The Other Woman (35 page)

You kidding me? How many words did my husband exchange with his ex-wife? How many sentences did he utter to that retard? And yet, he grunted me a greeting.
Grunted
. And, he said not a word to me throughout the ride home? My blood starts to boil.

Bradley looks at Ritchie. “Hang around, lemme take a shower, then we can graze together, ’kay? Won’t be long.”

“Sure,” Ritchie says. “Of course.”

Bradley looks at Rival. “Join us, will you?”

No way – he did not just invite her to eat with us.

“Eh, no thanks,” Rival says, glancing at Ritchie, then at Bradley. “I’ll…be on my way.”

“Why?” Both Bradley
and
Ritchie chorus.

“Oh...eh,” she glances at Ritchie again. “I’ll leave the two of you alone to chat about…
things
. All this is…” she flashes Bradley a ditzy smile, “kinda overwhelming.”

“Ah, okay, sure. No problem.” After giving her a grateful smile, Bradley turns and runs upstairs.

What am I? Chopped liver? The bastard hasn’t even asked me to join them for breakfast! Or brunch.

Furious, I storm upstairs into my bedroom and balk. The cops were brutal in their search, all right. Mattress ripped, clothes strewn all over the place, broken glass on the floor…my heart just breaks at the violation of my beloved boudoir.

My eyes fall on the lotion on the carpet. Rival. She did that. No doubt about it. There’s no way the cops would empty a bottle of lotion on my carpet. Well, I’ll fix the bitch for that.

With my lips pursed, I move to my luxury bathroom, which I’ve been longing for. Once I take my shower, I will feel better for sure. But Bradley is already showering. Oh, well, we’ll just have to shower together, and while we do, we can finally chat.

“Can you use the next bathroom?” he snaps when he sees me in the bathroom.

Stunned, I stare at his scowling face. Why isn’t he asking me to join him like he usually does?

“You gonna be long?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, can you use the other shower?”

“
I
must use the other shower?”

“Yeah, Scarlett. I’m here already.”

Pride prevents me from demanding why we can’t share the shower. “All my stuff is
here
, Bradley,” I whine instead.

“Take it then,” he snarls. “No big deal, man. Just take it.”

“Why are you so mad?” I demand.

“
Why
? You have to ask?”

“Bradley, surely you don’t think I took those things? Stole those things?”

“Then who?” he hisses. “Tell me
who
, Scarlett? You don’t like Mabel and her daughters.”

I’m so angry, I turn and stomp off to another bathroom, where I take a scalding shower. Arsehole!

When I return downstairs, Rival has left. Bradley and Ritchie have started eating, talking with their mouths full and making total pigs of themselves, further irritating the fuck out of me.

Ritchie stands up when he sees me, but Bradley doesn’t bother to even look up at me.

“You didn’t wait for me?” I say, waving at Ritchie to sit, then looking accusingly at Bradley.

Bradley looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “Eh, well…sorry. I was starving.”

I’m so angry at his unapologetic, dismissive manner, tears fill my eyes.

“Get you a plate, Scarlett?” Ritchie asks in a sympathetic voice.

I’d rather remove my kidneys with a blunt spoon than eat Rival’s food. “No thanks,” I say. “I don’t eat Irish stew. I’ll have an egg-white om—”

“So what else did Milton say?” Bradley asks Ritchie. He hasn’t even waited for me to finish speaking. What is wrong with him?

Feeling a little manic, I storm out of the kitchen and over to our liquor cabinet, pour myself a triple vodka, and down it, neat. Who gives a shit that it’s only 11:25 a.m.? Immediately, I feel better, relaxed. After two more drinks, I am my old self again.

Irish stew. Bet Rival didn’t make it from scratch. Bet it came pre-packed and she just warmed it up. For a moment or two, after seeing the way Bradley’s eyes light up at the mention of his mother’s cooking, I toy with the idea of taking a cooking class. But I change my mind about it. I’m a trophy wife – I’ll be damned if I become Martha Stewart. Besides, if I cook from
scratch
, I might summon a fucking demon or something.

****

SCARLETT

Martin Job visits. Even though I’m tired, and even though the pong of jail follows me around, I brace myself for Martin’s session of damage control. God knows we need it really badly right now.

“What can I get you, Martin?” I ask as I move toward our liquor cabinet and reach for our finest Cognac.

“I can’t stay long,” he says, putting out his hand to stop me. “I just came over to tell you both that regrettably, I can no longer work with the two of you.”

“What?” I stare at Martin Job with my mouth open. “W…why?” I demand when I recover from my shock.

“Well,” he says in a haughty voice, his eyes moving between Bradley and me, “I do not think I have the ability to take you all the way to Kirribilli House. Not after you face charges of theft and insurance fraud.”

From the corners of my eyes I see Bradley’s shoulders sag, but he says nothing, which really annoys me.

“That’s ridiculous!” I snap. “This whole misunderstanding will all be cleared in no time. Bradley is no thief. He will be vindicated soon. My daddy is taking care of things as we speak.”

“Maybe. But what about you?” Martin taps a folder on the table.

Bradley’s head jerks to look at Martin.

Shit
!

“This is about Bradley,” I say in an offish voice. “Not about me.”

Martin’s nod is exaggerated, yet traces of a smug smile appear on his pudgy face.

“What are you talking about?” Bradley says, looking at me, then Martin.

The room goes silent.

“Scarlett?” Bradley says. “What’s he talking about?”

“Bradley, look…” I roll my wrists in the air as I carefully box, then place a pretty little bow on what I have to tell him. “When I was eighteen, I got…I got picked up by the cops…and it was silly, and I was young, and I didn’t want my daddy…you know – so I pleaded guilty—”

“To
what
?” Bradley asks, his eyes fixed on my face.

Fuck! I could kill the person who put me in this position.

Bradley turns his entire body to look at me. “Scarlett?”

I squeeze my eyes shut before I open them again. “S…solicitation, okay?”

He blinks rapidly. “As in…?

Martin the cockhead shifts about in his seat, the smug look growing on his face.

“Prostitution?” Bradley whispers, an incredulous look on his face.

“It was all a misunderstanding, that’s—”

Bradley jumps to his feet and looks at me. He shakes his head, rolls his wrists in the air, and opens his mouth to speak, yet no words come out of it.

“Bradley, snap out of it!” I say, embarrassed that he could be making such a big deal of it in front of Martin, who now hangs onto every word Bradley is not saying. Obviously he’s enjoying this game of charades Bradley is playing by himself.

“It was a long time ago, Bradley,” I say through clenched teeth. “I was eighteen and stupid and…” I shrug. The room is so silent, I can hear cars on the motorway.

Bradley blinks several times before he looks at Martin. “Is that the police report?”

Martin
Hand
Job shifts in his chair.

“I want to see it,” Bradley says.

Martin picks up the folder and holds it close to his chest. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid. If Mrs. Murdoch—”

Bradley leaps out of his chair, lunges at Martin, and snatches the folder off him.

I groan, palm to my forehead as I watch Bradley scan the folder, his eyes darting from side to side on the page. “It says
Annie,
here?” He looks up at Martin.

Martin slowly turns to look at me, his lips pressed together, eyebrows raised.

My sigh is one of exasperation. “I used to be called Annie then.”

“So you changed your name to Scarlett?”

I nod at Bradley.

“I don’t believe it," he mutters as he reads.

“It’s a name change. No big deal.”

“Being part of a prostitution
ring
is a big fucking deal, Scarlett. Or should I say Annie?”

“
Escort
ring. Not prostitute.”

Bradley stares at me, then spins around to look at Martin. “Get the fuck out of my house!” His head jerks toward the door. “I don’t need your shitty attitude. My wife was young – she made a mistake. I support her.”

Now that’s my husband! He is standing up for me like he should, and together we will weather this storm, and emerge joyful and triumphant. Clearly he is as focused as I am, and that’s all that matters. Nothing, I tell you
nothing
, is going to stop us from claiming Kirribilli House.

Martin stares at Bradley, surprise on his face.

“Move, you fat fuck!” Bradley snarls.

Without a word, Martin
Blow
Job stands up, straightens his back, and strides out the door.

I rush up to hug Bradley. “Honey, thank—”

He shrugs me off hard.

“What?”

He flashes both palms at me.

“But…but—”

“I need to be alone,” he snaps.

Helpless, I watch him get into his Porsche and drive off.

On the brink of tears, I call my daddy. He will know what to do.

****

RITCHIE

As I drive away from Scarlett and Bradley, I think about Rival. Her Irish stew was excellent. I didn’t know she could cook like that. All I got was salads when she cooked at my place. A sliver of jealousy runs through me.

At a traffic light, I check my phone for messages from her. Nothing. Okay. Now that Bradley and Scarlett have paid for their sins, I am hoping Rival will cease fire.

The burning question is: what about us?

I know her aim is to get Bradley back, but over the past couple of days, things have been pretty heated between us. It would be great to know what she is thinking right now.

But I will stay away from her. Give her the space to work things out between her and Bradley. If she contacts me, then it’s a different story. But until then, I will back off.

Thirty minutes later, I find myself looking through my phone for messages from her I may have missed. Nothing.

It’s better this way. Better to have a chasm between us so that my mind is clear to think logically. In her arms, I always feel helpless, feverish, weak. This way, I allow clarity. I won’t contact her at all. It’ll have to be her who contacts me. That’s how it’s going to be from now on.

I look at my phone again. No message from her.

My mind replays the last time we were together – her body warm, ripe, and unrestrained, bucking beneath mine, her smile playful as she messes with my head. Her luscious lips that I can’t get enough of – is she really the same girl who told me months ago that she didn’t want to live?

My reverie is interrupted by my ringing phone.

Rival? I jump for it and in my haste, knock it to the floor. As I drive it slides under my seat.

Quickly, I pull over, turn off the ignition, retrieve the phone, and read the message.

It’s my office reminding me about an appointment I have this evening. “I know!” I snap. “I have a memory, you know.” Irritated, I start the engine and drive on.

What are you doing now, Rival? What mischief are you up to?

I smile to myself as I think of her sitting on the kitchen counter swinging her legs, opening and shutting her thighs, smiling at me under her lashes, demanding a kiss. She’s cute. At the next traffic light, I reach for my phone and text her.

Ritchie: Hey whachu up to?

Rival: playing wid myself n u?

I smile and pull into the parking lot at work before I reply.

Ritchie:
Thinkin bout u send me a foto of u playin wid urself

I walk into our offices.

A minute later I get Rival’s text.

Rival:
send me credit card details first

I chuckle to myself, aware that Bear and the staff are around.

Rival: 4 twenty$ more I can give u the bodyslide

I laugh.

Rival: 4 thirty $ more I can luv u long time or b ur friends daughter

I laugh out loud.

“What?" Bear asks.

I shake my head.

His eyes slant. “You talking to a chick, right?”

I shake my head and look at my phone.

“Rival?”

My eyes fly to his.

“I’m not blind,” he says as he backs away from me. “I see how you come alive every time she walks into the room.”

Oh shit! Am I that transparent?

I run after him. He’d better not say anything to my sister about this or she’ll kick my arse.

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed,” he says, as if reading my mind. “
I
have to live with your sister when she is mad, not you.”

I nod.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

****

SCARLETT

We’re at a meeting at my daddy’s offices – Bradley, my daddy, Ritchie, myself, and three attorneys from my father’s firm.

“We slaughter her,” my daddy says. “Dredge up her past, Dunhill, the drugs, the child negligence charges – everything. Paint her out as being a scheming psycho who is hell-bent on revenge. She knows the routines of your family and used them to commit a plethora of vengeful crimes, and framed the both of you. Reasonable doubt.”

I nod as he speaks, but Bradley doesn’t.

“The courts will see right through her and will undoubtedly find you both innocent of all char—” My daddy clams up and frowns at Bradley. “What?”

“It can’t be Rival,” Bradley says. “She’s far too fragile to do this. I know her, she’s not capable.”

“We don’t really care now, do we?” my daddy says in an impatient voice. “It’s both your hides we’re trying to save here. What do we care that she takes the rap?”

We all look at Bradley. He shakes his head, his demeanor querulous. “I…I don’t wanna do this,” he says. “To her. I…it’s not…”

“Fine!” my daddy snaps. “
You
take the rap then.” He darts his index finger at Bradley, his face dark with anger. “Save your nut-job of an ex-wife and take the fall. Leave my daughter out of it.”

“Why should I take the fall?” Bradley demands. “I didn’t do—”

“Because she is my daughter. She’s not going down for THIS! She’s innocent. So you take the fall for that crazy bitch you are reluctant to—”

“Don’t you call her that,” Bradley says, jumping up from his seat. “Don’t!”

Am I hearing correctly? My husband is not only defending his ex over me; he is actually
arguing
with my daddy over her?

My daddy looks at me and throws out his hands in an air of resignation.

I swivel to look at Bradley. “What is wrong with you?” I whisper. “He’s trying to help us.”

“By throwing Rival under the bus?” Bradley shakes his head. “She didn’t do this, Scarlett.”

“How do you know that? How do you know she’s innocent?”

Bradley glares at me.

“What?”

“Did you do it, Scarlett? Did you take all that stuff?”

“Are you out of your mind?” my daddy yells.

“Shut up, Milton!” Bradley says.

I gasp. No one talks to my daddy like that.

“You watch your mouth,” my daddy says in a quiet voice.

“Fuck you!” Bradley snarls, his eyes bulging, his nostrils flaring. “I’m sick of you trying to tell me what to do. You act like I work for you.”

“Bradley, stop!” I say.

My daddy stands up. “Listen dipshit, I don’t have time for this. You want out, you got it. It’s my daughter I’m interested in protecting.” He turns to me. “I’m done with this pipsqueak. I’m only interested in saving your hide. If this…this
nothing
here can protect his fruitcake of an ex at your expense, then you have a problem. He needs to grow some nuts and become a man who—”

Bradley jumps to his feet. “Fuck you, Milton, you thug!”

Luckily, Ritchie is there to restrain him.

“Yeah,
you’re
jumping around like a girl and you call
me
a thug?” my daddy says, shaking his head.

Bradley goes ballistic and rushes my father, but once again Ritchie is there to stop him.

“Fuck you, cunt!” Bradley says to my daddy.

I’m totally appalled. I think the arrest, the lack of sleep, time spent in jail, and the fact that Martin
Fuck
Job has dumped us has taken its toll on him, and I fear he is on the brink of a breakdown. It’s really disappointing to know that he can become unhinged that quickly. Surprising even. I mean, he’s an attorney after all, not some lay person.