Rooked

by Caitlin Sara

  CHAPTER 15

  It was clear what the print outs revealed. Even from afar, Ara could see that the printouts were emails between Brad and Raina’s work addresses. How nice of the detectives to give her her own copy to dissect. At first she tried to ignore the stack, reiterating to herself that it would only cause her more pain, and that was absolutely not something she thought she could bare. Any married woman who suffered through the torment of a cheating husband could figure out the rest. But curiosity got the best of her.

  The all too familiar banter of the unfaithful companions resembled Ara’s own courtship with Brad, though she’d obviously lacked Raina’s adult film star confidence. Like she needed anything else to make her feel worthless. Why hadn’t she ever thought to check on Brad before? It wouldn’t have been hard to guess his email password on the apartment desktop; she’d simply have needed to go through all his sports idols, finishing them off with his birthdate. So predictable, in many ways. Or maybe Brad had just been cocky. He had known she would never look. Ara was now convinced it was why he’d married her in the first place.

  Adrenaline quickened her breathing as she sifted through his personal conversations. There would be no argument or confrontation. No victory that came with proving he was not holding up his end of the bargain. She would never be able to look at his face as he realized defeat. That she knew everything he thought he’d carefully tied up in technology.

  She heard relationships sweep you off your feet but what the fairytales leave out is that after these relationships end, it leaves you gutted, a shell of the person you were before the twister swooped you off to the colorful land of Oz. That returning to black and white is much drearier having experienced the warmth of technicolor.

  Ara hated him more and more with each word she read, the pit in her stomach growing. Even feeling sorry for Raina at times, after discovering she wasn’t the only one by far. More than once he promised his prospects that his marriage was over, offering subtle details of divorce proceedings she wished she knew about.

  Who was this man she had once loved to the core? How could he have had so many secrets?

  “You soulless bastard,” she whispered aloud. Cursing your dead husband was hardly an absolution.

  As she dug deeper and deeper, the worst part were the dates of the interactions, burning her from the inside out. Birthdays, anniversaries, and other various notable holidays shared between them as husband and wife. He’d been fearless, she had to give him that. It seemed he lived more for the thrill than any other inkling of emotion. It certainly was never about love, not even with her.

  Why was I such goddamn fool? She’d practically handed her marriage off to these side pieces. Forget having your cake and eating it, too, Brad Bugia had had a personal Viennese table, picking whatever went along with his tastes of the day. One email read:

  The past two days were amazing. When you kiss her at midnight, I hope you think of me.

  Christ, Ara really hated New Year’s Eve. So what she met her husband on the holiday, look how that turned out for her.

  There were signs, of course, in the beginning—there always are. Very few relationships take off on a clean runway heading for the crystal blue seas of paradise. Hindsight removes the rose-colored glasses, giving 20/20 cynical vision instead. Brad had occasionally disappeared on “boy’s night” benders, only to call begging for Ara’s forgiveness at 4 a.m., or sometimes even for her help calling a cab.

  Back then she’d made sure she had her fun, too. Guarded by nature, Ara had tried not to disrupt her own pleasures with his insecurities about whether or not he could be a good boyfriend and start his career. But one night, close to their engagement, wrapped in a low count Egyptian cotton sheet, as Dr. Dan was intricately drawing lines up and down her arm, she’d accepted the reality that it would always be about Brad. With Brad, it was always mine, me or I. Leaving no room in their relationship for ours, theirs or you.

  Someone less self-absorbed might’ve realized that while he was belligerently out on the town, the object of his affections was not moping around over a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Ara couldn’t see him ever asking what she’d done in his absence.

  Maybe he didn’t think that much of her. Maybe he should have thought more of her.

  Or maybe, things were exactly how they were supposed to be.

  It was that night, when she’d realized how self-absorbed Brad truly was, that she’d said goodbye to Dr. Dan for good. Ara knew that she’d either have to accept him how he was or leave him forever, and only she could decide what decision would be better for herself and herself alone. She either had to fully commit to Brad, cut off her own heart’s indiscretions, or she’d have to pick Dr. Dan, who had already let her down so many times before. Dan never offered her any long-term stability, so she chose Brad and the life that came with him.

  For once, she was going to be the selfish one and think about what was best for her. She closed the door on that chapter with her doctor and lover and readied herself to be the wife of a congressman’s son and well-respected Manhattan lawyer. As difficult as it was to leave Dr. Dan, she picked up her dignity and left her youthful blunders behind in his downtown apartment. No one would ever have to know she had a decade-long affair with her therapist, she promised herself that at least.

  CHAPTER 16

  The detectives weren’t gone for five minutes before Dr. Dan frantically dialed Ara over and over, with only seconds between each call attempt. He needed to talk to her to get their story straight. The past they shared was not something he wanted getting out. While he swore at one point in his life he would lose it all for her, now faced with the possibility of losing his license and reputation for sleeping with an underage patient, he was no longer sure she was worth that to him. He wasn’t nearly as successful back then when he was starting out and had so much more to lose at this point. If only he had answered his phone that night. What could she possibly have called him for?

  “Pick up, you bitch!” he yelled. His executive assistant, Harley, came running in.

  “Did you need something, Doctor? I’m so sorry I didn’t hear the first time,” she was frantic.

  “No, Harley, just a moment of frustration. I have everything I need,” he said reassuringly. “Apologies for alerting you.” He only stopped her to ask to shut the door behind her, and she was gone.

  He picked up the phone again and pressed redial.

  He caught a glimpse of the chessboard on his coffee table as the phone rang and rang, and he cursed the snarky detectives who’d brushed past it, knocking the two rooks, a few pawns, and her highness to the floor. Assholes, barging in here like that! All over a Facebook message, how could he be so stupid?

  No answer, again. Frustrated, he slammed down his phone.

  Dr. Dan never felt uncomfortable, but those bastard detectives had really ground at his confidence. Detectives Maro and Ameno hadn’t been as much suspicious as they’d been expectant. Completely upfront about how they were going to get over on him. Sitting back obnoxiously, patient, knowing he had a story to tell, and they were going to count the sweat beads accumulating at his hairline until he told it.

  “So you treated Ms. Hopkins throughout her mid-to-late teen years, Dr. DaVedere?” Ameno had said. “What was the basis of these sessions? Normal angst from puberty or did you suspect deeper issues?”

  Wetting his lips, Dr. Dan said, “First off, as I am sure you are aware, I am bound to patient and doctor confidentiality. Unless you have a warrant?” The detectives shook their heads no. “Didn’t think so. However, I am happy to help. Ara was always very special but at times could be her own worst enemy. The world was a bit too rough for her, shall we say. She was always very sensitive. You know I can’t go much further than that.”

  “Sounds like you really cared for the girl,” Maro had said with a look of disgust.

  “I care for all of my patients, Detective. I’m sure you could understand; I am very passionate about my work.” Did she tell them some
thing or could they just see right through him?

  “How did the Hopkins family find you to seek treatment for Ara?” The younger detective was much calmer.

  “I don’t recall. It was quite a while ago,” Dr. Dan said. “Detectives, I haven’t treated Ara in years, but I’m still bound by patient confidentiality. I’m not entirely sure how I could be of help to you here.”

  Silence filled the gap as Dr. Dan had stood, hoping they would take the hint that the conversation was over.

  “We saw a comment on a Facebook photo that seemed to indicate you were really trying to reach out to her,” Maro said.

  Dr. Dan smiled. “Social media. . . it has eroded our culture. But yes, I was concerned for her. Dealing with a sudden death of a loved one can really pommel one’s psyche.”

  “Why use Facebook? I would expect you have her telephone number,” Ameno said. The doctor’s lips pulled together in a tight crease.

  “True, very true. Her cell phone went straight to voicemail. I’m assuming with the death of her husband and,” he paused, “law enforcement trying to shift the focus onto her and her private matters, she is not taking that many calls at the moment.”

  Maro scoffed, “We consider all valid leads, Doctor, being that we are passionate about our jobs and all.”

  That’s when Dr. Dan had pressed the button on his desk signaling Harley to come in with a fake emergency with a patient, a ploy which had saved him more than once.

  Within seconds, the door opened and Harley had floated in to share her fake tale. “Doctor, a patient has been taken back into the hospital. Another suicide attempt, the mother is hysterical.” She was a great actress. Should’ve stuck with it, he’d thought.

  “Of course. Harley, pull the file and I’ll be done in a moment,” he said. “Gentleman?” The detectives stood, ignoring the gesture of his outstretched hand.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Ameno said as the two left the office. Maro had bumped the table, sending the chess pieces scrambling to the floor. “Hope it wasn’t a good game.” And they were gone.

  Since the first time Ara spoke of him, he knew Brad Bugia and his family would cause trouble. He didn’t think Brad would end up dead, but he always feared the effect dating such a high-profile person would have on Ara’s life. He had cautioned her from getting involved with a family like that. He knew that cocky bastard would screw them both one day. But little by little, he could tell she was falling for him, trusting Brad more and more as things were getting serious. That was when he started watching the couple, to keep Ara safe. At least, that was his reasoning at first. But then he started following Brad alone and before long he was following him and Raina as they slunk between late night spots and seedier hotels well below Brad’s typical budget.

  Night after night in dimly lit corners of uptown bars, he tightened his grip around his twenty-year-old scotch, partly from anger and partly with a drop of hope. Brad had the one thing he’d always wanted, yet was willing to toss it aside for a piece of promiscuous trash. It bothered him, deep inside, that the universe could be this unfair. And how could Brad subject his perfect Ara to such cruelty? Innocence was always one of her most endearing qualities, like a bright light in this world that refused to be diminished, but how could she be so naïve not to see something so brash happening right under her nose? Not him. He had always seen Brad for exactly who he was. And he despised every bit of him. Brad Bugia would not bring him or Ara down. He would make sure of it.

  CHAPTER 17

  “What are you ordering?” Raina asked. The two women sat across from each other at one of their favorite Manhattan brunch spots. Nothing better than bottomless mimosas and some modern twist on eggs benedict chock full of avocado and kale.

  “I’m not really that hungry,” Ara replied. “Probably just mimosas for me.” She could hardly stomach the site of Raina knowing what she knew now, let alone food.

  Raina’s displeasure peeked over the top of her oversized sunglasses. Ara sensed her alarm and rolled her eyes.

  “OK, fine, I’ll get a spinach and goat cheese omelet,” Ara said just to ease the building tension.

  A stumpy waitress greeted the duo, taking their order, suggesting they go for the bottomless mimosas if they planned on having more than two. Which, of course, they did. Within minutes a bottle of champagne sat perched on ice next to the table and they were about halfway through the first round.

  They chit-chatted over insignificant topics, until even those started to run dry. Ara remembered a time when their relationship didn’t seem as forced. Back to a time where they almost cared for each other, and spent countless hours cuddled up on one another’s dorm room beds planning their futures, or the takedown of a competing ex-girlfriend. There was a livelihood to their partnership that had been broken. And each girl blamed the other. Their food arrived, which provided a good break from the meaningless banter that was getting more difficult by the minute.

  “I can’t believe I’m thirty-one,” Raina sighed. Ara knew she was extremely bothered by another year of her life flying by without even the slightest prospect of a husband.

  “It’s not so bad,” Ara said. “Age is just a number. Plus, you still look like you’re twenty-five, so that’s a plus.” Up until a moment ago, Ara actually forgot they were even out celebrating her birthday. “And hey, I’m alone now, too, so at least you got what you wanted there.” Before she even finished the sentence, Ara knew she had opened a door she was not willing to fully walk through.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Ar?” Raina said, her glance now firmly focused on Ara, even through her sunglasses.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just know that you always missed when it was just me and you, that’s all.” Why did she have to slip up and say anything?

  “Sure, but I certainly don’t think I preferred your husband dead. How could you even imply something like that?”

  “You never wanted me and Brad to end up all married with children, and you know it. I’m not implying anything other than that now you have nothing to be jealous of. I’m a widow, which is so much worse than being single, and half the country thinks I’m a psycho murdering bitch, so you’re better off than me right now. That is all I’m saying.” She really should have stopped at her fourth mimosa.

  Raina’s lips turned down with anger as she violently sliced through her French toast, taking a large bite before saying, “You would need a reason to blame this all on me, wouldn’t you? God forbid you messed it up on your own without your slutty, hot mess evil stepsister to blame.”

  “Raina, you are overreacting, and I’m not in the mood. Can we just forget I said it? I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m probably just drunk from all of the mimosas on an empty stomach.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem, you’re never in the mood! Too wrapped up in your own pathetic world,” Raina shouted, French toast spitting from her mouth. Other brunchers, who would never dream of causing a scene, looked on as if it were a reality show. “You think we all have to fall all over you now because you lost Brad, but you did this to yourself. You are one hundred percent to blame.”

  “You can’t possibly be blaming me for Brad’s death, that’s ridiculous,” Ara spat, ignoring her instinct to keep quiet in public.

  “No, but I am blaming you for this pathetic pity party and making something that is hard for everyone all about you.”

  Ara’s hand shook, clattering her knife against the plate as she sliced through her omelet. “He was my husband. Not yours. You would think it would be a little more about me.”

  “Maybe so, but this hasn’t exactly been easy on anyone.”

  “I know, Raina,” was all Ara said. How she wished she could have confronted her in front of the perfectly dressed brunchers on her role in their marriage falling apart.

  “You don’t know shit.” Pushing back her chair, Raina stormed from the table with her usual dramatics.

  I know everything, Ara thought as the eyes of the other guests condemned h
er from all angles.

  CHAPTER 18

  Ara couldn’t remember the exact moment her marriage fell apart. To be honest, up until her husband’s blood redecorated their living room walls, she’d thought she was happy. God, marriage to a politician’s son had seemed so much better on the big screen. Brad was calculated, but she’d loved that about him. After two weeks in Grenada for their honeymoon, she’d accepted the reality that neither one of them would ever truly relax. While other couples perched themselves on lounge chairs, tangled up in newly-wedded bliss, Ara resembled more of an animal who needed to be fed, pathetically two steps behind Brad as he waltzed through the upscale resort, joining beach volleyball games with strangers, water polo matches, and poker tournaments. Introducing himself to one upper crust couple after the next, solidifying quite a few contacts he'd follow up with once back in New York. His digital rolodex bursting at the seams with new acquaintances, all at the expense of his new marriage. They would always have time for each other, he'd say, a lifetime. Ara couldn’t help now but to laugh at his arrogance; his lifetime hadn’t ended up being that long.

  Their anniversary trip the next year followed suit. She’d stood beachside, eyes scanning the seemingly endless sea, her right hand offering limited shade from the glare. Looking out past the jetty to the specks sashaying back and forth across the waters on their jet skis and paddle boards. Brad would head out for hours, leaving her on shore by herself.

  At least down there in the sun, where she was his only option, they made love as much as she pleased. She wanted to be a mother, and their sex life at home was already dissipating to nonexistent. They had exhausted the topic, whole-heartedly complete with a few pros and con lists and excel spreadsheets of the financial aspect. Brad usually ended the conversation with some jab that they both knew she couldn’t give up wine for nine months anyway. It was easier than saying what he really meant, he didn’t want to start a family with her.