Pretty Revenge (ARC)

by Emily Liebert

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I hope the fabric store is worth it.”

  “I’m sure it will be.”

  I have no idea why my mother is so insistent that I come home now after eighteen years of radio silence. I have no idea why she wants me to see my father before he dies. Or why she thinks I’d want to. Frankly, it’s an insult. I cut out when I was seventeen. When he slapped me across the face and aimed a gun at my chest.

  The thing is, she didn’t give enough of a shit to try and find me until the man who tortured us decided he needed an eleventh-hour farewell. Have I thought about what my father’s death means to me? Sure. Nothing. Just because we’re genetically related does not make him family.

  But, per usual, I bet my mother will forgive his felonies.

  I’m not sure what John would say about me if I were dying. He barely knows me. And the me he does know isn’t the real me anyway. Still, it would probably be a glowing epitaph. He’d use words like charitable and altruistic. After all, we do sprinkle our wealth around, and he wants everyone to know it. John actually sneers at people who donate anonymously. Because, why would someone bother being benevolent without recognition? What a waste of goodwill that would be.

  “How about a little something to hold me over until tomorrow?” John whispered in my ear, calling be back from my reverie. He gripped my arms firmly and turned me toward him before pressing his lips determinedly to mine. Then he negotiated his tongue between my teeth and his hand up my skirt. There’s always an urgency in his approach, especially when he feels marginalized. And once he’s aroused, he must be sated.

  “Is this what you had in mind?” I dropped to my knees, and his eyes widened with lust. He nodded, unbuckling his belt and allowing me to do the rest. Then he moaned like a horny adolescent.

  Every smart woman knows a blow job is much more efficient than sex. And less messy.

  “Oh God yeah . . .oh yeah . . .faster . . .harder. That’s right, baby.” He thrust his hips like a mechanical bull until releasing one last rapturous roar. “That was fucking amazing.” He smiled lasciviously and swaggered into the bathroom to clean himself off.

  “Don’t you forget it,” I called after him, reaching into my purse for a breath mint.

  He didn’t reply.

  So I slipped out quietly. Without saying good-bye.

  Sure, the time will come when I’m fed up with this life. When suffocation will nudge me toward liberation. I’m not there yet. But I know I will be.

  And when that time does come, I’ll finally be able to break free. I’ll finally be able to find peace.

  That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

  24KERRIE

  As first, Sara wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about messing around in Arthur Doonan’s business. That I anticipated. Then, this morning, when I spoke to her on the telephone, she restated that it really didn’t seem like something that would end well for either of us.

  Kerrie would have accepted that. She would have said something like, Sure, I understand. Or, It probably wasn’t a good idea in the first place. That’s what people pleasers do.

  But now that I’m Olivia, my focus has become me. And I’m not prepared to back down that easily, especially when I know I’m on to something.

  Since Jordana is out of the office, I asked Sara to meet me here, so I can help her understand how our objectives coincide. If we can prove that Arthur is guilty, which is the wild card—and it’s a doozy—then both Jordana and John’s names will be disgraced for being affiliated with a criminal, at which point I’ll reveal everything about Jordana’s past to her husband and all her “friends.” John will also be out of a job. Sara, on the other hand, will be fielding lucrative offers left and right. Win-win.

  Of course, if we’re going to be in this together, there’s something she needs to know. I’m aware that revealing myself to anyone is a gamble. It may even be a big mistake. But the only way we’ll be able to operate as a team is if she understands my motives in the same way I understand hers. And anyway, now that I finally have a true friend, I’m going to try not to spoil it.

  A friend. Oddly, the one thing I have that Jordana doesn’t. Who knows? Maybe I would have been Jordana’s friend if our pasts hadn’t collided. If I’d applied for this job without knowing who she was or what she’d done. Day in and day out, it’s a unique challenge to remember that she’s my target, not my comrade. When your mission is to convince someone you hate, to adore and respect you, there are times when fiction and reality become muddled. So I have to remind myself who she is. What she did. And how I need to make her pay.

  “Hey lady!” Sara busted through the front door in skinny jeans, a camo-printed T-shirt, and slides with the Gucci symbol stamped all over them. Her chin-length black hair was blown straight to cup her face, and for a change she appeared to be wearing a decent amount of makeup.

  “Wow, you look awesome.” I stood up and walked toward her.

  “Thanks. I needed a pick-me-up after all that self-pity.” She spread her arms. “No more pit-stained tops. No more rubber flip-flops from Duane Reade, though those fuckers are comfortable. I may be a stay-at-home mom, but I don’t have to look like a bag lady. You get me?”

  “I get you.”

  “This place is nice.” She looked around. “A little sterile for my taste, but nice. You still like it here?”

  “I do.”

  “Ha! Pun intended.”

  “Very funny.” I rolled my eyes.

  “So what’s up? What’s the big secret? I can’t stay long. Dante is with a babysitter and she has to leave in an hour.”

  “Let’s talk over here.” I motioned to the white linen sofa and sat down. In order to lure Sara here, I’d told her that there was something major I had to tell her. Beyond my plan to take down Arthur Doonan.

  “I’m definitely intrigued.” She sat down too, but her eyes were still darting all over the place.

  “I’m not exactly sure how to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it.”

  “Okay.” Sara was finally paying attention.

  “I’m not who you think I am. My name is Kerrie O’Malley, not Olivia Lewis.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Logistically speaking, Olivia Lewis was my mother’s name and it was also the name on my birth certificate. Olivia Kerrie Lewis. But I’ve always gone by Kerrie, and O’Malley was my nana’s last name, which I took after my parents died.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Not exactly. There’s more. A lot.” I explained everything to her, as she nodded and said things like Holy Shit! and No way! And when I was done, there was a prolonged silence—which has never happened in the history of my relationship with Sara. “Say something. You’re making me nervous.”

  “Give me a minute.” She took a breath. “I feel like I should be pissed that you lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I don’t know. What am I gonna do? Never talk to you again?” She shrugged. “Listen, Olivia. Kerrie. We’ve all got our stuff. You think my shit doesn’t stink? I get it. I’d be furious as hell if I was you. I’d want revenge too.” She thought for a second. “And she really hasn’t recognized you?”

  “Not that I know of. I look pretty different than I did when I was twelve. And it has been eighteen years. And she only met me one time.”

  “Wow.” She shook her head. “It’s just like that movie Single White Female. You know, the one where Jennifer Jason Leigh transforms herself into Bridget Fonda and then tries to steal her identity.”

  “Yes, I know that movie. But the difference is, I’m not looking to be Jordana. Believe me.”

  “Fine, maybe it’s more like The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, where that crazy doctor molests Annabella Sciorra a
nd then kills himself. And then his wife becomes Annabella’s nanny so she can seek vengeance.”

  “A little closer, but I’m not a psychopath.” Am I?

  “This is wild.”

  “So you’re really not mad at me?”

  “Nah. I’m not a grudge holder. If I was, Joel and I would have been divorced before we were married.”

  “And now do you see how we share the same goal?”

  “What goal is that?”

  “If we take down Arthur Doonan, Jordana and her husband will be collateral damage. You’ll have your choice of jobs, and I’ll have achieved retribution. I can’t do it without you. I’ve made a little progress on my own, but it’s nothing compared to the impact this could have if we work together.”

  “I’m not going to lie; it’s tempting. It’s just that saying it is one thing. And doing it is another.”

  “Okay then, answer me this: Before Dante was born, where did you used to be at seven o’clock in the morning?”

  “That’s easy. In the office, at my desk.”

  “And where are you now at seven o’clock in the morning?” I’ve heard her say this so many times. Now she needs to listen to her own words. I mean, really listen to them.

  “In my apartment, drenched in projectile vomit, with congealed rice cereal in my hair.”

  “Right. And there are days that . . .”

  “I don’t talk to anyone except the cashier at CVS, where I go to buy children’s gas medicine, not mascara.”

  “And why don’t you buy mascara?”

  “Because I don’t wear mascara anymore!” I could tell I was riling her.

  “Exactly! And why is that?”

  “Because I DON’T HAVE A JOB!” She jumped to her feet. “You’re right. You’re so fucking right. I’ve spent the last six months practically begging people to hire me. People who, by the way, used to rank below me. And I have no one left to call. Clearly, my approach has failed.”

  “So then maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try a new approach? What’s the worst thing that could happen.”

  “Well, lots of awful things could happen.” She fell back onto the couch. “It could blow up in our faces. Like a massive explosion.”

  “Okay, but—” I sensed one coming.

  “But, let’s just say I agreed to this insanity.” She paused before continuing. “And that you do have access to Arthur. It’s not as if he’s going to turn over his private files to you just like that. Didn’t you say you haven’t even met him?”

  “True, but didn’t you say you were a rock-star journalist?”

  “Hell yeah. And I still have a few solid connections.”

  “Perfect. I’m thinking that while you start looking into Arthur, I can try to glean information from William, and maybe even Tatiana.”

  “That makes sense.” Her eyes were dogged. “You’d have to probe gently, though. Make it seem off-the-cuff, like you’re just casually interested. I’d leave Jordana and Ethel out of it for the time being. They’ll be too suspicious. And given what you just confessed, you don’t want Jordana to think there’s anything unsavory going on.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I’m not going to lie, ruining Arthur Doonan would be a huge professional coup for me. I’d finally prove to all those assholes who’ve been rejecting me that I’ve still got what it takes to be a contender.”

  “Okay, Marlon Brando.” I laughed, giddy with the impression that I was winning her over.

  “Every single major newspaper in this country would offer me a job that I actually want,” she added.

  “Yup,” I agreed.

  “And all of this would stay between us,” Sara confirmed.

  “All of this would stay between us,” I repeated

  “Pinky swear.” She extended her hand toward me.

  “Really?” I haven’t done a pinky swear since I was ten.

  “Really.” We linked fingers. “I’ll see you tonight at your place, as soon as Joel gets home. God, can you imagine if this actually worked?”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.”

  * * *

  Once Sara had gone, I returned to my desk and tried not to think about our new partnership in crime. There are still other weddings that need managing, and Jordana informed me that she’s planning to take on more once William and Tatiana have sealed the deal.

  My first order of business was to confirm that the bridesmaids’ dresses for Lucy Noble and the groomsmen’s tuxedos for Donald Cooper will arrive on time. Then I had to verify that their aerial photographer will be able to fly over her parents’ estate in Amagansett at the precise time of their ceremony, which was no easy task, given all the FAA regulations in place. And finally, I had to secure a two-million-dollar diamond-and-ruby necklace that Fred Leighton is lending Lucy to go with her grandmother’s ruby earrings. Two-million-dollars! Since Donald’s father owns three professional sports teams and Lucy’s sister is married to one of the Kennedys, their photos will be broadcast across various TV stations and featured in any number of national magazines and newspapers, so it’s an obvious publicity opportunity for Fred. Fortunately, I was informed that the necklace is waiting for Lucy in the vault and will be polished to perfection before being delivered to her parents’ home the morning of the wedding. Naturally, there will be a security guard present until the last guest has departed, at which time the necklace will be returned.

  After I’d locked down those tasks and a few others for Lucy and Donald, I turned my attention to Alexa Griffin and Grey Wilder. Alexa has been calling every day. Her anxiety seems to intensify with each minute that the wedding grows closer. So I thought, instead of waiting for her to be in touch, what if I reached out to her? If nothing else, Jordana will appreciate my proactivity. I picked up the phone and dialed her cell number.

  “Jordana? What’s wrong?” She answered before it rang, breathless.

  “Hi, Alexa. It’s Olivia. And nothing is wrong. Nothing at all,” I reassured.

  “Oh, okay. That’s a relief. I was worried when I saw your number.” She didn’t sound relieved.

  “I just wanted to give you a ring to check in. You know, make sure you’re feeling good about everything.”

  “Is there something not to feel good about?” She was breathing heavily.

  “Not a single thing, everything is on track.” Except Adam Levine and Lady Gaga. Though I imagine life will go on without them. Somehow. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. I’m on the treadmill. Six miles down, two to go.”

  “That’s impressive. Good for you.”

  “Well, I can’t very well look like a heifer in my gown. I’ve been eating like food is going out of style lately. It’s like I can’t stop myself. Last night I ate pasta. I mean, it was gluten-free, obviously.” Obviously.

  “You look amazing.” Alexa can’t be more than a size four.

  “In clothing, maybe. But you haven’t seen me naked. I have cellulite on my outer thighs. It’s a nightmare. I’m going to the dermatologist next week to see what she can do about it.”

  “Believe me, I wish I looked like you,” I said, even though it wasn’t strictly true. Alexa does have a nice figure, but her facial features are a little severe for my taste.

  “That’s so nice, Olivia. And thank you for checking in. Jordana never does that.”

  “She’s crazy busy. That’s what I’m here for. Although I assure you, Jordana is doing whatever it takes to make sure your wedding is flawless,” I added. It’s one thing to do something proactive. But it would be a very different thing if, in doing so, I shed a negative light on Jordana.

  “That’s nice to hear,” she panted.

  “Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to your workout. I’m here if you need anything.” I chose not to mention that Jordana was out of town.

&nbs
p; “Thanks, Olivia. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Sure thing.” We hung up and I smiled to myself. Alexa isn’t so bad after all. She’s just a normal girl, like the rest of us. Fine, a normal girl with a shitload of money. But still, she’s got problems and insecurities, even if they are nitpicky. Either way, they’re her problems and her insecurities. And it’s my job to alleviate them. Which I actually have a knack for.

  As it turns out, revenge or not, I’m great at what I do. And I really love it.

  Imagine that.

  25JORDANA

  Just as I was about to turn onto my old street, Cherry Creek Lane, my body began to rebel. My skin prickled. My hands shivered. My vision clouded. And my chest constricted, strangling my determination to accelerate. I pulled the car over to the side of the road to collect myself. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and focused on catching my breath, but each gasp was so elusive I could only hold on to it for a second.

  I questioned whether I was as strong as Cathy said I was. And whether I could face my past after all. I felt shriveled and hollow like a raisin in the sun. Fear, plain and simple, that’s what it was. And it had sidled up beside me vigilantly, careful not to alert me before it was too late.

  I sucked in a mouthful of air and sat up straight. I rolled my neck to ease the pressure that had burrowed at the tip my spine. That’s when I saw it. Right there on the corner of Cherry Creek Lane and Honey Hollow Road, where it had always been. Her house. The girl who saved me.

  Kerrie O’Malley. That was her name. She was only twelve years old at the time. A baby mouse. Soft and fuzzy. Squeaky and innocent. Meek. Except that she was smart. And intelligence should never be underestimated. For me, though, she was a liberator. She had no idea what she was getting herself into when she opened her door to me that night. Neither did I. But I had no other choice.

  I am ashamed. I am unworthy of forgiveness. Just like my father.

  I do wonder what happened to Kerrie. What damage I did.

  Once I’d quieted my anxiety, I shifted the car back into drive and curved around the side of Kerrie’s house until I reached number nine, which looked bizarrely the same, though much less slovenly, at least from the outside. The house had been repainted a gleaming white to match the others on the street, and the lawn was no longer patchy and overgrown with weeds. The gravestones of our former cats had been removed, as had the rickety old shed. And there was now a small bird bath with a fountain in its place.