Getting Even (17 page)
Nonetheless, I tiptoe up the stairs to the bedroom, where I slowly turn the doorknob. I’ll sneak in quietly, strip off my clothes and lie next to—
I reel backward when I open the door, my gasp getting caught in my throat. At first I’m stunned—too stunned to move. Too stunned to breathe.
Oh my God…
My fantasy of the night Charles and I would share is shattered.
Everything is shattered.
My whole life.
I can’t breathe….
Somehow, I suck in some air. I want to run away. Run back to the car and start this part over again.
“Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” Charles moans. He’s ramming some woman from behind—giving it to her hard.
Oh. My. God.
The room’s spinning. I stand there and watch. Watch as he moans and groans in ecstasy, oblivious to my presence.
I’m not sure where I get the courage, but I take a step into the room. I know why. It’s because I want to see the woman. The vixen. The striking bombshell for whom Charles can’t help but get it up. Can’t help but screw like he’s a nineteen-year-old.
In our fucking bed.
“You asshole!” I scream.
Charles’s eyes whip in my direction a fraction of a moment before he pushes the bitch forward onto the bed. I see her face then, the vampy temptress who has led my husband astray.
Confusion hits me like a slug in the chest. Because it’s Marsha. His partner at the firm—his significantly older partner.
She flies off the bed with the agility of a ten-year-old and cowers behind the nearby chaise as though she expects me to pull out a gun. Charles, on the other hand, stays on the bed, staring at me for several long moments. I see shock in his eyes. It even looks as if he’s shaking.
I’m shaking. Both my hands are trembling. And I’m making some sort of wheezing sound I can’t control. I don’t take my eyes off Charles.
He gets up and takes baby step after baby step toward me. His penis is now limp, and his palms are outstretched in a sign of surrender.
“Ann, don’t freak out.”
More wheezing. I hear the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this. Oh, fuck.”
Some sort of primal cry escapes my lips. I drag my arm across the top of Charles’s dresser, knocking everything to the floor.
“For God’s sake, Ann—don’t freak out!”
“Don’t freak out?” I repeat. “Don’t
freak out?
” I snatch up a bottle of cologne off the floor and whip it at Charles’s head. He ducks. The bottle lands on the bed behind him.
“Let me explain.”
“Explain that you
lied to me for the past fucking year?
”
“We’ve drifted apart. I knew this was wrong, but—”
I shoot a venomous gaze at Marsha. Something is wrong with this picture. I can’t wrap my brain around this one. “You can get it up for Marsha, but you can’t get it up for
me?
How old are you anyway, you fucking skank?” The words come from a place deep inside me; a place where understanding sees the face of deception. I remember her calling my house last weekend nonstop. Those pathetic, whiny calls. “My God, Charles. This is
our
bed. The bed you haven’t fucked me in in how long—” I have to stop. Have to take a breath. “What was last Sunday about, then? Finally, we get close again. Charles, we almost made love…and now this?”
This is all so surreal. I don’t get it.
“What does she mean you two almost made love, Charles?” Marsha demands. “You said you told her it was over!”
“Marsha, let me handle this.”
“Handle what?” I snap.
“The truth, Annelise,” Marsha responds in the smuggest way possible.
I know I will lose it if she stays in this room. “You get out of here. Now.”
Marsha’s eyes bounce from me to Charles. He meets her gaze. “It’s okay,” he tells her. “Just stay there a minute.”
“Stay there a minute?” I shout, staring Charles down. Seriously, there’s something weird brewing inside me. I could snap at any moment.
“Let’s…” Charles’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “Let’s go downstairs and talk about this, Ann. Me and you.”
“While Marsha stays here in our bedroom?”
“It’s a complicated situation.”
“Let me uncomplicate it. Get the fuck out of here.”
“Let’s just go downstairs,” Charles pleads.
“No.” This again from Marsha, who is slipping into a shirt. Charles’s shirt, the bitch. “You tell her, Charles. And tell her now. Damn you, we have plans.”
With those words, I feel the raging locomotive inside me start to slow down. I’m confused again.
What the fuck is going on? And why am I the only one who doesn’t know?
“If you don’t tell her, I will.”
“Marsha, just wait a second, will you?”
“Tell me what?” I demand.
“You tell her right now, or I swear I’ll walk out that door and that’ll be it. I am through waiting on you to deal with this.”
“All right, all right.” Defeat streaks across Charles’s face.
“
Now,
Charles.”
My eyes volley back and forth between the two of them, and quite frankly, I’m getting dizzy. A mix of emotions are fighting for control of me right now. I could either collapse into a quivering heap on the floor, or I could snap someone’s neck.
“Yes, Charles.” Somehow I speak calmly. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he looks at the bitch in my bedroom. “I’m in love with Marsha.”
My knees threaten to give way. “You-y-you…”
“We’re not working out. You know that.”
“I…I…do?”
“Yes, you do. How long has it been since we’ve made love?”
“B-but last weekend…”
“Last weekend…” Charles throws another glance at Marsha, who’s standing with her hands akimbo. “I wasn’t sure I should be doing what I’ve been doing with Marsha. I was torn. Feeling guilty for lying to you. I thought I could make things work with you….” Charles looks at Marsha again. She’s now marching toward him. “But now I want a divorce,” he hurriedly adds.
“You want a
what?
” Honestly, I feel like someone zapped me onto another planet, that’s how bizarre this is. I’m completely lost.
“It’s no secret you two haven’t been getting along. Why don’t you just let him go?” Marsha, who has barely said two words to me in six years, sure is full of hot air now.
“You know what?” I glare at her. “You need to shut your mouth and get out of my house. Before I make you get out. And if you think I’m lying, just try me.” If she pushes me, I
know
I’ll hurt her.
Marsha looks to Charles, her eyes frantically searching his for an answer.
“Look at my husband a second longer, bitch, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Charles nods. “Go. I’ll call you later.”
Marsha doesn’t even have the decency to change into her own clothes. She breezes by me in Charles’s shirt and nothing else. My eyes follow her to the bedroom door. As soon as she’s gone, I rush to the door and slam it. Then I whirl around and face my husband.
“You want a divorce?”
“This isn’t how I planned for you to find out.”
“How long has this been going on? And with
Marsha?
” That’s the most puzzling part of all. If he had cheated with Pamela Anderson, I could understand. But Marsha? She’s almost fifty, and looks it as far as I’m concerned.
“You can’t help who you love.”
My hands fly to my hips. “Oh, so now you’re in love with her?”
“About two years now,” he admits, again not looking me in the eye. “Look, I thought it would just be an affair, but our feelings grew deeper.”
“But you’re married to me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says lamely. “This isn’t easy for me. For any of us. Marsha wanted me to leave you a year and a half ago, but I stayed, still hoping for the best.”
I slap Charles across the face. “Are you kidding me? You’re treating me like I’m the freaking other woman?”
“I’ve made my decision,” Charles says calmly. More calmly than he should, considering he’s just pulled my whole life out from under me.
“You’re supposed to tell me this was a fling—that it was sex and nothing more. Then you’re supposed to beg me for forgiveness, and hope to hell I don’t kick you out. I’m your
wife,
Charles. That’s the way it works.”
“Maybe in a fucking romance novel,” Charles barks back. “But this is real life. I fell in love with someone else.”
“Don’t you dare yell at me. Not under these circumstances!”
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Look, I’m stressed out here. I’m trying to make this as easy as possible.”
I snort. “Like that’s not a fantasy.”
Charles shakes his head ruefully. “Ann—”
“You want to be with her?” I ask, dumbfounded. “You really want to leave me and be with
her?
”
“Life’s too short. I have to be true to my feelings.”
OhmyGodohmyGod!
Panic slams me in the gut like a sledgehammer. He’s really saying this. He really wants to leave me. “What about your vows? What about being true to them? I know we’re not regular churchgoers, but we both believe in God. We were raised in Christian homes. I thought you took your vows before God seriously.”
“Let’s not start that religion shit. I’m not going to stay married to you just because—”
I lose it then. I charge toward Charles, shoving hard against his chest. He stumbles backward but doesn’t fall.
His eyes flash fire at me.
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare look at me like that, you lying, cheating son of a bitch!” My voice trips over the last few words and tears cloud my eyes.
Devastation is suddenly taking control of the anger, and I fear I’ll fall apart.
I can’t do this. I can’t be here in the same room with Charles.
So I turn around and flee. I pound down the stairs like a rapist is on my tail. I snatch my keys off the hall table and burst through the front door and don’t stop running until I reach my car. I jam the key into the lock, but it doesn’t work.
“Damn!”
It takes me a moment to realize I’m at my Jetta, not the Grand Am I rented. I run around the back of my car to the rental car. It takes me two tries to get the key in before I remember it has a remote control. I pop open the door and jump behind the wheel.
Now I look to my front door. No Charles.
And that’s when I break down. I cry, and cry, not sure I’ll ever stop.
Claudia
B
y Sunday morning, I was itching to leave the piece of paradise in Alabama and hit the road for home. I told Lishelle that a girlfriend weekend wasn’t the same without Annelise, but the truth is, I’m desperate to hear from Adam. Last night, I had a nightmare. In the nightmare, I gave him all the time in the world, and when we spoke again, he had moved on.
I woke up with a feeling of terror. I thought giving Adam some time to think was a good idea, but what if it’s not? What if the longer I stay away, the more comfortable he becomes without me in his life? The less chance we have of getting back together?
With Lishelle’s blessing, we packed up and left the resort right after brunch, which was shortly before noon.
“Girl, what are you doing?” Lishelle asks, casting me a sideways glance as she drives. We’ve finally merged onto I-10.
“I’m just…” I am almost tempted to slip the cell phone back in my purse, feeling like I’ve been caught shoplifting. But I pull the phone onto my lap. “I figured I’d check my messages.”
She tsks softly. “And if he called, you’re gonna call him right back?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. But quite frankly, I’d advise against it. He’s hurt you in the worst possible way. The last thing you need to make him believe is that your arms are wide open for him.”
“I want him back,” I admit. “What’s the point in playing games?”
“Because you don’t want him to walk all over you at any point in the future. If he comes back to you, you have to make it seem like you gave serious thought to being without him. That’s the only thing that will keep him in line. Trust me—that’s what I should have done with David the first time he stepped out on me. But I was so hurt, then so relieved that it was only a fling that I took him back with open arms, as if I deserved substandard treatment for the privilege of being with him.”
I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now. “If it’s all the same, I’m still gonna check my messages.”
“Suit yourself.”
My voice mail tells me that I have four messages, and my splintered heart fills with hope. The first message, however, isn’t from Adam. It’s from my mother. She wants to know where I am and how I’m doing. She’s worried I ended up in emergency with a flu that got much worse.
But it’s the second message that causes my breath to snag in my throat. It’s Annelise, and she sounds like I must have last week when Adam said he didn’t want to marry me.
“Oh my God,” I utter.
“What?” Lishelle whips her gaze at me.
“It’s Annelise,” I explain. Then I try to listen to the remainder of her message. I hear only something about her needing to talk to me, and that she’s staying at an airport hotel.
I replay the message.
“Claudia, it’s Annelise. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really need to talk to you, okay?” She sniffles, takes a loud breath. “And Lishelle. You’re the only people I trust in the world. If you get this on your way home, please call me.” More sniffling. “I’m at a Red Roof Inn near the airport. I really need to talk to you both.”
“Okay,” I say to Lishelle. “Now
that
was weird. Annelise is staying at some airport hotel and wants us to call her there.”
“She’s at a hotel? She didn’t say why?”
“Just that she needs to talk to me. And to you. Something about us being the only two people in the world she trusts. And she was crying.”
“Oh, God. What kind of drama is she going through? When she left she was so full of hope.”
“What is going on with everyone?” I ask. “Is May fucked-up-relationship month?”
I check the rest of my messages, and there’s one from my sister, and one of my bridesmaids, but nothing from Adam. Asshole.
I hate to even think it, but I’m almost glad that Annelise is going through some drama. It’ll give me a reason to forget about my own problems.
At least for a while.
We pull into Atlanta proper around 6:00 p.m. I call Annelise’s cell phone. There’s no answer, so I dial directory and then call the Red Roof Inn.
Minutes later, I’m connected to her room. “Hello?” Annelise answers, sounding as if someone’s died.
“Annie, it’s Claudia.”
“Oh, God.” Her voice crumbles. “Claudia.”
“Shh, honey. It’s okay. What’s going on?”
“The absolute worst thing.”
“Lishelle and I are just getting back into Atlanta. We’re on our way to see you.”
“Okay.”
Obviously something serious is going on, something that’s probably better said in person. “Sweetie, we’re on our way right now, okay?”
“I’m in room 410.”
“See you in about fifteen.”
“Thank you. I love you guys.”
“Do you think he kicked her out?” Lishelle asks as we walk briskly through the hotel lobby. “Because if he did…”
“Maybe she left,” I suggest. “You and I know there’s been a serious lack of passion in that marriage. Maybe she went home and he rejected her again and she had enough of it and decided to move on.”
“Lord, I hope Charles didn’t turn into a fucking dog. That’s the last thing she needs.”
We stop talking as we near the bank of elevators, as there’s a family of four waiting there. The elevator doors open and we all step on. Something tugs at my heart as I listen to the kids, a boy and a girl, argue over who’ll get to press the button. I can’t help thinking about Adam, how we’re supposed to have children together. I have to look away, or I might start to cry.
When the elevator stops, Lishelle heads out, and I follow her.
My thoughts return to Annelise and her crisis when we reach her door. Lishelle knocks. She’s about to knock a second time when the door swings open.
“Oh, Annie.” I float into the room and gather her in my arms. “What the hell?”
She pulls apart from me. “I moved out. I went home to surprise Charles with amazing sex but I’m the one who was surprised. I caught him in our bed fucking his law partner!”
“Oh my God,” Lishelle exclaims. “No, honey. Not Charles.”
“Oh yeah.”
I stare at Annelise in complete shock. “But you just told us he’s suffering from erectile dysfunction.”
“So I thought.” She brushes away her tears, and anger fills her face. “That was only one of his surprises for me. Trust me, they get better.”
“Not Stephanie Morton,” I ask in a horrified tone. I’ve met the woman, and I know she’d be happy to flirt her way up the corporate ladder. “She can’t be more than twenty-two.”
“She’s not a partner and believe me I
wish
it was Stephanie. Thin as a rake, fake breasts and legs that go on forever. I wouldn’t be happy, but at least I’d understand how he could be so weak.”
Annelise strolls into her hotel room and lifts a bottle of wine. She puts it to her mouth and gulps down the Chardonnay like it’s water. She’s not a huge drinker to begin with, so I know how badly she must be hurting. I’m in an incredible amount of pain—and Adam and I weren’t married. Plus, I didn’t catch him screwing some other woman.
“Who’s the bitch?” Lishelle asks.
“Marsha Hindenberg.”
Marsha Hindenberg Marsha Hindenberg Marsha Hindenberg.
“Marsha
Hindenberg!
She’s—”
“Old enough to be his mother.”
Lishelle gasps. “You’re shitting me.”
“Well, not really, but she looks it,” Annelise says, looking to Lishelle. “She’s around thirteen or fourteen years older than him, which makes her forty-nine or so. And you should see how she dresses. Shirts up to her nose, skirts down to the floor.”
“She’s not an attractive woman,” I tell Lishelle. “Every time I look at her, I see this odd resemblance to a turkey.”
“How could he get it up for her?” Annelise asks, though the question is rhetorical. “He can’t get it up for me, and I’m his wife. I’m at least moderately attractive, aren’t I?”
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Lishelle tells her.
“I don’t understand it.” Annelise drinks more wine.
“Maybe he was…drunk.” It’s the only thing I can think of. “Or high. Or temporarily insane. You know there’s no way he would sleep with Marsha otherwise.”
Annelise plops onto the bed. The tears return. “He said he’s in love with her. That he’s been in love with her for a while and that it’s not fair to
her
if he stays married to me.”
“Okay, hold up.” Lishelle sits on the second bed in the room and stares at Annelise in shock. “He’s in love with her?”
I sit beside Lishelle. “He can’t mean that. How can he mean that?”
“I don’t know. But Marsha was in our bedroom, damn near getting in my face. Telling Charles that he had to make his choice right there, or it’d be over with them. And Charles…Charles…he…”
Lishelle reaches across the bed and takes Annelise’s hand in hers. “Oh, Annie. I don’t know what to say.”
“I keep hoping to wake up. Realize this is the worst nightmare of my life.” She hastily wipes away her tears. “I don’t want to cry over him. If he could treat me so badly, he doesn’t deserve my tears.”
“Men,” I say. “I swear, you just can’t trust most of them. First Adam, now Charles.” I don’t say what pops into my mind—
How long before Glenn shows his true colors?
“You shouldn’t be staying here,” Lishelle tells Annelise. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone.”
“Come to my place,” I offer. “I could certainly use the company. I don’t want to sit around crying over Adam anymore.”
“No, I’m fine.” Annelise waves off the suggestion. “I don’t want to burden you.”
“If I were you, I’d go back to that house. Kick Charles the fuck out.”
“I know, Lishelle. But I’m not ready to go back. I keep seeing Charles screwing Marsha from behind…Hearing how much he enjoyed it…If I go back there…” She closes her eyes tightly and shakes her head.
“I’ve got space for you, too,” Lishelle says. “Glenn should be moving in shortly, but hey, I’ll always be here for you. If you need anything. Anything at all.”
“And if I need you to beat the shit out of Charles?” Annelise cracks a small smile.
“Tell me the time and place,” I say without hesitation. “As long as you beat down Adam for me, as well.”
“No word from him?” Annelise asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I guess he needs more time.”
Annelise sighs. The sound is full of regret and disappointment. “You think you know a guy, and you give him your heart, you give him the best part of yourself for years. You lie with him night after night. You listen to his problems, his hopes and dreams. You take care of him, because you want more than anything for him to be happy. You give him more of yourself than you’ve ever given anyone. And still, you can never be sure that one day he won’t fuck you over in the worst possible way.”
“You know that’s right,” Lishelle says.
“But your girlfriends,” Annelise continues, “they’re the ones you can really count on. The ones who will be there with you through thick and thin.”
I don’t say a word. I can’t, because my throat is clogging with emotion. What Annelise said was so poignant and so true, and it strikes a chord deep in my soul. I wonder, despite everything Adam and I have meant to each other over the years, if he’s really capable of walking away from me without a backward glance.
I wonder if he ever loved me at all.
