Derailed (15 page)

Ritchie’s eyes sweep over me before he points outside. “I’ll be outside, Brad. Just take it easy and don’t –”

“What the fuck have you done, you little bitch?” Bradley snarls, his face inches from mine.

“Hey, Brad!” Ritchie says, yanking Bradley back. “Stop, okay?”

“You set her up, you slut!” Bradley says, shrugging off Ritchie.

“Brad, stop!” Ritchie says.

“I did not, Bradley. She attacked –”

“No she didn’t! She didn’t, you bitch! I know you, you set her up, you fucking dirty little –”

“Hey Brad, knock it off, man!” Ritchie says and jerks Bradley away from me.

“Big, don’t!” Bradley hisses angrily.

“No,
you
don’t, Brad,” Ritchie says in a warning voice. “She’s injured, she’s in the hospital. You’re not gonna do that to her, okay? Stop!”

I’ve never seen Ritchie so strong, so powerful, and so in control. Like a cop. Compared to big, strong, beefy Ritchie, Bradley’s like a mere boy. Bet Ritchie’s a great fuck.

“Let’s do this tomorrow, okay? Not tonight. She needs some rest, you need some rest. And you need to get the kids. Tomorrow, you can talk.”

Mention of the kids seems to snap Bradley out of his rage. He puts up his hands in a motion of surrender. “I’m outta here.” He turns and storms out of my hospital ward.

Ritchie turns to me. “You okay?”

“Can you help me up a little in my bed?” I say in my little-girl voice. “Just a little? It hurts when I move.”

“S…sure.” He walks toward me, an uncertain look in his eyes. 

“Just put your arms around me and lift me up.”

After running his hand across his mouth, he gingerly helps me up. Even though he’s gentle, it feels good to feel his body so close to mine, to feel his thick arms around my body. He feels one hundred percent man – solid, sexy, kind, not to mention his awesome aftershave.

Images of us fucking in my hospital bed, then him taking me doggie style in the bathroom, flash through my mind. I am most disappointed to see him leave.

SCARLETT

Home sweet home. A place where I can drink without being judged by lowly paid hospital staff. The first thing I do is fix myself a cocktail. (A Kick Ass – Triple Sec, vodka, Midori, grape juice, 7Up. I skip the lemonade because it becomes a tad too fruity, and my erudite palate, it doth protest.) Not only does it taste wonderful, it really kicks ass. Arse, whatever!

I look at the time. It’s 10 p.m. and Bradley’s still not home. I’ll bet he’s with that whore, comforting her. But that’s okay – Dunhill is still a prison. It still has iron bars, security fences, shitty food – still a jail.

I warned Rival not to fuck with me. But did she listen? Nope. She had the gall to believe she is my equal.
Now
what is she thinking? I win. Hands down, I win.

With a smile, I log onto Facebook.

Scarlett:
Thank you all for the supportive messages during this trying time. Bradley, our girls, and I, we feel really loved and supported. Thank you all again.
(Smiley face with heart eyes.)

Are you paying attention Cassie and Dina? Bradley and I are still together and still thick. 

Stacy:
Our prayers are with you and your family during this terrible time, Scarlett.

Maria:
So glad things are looking up for your family. We were so worried. What’s with this Rival character? Is she crazy?

I smile.

Stacy:
She’s as crazy as the characters in her book.

Maria:
Book? She wrote a book?

Stacy:
Yeah. Written by a total psycho. It’s somewhat sick, but gripping, I have to admit. Here’s the Amazon link.

No, no, no, stop this shit, Stacy! Don’t bring her book into it. Don’t give her any publicity. This is about me, you fucking moron.

Stacy:
I suggest you clear your schedule before you read it. You won’t want to put it down.

Would you shut the fuck up, Stacy?

Nina:
OMG! I just read a bit of the sample. It’s so fucking crazy. Just one-clicked on it.

No!

Maria:
She’s good, alright. Just one-clicked on it too!

No, you fucking imbeciles! This is about ME!

Justine:
Wow, I just one-clicked too. Is this Brad’s ex-wife? I didn’t know she was an author. Her book is a best seller? Wow!

Justine:
Wonder if she’ll agree to an interview for my blog? Lol

Stacy:
I think she might. My mom says she’s a nice person. Simple and down to earth. Not at all like the book characters.

Stacy:
Justine, here’s the link to her author blog.
Best to wait till she gets out of jail first. Lol.

Justine:
Omg, imagine if she allows me to interview her in jail. OMG!

Stacy:
omg lol.

Nina:
lol

Sarah:
lol. That would be supercool. Entertaining.
(Smiley face with big grin.)

Janey:
Keep us posted Justine. I am intrigued by this crazy Rival Murdoch.
Maybe I’m as screwed up as she is. Just one-clicked. Lol.

Maria and sixty-four others like this. 

“Uuuurrrrgggghhhh! What is wrong with you people?” I scream at my iPad. “Well, fuck you and fuck your LOLs and fuck your OMGs and fuck your emoticons and just…fuck OFF!” I log off in disgust. 

SCARLETT

“Drop the charges,” Bradley says to me.

I lie back on the couch and shake my head at him. “I can’t. She attacked –”

“Drop the charges,
Annie
.”

“No! I won’t do it. Look what she did to me.”

He moves to the edge of the couch he’s sitting on. “Drop. The. Fucking. Charges!”

“I will not.”

Bradley stares at me, and with each passing moment, his eyes become darker and narrower.

Without a word, he gets up and walks to the foot of the stairs. “Holly, Phoebe! Get your jackets.”

“Where are we going, Daddy?” Holly asks, appearing at the top of the stairs.

“To spend the day with Mum.”

“Goodie!” Holly the traitor says.

I scramble to my feet and run up to him. “What are you doing? You have an appointment with my father and –”

“Don’t give a shit. I’m bailing out.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Try me. I’m done. I cannot function with Rival facing prison time, so I might as well throw in the towel.”

“What about my father and –”

“You, your father, your father’s mob, they can all go suck eggs. I don’t give a shit.”

“Bradley, you stop this shit right now!”

“Make me. I’m the goose that’s laying golden eggs for
all
of you. Because of me, Milton secured fifty-five new accounts over the last two months. How do I know? Because the clients called me and told me that they are giving my father-in-law business because of me.
Me
. So I am God right now to all of you. You pricks, all of you should be worshipping me, and if you’re not, then fuck you all!”

“You’d trade all of this, your golden future, for a retard in Dunhill?”

He deliberates for a moment, then says, “Yes. I will. I love her.”

“Don’t say that,” I warn.

His smile is taunting. “I love her.” 

“Bradley, shut the fuck up!” I snarl.

His response is to lean in and whisper, “I. love. Rival.”

I get so furious, I slap his face.

He slaps me back. I lose my balance and crash into a side table, breaking a vase in the process. While I recover from his assault, he walks out the door with his kids.

Arsehole!

SCARLETT

Sadly, and under duress, I’ve been forced to drop all charges against that slut. That doesn’t mean she wins. Oh, no, I win, because she’s behind bars and that’s all that matters. Dunhill is a gilded prison. Not really
gilded
, just a prison with better toilets. According to my research, in order to keep from going to prison for eight years, Rival has to be housed in Dunhill for at least a year. I derive a great deal of comfort from the fact. Now Bradley, the kids, and I can get on with our lives without her meddling. It’s wonderful to have my house back. I’m lady of the manor all over again.

Having time on my hands means I can mend fences. So I reach out to Martin Jobs. It’s time I buried the hatchet, right? 

Scarlett:
Hey Martin, just wanted to say thanks for that awesome bouquet.
(Smiley face.)

Probably twenty seconds later, I get a text back from him.

Martin:
My pleasure. Hope you’re ok, Scarlett. I was worried about you. We should do coffee when you are well.

I smile to myself. Sucking up to me, he is. Well, I’m going to be the bigger person and accept his invitation to coffee.

Scarlett:
Would love 2. U free Wednesday arvo

Martin:
I sure am for u.

Scarlett:
Bookends 3 pm?

Martin:
It’s a date then.
(Smiley face.)

I love Bookends. It’s a pretentious coffee shop situated in a bookstore that sells not only overpriced books, but also some serious swag. My camera crew and I arrive fifteen minutes before Martin and set up some cameras. I spend a few minutes browsing the store’s delightful novelty items. When I see a 3D digital bookmarker/key ring in the shape of a penis, I smile. When I press a tiny button on it, it lights up with the message:
I love cock.
I laugh and take a photo of it. What a cutie.

I frown at the price, though. Two hundred and ten dollars for this little piece of shit? No fucking way. Greedy pricks. And who are these dumb idiots supporting these prices?  

When Martin arrives, I greet him with a warm hug and a kiss. He seems visibly relieved with my I-hold-no-grudges air.

“What’s with all these cameras?” he asks.

“Oh, they’re doing a doco on our lives – the Murdoch’s rise to Kirribilli. Only a selected few can appear in it.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows climb, appearing both nervous and impressed at the same time.

“You don’t mind being on camera, do you?”

“No, no, no! In fact, I’m honored that you’d include me in your doco.”

“The honor is all mine. But…” I lightly tap his arm, “lighten up. Don’t look so nervous.”

Our coffee date proceeds smoothly after that.

“It’s really great catching up with you, Martin,” I say.

“You too, Scarlett. I’m so relieved that we can still be friends.”

“Of course, Martin. I so value our friendship.”

“Thank you. I value yours too.” His face darkens for a moment. “Bradley still ignores me, you know.”

I place my hand over his pale, stubby hand. “Don’t worry about it. My husband’s not as forgiving as I am, but he’ll come around. Trust me.”

He pats my hand with his other pale fat hand, and murmurs, “Thank you, Scarlett.”

“I’m also really glad you understand that…that
awkward
situation and didn’t mention it. Of course I’m talking about the solicitation charges he had a problem with.

His eyes dart between the cameras.

“Relax, I have nothing to hide,” I say with a small laugh.

His shoulders relax. “It’s nobody’s business but yours, Scarlett.”

I bet he didn’t say anything because he was shit-scared to cross my father and Bradley. Both would have come after him with legal sledgehammers and made shish kebab out of his fat arse.

“I was young and it was a game of truth or dare. I chose dare – you know me, always seeking adventure. Of all the people, I had to choose a copper. Imagine that. But luckily, my darling husband laughs about it. Truth or dare. Ha!”

“Oh, I thought it would be something like that,” Martin says in an affable tone.

“Well, thanks to my daddy and his connections, my record has been –” I make a swiping gesture with my hand. “Poof!”

“Ah. Nice to have a daddy like that.”

“And how is your lovely family?” I ask.

“They’re all well. Thank you for asking.”

Finally, it’s time for us to part. We hug goodbye, then walk out the store together. As we pass the metal detectors, the security scanners go haywire. Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!

A security guard who looks like he comes from a dollar-a-day-will-help-provide-clean-water-for-this-country commercial descends on us, his beady eyes brimming with excitement.  

With a cheeky grin, I raise my hands high in the air. “I have nothing, but feel free to frisk me.” I wink at the guard.

Martin laughs at my antics.

I thrust my bag at the guard, then go one step further – I empty out my pockets. “See?”

Dollar-a-day inspects my bag. “Okay you can go now,” he says in a heavily accented voice.

I skip out of the store and turn to the cameraman. “Make sure you get the full audio on this. It’s so darn funny.”

“Yes, Mrs. Murdoch.”

The camera records an amused Martin emptying out his pockets for the security guard.

“This is ridiculous,” I say to the guard. “Your scanners are obviously faulty. This is Mr. Martin Job – he’s not going to steal from your stupid store. You are harassing Mr. Martin Job, an esteemed member of society.”

The guard’s nervous eyes flit between Martin and me. 

“Don’t you worry, Martin,” I say. “It’s all on camera, so you can expect an apology from Bookends. A
written
one at that.”

Suddenly, Martin gasps at the sight of the key ring in the shape of a cock in his hand. “What the hell…?” He’s no longer pasty and amused. He’s beet-red, with eyes the size of saucers.

“What is it, Martin dear?” I say.

“I…I…I don’t know how it got there,” Martin stammers, his forehead starting to blister with sweat.

“What does it say?” I ask.

“I love cock,” Martin says, looking at the errant key ring.

“What?”

“I love COCK!” Martin snaps at me.

My jaw drops.

By now the store manager has come over, and a small crowd has gathered.