The Other Woman (39 page)

****

SCARLETT

It’s Sunday, and I have decided – we
will
picnic today. Forget yesterday and all that happened. I want to nip things in the bud and take control again. Sure, things are a little rocky after the arrest, and I know that Bradley is confused about my arrest over solicitation, but we can fix it all – we just need time and space.

Instead of getting mad, I plan to focus on getting my dimwit husband back on track. When he and the kids returned last night from
Giant Fiddler
at 7:30 p.m. (yes, 7:30 p.m), I greeted him with a scotch and a sexy smile.

I said nothing when he snatched the scotch from my hand, walked over to the TV room, and flopped into a couch. I said nothing when he ignored me, didn’t thank me for the drink, and didn’t even ask about my bandaged hand. I said nothing when he took the bottle of Scotch to the couch and finished half the bottle by himself. I said nothing when I heard him snoring on the couch.

But when I realized that I didn’t hear his car drive up to the house, didn’t hear the garage open, I rushed to the garage. The Porsche was not there. I raced to look at the driveway – it wasn’t in the driveway either. I stormed over to Bradley and shook him. “Where is the Porsche?”

He struggled to open his eyelids. “Rival…” His eyes closed again.

I smacked him on the head, unable to believe that he would actually leave our car with her. Letting her drive it is was bad enough, but allowing her to take it
home
? That was totally unacceptable, and I was livid.

But all that doesn’t matter. It’s a new day, and I plan on enjoying it with my family.

“Bradley, wake up,” I say, shaking him. “It’s a lovely day. Let’s go for a picnic.”

“I don’t feel like going out,” he mumbles when he peels open his eyelids.

“But Bradley, the kids –"

He cuts me off with a dismissive wave and stumbles toward the cupboard. “Where are the headache pills? I can never find anything anymore in this house, you know.” He slams the cupboard door shut, then cringes at the sound. “You’ve changed everything.”

With a sigh, I open a bottom drawer, fish out two Nurofens, and hand them to him. “I’ve changed a lot of things around in the kitchen, because Rival’s storage system, it was just stupid,” I mutter.

He doesn’t answer – just takes the pills and swallows them with some water.

I open the picnic basket and flash the wonderful food at him. “Champagne, caviar, pepper-and-chili cheese, among others, bread—”

“Scarlett, these are kids," he snaps. “They don’t eat caviar. They don’t eat chili-pepper cheese. Don’t you understand? They are
children
!”

“I…I—”

“And I have a headache, remember? I don’t want to be driving around with the sun in my eyes, a whole lot of people shouting in my ear, okay? I need a break.” He starts to walk out of the kitchen, then pauses, turns around and looks at me. “Medication goes in the
top
cupboard.”

“What? Why?”

“Out of children’s reach, Scarlett,” he says in a tone of voice that can be interpreted as condescending or irritable. “You need to change it back to the way it was.”

I’m at a loss for words. I really don’t know what to do anymore. It seems like nothing I do pleases Bradley. He goes back to bed, leaving me to take care of the kids once again.

At around 2 p.m., he wakes, showers, and gets dressed. Great. He’ll be in a better mood, and maybe we can take in a movie or something.

“I’m going out,” he mumbles.

“Wha…where are you going?”

“Office.”

“Office? How?”

“Cab.” He does not look at me.

“Oh, really now? And the children?”

“You can take care of them, Scarlett. I took care of them all day yesterday. Gave you a break, didn’t I?”

I explode. “Bradley, these are your fucking kids! Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”

“Fine! I’ll take them with. Happy?”

Tears prick my eyes. “What have I done, Bradley, that you are so mad at me?”

“You have to ask? You got us arrested.
You
were arrested for solicitation, and you really have to ask?” With a wave of his hand, he gives me his back. “Holly, Phoebe? Grab your swimmers girls. We’re going to Mum’s.”

I stand stunned as my husband prepares to take the kids to his ex-wife. Again. How is she doing it? How has Rival managed to turn Bradley off me so quickly?

“You said office, now you’re going to see HER!” I shriek.

He throws out his palms.

“You just want to see that bitch again!”

“Aw, Scarlett, would you shut—”

“That slut, that—”

Bradley hurries to shut the bedroom door. “Would you shut UP? That’s their mother you’re talking—”

“I don’t give a shit!”

After shaking his head in exasperation, he stands in front of the mirror and combs his hair. He’s combing his fucking balding hair to go see his looney ex? Furious, I lunge at him and snatch away his stupid comb. “Who the fuck uses a comb these days?”

“I do,” he says in a defiant voice.

I shake my head. “Your whole attitude toward me ever since you found out about my priors has been dismissive, impatient, and accusing. I don’t like it. I refuse to accept it.”

“Good. I don’t like a lot of things too.”

“I was fucking eighteen, Bradley!”

“Whatever, Scarlett. I don’t give a shit.”

“What?”

He looks at me in the mirror and says, “I. Don’t. Give. A. Shit.”

Fury overtakes me. “It’s all her fault. That nut job. She’s to blame. That drug-dealing psycho….how could you let that nut job who sits on her arse all day—”

“She does not sit on her arse all day, fyi. She just wrote and published a book, I’ll have you know.” His impatient, irritable voice suddenly brims with so much pride, I have the urge to drive the comb in my hand through his fucking eyeball.

“Wrote a book? Bradley, anyone can write a book.
I
wrote a book that I will be publishing soon. It’s no big deal. Besides, what is she going to write about?”

“Please,” he says in a scoffing tone. “You did not write a book, Scarlett.”

“I did. I’ve been working on it for years.”

His eye-rolling infuriates me.

“I’ll show you,” I say. “You don’t believe me, come with me. I’ll show you.” I race downstairs to the study, hook up my portable hard drive to my PC, and sit in front of it.

“You don’t even have a laptop,” Bradley says, following me into the study and hovering at the doorway.

“I have everything backed up, so it doesn’t…” I stop typing and peer at the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Bradley walks inside and looks over my shoulder.

“My files, they’re…empty.”

“Riiiight.”

“Bradley, I’m telling you, I have the backups and I…” I stop talking and begin feverishly opening random files, my hands starting to shake. Nothing.

I try file searches. Nothing.

“Gangbanger 1?” Bradley asks, peering at a file name. “What is that?”

“Dunno,” I say and open it. To my absolute horror, I see a photo of me giving Norman a blow job.

I’m so stunned, I freeze.

“Fuuck!” Bradley cries. “Scarlett, is that…
you
?”

“No!” I quickly close the file and click on delete, my heart racing, my throat constricting. The file won’t allow me to delete it for some reason.
Read Only
flashes on my screen.

“Grangbanger 2?” Bradley says, peering at another file.

I scramble to delete that file too, even though I don’t know what it contains.

But Bradley grabs my hands from behind me.

“Let me go!” I cry as I struggle with him, on the verge of hysteria. He grabs me by my shoulders and swings me and my chair away from the computer, then stands in front of it.

“What the…?” he whispers when he sees another photo of me tea-bagging Norman. “Scarlett…Scarlett…this…is—”

“No!” I say, as I lunge to stop him from viewing the rest of the Gangbanger files. But he jerks upright, grabs me, and shoves me out of the study so hard, I fall and land on my arse. He locks the study door.

“Bradley open the fucking door!” I cry, rattling the lock.

He sticks a chair under the doorknob, preventing me from rattling it.

“Bradley!” In a state of utter panic, I slam a silver candelabrum against the door, making a huge hole in it. Through the hole I see Bradley going through the files, shaking his head as does.

My heart sinks. Rival, she gained access to all my files when she broke into the house. I’m fucked. Slowly I sink to the floor in a helpless heap.
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

About ten minutes later, Bradley opens the door, a USB stick in his hand.

“Give me that!” I cry and try to snatch the USB stick from him.

He moves the memory stick out of reach and eyes me, unbridled disgust on his face.

“That was a long time ago,” I cry.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Swear.”

I cross my index fingers. “I swear, I swear, I swear!”

Slowly he shakes his head, a mirthless smile on his face.

“What? What?”

He doesn’t answer; he just shakes his head.

“Why? Why are you—”

“Look at those pearls you’re wearing in the photos.” His voice is soft, controlled. Too controlled for a man who saw what he just saw.

“P…pearls—”

“They’re Rival’s.”

“No, they’re not. I probably have the same ones she—”

“I got them for her when I won my first case. I had them specially made for her. Cost me two months’ salary.”

At a loss for words, I stare at him.

“You took them from the safe. That means those photos were taken
after
we got together. That means you are a dirty little tramp. Filthy.” His voice drips with contempt and disdain.

“I …I…” How could Bradley speak to me this way?

“Let’s see you explain this one. Go on.”

I say nothing. Shock has me muted.

“Who did I marry?
What
?
What
the fuck did I marry? What kind of twisted slut are you?”

I lunge at him. “Bradley, please don’t say that to…”

He jerks out of reach. “Don’t touch me, you dirty tramp.”

Again, I dive to throw my arms around him. “I can explain.”

He shoves me hard, and this time I crash into a wall and land on the floor, dazed. “Don’t come near me again, you hear?” he says through clenched teeth before he steps outside the house. Shortly thereafter, I hear
my
Porsche start. I will myself to run after him, but I can’t move. As I lie wounded and in tatters on the floor, I hear him drive off with the kids.

The look on Bradley’s face – I can’t get over it. I struggle to sit up, and with my knees drawn to my chest, I stare at the carpet. I’m fucked.

****

RIVAL

I’m confused. Bradley arrives twenty minutes after he called, looking disheveled and withdrawn.

He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, then greets everyone else. When his phone buzzes, he looks at it and frowns. “Sorry, can’t stay,” he mumbles.

“Why not?” Bear asks.

He shakes his head, scratches his eyebrow, blows out his cheeks, then shakes his head again.

“Brad, are you all right?” I ask.

He blinks rapidly before he answers. “I…I’ve got to go,” he says, and races off.

I look at Holly. “Everything okay with your dad?”

“They been fighting again,” she says.

“She broke the door,” Phoebe says.

Arena and I exchange shocked looks, followed by smug smiles. Paradise lost?

I look at Ritchie, expecting to see him share in our smugness. He doesn’t. Instead he mumbles about having something to do and leaves.

My patience with Ritchie is wearing thin.

Doesn’t he understand how desperate I am for Bradley to leave Scarlett for me? For Bradley to acknowledge the huge mistake he made by choosing her over me? For Bradley to realize that he’s made the
biggest
mistake of his life and
beg
for me to take him back?

I mean, all that I have done, all my plotting and planning, all my calculating and huge risk-taking will be in vain if there is no dissension in Scarlett and Bradley’s lives.

It’s now a game between Scarlett and me. She started this cruel and unfair game, and I want to win it. I'm almost certain I can.