The Other Woman (37 page)

Just then Ritchie appears behind me, his eyes still gluey with sleep. “Oh, shit!” he says.

Without another word, I slink away, leaving Ritchie to explain, make excuses, or simply lie.

****

RITCHIE

My sleepy mind tries to come up with an excuse. But I’m in just a pair of shorts, Rival was in her nightdress, it’s 6:30 a.m…

My main fear is that Girly will tell Soong, who will then tell Arena, and before long, Bradley would find out. As I stand scratching my head, Girly turns and walks to the kitchen, leaving me staring after her.

I shower, get dressed, go downstairs, and make myself a cup of coffee. Girly glances at me, then gives the kids’ school lunches her attention. I lean against the kitchen cupboard, sip my coffee, and run excuses (and lies) through my head.

“If Arena finds out, she will hit me,” I finally say. Dumb lie, but it’s the best I can do at this part of the morning.

She jerks back. “Really?”

My head bobs. “She will. I’m scared of her.”

“But why?” she asks, hands on her hips. “You got no woman. Rival got no husband – what is the problem?"

“Rival’s ex-husband and I are good friends. He won’t appreciate this.”

“You have affair with his wife, Pig?”

“No! It happened recently.
After
he married the other woman.”

She shrugs. “I’m not understanding.”

I take a sip of my coffee. “It’s…complicated.”

“How much you like her?”

I think about it before I answer. “You know when you go to a Thai restaurant, and your beef massaman with cashews takes a really long time to arrive?”

“Yeah…?”

“You know that feeling you get, that happiness you feel when you see the waitress finally bringing your food to you?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah?”

“That’s how I feel whenever I see Rival, Girly.”

I expected my housekeeper to laugh at my ridiculous analogy, but to my utter surprise, tears fill her eyes.

“What?”

“You have a lot of pain before,” she says in a shaky voice. “I see your tears, Pig. Now, I happy you like…beef massaman.” She sniffs hard. “But pork massaman is better.”

Don’t worry, I pork Rival a lot.

Suddenly, she straightens up and her hands vigorously part the air in front of her. “I say nothing then. No one know. No one’s business.”

This is easier than I thought. I’m so relived; I lunge to give her a hug. She steps back, a scowl on her face.

“Girly, I wanna hug you.”

“You touch me, I take you to court. Sexual harassment. I take all your money, your house, your car, your bar.”

My jaw drops. After staring at her in disbelief, I lunge at her and take her in a bear hug. “Sue me. I don’t care. Just don’t tell anyone. And never threaten to take away my bar. Ever.”

****

SCARLETT

Bradley doesn’t say much, but I can tell he’s holding me responsible for the shit that hit the fan. He barely speaks to me, seldom looks at me, answers in monosyllables, and walks around all day with a morose look on his face. One would think he was the only one arrested.

My daddy’s just as eager as I am for Bradley to become Prime Minister, in spite of Bradley’s rudeness. So dedicated is my daddy to Bradley’s dream, that after hearing about Martin
Shit
Job, who I will get back at one day, he’s enlisted the services of top-notch Steve Hamilton and his PR team to help us weather this storm and drive us all the way to Kirribilli House.

“Nothing must get in our way,” my daddy says. I ditto that. The more I listen to my daddy, the less I am bothered with this arrest. In fact, the false arrest serves only to add another book to my upcoming collection.

Framed
–
How Drug Addiction Can Tear Apart a Family.
That’s what I may call this book. Something like that.

Anyway, to bridge troubled waters, and to shake off the sepia tone our marriage has taken, I have arranged an intimate dinner for two at home, complete with waitstaff, who will be serving an array of delectable tapas, a chilled bottle of Moet, and a tangerine cheesecake that is made with three different types of fresh cheese.

The kids are with my mother, so Bradley and I won’t be disturbed.

I’ve also bought some new bedroom candy – an edible G-string, and some amazing mini

testicular-cupping vibrators that are sure to blow Bradley’s mind and help shake off his sour mood.

I have also invested in a frightfully expensive Givenchy black shift that ends just above the knee and accentuates my figure to perfection. My black stilettos with velvet ankle straps showcase my slim ankles, and completes my magnificent ensemble.

My hair, which has been loosely curled, is piled on my head with a single but mighty comb, in anticipation of me yanking out the comb and allowing my lustrous locks to cascade over my bronzed and defined shoulders – vamp or goddess – both will do.

If I may say so myself, I look amazing tonight. And with my secret smile that I have practiced for months now, I can’t help thinking what a stunning and enigmatic first lady I am going to make. No need for me to be coy about that, right? As I study myself in the mirror, I think, maybe this is the dress I should wear for my Madam Tussauds wax figure. When they come calling one day. Or crawling.

****

RITCHIE

It’s 6 p.m., and Bradley and I are at a pub having drinks. He’s been here since before 4, and is already smashed. Not only that, he looks a mess – unshaven, crumpled clothes, disheveled hair, and bloodshot eyes.

“Did you grab a cab?” I ask in a casual voice, hoping he says
yes.

He shakes his head. “What do I need a cab for?”

I nod. What else can I do without sounding like I am his father? He’s already feeling smothered by Scarlett and her father’s constant interference; the last thing he needs is someone else telling him what to do. But I make a mental note to drive him home.

“So what’s your theory on this whole fucking bullshiiiit!?” he slurs.

“I think whoever took the car got cold feet and
returned
it. At least that’s the way I see it. If an outsider did take the stuff.” I take a swig of my whisky. Not sure if he gets my insinuation.

“You don’t think it’s an act of revenge?”

“Could be.” I shrug. “Someone with balls, though.”

“Someone with balls…” Bradley trails as he stares at his drink. He cocks his head and looks at me. “Scarlett. She’s got balls.” The fingers of both his hands form claws in the air. “Brass.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And she doesn’t like our opposite neigh—”

The vibrating of his phone interrupts our conversation. He picks it up, reads a text, and almost tosses the phone onto the table. His phone buzzes again, and again, he ignores it.

“That Scarlett?” I ask, when the phone vibrates for the third time.

His screwed-up face tells me it is.

“Shouldn’t you answer?”

“You answer.”

“Eh…” I pick up the phone. “What must I say?”

“Tell her to tell her daddy that he is a prick. A…” he puts his thumb and forefinger together, “a
small
one.”

I laugh. “C’mon, I’m not gonna tell her that.”

He downs his drink, signals the bartender to bring us more drinks, and turns to me again. “Tell her to tell Milton that I know he’s using me. That I know…I just know that when I become prime minister, he will fucking…
rape
me! So…” Bradley sucks in his lips and sticks his middle finger in the air.

I laugh. “Listen, mate, I’m gonna drive you home, ’kay?”

His wave is dismissive.

“Brad, c’mon, man.”

“I got it, Big.” The finality in his voice makes me back off.

Then my phone rings. “It’s Scarlett,” I say, feeling a bit panicky. “What should I say?”

He blinks rapidly before he answers. “I’m not here.”

I silently look at him.

“I don’t want tapas because…I hate anything that has an
arse
in it,
okay?”

His naked aggression makes me put away my phone.

Obviously he doesn’t see my move, because he says, “Tell her I just want to be left alone. Everybody, leave…me…the…fuck ALONE!”

“Easy Brad,” I say, when I notice people turning to look at us.

He ignores me and the onlookers and orders another round. I shake my head at the barman. “Gotta drive.” I turn to Bradley. “You have to let me drive you home. I can’t let you drive in this state. Please, mate.”

He peers at me. “What? Big, you think I’m some sort of pussy or something? Huh?”

“No, no, no. It’s—”

“Don’t you start your protective shit on—”

“Brad, you could have an accident, or the cops can stop—”

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. After downing his whisky, he stands up and removes his car keys.

A lady at a nearby table shakes her head. “Don’t let him,” she mouths.

I nod and turn to Bradley. “I’m taking you home.”

With a snort, he shoves me out of the way and staggers toward his Porsche. My car is parked a distance away, so by the time I get to it, Bradley is long gone. I start to panic and race to catch up with him.

As I drive, I listen to the voice message Scarlett left me earlier on.
Hi Ritchie, it’s Scarlett. Just wondering if you know where Brad is? Please call me if you do, Ritchie. Or ask him to call me. Thanks, Ritchie. Bye for now, Ritchie!

Should I call her? And if I do, what exactly do I say to her?

Best if I don’t return her call. As I drive on, I see flashing red, blue, and white lights on the shoulder of the road.
Shit
!

In front of it…parked on the side of the road – Bradley’s black Porsche.
Shit
!
Shit! Shit!

****

SCARLETT

It’s past 10 p.m., and Bradley hasn’t arrived home. My perfectly-planned dinner has been ruined, and I’ve been subjected to the embarrassing task of having to send home my hired waitstaff, who for the last hour has been bestowing me with looks of pity. I have no doubt that behind my back they’ve shared a laugh or two.

I’ve never been stood up before, and I am furious at Bradley right now. Such blatant disrespect. I suspected he might be with Rival, so I drove past her place, but his car wasn’t there. It wasn’t outside Ritchie’s house either. How can I not be furious with Bradley?

Then my phone rings. It’s Ritchie. I quickly answer.

As I listen, my jaw drops. “Where is he now?” I ask after my shock wears off.

“He’s with me. I’m bringing him home.”

My sigh is long. “Fine, Ritchie. Bring him home.” I hang up and wonder what I must tell my daddy. He is going to be livid with Bradley’s poor judgment.

Ten minutes later, supported by Ritchie, a legless Bradley staggers into our house. I’m surprised they did not lock him up.

“What?” he snarls.

I roll my eyes. Such hostility. For what? He stumbles over to the TV room and passes out on the couch. I am so mad with him, I leave him there without even covering him with a blanket.

The next morning, I walk downstairs to find him still asleep. “Wake up, Bradley,” I shake him hard. “You’re going to be late for work.”

“Not going to work,” he mutters.

“Why?”

He rises from the couch and staggers toward our bedroom.

I follow him into it. “Bradley, why?” I demand.

“Because I don’t want to face anyone, Scarlett!” he says as he removes his tie, his shoes, and his pants. “And besides, they cancelled my license last night. Cut it up.” He gets into bed and pulls a mohair blanket over him and his face, shutting me out.

I stare at him in utter disbelief. “How…I mean, how are you going to drive the children to school each morning, Bradley?”

His response is a motorized snore. Now
I
have to drive the children to school every morning. That means I will have to call my personal trainer and reschedule my workout times. Plus I will have to change my schedule with Norman too. (Yes, I have to see Norman regularly to get my
allowance
from him.) As I watch my husband sleeping without a care in the word, I resist the urge to pick up a continental pillow and smother him with it.

****

RIVAL

It was a good thing that Girly busted Ritchie and me. At least now there’s one less person to worry about and hide from. Ritchie and I take full advantage of the fact that Girly knows about us – I spend just about every night in his arms, and slip away quietly each morning.

In fact, I make dinner for them most nights, and then dine with them, something both he and Girly seem to enjoy. I have to admit, I really enjoy being around them, pretending to be Ritchie’s
wife
and mother to his girls. It fills a void in my life.

The biggest problem we have is keeping our hands off each other in front of the children.

“You like Pig?” Girly asks as she helps me wash lettuce for a salad.

“Eh, yeah,” I say, my face turning red.

“You marry him?”

Talk about being direct. “Eh, no. Not like that. It’s like, early.” I try really hard not to think of where Ritchie and I are heading. Bradley is still my focus, and my war with Scarlett, which I plan to win, has only just started. If I am honest with myself, I would admit that I like Ritchie more than I should. But I have to stay focused. Best not to think about it.

“You must marry quickly. Before you get too old.” She uses her finger to draw lines across her face.

My hand reaches to touch my face. “Yeah, I guess I should. Yeah…”

“Pig, he like you. Very much.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he come home, his eyes look for you. When he don’t see you, his face—” She hangs her head to demonstrate.

I smile with happiness knowing he likes me as much as I like him.

“Your stories are way nicer than Girly’s,” Ally whispers after I bathe them and read them a story. “Her stories give me the heebie-jeebies.” Her little body shudders as she remembers. “It’s all about people dying, and evil spirits and black magic and stuff.”

“Hey, I like them,” Becky says. “They are full of blood and...and…killing, and they are…awesome.” She claps her hands as she speaks.

Both Ally and I stare at the little spitfire in silence.

“What?” Becky asks.

With a chuckle, I kiss them both. “Goodnight now, and sweet dreams.”

Ritchie appears at the doorway, hair damp from the shower he’s just taken. “You buggers giving Rival a hard time?”

“No, Pig,” Becky says.

“Daddy, can Rival stay with us?” Ally says. “She can sleep with me, I don’t mind. And I don’t even snore.”

Ritchie’s brows shoot up.

“Or she can sleep with me?” Becky says moving up to make room for me in her bed. “I like you to sleep with me, Rival,” she says, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

I smile and kiss them both.

“Yeah, it’ll be like having Mum here again, Daddy,” Ally says.

After glancing at me, Ritchie gives them what I think is a guilt-laden smile.

“I miss having Mum here,” Becky says, her little blonde curls shaking over her face as she nods.

“Me too,” Ally says. “Gareth is so lucky he gets to have Mum all the time.”

Ritchie walks over and hugs his girls. “Love you, Ally. Love you, Becky. You guys go to sleep now, and tomorrow, I promise I will read you
two
stories, okay?”