The Other Woman (30 page)

“Just think,” I say, in a low voice so that Bradley doesn’t hear me, “The last time it was me in the back of a cop car, and you stood right at this spot and waved at me, remember?”

She doesn’t answer.

With a broad smile, I wave at her before going inside the house to comfort my girls.

Imagine, I get to spend the night
in
my house
with
my children. It makes me want to dance. And I do. The moment everyone leaves, I ignore the mess left by the police search, put on some music, and dance with my kids. Someone once said “Revenge is sweet.” Not quite – it’s
absolutely
sweet.

****

SCARLETT

I’m having the weirdest dream – a nightmare. Bradley and I are being arrested for burglary and insurance fraud. No, wait! It isn’t a dream, it is real. I really am in dressed in Alexandra McQueen tan flared pants with a matching jacket and…I’m about to be handcuffed.

There really are about twenty barely educated, overweight, donut-eating cretins in blue slitting my mattresses in my stately home with large knives, inspecting my garden, searching through cupboards, tipping out draws, and ransacking my magnificent house – all of this in the presence of my eight dinner guests and waitstaff.

And my husband, he really is dressed in Armani and is also about to be handcuffed. Yes, Bradley Murdoch, one of the most respected and venerated attorneys in Sydney, future Prime Minister of Australia, is being treated like a common thief, publically shamed and accused of the most ridiculous and petty crimes in the presence of his revered colleagues and friends!

The cops thrust the missing jewelry at us.
Explain
. Seldom am I at a loss for words, but today I am. I just stare at it, and mull over the cluster fuck.

To make matters worse, my phone is ringing off the hook – something about the BMW being advertised for sale.

“Scarlett, what’s going on?” Bradley whispers, jerking his head at the BMW in our driveway.

“Bradley…honey, I…I have no idea.”

“What do you mean you have no idea, Scarlett?"

“Bradley, I have no idea. Did you call my daddy?”

He nods, his brow furrowed. “He’s on his way to New York. In flight right now.”

“Oh, shit!”

“We’re both going to spend the weekend in jail, Scarlett.” He hangs his head.

My jaw drops.

He looks at me again, his gaze piercing and expectant.

“Bradley…” I lift and drop my shoulders, feeling like I’ve just been hit on the head.

Neighbors line the street to get a better look, while passing cars slow down and take photos of the cops swarming our place. No doubt for Facebook and YouTube. Fuck!

And to make matters worse, Bradley insists on calling Rival.

“I don’t want her staying in my house, Bradley.”

“Scarlett, I don’t care right now,” he snaps. “These kids are traumatized. They need their mother." He turns his back on me.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Rival arrives in less than ten minutes dressed like she’s on her way to a party. Short black mini dress that clings to her, black mid-calf boots, black and white Michael Kors tote, and a silver chain that stops just below her beasts.

She runs over to us, hair whipping all over the place, eyes shiny with excitement. I don’t miss the appreciative looks some of the officers bestow on her. She doesn’t greet me, but when she passes me, her look is somewhat smug. Her radiant look, the lack of concern in her eyes, the way she’s dressed…it’s like she was
expecting
to be called over.

“Bradley!” she cries as she rushes over to him. “What’s going on? You okay?”

My lips thin as I watch them put their heads together. Is he actually confiding in her, telling her everything? He better not be doing that.

Even though our attorney from my daddy’s firm arrives, Bradley and I, much to my chagrin, are arrested in full view of our neighbours and guests. The last person’s face I see is Rival standing at the front door, carrying Phoebe and holding Holly’s hand, her eyes shiny, the corners of her mouth turning up.

It’s her. She did this. It has to be.

They place me in a cell with two belligerent teenage drunks, a serial shoplifter, a woman who stabbed her husband with her car keys in the neck because he called her fat, a woman who tried to run her boyfriend over with her car when she caught him having sex with her best friend, and an overweight prostitute in her fifties who insists on being called Pretty Woman.

I sit on a dirty bench and look at the ground, a sullen look on my face.

“Whachu in for, love?” Pretty Woman asks.

“Fuck off!” I mumble, just wanting to be left alone.

Her eyes widen. “Ah, think you’re better than us, eh?”

I roll my eyes.

She paces in front of me, hands on her hips. “You and your fancy smancy clothes, yet you stole a car, eh?”

I jump to my feet and glare at her. “Which part of fuck off don’t you understand, bitch?” I snarl, ready to slam her head into the wall.

Surprise coupled with fear dances in her eyes. She throws her hands up in a motion of surrender.

I sit back down on the cold hard bench that stinks like a public toilet on New Year’s Day.

Imagine – I’m being housed with common criminals. Me, Scarlett Murdoch, daughter of Milton Smyth, future First Lady of Australia, is rubbing shoulders and more with commoners. The injustice of it all.

I’m being framed. Bradley and I are being framed. I genuinely have no idea how the BMW came to be in my driveway, and I swear I did not steal Mabel’s stupid stuff. Somebody placed the classified ad for the BMW on
Cash Cow
. That is a late model car, priced at around ninety-five thousand dollars; why would I possibly sell it for $7000 dollars?

Rival. It’s her. She’s framing us. I know that for sure. The question is, how? Is she
that
smart? Isn’t she too fragile to pull off something like this? But, if it wasn’t her, then who else?

Sure I have a few enemies, like my ugly sisters, but this is someone who has access to my home. Someone who knows their way around.

Well, whoever it is that’s causing such havoc in my life better be warned: I will get her. And when I do, I am going to slice her up. Count on it.

****

RITCHIE

“Arrested? What the fuck for, Bradley?” I ask, unable to believe what I am hearing.

“Big…I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“Do you have a lawyer? I’ll get you one if you don’t. ”

“Yes, Scarlett’s father’s law firm is on top of it. But I need to talk to
you
. ”

“Okay, I’ll be there in…” I look at my wristwatch, “Look, traffic is still heavy, so probably in an hour?”

“Great. Thanks, mate.”

“Hey, no problem, man. You just hang in there. ”

It’s Friday evening and I am at a work dinner. To leave right away would be rude, but Bradley needs me. He’s been arrested – that’s serious. An attorney being arrested. Has to be something huge.

About fifteen minutes later, after offering an excuse and an apology, I quietly slip away and wrestle Friday evening traffic.

By 8 p.m. I am seated in front of Bradley. With us is Evan Harcourt, Bradley’s attorney.

“Sorry I took so long to get to you, Brad,” I say. “Traffic.”

He gives a dismissive wave. “Listen, Ritchie, someone is framing us, man. Scarlett isn’t a kleptomaniac, and I certainly am not. I need your help here, Mate.”

“Absolutely Brad. What was stolen? Start at the beginning.”

“Scarlett’s silver BMW was stolen and…” As he talks, my jaw drops.

Rival!
She actually hid a stolen car in my garage?

“…and the money, maybe more than fifty-five
gs,
man. Gone!”

I start to feel hot under the cover. What the hell is wrong with Rival? Doesn’t she realize how serious a matter this is?

And she used me. Dragged me into this mess. Put me at risk. I am going to kill her!

“I need you to inspect my place, Big. Check for bugs or spy cameras. Scarlett seems to think our place is bugged.

“Brad, I’ll look into it,” I hear myself say, my head buzzing from all that I’ve heard. “I’ll get on it right away.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it. Keep it quiet, okay? I…man, I can’t believe this. It’s a nightmare.”

I nod. “Brad, do you have any suspicions as to who…?”

He frowns and scratches the side of his nose. “Well, this is going to sound stupid, but the only person who would want to hurt us is Rival. Scarlett is adamant that it’s her, but…Ritchie,” he shakes his head from side to side, “there is no way she could pull off something of this magnitude. Not a chance.”

And yet she did. Slowly, I run my hand over my face, not knowing what to say to Bradley.

“She’s too
fragile
to pull off this kind of theft. I mean, it’s calculated, know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.”

“You got my message on Facebook, right?”

I squint at him. “Facebook?”

“Yeah, last week. About the insurance claim? You replied, remember?"

“I don’t have…” I clam up. He’s the second person to mention us talking on Facebook. Once before, Scarlett also mentioned a conversation on Facebook between her and me. At that time I was a little confused, but I said nothing.

Has my identity been stolen? Have they got the wrong Ritchie MacMillan? Or is Rival behind it?

Confusion reigns over me and I fall silent.

I drive home feeling really bad about Bradley’s arrest. He is spending the weekend in jail – this can’t be good for his career.

Then I think about Rival. Does she realize that both she and I could go to prison for our part in the theft? Did she hide the jewelry too? How? It’s all so
orchestrated
, how the hell could she pull something like that off?

At a traffic light, I pull out my phone, bring up Facebook, and type in my name.

My jaw drops when I see a complete profile of me. And photos – about ten pictures of my kids and me. The only person other than Liefie who has access to these photos are Rival and Arena. Forget Arena – she wouldn’t do something like this. Ever.

So it has to be Rival. Why would she steal my identity and create a profile on
Facebook
? Why not use her own identity?

I shake my head at her duplicity. She pretended to like me, to want me, but all the time she was just using me to get back at Bradley. Using me in her twisted revenge plot.

My confusion quickly turns into anger. I really want to kill Rival.

As I pass Bradley’s house, I look at the time – 10:13 p.m. It’s late, and Rival is probably with the kids. Best to see her tomorrow and confront her about it. But my anger gets the better of me, and I swing my car into Bradley’s driveway. Even though I risk waking the kids, I ring the doorbell.

****

RIVAL

The girls are both nervous and excited – nervous about seeing their father and Scarlett hauled off by the cops and the swarm of police officers ransacking their home, excited that I will be spending the night with them in our house.

“Just like old times,” I say as I hug my babies.

Of course, the place is a mess after the brutal police search – ripped mattresses, ripped couches, drawers tipped over, cupboards overflowing – it would take weeks to get this place in shape again.

With the girls' help, I put in a minimal effort to fix up the place. Why? Because I want Bradley to return and be reminded of how the cops violated his home. Bradley Murdoch, big-shot attorney, one of the best in his field, is being treated like a criminal, a petty thief. How humiliating.

Let’s see how their marriage handles this amount of scandal and embarrassment.

Of course, with Scarlett’s Father running one of the largest legal firms in Sydney, I don’t expect the charges to stick. It’s just their reputation I want to sabotage.

Around 10 p.m. I manage to get my excited girls to finally fall asleep.

Smug with victory over Bradley and Scarlett’s arrest, at being in my house again, legally, at that, I take a leisurely shower, use and abuse all Scarlett’s outrageously expensive Paul Bora hair and bath lotions, then tip the rest down the drain.

I hum as I towel off, then slather Scarlett’s Chanel body silk all over me, after which I tip the rest all over the lovely white carpet. Damn cops – look what they did!

What a day it’s been. The look on Scarlett’s face when she found out that Bradley had called me?
Me
of all people? Priceless.

The look on Scarlett’s face when she found out that Bradley had asked me to
stay
in the house over the weekend?
Me
, not her mother or anyone else.

Priceless.

Luckily, I have my tiny cameras running to capture that look. Later, over popcorn, I will watch, rewind, watch, rewind, watch. Over and over again, I'll savor the moment.

I planned to sleep in the spare room. Except that the mattress in the spare bedroom is now in shreds thanks to the cops’ aggressive but thorough search.

Undeterred, I make a bed on the floor and gear up for the night. There is not a chance in hell of me sleeping in Bradley and Scarlett’s bed, which is actually
my
bed. By now you’d think Scarlett would have changed the bed, but she hasn’t. Another possession of mine she has stolen and will not give up.