Nicole let out a small laugh. “No, not presumptuous at all. Right on the money, actually. Yes, we are ‘back’ together, so to speak. And as soon as his divorce is final, he plans on making me an honest woman.”
“Interesting how coming so close to death our perspectives change, isn’t it? As odd as it sounds, I am happy for you both. I wish you both much happiness.”
“Oh, believe me, the things that have transpired in the last seventy-two hours have made me the happiest woman in Arizona. And they can only get better.”
AFTER a few more minutes of idle chit chat, I hung up and sat staring out the window. What an interesting turn of events that phone call brought about. I was out, Nicole was in, and Eric was back. Bing, bang, boom and it was done. Another heavy weight lifted off my shoulders.
“I couldn’t help but overhear the majority of that conversation. Sounds like things went rather well,” Steve said, joining me on the couch.
“Yep, it’s a done deal. All that’s left is for me to sign my name on a few pages, and then I no longer will have any ties to that wretched place.”
He shook his head in slight disbelief. “You never cease to amaze me. I was afraid it would be a small skirmish to convince you not to go back, but look at you! It’s all over in a simple phone call. So, how does it feel to be free and unemployed?”
“Hmmm. That’s hard to describe. Excitement, relief, and a big drop of melancholy all lumped together.”
“Understandable. Just take it day by day, my love. So,” he said while he rubbed my feet, “when does the ceremonial ‘signing’ take place? I didn’t catch that part.”
“I told Nicole we would be at her house around eight tomorrow night after we had dinner with my parents. I figured that after the funeral, we could swing by my place and pack up a few things, then head over to their house. I miss Purr Baby. I’m sure the poor thing thinks I am never coming back.”
“Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day. I suggest that you get plenty of rest today.”
“You realize you are starting to sound like Dr. Kingston, right? I’m fine, Steve. Really. I don’t feel like going on a marathon run or kickboxing, but I believe I can handle a day on the couch researching which tropical bungalow offers the best wedding packages on the computer, don’t you? Besides, aren’t you going to work?”
He grinned and winked at me. “I am on vacation for the first time in ten years, thanks to you. The Chief informed me not to come back until I took you on an island getaway, so I guess you do need to step it up and get a wedding planned so I can go back to work. I only have three weeks of vacation.”
LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON
DURING THE FUNERAL FOR Gabrielle, Eric became rather subdued and surprised me at the end of the service when he let a few tears slide down his face while he held my hand. My knuckle joints were still sore from him alternating from a ferocious grip to gentle strokes. Of course, his tears may have been in response to the fake ones that I let escape my eyes while I played the part of a caring co-worker, deeply saddened by such a tragic loss. There was a miniscule part of me that felt a momentary pang of sorrow, but its source wasn’t from watching the grieving fiancé or family members mourn; it was the first time I had attended a funeral service since the passing of my father.
When Ralph died, I was the only partner that did not pay my respects (because I had none for the bastard, especially after watching the video tape…I still have nightmares about that). I circumvented attending his funeral by faking my own medical emergency and thankfully missed the festivities. Since I fled Havensport eons past, I had not stepped foot inside a church or a funeral parlor, and for the last forty-plus years, I kept my promise to myself not to do so—until this one. It irritated the shit out me when I felt a lump in my throat when Amazing Grace began to play and it took me a few seconds to latch onto and stuff the old pain back into its captive spot in my heart, but in that brief moment of weakness, a tear of sorrow made its way down my own cheek before I regained control.
I didn’t know what brought on Eric’s sudden coming into touch with his feminine side, and like everything else at the funeral and I didn’t care. He could cry, beg, pled, and squawk until the cows came home, but it wouldn’t change one iota of how I felt about him. I decided that my new motto in life was Fuck me once, shame on me. Fuck me twice, you cease to be.
All Eric could talk about the past thirty-six hours was how we would turn things around and how together we could reclaim our status at the top. The conversation on the way home after the funeral wasn’t about what we just witnessed or even how we felt about the death that seemed to rain down all around us. It all focused on Winscott and reviving the giant. Personally, it made me want to puke. If I had to hear one more “I don’t need any compensation; I have enough money—we need the cash flow” or “money doesn’t matter to me anymore, baby. I’ve got you so I’m richer than I’ve ever been” I was going to end up killing him before his time. How did I not notice before what an overbearing oaf he was? Guess I let his slick, talented tongue convince other parts of my body about his prowess, rather than my ears and brain.
After the services, I told him I needed to go by the office and finish up a few things, and he didn’t bat an eye. That was one thing that I did enjoy about having a relationship with a fellow accountant—they understood the pull and importance of working all the time. If he would have known what I had planned for the evening, he would have run for the hills, but since he didn’t, he hugged and kissed me as I went out the door, that pathetic grin of happiness spread from ear to ear.
When I arrived home he was waiting in the foyer all gussied up, looking rather yummy in his tuxedo, but I couldn’t let his sexual magnetism distract me from the job at hand. After all, the wild sex that we had twice in the last forty-eight hours was enough—and would suffice my cravings until I felt the urge again. Maybe some young hunk on the beach once I made it to my destination would be the ticket. A hard-bodied cabana boy that couldn’t bore me with his lack of intelligence, since he would be speaking in a language I didn’t understand, and his tongue would be otherwise engaged anyway. One delicious morsel that would bring me a drink and then gave me some dessert on the hot sand—oh, I didn’t have time to start salivating over that prospect. I had things to attend to. Jesus, I was giving myself a hot flash just thinking about it.
It took me thirty minutes of cajoling to convince Eric to cancel our dinner reservations at The Vines that he made when I was at the office. He was bound and determined to go out and celebrate his triumphant return to Winscott and my rise to the helm. If I had to guess, I think he also wanted a night out to celebrate just being together since attending the funeral of a coworker made him all the more aware of just how close I came to dying. My inner cheek was sore from my clamping down hard on it several times during the day to keep from laughing. Stupid fucker.
Once I convinced Eric that I was concerned about being spotted out by the press and that I was still slightly off from my injuries, coupled with the fact I had no desire to pour myself into an evening gown, he succumbed to my pleadings. With the promise of a good ol’ southern home-cooked dinner and some “Nikki’ (his obnoxious pet name for copulating) afterwards, the decision was reached to stay home and eat. He went out to go buy the necessary items from the grocery store and left me in peace.
I waited until I heard his car leave the drive and turn onto the street and then went to work. I removed the note I had worked on for hours at the office out of the hidden compartment in my wallet and snatched his computer off of the marble countertop in the kitchen, then sped up the stairs to my bathroom, locking the door behind me. He had left it on so after a few keystrokes, I had a new document open and smiled as my fingers flew across the keyboard, the final stages of my plan appearing in front of my eyes on the high resolution screen.
Dear Elaine,
Writing this was the hardest thing I have ever done. Where do I start? How do I tell the mother of my children not only that I’
m sorry for so many things but try to explain my reasons when even I don’t fully understand them myself? As I sit and stare at the screen, I can’t help but feel I am taking the coward’s way out. You deserved to have me tell you this in person, but as you continue to read, you will understand why that couldn’t be.
I’m sorry, Elaine. Sorry for not being a better husband to you. Sorry for not being the father I should have been to our children. Sorry for taking you for granted and never truly appreciating the fine woman that you are. I’m sorry for never growing up—for continually acting like the 22 year old frat boy, the jock that never could say no when another woman looked my way. I’m sorry for being away from home so much and leaving you to care for the kids on your own in my never ending quest for fame and fortune. I don’t know…considering how I am such a colossal screw up, perhaps my decision to remain distant was the best choice in the end. Maybe my sickness didn’t rub off on them since I was never around long enough to infect them.
You were a wonderful wife, and I treated you with dishonor and disdain. Honestly, all the other women in my life were just fun distractions—whores that I used for self-gratification that never really meant anything to me. I did things with them that I would never have considered doing with the mother of my children. As strange as it may sound, I sort of put you on a pedestal once the kids arrived, and the thought of satisfying some of my rather unorthodox sexual appetites just seemed somehow wrong to me. I promise you that none of those women ever held a permanent spot in my heart like you did.
That is, until Nicole. I know this is going to hurt you, but you need to understand why I did the things that I plan on doing once this soul cleansing is through tonight. I loved her as much as I loved you. More, actually… just in a very different way than my love for you. I wish I could express it in a way that makes sense, but I can’t. She is my kryptonite and my addiction at the same time. I tried to ignore it, to consider her just another play toy, but Elaine; she got inside of me in a way that I am unable to form into words. Crawled right under my skin and became a sick, twisted part of me. And even though I tried to walk away and shut that part of my life down, to bury it forever and remain true to you, I couldn’t. When I watched the news report that morning, something inside of me snapped, and I couldn’t bear the thought of living in this world without her.
When I got back to Phoenix, I knew it would be an uphill battle for her to forgive me, since I had hurt her by leaving just as much, I’m sure, as I hurt you when I left. I was ready for that, but what I wasn’t ready for was the complete and utter hate from her. She turned on me, Elaine. Not only would she not forgive me, but when Carl asked me to come and head the firm and help pick up the pieces, she and Audra flew into this rage, and somehow, convinced Carl that was a bad idea, and before you know it, Audra resigned and now Nicole is running the place. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was to me? Not only would she have nothing to do with me, but she took her anger to the next level and tried to ruin me professionally. I don’t know what she said to Carl and Audra, but now, not only do I not have her, but no chance of resurrecting my career at Winscott, for I have been shunned.
Shunned. Blackballed. Forbidden from setting foot inside the company that I helped build into an empire. Nothing is left to salvage. I ruined your life by walking out and burned that bridge to a crisp, leaving only a pile of ashes. No work to occupy my time and replenish my soon-to-be-empty coffers since I will lose half of my net worth to you in the divorce. I could deal with all of that if Nicole was still in my life, but the worst part is, I don’t have her, and I can’t live with that.
All of this nightmare, this monstrous mess that exploded into a stinking pile of dung all over us, is the handiwork of just one person—Audra Tanner. If that little bitch wouldn’t have started all this, then things would be the way I always wanted them to be. I could have died a happy man living the life I led ten months ago. Sad, isn’t it? I was living a double life, lying to the women that loved me, yet I was content. I had you, the kids, Caitlin and Cara, and Nicole. But after the day that Audra ruined all of that, my life began spinning out of control. You know that. You lived that with me. I ran out of town like a whipped dog with its tail between its legs, scurrying off to places where I didn’t have to face the consequences of the life I led. If Audra would have kept her mouth shut, you would still be living in ignorant bliss, I would still be the big-shot executive, and Nicole would be my drug fix.
Now, I have nothing. And I share that blame with Audra and Nicole. So, tonight, I am going to do what I should have done before. Destroy the things that have destroyed me. By the time you read this, it will all be over. I am sure that the news will put some crazy spin on it, but I wanted you to hear from me what really happened, and why.
I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I hope that someday, you will find the strength to forgive me.
Eric
I sat back and read through it several times, making a few tweaks until I was satisfied that it sounded like the words came straight from Eric’s heart. One of the perks of being in a relationship with someone for as long as Eric and I had been is that you know their inner thoughts and feelings, which makes penning a suicide note purportedly by them rather simple.
I saved the document on his computer and buried under several layers of file folders so he wouldn’t find it. As I stood up and started to shut the system down, I decided not to tempt fate and changed his password on his computer, thereby locking him out. He hadn’t been on it much lately anyway, for I had kept him busy running errands, and when I told him that Carl wanted him to come back and run Winscott, he had spent the majority of his time connecting with old clients on the phone, hoping to lure them back to his pocket.
Project completed, I took the computer back downstairs and set it back where it had been, then began the process of preparing dinner. I smiled as I recalled the old phrase, “revenge is a dish best served cold” as I mixed the ingredients up for jalapeno cornbread and signature fried chicken.
Oh yes, it was. And tonight, I was cooking my masterpiece.
“HEY, babe, I couldn’t find any fresh black-eyed peas at the store. I hope you don’t mind. I substituted okra,” Eric said, setting the bags of groceries on the counter with a loud thud, then moving as fast as his knees would let him back to shut the door. The temperature was near one hundred, which was odd so early in the year. He was miserable in the heat due to his size, and it showed as the patches of red dotted his face from the exertion and the fact that he was breathing like he just finished a marathon.
“Why, not at all. You know I love fried okra better anyway. You wouldn’t have happened to just walk past the black-eyed peas and headed straight for the okra on my account, now would you?” I said, forcing the honey to drip from my words while I helped him unload the grocery bags. I knew it drove him wild when I let the real southern girl creep out. Once, during some post coital pillow talk, he told me how turned on he would get when I became angry and let the drawl take over my voice. I remember then thinking it was sort of cute that he thought that way about me. I gritted my jaw at the memory, holding back laughter and anger at the same time. His previous endearment made me want to drop kick his balls up through his throat so he could suck them.
His comeback to my half-hearted joke about the black-eyed peas was answered rather quickly. He responded to my question by wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck, his hand immediately making its way up to my breast.
“You know me well, my Nikki. Now, hurry up and finish cooking. I am more interested in what little sweet treats await afterward anyway. I even bought some melting chocolate,” he said, holding up the bittersweet morsels with his other hand. “I’m thinking…chocolate-covered Nikki for dessert. Mmm…mmm!”
I pushed him away, playfully slapping at him with my oven mitt. “You need to leave me be if you want me to finish your supper. How am I supposed to concentrate on cooking when you are turning up my fire? Now, scoot, or you�
�ll only be lickin’ chocolate off of yourself.”
He smiled that dazzling smile that hooked me from the moment I first laid eyes on him. He may be a complete and utter asshole, but he had always been a sight to behold. If only he wouldn’t have betrayed me.
I turned around and went back to the stove, unwilling to let the ache for him between my legs dissuade me. He may have only possessed an average size peter, but damn, he sure did make up for it in other ways. I was going to miss that.
“Babe, you just need to sit down and have a few drinks while I finish up. I would enjoy the company. While you were out, I made a fresh batch of my signature drink.”
“Damn, woman, you are spoiling me! I haven’t had a taste of Lip Lickin’ Lemonade in…”
“Since the last time I fixed you one at the apartment. You were too paranoid to let the ‘guys’ see you drink a yellow girlie drink. Will you fix one for me as well? I’m sweating like crazy over here in front of this stove.”
He rose and grabbed the glasses from the cabinet and then poured us both drinks. “Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?” There was that bedeviling smile again.
“You just ruined my evil plans for this evening. I guess I’ll have to punish you for unearthing my carefully contrived plot.”
“Oh, whip me, baby. Make me use foul language. But let’s wait until dinner is over. It smells heavenly.” He laughed, handing me my drink. He sat back down on the barstool and grinned, his dimples showing on his chin. I knew then he had something up his sleeve. I busied myself with putting up the dishes I dirtied while preparing a feast he would never get to eat, planning on keeping the conversation light. I took a small sip of the stout drink then continued to elicit mindless conversation from him for the next hour. I made a point to bring up Winscott, which I knew would keep him talking for quite some time, lost in the world that once was and the potential of what could become with his return. I nodded and smiled, and kept refilling his drink while I prepared dinner. By the time he was finishing off the fourth one and the cornbread and chicken were cooked to perfection, he was having immense difficulty remaining seated on the barstool.
Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy Page 56
