Derailed (16 page)

“Sir, the cops are on the way,” the manager announces. 

“This is ridiculous!” I say. “It’s a bloody
key
ring.”

“It’s
over
two hundred dollars, ma’am – he’s going to be arrested.”

Martin stares at me with his jaw hanging.

“I’m calling my husband,” I say, punching at my phone keypad. “My husband is Bradley Murdoch. He will straighten this whole mess out.”

“Bradley, honey?” I say into my phone. “We have a situation. This stupid store has arrested Martin Job for stealing a key ring which – yes, that’s right, darling, Martin Job. They’re arresting him for shoplifting a novelty key ring.” I nod at Martin and continue talking to Bradley. “Yeah, it is crazy. You’re coming over
now
? Thank you, darling. Appreciate it. Love you stacks!” As I hang up, the cops arrive.

“Can you call my wife?” a flustered Martin asks as the cops lead him to their van.

“Sure thing,” I say and hurry to write down his wife’s phone number. “Don’t say a word, Martin! I’ll get Bradley to come over to the police station. Just wait for him, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, looking like an airbag exploded in his face.

I don’t call his wife. Instead I collect the video footage from my cameraman and spend the next few minutes editing the footage. Then in one vengeful second, along with the photo of the errant key ring, I send it to six television stations. Anonymously, of course.

Within thirty minutes, the internet buzzes with news and a video of Martin’s arrest. Pity I had to do this anonymously. I would have gotten heaps of cash for this footage. Ah, but revenge is sweeter than cash. 

My work is not done. With a smug smile, I share the footage on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest and Google Plus, with the caption:
Don’t believe all that you read. I was there and I don’t remember Martin Job saying “I love c**k” when they found the novelty sex item in his pocket. And please refrain from calling him Martin Hand Job or Martin Blow Job. It’s just cruel.

My first Facebook response arrives thirty seconds after my post.

Alana
: Except that we aren’t just reading, Scarlett. We are watching footage of him saying he loves C**k. Twice.

Erica:
Yeah. How do we not believe when he’s saying it?

Sarah:
I didn’t know he was gay.

Erica: Blow Job lol!

Alana:
Isn’t he married?

Rory:
He is married. I’m stunned. Wow.

I don’t respond. But I call Bradley. “Have you seen the news?”

“What news?”

“Martin Job has been arrested for shoplifting a novelty sex item.”

“You kidding me?”

“Nope. I’ll send you the link.”

“Do that.” He hangs up.

Poor Martin Blow Job. He’ll be waiting for his attorney, who’s never going to show up. As for his wife, let’s hope she watches the news so that she will know where her husband is.

Ingenious, aren’t I? I told you, don’t fuck with me.
Warned
you.

Since I hate loose ends, I manage with the help of my daddy to visit Martin in jail that night.

“Bradley, unfortunately, is far too busy to come over, Martin,” I say in a syrupy voice. “I’m so sorry.”

He stares at me, his lips a thin white scar on his portly face. “You did this, didn’t you?”

My hand flies to my chest. “What! Martin, are you crazy?”

He shakes his head slowly. “You set me up. Those cameras, they weren’t there because of a doco; they were specifically there because of
me
. They weren’t even rolling while you talked about the solicitation charges. They only started rolling when we began our goodbyes.”

I blink rapidly at him.

With narrow eyes, he continues. “You waited and waited, bided your time until you found a moment to get back at me. Right?”

I stare at him, dying to nod. But I don’t. I just smile.

“You’re evil, Scarlett. You are vile.”

“You have to take responsibility for our actions, you faggot!”

“I am not a faggot!” he yells, his face puce with fury. “And I kept your secret.”

“What secret?” I grin and make a swiping motion once again. “There is no secret.”

“You bitch! I will get you.”

I give him the finger.

“You whore!”

As I skip out of jail, I smile to myself. Revenge is not sweet, it’s savory. Tastes like bacon actually.  

Oh, and I buried the hatchet, alright. In his fat fucking head.

Chapter Twelve

SCARLETT

I’m furious – Rival is being released from Dunhill. I don’t know what strings Bradley has pulled, but that bitch isn’t going away. I feel like screaming. Because Rival and I are sort of family, her attack on me is considered domestic violence. To my knowledge, I don’t need to press charges; the cops automatically do that. So, it’s quite obvious Bradley has used his influence and power to thwart the legal mechanics here. The power
I
helped him acquire. It infuriates me, and rightfully so.

What the fuck is wrong with Bradley? He left Rival for me, he should remember that. He should remember that I alone can help him realize his dreams, and if he persists in close contact with Rival, he stands to lose everything over her. Anyway, I will just have to work on another plan, and this time, I plan to send her away for good.

In the meantime, Bradley is out of town for the day, so I’m taking the opportunity to move Holly and Phoebe into a private school. It was my daddy’s idea. He said, “You need to rub shoulders with important, influential people to climb the ladder of success. You and Bradley aren’t going to find those kinds of people in public schools.”

My daddy is always right, and since I do want to expedite our route to Kirribilli House, I decide to do as my father suggested. Without telling Bradley, of course. By the time Rival comes out of Dunhill, it will be too late to do anything about it. I expect her to spit the dummy, but who gives a fuck?

Holly is not happy with moving schools, but there too, I don’t give a shit. No snot-nose brat is going to tell me what I must do.

When Bradley returns home from his business trip, as expected, he isn’t happy. “Why did you change the girls’ school?” he demands.

I fill him in on my daddy’s suggestion.

His brows crease, but he doesn’t say anything. I think my daddy’s suggestion makes sense.

“Holly’s not happy, you know,” he says in a pensive voice.

“Well, don’t worry, I’m going to fix that.”

“How?”

I turn and shout, “Holly, Phoebe, come here quick! I have exciting news.”

They’re in front of me in a flash.

“Next Saturday, we’re throwing the biggest party for Holly, and…her
entire
grade is invited!”

The idiots just look at me. 

“After that, everyone will know Holly Murdoch for sure, and she’ll be the belle of the school forever.”

Silence.

I pull out the big guns. “The theme is Disney on Ice, a Winter Wonderland party, and everyone is encouraged to dress like their favorite Disney character.”

Holly’s eyes open wide. “Ice skating?”

“Yes, Holly. My daddy’s garden is going to be converted into a magical winter wonderland with lights and…and fountains and ice fairies and garden fairies and ice palaces and…”

The kids starts to clap and cheer.

I smile. “I’m having an array of Disney princess and magicians, and it’s going to be just spectacular.” I clasp my hands to my breasts.

“I wanna be a fairy!” Holly says, jumping up and down.

“No, I wanna be a fairy,” Phoebe says.

“Relax, children. I thought you both would, so for Holly, I’ve arranged an ice fairy costume that has teeny tiny lights in the skirt that blink!”

“Oh, wow!” Holly says.

“It’s been specially designed for the belle of the ball. No one can outshine you, Holly, because I made sure of that.”

“I loooove that!” Holly says.

“And you, little Phoebe, you’re going to be Tinkerbell on ice. Your skates are going to glow as you move. And your gloves, they’re going to throw off lights each time you move your hands!”

“I want that! I want that! I want that!” Phoebe says, jumping up and down.

“Scarlett,” Bradley the wet blanket whispers. “What’s that gonna cost?”

I give a dismissive wave. “My daddy has graciously offered to pay for everything!”

Bradley’s brows climb. “Your daddy offered to pay for all of
that
?” His voice is sneering.

“Yes, he’s lending us his garden and paying for everything. Just don’t talk about it, ’cause he gets all embarrassed with his generosity.”

Truth is, Norman is paying for it all, but…

I turn to look at Holly. “Now, my little princess, let’s see how many fairies have RSVPed.” We race to the computer. “One hundred and fourteen!”

Holly claps with excitement while I beam.

“Hang on, when is this party?” Bradley asks from behind us.

“Next Saturday,” I say.

“That’s the day Rival is discharged.”

And
?

For appearances’ sake I place my hands on either side of my face,
Home Alone
style.

Bradley shoots me a look of contempt. 

“I didn’t know she was going to be released after just thirty days, Bradley. How would I know? You didn’t tell me. You never tell me
anything
.” My voice is laced with hurt. 

“Daddy, stop it,” Holly whispers to her father, placing herself in front of me in a protective gesture. “You’re being mean as a snake.”

These brats can be darlings sometimes.
Sometimes
.

Bradley’s sneer is tangible. 

“Well, I guess we could cancel the party?” I say, irritated that he can be such a killjoy.

“No, no, no!” Holly cries, looking at me. She spins around to Killjoy. “Daddy, don’t let Scarlett do that. Please, Daddy?”

I look at Holly with big eyes. She just called me Scarlett! What happened to
Mum
? Fickle little bitch.

“Yes, please, Daddy?” Phoebe echoes. “Please?”

Bradley sinks into a chair, a contemplative look on his face. After a while, we get a reluctant nod. “Guess…guess we can work out something.”

What a sad homecoming for Rival. Poor bitch.

RIVAL

Setbacks – I’ve had them in spades recently. One minute I’m flying high, receiving a marriage proposal from the man I love, planning to move into my near-dream home, on the verge of getting back my kids, and then next, I’m being cuffed like a common criminal and thrown into jail.

In spite of the colossal loss I’ve suffered, I try my hardest to stay positive. In spite of my setback, I fight to stave off morbid fantasies that run rampant in my brain –
kill Scarlett.
Slash her throat. Bash her on the head with a candlestick holder, hire a hit-man and take her out for good.
As I said,
morbid
fantasies. How can you blame me for thinking this way?

Most discouraging is that fact (yes, I know that for a fact) that she won’t stop until she sends me away for good, or even kills me.

I still am able to see my kids every day, I remind myself. I have Bradley in my life, who is there for me, in spite of the sword he wields. I have my darling Ritchie, who is my rock and my mainstay in life, who constantly says, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this.” Who waves away his disappointment at us not being able to get on with our lives. Who says nothing about the financial losses he has suffered because of my institutionalization. I love him even more now.

Bear and Arena – I can count on them. Day or night, they’re there for me. I’m blessed to have them in my life. I whip out my gratitude journal and feverishly write in it.

Finally, to my relief, I’m being discharged from Dunhill. Arena fetches me and as we drive, I bleed bitterness. “She’s scheduled Holly’s party on this particular day on purpose,” I complain. “To further alienate me from my children.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. But that’s not what I’m upset about. I’m more upset that she changed schools without my permission. Without the decency of discussing it with me or Bradley. He says he didn’t know about it until it was done. I believe him. He’s always been scornful of private schools.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think it’s guilt that makes him shun private schools.”

She reaches over and pats my hand. “She didn’t succeed, Rival. You’re still here.”

I’m still here. True.

As life returns to normal and I weave back into the children’s lives, I make a point of not talking or interacting with Scarlett. She’s like lightening – nobody knows when and where she’s going to strike.

I make a concerted effort to ignore her prancing around in skimpy attire, cocktail glass in hand, an I-got-you-good-didn’t-I grin on her face.

I look at Scarlett differently these days. No longer is she a crazy seductress with an expansive vocab, an amazing IQ, and an out-of-control libido; I look at her as a sick individual. She’s mentally unstable, dangerous, and should be avoided at all costs.

If someone can cut up her own face, slice up her hand, and spin a yarn that is nothing short of flabbergasting, she has to be ill. I can’t help thinking they’ve put the wrong woman in Dunhill.

The good news is I have successfully managed to obtain another family court date. After my recent spell at Dunhill, the kidnapping charges, and the grievous bodily harm charges levied against me, I doubt the courts will grant me shared custody. But any kind of formal custody that Bradley doesn’t contest will be one step away from shared custody. I will persist till I die.

Since I subscribe to the motto “don’t get mad, get even,” I’ve also decided to quietly publish the sequel to Scarlett’s book. A passive aggressive attempt at revenge for Scarlett’s sheer underhandedness. I do not need the money from the sequel, nor do I need the drama, but knowing how hurt Scarlett will be when she hears about the sequel elevates my spirits. You sent me away for thirty days and made me lose out in so many ways, so I will take more of what is rightfully yours. The sequel will double my money, but no amount of money can compensate for the loss of that court date. I will hold that grudge against her for the rest of my life.