Unrestrained Behavior: The Pleasure and Risk of Choice (The 'Un'missable Series Book 3)

by Jerry Summers

  “Thank you for being understanding,” Wendy says with a relieved sigh. “This feels really good, and perfect, and just…right. I can’t wait to see where all of this goes.”

  “Me either, love. Thanks for including me in your plans. I’ll talk to you later,” Jim replies, and they say goodnight.

  Wendy goes to bed feeling relaxed and refreshed and enjoys the best night’s sleep she has had in years.

  CHAPTER 15

  water under the bridge

  Over the next few days, Mona and Wendy are amazed by the way key elements of their plan keep falling into place. Several times, Wendy has pointed out to Mona that this was meant to be.

  The two are working out the details of Mona’s continued salary and Wendy says, “Well, just keep the corporate operating account open and I’ll keep a year’s worth of salary, benefits, and school expenses in it for you to write yourself paychecks and incidentals as needed.”

  They go back and forth about how much the amount should be for a few minutes, and before either of them realize the time of day, Lindsay Parker walks into the office for her four o’clock with Wendy. Mona collects the two hundred and fifty dollars required by Wendy and escorts her to Wendy’s office. As the two them are introduced, Wendy motions for Lindsay to have a seat on the couch.

  Wendy asks, “Would you like a coke, water, beer, or perhaps something a little stronger?”

  “I’d actually love a beer, if that’s okay,” Lindsay replies, settling onto the couch.

  “Did you drive down from San Francisco, or did you fly?” Wendy asks as she’s retrieving the beer.

  “Oh, I drove. This trip is on my dime. The station wouldn’t authorize the expenditure.”

  “And yet you still came and paid my fee. Why would you do that?”

  “I just really wanted to interview you, that’s all.”

  “That’s very obvious. But why? What are you hoping to find that would be the least bit news worthy?”

  “I’m not sure. I just want to get to know you.”

  “Okay. Let me remind you that you have one hour, so let’s just cut through all the bullshit and get to your questions and whatever theory you’re trying to prove before you run out of time.”

  Lindsay smiles, a little bit surprised at Wendy’s directness. “Very well then. I find it odd that so many of your clients’ spouses have committed suicide or died for accidental reasons recently. Can you explain this phenomenon?”

  “No. It’s not all that unusual, actually.”

  “Well, don’t you think it is statistically weird that there have been so many recently?” Lindsay presses.

  “I don’t know. You have obviously done the research. What do the statistics reveal from that?”

  “They don’t really reveal anything because there hasn’t been adequate research into offender suicide rates. Everything I’ve found indicates suicides by offenders are viewed as an aggressive act on the part of the offender towards the victim.”

  Wendy nods. “So did you want my professional opinion on offender suicides? Or are you trying to link the deaths of my client’s spouses to a conspiracy or malpractice accusation?”

  “Neither, really. I’m trying to figure out why there is such prevalence toward suicide with your clients’ spouses as opposed to other counselors in the same field.”

  “Is there prevalence? I thought you just said the research you’ve conducted isn’t adequate to justify such a conclusion?”

  “Well, umm, I did. That’s why I wanted to interview you.”

  “So it sounds like what you’re really interested in finding out, then, is whether or not I have any responsibility or culpability in their deaths. Or, more specifically, did I cause their deaths. Is that it? Why don’t you ask the question you’re dying to ask me? Or don’t you have the guts?”

  Lindsay shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “You’re very blunt, aren’t you?”

  “I’m simply waiting for you to ask the question as I’m watching your time slip away.”

  “Very well then. Are you in any way responsible for the deaths of your clients’ spouses?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that question. What do you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought it was very clear. Do you think I’m somehow responsible for their deaths?”

  “Are you?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know how to answer that question. Perhaps I could be.”

  “Really. How so?”

  “Well, I give advice to my clients about how their spouses use power, control, and manipulation in both the physical and emotional realm. In essence, I teach them how to avoid being further victimized. If that creates frustration in the offenders, causing them to commit suicide, then I guess one could broadly attribute causation to me in some perverse way.”

  Lindsay makes a face. “I see. Is there any other way in which you could be responsible?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Individuals who commit such heinous acts on those they claim to love are very obviously not right in the head. I have absolutely no way of knowing what goes on in their warped minds. So how the hell do I know if I’m somehow responsible for their delusions?”

  “Is it normal for a counselor to be the last person to see a spouse of one of their clients alive?” Lindsay fires at her.

  “That’s a pretty broad question. Can you be a bit more specific for me?”

  “I’m specifically referring to Gayle Baxter and Harder Gould.”

  “Have you read the police reports on either of those deaths or spoken to the detective investigating their deaths?”

  “Yes, I’ve done both.”

  “Then can you give me your definition of ‘normal’ so I can answer your question intelligently?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wendy smirks. “For example, I define normal as standard, ordinary, customary, even conventional.”

  “Works for me. So is it normal, Wendy?”

  “Your question is a complex one, so let me see if I can break it down a little. First, there are no ordinary, customary, or even conventional ways of dealing with a domestic violence offender because there are no ordinary, customary, or conventional ways they act in a given circumstance. There are some standard protocols, but even they differ given any set of circumstances. To answer your question in a literal sense, no it isn’t ‘normal.’ However, if you have read the police reports, you should have noted I went to both residences at the request of my clients. Therefore, from a standard protocol, yes, it would be ‘normal.’ Finally, your question is both misleading and factually incorrect.”

  “How so?”

  “I wasn’t the last person to see Gayle Baxter and Harder Gould alive.”

  “Really?” Lindsay starts flipping through the police reports.

  “Let me save you some time, since you are almost out of it. I don’t know who the last person was to see Gayle alive; presumably it was Jim. Since I found her hanging by a rafter, obviously dead, it wasn’t me. With regards to Harder, it’s suspected I was the last to see him alive, but I left him in the middle of the afternoon and Tina found him in the early evening after she returned home from work. Can you tell me definitively no other person saw either of them? If so, how do you know that to be true?”

  “Of course I can’t,” Lindsay replies, her frustration growing, “it’s just presumed by law enforcement.”

  “This is why I believe your question is factually incorrect. I believe the police reports would say I was the last known person to see them alive. Or at least it should, which leaves the possibility open for someone other than me to have been the last person to see either alive.”

  “You’re splitting hairs now, aren’t you?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. I have worked in the courts for so many years and have had to deal with asshole cops, attorneys, and reporters who like to play fast and loose with the facts. I have learned, through experience, to be extremely precise when dealing with any of
the three. Good day, Ms. Parker, your time is up.”

  Lindsay bites back a snide remark. “Thank you for your time and courtesy, Ms. Stevens.”

  As Lindsay leaves the office, Mona is waiting impatiently to hear how the interview went. Wendy explains to her it was a typical young reporter trying desperately to find something that doesn’t exist to make a name for herself, and become the next Bob Woodward.

  After explaining, Wendy says, “Well, that’s it for the day. It’s time to go home.”

  Mona shrugs. “For what?”

  “That’s right! Your kiddos are with their dad. Why don’t you have a date on a Friday night?”

  “Please, don’t you even try to go there.”

  “Hey, I have a great idea! How do you feel about having dinner with me in Santa Monica tonight? It’s a two-hour drive but it’s worth it.”

  “I’d be up for it,” Mona replies.

  “Great. Have you ever eaten at the Estate Restaurant and Bar?”

  “No. Like I’d drive two hours one way to have dinner by myself.”

  Wendy rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re going to love this place. It’s on Wilshire Boulevard, and it’s a true farm to table dining experience. They have ribeye medallions in a cabernet-Szechuan sauce that is to die for. But if that’s too hot, then their New Zealand lamb chops in a vadouvan sauce is the ticket,” Wendy says as they gather their things and head out the door.

  “What the hell is a vadouvan sauce?”

  “It’s a type of French curry with some Chinese spices. Oh, and after dinner we’ll go upstairs to the Guest Room and enjoy the speak easy style 1920’s music. They have a drink there called the ‘Ethel Waters’ that’s incredible. It’s tequila with a floral twist. They use hibiscus and rosewater cordials with splashes of lime and pomegranate. It’s very smooth. We can call and make reservations in the car. We’ll get there around seven and if we leave by eleven thirty, I can have you back here by two o’clock so you’ll be home by two thirty. This is going to be a blast, Mona, I’m so glad you said yes!”

  “It’s not like I had anything else to do,” Mona replies, starting to get excited because of Wendy’s happiness.

  “Well, that just makes me sound like a shitty choice. Am I a last resort?”

  Mona smacks her arm gently. “You know what I mean.”

  They laugh and get in the car. Mona is able to get reservations for seven thirty. It’s a beautiful drive, and they are surprised the two hours go by so quickly. Dinner is incredible and the entertainment is fun and relaxing. They each get home around three in the morning.

  Mona calls Wendy around five the next evening and thanks her again for a great time.

  Wendy laughs, “It was a great evening, but I’m exhausted. I haven’t stayed out that late in forever, and I think I’ll need the rest of today and all day tomorrow to recover.”

  “That’s why you should date more! Maybe you should take Jim there and spend the night in Santa Monica.”

  “What a great idea. I think I’ll probably make that happen.”

  They chat a little bit more and then Wendy apologetically ends the call, claiming exhaustion.

  ***

  The next week flies by at the office for both Mona and Wendy. It isn’t until Jim calls Wendy at three to tell her he has one more appointment before heading to her place that she realizes what time it is.

  On her way out of the office, she tells Mona, “I’m heading home for the day, and I’ll be back Friday morning, because of the conference in Los Angeles.”

  “Okay, dear, see you then,” Mona says, barely looking up from her research on her school.

  Wendy arrives home before Jim gets there and begins preparations on the seafood polenta. When he walks through the front door, she meets him with a nicely chilled glass of sauvignon blanc. She gives Jim a soft, sensual kiss and points him to the bedroom.

  “You can put your stuff in there and get comfortable, when you come back I should be ready to sit with you, and we’ll go out to the patio.”

  Picking up his stuff, he says, “Actually, it would be wonderful to take a quick shower. I’ve been sweating all day. Then I’ll come relax with you.”

  “Okay, go right ahead,” Wendy replies, returning to her dinner preparations.

  Wendy hears the shower running and decides she has enough time to join him before finishing dinner. Jim is startled and yet very pleased when Wendy steps into the shower with him. He pulls her body toward him and he locks onto her mouth with a passionate kiss that sends her head reeling.

  As she struggles to catch her breath she feels Jim’s hand exploring her body and gasps when his finger slips into her. She pulls away from him momentarily, and murmurs, “I don’t have much time. I have to get back to dinner so it doesn’t get ruined. But I want you, right now.”

  She turns away from him, reaches between her legs, and guides him into her eager body. Instinctively he starts thrusting, and as their pleasure begins to mount, Wendy leans forward and braces herself against the wall. Jim grabs her hips and continues his assault on her senses, and before either of them expect, they erupt into an amazing orgasm. Jim braces himself against the wall with his hands and Wendy decides to sit down on the shower bench until her legs regain their strength and stop trembling.

  Looking up at him from her seat, Wendy says, “I’ve missed you more than I realized and I truly needed that, but now I’ve got to finish dinner. Take your time. I’ll be the woman in the kitchen in shorts and a tank top, just in case you forget why you decided to stay here, rather than a hotel.”

  He grins at her. “That must be why! It’s the entertainment before dinner of course.”

  He gets out of the shower with her and watches as she slips into a pair of running shorts and a tank top, thinking, I’m so lucky to have found this woman. She is comfortable enough with herself to slip into the shower for a quick romp then not worry about her hair, make-up, or even putting on a bra.

  Wendy blows Jim a quick kiss as she heads to the kitchen to continue making dinner.

  When the preparations are through, they enjoy their meal at a little table on the patio, overlooking the ocean.

  Jim is thrilled by the polenta. “This is fantastic. You can cook for me any time,” satisfied with the way the night is turning out.

  They enjoy the rest of the evening catching up on current events in each of their lives. After a little while, Wendy tells Jim, “I probably need to go to bed and get some sleep. I have to leave very early in the morning for my drive to Los Angeles.”

  “And you’ll be back when,” finishing his glass of wine.

  “Around midnight. You don’t need to wait up for me. I’ll kiss you gently when I come to bed, and we’ll have all day Friday to enjoy each other’s company.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “So am I, Jim.”

  ***

  Wendy is distracted all day during the conference so she decides to leave early and surprise Jim at home. She becomes increasingly more excited the closer she gets to La Jolla, anticipating what their lovemaking is going to be like this evening. She smiles, amazed at how much she is enjoying letting Jim into her inner sanctuary a little more each time they are together. She makes good time and arrives just before six thirty. Wendy quietly opens the front door of the condo and hears music coming from the bedroom.

  Hoping she can catch him by surprise, she steps into the bedroom doorway sneakily. Stunned, she inhales sharply then begins to pant, trying desperately to regain control of her breathing at the sight of Jim’s naked body intertwined with another man. Jim bolts up into a seated position and stares at Wendy in disbelief. He watches as the dam breaks and tears stream from her eyes, falling silently to the carpet below.

  Wendy takes a deep breath, then calmly tells them both, “I’m going to leave for two hours, and when I come back both of you had better be gone. Jim, you need to grab your shit and leave the key on the dining room table, and anything left behind by either of you
will be immediately thrown away.”

  She turns and starts walking toward the front door. Jim jumps out of bed and chases after her yelling, “Wait! We need to talk about this.”

  Wendy whirls around with ice in her eyes. “There is nothing that needs to be discussed. If you both aren’t gone by the time I get back, I’m calling the police, and I’ll have you arrested. Now get the fuck out of my house, you worthless bastard.”

  With that, she rushes out the door and hurries to her car, refusing to let Jim see how much he has hurt her. She drives on autopilot and finds herself in her office parking lot. She weeps uncontrollably for quite some time, then decides to call Mona at home.

  Mona answers the phone somewhat surprised to see it’s Wendy calling. The second she hears Wendy try to speak she knows something is terribly wrong.

  “What happened? Where are you?”

  “I’m in the office parking lot,” Wendy rasps, then clears her throat. “Can I come over?”

  “Absolutely. Are you okay to drive?”

  “Yes, I am now. I just really need someone to talk to.”

  “I’m here sweetheart, in my PJ’s and all my fabulous glory.”

  Wendy chuckles but it’s half-hearted. “That’s perfect. At least you’re dressed. I’ll fill you in when I get there.”

  Mona grabs a bottle of cabernet from the pantry and pours two large glasses. When the doorbell rings she rushes to open it, placing both glasses on the entryway bench. Wendy steps in and Mona wraps her in a giant hug and just holds her while the emotions come pouring out.

  After several minutes, Wendy settles down a little bit and Mona hands her a glass of wine. The two take a seat on the sofa in the living room. Mona just sits quietly and waits for Wendy to explain. When she begins, everything comes pouring out, including a new flood of tears. As she explains, Mona begins to tear up as well, feeling the pain that Wendy is feeling.