by Avery Aster
“Stop with your lies, Rielle.” Frustrated, Warner dropped to his knees and collected the treasures lost. He placed Red’s items back in her bag. “We broke up. Let me explain.” I can’t believe this shit.
Red stood over him, her long legs like something off a European fashion show that had lost their runway. Her eyes were focused on Rielle.
“I’m carrying his baby,” his ex lied and then rubbed at her belly, trying to stick it out.
“Enough, Rielle. My family knows you were not really pregnant.” On his way up, he studied Red’s body, her tense calf muscles, her hands fisted at her side. With lips pursed, Red held her breath, unshaken. Red could take Rielle down in addition to anyone else who stood in her way. Did she want to fight Rielle? He couldn’t imagine so. No, Red came off altogether annoyed. He sensed she’d bolt the second he gave her the bag. Then she’d be gone. Warner hoped not forever.
“Not really pregnant?” Red repeated. “Were you ever engaged to her?”
“Yes. Let’s talk tomorrow when she’s gone. And we’re alone.” He pulled his calling card with private contact numbers from his pocket. Maybe he could salvage tonight for tomorrow. Warner slipped his number inside her bronze purse and returned it to her. And similar to her hand, he didn’t want to let go of her bag either. He didn’t have a choice. Red wasn’t his to keep. Not yet.
Her arms extended, ready to catch—and leave. “Your future wife is determined.”
“We’re not engaged anymore.”
Red’s tone had chilled, eyes stoned, face mannequinesque. “Maybe you two can get back together and work it out before the kid arrives.” She lowered her voice. “Hopefully she’ll quit smoking before the baby is born.”
“I’d like to explain everything to you tomorrow. Please. I put my card in your—”
Raising her hand, Red cut him short. “I left crazy back home.” Her once-captivated eyes unlocked from his with disinterest. “I sure as hell have no interest in your St. Barth’s drama.”
Red never looked back at him. She didn’t acknowledge her Big Daddy when leaving.
He kept his eyes on Red as she turned the corner. Her russet hair cast a black veil over her perfect face in the night. Her tuberose scent lingered behind as if to say, “I should be in your arms tonight.”
“Honey bunny!”
“Rielle…”
“I’ve missed you terribly.” Reeking of gin, she extended her arms for capture.
“Congratulations.”
She cocked her head and twisted her featureless face. “For what, honey?”
“You’ve always possessed such a gift—” He didn’t finish. He was too busy staring at his hands. They were bleeding from the amber-colored glass embedded in his palm. Warner hadn’t even noticed—until now. Taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket, he dislodged the bits from his skin and then wrapped his hand tight to stop the bleeding.
Intoxicated, she slurred, “I have many gifts, sugar. So do you.” Rielle hurled her desperation on him.
Warner held Rielle by her shoulders, dodging her hot breath. After meeting such a wonderful woman as Red, this contact created an instant sour pucker in his throat. Hatred, he tasted hatred. Lowering his head to meet her at eye level, he informed her, “What I was going to say was—you have such a gift—for ruining the best moments in my life.” It hurt him to say this to the woman he once thought he loved. From the outside, Rielle was still beautiful. Her insides were what made her ugly to him now.
“What?” Rielle stepped back. Her eyes narrowed into black slits trying to sober in hopes she’d heard him wrong.
He advanced with reassurance. “Get the hell out of my life and away from me for good.”
“Warner, honey.” She tried to stand tall.
“I have to hand it to you. Being a bitch at your level requires enormous energy.”
Whack! Rielle’s pink nails tore across his face. “How dare you! I fly down to this floating French sand dune to see you—and this is how I’m greeted?”
Blood spotted his white shirt from her scrape. “I told you—I never want to see you again.” He wiped his cheek.
“I’m still hoping we can…” Her face darkened, appearing less attractive to him than ever. She stared at his crotch and argued, “Pity to waste such a beautiful horse dick.”
“You’ve run empty on tricks. No more trying to seduce the men in my family. No more fake pregnancies. No more scams.”
She swung her other hand.
Ready to snap her in half, he gripped her wrist midair. He wouldn’t. A gentleman didn’t. “Move on to another billionaire group or try a few millionaires. The Trumans can’t take another iota from you.”
Rielle screamed for him to reason with her. She wanted her job back at the foundation and for everything to return to how it once was. He refused. Infuriated, she spit in his face.
You bitch. Warner didn’t care what she spewed or spit. He didn’t deserve her abuse. He should never be subjected to the cruelty she’d given him or the pain she’d caused him.
The night Rielle had run into Sheldon’s arms in her typical cry for attention, Warner was co-hosting a fundraiser and cocktail party. The lavish affair took place at the private residence of Manhattan’s mayor. Mixed with his parents, brother and friends, he campaigned to secure funds for a new development—South Street Seaport Resort & Spa. Adjacent to the financial district, the new condominium-resort-spa community featured Brooklyn Bridge views.
Truman Enterprises’ banks had required a high percentage presold. Then the residential spa and resort could break ground. With his attention divided he’d suggested, “Rielle, it may be best if you stayed home tonight.” She’d demanded his undivided attention and couldn’t stand it when he talked to anyone else for more than a second, even if for business.
“It’s my opportunity to be seen,” Rielle had insisted and accompanied him to the party. She clung to his arm, her squinting eyes keeping women away from prospecting Warner, as well as any potential investors for South Street Seaport Resort & Spa.
“Stay put, I have to go chat with someone. I won’t be long.” He smiled to reassure her she could stand on her own amongst the city’s elite. “Why don’t you talk to your future in-laws?” He’d eyed his folks who sat in the corner, their enthusiasm soured.
At first, his first wife Jacqueline had shocked his parents due to their age difference, but they’d grown to adore her. “Rielle is…different from your beloved Jacqueline,” his mother remarked gravely to him after their first introduction.
“Don’t leave my side, Warner, I mean it.” Rielle had grabbed his arm. Her nails sank into his flesh as her insecurities drove a wedge between them.
“Stop.” He turned his back, ignoring her threat.
“You bastard!” she’d screamed, loud enough for onlookers to hear.
Christ. He yanked her close, pressing his mouth to her left ear. “Go home, Rielle.” His heart sank with disappointment as she stalked off. She’d taken pleasure in the negative charge between them. Raised in a loving home, Warner had never once witnessed his parents argue or fight. Anytime they had a disagreement, his mother would always turn to his father and say, “We’ll talk about it later, darling.” As he grew older, becoming involved in his own relationships, he wondered if his parents’ “let’s fight another time” ever came. Did they argue behind closed bedroom doors? If they did, it never came close to what Rielle brought to the bickering table.
Sheldon confessed later to Warner he’d grown bored at the fundraiser, grabbed a joint from catering and had snuck into a back bedroom to smoke. Stoned, he’d gazed up to see Rielle grabbing for his attention, unbuttoning his shirt and pants.
“Stop it.”
“Fuck me, Shel.”
“No!”
“Yes.” She’d pushed him onto the bed and attempted to ride him. When he couldn’t get hard, Rielle had pulled her dress top down and shoved her nipples in his face.
“Freak, get off me!” Sheldon
had shouted.
Warner heard his brother and had walked in on them as Rielle’s authenticity surfaced. She stood and lunged for him, begging for his attention. Her fake pregnancy bump hit the floor and so did her billionaire scheming agenda.
“Con artist,” his brother had muttered.
At first, Warner didn’t believe it. The fake pregnancy didn’t make sense to him until he recalled Rielle stating he couldn’t touch her or make love to her while she carried the baby. She also hadn’t allowed him to go to her OB-GYN appointments, because they didn’t exist. He stood holding her shoulders as she started hitting him. In Rielle’s mind, her failure was his fault. In one night, he’d observed his engagement and baby become a shame.
Tonight in St. Barth felt no different.
Warner wiped the phlegm from his face. He reached in his back pocket for his cell and called the St. Barth’s police station.
As authorities arrived, the woman he thought he once knew scratched her own face and tore at her blouse. Rielle claimed he’d beaten her. The police didn’t buy it. When her charade didn’t work, she pretended to faint, claiming exhaustion from their miscarried love child. Her lie didn’t go over with the female officer who slapped the handcuffs on her wrists. Rielle released herself, perhaps in hopes the policewoman would let her go. Or maybe she became scared.
“Nice goin’, lady! Stand in your piss until I finish my paperwork.” The officer shook her head and chewed her gum, swearing in French. “Let the New Year’s Eve weekend loonies bloom, folks. Bonne année.”
One thing was certain, Rielle was headed for jail.
Bloody hand unattended, he left Rielle standing in her yellow puddle. In the driveway, Warner passed the broken champagne bottle he’d intended to share with Red. He slid into his convertible and drove up and down Rue de la Republique and around Gustavia Harbour in search of her. Pre-New Year’s parties were in full swing atop the yachts lining the waters. Blondes and brunettes danced and called his attention, but no redheads. No Red.
Where are you? Who are you? I have to know.
* * * * *
Why is it so impossible to get laid? Taddy walked up to the villa, her gator-skin bag under her arm. Vive stumbled three steps ahead swinging her skunk fur purse in the air. “Farnworth,” Taddy shouted after her.
Vive turned back. “Brill.” One eye opened wide as the other slid shut. “Wasup?” She unlocked the door and pushed through the living room, collapsing on the sofa in an exasperated huff.
Taddy went into her bedroom and threw the purse in her suitcase. It was covered in dirt. No good to her now. She slipped her dress off, dreaming of Garner’s hands on her body. Wrapping in a terry cloth robe, she returned to the living room.
Lex sat in a lounge chair next to Vive and sketched her fashion designs. She gazed at Taddy. “This is early for you. What gives?”
“Go first, Vive, I wanna hear how things progressed after you hit the dance floor.” Taddy hoped her friend’s night would be better than hers. From the caked mascara around Vive’s blue eyes, it appeared likely.
“One sec, my feet are killin’ me.” Vive slid one Christian Louboutin stiletto off followed by the other. “That’s better. So tonight, this hot Frenchman was eating from the palm of my hand.” She held out her arms to show the bite marks. “We’re getting it on at his hotel room over by Tom’s Beach. Oliver…I recall. Anyways my dress is up over my head, he couldn’t get the zipper down. He’s goin’ to town, eatin’ me out.”
“I’m jealous.” Taddy sighed.
“Ollie’s runnin’ his eager tongue in long strokes over my slit and into my ass. Cloud nine here I come, right?” Eyes rolling back in her head, Vive clenched her legs together and huffed, dramatically. “Between his sexy tongue stabbing my clit, he licked, nipped and bit my hard nub.”
Here my gal Vive goes…
Lex rested her hand under her chin, eyeing Vive to continue.
“He gets his belt loose and drops his pants. The dude zaps the lights before I pull my dress from my face. I must see what I’m gettin’ into. I flip the nightstand lamp on.” Vive’s head shook in apparent disgust. “When I spot…”
“What?” Taddy didn’t follow.
“Itty-bitty sores.”
“Huh?” Lex’s left eyebrow shot up.
“Little dots, sorta reminding me of the sprinkles Lex puts on her Häagen-Dazs.” Vive added, “Except they were purple and filled with—”
“Gross.” Taddy wished she hadn’t heard this. The man she Candy Land tripped with was hunky perfection, minus his bride-to-be and baby-on-board, of course. Vive won on worst-guy-to-score-with, hands down.
“We see where this conversation is going.” Closing her sketchpad, Lex stood from her nesting spot and stalked into the kitchen. Pots clanging, then the water came on. “I’m making us tea.”
“Go on.” Taddy sat back on the sofa cushions next to Vive.
“Well, he’s rock-hard. I ask him about the blisters. Ollie explains they’re some reaction to the hotel’s soap.” Vive heaved in laughter. “Granted I haven’t attended an STD class since the tenth grade, but his rash resembled those images from Mrs. Pringle’s slideshow—herpes.”
Lex came in with a Neapolitan wafer tray. “I ordered room service after you two left.” She poured herself some cream and passed it over to Taddy.
Taddy took a sip as the warm liquid relaxed her throat. She tasted Garner on her lips and an excited tremble passed through her. “This is better than champagne.” She smiled at Vive who didn’t argue. “What did Ollie do when you called him out on his—inflammation?”
“He threw me out of his room. Can you believe this shit? I didn’t intend to lick, suck nor ride Ollie’s dirty dick anyways. The nerve.” Vive crunched down on a cookie. She spoke with a mouthful. “The two studs I chatted up prior to Mr. Herpes were a couple. So cute. So bisexual.”
“The guys you danced with when we first arrived?”
“Yup, they invited me home with them too. I can’t get into the two-guy thing. It freaks me out. Who wants to suck a dick after he’s shoved it in another dude’s ass? I don’t wanna lick a shit-sickle. Hell I don’t even wanna suck a cock after it’s fucked my vagina or ass or both.” Vive rode the wit and sarcastic joke wave.
“Nice language, Farnworth.” Taddy wondered if she’d snorted a bump. Her pupils didn’t appear dilated. Vive had been off drugs for a few months now.
“I should’ve gone home with the bi-guys. Then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here eaten calories with you bitches.”
All righty then.
Lex directed her attention to her, refusing to pay Vive any mind. “And what about you, Miss Taddy?”
“I met a Big Daddy.”
“Yummerific!” Vive stomped her bare feet with enthusiasm.
“Name was Garner, didn’t get his last name. He smelled expensive and made me orgasm in my seat.” Taddy assumed it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
“Now I’m the one who’s envious, honey.” Vive frowned.
“Don’t be. The second we got back to his place his fiancée broke it up. Bitch comes outta nowhere and starts going off. I hightailed it outta there.”
Pouring more tea, Lex confirmed, “This is why I stick to my Masi Salami and don’t go out much to clubs, let alone date.” She swung her feet onto the ottoman and seemed happy her two friends had come back to spend time with her.
“What’s a Masi Salami?” Vive asked.
“Lex named her dildo after the hot guy she buys fabrics from,” Taddy answered on her friend’s behalf.
“Blake bought it for me. It’s from the Pleasure Chest in the village. I didn’t think I’d like it.”
“But?” Vive loved dirty talk.
“I love it.” Lex smiled. “Anyways, we need to focus on much more than men this upcoming year,” she said. “I have an idea, Vive. Taddy and I spoke about this earlier.”
“You were serious about us giving up—”
“What?” Vive interr
upted.
“Men!” Lex declared it as the greatest thing she’d ever come up with. It sounded pretty dumb to Taddy. “For the New Year, we focus on our businesses.”
“Meaning?” Vive didn’t get it.
“I’d be happy with Easton Essentials securing more Barney’s doors. Their Beverly Hills store, yes, if they take the line, the rest is easy.” Lex held up the sketch she’d worked on. Safe, comfortable and form-fitting, a sure hit.
Vive interjected, “Okay, I follow. So…in the New Year I want Debauchery to out-subscribe People Magazine in circulation. I’d also love to merge my biz with a larger media company—a TV network.” Vive’s face sobered as she added, “Work aside, I want to quit drinking.”
“Nothing would make us more proud.” Taddy didn’t want to cheer a Mardi Gras-style hooray for Vive’s claim to give up booze. She made this testament each holiday, birthday and anytime the moon glowed full. Nevertheless, it was a vow they prayed she’d keep and soon.
She heard her friends make their goals. Taddy didn’t know what she wanted the New Year to bring her. Brill, Inc., as always, pressed full media steam ahead. Her goals had been inked and dried while stuck in Vancouver. What about love? That hadn’t been on her list. But tonight planted a seed, an urge filled with lust and longing. One she hadn’t felt in—forever. A sensation that neither Dr. Fassenbender cosmetic enhancements, Gilad Pilates workouts nor Brayden Brooks football dreams could measure up to. How was it that Rielle warranted such a Big Daddy? His juicy full lips upon hers each morning and night. Those color-changing eyes and the way he ran his hands over her body.
“What do you wish for the New Year, Taddy?” Vive asked.
I’d love to have a Garner in my life every day, not just on this Caribbean holiday.
Rielle was a lucky bitch. But one should never wish for something they couldn’t have when he belonged to someone else. It was unhealthy to dream otherwise, she told herself.
“I guess I want more of the same.”
“Let’s commit to no more men and lots more of everything else,” Lex challenged. “No sex. No male contact whatsoever.” She spoke as though it would be easy for her.
