The Other Woman (19 page)

I nod, not knowing what else to say.

For the next twenty minutes or so, she rants and raves, and I let her, hoping she will soon be spent.

Finally, she falls silent. I scratch my brain for something to say to fill the silence. I find nothing that will
not
token her. So I shut up.

For a while, we drink up in silence and attempt to watch a reality show on TV.

When a fresh batch of tears coarses down her cheeks, I realize the TV program is about unwed mothers having to give up their babies. Shit!

Quickly, I jump to my feet, grab the remote, and hasten to change the channel. I flip until I find Letterman. A safe channel.

Rival’s tears dry up, but she drinks really fast. Just gulps at her vodka.

“Want something to eat?” I ask.

She shakes her head as she clutches the puppy close to her.

“When did you last eat?”

She looks ahead, her eyes squinting, before she shrugs and takes a sip of her vodka.

I walk into the kitchen, cut up some cheese, add some crackers and olives like Liefie used to do, and take it to her. “You need to eat, Rival.”

She eyes the cheese, but does not accept it from me.

“Eat, Rival,” I urge, thrusting the cheese at her.

Reluctantly, she accepts the plate and picks at the cubes of cheese.

There’s nothing reluctant about her drinking though. She slams her drinks and holds out her glass to me. I oblige, but I secretly pour her just half shots to keep her safe.

Seeing the way she sits, shoulders rounded, eyes ahead, a morose look on her face, makes me believe she doesn’t want to talk anymore, so I leave her alone. It’s now 3 a.m. I’m tired and in desperate need of a shower. But I can’t. What if she leaves the house while I’m in the shower?

She could make her way back to Bradley, who lives just two streets away from me, or she could walk back to Arena’s place. Or she could make her way to the Gap and throw herself off it.

I’m so troubled by thoughts of her hurting herself or others, I walk into my garage, find some cable-ties, and quietly sneak them into my pocket.

When I return, I find her slumped in her chair, her eyelids closed, Puppy asleep on her lap.

Maybe I don’t need to use the cable ties after all. “Rival?”

She doesn’t answer, but a fat tear squeezes out of her closed eyes.

“Rival…”

“Make the hurt go away,” she whispers, her eyes still closed.

I drop to my knees in front of her, my heart softening at the sight of her pain. “Honey, I would if I could.”

More tears flow down her cheeks, collect in her ears and all over her hair.

A feeling of helplessness washes over me. I wonder if Bradley knows how much she is suffering? Maybe I should talk to him about it?

Carefully, I remove Puppy from her lap and place her on the couch. She scrambles back to the warmth of Rival, but I stick her among cushions, where she eventually falls asleep.

I scoop up Rival, carry her up the stairs to my bedroom, and place her on the bed.

After pulling the covers over her, I turn off the bedside light and prepare to shower.

But I’m uneasy. What if I return from my shower and find her gone?

Troubled by that thought and not wanting to see a bonfire two streets away from me, I remove the cables ties from my pocket and gently tie her hand to the side of the bed.

I take my much-needed shower and return to the room, where I make a bed on the floor.

The floor is hard and uncomfortable, and I miss my bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning on my bed of
nails
, I creep up to the bed, place large pillows between us like giant “Keep Out” or “No Entry” signs, and get into bed. Olga-style.

Now if she wakes, she won’t think I was trying to take advantage of her.

If only I had installed one of my alarms. I could have activated the zone around the doors so that if she moved to open them, the alarm would sound. Problem is, we’ve never needed an alarm.

The moment my head hits my favorite pillow, sleep devours me.

****

RIVAL

I wake up next to Bradley. He’s still asleep with his back to me, pillows forming a barrier between us. After tossing aside the pillows, I purr and shift toward him, my eyes still sticky from sleep. Suddenly, my left hand won’t move. I force open my eyes and peer at my hand in the semi-dark bedroom. I’m tied to the bed with a cable tie!

“What the hell?” Panic mushrooms inside of me when I realize I am not in my bedroom. My eyes fly to the man sleeping next to me. He’s not Bradley.

A scream catches in my throat.

Suddenly, the man turns around to look at me. It’s Ritchie MacMillan!

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

“What are you doing in my bed?” I eventually screech as I back away from him, horrified at his nakedness, equally horrified at the scratches on his face and neck.

I must have scratched him when I tried to get away from him. When I fought back.
Oh God!

As I back my sluggish body away from his, I see another cable tie on the floor next to a make-shift bed. My eyes fly to my body – I’m fully dressed.
Thank God!

“Hey, chill!” he growls in a gruff voice.

“How…why…oh God! Why are you naked?” I demand, pointing at his body.

His response is to jerk away the covers.

“No, don’t!” I scream.

“I’m not naked, see?” He points to his shorts.

Thank God!

“Did you kidnap me or something? Roofie me, then try to rape—”

“What?”

I point at the cable tie around my hand.

“I was scared you’d run away and bu—”

“From you? Of course I would. Untie me right now! I demand that you do. Right this minute. Untie me and I won’t go to the cops.”

He stares at me and blinks rapidly.

“What?”

“You …you…” he shakes his head. “I don’t believe you’re saying this. FYI, you wanted to burn down Bradley’s house, and I was afraid you’d sneak out of the house while I was taking a shower or while I was asleep and carry out your threat.”

“What? I said that? I would never burn my house down.”

With a sigh, he gets out of bed, walks into the bathroom, fetches a pair of scissors, and cuts the cable tie.

The moment he does, I hop out of bed and rush to the door, where I stand and look at him.

“The scratches on your face…?”

His groan is one of exasperation. “Rival…” he shakes his head and flops back into bed. “As Judge Judy says, ‘No good deed goes unpunished.’ How true is that?”

While he mumbles away and rests his arm over his forehead, my head starts to pound, and a bout of nausea hits me. With a groan, I re-enter the bedroom and lean against the dressing table for support.

“You don’t remember getting arrested last night?” Ritchie asks.

I look at the floor as I struggle for clarity, and suddenly, I do remember being in the back of a cop car. I look at Ritchie. “Yeah. I do, I do. Oh God, what have I done?”

With a weary sigh, he gets out of bed and walks out of the room.

“Where you going?” I ask.

“To get you some Aspirin and water,” he yells over his shoulder. “You’re gonna need it. And please, don’t throw up in my fancy new bedroom! I paid a shitload of money for it.”

Stop yelling. Please.

He returns with Aspirin and a bottle of water and thrusts it at me. “Drink it all.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, and do as instructed.

Slowly, I lower myself onto the bed as memories of last night flood my muddled brain. Ritchie gets back into bed and draws the covers over him. I look at him.

“It’s 8 a.m.,” he says. “We only went to bed at three this morning. I’m gonna snatch more sleep before my kids arrive.” As he speaks, his eyes start to close and his voice lags. “I suggest you do too. When you wake up…you can make me bacon and eggs. A thank-you for putting up…with all…your…fucking…crap.” About ten seconds later, Ritchie starts to snore.

For a few moments, I do nothing but sit on the edge of the bed and silently battle my nausea as I try to keep the room from spinning. Then slowly, my body takes charge and relaxes into the bed. I draw the covers over me.
Just for a few minutes…

****

RITCHIE

When I wake, Ritchie is not in bed, but I hear the tap running in the bathroom.

Slowly I sit up, and to my relief, the room does not become a carousal. As I hold my head in my hands, memories of last night flood my mind– me breaking a window, the cops arresting me, Ritchie and me arguing...

To wake up and find myself in bed with my husband’s friend – God! Arena’s brother. Oh God! What will they all think of me? I’m so embarrassed, I could die.

Then I remember the rape and roofie accusations. I’m no longer embarrassed; I am utterly mortified. I need to go home. I cannot look Ritchie in the eye. Quietly, I slide out of bed and head downstairs. The moment I enter the TV room, Mother Cat and her kittens, as well as Puppy, run to me. Mother Cat arches her back and hisses at Puppy.

“No, Mother Cat,” I scold as I pick up Puppy. “Play nice. Puppy’s just a baby, so treat her like you’d treat your own kittens, okay?”

Puppy licks my hands and face, while Mother Cat continues her threats.

After giving them milk and food, I gear up to leave. As I pass a wall mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself and cringe. My hair is a mess, I have panda eyes even though I have no make-up on, my skin has a greyish tint, my eyes are bloodshot, and my cheeks are puffy. A mess in a dress. That’s what I am.

Slowly I sink into a couch and draw my legs up to my chest as tears scald my flushed cheeks.

Rock bottom. That’s what I have hit. I rest my throbbing head on my knees as I weep over my downward spiral.

“Is that bacon and eggs I…Rival, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I mumble as I wipe away tears.

“About what?” he asks as he fetches a box of Kleenex and hands it to me.

“My accusations about…” I have difficulty saying the words.

“Well, don’t be sorry. I hold nothing against you. I fully understand, Rival. I’ve been there, you know.”

Grateful, I nod. “I…h…have reached rock b…bottom, Ritchie.”

“Ah.” He takes a seat on the couch across me and for a few moments, he silently watches me go through tons of Kleenex. Then he walks over to the cupboards, riffles through it, and hands me a glass of water and some Nurofen.

“Thanks,” I mutter as I take them from him.

“Rock bottom is good, Rival. That means you can’t go further down. From now on, it’s all the way to the top. You understand?”

I say nothing because I really don’t believe him.

“I know what will make you feel better,” he says, hopping to his feet and heading toward the fridge. “Bacon and eggs. Greasy breakfast is the best cure for a hangover. You sit right there and watch and learn from a master, okay?”

I hang my head as he whips up breakfast.

Before long we sit around the table and eat. I thought I wouldn’t be able to eat, but to my surprise, I am ravenous, and I devour everything on my plate. I do feel a lot better after the meal, I must agree.

“Come, sit on my patio and tell me everything,” he says. “I’m all ears.”

“She called me ‘nice’.”

“And…?”

“Well, she said it with...like, she was scornful of it. ‘Take your fat arse and
nice
li’l self…’ she said.”

“She called your arse fat, but you’re more angry at her calling you
nice
?” He scratches his head. “Don’t get it, Rival.”

I look at Ritchie as I try to understand it myself. “Guess it was the
way
she said it. It was filled with innuendo. Like nice was another word for…for dumb. Or boring.”

“It isn’t, you know. Anyway, what did Bradley say?”

“Oh, he was nice to me. Most of the time.” As I remember Bradley’s response, tears run down my cheeks. “He was so g…gentle, asking the cops not to arrest me, wiping away my tears, I’m telling you, Ritchie, he still loves me. He still cares.”

“Yeah?”

I wipe away my tears and sniff hard. “You know what I think?”

“What?” he asks, his fork poised in mid-air, his voice a little wary.

“I can win him back.”

Slowly, he puts down his fork. “Rival…” He runs the tip of his tongue slowly over his bottom lip, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Ritchie, I know I can.”

“Rival, after all he—”

“Ritchie, Scarlett knows that too, because she kept pulling him away from me. Almost
dragged
him away in the end. Why would she do that? Because she didn’t like the way he was reacting toward me. That’s why. I know he still cares, Ritchie. I just need to get my act together, lose some weight, take care of myself. And then present myself to him.”

He nods slowly, but I don’t care – he doesn’t know Bradley like I know him.

“So that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You’re running, trying to get into shape – help me with my weight.”

His eyes sweep over me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“I’ve put on so much weight, Ritchie. It’s the Cerocal – it makes me so hungry, I actually get up at night to eat. If I can just lose the weight, maybe things will get better and—”

“Rival, weight aside, I don’t think—”

“Help me, Ritchie. Just say you will.”

No answer from him, just a thoughtful stare.

“Think about it – the endorphins will kick in and help me become whole again. Make me…I dunno, less of a nut job.”

A small smile touches the corners of his mouth. “Well…” He puts down his fork, picks up his orange juice, and takes a sip.

“Will you? If I don’t do something, I worry I might head right back to Dunhill, and I don’t want that.”

Still no answer.

“Or I can get an eating disorder.”

“No!” He slaps the table. “I’ll help you.”

I nod. “Ten kilos. After I lose that, I will approach Bradley. Before that, I need you to suss out things with him and let me know what he’s thinking…”

“Look, he doesn’t know we’re friends, Rival. I don’t know how he’ll take it, so I’ve said nothing about you. ’Sides, Bradley and I, we barely see each other these days.”

“Okay.” My head bobs. “I lose weight, I look good, feel confident, and then I accost him.”

“
Accost
him…” he nods slowly.

“
Accost
him, yes. How do I dress to go to him? Casual? Formal?”

“In a bikini,” he says without hesitation.

“What? You’re joking, right?”

“Um…not really. You want to get his attention – bring sexy back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not literally in a bikini, but think about it – your competition is Scarlett. She’s—”

“—Sexy, I know. She’s sexy and I’m not. That’s what you’re gonna say, right? I know.” My lips purse and a terse silence follows.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

I immediately regret my touchiness. “
I’m
sorry,” I say. “I’m…defensive. Sorry.”

“But you aren’t bad.”

“Ouch. I’ll take it.” I smile.

“No seriously. Looks will get your through the door, but…after that, what happens? You are…” he appears to search for the right words.

“Tell it like it is, Ritchie. Don’t pull punches. I can handle it.”

“Well, you’re easy to talk to, Rival. You’re a little bit deeper than meets the eye. When someone gets to know you, that is. You’re feisty.” He points at his face. “No woman has ever scratched me like this before, even in the sack. I look like a fucking rapist whose attacker fought back.”

I burst out laughing, he doesn’t.

“Seriously, I’m sure these scratches are gonna make a lot of people nervous and women – bet they’ll wait for the next elevator.”

I laugh so hard, I collapse into a couch and hold my sides.

He smiles. “Well, it’s good to see you laugh. Happy to entertain you.”