Mr. Write

by Monica James

  The thought has me wanting to flee from this horror house, but I man the fuck up and remember why I’m here.

  “I wanted to invite a few of our friends over. Tell them the good news.”

  This woman really has some balls.

  That sounds beyond torturous, but I know this isn’t up for negotiation. “Fine. I’ll be writing for most of the day, so you can organize it all.”

  Her smile almost looks genuine, but I know she’s only happy she can show me off like a prized pig and wear some overpriced ensemble. “Great.” She claps her hands together. “There is so much to do. I better get ready.”

  “Great,” I repeat, thankful she’ll be busy for most of the day and leave me the hell alone.

  “Coming back here will have those creative juices flowing again in no time. I just know it. Gerry will be most happy to hear your newest bestseller will be in his hands soon enough.” And there she is, the evil slag I married.

  “So you’re on Gerry’s side? What about Axle?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “Faye told me how much money Gerry is offering you. There is no way Axle would match that, and besides, Axle is the past, isn’t he?” She pointedly looks at me.

  This isn’t a trick question as there is only one answer. By the past she means Carrie and I suppose Daisy as well. As long as I’m her prized pig and cash cow, she won’t resort to blackmailing me and ruining my life.

  She is certain that with Carrie out of my life, she has leverage because I all but told her Carrie was the reason behind my sudden flood of words. But now that she’s gone, Liz believes the mental drought will return.

  Good. This is exactly what I need her to believe. My plan is working. I just need to survive three days and then all of this will be over.

  However, when she saunters over with a glimmer in her eye, those three days suddenly feel like a lifetime. She runs the back of her finger along my jaw. “I like this scruff. It’s so sexy.”

  I refrain from recoiling. Think of the greater good, I chant over and over. But when she edges forward, intent on kissing me, I can only think of getting the hell out of here. When she’s a hairsbreadth away, I blurt out, “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

  She stops mid assault, curling her lip in mild disgust. Lucky for me, this is one of Liz’s many pet peeves. She thankfully retreats, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Make sure you brush them tonight then.” She winks, before wiggling her arse as she exits the room. Once she’s gone, I unclench my fists, my heart rate returning to a semi normal pace.

  I may have dodged a bullet, but I know it’s only a matter of time. Three days have suddenly never looked so long.

  I’ve been locked in my room all day, writing like a madman. Thankfully, Liz has been too busy planning god knows what to check in on me.

  I’ve sent Carrie a few text messages, but I haven’t disclosed where I am. Her sad face and broken heart emoticons nearly killed me, but I kept reminding myself I’m doing this for the greater good. She was insistent she would tell Axle about our predicament, but I made her promise not to.

  This is under control. As long as I can dodge Liz’s advances and finish this damn book, all will go back to normal by next week. That’s the only thing motivating me as I peer at my reflection in the mirror and knot my tie.

  I’ve decided to wear my ripped jeans as I know it’ll piss Liz off. I have on a white shirt, so I’m not completely wayward, but the fact I’m not dressed in my Sunday best is sure to irritate the hell out of her. Running my fingers through my hair, I splash on some cologne and prepare myself for whatever Liz throws my way.

  I have no idea who she plans to invite, but I can only hope it isn’t Roger and his wench of a wife, Demi. Demi is everything you’d imagine a walking, talking Barbie doll would look like. Roger is an okay dude, but he isn’t someone I have much in common with. That could be because he thinks what I do is a “woman’s job,” and the fact he’s about fifty years his wife’s senior.

  Unable to put this off any longer, I lock my laptop in my suitcase because I don’t trust Liz. As far as she knows, I’m months away from finishing my book. Gerry has three chapters, and that’s all I’m certain she thinks I’ve done.

  The moment I close the door and hear Demi’s unmissable hyena cackle sound from downstairs, I groan. Fucking great.

  Trudging down the stairs, I almost trip down the last two steps when I see that the foyer has been transformed into some sideshow circus. She said a few friends, not her whole address book. This is a disaster.

  My palms begin to sweat as I wonder if she’d be that diabolical and invite Gerry. They haven’t attended many of our functions in the past, which is why I didn’t recognize them, but I wouldn’t put it past Liz to do some fucked-up shite like this.

  When I pass a server, I snare two glasses of champagne off his silver tray. When he attempts to leave, I stop him with one hand as I throw back a glass, then the other. I then steal the tray, and in return, I give him the two empty glasses.

  As I carry my tray of bubbly, I look around Liz’s home and wonder if it’s always looked this shallow. These people dressed in furs and expensive designer brands look like complete wankers. I can’t believe I ever associated with them by choice.

  My gaze drifts across the room and lands on Liz. She’s hard to miss, seeing as she looks like she’s clubbed a baby seal to death and worn its skin as her outfit. I’m sure she thinks she looks stunning. To me, she looks like vacuum-packed salami.

  Dear god, give me strength.

  When she sees me, she stops talking to Lionel, a guy I once believed to be my friend, but now, I’m suspicious of everyone. Just how many men in the room know Elizabeth a little too well? Awful thoughts to have, but Liz was the one to put such notions in my head.

  “There he is,” she gushes, rushing toward me like we’re a long-lost couple in a Danielle Steele novel. She hugs me while I stand limp with the tray of drinks still in my hand.

  When she finally unwraps her tentacles from me, her attention flutters to my jeans. Her horror shouldn’t please me so, but it does. But it appears nothing will ruin Liz’s perfect evening. “I will make sure Juanita does all your washing tomorrow.” Of course, that’s what she’d assume. I opted for this look because everything else was dirty.

  I make a mental note to give Juanita the day off.

  A few of our friends mosey over, not wanting to pry, but it’s obvious they’re only here to get the inside scoop. I haven’t spoken to any of these twats because none of them could care less when I left. It was just another day. So I have no idea what Liz has told them. For all I know, they probably think I was in rehab. The tray of drinks I hold would point to the epic fail that stay was.

  “So glad you’re back, Jay,” says Tom, slapping me on the back. Tom is the type of guy you want to punch in the face. I only tolerated him because I’m friends with his wife. Karen appears from behind him and offers me a genuine hug.

  “I tried calling you,” she whispers, but Liz’s sonar hearing doesn’t miss a thing.

  “He was working through some issues, but he’s back now, and it’s for good.” I glare at her over Karen’s shoulder.

  I break the hug and place the tray of drinks on the table. I need something stronger.

  The convoy continues for way too long, but I smile and play along. When they finally grow tired of welcoming me back, Liz announces it’s time for dinner. She loops her arm through mine while I grit my teeth. “I’ve missed this smell,” she declares, snuggling close.

  Her touch is wrong, so wrong, and I want nothing more than to bathe for a week, but I suck it up and refrain from stating I certainly didn’t miss her heavy-handed floral perfume.

  When we step into the dining room, I scoff. It’s decked out like Christmas.

  My thoughts drift to the last time I was greeted with a sight—it was Christmas, and it was the night which kick-started my rebirth. If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t be in the predicament I�
��m in.

  Liz leads us over to the head of the table. After I take my seat, I mouth to the server to inquire if we have any scotch. He nods and disappears.

  Everyone is chatting happily as they fill their plates with food. I’ll give it to Liz, she knows how to throw a party, but beer and pizza would have sufficed. When she fills her glass with water, I arch a brow. “No wine with dinner?”

  She smiles, attempting to be coy. “Not anymore.”

  Demi, who is conveniently sitting to Liz’s left hears her strange response, and her mouth drops open. “Oh, my god. Are you…pregnant?”

  I choke on air and thump on my chest to dislodge the bullshit I just swallowed.

  “Not yet,” she replies, placing a hand on my leg. “But we’re trying.”

  We are?

  The table hears the commotion, and it’s celebrations all around while my temper spikes. She really has no shame. I once saw her determination as an admirable quality, but now I see her for the psychopath that she is.

  A bottle of scotch appears, but instead of filling my glass, I reach for the bottle.

  The more she speaks, the angrier I become. She is playing off her infidelity as though it never happened, and in turn, I look like the arsehole who left her. I unscrew the bottle and fill my glass full.

  “Starting a little early, mate,” teases some cockhead who needs to stop talking.

  “Michael.” I’m presuming it’s his wife who nudges him, shaking her head. She’s in tune to the fact I’m seconds away from ripping off his head.

  “I need something to dull the pain, mate,” I mock. However, when his gold cufflinks with ruby stones catch my eye, I’m suddenly transported to that Christmas Eve when Liz emerged from my study with some asshole. At the time, I didn’t remember his name, but I do now. It’s Michael.

  I will never forget those cufflinks. And I’ll never forget that smug look on his face—the one he wears now.

  He laughs as he thinks I’m playing, but I am done playing. I refuse to sit here as the villain while Liz portrays the role of doting, supportive wife who has stuck by her husband who up and left her. I’m seething.

  She places a few lettuce leaves and a minuscule portion of chicken on her plate, making a scene to support her apparent baby making claims. Her body is her temple and all that bollocks.

  Not only is Michael a smug asshole, but he’s also a noisy eater. Every chew of his filet mignon has me wanting to stab him with my fork. I can’t sit here and not say anything. I know I have a moral code to abide by for the greater good, but if I don’t say anything, I’m sure to explode.

  “So Michael…” Liz peers up from her meal, stopping mid chew. “Remind me again how you know Elizabeth.”

  He swallows down his mouthful before reaching for this wine. “I’m her yoga teacher,” he explains.

  “Ah, so you’re the one I should thank for Liz’s ability to twist herself into a pretzel.” The table falls silent the double meaning behind my words can’t be missed. There is no gratitude directed toward him, just sheer animosity. “God knows she’s put her talent to good use.”

  Demi gasps, covering her mouth, horrified.

  I deadpan Michael as I want him to know that I’m onto him. He shuffles uncomfortably. “Lizzy is a very dedicated pupil.”

  A loud rumble erupts from me. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  “Jayden, enough!” Liz whispers, tugging on my arm, but screw her. She’s embarrassed. Too bad her scruples weren’t an issue when she was shagging this tool in my office.

  “What’s the matter, Lizzy?” I hiss, yanking from her grip. “We’re just having a friendly conversation about your uncanny ability to twist your puss—”

  “Okay, that’s it!” She stands, tossing her napkin to the table. This is the first genuine response I have seen from her since this charade started. “You’ve clearly had too much to drink.”

  “That’s the problem, poppet. I haven’t had enough.” I reach for the scotch and throw back the liquor straight from the bottle.

  Gasps and quiet whispers sound from around me, but I don’t care. Let them judge. They already have. This is all bullshit anyway. “You’re all a bunch of sad, lonely arseholes who thrive on each other’s misfortunes to make yourself feel better about your miserable lives. Except you, Karen.” I raise the bottle in salute. “I’m done pretending.”

  “He’s clearly lost his mind,” Demi mumbles under her breath. “Maybe it’s all the Viagra?” Her jab can blow me ’cause I’m fairly certain she’s mistaking Viagra for steroids. But who knows.

  Standing, I kick back my chair, causing it to fall to the floor with a thud. “Let’s make a toast.” Everyone looks at one another, unsure what they should do. But I’m more than happy to drink alone. “To my darling wife.” I hold the bottle of scotch out to Liz whose chest is rising and falling in utter contempt. “Thank you for reminding me why I left. And to Michael.” I turn toward him. “Fuck you.”

  His mouth hinges open. Maybe he’s practicing one of his yoga deep breathing techniques.

  As his wife gasps, holding him protectively, I smirk. “By the way, love, my wife fucked your husband, but he mustn’t have been anything special because she was shacking up with the pool boy too.”

  The room erupts into pandemonium.

  Michael stands, ready to take me on, but his wife has other plans when she whacks his cheek. “How could you?”

  “He’s lying!” he cries, attempting to defend himself, but his deceit is transparent.

  With scotch in hand, I bow to the room, so done with this sham. “Namaste.” I leave a trail of destruction in my wake as I walk up the stairs with a smirk spread from ear to ear.

  As I enter my room, I go about collecting my things because I refuse to stay here a second longer. I thought I had it figured out, but there is no way I can see this through. I will work something else out because this isn’t a solution; it’s a fucking train wreck.

  The door booms open and in strolls the she-devil in heels. “How dare you!” she shrieks, slamming the door shut behind her.

  I don’t even bother looking at her.

  “You embarrassed me!”

  “I’m pretty sure wearing that frock did that, not me.”

  She ignores my jab. “But more importantly, you embarrassed yourself.”

  “I’m way past that,” I counter, shoving past her and making a beeline for my suitcase.

  “You promised me.”

  “Yeah, well, I lied. You should be familiar with that concept, seeing as our whole marriage was based on a fucking lie!” I scream, finally facing her.

  “You seem to forget I have the ability to ruin you.” She arrogantly folds her arms. My maniacal laugh surprises her.

  “You already have, Elizabeth,” I state coolly. “The day you took our vows and shitted all over them. So go ahead and do your best.”

  A small victory for me, but that soon turns to dread.

  She walks…no, she stalks toward me, but I stand my ground. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew you’d never come back without a fight. But you’re either in or out, and you know what happens if you’re out. This is your last chance.”

  The more she speaks, the more entertained I become. “Please, so what?” I yawn, bored. “Tell Gerry. I’m done playing your sick, twisted games.” I know Axle is also a factor, but maybe Carrie is right. Maybe we could get to him first. But it appears Liz has thought about it all.

  “I’m sure Yale would love to know all about Axle Bell, CEO of one of the world’s biggest and most influential publishing house’s eldest daughter having an affair with her well-respected photography teacher.”

  The world stops spinning. “What?”

  “Oh? You didn’t know?” she says, faking surprise, peering at her nails, bored.

  “You lie,” I press out between clenched teeth. But deep down, I know that she’s telling me the truth. This is her lifeline. If I turned rogue, just how she knew I would, sh
e would use this against me and blindside me. This is her ace in a hole.

  “No, I’m not. I believe his name was”—she taps her chin in contemplation—“Mr. Donny Adell. He is married and has two beautiful children. I told you she was a little whore.”

  The walls begin closing in on me. There is no way this is true. But how does Liz know his name?

  This explains her reluctance to go back to school and why she fled Seattle the way she did. She was running away from the horrible mistake she made.

  At the airport, she wanted to confess something. Was this it? It would explain why she was so apprehensive about letting me in. Why she kept seeing herself as unworthy. And why she hated Liz so—she saw herself in Liz because didn’t she do the same thing to Donny’s wife?

  Bile rises. I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Don’t believe me? Call her,” Liz taunts, reaching for my cell and extending it my way. “Your perfect little angel isn’t so perfect after all.”

  It’s the imperfections that make life beautiful, she once said. And this entire time, that’s how she viewed herself—an imperfection.

  Unable to stop myself, I snatch my phone from Liz’s clutches and dial Carrie. I don’t care that Liz is still here. She knows how this is going to end. We both do.

  “Jayden.” Her voice brings back so many happy memories, but what I’m about to do will shatter every single one.

  “Who was Donny?”

  Silence.

  “Wh-what do you mean?” Her falter says it all.

  “Was Donny your…your teacher?” Her staggered breathing tears me into two, but I need to know. “Dove?”

  “Yes.”

  A winded exhalation escapes me. “Why, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I was embarrassed,” she cries, sniffling. “I knew you’d judge me.”

  This is the question which will make or break me. If she answers yes, then I don’t know what happens next. “Did you know he was married?”

  “Jayden, I need to…”

  But it’s a simple question. “Did you know?” I repeat, watching Liz as she grins in triumph.