Derailed (2 page)

As I cruise up their long, paved driveway, I come across a silver convertible Mercedes SLK. What a fabulous car. Did my daddy buy a new ride and fail to tell me about it? But as I peer at the registration plate, my heart slams against my double Ds, my mouth feels like I’ve eaten chalk, and the serpent choker threatens to
choke
me. The registration plate reads D1NA. Horrified, I slam back in my seat. So Dina wants to fuck with me too? She must be if she’s flaunting such a magnificent vehicle in my face. What the hell are these bitches thinking? And where the fuck are they getting money from to do battle with me?

Feeling like I have just sucked on a slice of lemon without the prize of a shot of tequila, I get out of my Porsche, grab the professionally wrapped gift, and stride up to the house.

Yeah, I’m late,
fashionably
late at that because…well, I’m just late – deal with it. (My motto: better to be late than arrive early looking less than perfect. Like Rival.)

Without bothering to knock or ring the doorbell, I open the front door, which is unlocked, and gasp at the sight that greets me. The entrance hall is just magnificent – white marble floors, marble pillars, and an oversized Richelieu gilded wall mirror, all drenched with shimmering light from a smoky pendant chandelier with bent arms.  

Feeling like I’m in a nightmare, I walk on into a sunken lounge with luxurious cream carpets, flowing floor-to-ceiling white drapes (
white
, I tell you), and an off-white leather Italian lounge suite that only an interior decorator could have chosen. The modern mirrored prints, the tasteful art deco pieces, the classy clustering of assorted cushions…Cassie and Bevan are strictly clearance or stock-take sale shoppers; when it comes to taste, they have zilch.  Ergo, the bogans (hillbillies) had to have had help to achieve this homochromatic collaboration of hues, textures and aesthetics. 

With my blood simmering and wishing I had mud on my shoes, I force myself forward and toward the sound of laughter. As I walk, my blood starts to boil at what I see – the cluster of wall photographs of Cassie and Bevan looking into each other’s eyes and smiling with happiness, the contemporary recessed lighting on the floor skirting, and the blue-tinted skylights. (When I look up, I see the night sky and stars! It’s like there is no roof. Grudgingly, I have to admit, I am impressed.
Grudgingly
. But make no mistake, I will be sure to pinch this idea.)

When I enter the dining room, where my kin is already seated, conversation halts abruptly.

“Oh look, it’s Orphan Annie,” Bevan finally says. “We didn’t hear the doorboll. Eh, door
bell
!”

Everyone laughs.

The fucker draws first blood. Okay.

I kiss my mother and father, present them with a Baccarat crystal decanter set, pull out my phone, and take a picture of the three of us. Then I take my seat, place my hands on the table, and bestow a first lady smile on my underlings. “How is everyone tonight?” 
I ask in a regal voice as I accept the glass of merlot from my daddy.

“We all are just fine, and thank you for asking,” a flush-faced Cassie says. “And where is the politician tonight?” She cranes her neck to look behind me. “Another no-show? Mm?”

“Our future
prime
minister
…is a tad fluish today,” I say, as I raise my glass to my nutmeg colored lips. “So I’ve tucked him in bed with some chicken soup, a hot water bottle, a cuddle, and a ton of kisses.”

“Again?” Bevan says, a confused look on his rubicund face. “Didn’t you use that card already?”

Did I? For a moment I feel a fleeting panic at the thought of having used that excuse before. However, as a first lady, I have to be prepared for unanticipated moments like this. So, ignoring my bitch of a brother-in-law, I continue in a somewhat majestic voice. “We’ve spent all day trudging from one open house to another in search of that elusive waterfront property that we so desire,    and –”

“
Waterfront
property?” Bevan says, before he jerks to look at Dina’s husband.
Get a load of that?

“– our future prime minister, he’s just exhausted.” I look at Bevan the yobbo (trailer trash). “Yes, waterfront property. We’ve been tossing between a few for a
while
now and…I daresay, house hunting can be rather time consuming.” I chuckle before I take a sip of my wine. “Draining even.”

“What’s your budget?” Bevan asks, trying to sound unimpressed and failing dismally.

“About five,” I say in a casual voice. “Maybe six if it’s really nice.” My shoulders lift and drop.

“Five million!” Cassie blurts. “You serious?”

“My husband sends his best though,” I continue, ignoring her outburst and flashing them all my professionally whitened teeth. That’ll teach them. Hopefully they will get the message that they aren’t in any way in the same league as the Murdochs.

“Really, huh?” Bevan says, his chest to the table, his eyes glazed from the buy-in-bulk-and-save-heaps range of booze.

“Yes, really,” I deadpan.

“So…he’s not coming for sure?”

“No, my husband isn’t –”

“In that case, everybody let go of your wallets,” Bevan says, throwing his hands up in the air. 

The house shakes with laughter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It’s a struggle not to grab a steak knife from the table and stab him in the trachea – perform a tracheotomy on him for…
fun
.  

“Nothing,” Shiraz quaffing Cassie says, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. She looks at her pathetic husband. “It was a joke in poor taste, honey.”

“Yes, it is,” my mother reprimands, even though laughter lines fan her eyes. 

“Sorry, Mum, we will refrain from making any more burglary jokes,” Bevan says.

My mother nods. “Thank you.” 

“And no grand theft auto jokes,” Needledick Bevan says. 

“And no insurance fraud jokes,” my sister Dina chips in before she raises her fork to her mouth. Obviously, she hasn’t forgiven me for stealing her thunder the day I announced my wedding. I know that for a fact – she failed to invite me to her ugly baby’s christening ceremony. (Her baby, Moses, looks like the father from
Family Guy
. Seriously.)

“Congratulations, Dina,” I say in a voice like manuka honey.

She squints at me.
What
?

“You look great. All glowing and vibrant. I hope it’s a girl this time.”

That wipes the smile off her face. She sucks in her stomach and quickly lowers her fork. “I’m not pregnant!”

My eyes fall to her stomach. “Sorry, my mistake,” I say, both hands on my chest.  

“And absolutely no
prison
jokes,” her husband Dan snarls, his eyes bulging with sudden fury.

I sniff at my glass of red. “Smells like…like
sandalwood
and…” I make a face then look at Bevan. “Bought it from Aldi Discount Supermarket, did you?”

Dan puts his arm around Dina and says, “You don’t look pregnant, babe. She’s talking shit!” 

“No burglary, no grand theft auto jokes, no nothing,” Bevan says. “You heard your mum.” He puts a finger on Cassie’s lips. She playfully chomps on it, then giggles like a schoolgirl. A fat one. 

Doing my best to ignore Dan’s angry looks, I mellow with merlot.

“Nice snake,” Dan says, his chin jerking toward my serpent choker.

My hand moves to touch the choker. 

“It’s so…you,” Dina says, obviously having recovered from my insult.

Bevan slaps the table with his palm again. “That’s what I thought when I saw it. It’s so…Scarlett.” He fashions his fingers into the shape of a snake’s head and makes darting movements at me. “Sssssscarlett!”

Clearly, the merlot isn’t doing its job, because I’m anything but mellow – these arseholes are really pissing me off. “Bevan,” I say in a voice cold with control, “why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

My mother gasps. “Scarlett!”

“Maybe I will, soon-to-be Mrs. PM,” he says in a scoffing voice. “Or shall I call you Mrs. PM
S
? Is it that time of the month, sister-in-law dear?”

“FYI and for posterity, Bradley never did those criminal things,” I say in a measured voice. “He was framed. Thankfully, the courts realized that and cleared him of
all
charges.”

“Of course,” Bevan says. “I absolutely, unequivocally, unambiguously and categorically believe you, and…I believe that he is
guilty
until proven innocent!” He shakes his finger as he speaks. 

“You mean
innocent
until proven guilty?” Cassie asks, lovingly caressing the back of his stubby neck. 

Bevan shakes his head from side to side, eliciting another explosion of laughter.

“You guys stop it,” my mother reprimands.  

“He
has
been proven innocent by people who
matter
,” I remind Bevan, struggling not to lose my shit.

“There you go!” Bevan says in a voice that can be described as condescending. Or sarcastic. Or mocking. Or waspish.

For a few moments, there is silence in the room. I breathe a sigh of relief. After all, sparring can be rather exhausting.

“Hey, can you get me an iPhone dock?” Bevan asks, bringing out his wallet and handing me a five-dollar note. “I like Bose.”

That’s it. I’ve had enough of these fuckers. I stand up, push away from my chair, and bring out my Uzi. “I hate it when people hold grudges.”

“And we hate shonky people,” Cassie evens. “Shonky attorneys, shonky politicians…”

“Your husband is shonky,” I reply in a calm voice, wriggling my pinkie in her face. “I know from first-hand experience when he put his hand down my panties.”

“WHAT?” Dina screeches. Her head jerks to look at Cassie.

Cassie’s eyes become pools of blue fury.

“And…his tongue in my mouth. A
day
before your wedding.”

“What the hell?” my father says. “Cassie? What is she talking –”

“Tell everyone why you cried so much during your wedding, my dear sister. Go on. Tell them how you found out that the man you were about to marry
raped
your –”

Cassie flings her glass of red wine at me, ruining my white dress, splashing my white boots, and dousing my lovely serpent choker, destroying my expensive ensemble in one vengeful second.

A collective gasp fills the room. 

“Oh, Cassie, look what you did – you’ve killed the snake,” Dina’s husband mocks.

Everyone starts to laugh, except me. I am so furious at my sister, I want to lunge at her, drag her across the table and beat the shit out of her. But I don’t. I have a better idea. I grab an open bottle of Shiraz and empty it all over Cassie and the table, splashing everyone around, causing them to scatter like leaves on a windy day. 

“Annie, stop!” my mother cries. 

Undaunted, I grab another bottle of red wine and empty it all over their cream upholstered dining chairs and their cream plush carpet. Thrilled at the destruction a bottle of red can cause, I turn around and sprinkle the red wine all over their lovely cream drapes and blinds – just shake the bottle at it. 

If my father hadn’t grabbed the bottle from me, I would have tripled the damage.

“You’re just a frustrated bitch because word around town is that your husband is going to leave you and return to his ex-wife!” Cassie yells from across the table.

Now that is below the belt. She shouldn’t have said that. Below the FUCKING belt!

In spite of my white-hot rage, I manage a smile. A mirthless one, of course. “Your
intelligence
is…fucked up. Totally. His wife is disabled.” I spin my finger next to my temple. “Bradley’s just helping her along so that she won’t slit her wrists, or throw herself off a building, or gas herself and our two children. Sorry to disappoint you, but Bradley and me, we’re tight. Happily married, you fat shit. Deal with it.”

My father grabs Cassie’s arm. “What the hell is Scarlett talking about? What rape?”

“Yes, Cass, what’s going on?” Dina says, her eyes darting between Cassie’s face and Bevan’s.

Silence.

“Bevan?” my father says. “Care to explain?”

Before he can answer, Cassie bursts into tears. Bevan lunges to hug her.

Dina shoots me a look of utter contempt as she too moves to comfort Cassie. “Happy now?” she demands through clenched teeth. 

There’s no need for me to answer. My job is done, excellently at that. Humming to myself, I turn and skip out of the lovely new home. 

“Bevan!” I hear my father billow. “I demand an answer, you arsehole!”

“Hey, don’t you talk to me like that!” Bevan shouts. “You’re in my house.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Did you try to rape my daughter?”

Yep, as I said, my job here is done.

On my way out, I make sure I run my car keys across Dina’s Mercedes. I get into my Porsche and retrieve a brass letter opener from the cubby I keep for
emergencies.
It isn’t easy for a woman to slash a car tire, let me tell you. You have to have strength, which luckily my adrenaline blesses me with right now. Four tires needs a tremendous amount of energy. Plus the loud hiss that follows each of the slashes can really freak you out.

I hurry back into my Porsche and speed off. Cassie should have got over her fury at me fucking her husband by now. Especially considering that she and Bevan renewed their vows earlier this year and did not invite me to their sham wedding.

As the adrenaline wears off, and even though I take comfort in that fact that I have caused friction between them, I am a bit disturbed. Of all the things Cassie said, what upset me the most was her comment about Rival and Bradley. People are starting to notice, to talk.

Rival that slut, that bitch, that…uuurrrggghhh! I’d like to fucking slit her throat and put an end to all rumors. I have to do something. This situation can’t go on. I step on my accelerator. Have to do something
soon
.

The moment I get home, I log onto Bradley’s Facebook account and go into damage control.

Bradley Murdoch:
I love #WaterfrontProperties, but it’s such a schlep viewing house after house on a Saturday. I’m beat. Wish I had a clone. Lol. But my babe wants what my babe wants, so I guess I’m gonna go walkabout whether I like it or not.
(Smiley face with heart eyes.) #
ILoveScarlettMurdoch
.