by Candy Caine
* * *
Carla stared at the ceiling. She knew she should be happy that Martin finally wanted children, but she wasn’t certain if it would be enough to fill the feeling of emptiness that had engulfed her, keeping her awake.
Hadn’t she desired having a child above all else? Now she wasn’t so sure. The elation was gone. She felt deflated like an old tire. Having a child was not a solution. It was not the fairy dust necessary to save her marriage.
A child might only preoccupy her, while Martin was free to continue to do his own thing. And she knew what that thing was. Would she ever really know whether or not he stopped seeing his bimbo or bimbos? Could she ever truly trust him again? Though she wanted to with all her heart, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to. She thought she still loved him, though sometimes it felt different. It was as if she were looking at him through different eyes.
And why did thoughts of Richard continually pop into her mind?
One thing she did know for certain. Things that she’d once cared about so ardently were becoming less important. Why couldn’t she rewrite her life as easily as she could one of her kids’ books?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Heather’s cell phone rang as she entered the house. She’d gone back to some of her mother’s old haunts looking for “Big” Phil and found out he was out of town most likely committing a felony. Just going back there made her feel dirty. What she now needed was a long hot bath to wash away the dirty feeling.
“Ciao, my sweet.” Hearing Salvatore’s voice immediately made her feel better.
“Hello, Salvatore,” she purred.
“Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“Not possible, darling.” Heather knew those words would make him simmer and practically felt the heat through the phone.
“Will you be here soon?” he inquired.
“Sooner than you think. I’m working on it.”
“My arms are empty and my heart is aching for you.”
“When I get there I promise to make it up to you.”
“And I intend to hold you to that promise, inamorata.”
They bantered back and forth for a few more minutes before they said goodbye. Starry eyed, Heather dropped the phone into her bag. She had twisted the truth only a trifle. When “Big” Phil returned in a few days, she’d ask for his help. There was no way that he’d turn his “baby girl” down—especially for the right price.
Heather poured herself a glass of wine before going upstairs to start her bath. Tossing her bag on her bed, she didn’t notice her phone slip out and fall to the carpeting. As the bath filled, she undressed, her mind on the conversation she’d just had with Salvatore.
When the tub was full, she closed the taps and tested the water with a manicured hand before slowly lowering herself into the tub. When she was comfortably settled, she reached for the glass of pale rose-colored wine and took a sip. Savoring the sweet liquid on her tongue she thought back to the evening Salvatore had introduced her to the wine.
He’d taken her back to his apartment in Rome, a cozy little flat that had a view of the St. Regis Hotel. Heather stood at the window and looked at the hotel. She would stay there one day, she had mused.
Dropping her purse on a small table, she sat down on the small brocade sofa. Salvatore took a bottle of wine from the bucket of ice on the table and poured two glasses.
“I figured you’d enjoy this Chianti,” he said handing her the glass.
Salvatore had been right. She did like the wine. But it was his slow, warm kisses that drugged her. As his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth, she gave herself freely to the passion that was building inside her.
Now years later, as she closed her eyes, she nearly felt those sensual lips on hers once again as she began to play with her tight nipples and stroke her clit. Pleasuring herself, she made believe Salvatore was there with her.
* * *
Hemmings came home early in a good mood. Expansion plans for the new dealership were going well and he wanted to take Heather out to an expensive restaurant to celebrate. He had also picked up the diamond necklace she’d been hinting about for the past two weeks. After dropping his brief case and draping his suit jacket across a chair, he called to Heather. However, the only response he got was a lukewarm string of barks from Lovey, who was apparently upstairs.
“Shut up, stupid mutt!” he muttered, feeling his good mood evaporate. He called to Heather again, but got only yaps in reply. By the time he went in search of her, his mood had soured. Lovey met him at the top of the stairs and he followed her back to the bedroom. The dog hopped onto the bed and continued to gnaw at a toy bone as she kept one eye on Hemmings.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Dumb mutt.” The bathroom door was closed. Her highness must be soaking in a bath, he mused. Then he noticed her cell phone lying on the floor. Curiosity and his innate paranoia caused him to pick it up and scroll through her calls. Of course the showroom’s number appeared numerous times, but that was to be expected. Nonetheless, one particular number popped up with an area code he didn’t recognize and that intrigued him. Hemmings took out his cell phone and keyed the number in. It was answered on the second ring. “Ciao, questo e il Salvatore,” a deep voice said.
Hemmings disconnected the call. He was livid. So she was getting calls from an Italian. The private investigator had to have been a dumb ass, because Heather had found a way to outfox him with her “I tie”. And she’d nearly pulled the wool over his eyes. Ah, but she got snagged. Like he always said, “No one ever gets the better of Orson Hemmings—and gets the chance to boast about it. No one.” He was seething.
Just as he was about to put her phone down, it began to ring. He quickly put the phone under a pillow to muffle the ring, but not before he read the caller ID. It had said Phil Rubino. Hemmings wondered why the name seemed so familiar to him, but he was too enraged to think. The guy had left her a text message. Curiosity and anger compelled Hemmings to read it. What it said nearly drove his blood pressure through the roof.
“Hey, baby girl, I’m back in town. Heard you were looking for me. Call me, Phil.”
Another one? Orson stormed out of the bedroom and went into his office to call his lawyer. Furiously, he scanned his list of telephone numbers looking for his lawyer’s. Just as he was about to hit the send button, he paused.
He remembered.
Just after they were married, Heather had pointed to the picture of some guy named Phil in the newspaper. It had been linked to an article about the investigation of a mob boss murdered in Vegas and this Phil had been under suspicion for the killing. The guy was a hit man for chrissakes! And he used to date Heather’s mother. Reality hit Hemmings like a semi. There was only one reason she was in contact with someone like Phil Rubino now.
Okay, he’d fight fire with fire. Why spend the big bucks to divorce the bitch? Besides. it would be difficult to prove she’d been cheating on him especially after a paid PI had already given her a clean slate. A smile appeared on Hemmings’ face. He’d do onto her what she’d intended to do onto him.
Hemmings unlocked the top drawer on the left of his desk. Underneath a sheaf of papers sat a small, black, leather-bound address book. He removed it and leafed through the pages until he came to the name Louis Taglione, better known as “Grinning” Louie.
Actually Louie was his ex-wife’s first cousin. Good ole “Grinning” Louie, had a mouthful of perfect choppers. Always smiling, his leering grin was the last thing his victims saw before he blew them away. Louie was a hit man who performed his job well and also took great enjoyment from it.
Hemmings had bonded with him early during his first marriage by supplying Louie and some of his pals with wheels way below cost. He also helped some of Louie’s lowlife friends get jobs when they got out of prison. They remained in contact despite Hemmings’ divorce. Louie always said to come to him whenever Hemmings needed a special job done.
It was time to call in his favor.
/> * * *
When Heather emerged from the bathtub, she saw her phone lying on the floor and picked it up. She remembered she’d forgotten to erase the call from Salvatore and did so immediately. A smile popped on her face when she saw that Phil had texted her.
She erased his text and called him back. They struck a deal for the following week as he was unavailable till then. She would have given him whatever he asked for wanted it done right. There was no room for mistakes. She wanted a rosy future in Salvatore’s bed, not some lesbo’s in prison.
After dressing in hot pink designer sweats, she went downstairs. She couldn’t mask the surprise on her face when she found Orson in the den slouched in a chair sipping a drink. However, knowing that Phil would be erasing him from her life, she smiled.
“You’re home early. Had I known, I wouldn’t have dallied in the bath so long.”
“It’s okay. I put the time to good use,” Orson said, smiling.
“I’ll call out for dinner. What would you like?”
He shrugged. “Anything you choose, my dear, will be fine.”
She went to retrieve her stack of menus she kept in a kitchen drawer by the phone. Hemmings set down his drink and followed her. Heather grabbed a stack of menus and was sorting through them when Hemmings came up close behind her. He could smell the sweet scent of her body wash, which he now found cloying. He wanted to wrap his hands around her small neck and squeeze the life out of her. Instead, he steeled himself by the thought that Louie would take care of the problem soon enough and clasped the diamond choker around her neck.
“You were listening!” Heather’s hands flew to her neck and she squealed with joy as she ran to check out her new bauble in the hall mirror.
“I’m glad you like it, my dear,” Hemmings called to her.
“I love it!”
Under his breath, Orson said, “Enjoy it while you can. Too bad you’ll never expect my real gift or see it coming.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hemmings smiled as he strode over to Jessie Thompson’s desk the next day looking as dapper as ever dressed in a new, double-breasted, charcoal-gray, three-piece suit. Knowing that Heather would soon be history, he felt a spiritual renewal.
He also stayed focused on the task at hand and knew he had to lay the groundwork for his alibi. When the police discovered Heather’s corpse, he wanted all the pieces to firmly fit in place. After all, in most domestic murders, the spouse is the most likely suspect. He had no desire to throw away his life because of something he’d overlooked. Heather’s sendoff would be flawless.
Louie had been told that Heather would be alone in the house. He didn’t even have to break in. Ring the bell and send the bitch to hell. When Louie had asked if he should wait around in case she wasn’t home, Hemmings assured him she’d be there waiting for a fabricated special delivery—diamond earrings to match the diamond necklace he’d just given her.
“Jessie, I have to go out of town this weekend to attend the auto show in Vegas. I’ll be leaving tonight.”
Hemmings thought it a good omen that the annual unveiling of the new car models was being held this weekend. It gave him the greatest alibi. Hundreds of people would see him there. And Louie could work his charm while Hemmings was out of town.
She nodded. “How long will you be gone?”
“I should be back late Sunday night.”
Repressing a smile, Jessie nodded again. When Orson walked out, Jessie sighed in relief. Now she had ample time to speak to Heather and ask for the money. Hopefully, her old friend would return the favor Jessie had done for her when she warned her about Haywood.
* * *
Carla had finally reached her weight-loss goal and was ready to deal with the final change—namely her hair. She was now the same weight she’d been when she and Martin had tied the knot. She looked good and felt the best she had in years. It was all systems go to read Martin the riot act about his philandering and take back her marriage.
Now that Martin had agreed to children, she should have been thrilled, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t worried about herself being a good mother. What scared her was the fact she wasn’t certain what type of father he’d be. Her own father had been a workaholic and she hardly knew him before he died. A massive stroke left her mother a widow at 45. It had been rough for the both of them and her mother had been devastated emotionally. Then again, Carla assumed her father had been faithful to her mother.
There was also another little thing on her mind that was like a tickle one couldn’t quite reach to scratch. She was no longer certain that she wanted to have Martin’s children. Whenever she thought about cuddling a baby to her breast the face she envisioned smiling at them was Richard’s and not Martin’s. She was no psychologist, but she didn’t think thoughts like that boded well for her future relationship with Martin. Perhaps she was getting such ideas because she missed Richard’s friendship. However, if she was honest with herself, she knew it was more. Now that she was poised to sock it to Martin about his infidelity, she wasn’t sure of her own feelings.
Chapter Thirty
Carla had taken Lynne’s suggestion to become a blonde. After 35 years of being a brunette, perhaps the change would do her good. She wondered if Martin would like it. Maybe her competition was a blonde, too. To hell with all these crazy thoughts. Will I like it? was the only thing she should be concerned with.
The moment of truth had arrived. The dye had been washed out and she was now sitting in the chair at Raoul’s station at the upscale hairdressing establishment called “Curls by Raoul”. It was hard to tell the color while her hair was wet. She watched as he began to blow it out.
Finally, Raoul asked, “What do you think, Carla?”
She looked in the mirror at her reflection. “It’s…different.”
“But, do you like it?” he asked.
She noted a hint of worry on his affable features. “I think so, but…do you have any idea who that strange woman in the mirror is?”
Raoul gave a hearty laugh. “That’s you, babe and you’re beautiful,” he said as he held her head steady.
From that moment on to the time she walked out, Carla kept stealing glances in the mirror. It was a shock to see the face she normally saw surrounded by thick, wavy blond tresses streaked with highlights, shimmying in the fluorescent lighting instead of dull brown hair. She wasn’t quite certain how she felt about it and had to get used to it herself, let alone attempt to guess Martin’s response. Since she had some time to kill before going home, she drove by Lynne’s office hoping she was there.
* * *
Carla found her friend behind her desk on the phone and walked toward her. Lynne held up a finger and wrote something down on a pad. A second later, her eyes snapped back up. Obviously, Lynne hadn’t recognized her at first, but when recognition set in, a huge smile appeared on her face and she stuck up her thumb in a good job gesture, and she quickly ended her call.
“Hello, girlfriend! You look—”
“Like a stranger,” Carla said quickly.
“Yeah, but a beautiful one. The color is perfect.”
“Just like you,” Carla said coming around to hug her friend. “How do you know these things?”
Lynne looked up at Carla. There were tears welling in her almond-shaped eyes. “I only want you to be happy, kiddo.”
“I know.”
There was so much Lynne wanted to say, but didn’t. She was hoping that Carla had made all those changes for herself and not Martin, whom Lynne felt didn’t deserve her. When Carla had first introduced him to her, she disliked him instantly. The vibes he’d given her weren’t good; however, knowing Carla was crazy about him, she’d held her tongue. Lynne never trusted him and wasn’t surprised to learn he’d been unfaithful.
Had Martin been her husband, he’d be singing the higher notes in the choir. Therefore, when it came to counseling Carla on Martin, Lynne was forced to walk a tightrope. Yet, there was still hope.
Now that
Carla had remade herself even better than before, she’d hoped she’d give Martin his marching papers and end up with Richard. She would have had to be dense not to see how Carla’s face blossomed with happiness whenever she was with Richard. And, if she were correct in reading his body language, he cringed whenever Carla spoke about Martin.
Poor guy was probably in love with Carla. There were so many times that Lynne had wanted to tell Carla her suspicions about Richard’s feelings. But if she even hinted at it Carla would shrug it off as nonsense?
One time Carla came right out and pooh-poohed the thought of she and Richard having feelings for one another. Called it friendship. Only Lynne had never been certain it was merely that. Now with Richard out of the picture Carla seemed so sad.
“Martin will love it. Damn! Any guy would love it.” Lynne smiled.
“Thanks, Lynne. Thanks for everything,” Carla said, but it sounded more melancholy than happy. “Got to run.”
“Good luck, tonight.”
Carla pursed her lips and nodded.
I hope you’re doing the right thing, Lynne thought.
* * *
As Carla sat in front of her mirror applying the final touches of her makeup, she sipped a glass of wine to help her mellow out. It wasn’t just trying to get used to her new look that made her ill-at-ease. There was an unexpected underlying current of uncertainty spreading through her.
She couldn’t understand why this was happening now. After all, hadn’t she striven for this moment? She intended to proclaim her love for her husband and have him do likewise. So, what was wrong? Why did she suddenly have cold feet? She took a big sip from her glass.
A conversation she’d had with Lynne, a while back, popped into mind. They were having lunch and Lynne brought up her relationship with Richard.
