The Other Woman (15 page)

“Yeah…”

“I’m so nervous,” she confesses outside the bedroom door.

“Nah, don’t be,” I say, feeling like the fake I am.

With a nod, she throws open my bedroom door and my jaw drops.

“Oh…man…this is…this…wow! Rival, this is just…just fantastic!” I mean every single word.

She links her hands in front of her and beams. “Really? You like it? Seriously?”

“Yeaaaaah!” It really is fantastic, and I’m in shock. Stunned.

“Okay, let me take you through the steps,” she says, and begins reading from a page she fishes out of her pocket.

“I bought a new bed, along with matching cherry-wood bedside drawers, and a matching headboard. New navy, powder-blue, and grey linen, as you can see.” She points to the bed and I nod. It’s three colors, but they blend well with each other.

I nod.

“I repainted the room dove-grey and white, this being a feature wall for this lovely piece of artwork. And I replaced the old closet doors with these mirrored ones for light. Replaced
vertical
blinds with grey
Venetian
…a little drape of fabric to frame the window to, well, add softness. See?”

Again, I nod.

“These throws are mainly for show. The cushions too.”

“Wow! This is – wow!”

She smiles again.

I was not expecting this. She had just come out of a mental institution with high walls, men in white, and double security doors, so I expected weird, hallucinogenic patterns in the room. Tie-dye linen she tie-dyed herself using her blood, smoke emanating from the floor…stuff like that. But the room is nothing short of amazing.

“Your rug is small but functional,” she says. “Your light fittings have been replaced with…” she points at the modern chandelier on the ceiling, then the matching bedside lamps. “Masculine, but not enough to scare away the desperate women who want to share this room with you.”

“Yeeeah.” My head swivels to look at her. “What?”

Her response is to open a new tallboy to reveal drawer organizers. “Like it?”

“This is amazing,” I say, even though I’m still perturbed by her comment. “It’s a new room all together. It’s like I’m in another hou—”

“Now for the bathroom. Follow me.”

Maybe she meant
by the women desperate to want to share this room with you?

I follow her to the bathroom and again my jaw drops.

“Repainted grey and white. Black and white tiled floors, his and her sinks with new bathroom fittings….changed the shower door, and added this mirrored cupboard. I also had the entire
wall
mirrored to bring in more light and produce an airy feel.”

“I. Love. It!”

She beams and raises her forefinger. “But wait, there’s more.”

“M…ore?”

She turns on the shower faucet and it’s like a million sprinklers come on at different levels.

“You’re kidding me!”

“It costs a packet, but Arena told me to go ahead with it and if you don’t like it, she will pay for it.”

“Oh, boy, I can’t wait to use this shower and lie to Arena that I don’t like it.”

She laughs out loud.

Encouraged by her laughter, I continue. “She’s got way more money than me, you know.”

She nods. “And don’t forget it’s a
twin
shower, so two people can shower—”

“—at the same time. I love it. Wow!”

“I’m glad you like it.” She hands me her small camera. “Can you take a short video of me in the room? I will quickly run through all that I have done.”

“Okay, sure,” I say, taking the camera off her.

After turning on the main light, she walks over to the corner of the room, tosses her hair, adjusts her top, and stands still.”

“Ready?”

She nods. “Ready.”

“Okay.”

“Wait! Lipstick.”

I lower the camera as she runs out of the room. She doesn't need any lipstick, in my opinion.

She returns a moment later with pinkish lips.

“Do I look okay?” she asks.

I lower the camera and look at her. Her eyes are sparkling like pools of blue water, her face is radiant, and her hair is smoothed down. She looks pretty.

After a slight hesitation, I touch my shoulder. “Just that.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink as she fixes her bra straps.

“Perfect,” I say, and raise the camera again.

Taking a deep breath, she talks into the camera. “This is Rival Murdoch taking you though 33 Ferngrove Place, Wahroonga.”

For about two minutes, she darts around, explaining all she has done while I follow her with the camera.

“And that’s it.” She places her hands on her hips and smiles at the camera, and it’s like someone has hit a light switch. Her smile simply dazzles.

Could this lovely creature with shiny eyes and a winning smile really suffer mental illness? She seems so…
collected
.

Did Bradley really dump her for Scarlett?

I switch off the camera and hand it to her.

“Thanks,” she says, her smile vanishing, her voice abrupt. She begins gathering her things.

“Thank you,” I said. “I am one happy customer. Seriously.”

She doesn’t answer.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the kitchen and the rest of the house.”

She nods.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done. Because of you, I will have no trouble sleeping in my main bedroom again.”

She looks directly at me.

“I would appreciate if you could say something on Facebook about it. You know, a shout-out.”

“I would, but I’m not on Facebook. Sorry.”

“You’re not?”

‘Nope. It’s too much trouble.”

“Don’t you have family abroad?”

“If my siblings want to contact me, they can Whatsapp me. ’Sides, I have nothing to brag about on Facebook.”

“Ah.” She falls silent, which confuses me.

“I’ll be off then,” she says in an abrupt voice and leaves.

I re-enter my main bedroom, look around, and then walked into my new bathroom.

Brilliant. Feels new. In fact, I have trouble remembering how the place looked before the make-over. And my favorite bit is the shower gadget. Arena knows me well enough to know that I would like it. With a naughty smile, I take out my phone and text her.
I like the room and the bathroom but I dont like the shower gadget

She texts back right away.
U r a liar bro (
smiley face)

I laugh out loud.

****

SCARLETT

Rival is living with Arena and Bear Shaw? Really now? I mean, aren’t the Shaws close friends of Bradley’s?
Supposed
to be, yet they harbor his druggie wife? Trying to serve two masters, are they? Fucking ingrates!

Rumors of Rival are circling; she is doing well, gaining weight, exercising, and even works part-time. Yes, I’ve heard about Arena and her Women-in-Need group (bullshit! bullshit! bullshit!), but just because Rival has a few screws loose, doesn’t mean she’s
in
need
. The bitch has over three hundred thousand dollars to her name – how the fuck can she be a
Woman
in
Need
?

These so-called women in need, when they band together, they can be as dangerous as a group of desert scorpions, and they can start to demand stuff that they wouldn’t normally.

Men are right to fear them, and they should be immediately disbanded or banned. Bet they put on Destiny’s Child at the get-togethers, throw their hands in the air and sing
I’m a Survivor
over and over again.

And now, they are probably going to encourage Rival to believe that she has a right to her kids, and maybe she'll even secure the services of an attorney to come after my husband. Then what happens to my picture-perfect family? I won’t have it. I’ve worked too long and hard on this family to let her come between us.

It’s all Bear and Arena’s fault for this fiasco. I construe the Shaws’ actions as a direct betrayal, and I plan to convey this treachery to Bradley. Oh, he will be livid when he hears about the Shaws’ disloyalty. I’m certain of this. He will need to address this with the Shaws. Remind them of just how much business he sends their way, maybe even threaten to withdraw his support.

Bradley and Rival’s other friends may be watching and may follow suit, invite her over to their place for dinners and family gatherings. How would we look then? Like we did something wrong. I won’t have it. I refuse to let these two fucking bogans mess up my plans. How dare they?

The moment Bradley arrives, I blurt it out to him.

“I know,” he says in a quiet voice. “Bear told me today.”

And…?

He removes his tie and throws it onto a couch, then walks over to pour us drinks.

That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say about it?

He turns around and looks at me, and guess what – he hasn’t poured me a drink! Hasn’t even asked me if I want one. I cannot believe it. He’s never done this before.

He takes a gulp of his drink, a morose look on his face. “I wish it hadn’t come to this. It’s embarrassing.” He takes another swig. “Maybe…maybe I was too hasty. I mean, they probably know that I ‘sold’ the house to you for six hundred thousand dollars. She must have told them.” He shakes his head. “Shit! This is really embarrassing. My wife is living—”

“—ex-wife.”

He nods and continues. “—with the Shaws.” He strokes his chin slowly. “My friends have taken in my wife. Shit!”

I rush over to him. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about what anyone thinks. You are Bradley Murdoch, remember?” I take both his hands in mine. “Repeat after me, I am Bradley Murdoch, attorney extraordinaire, future Prime Minister of Australia. Nobody tells me what to do, how to do it, or when to do it.”

He hesitates.

“C’mon, baby, say it.”

“I am Bradley Murdoch, attorney extraordinaire, future Prime Minister of Australia. Nobody tells me what to do, how to do it, or when to do it.”

I smile. “Now say it again.”

“I am Bradley Murdoch, attorney extraordinaire, future Prime Minister of Australia. Nobody tells me what to do, how to do it, or when to do it, so fuck you Bear. Fuck you, and fuck your judgmental look you had today, okay?”

My head bobs. “That’s it, honey. That’s how you do it.”

He smiles.

“Bought some new toys today,” I whisper as I mold my hips to his.

His eyes light up. “Yeah?”

I nod and wriggle my eyebrows at him. “Guaranteed to blow your mind.”

His excitement is tangible.

I pull away and say, “After dinner. Just you wait.” I blow him a kiss and sashay away from him, knowing full well he’s watching my arse. But as I walk away, I think about Bear and Arena, and I bristle with anger. Something has to be done, and if Bradley’s not going to handle the Shaws, then I will just have to do something myself.

Arena can’t be friends with both Rival and me. She has to choose. Now, today.

Seething, I craft out a carefully worded dinner invitation and email it to Bear and Arena.

It’s going to be fun wining and dining those two, then stealing them away from Rival.

Women in Need, my arse! Everybody has a price. Everybody can be bought. Just wait and see.

****

RIVAL

My medication has been reduced even further, and the haze that I have lived in for so long has lifted. I can see clearly now, the rain has gone. Wonderful.

Not quite. With clarity comes a harsh side-effect. I find myself feeling more, hurting harder, and the most disturbing side-effect of all – I find myself seeking answers to questions I didn’t ask before. What really happened to me?

How is it I can wake up one morning to find that I have lost everything precious to me – my kids, my home, my husband, my
life
?

How can I test positive for drugs when I never took drugs?

How is it that my kids don’t ask for me?

How is it that I am not missed by…anyone?

When did the affair between Bradley and Scarlett start?

What made Bradley change so much?

Why did this happen to me?

The four walls at night bring no answers, yet I find myself asking the same question over and over again.

Scarlett. She took my life. Eased into it, replaced me like a spent light bulb, stole all that was precious to me, and now, she’s so happy. Who is she, really?

According to Nurse Eden, Scarlett is not a patient of Dunhill and has never been. Yet Scarlett once regaled me with amusing stories of time she had spent in Dunhill? Who am I to believe; Eden or Scarlett? Nurse Eden for sure.

I need to find out who the real Scarlett is. Who she is, what she’s doing. What is it that Bradley likes about her? How is she better than me? What makes her more interesting?

Facebook. She loves Facebook and she’s one of my friends. Quickly, I log onto Facebook and search for her. Nothing. She’s unfriended me. I do a quick search for her profile. Nothing. She’s blocked me.

I sit back on my chair and let out a long breath. How do I infiltrate her Facebook account? Fat chance of her accepting my friend request now.

I could manufacture a person, a female. Someone rather ordinary looking, so there is no threat of any competition. Great idea. I could call myself Linda or Jane or Maggie or Laura.

Immediately, I scramble to create an account.

Name: Linda Matthews

Lives: Wahroonga

From: Sydney, Australia

Studied at: Kuring Gai School of Arts

Occupation: Admin. Assistant at Linen Online.

Great. But I know I would need to have images, photos, a few postings. I scour the net for some photos, steal some random, blurry images and upload it to my account. Perfect.

Then I send Scarlett (not me, Linda Matthews does) a friend request. And wait.

Forty-eight hours later, Scarlett has not accepted my friend request.

Shit! Maybe my account is too new. Maybe my account is too scant. Maybe I don't have any friends. Yes, that must be it. Stupid me, to think I could pull wool over her ice-blue eyes.

Maybe I should have created a man’s profile.

That will probably work. She’s the type to accept a man’s friend request rather than a woman’s.

A man, someone who went to the same school as her. But this time I would have to create the profile, send out friend requests, ensure I have plenty of postings. But what if she still doesn’t accept my friend request?

And which man? That profile too would be recent, so would it work?

Discouraged, I mooch around and silently ponder my next move.

****

RIVAL

I have a brilliant idea. I sit upright in my bed and think about it. Ritchie’s not on Facebook.

Scarlett knows who Ritchie is; there is no doubt in my mind she will accept his Facebook request. Besides, Ritchie the dog is a good looking man. Tall, big arms, broad chest, crinkley blue eyes…

Knowing what I know about Scarlett now, I would say she’d want someone like Ritchie as her friend.

Okay, sure, she may discover it isn’t really Ritchie, but by then I would have had time to check out her Facebook account.

I scour Arena’s Facebook account for family photos with Ritchie and his kids and save them to my laptop. Then, using the photos, I create a profile for Ritchie MacMillan.

My first post on Facebook as Ritchie MacMillan is brief:

Ritchie:
Okay, so I’m here. Finally. And now…?

I send out a four friend requests to some hot, thirty-something women and wait. All four accept my friend request within five minutes. Perfect.

After that, I send Scarlett a friend request. And wait. To my delight, within forty-five seconds, she accepts my request.

I’m in. I now get to see all her posts, her photos – everything. Fantastic!

Scarlett:
Welcome to the sandpit, Richie.

Ritchie:
Thanks Scarlett. Please be gentle with me. I’m the new kid on the block.

Scarlett:
I make no promises. Lol!

Ritchie: (Smiley face with tongue poking out
)

With a smug smile, I scour her Facebook page, see all her posts, and envy her. It tortures me, but I simply cannot stop reading her posts. I take umpteen screenshots, save every photo of them to savor later, jump at the Facebook phone alerts, continuously refresh my Facebook page and hang on to every word she writes. Crazy, but…

As I read her posts, I burn with envy, bristle with anger, and my face flames with the injustice of it all. Resentment and hatred churns inside of me like black poison. (I shouldn’t hate, I know, but I do. I
want
to hate.)

Scarlett 9:15 a.m.
Yawn, so tired. Went to bed at 1a.m. after a lovely dinner at the Clarks. Lovely people, Hazel and Tony. Made us feel so welcome. Fell asleep in the car on the way back home so my honey had to carry me in. Lol! Felt like a big baby in his arms.

She posts a photo of her hand (with perfectly manicured nails of course) in front of her open mouth, as if she’s yawning. My husband carried you into the house? You bitch!

As for Hazel and Tony Clark – they are
my
friends.
Former
friends.

Tony is a successful businessman and a former cricketer, while Hazel is a socialite. Scarlett obviously wants everyone to know she’s rubbing shoulders with some influential people.

11:58 a.m.
Found this from wayback when! Don’t the kids look great in this pic, Brad honey? #tbt

This time she posts a photo of Bradley, my two girls, and her in ski attire, surrounded by falling snow. It isn’t from way back when – it was about three
months
ago.

1:02 p.m. Brad replies:
Beautiful as always. You’re smoking hot baby.

I want to scream at his words to her.

1:03 p.m.
Scarlett likes this.

1:03 p.m.
Scarlett replies:
Aw thanks babe. You are sweet.
(Smiley face with hearts in the eyes.) #
Ifthisisadreamdontwakemeup

My breathing turns rapid, my eyes narrow and my face flames.
Bitch
!

3:27 p.m.
Me and my girls singing along with Carly Ray Jepsen’s Call me Maybe. They’re so sweet, I could eat them with a spoon!#Ilovemykidssogoddamnmuch.

She posts a selfie of her driving her BMW with both my girls seated behind her.

“Those are my kids,” I yell. “I gave birth to them. How dare you call them your kids?”

5:28 p.m.
Came home to find these wonderful flowers waiting for me. It’s not even my birthday. Thank you Bradley Murdoch for loving me so much. You make my life worthwhile. #blessed

“
Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!” I am so angry, I click out of Facebook and fume.

Five minutes later, I log on again and surrender to more torture.

7:30 p.m.
Toasting marshmallows with our girls. #winterisforcuddling

Again I want to throw something when I see the photo she’s posted of my husband, my two girls and her, holding fondue sticks, in my home, at my fireplace, the one I designed and had installed.