Dishonor Thy Wife (18 page)

JAYDEN

Damn! Vanessa’s pink Porsche was parked in my driveway.

“Vanessa!” I hollered and slammed the front door.

She ran from the back of the house and gave me a sulky look.
She sported a black eye. “Oh, there you are Jayden,” she said in a peek-a-boo
voice. “You’re late again. I told you to call me if you can’t get home on time.”

Be patient. She is not very bright. She does not take a
hint graciously, like WE ARE NOT MARRIED! She is a rich spoiled brat whose
daddy is a big shot politician in town who never told his little girl no.
Vanessa thinks she can have anything she wants, including me.

I poured a whiskey on the rocks, sorely needing a drink. I
was in no mood to deal with Vanessa Rathburn and her pawing, or crying.

She stroked the couch, purring, as if this was her den, her
house.

I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and it slipped through my
fingers, crashing to the floor. My mouth dropped open at a marriage certificate.
The
signature
on the marriage certificate resembled mine. Brad swore he
never signed the certificate; therefore, the marriage was not legal!

I clutched the whiskey glass in my hand and the glass
shattered, cutting my palm, dripping blood through my fingers, staining the
white carpet. A life with Vanessa would be hellish with her forever singing her
little ditties, ordering me what clothes to wear.

“You know, you should cut your hair like Elvis.” She smiled
slyly and giggled. “I made you an appointment with my stylist, Jayden.
Surprise!”

“No. No. No. No!” I dropped my face in my hands. I had to
get out of here and not breathe the same oxygen. The house was not big enough
for the two of us.

I scurried to the bedroom and Vanessa followed. She was
breathing down my back.

I skidded to a halt. What in hell happened to my bedroom? Vanessa
painted the walls lavender, filling the room with flowers and teddy bears of
all colors. Two heart-shaped pillows were on the bed. The white heart had the
name
Vanessa
stitched on it. The red heart had the name
Jayden
stitched across the silk material.

“I had them made special, just for us.” She sat on the bed
swinging her legs.

I can’t...I can’t...sleep on that bed.
The bedspread was
embroidered with hearts, our names, tulips, cherubs, ruffles, and other high-school
girly crap. Vanessa was 30 going on like 13.

A thick flowery-smelling perfume emanated from the mattress,
stinking like a funeral. The mattress would have to be fumigated or thrown away.
My gorgeous, masculine mahogany bed—the stench of Vanessa’s perfume probably
soaked into the four posters, rails, and headboard, ruining the wood.

“Get out of my way!” I pushed Vanessa aside, ran into the
bathroom, and vomited. I hung my head over the toilet, praying to Our Lady of
All Shitheads.
God help me! The law believes I am married to Vanessa. Are
you punishing me for sleeping with my brother’s wife?

The bathroom cabinets contained hair spray, curlers, shower
cap, makeup, and nail polish, everything Vanessa needed to make her beautiful.

She used my new razor to shave her legs! I would have to buy
another razor, or grow a beard. If I stayed a moment longer in this house with
her, I would slit her throat with the old razor.

OH MY GOD! The trashcan was stuffed with pregnancy tests,
all confirming that Vanessa was pregnant with Brad’s baby!

I bundled some bathroom stuff in my arms, marched out of the
bathroom, and threw the toiletries on the bed. It was now Vanessa’s bed. She was
welcome to the bed in the divorce settlement. My stomach turned—Brad conceived
a child with Vanessa in that bed, a child Vanessa would claim was mine.

I began throwing clothes and toiletries into a suitcase.

“What are you doing?” she said in a brooding voice. Vanessa was
dumb but she knew a suitcase was used for travel, or as storage for extra
lingerie that will not fit anywhere else because a woman liked to shop ’til she
dropped.

Look at this! Will you look at this! My suits and shirts were
shoved in a corner, wrinkled to make room for Vanessa’s clothes. This house had
four bedrooms, but Vanessa could not count higher than one. She should have
used another closet, but no, romantic Vanessa believed that having our clothes
hanging in the same closet was like having the two of us hanging out together,
the clothes making love to each other or some such nonsense. Silk rubbing
against linen. Cotton cozying up to nylon. Denim seducing satin. She actually got
off by talking about our underwear touching each other in the dresser drawer.

Yep, her panties were mixed up with my
Comfyballs
shorts.

 “Move out of my way, Vanessa, so I can finish packing.”

She stood in front of the closet door with her arms
stretched, blocking the exit to the closet. “What are you going to do? Blacken my
other eye?”

“I don’t hit women, Vanessa.”

“Well, how did I get this then, dip shit!” She pointed to
her eye.

“I didn’t...”
Brad hit you but surely, it was an
accident.
Knowing Vanessa, she fumbled into his fist. Vanessa was annoying
but to hit a woman was disgusting. I now pushed her out of the way, gently.

I sat on a suitcase, snapping it shut. “Fine, I have enough
clothes. I’ll pick up the rest some other time.” I draped some suits over my
arm up to my chin, and picked up my suitcase. “Move from the doorway before I
run you down,” I growled.

Vanessa jumped back to let me pass and then beat my back
with her fists. “Don’t think for one minute you can leave me, Jayden Tremblay. I
have been covering up your abuses but if you leave me, I am going to Daddy. I
swear...I swear to not divorce you, ever. The newspapers will find out you’re a
wife beater.”

Vanessa’s screams turned to gobs of crying and hiccups.
Brown mascara swirled down her cheeks, mixing with rouge as bright as her
fuchsia-colored Porsche.

I stopped at the garage door and gave a heartfelt sigh,
hanging my head and nearly sobbing. Vanessa did not deserve this. “We were
married under extenuating circumstances. I am not your husband, Vanessa, I
never was.”

She composed herself long enough to take her high-heel off
and throw it at me, barely missing my eye with the heel, but the shoe scraped
my ear.

“We haven’t even opened our wedding gifts,” she screeched.

Oh, my God, it finally dawned on me. I did sleep with
Vanessa on my first trip back. I used protected sex, which is not always fool
proof. I leaned against the wall for support. “When are you due, Vanessa?”

She was only a few weeks along. I sighed with relief and
said, “For the record, the baby you’re carrying is not mine.”

“Who do you think I am, the fucking Virgin Mary?”

Her other shoe hit me on my shin. I yelped, hopping on one foot.

To hell with her father or any newspaper exposure. I refused
to stay in this house with Vanessa. I was not her husband, Brad was.
Bigamist,
I thought and stormed out.

It was easier for me to abandon my house to Vanessa than to
kick her out. She would only come back, maybe with a loaded gun.

Well, she could burn down my house for all I cared.

I backed the car out of the garage with a cool head, given
the bad day I was having.

Make that bad life.

BRAD

So now, I am in Austin pretending to be Jayden who is supposed
to be impersonating me. While waiting for Barbie to answer her phone, I examine
my bag of purchases from the BDSM store—some rope, choky slave collar, silk
ties, a Wartenberg wheel with matching violet wand that zaps electricity, a
gag, and whip. Ha! Barbie wants my brother, a kinder, gentler Brad.

BDSM does not turn me on, but role-play is fun. Normally in
the bag would be a
Superman
suit, one enhanced in the genitalia region.

“Hello, Barbie,” I purr into the phone. “Bet you can’t guess
who this is.”

“Brad?” she hisses, “are you insane calling me on my home
line?”

“This is Jayden.” I drop my Texas accent. How cool the lie
comes. After impersonating my brother for several months, I sometimes believe I
am Jayden leading a double life like a secret double agent.

Her voice does not sound surprised at Jayden’s call and her
tone is welcoming, unlike before when she thought it was me on the phone. It takes
all of my control to grip the handle of my mug and not throw the beer across
the bar.

She lowers her voice to a sexy, breathy tone, sounding as if
she is licking the phone. “What do you want, Jayden?”

“I can give you more than vanilla sex, Barbie. I’m not
boring like my brother.”

“Brad is a bit of a bore after all these years. You’re a
sensitive shy man, unlike that animal Brad.”

Damn her to hell! She called
me
an animal! I will show
her how much of an animal my brother really is! “Let’s get together, now. Where
do you want to meet?” My teeth are grinding, making holes in my molars.

“There’s a hotel on Oak Knoll Drive.”

I nearly scream into the phone,
that’s our place you
cheating twat! How can you do this to me, and with my brother!

The phone rattles in my hand. “I can hardly wait.”
Bitch!

“Your voice is shaking with lust. You are so horny for me I could
eat you. Mm, you’re hard like in Brad’s office. Then, that other time, I opened
my legs and showed you my wet cupcake. Yummy, I want your frosting, Jayden.
Spread my cupcake! I drive you crazy with my hand. Mm, I’m rubbing it! Uh, uh,
uh, my cunt is pretty in the picture I just texted you. Lick my icing, Jayden! You’re
about to burst your britches for me.”

“Uh-huh,” I moan and glare down at my pants rising up like a
tent.
Big Sam
is addicted to phone sex.

“I’m fingering myself, Jayden, shivering with anticipation.
I’ll wear the sexiest, shortest, low-cut titty dress I can find.”

I swallow, closing my eyes and groaning. “Make sure the
dress is red,” I rasp out and have no need to scribble down the address she
recites.

JAYDEN

The Fairmont Empress
was located at Victoria’s Inner
Harbor. The hotel on Government Street had the look of a castle. Vines grew
along the exterior, inching up nine stories giving it a European look.

A reservations clerk took my Visa card to charge a suite.

“Sorry, Sir, but this card has no more credit left on it.”

My limit was $50,000.00 and my balance had been zero before Philadelphia.
My brother had struck again.

I furiously began writing out a check.

He touched my hand, stopping me. “Sorry, uh, Dr. Tremblay,
but we do not take checks.”
Especially yours,
his voice implied.
You appear
rather ragged hugging your suits.
The clerk lowered his nose a bit.
Expensive
suits.
His nose went up in the air again.
Stolen perhaps?

I rifled through my wallet for enough money for one night’s
rest. I was ten dollars short. “Do you have an ATM machine?” Brad had no access
to my cash accounts, and I had plenty of money in the bank.

The clerk pointed to a corner of the lobby.

I dragged my clothes over to the ATM machine, pushed in my
card and punched in my pin number.

Oh, geez, the bank’s computer was down.

I did what any man would do who finds himself in need of
money. I pounded my head with my cell phone and then dialed. “Uh, Dad, this is
Jayden. Can you loan me some cash or a credit card? I’m at the Fairmont Empress.”

“I was about to eat dinner, son. Come join your mother and
me, and bring your wife, too,” he said.

Suddenly, it was all too much to bear. I had to tell
somebody what happened these last few months, someone I trusted. I was almost
crying. “It’s an emergency, Dad. Please drive over to the Fairmont Empress. I
will buy you a curry dinner at the Bengal Lounge. There are some things I need
to tell you, just you.”

Click.

I dragged my clothes and suitcase over to the Indian
restaurant located at the hotel, piled the clothes on a couple of chairs, and
waited nervously for my father. The predatory expression of a life-size stone
Bengal tiger in the lounge reminded me of Brad.

Staring into the depths of a murky
White Russian
made
with too much Kahlúa, my thoughts drifted to Ronni.
She likes her hamburger well
cooked, almost burnt. She loves Queso with chips and drinks diet cokes.

I pulled out a prescription pad and wrote.

1. Don’t ever think of Ronni again.

2. This time get absolute proof from Brad about him fixing
the Vanessa problem.

I chewed my lip, thinking maybe the time had come for
me
to deal with Vanessa.

No, no, I could never. This had become too big a mess, no
thanks to Brad. I could not possibly…Ouch! To confess to Vanessa that I
had…that me and Brad…she was pregnant with Brad’s baby and Brad already had a
wife!

3. Avoid Vanessa.

4. Important—change the locks to the condo.

5. Tell Brad…

Dad pulled out a chair and slapped my back, startling me.

I slammed my pad so it was upside down on the table. I squeezed
my father tightly, feeling like an eight year-old boy again.
Daddy,
I longed
to cry,
fix my life. I have been a bad boy.
“Long time no see,” I said
instead, clearing my throat as men do when hiding their emotions.

He gave me a curious look. “Jayden, I just saw you yesterday
when we played a round of golf. What’s so important for you to drag me away
from your mother and her roast sablefish?” The sound of his voice implied, “this
better be good. You know how I love your mother’s roast sablefish.”

I wished to be a kid again, sitting around the table eating
dinner with my parents instead of confessing to my father. I began at the
beginning, leaving out graphic intimate moments between Ronni and me, and the
fact that Vanessa was pregnant.

“Well this explains a few things like why this impersonator,
Brad, acted different than you at times, such as placing a high bet with Buddy
at golf yesterday. Your mother and I thought maybe you were on drugs, but I
must say your confession doesn’t take away much of my concern.”

“I’m worried, too, about Ronni.”

 “Brad’s wife? I know she’s your sister-in-law, but you
don’t really know her, do you?”

“She is a wonderful woman,” I said defensively.

“Brad’s wife should not be any of your concern, Jayden.”

“But…”

“Your first business should be to have your bogus marriage
to Vanessa annulled. Your mother and I were surprised you up and eloped like a
wild teenager. And when you brought your wife over, we felt hurt that you never
introduced her before.”

I could not hide the embarrassment from my voice. “Yeah, well,
Vanessa pretty much drives me crazy. I planned to break off with her when I
came back from Philadelphia and then Brad, well you know the rest.”

“The agency we adopted you from never mentioned a twin. If
they had, we would have adopted the two of you and then maybe...”

“Do not say Brad would have turned out more like me. I am no
better than Brad, Dammit! Look what I did to Ronni.”

“Playing a trick like that on a woman, I feel ashamed for
you, Jayden. You two may appear identical, but there are distinct personality
differences from your upbringings. Poor woman must think her husband developed
a split personality.”

I played with my food, hoping the floor would swallow me.

Dad nearly choked on his food. “Did you sleep with your
brother’s wife?”

“I couldn’t help it,” I said to my broccoli. “I am…was obscenely
attracted to her.”

“She’s a married woman for heaven sake! You’ve got to tell
this woman, your sister-in-law, the truth.”

“I can’t. Ronni would hate me.”

“So?”

“Well, she would.”
So there.

Dad could still make me squirm. “I’ll think about it,” I
mumbled, “when I go back to Austin while Brad annuls his marriage to Vanessa.”

“Mrs. O’Boyle isn’t the only woman who was duped and made a
fool of by you and Dr. O’Boyle. Vanessa needs to know the truth, too.”

“No way am I going to confess to Vanessa. Brad married her. She
is
his
wife.”
And the father of her unborn child.

“But you allowed your brother to impersonate you. She would
not have been conned into marriage by him without you switching identities in
the first place.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll think about telling her about Brad.” I
looked down at my plate, unable to look my father in the eye while lying to
him. I changed the subject. “I was a dumb trusting ass leaving my credit card with
Brad. He maxed out my card and I have no money to pay for a room here or for
dinner,” I muttered.

He expressed with his eyes and stiff lips what he thought. “Come
home with me then and you won’t have to borrow any money.”

“I need some time by myself where I can think. Mom will
smother me at the farm.”

I clutched my suits to my chest, my suitcase balanced
between my feet while Dad paid for my suite.

“There you go, Jaydie.” Dad slapped the room key in my hand.
He used my little boy nickname to make me feel like a small man whose parents
had to pay his way.

The best way to battle my father’s passive aggression was to
shower him with love. I hugged him. “Thanks, Daddy.”

He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “You haven’t
called me Daddy in years, son.” He greased my palm with some extra cash,
emptying his pockets.

I now sat alone on a sofa in a suite, twiddling my thumbs. On
the table was the picture of Traci in pigtails with her face tilted and a big
smile on her face. Stamped on one cheek was a purple star made of glitter. Her
eyes were big and wide. Little hearts were sprinkled around the five-by-seven
frame, just like on her pajamas this morning. Traci was all heart, like a soft
cuddly kitten.

My face was reflected in the glass
of the picture, appearing as weary and haggard as I felt.
Hopefully, Traci
liked the rocking horse, Willard. The name was odd for a horse but Traci had
shrugged her shoulders and said, “Horse just looks like a Willard,” which was odd
since Willard did not have a face yet when she named it.

I shifted my eyes to the window, to the Inner Harbour of
Victoria but the beauty of the harbour faded. Brad promised
while swearing to God that he would
break it off with Vanessa. Thanks to my brother, Dad now had a sordid image of me.

I dialed Brad’s cell phone number, but there was no answer. I
tried the house.
Come on, Brad. Pick up. Answer your phone. Do not let it
be...

“Hello?” Ronni said into the telephone.

She must hear me mewing. It was tempting to take the
coward’s way out and confess to her over the telephone. She would scream at me,
but I would not have to see the disbelief on her crushed face or hatred
glittering from her eyes. She would slap my face or worse if I revealed the masquerade
in person.

“Hello?” she said again. “Can I help you?”

Yeah. You can help me. Come over to the hotel and keep me
company. I want you. I need you...I...
Click. I hung up the phone before
voicing the words. I rubbed the phone to my forehead, trying to erase all
images of Ronni.

Crap!

I threw the phone across the room and the phone bounced on
the bed. The two glass French doors leading to the bedroom were open; else, the
phone would have busted the doors.

I would just have to wait and get hold of Brad at his office
tomorrow to see how he planned to straighten up the wreck he created.

What about your wreck! You plowed into Ronni’s headlights
and she never saw you coming.

Yeah, headlights, her tits. Her ass, her…

Quit thinking about sex! Your cock is what got you into
this mess!

Perhaps Dad was right and I should just come clean with the
truth, face to face with Ronni.

You first, Brad.
I imagined my shithead brother
standing in front of me, his fists blocking his face.
Tell Vanessa that you
already have a wife, you low life bigamist. Confess to Vanessa while I blurt
out to your wife...

And tell her exactly what? That I slept with her pretending
to be her husband?

To have sexual intercourse with a woman under false
pretenses meant she did not consent at the time of penetration, which must
constitute some sort of rape in some court of law. Ronni might just slam my butt
in jail.

How would my parents like visiting me in prison?

Note: Do not ever call Brad’s house again! Ever!