Derailed (32 page)

She smiles. “You wanna learn how to make them?” 

“Eh…” Maxine and I have history – she has repeatedly and openly hit on me in the past. Plus, she’s married. I look pointedly at her left hand.

“I’m separated,” she says. “Been single for about a year now.”

“Oh, really?”

“Come over to my house on Friday night, and I’ll show you how to bake them.”

“Friday? Night?”

Slowly, she sucks on a finger and nods.

Whoa! I study her for a few moments. Fortyish Maxine is a looker alright. Egyptian mother, English father, so she’s got a great tan. Her dark hair hangs past her shoulders, her honey-colored eyes are large and bright, and she has legs that should never ever be covered.  

“I’ve got a few people coming around, so join us.”

Maybe if I can learn how to make pies, Girly will quit her bitching about not having them.

“What can I bring?” I ask.

For a few seconds she slowly brushes off bits of crackers from her bare thigh, drawing my eyes to it. Then with a shrug she says, “Vino.”

“Sure.” I look forward to Friday night and Maxine’s dinner party. Anything to stop me thinking about Rival.

Friday night, I am the first to arrive at Maxine’s house, which is stylish and beautifully decorated with lots of antique pieces.

“Your house is great, Maxine.” 

“Yeah. My ex was stinkin’ rich,” she explains as she pours me a glass of red. “That’s why I married him. He’s an ugly ol’ fart, so I believed I could put him in the bank and sleep with his money. Didn’t work out that way. He discovered Viagra, and the fucker chased me around the house with a hard-on the size of an English cucumber. It was sheer torture living with him.”

I laugh.

“He would go for hours and hours, until I feared I would combust from the friction of his cucumber.”

Maxine is a great hostess. Not only does she keep me amused, she keeps the drinks flowing.

“Your guests are unfashionably late,” I say, looking at my wrist watch.

Her response is to top up my glass. Luckily I plan to take a cab home, so I don’t have to worry about drinking and driving. Two bottles of wine later, and Maxine hasn’t brought up the pies. I’m too plastered to bother with baking them. If Girly likes them that much, I’ll send her to Uluru. 

This is great escapism. I hardly ever think of Rival when I’m with Maxine. Hardly.

“Where are your guests?” I ask again. 

“Oh, they…they said…they are running late.” She hands me a plate of strawberries and chocolate.

“Wow, Maxine, you’ve got a lot of aphrodisiacs here.”

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah, these
are
aphrodisiacs, trust me.”

She smiles sweetly. “I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t say I don’t teach you anything.”

She laughs and leans in. “Hey, you know what, I have a red room.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s nice.”

“Wanna see it?”

“Sure.”

She jumps to her feet, grabs my hand, and leads me to see her red room.

“That’s quite a strong color to paint a room,” I slur.

“What?” She turns to squint at me, her hand on the doorknob.

“This chick I dated, she used pastel shades throughout the house.”

Maxine opens the door.

“Said something about a
restful
environ – holy cow!” My jaw drops. “What’s with all these torture instruments, Maxine?”

“Better than Christian Grey’s right?”

“Who?”

“Christian Grey. From the movie?”

“What…movie?”

“
Fifty Shades of Grey
? Did you see –”

“Oh, that one. No, I didn’t see it.”

She jerks back. “Seriously?”

“Didn’t get around to it. We saw
American Sniper
instead.”

She actually looks disappointed.

Sorry.

She takes a pair of handcuffs from the table, and with a coy smile says, “Cuff me. Do you know how to?”

“Pfft! Of course. Used to be SWAT.”

Her eyes bulge. “That is such a turn on. Do you still have your cop gear?”

I shrug and slap the handcuffs on her. “Yeah, packed away somewhere.”

“I’d love for you to wear it sometime. Just for fun.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You wanna strip search me?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” I say with a laugh. “That would be inappropriate.”

“Mm.” She hands me a feathery whip, turns around and leans her torso over a table. “Go on,” she says.

I look at the whip in my hand. “What?”

“Whip me.”

“No!”

“Whip me,” She sticks out her arse and wriggles it in the air.

“No.”

She spins around to look at me. “Go on, hit me, Ritchie!”

“No, Maxine. I don’t hit women. And you shouldn’t accept that ei—”

“Go on, Ritchie, hit me. I
like
it.” Her eyes are bright and slightly crazed. Suddenly the wine starts to wear away. I throw down the whip and start to back away. “I can’t assault a woman, Maxine. I’m sorry. And all this…these
instruments
– they’re fucking freaking me out.”

“Don’t be such a wuss!” she says. “
Everyone’s
doing it.”

“
Everyone
?”

“Yeah. How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it? C’mon, you hit me and I will hit you.”

“To violence against women, Australia says no, Maxine. Did you see the advert?”

“Live a little, Ritchie. Don’t be such a pussy.”

I scratch my head. “Pussy?”

“C’mon. It’ll turn me on. Do it.”

Such peer pressure.

“The code word is,
Give me more, bitch
.”

“Code word?”

“Yeah, when things get too much, you say
give me more, bitch
, and I will stop whatever I’m doing.”

“Ah, long-tail code words then?”

“Yeah.”

Gingerly, like the wuss I am, I pick up the whip and gently tap her butt with it. “Sorry.”

“Harder.”

“O…kay.” I hit her a tad harder.

“Harder!”

“Jeeze, Maxine!” I hit her hard.

“Harder, Ritchie, harder!”

Under immense pressure, I hit her a few times. Each time I do, I flinch.

“More, more!”

“Fuck, Maxine, your arse is gone red. I think I should stop.”

“I don’t care. Hit me!”

Reluctantly, I hit her again. 

After what seems like an eternity, she jumps up and thrusts her cuffed wrists at me. “Your turn.”

“Nooo thanks.”

“Your TURN!”

“Okay!” I uncuff her hands. “Jeeze, Maxine.” 

She slips the cuffs onto my wrists, spins me around, and pushes me onto the bed. Not the table, the bed!

Although I’m hesitant about all this shit, I think to my wuss self, how hard can she hit me with a feather whip?

She rolls me onto my stomach, spreads my legs and slaps more cuffs to my ankles.

“Hey, not my legs pl –”

“Shaddup!” she hisses, sticking her face into mine.

I’m in prone position with all my limbs chained. Now I’m scared of her.
Really
scared.
Relax, it’s a feather whip,
I tell myself. As she said, I ought to live a little.

Maxine reaches around, undoes my fly, and strokes my dick.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I say. “That’s not part of the plan.”

She ignores me, squeezes my nuts, and finally yanks down my jeans, exposing my arse.

Open mind, open mind, open mind!
I brace myself for the gentle swish of the whip.

I hear a swish, but it isn’t from a feather whip. It’s from a thick leather strap. She slams it against my arse. I cry out like a girl. In spite of the copious amounts of wine I consumed, the pain is intense.

Time for the long-tail code words. “Okay, okay. Give. Me. More!”

She slams the strap against my arse. “You like being dominated, right? Big tough guy, huh?”

“No, no, I’m not that tough. Seriously.”

The strap crashes against my arse once again. 

“Stop!” I cry. “Give me more! Give. Me. More!”

“Ooooh, I like it when you beg for it.”

“No, no, no, Maxine, it fucking hurts. Stop.”

“
American Sniper
, huh? I’ll teach you and your delicate arse.” Crash! She continues abusing me. Fuck this code word shit, I’m pulling out the big guns. “I’m gonna report this to the cops, Maxine.” 

“Oh yeah?” she says as she circles me, her eyes glazed, her breath labored. “You gonna run to the cops like a little pussy, huh? Well, I’ll teach you.” There is a loaded silence before something with teeth crashes into my butt again and again. The pain is searing.

Finally, she stops and unchains me. Furious, and feeling terribly violated, I stagger to my feet.

“Did you come, darling?” she asks in a sweet voice.

I don’t answer, I’m in too much pain. And…I’m mad as hell.

“Sorry,” she says. “But hey, I came.”

I glare at her.
Are you serious?

With my lips pursed, I attempt to pull on my jeans. But the denim is way too abrasive on my raised welts. I look at my arse in the mirror and cringe – it’s worse than I thought. About fifteen angry welts mark my butt. I had planned to take a cab home, but without pants? What will the cab driver think? Not in the mood for a public indecency charge, I call Bear for a lift home.

“Be there in five,” Bear says.

“Is your butt that sore, sweetheart?” Maxine asks as I lie on my stomach in her lounge, waiting for my ride.

I glare at her.

She wriggles her mouth and leaves the room. When she returns, it is with a pair of pink shorts with hearts on them. “My maternity pajama pants,” she says as she hands them over to me.

Pink
shorts. But it’s better than walking around with no underwear, so I snatch them out of her hands and draw them on.

“Oh, they look so…
nice
on you,” she gushes in a sweet voice, hands clasped under her chin.

“Shaddup, Maxine. And don’t you mention this to anyone, understand?”

“Oh, no, no, no.”  Her fingers zip across her lip as she winks at me. 

“And why didn’t you stop when I used the code words?” I demand.

“You didn’t.”

“I did. I said give me more!”

“You’re supposed to say,
give me more, bitch
!”

I blink rapidly. “You fucked the shit out of me because I failed to use the word ‘bitch?’”

She lifts and drops her shoulders. “Sorry, rules are rules. It’s in the contract.”

“Contract? What contract?”

She smiles.

“I think you set me up, Maxine.”

She laughs.

“You had no dinner guests, you didn’t plan to –”

She laughs harder.

“It’s so not funny, Maxine.”

When Bear finally arrives, without saying goodbye, I crawl into the back seat of his Merc and lie on my stomach.

“Bye Ritchie,” Maxine shouts from her doorway. “Sorry again, darlin’.” The crazy bitch waves like we’re great buddies.

Bear turns and frowns at the sight of the pink shorts and at me lying on my stomach. “This a fancy dress party or something?”

“Don’t ask,” I say. “Just drive. Quick. Let’s just get the fuck out of here. This bitch is loco.”

Bear’s eyes dart to Maxine, then to my shorts, before he speeds off.

At home, Bear persists, and eventually, as I lie on my stomach on my couch, with ice packs on my arse, I tell him. I expect sympathy. Sadly, all I get is roaring, head-thrown-back laughter.

“Fuck, Bear, it’s not funny, seriously. I feel violated. Did you see
Fifty Shades of Grey?
”

He shakes his head. “We went to see
American Sniper
instead.”

“That’s exactly what happened with Rival and me.”

He wipes tears from his eyes and falls silent. For about ten seconds. Then he roars with laughter again. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don’t tell a soul, okay? Not even Arena.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he says with a gleam in his eye.

The next morning, Arena and Bear visit, both with eyes shining with mirth.

“You told her, you fucking dog!” I say to Bear.

“I couldn’t keep it in, bro,” he says. “’Sides, we have no secrets from each other.” He looks at my sister. “Right?”

She nods. Then they both double up with laughter.

“Aw, you guys are terrible,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air with exasperation.

For the next couple of days, every time they see me, they hold their sides and fall around laughing.

Chapter Twenty-Three

RIVAL

It’s now two weeks since Ritchie’s return to Sydney and still not a word from him. Perhaps he ate, prayed, and loved, and managed to get his clarity after all – lose Rival and life will be easier. For
everyone
. My smile is bitter, because it’s hard not to be bitter. After all, I’m being accused of sleeping with Bradley when I’m not. But life drags on, and I try to keep my spirits up. 

It’s Friday night, and Bradley and Scarlett are seated at the dining table with a team of men and women coaching them.

“They’re making a big deal over nothing,” Scarlett says. “It’s not real fur, you know.”

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Murdoch, animal activists insist that it is.”

“Fuck them! I should be able to wear what I want to,” Scarlett says in an angry voice.

I decide to take my kids out of the house. “Let’s go to the mall and buy stuff to bake cupcakes,” I say. “You can choose the toppings.”

“I want Freddo Frogs on mine,” Phoebe says.

“I want sprinkles and butterflies on mine,” Holly says. “And gold coins on the top!” She jumps up and down. “Can I have both? All? Mum?”

Before I can answer, she turns to Bradley. “Dad?”

“Honey, you can have whatever you want,” Bradley says.

Holly swings to look at me.
See
?

I nod. “Sure, but
whatever you want
can cost a lot of money, Holly.” 

“Oh, Mum, that’s not a problem. All you have to do is put your card in the machine and it will spit out money.”

All the adults in the room smile.