Marriage Made Me Do It

by Ashley Fontainne

  It was a terrifying combination—not for me, but for the pregnant hot pepper standing on my stoop.

  Tears burst from the girl’s wide, green eyes. “His wife, then? Carl’s married? I’m so sorry! He didn’t tell me—oh, shit. What am I going to do now?”

  “May I assume you’re holding paternity papers?” I asked, my voice sweeter than raw honey while I marveled at the fact Carl’s little swimmers still held some power. Stroke! Stroke!

  “Yes. The results just came back today. I flipped out at work, so my boss told me to leave. I, oh, forgive me. I shouldn’t be talking about this with you, Mrs. Davenport. And I am sorry. Again, I didn’t know Carl had a wife.”

  Pulling from reserves I wasn’t aware I possessed, I asked: “What’s your name?”

  “Ginger. Ginger Holloway. God, I don’t know what I’m going to do!” Ginger sobbed.

  Ginger! Oh, that’s even better than Dior! The girl is a spicy condiment. The Habanero hot sauce poured over my milk-toast life. Fire, fire, fire!

  “I can’t raise a baby alone. I’ve got two more years of school! I’m so sorry, Mrs. Davenport, but he’s going to have to take financial responsibility.”

  Oh, you won’t raise it alone, Hottie Habanero. You’ll have your baby daddy to help, because in about thirty seconds, once my brain fully processes this nightmare, I’m calling a lawyer.

  Good thing I already made the decision to burn the Handbook, because I was on the cusp of dumping a huge pile of demerits onto my head by breaking Rule Number Fifty:

  Once the vows are said, married couples must remain together until death do they part.

  Screw that.

  Roxy’s New Rule Number Four: When your husband knocks up a walking condiment because he neglected to use a condom, it broke, or again, a fucking sinus infection derails your life plans, you divorce his sorry, cheating ass, and take him to the cleaners. If that doesn’t work out the way intended, end the marriage by death.

  Double. Fucking. Check.

  Rule Number Ninety-three: A housewife must always maintain her composure, even under the direst of circumstances.

  Must obey this old rule from the Handbook or I’ll lunge from the doorway and kill this little bitch with my bare hands.

  Taking a deep breath, I purred, “No need to apologize, Ms. Holloway. Your life isn’t the first one he’s ruined because of unsafe sex. I’ll make sure to tell him the happy news about his impending fatherhood, and then I’m sure he’ll contact you. Hope you have room for him to stay with you, because he just lost a place to live. Given your current predicament, I assume he knows the way to your bedroom?”

  Ginger nodded through her tears. Streaks of black mascara cascaded down her cheeks. Obviously, the girl wasn’t raised properly and didn’t understand the importance of waterproof mascara. Fumbling around with the folder, she extracted a piece of paper and handed it to me, gave me one last, embarrassed look and then tottered down the sidewalk.

  I slammed the door and locked it. Leaning against the heavy wood for support, I took a deep breath and scanned the paper. Sure enough, it was the results of a DNA test: Carl Andrew Davenport listed under father.

  Carl’s initials fit the situation.

  Anger roared from deep within, consuming all rational thought. In a fit of rage, I stormed into the dining area and hurled the crystal vase Carl’s mother bought us as a wedding gift across the room. I laughed like a demented hyena as it shattered into hundreds of tiny shards after connecting with the wall.

  The thought of telling Carol the wretched news made my stomach revolt. I barely made it to the kitchen sink before tossing up last night’s wine and this morning’s coffee. While puking into the beautiful, stainless steel sink, my thoughts were a jumbled mess.

  Carl’s going to pay, dearly, for destroying my life.

  Carol’s.

  Our future grandchildren.

  Ruining our family’s reputation that I worked my entire life to keep at a high standard.

  Disturbing images of holiday events filled my mind. Carl showing up with a walker; Hottie Habanero bouncing and jiggling while chasing their child around the dinner table, the unplanned fruit of his loins playing and eating right next to Carol’s children, made my vision blur.

  No. Way.

  The vow I made at Rachel’s funeral burst inside my head—kill whoever had the balls to attempt to destroy my family. I didn’t leave a loophole for family members, so Carl wouldn’t get a reprieve. Fuming, I paced in small circles, hands balled into tight fists, skin prickling as dark fury pumped through my body while imagining what sick, twisted ways I could off my husband and pin his death on Hottie Habanero.

  No, I wouldn’t kill Carl, though I might just castrate him. Turn him from stallion to gelding with one quick slice. He’d be like one of the neutered cats Rachel brought home years ago: Fat, slow, spending his remaining days on earth sitting in the windowsill, staring outside with dull, lifeless eyes.

  Yes, that’s your punishment C.A.D. If I actually end up killing someone, it will be the knocked-up whore, because I’ll do whatever necessary to protect my daughter from having to deal with your indiscretion.

  Whatever. It. Takes.

  Divorce or death?

  Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not capable of killing someone, or even cutting off body parts. A few punches, yes, but that’s it. I may think the thoughts, yet acting upon them is an entirely different set of skills I don’t possess. Hell, I gag when preparing raw chicken. Even if I could release my rage, the consequences would be devastating for my little girl. No, I wouldn’t let Carol be stuck the remainder of her life with the stigma of My Mom Was a Killer. That label would be worse than My Dad’s a Whoredog and My Step-mom’s My Age!

  Decision made, I shoved the nail in Carl’s coffin into my pocket and headed straight to my phone in the kitchen. My fingers shook so hard I had to use voice commands to call the meanest, ugliest, down-and-dirty person I knew: L.B.

  She answered on the second ring. “I’m swamped, what’s up?”

  “Rebecca, I need a lawyer. Shark of all sharks. The kind who’d eat their offspring for a dollar.”

  “What? Why? I told you we had our lawyer draw up the deed transfer. I’m your sister, for Godsakes. Don’t you trust me? It’s solid, I—”

  “Not for that, you idiot. I need a divorce lawyer. Who’s the best in town?”

  Rebecca gasped. “Divorce? Roxy, what’s wrong?”

  My touch with sanity, which had been hanging on with just one, thin tendril, snapped. “I didn’t call to talk to you about it! I called to get the name of a lawyer. Apparently, I have a life now, too, and don’t have time to spare, either. I don’t plan on rehashing the worst moment of my life, one on a par with burying our sister less than fifteen hours ago and putting Mom in a home! Name and number, or I swear, I’ll come apart at the fucking seams and kill the next person I see.”

  “Breathe, Roxy. Breathe. The best lawyer in town is Reginald Greenwood. After Chad Shelnut got caught humping his assistant in the parking lot of his building, Reginald got Maxine Shelnut the house, alimony, half of Chad’s retirement—”

  “Number,” I hissed.

  “I’ll text it to you. Give me five.”

  “Three’s all you got.”

  “Roxy, I’m so sorry.”

  I hung up before anymore fake concern spewed from Rebecca’s lips. Looking at the mess I’d made, the housewife in me urged the body to clean it up. The mind of the pissed off wife said fuck it. In the end, old habits won out. I didn’t want Carol to come home and see the mess and start asking questions I wasn’t prepared to answer yet.

  Same held true for Carl. It was among the realms of possibilities he’d already received a phone call: A very distraught phone call from Hottie, full of tears and accusations. Maybe the adultery gods would take pity on me and Carl would suffer a massive heart attack after hearing the joyous news!

  My phone chimed, signaling a text from Rebecca.

  Divorce�
��here we come. God, Carol, I’m so sorry, but I can’t, I won’t, stay with your father. Not when another woman is carrying his child. I can’t. I simply can’t.

  Demerit. Demerit. Fucking demerit.

  “Glad your mind is gone, Mom, because if it wasn’t already, a dead daughter and a divorced one would have surely pushed you over the edge. Sorry. I tried to follow your rules, but a younger, big-chested hot pepper stole the show.”

  Clicking on the text from Rebecca, I jotted the number down on the notepad. Thoughts raced inside my head at breakneck speed. Okay, I need to breathe. Think. Carol’s shift at the vet’s office ended at three. Liz said she’d take her to see Mom. That gave me until about five or six to plan.

  Carl. School was out, so why was he there? Ah, yes. End of semester staff meetings. Shit, all this stress turned my once sharp memory into mush. Did he know the results already? Obviously, he was aware of the possibility since he took the test. Ugh! My stomach rolled again thinking about my stupidity in the hot tub. Wooed by Carl’s lies about how he loved me, deceived into having sex. Hope the bastard enjoyed the interaction because it was the last time he’d play around in my wonderland.

  Was the stellar, well-known professor cowering under his desk, wondering what the hell his next move should be? Maybe he was on his way home, a handful of flowers and box of candy in tow, ready to beg for forgiveness?

  Pacing the floors, mindful of the broken glass, I tried to mentally map out my next steps. The rambling thoughts were interrupted by a faint buzzing noise coming from the living room. It took me a few seconds to recognize the sound.

  Aha! The soon-to-be-dad forgot his cell phone! Score!

  Snatching it up from the coffee table, I laughed. He’d received six text messages and three missed calls from Hottie Habanero. No wonder she dropped by the house! She must have assumed Carl was attempting to shrug off his duties as a father and decided to confront him. Girl’s got guts, no doubt.

  It happened at the precise moment I scrolled through Carl’s phone. My disturbing and dark plans formed in seconds, courtesy of a scene I suddenly remembered from the erotic romance book I hated so much. The novel was trash and absolute drivel on one hand, but the images it brought to life inside my demented mind would be a masterpiece once I accomplished them. Before I forgot each detail, I raced back to the deck, grabbed the notebook and jotted it all down.

  Once finished, I went to the kitchen and retrieved the broom and dust pan. In the utility closet nestled on the back shelf were two cans of dog food. Beef Medley; leftovers from Ralphie, Carol’s precious pooch. He’d died two years prior, and I guess I simply neglected to remove all traces of his presence inside the house.

  Snatching them up, I set them on the counter, cleaned up the broken glass and then headed back out to the deck.

  In a frenzy, I scribbled:

  Roxy’s New Rule Number Five: Every man wants the Fifty Shades of Grey experience, right? Well, I’ve got a new version. Fifty Shades of Ginger. This titillating journey includes Carl’s favorite dinner—meatloaf—with a special ingredient. Dog chow. New recipe alert! Medley Meatloaf—just add two cans—and hubby will lap it up! Optional: Give your china a nice polish by using saliva!

  Smiling, I lit a smoke then dialed Reginald Greenwood’s office. To my surprise, he took my call. Score one for Rebecca!

  After a twenty-minute conversation, two pages of scribble added to the notebook, I was ready to make one last phone call before I started preparing for the night’s festivities.

  “Liz? I need your help, please, and no questions. Okay?”

  “Judging by the tone in your voice, I’d be afraid to say no. What’s up?”

  “I need you to occupy Carol’s time tonight until at least, oh, ten p.m. Okay?”

  “Occupy, as in, keeping her away from the house?” Liz hesitated, her voice full of worry.

  “Yes. I’ll explain later, but it’s really important.”

  There was a long pause before Liz said: “For you, anything. However, if the cops grill me later, I don’t know a thing.”

  Laughing, I responded: “Nothing like that, I assure you. Plan on acting out Chapter 37. Carl mentioned in passing yesterday that sex is a great way to overcome grief and I want to surprise him tonight.”

  “Whew, you had me going for a second there,” Liz laughed. “Only on one condition.”

  “What?”

  Lowering her voice, Liz whispered: “Promise me all the juicy details after. I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing to Roger. If you’ve got the guts to try it, and don’t die in the process, I might just do it too!”

  “Oh, when this night’s over, I’ll give you all the gory details. That’s a promise. Thanks a mil, Liz. I owe you.”

  Hanging up, I stared at my legs, which were in desperate need of reacquainting themselves with the razor. I needed to primp and preen before the biggest night of Carl Davenport’s life, but it would have to wait.

  I had alterations to make to the meatloaf first. Then I could properly prepare for Operation Fifty Shades of Ginger.

  It was time to release the inner monster, and my first victim would be the bastard who shared my bed while sharing another’s.

  CHAPTER 4

  Fifty Shades Of Ginger

  The last rose petal in place, all candles lit and my body clad in black lace, I waited with exceptional patience. No wine for me tonight. Nope, I needed all my wits and faculties to function at peak performance. All my attention was focused on listening for the familiar sound of Carl’s Mercedes pulling into the garage. The low jazz playing throughout the house speakers vied for attention, but I ignored it. A wicked grin curved my lips upward, knowing he wouldn’t be driving his favorite toy for much longer. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to afford it, and he’d certainly need a bigger vehicle to tote around his growing family.

  My boobs peeked out of the lace teddy, my shaven legs perched on the table, black stilettos glistening under the lights from the dimly lit chandelier and flickering candles. The rancid smell of cooked dog food finally vanquished (thanks to Mom’s helpful household tip of a bowl full of vinegar) replaced with the delicious aroma of Italian meatloaf. My portion was the real deal—Carl’s wasn’t.

  The second I heard the garage door open, my heart rate spiked with eager anticipation. That’s a credit for me because housewives are supposed to be excited when their hardworking men arrive home after a busy day out in “the business sector.” A quiet giggle escaped my lips. Like one measly credit would matter. It would be swallowed up by the avalanche of demerits I was about to unleash. With a final glance at the setup in front of me, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I smiled. I may not be a lot of things, but I was organized and capable of planning an unforgettable party!

  “What the—?”

  Carl’s muttered comment from the front entryway almost made me laugh. The hardwood floors leading from the entrance to the dining room looked like a floral store exploded. His footsteps were hesitant as he followed the trail of doom I set up earlier.

  “Hey, baby. You were so right about making love. Last night was amazing, so I decided to make your favorite dinner, and after we eat, I’m dessert. I added to the ensemble you bought me. Two sets of fuzzy handcuffs.”

  Carl stopped in the dining room doorway, mouth agape, gaze darting between the handcuffs on the table and my long legs draped across the edge. I’d never worn the sexy outfit he’d bought me on Valentine’s Day three years ago, though he’d begged me to numerous times. Cramming my flesh inside the flimsy material had the exact effect we’d both intended. He was horny, and I felt liberated by the overwhelming sense of power thrumming inside my chest. The shock on Carl’s face disappeared, replaced by lust.

  Making sure my moves were slow and seductive, I rose from the chair, Long Island Tea in hand. It was a special, stout edition, laced with enough vodka to take down the Budweiser Clydesdales. Sauntering across the floor to Carl’s side, I held out the drink. Crushing my body up agai
nst his, my painted red lips grazed his ear. “Have a drink while I serve you.”

  Carl shook with excitement, his face full of confusion and eagerness. Looking down, I saw the bulge pressing against the seam of his slacks. Oh goody! I had him right where I wanted.

  “God, Roxy, you look amazing. I mean, amazing. Handcuffs, too? I can’t believe you’re finally going to let me tie you up! You’ve always been so, I don’t know, vanilla in the bedroom! Boy, I love this new, spicier version! And you said the erotic novel was boring! I knew it got you hot. I knew it!”

  Making sure to roll my hips, I strutted to the kitchen, fetching our pre-made plates. I heard him take several sips of the drink, smacking his thin lips with each slurp. Before picking up the china, I pulled down one edge of the teddy, exposing my right breast. The visual would ensure Carl’s attention wasn’t focused on anything but my boobs. Men and mammary glands—steel to the magnet.

  Yep, it worked. Carl choked, spitting tea all over my beautiful linen tablecloth. Bastard! “Eat, sweetie. You’ll need the energy for later. And yes, I’m dripping wet with anticipation! I must say, it’s quite exciting being so naughty. See?”

  Taking Carl’s hand, I guided it toward the panties, yet didn’t let him touch. He shuddered with desire, trying to stick his fat, stubby sausages inside me. Backing up, I grinned and straddled the chair beside him. I stuck a red fingernail in his mashed potatoes then brought it to my lips, licking the creamy concoction with slow, long flicks of my tongue.

  “Oh, Roxy, don’t make me wait,” Carl begged. “Carol will be home soon.”

  “No, she won’t. I made sure of it. We’ve got hours, so eat and drink. I’ve got several things planned for tonight, which will take a lot out of us both. There’s only one rule for the evening.”

  Swallowing the first bite of meatloaf, Carl nodded. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Roxy.”

  That little peashooter isn’t big enough to hurt a fly, you moron. Geez, all men assumed their members were the size of a horse’s. “I’m not worried about that, Carl. I’m looking forward to a bit of pain. Makes a person feel alive, right? No, the rule tonight is simple: What’s good for the groom is good for the bride.”