All Fore Revenge

by Piper Denna

  *

  My boys spent the weekend with me. We biked in Glenwood Canyon, and Will swore he kicked my butt when we raced, but I swore otherwise. Andy liked me again. We hiked the exhausting trail to Hanging Lake where my sons thoroughly drenched me in the icy mountain run-off water. Life was good. I made sure to remind myself periodically how this was meant to be—my family was whole and I was happy with that.

  All Fore Revenge

  Chapter 16

  Monday morning, Will and Andy went back to Kerri’s. Andy was thrilled because I was going to see Bill later in the week. Will was thrilled because I ate like a pig all weekend and wasn’t purging.

  I settled in to work, confident my book would tear along as smoothly as the rest of my life.

  An alert that I had a new e-mail came through. I opened it and the euphoria vaporized.

  Ali,

  I have no idea if you’re alive or dead. I watch the papers because I’m sure if Bill Smyth’s wife died, it would show up on the front page of the Sun, or at least in the obits.

  I hate what happened Thursday. I know it’s natural for you to get angry about what happened to you. It’s OK for you to lash out at me if you have to. But ignoring me like this, leaving me hanging? It’s not fair. I love you. My daughter loves you. Don’t turn your back on that. I need to at least know you’re alright. If you go back to Bill, or take up the lesbian lifestyle, or whatever, it will crush me. But I’ll know you’re OK. I almost drove up there this weekend just to see for myself that you hadn’t been in a wreck after our argument.

  Email or a call, it doesn’t matter. If what we had together meant anything at all, you owe it to me to let me know you’re alright.

  I love you still,

  Cam

  I felt… what else? Guilty. I hadn’t intended to ignore those missed calls and his messages for so long; I’d meant to get back to him when I’d calmed down. Then Bill came and I wanted to forget that other thing I’d started building. If I ignored it, maybe it would go away. If I was blind, I couldn’t see it. But there was Cam, hurtin’ for certain.

  I called him.

  “Hey,” he answered. “Hold on.” He gave another guy some instructions, then came back on. “You got my e-mail. Finally.”

  “Cam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging or worry you. I apologize.”

  “What’s going on? You sound different. Ali? What the hell happened? Is it Shurre?”

  “She’s—well, I’m not sure how she is. I figured out her uncle’s been molesting her, and now she’s not talking to me. But I think she’s okay. No suicides or anything like that. So,” I asked brightly, “how’s the new job going?”

  “Ali. Why do you sound like you’re talking to a business associate? What the hell is wrong?”

  “I’m fine. Really good. I’m just…”

  His next words came out fast and desperate. “Come to Phoenix this weekend. To my house. We’ll stay in and make love all weekend long.”

  “Cam. I can’t. I’m going to Charleston, for Bill’s tournament.”

  “Can’t he fly the boys out there himself, like last time?”

  “I have a book signing thing my agent’s been trying to get me to do. And the boys aren’t going.”

  “The boys aren’t—oh.” I could hear the wind go out of him. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, it looks like we’re gonna work things out. I’m sorry, Cam. I didn’t want you to be hurt. I never wanted that. I just…”

  “No. You love me, I know you do. We’re not over, Ali. We’re not.” Sounded like his protests caused him as much pain as they did me. “Don’t let him hurt you again, please, baby. Don’t sleep with him. Any other man, but not him. Please?”

  “Cam…” I couldn’t say the words.

  “You already did? Ali?”

  Christ, it hurts to hear a man talk when he’s crying.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “If you really don’t love me, tell me.”

  “Cam.”

  “If it’s true, you can say it.”

  “Bye, Cam.”

  “Ali!”

  Beep. I hung up.

  *

  The rest of Monday was tough, but Tuesday got better. My book slowed down. The plot kept getting tangled and things weren’t working like they should. I told myself I kept thinking of Cam because I felt so guilty about hurting him. The sound of his voice all choked up during that last conversation haunted me. Guilt, that’s what it had to be.

  Bill called me day and night. I felt like a teenager. We had phone sex—often—and it was good. I couldn’t wait to be with him again.

  Thursday night I had to spend in Atlanta. My agent had snuck in another signing for me. By the time I got to my room to call Bill in Charleston, it was after ten. “Hey Baby,” I cooed into my cell. “Are you lonesome tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I can’t wait ‘til tomorrow. I know I’ll play better when you get here. I love you.”

  “Hey, don’t you wanta, like, fool around?” I’d been excited since the cab ride from the bookstore.

  “Let’s save it up for tomorrow. I’m beat tonight. I was on the course all day.”

  “Okay,” I said, disappointed. “I guess it’ll be just me on me tonight…” It didn’t lure him in like I’d hoped. “Love you. Night.” I hung up and decided against doing it on my own. Bill was right—it would be better to save it up.

  *

  Friday I flew to Charleston. Bill couldn’t meet my flight because his tournament had already started, so I took a cab to the hotel. I couldn’t get a key to the room, but I did convince the bell-hop to take my luggage in before I went to my signing.

  When I made it back to the hotel, I expected Bill to be waiting up for me, with chilled champagne. Instead, he was fast asleep. He blinked from the lights in the hallway when he opened the door for me, then stumbled back to bed. I was hurt and disappointed, but I could tell he was exhausted from his long day in the sun. I showered and slid quietly, naked, into bed next to him.

  The next morning was a blur of nauseatingly rushed preparations to make it to his early tee time. He made it on the green with his first drive and the crowd went wild. The camera shot him smiling just like he’d known that was exactly what he’d do. Before he putted, his gaze pulled up from the ball, met mine in the crowd, and he mouthed the words, “I love you” to me.

  One announcer for ESPN commented on how that would ruin a guy’s concentration, which was vital for a twenty-yard putt with such a slope. But Bill sunk the ball, scoring two under par for that hole. The cameras caught him kissing me passionately immediately after. So went the day.

  Bill finished the tournament first, with a three-stroke lead. His grin was a mile wide in the press conference. By that point, everyone there knew who I was. He’d told me he loved me at every hole he played. Before he answered any questions from reporters, he motioned for me to join him. A crowd of reporters behind me clapped and urged me to go.

  “This wonderful woman,” he told a roomful of people and flashing cameras, “is the reason I won. She’s the reason I get up each day, my reason for breathing. I think I love her more than golf.” A few disapproving murmurs were drowned by chuckles. “Alison, I love you. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you.”

  His manager handed him a small box and he opened it to reveal a really huge diamond, which he slid on my finger with our other rings. Then he kissed me, for all the world to watch. I felt like a princess in a fairy tale. It reminded me of Emily Moreton, who insisted that fairy tales do still come true.

  We’d be seen all over the country, along with footage of his winks and words preceding his sinking putts. And I loved him, more than I had the first time he proposed in the press conference, because this time I knew just how precious forever was and how much it hurt to lose.

  *

  In lieu of a fancy, fan-infested meal in a ritzy restaurant, Bill ordered room service. He held me and kissed me. I relived how well he’d p
layed, and he said it was because of me. All because of me.

  I was the happiest woman alive.

  When dinner was over, we made love. He kissed me where he knew I liked it and he touched me where it worked best. Then he backed up and went places we didn’t usually go, giving me a sensual massage, making me crazy with need. I begged and cried for him. I crawled out from under him and gave him head. He melted against the headboard while I ground against his knee and sucked him until he came. It was still nasty when I swallowed. Why’d I ever miss doing that?

  He was slow coming back up, but he spent the time loving me with his mouth, driving me wild. When I thought I couldn’t take it any more, he started teasing me with his finger, rubbing around that other hole.

  “Oh. Yes,” I told him, too hot to say much more. “In.”

  He reached in the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of Astroglide. His fingers slid back and forth, up and down, until one went in, slowly, achingly big and uncomfortable at first, and then I relaxed, and it was good. “Oh. Bill, do me now. Do me. I want you in me. I’m gonna come.”

  “Not yet, you aren’t. I wanta do your ass, baby.”

  My eyes flew wide open. “NO! Not that again.”

  “You liked it before.”

  “No. I didn’t. And it tore, and it hurt for weeks. Remember?” I sure remembered. Part of why it hurt for so long was because he wouldn’t leave it alone and let it heal. I was not going down that road again.

  “It won’t hurt this time. We’ve got the ‘Glide this time. And a rubber. Rubbers make it easier. Come on, Baby.” His finger teased, but I resisted.

  I tensed at his insistence, and the finger didn’t feel good anymore.

  “Get it out. It hurts now. Take it out!” He did so reluctantly, and I could tell he was very irritated. “Put your cock in me, honey, where it goes. Please. I want you so much,” I begged, wanting him to quit looking angry.

  The rubber he’d mentioned lay beside us on the bed. I kicked it away and went down on him again. The remainder of his semen was leaking out. Like the rest of the encounter, the taste was quickly turning bitter.

  “Bill, I love you. Make love to me.” His face relaxed, and he relented. We both enjoyed it when he entered me, but he came before I did, and then rolled off me. I figured we’d do it again later, and then he’d see to my needs.

  I went in the bathroom to clean up. The box of rubbers was hanging out the side of his overnight bag. I smiled to myself at the brand. Only the best for Bill. Of course, Shurre liked those, too. Neither probably had any idea they had that in common. I pushed the box back in his bag. Wow, he’d really been planning on the anal thing, buying the lube and the rubbers in advance. He wasn’t usually such a big planner.

  A small paper, a receipt, slid out of the bag and drifted like an autumn leaf to the floor. I picked it up and saw the date was from two days before.

  No wonder he was so upset I wouldn’t agree to the anal thing. We’d have to talk about it later. But Jesus, wasn’t having me the natural way enough for now? It was always a push with him. A new frontier, a new taboo. It was fine to keep things fresh and spice things up, but geez. Sometimes it made me feel like good sex wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t enough. Oh. No. What if…?

  No, surely not. I was just paranoid. This was the trust thing I feared. Confident I was being silly, I counted. Then I counted them again. The box said twelve. But there were only seven. I could hear my heart thudding louder and louder. Seven condoms in a box of twelve, with one lying on the floor by the bed. That made eight. Did condom companies routinely rip off their customers by that much? I looked at the receipt again. Two days before.

  I shuffled with a pounding, sinking heart to the bathroom door. Bill was snoozing, face down on the bed. Leaving a big spot of yuck on the bedspread. Just like on those news show expose’s about how nasty the bedspreads in hotel rooms were.

  “Bill, honey?” I ruffled my fingers through his thinning hair. “Those rubbers weren’t tampered with when you bought them, were they?”

  “Ngggo.”

  “You opened them?”

  “Ngg-hmm.” He was still mostly asleep.

  I could hardly speak and my hand shook as the fingers raked through his hair. But I kept my voice calm. Instinct told me it would be better if he was still half asleep when he answered. He was an accomplished liar (he had to be, to convince some of his pupils they had potential and should keep buying more lessons), but I’d have the advantage if he was drowsy.

  “When’d you use the other rubbers?” I suddenly remembered Thursday night when I was in Atlanta and he didn’t want to fool around. Oh, God. And Friday night he was so exhausted when I arrived.

  “Always use a rubber. Don’t want us getting sick.”

  “Bill.” I yanked his hair.

  “Fuck me! Oww!” He rolled to face me, eyes and mouth round with confusion.

  I reached my hand down to the other hair, the big pile of black curly hair, and I dug in. “Tell me who you used those rubbers with, you cheating fuck,” I growled in his face. Bill was awake now, and he knew he was shit out of luck.

  “Oww! Oh, fuck. I can’t talk.”

  “You’d better, or this hair is coming off. The balls will be next. Let me help you out. I already did the math. Four rubbers are gone. You fucked around on me four times in two days, when we JUST reconciled?”

  “It wasn’t four people. Only two. Two days, two people.” He choked out the words, because I was pulling harder down by the head where all his blood seemed to hang out lately.

  “Two people. Not women. People? You are fucking incredible. No, I don’t even want to know,” I spat. “Just one more question, and if I even suspect you are lying, so help me God, the Bobbit thing will look like an act of mercy because I will tear your dick off in shreds that they can’t sew back on.”

  He looked scared, curled up in pain and afraid to fight lest I pull harder. “Have you always done this on tour?”

  “No. Not always. Just the last couple years. After the first time, it was so tempting.”

  I pulled harder without thinking.

  “Yow! I swear it’s the truth!”

  I let him go then, wiping my hands to rid myself of the feel of him on them.

  “You make me so fucking sick. How can you be in love with me and do that? How?” I screamed. Hotel security would probably come soon, but I didn’t care.

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I always use a condom…”

  “Whatever. How could I possibly believe that? You lying sack of shit?”

  “I never wanted to hurt you. It was just so…” he shrugged, “new.”

  “New. Right. Well, you can spend your life with somebody new now, you asshole.” I started dressing then, and he started begging.

  “Ali. Please. Let’s make this work.”

  “I’ve done everything to make it work with you, Bill. I tried the threesome, and then I did it again, for you, ‘til it worked. We swapped. I watched you take it in the ass, remember? It made me sick, but at least you laid off mine for a little while after. I guess in the end you liked it, though. Or do you not give as good as you get? Oh, never mind. I don’t even want to know.”

  Finished dressing, I tossed toiletries in my bag. “Nothing I ever did for you was enough. I gave and gave. I compromised every line I drew in the sand.” I jammed my wedges with the long ribbon ties in the top of my purse and slung my purse over my shoulder. With my hands full of two suitcases and my laptop, I fell back on the skills I’d learned from mothering two babies only a year apart.

  I yanked open the door with a satisfying crash.

  Bill stood, still nude, in the middle of the room with his hands lifted in supplication.

  I gave him one last glare. “And what do I get in return? No matter what I did, in the end, it still wasn’t e-fucking-nough. So go to hell, Bill. Fuck you, you kinky, oversexed, throbbing asshole!”

  My disheveled hair and crookedly buttoned blouse were dead give-aways that I
’d just been in bed. For the heads of other golfers poked curiously out the doors, it must have been quite a show.

  I wasn’t in a position to care. My anger had to sustain me ‘til I was on a plane headed far away.

  *

  It was late and there were no flights I could make to Grand Junction, Colorado leaving before six the next morning. I whined and begged until a girl at the ticket counter told me where to find a plane to charter. The cost didn’t mean shit to me at that point. I’d have happily traded the enormous rock on my left hand to put the country between myself and Bill.

  I waited on an egg-shaped, molded plastic chair while the jet that would take me to Denver was fueled. Bill would absolutely shit himself when his accountant told him how much I’d paid to leave him. It put the cost of Bill’s first-class flights in the bargain category. I sent off one simple email from my laptop while I waited.

  Dear Cam,

  I’d like you to handle my divorce.

  Ali

  I didn’t know if he’d even speak to me again, but I did want him to do the divorce. It wouldn’t be a normal arrangement, and I didn’t want some money-hungry attorney out to get notoriety by handling a big case. It was only eight in Arizona. Cam was probably out on a date but, hopefully, I’d hear from him by the next day.

  I stared out the window and watched the jet being readied for me and held myself together by sheer necessity. If I fell apart there, it was likely I’d have to be carried onto the plane.

  My laptop chimed to tell me I had a message.

  Ali,

  Where are you? Are you OK? Call me if you can.

  Cam

  I dialed his number with a shaking finger. “Hey. I chartered a flight back tonight.”

  “What happened? I saw you on the news…”

  “It’s over. He’s been screwing around already…” I started crying then, and couldn’t talk.

  “Ali. Are you coming here? To Phoenix?”