The Escort Next Door (3 page)

Those questions rolled unanswered around my brain, but it
was another that took center stage. What the hell had just happened? It beat at
my head over and over, as I laid stunned into motionlessness. I couldn’t even
define what had passed between us. It hadn’t been anything resembling love
making, not by my interpretation of the phrase. The way he’d cruelly taken what
he wanted regardless of my discomfort bordered on rape, but then again, I’d
never said, “no” or asked him to stop. I may not have been particularly happy
with what was going on, but I’d passively allowed it to happen. And that
brought with it another uncomfortable realization: it wasn’t just Paul who had
acted out of character that night.

Visitor

I
didn’t
get any sleep, and eventually crawled off of the bed at around five
while
the sun was just beginning to create an amber glow on the carpet. I slipped out
from under Paul, not needing to worry about waking him, as he continued to
snore loudly.

Leaving the room, I went down the hall to use the main
bathroom, not because I was particularly worried about disturbing my husband’s
sleep, but I needed some time to compose myself before actually confronting
what had gone on the night before. At that moment, I didn’t know what to say to
him. I even wondered whether the hours spent stewing over it had made me lose
all perspective.

Climbing into the shower, I quickly soaped my body noting a
graze on my inner left thigh and freshly pinkish bruises on both hip bones. The
bruises were obviously caused by the force of his own pelvis knocking against
me, it took me a little longer to realize that the tiny teeth of his open
zipper had cut into the delicate flesh of my thigh. None of those injuries was
particularly sore though, and with the exception of a slight tenderness between
my legs, I had no other physical reminders of the evening. Still, try as I
might, I simply couldn’t shake the sense that something had gone very wrong in
my relationship with Paul.

It took me no more than ten minutes to wash my body and
hair. I spent a further hour standing beneath the hot jets, trying to figure
out how to broach the subject.

Wrapped only in a towel and with hair loose and dripping
wet, I returned to the bedroom. Still face down on the bed, Paul didn’t stir.
As I stepped into a pair of jeans and threw on a T-shirt, I watched him
breathing heavily. With his dark hair tussled, dress shirt creased and pants
hanging disheveled at his hips, he was a mess. It became clear that he was
drunker than I’d realized the night before. Would he even remember what had
happened? If he did, I was sure he’d feel guilty.

Taking a glance at the time, I wondered whether I should
wake him. After just two days at home, he was about to head out of town again.
A car was coming to pick him up at nine, so I tried to calculate how much time
we’d have for a heart to heart before he left.

“Paul,”I whispered gently from the foot of the bed.

He didn’t move, even the pattern of his breathing remained
the same.

“Paul,” I repeated, a little louder this time. “It’s-”

“Mom!”

Spinning at the sound of the wail that interrupted me, I
sighed. I hesitated momentarily, but when it became obvious that even the
shouts of our children would not wake him, I decided to leave Paul alone for the
time being.

Leaving the bedroom and shutting the door quietly behind me,
I was met with the distressed face of my little boy. He wasn’t crying, but I
could see he was only seconds away from doing so; his big brown eyes watery and
lip wobbly. Seeing me, he ran down the hall.

“Mom,” he whimpered, his arms spread wide.

Crouching so that I was on his eye level, I placed my finger
to my lips. “Daddy’s still sleeping,” I hushed.

He flung his chubby little fingers around my neck and I
automatically wrapped one arm around his legs. With his butt resting on my
forearm, I groaned as I scooped him off the floor. “You’re getting big,” I told
him in a whisper. “I’m not going to be able to do this much longer.”

He paid no attention, his legs quickly fastening around my
waist and his face disappearing in my shoulder. I only managed to take him the
few feet to his own room, before he was slipping down my hip. Carefully, I
lowered him to the floor, sinking to his height as I did so.

“Now,” I sighed, still in a hushed voice. “What’s the
matter?”

“Lizzie,” he sniveled, pointing into his room.

When it became clear that was all I was going to get from my
son, I stood up and stepped inside the room. All seemed normal, until I caught
sight of an armless bear at the bottom of his bed. Stepping forwards, I scooped
up the injured toy and turned to Dylan. “Did she do this?” I demanded.

With a trembling bottom lip, he nodded.

Glancing to the ceiling for inspiration and patience, I took
a couple of quick breaths. “Elizabeth,” I called clearly, realizing too late
that I had just told my young son to be quiet.

Almost instantly, her pink door creaked open and she stood
staring at me with an innocent smile. “Yes, Mom,” she beamed. Her sandy hair,
with roots that were turning the same warm hazel color of my own, was already
scooped into a neat ponytail and she was dressed for school. 

“Did you do this?” I asked her, holding up the bear that
Dylan had named Frank.

She paused for a moment, perhaps resisting a child’s
knee-jerk compulsion to lie. “Well...” she mumbled, the smile slipping from her
face and her almond eyes no longer able to meet mine.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” I finished for her, moving to
her door and placing my hand firmly around her wrist.

“It wasn’t all my fault,” she insisted, trying to snatch her
hand back. “He started it!”

Rolling my eyes, my face moved back to Dylan who was
suddenly also looking as guilty as sin. “What did you do to her?” I demanded,
my patience wearing very thin.

“He pulled the head off Barbie,” Lizzie whined.

My first instinct was to smile. Barbie had been a bone of
contention. I hadn’t wanted Lizzie to have one. In my opinion, Barbie promoted
an unhealthy and unattainable body image, not to mention the distinctly
materialistic and shallow nature of her ‘lifestyle’. When Paul’s parents
learned of my disapproval, they promptly bought Lizzie a Barbie, complete with
dream house, for Christmas. Her beheading didn’t stress me in the slightest,
but in the interests of being fair to the kids, I had to treat both crimes
equally. So, I quickly quashed the tiny grin that played at the corners of my
mouth.

“Dylan,” I said firmly, crooking my finger at him in a ‘come
here’ motion. Once I had the pair of them in front of me, I couched before them
both. “I don’t want to tell either of you this again,” I began. “Dylan, you
leave your sister’s things alone, do you understand?”

I waited patiently for him to reluctantly nod. “Yes, Mommy,”
he mumbled, softly.

“And Lizzie,” I added. “If your brother does something to
upset you, don’t retaliate, just come and tell me or your dad and we’ll deal
with it, okay?”

She was less willing to agree, but eventually did so. “Yes,
Mom.”

“I want you to apologize to each other,” I concluded,
wrapping my hand around my four-year-old son’s waist and turning him to face
his older sister.

“But Mom, I didn’t-” Lizzie began.

I interrupted her with a lift of my index finger. “I don’t
want to hear any more about it, Elizabeth,” I warned her. “You both did
something wrong and I’m not in the mood to play who did something worse. Just
apologize,” I urged.

The pair mumbled a ‘sorry’ to each other and almost
instantly turned their backs. With no energy to demand that they repeat it
sincerely, I pushed myself back to my feet. “I’ll get you some breakfast,” I
told them, making my way down the hall. When I reached the top of the stairs, I
snapped my head back. “Oh and Lizzie, find Frank’s arm. I’ll try to reattach
it.”

“What about Barbie?” she quickly countered.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised with a wink. “But I
don’t know whether she’ll pull through,” I warned gravely.

She giggled, before rushing back into her room to find the
various body parts.

It was an hour and a half before Paul made his way
downstairs, and I was in the middle of clearing away the kids’ plates and
bowls. All three of them sat at the breakfast counter, Dylan swinging his legs
wildly, with jelly all over his face; Lizzie studying a book; and little Kate
strapped into her booster seat.

“Daddy,” Dylan squealed, jumping down from his stool and
sprinting across the tiles. He leaped into Paul’s waiting arms and laughed
hysterically as he was spun around rapidly.

“Hey champ,” Paul smiled, setting our son back down before
ruffling his hair. “You got a busy day ahead?” he asked. Dressed in a fresh
suit, his open necked shirt neatly tucked into his dress pants, hair washed and
combed, he looked very different from the way I’d left him on our bed.

“Very,” our little boy confirmed with a nod. “I’ve got a
meeting at eleven,” he announced, clinging to his father’s right leg as Paul
heaved his way across the floor.

“Is that so?” Paul mumbled, only half listening, as he bent
to kiss Kate on the top of the head. “Morning Liz,” he added, looping an arm
around her shoulders. “You okay, kiddo?”

She ignored his question in favor of one of her own. “Dad
why do you have to go away again?”

“Sorry sweetie,” he stated, with a tough luck tilt of his
chin. “It’s just the way it is, Daddy’s a very busy man.”

“But we never get to spend any time with you,” she whined.

With a huff, Paul reached for a slice of bread and slipped
it into the toaster. “We’ll spend some time together when I get back, how’s
that?” he suggested.

Not even slightly appeased, Lizzie sullenly slipped down
from her chair. “I’ve got to get ready for school,” she muttered.

“Daddy,” Kate called, grinning. “Look,” she proudly cried,
holding up a crayon sketch that she’d been working on.

“That’s great, honey,” he responded, almost automatically,
giving no more than a passing glance at the picture.

Somehow, knowing that the children were slipping from his
radar of importance made me even more angry than the fact our relationship had
taken a sideline. “Paul,” I whispered, taking a step to his side. “You know,
the kids really miss you when you’re gone. It’s tough on them; a few days for
you feels like an eternity to them.”

“I’ll make it up to them,” he shrugged, as his toast popped
up and he quickly grabbed it. “I better toss some stuff in a bag,” he
announced, lifting his wrist to check the time.

Slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, I held him
still for just a few seconds longer. “I was hoping we’d be able to talk before
you go,” I suggested quietly and with no small degree of discomfort. It wasn’t
going to be an easy conversation to have.

“What about?” he replied testily, as he tugged his arm free
of me.

“Well...” I hesitated, sure that he must know what I was
referring to. “Last night,” I eventually said in a whisper.

With an impatient sigh, his eyes drifted to the floor. “Do
we have to do this now?” he asked.

“If not now, then when?” I countered.

Paul’s gaze moved to Kate, who had gone back to adding more
detail to her drawing, then Dylan, who was tearing about the open plan dining
area as if he were an airplane. “Look,” he said under his breath. “I was a
little selfish,” he admitted, but shrugged it off. “But you were the one
complaining about how long it’s been since we had sex. Well, we had sex,
so...?” he left his words hanging, challenging me to make a big deal out of it.

If I’d been able to wrap my head around what was happening,
I would have made a big deal out of it. But as things were, I stood
open-mouthed, stunned into silence by his complete disregard for what had
happened.

“So, are we done?” he demanded. “Because I’ve got a plane to
catch.” Without waiting for me to respond, he was already heading for the door.

Dylan ran after him yelling, “Can I come too, Dad?”

And sure enough, that was the end of it. We didn’t speak of
that night again.

Paul was ready by the time his driver arrived at the door.
He handed over his small suitcase, before turning to hug and kiss each of the
kids goodbye. Once he was done, I received a wave of his hand as he climbed
into the back of the vehicle.

After he’d gone, I still felt shell shocked by the callous
way he’d rebuffed my concerns; both over the effect his repeated absences were
having on the children, and indeed the trouble within our own strained
relationship. And just when I thought the day couldn’t possible have started
any worse, his mother arrived. As she was apt to do, she didn’t ring the bell,
just let herself in. Paul had insisted she have a key, in case of emergencies,
but Carole seemed to believe that gave her carte blanche to enter at will.

She strolled into the kitchen, finding me still in the midst
of clearing up from breakfast. Lizzie and Dylan were arguing again, something I
was too tried to deal with at that moment and unbeknownst to me, Kate had
stripped off all of her clothes with the exception of her underwear.

The sight that met my mother-in-law caused her to tut
loudly. “Having trouble, dear?” she asked rhetorically.

“Not exactly,” I responded defensively. “They’ve just got me
outnumbered at the moment,” I added, smiling in an effort to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work; it had never worked. I no longer knew why I
bothered. Carole Hayes had hated me with a passion almost from the moment she
met me. She had it fixed in her head that I only wanted to be with her son
because he was wealthy. Even agreeing to sign a rigid prenup that ensured I got
nearly nothing if we divorced was not enough to convince her otherwise.

She was the kind of woman who made a sport of finding fault
with other people; her favorite target being me. I wasn’t good enough for her
son, never had been, never would be. And she was determined to prove it to him.

“Well,” she replied humorlessly. “I thought I might help you
out by taking Elizabeth and Dylan to school.”

“Umm, thanks,” I said, busily loading the dishwasher.

“Do you want me to dress Katherine before I go?” she asked,
turning to me with a disapprovingly arched eyebrow.

Driven to the point of caring minimally what she thought of
me, I shrugged. “It’s no problem,” I said. “It’s warm out. I’m in the middle of
potty training her anyway, so it makes things simpler for her if she needs to
go.”