My Wife's Li'l Secret (4 page)

When we eventually returned home, McFlurry in hand, I shook my head at the sight of the house.

Dirty dishes piled in the sink and spilled onto countertops, bins overflowed with pizza boxes, Thai food disposable bowls, KFC boxes, Indian food containers, and empty bottles – beer bottles mainly.

A puddle of spilled strawberry juice on the floor had attracted a meandering line of ants, a few of Becky’s baby bottles lay on the sink with soured milk in them, and dirty clothes were strewn throughout the place.

More empty beer bottles littered the living room, and even the entrance hall table had empty beer bottles on it.

The thing that pissed me off most was the overflowing cigarette ashtrays in the TV room, the bar, the dining room and the patio. To make things worse, the windows hadn’t been opened all day, so the place reeked of spoiled food, booze, and stale cigarette smoke.

Man, I couldn’t wait for the arsehole to get his shit together and get the fuck out of my house. His presence was so goddamn disrupting!

With a deep scowl, I changed into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and began a major clean-up; opened the windows and doors and aired the place, emptied out the trash, loaded the dishwasher, cleared away stray beer bottles, vacuumed the place, mopped floors, and washed Becky’s baby bottles before sterilizing them.

Some people hum as they clean up. I cursed.

Six ashtrays full of cigarette butts. Fucking Viggo!

Another beer bottle! Fucking Viggo!

A cigarette burn on the carpet. Fucking Viggo!

Wet towels on the bathroom floor. Fucking Viggo!

No bread at home to make a sandwich. Fucking Viggo!

Can’t find my cell phone charger. Fucking Viggo!

Knocked my elbow on the corner of the kitchen counter. Fucking Viggo!

Two hours later, the place looked clean. I was all cursed out, but I felt comfortable again. Exhausted, but able to relax in my home.

Just before I went to bed, I called Liefie and double-checked that they would be taking a cab.

I was almost asleep when Liefie, Viggo, and Becky arrived home. I peeped out the window just in time to see a cab pulling away. Nodding with satisfaction, I crawled back into bed.

Liefie stumbled over to me. “Helloooo, boss!”

Immediately, I was assailed by a waft of whisky.

She’s drinking whisky now?

She usually drank chardonnay or sparkling white when she did drink, which was usually on a Friday or Saturday night in a social gathering. Maybe two glasses, then she’d feel sleepy. Or want to have sex. So, of course I didn’t mind her drinking, I liked it, even encouraged it.

But at that moment, I did mind.

The next morning, I sat Liefie down and talked to her about her drinking during the day and driving with Becky in the car while she was drunk.

“I was just having fun, Richie. It’s so good to have Viggo around and to be able to speak Russian, and…and…to be with Yuliya and…” She shrugged. “It takes my mind off of Gareth,” she said, her face scrunching up.

“That’s okay, Liefie,” I quickly said and gave her a hug. “Just promise you will
never
drive drunk. And never ever,
ever
when the kids are in the car?”

“Okay.”

“Say
I promise!”

“I promise, I promise!”

All sorted out. My soul was at ease once again.

There was one last thing to address.

“Liefie, Ally…her being the last one in school to be picked up every day – that’s not on, Liefie. She was really upset yesterday. You have to …”

Her blue eyes suddenly narrowed and her sweet demeanor vanished like the beers from my bar fridge each time Viggo neared it. “Fine, fine, FINE!" she snapped.

“Liefie!” I threw out my hands. “What the fuck…?”

“Whatever!” She stormed off, muttering, “Ally! Ally! Ally! Ally this, Ally that…”

I couldn’t believe how quickly her mood had change. Bipolar-like. Maybe she was hung over?

In spite of her shitty attitude, the place was clean the next afternoon when I returned home.  The kids were fed and bathed, a roast was waiting in the oven, and Liefie met me at the door with a cold beer.

Even though I smelled whisky on her breath, she had cooked and cleaned, so I said nothing.

Harmony once again, in spite of alcoholic and parasitic Viggo invading our home, prevailed.

Or so I thought.

I was at work when I received a call from APU, a bank I had no dealings with.

“We haven’t received payment on your credit card for the month of August,” the cantankerous voice on the other end of the line said.

“Mate, you got the wrong man. I don’t have a credit card with you guys.”

It was the caller’s turn to sound confused. “Eh…I think you do, Mr. MacMillan. You’ve even made payment on the card last month.”

“Last …?
I
made a payment?
Me
? That’s not possible.”

“Well…”

“Could be identity theft,” I said more to myself than to the person on the other end of the line. “Shit, I hope it isn’t!”

“Well, with identity theft, the thief doesn’t make payments, Mr. MacMillan.”

Bemused, I scratched my chin and tried to make sense of the situation.

“What…what is my…my credit limit?” I asked with great trepidation.

“Um …fifteen thousand, five hundred dollars.”

“What? How much has been –?”

“Fourteen thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two dollars.”

My jaw fell. This has to be a joke, I thought.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a client walk into our offices.

“Look, I’ll eh, I’ll get back to you,” I said when my jaw returned to its correct anatomical position. Without waiting for a response, I ended the call.

Fifteen grand used up on a credit card I did not have? It
had
to be identity theft.

Since I was too busy at work to delve into the situation, I made a mental note to visit the bank the following day and sort it out. Get the cops involved and install some top notch internet security on my laptop and phone.

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes later that I got a call from CMI Financial and Banking Services.

I listened in disbelief as the lady with a Filipino accent explained the nature of her call.

“We have not received payment for the last month and …”

Deja vu all round.

Again, I explained. “I have no dealings with CMI.”

“We talked to you on the 13
th
of August. You promised us a payment on the 25
th
of August.”

“Listen, you’ve got it wrong there. You’ve never spoken to
me
before.”

“Oh, but we did. All our calls are recorded.”

I asked the dreaded question and held my breath. “What is the …the…the amount owed?”

“Total? Nine thousand, one hundred and fifty-five dollars and twenty-five –”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“’Cuse me!” the lady said in a startled voice. “No need for such language, Mr. MacMillan.”

It was identity theft for sure, and it felt like I had been sucker punched.

I’d heard of stories of people never recovering from the destruction and devastation caused by identity theft. Not only was I a breadwinner in my family, I was also running my own business, so there was no way I could afford to be left with lousy credit.

A quick mental calculation revealed I owed approximately twenty-four thousand dollars in credit card debt.

It was time to freak the fuck out. And I did.

Even though we were busy at work and I couldn’t afford to leave early, I sought out Bear, my brother-in-law, my best friend and business partner. “I gotta vamoose.”

His eyes scanned my face. “Problem?”

I threw out my hands and dropped my voice. “I’ll explain later, but I gotta go home now. Sorry.”

“Right you are,” he said, his eyebrows becoming one. “Call me if you need any help.”

With a nod, I hurried out of the offices and drove home where I planned to handle this situation, maybe call the bank and the cops right away.

“Ritchie, what are you doing home?” Liefie said, her eyes huge with surprise.

It was 2 p.m. and she was still in her nightdress. A short, transparent one that left little to the imagination. I wouldn’t have minded under normal circumstances, but with her brother around, surely a sense of decorum should prevail? Maybe it was a Ukrainian thing – maybe they took no notice of what their siblings wore.

Maybe I was a jerk for thinking along those lines.

Little Becky was in her pajamas eating chocolate and watching TV, and the place was once again a mess, to my ire.

Empty beer bottles clustered around, overflowing ashtrays stank up the place, dirty glasses sat on the kitchen countertops and in the TV room, overflowing rubbish bins …the usual.

As for my beloved brother-in-law, he didn’t venture out of his bedroom, so I assumed he was asleep.

“We have a problem,” I said, taking Liefie’s arm and leading her into our bedroom.

“About …?” I heard a thread of fear in her voice, which surprised me.

I went on to explain the phone calls from the bank and waited for her eyes to grow large and for concern to shadow her face. I expected her jaw to drop and for her to dash to the computer, change all our passwords, and demand we purchase a paper shredder so that nobody could gain access to the discarded papers, invoices, and bills that could make us vulnerable to identity theft.

Instead, her eyes dropped to the floor as she shifted around.

I squinted at her. “Lief?”

No answer.

“LIEFIE!”

Slowly she raised her eyes to meet mine, something similar to defiance in them.

I gawked at her as things crystallized. “Are you fucking serious?”

She shrugged.

“No way!” I flopped onto my bed as the enormity of the situation hit me. “You did this shit? That’s twenty-five grand almos –”

“I just wanted to have some fun!” she said as she wrung her hands. “Everything costs money, you know. I got tired of not having.”

“Not having.” I glared at her. “So you forged my signature on application forms, obtained two credit cards, and maxed them out? That’s not counting your credit card which you
usually
use? Is that maxed out too?”

Her defiant eyes dropped to the floor again.

“Fuck! You can’t be serious LIEFIE!” I jumped to my feet, arms outstretched. “You have a limit of TWELVE THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS ON THAT ONE, LIEFIE!”

“Would you stop yelling?” she cried, her hands fluttering in the air, motioning me to simmer down.

I started to pace, feeling like I was under a giant wave.

“Three credit cards, Liefie!
Three
! Fifteen, nine and twelve. Huh? And by not servicing them, you are ruining my good name with the banks, Liefie!”

She put both her hands on her head. “Stop yelling at me. You are just trying to control me. I don’t want to be controlled anymore by you.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Control you? Control you, Liefie? You have a limit of twelve grand on your card to spend how you like; how is that controlling you, huh? Do I monitor what you buy? Did I ever
once
question you about it? Huh? I pay
all
the bills and you use your money for food and the kids. How is that…?”

“Well, it’s not enough,” she shrieked, throwing her arms down. “Simple!”

“Twelve thousand dollars a month is not enough? It is, Liefie, it is. You know how I know that? Because you’ve never gone over six in the past five years, except when you went to Ukraine twice. Then it was twelve, and I understood… fuck! I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you!” I paced, rubbing my chin and cursing some more.

She in turn rolled her eyes and muttered angrily in Russian.

Then I had a question. “Liefie, in nine weeks you’ve spent thirty-five thousand dollars on …what?”

She didn’t answer, just glared at me, nostrils flaring, eyes bulging, her lips a thin red scar.

“What, Liefie? I have a right to know. I pay the fucking bills, you know. I work hard, sometimes fifteen-hour days so we can have a comfortable lifestyle.”

“Yes, you work all the time! You’re never here! Always helping Bear and Arena with their problems. You’re never here!”

How could she possibly say something like that? It was such an unfair thing to say.

“Their baby was kidnapped, Liefie. She is my sister, I had to help. We love her kids, remember? Or have you forgotten?”

“They got their baby back,” she snapped. “It wasn’t a big deal!”

“It was a big deal, Liefie! What is wrong with you? Arena almost had a nervous breakdown!”

No answer.

“And are you forgetting who helped us when we arrived in Sydney? Huh? You remember it was Bear and Arena taking care of everything? HUH?”

All she did was glare at me.

“Liefie,” I struggled to calm down and lower my voice, aware the little Becky was downstairs and could hear us fighting, “if Becky went missing tomorrow, Bear and Arena would help us. That’s what family does; they
help
each other in times of need.”

More muttering on her part.

I could handle her credit card deception, I could handle the huge bill I faced, hell, I could even handle my ruined credit. But I had a serious problem with her shitty attitude. It stank.

“You don’t understand my pain,” she cried. “It still hurts.” She covered her face with her hands and started to cry.

Then and there, I backed off, sat on the bed and covered
my
face with
my
hands.

I had to take into account her pain, anguish, and disappointment, true, but I was fast losing patience with her. I mean, I was grieving too, but you didn’t see me driving drunk, neglecting my home and my kids, racking up huge credit card bills.

“Fine!” I jumped to my feet and stormed out of the room before I said anything else to upset her.

There wasn’t much I could do except to take away those credit cards from Liefie. And service them, of course.

She got off easy, sure, but I loved my wife enough to take care of things and hope she didn’t try a stunt like that again.

You’d think she’d be happy with that. No; she sulked and basically went on strike. She stopped taking care of the house
altogether
, stopped
whatever
little cooking and cleaning she did.

She even stopped shopping for food. The moment I arrived home from work, she'd dump the kids with me and drive off with Viggo, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Did you make any dinner?” I yelled after her, a child who reeked of sour milk in my arms and one with matted hair holding onto my legs.

“The kitchen is that way,” she said, jerking her head toward it.

Bitch!

After bathing both my kids and feeding them some macaroni and cheese from a packet, I made myself a miserable, dry, cheese sandwich and read them a bedtime story. Then I sat my dejected self in front of the TV and attempted to watch some documentary about cocaine wars in the seventies.