The Other Woman (28 page)

“What did you do?”

“Well, I started to stammer and stutter, and my vibe was fizzing out by then. I said, ‘Eh, where’s your bathroom?' The moment I stepped out of the bedroom, I ran out of the apartment, all the way to my car, and high-tailed it out of there. Left my belt behind in the process.

“Wow!”

As I’m driving, I get a text from this crazy chick. It’s a photo of her with my belt around her neck.”

“Ohmygod!”

“No words, just a photo of her tightening the belt around her neck.”

Rival laughs so hard, she has to wipe tears from her eyes.

“I’m really scared of women now. I casually ask, ‘You live alone? What about your grandmother?’ Of course that doesn’t come off right either, because now they wonder if I am a psycho or a serial killer, or they suspect I have a fetish for grandmas.”

She laughs. “Gosh, Ritchie, dating sounds like work.”

“Oh, it is. I don’t like it.”

“I wonder how I would do with it?”

I say nothing. I just stare at her as I try to picture her being intimate with another man. The image makes me frown. Annoys me even.

Ritchie, snap the fuck out of it! She’s off limits.

But I don’t snap the fuck out of it. In spite of her history, her mental illness, her mission to bag Bradley, if I have to be honest, I would say I find myself secretly fascinated with Rival.

Secretly.

How it happened, I have no idea.

To keep things light, I make her laugh, and each time she laughs, my fascination for her increases that bit more.

With her, I can be myself and talk without wondering how she will construe my words or my thoughts. Relaxing – that’s the word. With her I can be myself and relax.

With all the women I have dated, I have never relaxed with them. I am on guard, on my best behavior, and feel the need to make a good impression. Not that any of them really make a good impression on me. But with Rival, there is no impression to make. She’s crazy about her ex-husband, and he’s the only man on her radar, so…

We spend more and more time talking like friends. My nightly ritual is such: feed my daughters, read them a story, put them to bed, and have a drink with Girly on my patio. I bring three glasses. The moment Girly leaves, like the stray cat living under my house, and most of the time
inside
it, Rival appears. We talk over wine and share laughs, mainly about my dating.

“There was this one time, I met this chick for drinks. She was okay, nice arse, nice tits, pretty green eyes, long hair. When she said, ‘Do you wanna have dinner at Slade’s?’ I said, ‘Why not?’ The kids were with Liefie, and Girly was out for the night. So we go to dinner at Slades, and I ask, ‘Why did your last relationship end?’ She said, ‘I stabbed him.’ Of course, I didn’t believe her, so I said, ‘You stabbed him? Right.’ She nodded and held up two fingers as our steaks were being delivered. I started to get the impression she was not lying, so I got like, nervous, and cased the joint for the exits, security guards, and shit like that. Anyway, I asked, ‘Why?' And she said, ‘’Cause he ordered takeout.’”

“Takeout?” Rival cocks her head and eyes me.

I nod. “So I said, ‘Wow, that’s heavy.' She just shrugged. So I said, ‘You know, I don’t mind takeout sometimes. Some Mongolian beef or laksa…’ and she said, ‘How did you know she was Asian?’ I looked at her, a little confused.”

“Ah, so…so takeout meant…oh God!” Rival gives a throaty laugh. “And did you…like—”

“Fuck no! I paid the bill and high-tailed it out of there. Pronto. When she texted me again, I told her I was getting back with my ex, and was sorry that I couldn’t take things any further. She sent me a text the length of my arm telling me that if she ever saw me in the street, she would use her apple corer on me, the one she always carried in her bag. I tried to picture that apple corer and where exactly she would use it on me. Not a pleasant thought. I got shit-scared. Seriously.”

Rival falls around laughing.

****

SCARLETT

Tonight my husband and I (God, I love saying that) are having a dinner with Martin Job. He’s worked with former Prime Minster Julia Gillard, Tony Abbot, and countless other presidential candidates.

My daddy has arranged it all. He’s as excited as I am about Bradley becoming prime minister, and he's working really hard to make it happen in record time.

Martin thinks that Bradley is just what Australia needs. He also says I’d make an amazing first lady with my grace and good looks. As you can imagine, other than my husband, Martin Job is my favorite person on earth right now.

Of course, I choose my outfit carefully, with first lady in mind. My Chanel suit is off-white with black trim, and fits to perfection. I’m wearing closed black Prada pumps, and will be carrying a zebra-print black purse. Nothing too fancy; don’t want to scare off Martin by being too showy.

Bradley appears behind me.

I spin around and take in his striped shirt and navy pants. “Why aren’t you dressed?” I ask.

“I am,” he says.

“No Brad, you need to wear a suit,” I say, turning around to face the mirror again. “You need to look like a prime minister before you become one.”

Bradley’s wave is dismissive, which irritates me “Oh, that’s not necessary. It’s just a dinner. ’Sides, he’s seen me in a suit before.” He squints at me in the mirror. “Aren’t you a tad overdressed?”

I sigh inwardly. “Honey, he’s basically interviewing you for the position. If he’s impressed, he will decide whether he will accept your offer to lead your team to victory. It’s important to
always
look the part. From now on, we have to always be in first couple mode.”

“Well…” Bradley slowly rubs his chin, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“I’ve had your suit dry-cleaned and your shirt pressed. All you have to do is slip it on.”

He wriggles his mouth from side to side.

“What?” I ask.

“What about the kids?” he says.

“What about them? I have Sarah to babysit them. They’ll be fine.”

“We’re leaving them alone a lot,” he grumbles. “It’s…I mean, they’re quite little. I don’t think they should be left alone this much, Scarlett.”

Sometimes, Bradley can be downright querulous – always whining and fretting over the girls as if they’re newborn babies.

“Sarah is really good with them,” I snap. “Besides, they’ll fall asleep right away.”

He doesn’t answer; he just stares at me.

I really have no time for this. “The limo will be here in thirty minutes,” I remind him.

With a nod, he walks away.

When he re-enters my room twenty minutes later, he looks great in his navy suite and white embossed shirt that I picked out for him.

“Wow! You look amazing, Mr. Prime Minister,” I gush.

He gives me a sheepish grin.

As we travel in our limo to meet Martin Job, I take a photos of the two of us and post it on Facebook with the caption:
There’s a rumor going around that my husband will be running for prime minister soon. I can’t confirm that rumor, unfortunately. What I can confirm is that we’re having dinner with the esteemed Martin Job tonight. #Kirribillihouserocks #Bradleymurdochfor primeminister #theonlywayisup.

****

RITCHIE

We stand in Arena’s kitchen – Bear, Arena, and me.

“I’m not doing anything with her, so I don’t understand why we’re having this talk again,” I say. “Is that why you called me over? To interrogate me about my relationship with Rival? Pretending you have stroganoff? Huh? That’s low, Arena, using food to lure me here, only to find out that you
didn’t
cook today.”

My sister rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, I’m a big boy, Arena. I can deal with women.” No need to tell her just how scared I am of the “weaker” sex, who sometimes carry apple corers in their purse.

“Ritchie, I know that. But my concern is Rival, Ritchie. She’s not well enough, and I worry that stress or trauma can hurt her and send her—”

“I’m not trying to
hurt
her, Arena. Am I trying to hurt her? Do you think I would do—”

“No, no, no! I know you wouldn’t
deliberately
do that, but if you hook up with her and then break her heart because it’s not what you want, then…?”

My sister is making a lot of sense, but I am annoyed with her butting in.

“She’s in love with Bradley the twat? Haven’t you heard? Huh?”

“Ritchie, you
too
are vulnerable. What you’ve been through with Liefie was huge, hurtful, and I worry—”

“Don’t,” I say. “I’m over it. Over her. Liefie, Nadia, Olga – everything
and
everyone
.
”

The way my sister purses her lips tells me she doesn’t believe me. Frankly, I don’t know if I believe it myself.

“It’s been over a year, you know.”

“And I’m dating. A lot.”

“How’s that going?” Bear asks, his eyes narrowing.

“The dating? Good.
Great
actually. I get laid a lot. On the first date, too.”

“First date too, huh?” Bear says, eyeing my sister.

“Guess he’s lucky,” she replies, locking eyes with him and exchanging a secret smile.

Bear reaches over and takes her into a playful headlock. I love my sister, but I envy their relationship. They are tight, and it is the most solid relationship I have ever seen.

Fascinating really – they communicate by mere looks. Arena will look at Bear and he will get up and make them both coffee, or get her a glass of water.

Bear will say, “What time is it?” And Arena will, without a word, fix him a sandwich.

I love the way they treat each other, the fact that they are on the same wavelength, and I long for that.

I don’t subscribe to the soul mate crap, but when I watch the two of them, I must admit, I have to wonder whether soul mates might exist after all.

“So what’s the fascination with Rival?” Bear asks.

“Fascination?”

“Mate, there’s no echo here. You like her or not?”

Absentmindedly, I scratch my chin as I think about it. “No.”

“Yet you follow her around,” Arena chirps.

“Okay, maybe I do like her.
Like
. Get it?”

“But you do know that she is determined to get back with Bradley, right?” Arena says. “She’s made that very clear from the beginning. It’s her
mission
in life.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. Absolutely.” I stare at my sister. “Why? He’s a jerk!”

“He is,” Arena agrees. “He’s a
big
jerk, and frankly, I don’t know why she hankers after him.”

“Well, she’s a little fragile,” I say. “She’s scared. Not everyone is as strong as you, Arena.”

Arena smiles. “You’re defending her,
boet.
That’s nice, but you need to remember those words. And I’m not that strong, Ritchie. I get a lot of my strength from Bear.” She leans into him and rests her head on his chest.

“Okay, Ritchie, just don’t lead her on, and don’t get your heart broken in the process. She’s going to be here in five minutes, so gear up.”

“My heart was broken, and still is, Arena,” I say in a morose voice. “How can you break a broken heart?”

My sister eyes me for a few moments before she speaks. “When the right person comes along, she will mend your broken heart. That’s the good news. The bad news is: they can break it again into more pieces than before. Crush it. Bear fixed me when we first met, healed my broken heart. But when he disappeared and I thought he was a fraud, I was so disappointed, my heart broke into a million pieces. But he returned and pasted the pieces together, broken bit by broken bit.” Again, they share a look that makes me feel like I am an intruder.

But they are right, Rival made it clear from the very beginning that she planned to get back Bradley and the kids. I know the score, and I have no problem staying away from her.

I will start today. Back to my internet dating. Bring on the freaks. Bring on the apple corers. But this time, I will leave my belt at home.

****

SCARLETT

“Oh, that’s so lovely,” I say to Holly, admiring her drawing.
To the bestest mum in the hole wid world.
“That’s so precious. I love all the hearts. Thank you.”

“It’s…it’s for my mum,” Holly says in a barely audible voice.

My smile vanishes. “Really? It’s not for me?”

She shakes her head. “It’s her birthday soon. I’m making her a card with a million hearts on it.”

“And I’m gonna put glitter on the hearts and kiss it,” Phoebe says.

“What about a card for me?” I snap. “I’m your mum, too. Don’t I get a card? I live with you guys, not her. When your father is not around, I take care of you. I drive you both to school, I pick you guys up, I go to school meetings, I take you shopping, I take you both for manicures and pedicures. Surely, I should get the
first
card?”

Phoebe nestles into Holly, a scared look on her face, while Holly just stares at me.

I suddenly smile. “Give me this one, and make her another. How ’bout that?” I put out my hand.

“I…I will make you another one,” Holly says, placing both her hands on the card to prevent me from taking it.

“No, I want
this
one. Make Rival another one. I want
this
one.” I force myself to smile at the ungrateful creatures in front of me. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

Slowly, Holly lifts up her hands.

“Great!” I grab the card and leave the room. How dare they? I am their mother, not Rival.

Quietly, I photograph the card and upload it on Facebook.

Scarlett Murdoch:
Darling Holly and Phoebe gave this to me today. Aren’t they just precious? I was in tears when I saw it. #blessed #Ilovebeingamum #mygirlsrock

Late that night, I creep into Holly’s room, find the card she made for Rival, tear it up into little pieces, and stuff it deep into the trash.

Next, I go online and book us a weekend away, the same weekend as Rival’s birthday.

****

RIVAL

As I watch footage of Scarlett bullying my daughters into giving up my birthday card, and then destroying the card they'd made for me, I fume. She is going to be really sorry she did that. I am going to make her pay.

Even though I now know they are going to be away for the weekend, I still text Bradley, hoping he will decide to bring back the girls.

Rival:
Can I please see the girls for an hour its my bday

Bradley:
We r in Hunter Valley sorry

Bradley:
will get them to call u

He keeps his word and I get to speak to my girls.

But afterwards I feel so depressed, I turn off my phone and sink under the covers, even though it’s 4 p.m. I want this day to end quickly. Other than Bradley and the girls, I have told no one about my birthday, because I don't want looks of sympathy from them.

Suddenly, my room darkens. I look at my door. Ritchie is standing there with a bunch of roses, a finger on his lips.

Horrified, I rush over to open the door. “How’d you get in?” I mouth.

He gestures for me to follow him onto my little balcony.

“Ohmygod!” I whisper when I see the ladder. “Raya will kill me.”

“She won’t know,” he says as we step back inside.

Quickly, I turn on the television.

“What are you up to?” Ritchie asks as his eyes sweep over my short silk nightie.

In what I hope is a causal move, I cross my arms over my braless breasts, flushing under his gaze. “Nothing.”

After a few awkward moments, I get back into bed, pull the sheet over me to cover up, and look at Ritchie sitting on a chair that creaks with his weight.

“Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Ritchie—”

“What? C’mon.”

“It’s sweet of you, and I appreciate it, but you don’t have to, you know.”

He frowns as the chair creaks and threatens to break under his weight. Suddenly it buckles. He jumps to his feet. “I’m gonna have to give you a chair that can take my weight,” he says.

I chuckle and move up, making a place on the bed for him. I hand him a pillow, and we lie side by side on my single bed and talk in hushed tones.

“You’re not answering your phone,” he says in an accusing voice.

I don’t answer.

He smacks my butt. “Get your arse out of bed. We’re going to dinner to celebrate your birthday.”