, a thick strand of pearls choking her neck, and a deep pink scar for lips. Her hair is styled into a beehive; Pricilla Presley’s grandma.
“Can I help you?” Her manner is curt, and when she eyes me over her nose, I say a silent thanks to Bun for her three hours of labor.
“I’d like to see Bradley, please.”
“Do you have an appointment? Are you a client?”
“Eh, no…”
“Well, in that case,
Mr
.
Murdoch
is busy right now. He is unable to see
anyone
without an appointment.” From the gleam in her eyes, I can tell that she seems to take pleasure delivering that bit of information.
“Can you ask him if he’ll see me? I think he will.”
“Really?” She taps her fuchsia nails on her desk as her eyes sweep over me. “What is your name?”
“
Mrs
. Murdoch,” I say, in a voice tinged with defiance. “Mrs. Rival Murdoch.”
Her arched eyebrows shoot up, and for a moment, I
feel
the kink in her armor of confidence.
“As…in…?”
“As in his
wife
.” It feels cathartic saying that. I am still Bradley’s wife; let them all know that.
She blinks several times. “I’ll…tell…Mr. Murdoch.” She whirls around, and with her back ramrod straight, strides out of reception.
Right away Bradley appears before me, looking flustered and unable to make eye contact with me. Stealing your wife’s money and her children has been known to have those side effects.
“Rival…what…what are you doing here?” he asks, straightening his tie.
“I came to apologize,” I say.
He pauses with his straightening. “Oh.” A startled expression crosses his face.
“I wanna say I’m sorry, for…everything, Bradley. I’ve put you through a lot, and I want to try and fix things. The way I handled myself was wrong, and I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.” What a load of crap.
His shoulders fall from around his ears. He scratches the top of his head and looks at the floor.
“Can we talk in private?”
When his head jerks toward his office, I allow myself an inward smile. Under the curious gaze of the Grandma Presley, I walk slowly into it.
He shuts the door and turns to me. “You look…good,” he says, his eyes dragging over me. “Really good.”
“Thank you. Been working out. Medication has my moods under control, and I’m…” I give a series of little shugs. “I’m on my way to recovery. Been told by Dr. Camda.”
“That’s good to hear.” He gestures to a chair.
I take a seat, slowly cross and uncross my legs, resisting the urge to pull a move from Sharon Stone in
Basic Instinct.
It works – he stares at my legs like the guy in the street did. My
husband
is staring at my legs.
“You look good too,” I say in a low, throaty voice.
He’s lost weight, his slight paunch has disappeared, and he looks like he’s had a spray tan. The Bradley I know would never have a spray tan.
He shifts about in his shoes and turns red. “Thanks.”
“How is business?” I ask.
“Good. Good. Yeah...”
“That’s…good.”
“You’ve lost weight,” he says, his chin darting toward me.
“Well, I ran a fifteen–kilometer marathon last week,” I say.
“You’re kidding me!”
“I kid you not, Bradley. I really did run it, and I
finished
the race.”
“Wow! Really? Fifteen kilometers?”
I nod. “Fifteen big ones.”
“That’s…that’s awesome, Rival.”
“Yep, I’m pretty awesome like that.” We both chuckle, then lapse into silence. “Well, guess I’d better be going, then,” I say, flashing him a smile and slowly unfolding from my chair. “Don’t wanna keep you.”
He strokes his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You came to ask about the kids, right? I know you did.”
“Yeah, but, I know you don’t want me to see them, so I will respect that, and one day, hopefully, you’ll do the right thing. I know you will. I have faith in you.”
To my surprise, his eyes turn liquid. “You can see them, Rival. I’m not saying you can’t.”
Yes! Oh God, yes!
“Okay, thank you,” I say trying really hard not to smile.
When
?
“Any chance of seeing them tomorrow? Just for an hour? At the park maybe?”
He appears to think about it for a moment, and while he does, I hold my breath.
Imagine if he says yes?
“Okay.”
Yes
!
I nod. “Thanks, Bradley. How ’bout 10 a.m.?”
He shrugs.
I am going to see my girls. I can’t believe it. It’s all happening. All my training, my weight loss, and Ritchie’s coaching has paid off. Finally. The moment has arrived.
A bubble lodges in my throat and my eyes prick with tears. The last thing I need is for Bradley to see me break down.
“I’ll buy balloons and some toys,” I say, and quickly walk toward the door. “See you tomorrow.” Before he can answer, I race past Grandma Presley and out of his offices.
As I walk, I am assailed by so many emotions – happiness that I am finally going to see my kids, relief that Bradley is no longer mad at me, sadness that I have to almost beg to see my kids, disbelief that I have managed to realize a dream.
“Rival?”
I look up into Ritchie’s expectant face.
“What happened?”