by Pat Tucker
We weren’t even given the chance to make a victim’s impact statement or anything. Before the hearing ended, I had rushed out of the courtroom. I couldn’t take it anymore. The entire scene gave me a clear picture of how different the rules and laws were for the wealthy.
What I didn’t expect was to nearly bump right into Chandler as I walked out of the ladies’ room a short time later.
“Oh, ma’am. I’m sorry. Are you okay? I wasn’t paying attention,” he said.
He sounded good.
For the first time, I thought about the fact that the pictures my brother had did him absolutely no justice.
“Uh, I’m good. I’m fine,” I managed.
His beauty made me feel intoxicated. When our eyes connected, I had to remember to blink and struggled to avoid an awe-filled stare. He smelled good, but he looked even better. From his designer suit to his manicured fingernails, Chandler did not fit the stereotype of a habitual, reckless drunk driver.
That day remained tattooed on my brain. I guess that was the moment my obsession began. Months after that first encounter, I found him and his family’s business. I made trips to the area a part of my regular routine. That was how it all started. At first, I told myself the plan was brilliant. I would get close to him, and take out my very own revenge since the justice system had let us down.
But years later, I had forgotten all about my initial goal. When the phone vibrated again, it brought me back to my dilemma.
Yeah. Let’s.
I typed the message; then I erased it. I put the phone down and glanced at the clock. When was happy hour? I grabbed a wineglass and poured myself a drink. After several large gulps of chardonnay, I picked up the phone and retyped the message.
Cool. I’ll let U know where and when.
I downed the rest of the wine and refilled my glass. I collapsed onto the chaise, and crooked my elbow over my eyes as if to block out the images that danced through my head. What would an actual face-to-face be like with him? This wouldn’t be a chance encounter in the hallway or even stares from a distance across the bar.
The decision had been made. I’d celebrate at happy hour and get ready for the meeting that would change my life. Whether that change would be good or bad was yet to be seen.
28
IVEE
My legs felt a bit shaky as I strolled over to the valet’s podium in the parking lot, but I ignored it. I was more concerned about what, if anything, someone might’ve seen if they watched as I walked.
I turned the ticket over to the attendant, and waited for my car. The warm, fresh air felt and smelled good. I sucked in as much as my lungs could hold, then exhaled. When I felt my lids get heavy, I shook that off quickly. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a group of people headed my way.
“Looks like I got here right on time,” I muttered.
My eyes searched the darkened parking lot, and I wondered what was taking the guy so long. My head felt like it was swimming a little, but it was nothing a drive home with the windows down and music blaring wouldn’t cure.
“Oooh, excuse me.” I pulled my hand up to my lips and hid a frown.
Was that a hiccup? I glanced around discretely to see if anyone had heard me. If they had, they never acted like it. So I kept my vigil on the headlights, and hoped the next car would be mine. My eyes did a strange squint, opened, and then squinted again. I wanted to die where I stood. I couldn’t be sleepy.
“What the hell is taking so long? Did someone take my ride for a spin or what?”
I wanted to move away from the podium and look around the corner, but my unsteady legs wouldn’t permit it. Right when I decided it was time to look for a supervisor, my caramel-colored Cayenne eased forward, and I was relieved.
The valet driver held the door open for me. I slid a twenty into his hand and eased into my soft, leather bucket seat. I pressed a button and music flooded the space in my SUV. The minute I pulled out of the parking lot, I pressed another button and lowered all of the windows.
The thick, salty, warm air felt good against my skin. I sang along to one of my favorite songs and pressed the pedal as I raced on to the Southwest Freeway going south. I thought about my girls and back to our evening.
When the hook from my song came in for the second time, a flash in my rearview mirror caused my heart to drop to the bottom of my belly. The words caught in my throat as my eyes widened in horror. At first, the flashing, blue lights seemed to be in the distance, but the way they raced behind me made me nervous.
“Shit, I’m being pulled over? What the hell for?”
As I steered my car over to the side of the road, it hit me like a massive bulldozer. I’d had quite a few glasses of vodka. My mind quickly raced to add it all up. One while we waited, another when everyone got there, then someone bought another round with the crab cakes, and then, ummm, did those guys buy a few rounds too? How many? Had I lost count? Those thoughts ran through my mind as I brought the car to a complete stop.
I swallowed dry and hard. My gut tightened into a knot, and I drew a complete blank. What should I do? Should I try to explain or be quiet? This could not be happening to me. I glanced up to my rearview mirror and regretted it instantly.
Suddenly, a bright, blinding, white light drowned the inside of my vehicle with warmth as I reached down to the glove compartment for my proof of insurance and registration. Instantly, I felt irritated and then scared. Out of nowhere, perspiration blanketed my forehead. Did I put the new insurance card in there? Ugh!
Shit! What if I’m asked to get out of my car? Oh, God! If I have to blow into one of those breathalyzers, I’ll die. Wait. I know my rights, don’t I?
What was taking him so damn long? I had given up on finding the proper paperwork, convinced myself I could call my lawyer from my cell and rethought it all as I waited on the officer. My stomach felt like it had been twisted in a vise.
What in the hell?
Finally, the officer walked up to my driver’s side and looked down at me. To my stunned surprise, he greeted me with a bright and wide smile. He seemed friendly, and I relaxed instantly.
“Good evening,” he said.
I released a huge sigh of relief. Thank God he wasn’t one of those stuck-up assholes. I felt my body instantly calm down, and my heart returned to its regular pace. The way he grinned with that gum-bearing smile down at me, I felt confident that all I had to do was be straight with him, and I could probably get by with a warning. Of course, I told myself I needed to be humble and remorseful. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and prepared myself for the performance of my life.
I tried to ignore that fact that I was probably a spectacle as drivers zoomed by.
“Errr…good evening?” It jumbled out as a question before I could stop myself.
Two hours later, I sat in a jail cell and wondered how the hell had I read the officer so wrong. How could I have misinterpreted his smile?
The glare of the overhead fluorescent light seared down on my brain, and I realized the nightmare of the arrest had finally come true. But this time, it was me. It wasn’t some faceless guy on the news. It was me!
What the hell? Will my job find out? Is there a morality clause in my contract? I cannot lose my job! Should I call my lawyer? Is he even a criminal attorney? What in the hell? How did this happen to me?
I closed my eyes. It was cold, and goose bumps rose on my skin. The steel bench I sat on was hard and most uncomfortable, but I was lucky to have a seat. Some of the other women were cowered down in a corner on the floor. A few others stood and kept watch down the hall.
Could I actually go to jail? I couldn’t imagine a real jail sentence. What would my coworkers say? What would my girls say? What would my family say?
Trying not to be so visibly unnerved, I clamped my eyes shut. This absolutely had to be a dream, or more like a nightmare!
29
PETA
When I left happy hour, I felt good. All the normal crap that had been front and cen
ter on my mind didn’t seem to matter anymore.
I didn’t go to the club after happy hour since I had other plans. I was sick and tired of being the victim, and I felt it was time I did something about it. My first step involved some investigating of my own. Between Kyle and Pamela, I felt physically and emotionally abused, and it was time I began to fight back.
The girls all had their own ideas about what I should’ve done when Pamela walked in and saw me.
“You should’ve stomped her backstabbing behind,” Ivee said.
“You couldn’t have had her arrested?” Felicia wanted to know.
“For what? For stalking me, and showing up to help out my employee?” I shrugged. I had no idea why Pamela had clutched on to me, and why she felt she needed to sneak behind my back to work on the truck.
“What the hell, Pamela?” I had asked.
“I can explain!” she stammered. She reached down to pick up the bag she had dropped.
“Explain? What’s there to explain? I should call the cops on you!”
When several customers stopped looking at the merchandise and turned their focus to us, I realized that I needed to tone it down a notch. That skank better be glad we had a crowd, or I could’ve snatched that weave from her scalp and beat the crap out of her.
“Maybe y’all should have a little talk outside while I help get these clients out of here and back to work,” Farah said.
I cleared my throat and thanked God someone still had some professionalism left. I squeezed by Pamela, and grabbed her by the arm as I walked out of the RV.
“I don’t know what your problem is, but you are trespassing. How dare you lie your way into my place of business?”
Pamela threw her hands up in surrender. She moved back a few steps.
“Wait, whoa! Hold on. You’ve got it all wrong. I was here the other day when your other lady got sick. She was like throwing up all over the place, and she called you. When I heard her say she couldn’t come in, I offered to help out. I didn’t mean nothing by it. I mean, I was trying to be helpful.”
I heard what she said, and there was a small part of it that made sense. When Beverly called, I was in the midst of the storm. My mind was stuck on the stunt Kyle had pulled. Beverly could’ve told me she was driving off into the sunset with one of the boutiques, and her words would not have registered. But there was something about Pamela that I couldn’t bring myself to trust.
“I’m supposed to believe that you were simply trying to help?” I cocked my head to the side.
“You were so kind to help me out with the meetings and answering all of my questions. I happened to be in the area, and when I saw the truck, I got excited. At first, I thought my timing was perfect. I even tried to call you. I left a message with your daughter. I guess she didn’t tell you that I called,” Pamela said.
Kendal had told me about her call, but I had other issues on my mind.
“Peta, I admire you and what you do. I really was trying to help. If I would’ve known you’d be this upset about me trying to help you out, I would’ve stayed away,” she said. Pamela flicked her fingers and shrugged.
She didn’t turn around, but took steps backwards and left me standing there. When a few clients walked off the RV with bags in hand, I told myself to suck it up. I went back in, and worked with Farah until it was time to go and meet the girls at happy hour.
As I eased off the freeway, I turned the radio down. I never had a reason to go by Kyle’s house since he came over so much. But after all of my unsuccessful attempts to reach him by phone, I decided tonight was the night.
It also helped that I was riding high on liquid courage. I had convinced myself that I was prepared for whatever might happen.
I could imagine the shock his wife would be in, but what the hell? If he didn’t fix what he had done to me, I’d personally tell her about our little romps.
When I turned onto his street, I told myself there was no need to turn off my headlights. It wasn’t like they’d be outside.
“You brought this on yourself, you dirty bastard,” I said as I pulled in front of his house. But I was the one who was stunned speechless when I brought my car to a complete stop.
I sat in amazed shock as my eyes registered on the massive For Sale sign that hung out front. It was like a hard slap to the face that stung. I hopped out of my car barely before I put it in park, and marched up to the sign. It was real! The bastard had put his house on the market?
I glanced around to see whether anyone was outside. I needed answers, and since Kyle wouldn’t take my calls, I had very few options. I rushed to the windows and the front door.
Kyle’s house was completely empty! How had I missed all of that? My first thought was to call my daughter. For sure, he’d be in touch with her if no one else.
Before I called, I told myself the conversation would have to wait until the next day since it was already late.
The drive home was long and lonely with lots of unanswered questions. I didn’t understand why I was being tested. I couldn’t imagine what else could be going on.
Thoughts of the trucks being vandalized, Kyle tricking me out of child support, and his house up for sale really threw me for a loop. I couldn’t wait to get home, and have a drink. I needed something to help me try to figure the entire mess out.
30
DARBY
“I don’t want no stupid waffles!” Taylor screamed.
If he was gonna have a fit, he’d have to have it alone. I was not in the mood. I walked to the refrigerator and removed the gallon of juice. I wanted sleep, and I didn’t mean the kind of light sleep on the couch either. I wanted to crawl back upstairs and get up under the comforter. I’d get my sleep mask, close the blinds, and sleep until my body was tired of sleep. That was the plan as soon as I cleared the house.
“Boy, you need to hurry up and eat this food.” I moved over to the table and poured orange juice into my son’s cup, and then into a glass near my husband’s plate. What was he doing?
Kevin Jr. ate so fast, I started to tell him to slow down before he choked. But even the sound of my own voice made my head hurt.
“Kevin!” I screamed. “Your breakfast is getting cold! What are you doing?”
I rubbed my temple and prayed for my husband to hurry down. I didn’t know what was worse—the fact that I had to get up early to fix breakfast after a night at happy hour, or the fact that my husband hadn’t come down to eat yet. My biggest goal on Friday mornings was to get everyone out of the door as quickly as possible. The longer they lingered, the greater the chances something would go wrong. I didn’t want anyone to stay at home. I had neither the time nor the energy to look after anybody.
Finally, Kevin rushed in. He snatched one of the waffles from the plate, took three large bites, then rushed over to the stainless steel refrigerator and began to fiddle with his tie. He scrutinized his reflection a couple of times.
I rolled my eyes and prayed he’d hurry.
“C’mon, boys. We need to go,” he barked at the kids.
“Oh, babe, I’m almost out of my body wash and deodorant,” he said to me.
My eyebrows curled downward. Surely, he didn’t expect me to make a mental note of the toiletries he needed. But if I had told him that, it would’ve only slowed them down, so I didn’t say a word.
“I’m serious, Darby. I told you last week, and today I had to mix water in my bottle. It’s as good as gone,” he said.
I nodded and strained not to sigh out loud. I needed to remember to restock his stuff. The last thing I needed was him to fall back into his mix-with-water-to-make-it-stretch habit.
He walked back to the table, snatched two strips of bacon from his plate, and looked at our sons.
“C’mon, fellas. It’s time to roll,” he said.
The boys scrambled from their chairs, grabbed their insulated lunch bags, and followed Kevin out of the door.
“Bye, Mom,” Kevin Jr. said. He was being kind of standoffish, and I sti
ll hadn’t figured out the issue with his behavioral problems.
“Love you, Mommy,” Taylor said.
“I’ll call you in a bit,” Kevin added. I wanted to tell him don’t bother. I’d be asleep for sure, but I figured he didn’t need that information.
Once they were gone, the house returned to its day-after-happy-hour state, and I was happy again. I glanced at the table and the counters. I decided all of the dirty dishes could wait until later.
I fixed myself a Bloody Mary to help with the wicked hangover and rinsed that glass. I turned the lights off and dragged myself back up to bed.
When the phone rang, at first, I thought it was in my dream. But no matter how much I tossed and turned, the ringing continued. I wondered if the noise could be all in my head, but then it stopped.
I adjusted myself and tried to return to the rest I had been enjoying, when the phone rang again.
That time, I knew for sure it was neither a dream nor the effects of the alcohol. I eased up onto my elbow, pulled up the sleep mask and snatched the phone from the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Oh, God, Darby, I need you to come over!” she screamed.
“Carla, I can’t deal with this right now. My head is killing me, and I’m tired.”
“Yeah, but, Darby, I’m in a real bind here. My client brought along a friend.”
“And what the hell are you telling me for?”
“Darby, after what went down with that woman, I don’t feel right,” she whined.
“I’m tired and don’t know what to tell you!”
“Darby, this is a good-paying client. We don’t want to lose him. Please, can you come over?”
“Carla, I am not about to screw some stranger because you double booked!” I screamed into the phone.
“Did you hear a word I said? I told you the client brought him. I didn’t double book. Look, either we’re gonna be adults about this, or you’re gonna sit over there and act like some virginal child.”
“Carla, I understand that I’m a part of this business, but I’m a part of the brains behind the operation. I’m not the hired help. I’m not here to fill in at your convenience.”
