Fidelity Files

by Jessica Brody

  13

  Questionable Intentions

  "MARTA!" I called from my bedroom. "Have you seen my off-white Dolce and Gabbana blouse?" I ventured into my closet for the third time on Monday morning and sifted, yet again, through the hanging shirts. As if by magic, in the time it had taken me to dump the entire contents of my hamper onto the floor, the missing article of clothing might have materialized out of thin air and hung itself up neatly in its proper place.

  But it hadn't.

  Marta, on the other hand, had managed to seemingly materialize out of thin air. She stood in the doorway of my bedroom, a clever smile painted across her lips and the freshly ironed shirt hanging daintily from her outstretched finger.

  I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are the best!"

  I took the shirt from her hand and pulled it on over my nude-color bra. I was running approximately ten minutes late for my ten o'clock follow-up meeting with Roger Ireland, and I had been very grateful when Marta showed up thirty minutes ago and started her normal cleaning routine. It always made me feel more at ease knowing she was there. And I still couldn't figure out if it was because of how clean I knew the place would look and feel when she was done, or if maybe it was just her.

  "You're welcome, Miss Hunter. Muy bonita. Working today?"

  I smiled and pulled my hair out from underneath the collar. "Always."

  She smiled back and then quickly spun around to return to her work.

  I checked my makeup in the bathroom mirror, did a quick touch-up on the loose waves in my hair, and emerged into the kitchen. Marta was busy scrubbing the inside of the oven. She was bent over at a ninety-degree angle with her entire upper body hidden inside of it. All I could see were her legs keeping her balanced on the wooden floor as her ample backside swayed back and forth in the air while she cleaned.

  "I'm leaving your check here," I said to her as I ripped a page out of my checkbook and placed it on the counter. Then I proceeded to fill my Gucci tote with all the appropriate "tools" I would need for the day: wallet, two cell phones, breath mints, and sunglasses. I closed the bag, slung it over my shoulder, and snatched up my keys.

  "Car people call while you in the shower!" Marta called from inside the oven.

  I stopped and turned around. "What did they say?"

  "They say you have recall."

  I sighed. Just what I wanted right now. Another part of my life in need of repair. If only you could perform recalls on other aspects of your life. One quick trip to the mechanic and suddenly everything that seems to be malfunctioning in your life is magically repaired.

  "A recall? On what?"

  "I no know," her voice reverberated. "They give me appointment for eleven o'clock."

  "Today?" I panicked, instinctively pulling out my Treo and checking my schedule.

  "No." Her head reappeared from inside the oven and she brushed a sweaty hair from her forehead. "They say Wednesday."

  I clicked to Wednesday. Thankfully the morning appeared empty; I typed in the appointment. "Okay. I'll take the car in. Thank you, Marta."

  AS I quietly rode the empty elevator up to Roger Ireland's office, my mind was filled with all sorts of noise. I stared at myself in the mirrored elevator doors. Into my own tired, hardened eyes. Despite my best attempts to utilize the magic of makeup, my reflection was pale, worn out, visibly troubled. When did it all get to be so complicated? My best friend and I weren't on speaking terms, I had practically exploded at my naive, twelve-year-old niece, and Parker Colman had almost taken me down in an elevator.

  I don't think Revlon makes a concealer for that.

  And still, as hard as I tried, I couldn't find a way to erase the image of Jamie's face from my convoluted, highly compartmentalized mind. Something I had always managed to do before.

  I couldn't wait for this meeting to be over so I could finally concentrate on sorting out my life. God knows it needed some serious sorting.

  The doors opened and I straightened my posture, smoothed my hair and blouse, and pulled open one of the large, double-glass doors that led into Roger Ireland's law firm.

  "Let's make this quick," I mumbled to myself.

  I felt fairly certain that Roger Ireland was a reasonable man. Concise and to the point. And since he wasn't a wife or a girlfriend, this should probably be an easy "post."

  The receptionist showed me in immediately.

  "Good morning, Ashlyn," she began, leading me down the main hallway. "Mr. Ireland and Miss Ireland are waiting for you in his office."

  "Thank you," I started to say, and then stopped suddenly in my tracks. "Wait, did you say Miss Ireland?"

  The receptionist smiled naively. "Yes, his daughter. Lauren?"

  Suddenly my feet felt as if they were trapped in mud. What the hell was she doing in there? Mr. Ireland said he was going to tell her himself. Much later. Meaning, after I had left the building and all surrounding areas. I had not mentally prepared myself to deal with a bridezilla two weeks before her wedding. Especially one who was about to find out that her fiancé isn't quite the guy she thought he was.

  I tried to keep the look of pure dread from spreading across my face as I continued to follow the receptionist down the hallway and into Mr. Ireland's office, although I couldn't help but feel like I was walking to my own execution.

  She swung the door open for me and I prepared myself for the worst.

  "Ashlyn!" Roger greeted me pleasantly and stepped forward to shake my hand as I hesitantly entered the room. "Good to see you again."

  I looked around the office and noticed an attractive brunette sitting at Mr. Ireland's desk typing frantically into a keyboard. "Dad, your directories are all messed up. That's why you can't find the source of this data stream."

  Roger smiled at me. "This is my daughter, Lauren."

  Lauren took one last hopeless look at her father's computer monitor and then stood up. She smiled brightly as she walked over and offered me her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ashlyn. Thanks for coming by. Won't you sit down?" She motioned to the couch and took a seat in the nearby armchair.

  I eyed her strangely. She was certainly pretty upbeat about this whole process. Was she in denial? Well, she certainly wouldn't be the first bride I'd dealt with who was.

  I studied Mr. Ireland's only daughter as I took the safer seat across from her. She was definitely prettier than I thought she'd be. Not that I'm normally one to stereotype, but after Roger Ireland's lengthy explanation of his daughter's extensive computer skills, I kind of pictured someone a little less, well, elegant.

  She was tall and slender with long, dark hair that she had pulled back into a very businesslike ponytail. Her clothes were a bit on the boring side: brown pants with a matching jacket. And her beige turtleneck underneath left no skin showing.

  I glanced down at my current outfit selection. A gray pencil skirt that was slightly on the tighter side and the off-white blouse that Marta had supplied me with earlier. The blouse was unbuttoned just enough to suggest the existence of cleavage. I suddenly wished that I could turn around and button up the last button. I wondered what she must have been thinking about my ensemble. Not that it mattered, but I assumed she had to be forming at least some kind of an opinion about a girl who seduces betrothed men as an occupation.

  Roger looked extremely nervous. I could have sworn I even saw small beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. But Lauren was the exact opposite: calm, composed, and extremely pleasant. I was thoroughly impressed. Most women in her position were pacing the hallways, wringing their hands together, biting off their beautifully manicured fingernails. But not Lauren. I started to doubt Mr. Ireland's initial evaluation of his daughter. He was pretty confident that she was the jealous type, somewhat insecure about men. That was not who was being represented in this office today. I had pictured a girl not unlike Sophie: suspicious, uneasy, and above all else, distrusting.

  I felt myself relax somewhat. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought
.

  "So my dad told me I simply had to come down here today and see these floral centerpieces for myself." She then eyed my empty hands. "Did you bring pictures of them?"

  My sudden comprehension of the situation hit me like a shock wave. I nearly doubled over in my seat.

  Lauren looked questioningly from my unfamiliar face to her dad's, now fully aware that something was not adding up.

  "Dad?"

  Mr. Ireland slowly wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and came over to the couch to sit next to his daughter. He put his arm around her shoulders. "Lauren, honey, Ashlyn is not here to talk about flowers for the wedding."

  She sat up straighter in her seat and turned her eyes toward me, suddenly a new sense of distrust forming in her eyes. "What is she here about, then?"

  He cleared his throat and looked to me for help. I stood motionless. I had no idea what to say. Demure housewives, hopeful fiancées, bitchy businesswomen...I had confronted them all. But a bride-to-be tricked into attending a meeting of this nature? That was a first for me.

  He looked me in the eye with an apologetic frown. "I thought it would be best if she heard the outcome directly from you. I wasn't sure if she would believe me."

  Lauren's face filled with panic. "What outcome? What are you talking about?"

  I tried to smile just as pleasantly as she had when I walked in the door. But I was surely unsuccessful.

  And then something occurred to me. Roger Ireland was highly confident that Parker had failed this test. Otherwise he would have never decided to bring Lauren into the picture. Because if Parker had passed, he probably wouldn't want her to know anything about this whole thing. Despite the inflated fifty-fifty odds I had given him in our initial meeting, Mr. Ireland seemed to be betting on a much more certain outcome.

  He shifted his body so that he could face his daughter, whose eyes were pleading for answers. She was uncomfortable, not only in being out of the loop, but also because of the growing suspicion that the loop had something to do with her.

  "Sweetie, Ashlyn is a professional fidelity inspector."

  She scrunched up her face in what I could only describe as horrified confusion. "A what?"

  "She tests men... like Parker... for unfaithful tendencies."

  Lauren shot right up from her seat.

  "You hired this woman to test Parker?"

  I was now the uncomfortable one. And the nauseating emphasis she placed on the words "this woman" definitely hadn't helped. Not only was I going to have to relay these disappointing results to Roger and his daughter, but I was apparently going to have to sit through her delayed acceptance of the process as well.

  "I can't believe you would do that!" Lauren shouted at her father, stepping away from the couch and pacing in front of his desk.

  Her body language was now starting to more resemble the typical behavior of a "fiancée in waiting."

  I should have known she was in the dark. What fiancée greets an incoming fidelity inspector like a flower specialist coming to talk about wedding arrangements? I've always said women are harder to read than men.

  "Lauren, I only did this because I love you and I care about you. And I was worried that Parker wasn't going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

  "You never liked him, Dad! Never! Come to think of it, you've never liked anyone I've dated!"

  And there I was, caught right in the middle of the father/daughter argument I would most likely never have.

  "That's not true! Honey, please sit down and just listen to what she has to say."

  "No! I won't sit down and listen to her."

  And just like that I had gone from a welcomed guest to a her. It wasn't a title I was unfamiliar with. But it also wasn't a title I really wanted to deal with right now. Especially when I had come to this meeting fully expecting not to have to deal with it.

  "Honey, please..."

  Lauren continued to pace. "Where do you even find someone like that? What, does she advertise in the yellow pages under 'Slut Services'?"

  "Lauren Marie Ireland! That was completely uncalled for!" Roger shouted in a stern, fatherly voice. "Ashlyn is a professional and I received her name from a close friend."

  I started to stand up. "Maybe I should go and come back when you've had some more time to discuss this."

  He lowered his tone and spoke gently to me. "No, wait. Please stay. She didn't mean that. She's angry at me not you." Then firmly to Lauren: "Honey, sit down right now. Ashlyn is going to tell us the outcome of this test, and then she's going to leave. After that you can hate me all you want."

  Lauren glared at me and crossed her arms. "I'll stand, thanks."

  I nodded sympathetically and sat back down. "However you're comfortable," I managed to get out in a half-cheerful tone.

  Mr. Ireland took a deep breath and leaned forward in his seat, waiting for my next words with great anticipation.

  I forced a smile as I started my usual spiel. "Okay, here's how this part of the process works: I will tell you the outcome of the inspection and then you can decide how much detail about the night you want to hear. I'm happy to recount as little or as much as you want. That part is entirely up to you."

  Lauren groaned audibly and rolled her eyes. Her father shot her a warning glance as I tried to ignore both.

  I looked to Roger. "As you requested during our initial meeting, I conducted a fidelity inspection on Parker Colman." I glanced at Lauren and spoke carefully. "Meaning that in order to fail he had to show a clear intention to engage in ... sexual infidelity."

  "Oh my God!" Lauren growled in disgust.

  Roger ignored her and offered me a nod of encouragement.

  I paused and took a deep breath, looking from Lauren to Roger and then back at Lauren again. "Your fiancé, Parker Colman, unfortunately did not pass the inspection."

  Roger collapsed against the back of his chair, seemingly in relief. And I wasn't sure if the relief was directed more toward the fact that now (or at least eventually) he would be off the hook with his daughter, or toward the fact that thankfully there would be no chance he would have to let this asshole into his family.

  Lauren stood frozen in shock. Trying to absorb this whole unexpected chain of events and the highly disconcerting news that had come along with them. She looked at me, puzzled and confused, before leaning against the desk behind her for support.

  Roger immediately stood up and rushed over, hugging her thin frame close to him. She pushed him away. "Don't touch me."

  "Lauren, I know you must be upset at me right now, and I don't blame you. But I hope someday you'll thank me for this."

  "This is ridiculous!" Lauren exclaimed, stepping away from her father. "How do we even know this woman is telling the truth? I mean, who is she to tell me that Parker is a cheater. She doesn't even know Parker."

  I've dealt with many women in denial before, and I've learned that the best way to fight an accusation of fraudulence is not to fight it.

  "Lauren," I began calmly and gently, "it's not my job to convince you of anything. My job is to tell you exactly what happened with your fiancé when he was given the opportunity to be unfaithful to you. That's all."

  "So what did happen?" she asked in a sarcastic tone. As if anything I said from here on out would be considered complete bullshit. But I knew she wouldn't have asked if she wasn't curious.

  "Well, we met at the Bellagio Poker Room, and then later in the evening at the nightclub Rain in the Palms Casino."

  I saw her eyes widen slightly at the mention of the very familiar locations. Recognizable stops on the weekend itinerary that had been safely pinned to a bulletin board or taped to a refrigerator for quick reference.

  "He bought me a drink at the club...several actually, asked me if I wanted to dance, and then invited me back to his hotel room."

  "He invited you?" she clarified.

  This is why I always insist on following, not leading. Leading can easily get you into trouble.

 
"Yes," I confirmed.

  "Honey, I tried to tell you. He's a player," Roger explained gently. "He's not the right guy for you. I did this so you could see it for yourself. So you wouldn't make a huge mistake by marrying him."

  Lauren continued to glare at me, ignoring her father's speech. "And then what? Then you guys had sex?" Her tone was not only accusing...it was soaked with repulsion.

  I closed my eyes and re-gathered my strength. "No, that's not what I do. I test for intention to cheat only."

  "What the hell does that mean?" Lauren shot back in a snotty tone.

  I was having a hard time remaining in my seat. For the first time in my life I felt like strangling someone. And I wasn't sure if it was because Lauren Ireland was annoying the hell out of me or if it was because she was the closest and seemingly most deserving target on which to take out all my pent-up anger and frustration.

  Fortunately, Roger interrupted. "It means that Ashlyn has proven that Parker has cheating tendencies. That given the opportunity to have sex with someone else, he would."

  "How does she know for sure if she didn't actually have sex with him?"

  Roger sighed loudly, obviously running out of steam – and fast.

  This time, I helped him out. "Lauren, I stop the sex from happening at the last possible moment. But I am more than confident that Parker would have engaged in intercourse if I hadn't interrupted."

  Roger looked to Lauren eagerly. Watching her expression. Wondering if she was finally going to come around.

  She sat on the edge of his desk and re-crossed her arms against her chest. "Well that doesn't say anything. You have no idea if he would have gone through with it. Knowing Parker, he would have realized that what he was doing was wrong just in time and stopped it himself."

  I wanted to jump out of my chair, put my hands on her shoulders, and shake her. Shake her violently. All the while yelling, "Wake up and smell the scum bag, you idiot! He kissed me, he fondled me, his hands were all over me. He wanted me so badly he probably would have paid me for it! If you are too stupid to see what kind of loser you're wasting your time defending, then maybe you don't deserve to know."