Her Perfect Revenge (3 page)

Christina entered her one bedroom, fifth floor walkup apartment. As apartments went, it wasn't much—a small kitchenette to the left of a tiny living room and an even tinier bedroom. She raced to her laptop computer sitting on her desk and quickly began to download the photos.

An hour later, Christina was staring at 8"X10" glossies of ‘
him
'. '
Him
' getting out of his Ferrari. '
Him
' walking through the protestors. '
Him
' giving them the finger. '
Him
' smirking.

Especially '
him
' smirking.

That bastard.

Look at him, she thought to herself. He had everything—money, position, looks—and a cold heart. He probably didn't even remember her, she'd bet on it. He'd destroyed her life in one day and he'd forgotten about it, except maybe to have a good laugh at her expense. Jenny had told her that after Christina had been sent away to boarding school, her name had never been mentioned again by anyone at Cloverdale High. She'd been discarded like used toilet paper.

But Christina had never forgotten her one-day fiasco. It had been imprinted into that part of the brain that stored childhood traumas and it had stayed with her all these years.

Why, just seeing Billy again this afternoon had reduced her to a jumble of nerves. She'd actually been shaking, for god’s sake—she, who was tough and strong and not that shy, insecure schoolgirl anymore, had been shaking like jelly.

Christina studied the photos and suddenly, her legs turned to mush again. Why was she feeling like this? What was wrong with her?

Billy Havenwood—that's what was wrong with her. She stared at his handsome, arrogant face.

"No, Billy Havenwood, you're not doing this to me again. I won't let you!" she intoned aloud.

Forcing herself to take a couple of deep breaths, she began to calm down. Why should she be the one to feel like this? Why shouldn't it be him? It should be him!

Suddenly, Christina smiled, as she made an instantaneous decision. Yup, she was going to 'get' him. She didn't know how; she didn't know when; she didn't know where; but somehow she was going to make him feel what it was like to have your whole life ripped out from under you and turned upside down. This was going to be payback; and she owed him one—a big one.

Reaching for her black journaling book, Christina began to write her thoughts and feelings into it and immediately felt better.

Putting her pen down, she reached for one of the pictures of smug Billy Havenwood getting out of his ultra-expensive sports car.

"Look at you, Mr. Havenwood," she whispered, "You've probably never had a crushing, humiliating, soul-destroying moment in all of your privileged, rich boy life. Well, get ready because you're about to have one." A feeling of calm and strength coursed through Christina's system; and her decision was made.

* * *

Jenny Lewis was sitting across from Christina at Sal's Sandwich Shop, next door to the Streetwise Magazine office in Greenwich Village. As Christina attacked her sandwich, Jenny stared at the pictures of Billy Havenwood.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it. It's him, all right."

"You're sure he didn't see you? I mean, this one here." Jenny pointed to one where it appeared that Bill was facing the camera. "He's looking right at you."

"No, I was across the street with the zoom." Christina took a quick sip of water before resuming her lunch.

"Incredible. Billy Havenwood," Jenny mumbled. "And he still looks…" She stopped and quickly looked up at Christina.

"Say it."

Jenny let out her words in a rush. "Really, really, really hot." Christina frowned and Jenny quickly added, "For a low-life, scumbag, of course."

Her friend smiled. "His father owns the Fido Dog Food conglomerate."

"So that's where his money came from—dog food." Jenny paused, "Was Jake Monroe anywhere around?

"No, I only saw him."

Jenny studied Christina's face. "Why aren't you more upset? Here you are, calmly eating your lunch and discussing Billy Havenwood with as much emotion as you discuss the weather. What gives?" She, of all people, knew how deeply her friend had been hurt all those years ago.

"Jenny, I'm getting even," Christina gleefully announced. "I'm going to make him pay for what he did to me."

"What? How?"

"I'm going to get some dirt on him. I'm gonna find the skeletons rattling in his closet and expose all his little secrets. You know his type always has them."

Jenny was flabbergasted. "And then what?"

"Then I'm going to turn his life upside down like he did to mine. When I'm through with him, his Achilles heel will need a podiatrist."

Jenny didn't like this at all. "And how are you going to dig up all this wonderful information? You're broke. You can't afford a private investigator."

"That's why I'm going to be my own private investigator."

"But Chrissy, you know nothing about that."

"What's there to know? All you need are the three c's—a car, a camera and a computer. By using my computer access at the Magazine, I found out where he lives. Now all I have to do is use my car and my camera and tail him. You know, find out where he goes, what he does and with whom. He'll lead me to what I need to know, I'm sure of it."

Jenny was shocked.
"You're gonna stalk him?"

"No, I'm not," Christina defensively shouted back. "Stalking is an ugly word. Only weirdoes and psychos do that. I'm going to 'research' him, just like when I'm on assignment for the Magazine."

She chomped down on her sandwich again and smiled at her friend. Ever since she'd come up with this plan and had written all the details in her journal, she'd felt her strength return. It was time someone taught that bastard, Billy Havenwood a life lesson and she was just the girl to do it.

But Jenny was worried. Christina was her friend and she feared she'd be hurt all over again. Guys like Havenwood always had the upper hand. Their money and position ensured that.

"Chrissy, forget this idea. It's crazy."

"No."

"Yes. Listen to me. Revenge isn't the answer. When Derek left me for that other woman, I wanted to hurt them both but I realized that the best thing was to let go of all those negative feelings and move on."

"You had Taylor to think about."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"Don't you see? The reason you saw him again today is you're being given the chance to forgive him and move on, not to go after him for justice."

"Thanks for the new age sermon, Jenny, but I thought you of all people would understand." Christina was miffed. This was not the reaction she expected to get from her best friend.

"I do understand," Jenny sighed. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again, that's all."

Christina smiled. "Don't worry; I'm smarter than he is."

But Jenny wasn't convinced. She had an awful feeling that disaster was on the way.

There it was. 14025 Wickingham Drive.

Christina parked her beat-up, old car under a canopy of trees down the street from the gates of the impressive thirty-room French chateau house owned by William Havenwood Sr., Bill's father. The mansion, located in Locust Valley, New York on Long Island's North Shore, was an imposing 2-1/2-story brick façade surrounded by shrubbery and tall trees. It sat on a very exclusive and very expensive 5-acre parcel of land. The entire house and grounds reeked of wealth, position and prestige.

By using the computer research facilities at Streetwise Magazine, Christina had learned that her little Billy lived here with his dad, William Sr. who was the owner and founder of the hugely successful Fido Dog Food empire. The company not only manufactured pet food but also owned other corporations, including Samco Oil. William Havenwood, a British immigrant, had started his business with nothing and had built up Fido Dog Food into one of the largest companies in the country today. It had been a true self-made-man, rags-to-riches story.

There were many business articles written about him.

There was very little written about Bill. All Christina found on the son was that he worked at Fido, was the heir apparent and his mom had divorced old William about five years ago.

Well hidden by the foliage, Christina rolled down her window and began taking pictures of the estate. It must be worth what, she thought? Ten, fifteen, twenty million? She'd read in one of the articles that the entire Fido empire had been conservatively estimated at $1 billion dollars with the Havenwoods owning enough shares to control it. It was probably worth more.

She readjusted her camera and began to take more pictures. Suddenly, a red Ferrari came barreling from around the house. It was him! Christina could see Billy in the driver's seat. She quickly snapped more photos and her heart began to pound. Within seconds, the red car raced up the long drive and stopped at the closed gates. The gates opened magically and Havenwood sped off down the street.

This was it; time to tail the creep. Christina dropped her camera into the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition. But nothing happened; the car wouldn't start. She tried again. The engine was trying to turn over but—again, nothing. And, oh no, he was getting away! She could see the Ferrari becoming a small, red speck in the distance. She frantically tried the key again but the car was dead.

Damn it! Christina punched the steering wheel with her fist. You know who was to blame for this? Billy Havenwood, that's who. That man was a jinx; just plain bad luck.

Disappointed and angry, Christina reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to call for help.

And that's how Christina spent the first day of her 'research project'. Waiting for a tow truck, underneath the blistering, hot sun, stranded on billionaire's row.

Day Two.

Stakeout at 14025 Wickingham Drive. High noon.

Christina was again inconspicuously parked outside the gates of Bill Havenwood's home, waiting for her prey to emerge. She'd seen William Sr. leave in his limo at 7:30 a.m. that morning, probably on his way to the office. A tall, very distinguished and handsome gentleman of about sixty with gray hair pulled into a small ponytail at the back, Christina had recognized him immediately from a picture in Business Review. Admiring his classic features, she smiled to herself. She could certainly see where Junior got his good looks.

As for Junior? No sign of him yet. Probably sleeping in—or should she say, sleeping 'it' off? That drunk! But what if he wasn't home? Maybe he'd spent the night elsewhere?

Christina hadn't thought of that before. She checked her watch. It read 12:03 p.m. “Give it time, Christina, give it time”, she admonished herself. After all, he'd left the estate around noon yesterday, hadn't he?

Yesterday—what a disaster that had been! She'd spent the rest of the day at the garage having her car fixed and maxing out her credit card on a new alternator and battery.

Thankfully, her car was running again and she'd be able to tail him today with no problems. If only he'd show up and—wait—there he was!

The Ferrari came barreling down the drive and through the gates. Christina felt a surge of adrenaline kickstart her nervous system. This was it. She said a small prayer and turned the ignition. The car started. Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Christina put the gearshift into drive and she was on her way.

* * *

Christina followed the Ferrari into the city. Staying a safe distance behind, she managed to keep the car in sight without being spotted—or so she hoped.

Havenwood had finally stopped outside Carbiri's, a chic, Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side. Dressed impeccably in a dark navy designer suit, he got out and handed his car keys to the valet. Confidently, he strutted into the eatery with a casual, 'I-own-the-world' type of walk that the rich instinctively did so well.

Arrogant bastard, Christina thought as she double-parked nearby. So, he liked to have lunch at the very exclusive Carbiri's, did he? The place was such an 'in' spot that you had to book your table months in advance—if you were an ordinary person. 'Special' people like Havenwood could probably get in with one phone call and a huge tip.

Christina adjusted her camera lens and began taking pictures of the front of the building. Might as well get comfortable, she thought. These rich folk usually had three hour lunches and she'd probably be here for sometime.

Suddenly, before the valet had even had a chance to park the Ferrari, an angry Bill Havenwood came stalking back out with a tall, gorgeous redhead in tow. The mystery woman, wearing lemon-colored silk pants and matching silk shirt with her cropped short red hair, was the epitome of high fashion and money.

"Hello, this looks interesting," Christina mumbled, as she began clicking away with her camera. Who was this woman?

A girlfriend? Certainly not a wife. Through her research, Christina knew Havenwood was single and had never been married. Maybe she was a relative? A cousin? No, this was girlfriend behavior, Christina sensed, as she continued taking the pictures.

Suddenly, the woman said something to Havenwood that made him even angrier. She then frantically wrapped her arms around Billy's neck and tried to kiss him. Abruptly, he pushed Miss Redhead away and said something to her that forced her to shout something back at him. Dismissing her, Havenwood walked to where the valet was holding the driver's door open for him and got in. The Ferrari's engine roared to life and he squealed away.

Wow! What had that been all about? Christina had managed to capture the entire scene on film and she'd analyze it later. But right now, she needed to keep her focus on that Ferrari and its rich boy driver.

Christina quickly started her car. She couldn't lose him—no matter what. Stepping on the gas, she sped down the street and ended up three cars behind him. Being bright red, the Ferrari was easy to keep in sight.

Suddenly, he braked at the intersection ahead and turned left. It took Christina three seconds to reach the same stop sign. Looking to her left, she spotted the Ferrari making a right turn onto another street. She could still catch him, it wasn't too late—if only the traffic wasn't starting to get so heavy. Quickly making a left-hand turn, Christina barreled down the same street but a large van suddenly pulled out in front of her, blocking her view.

"Oh no." She couldn't lose him now, she just couldn't.

Agitated, Christina rolled down her window and strained her neck, trying to look around the van. She could barely make out the red speck of a car up ahead turning left onto yet another street. At least she hadn't lost sight of him. If only this damn van would move out of her way.

Frustrated, Christina beeped her horn but the van remained in front. Owing to the heavy traffic, she couldn't pass it. All she could do was follow it as closely as she could and pray for an opportunity to get around it. Suddenly, as the traffic lessened, the van picked up speed. Relieved, Christina did likewise. Now all she had to do was to somehow pass it.

Suddenly, the van flashed its turning signal.

"Yes." Christina was euphoric. Triumphantly, she stepped on the gas and her car surged forward. The van quickly pulled into the left lane but Christina's jubilation was short-lived because there—directly in front of her—was the Ferrari—stopped behind a long line of cars. Shocked, Christina slammed on her brakes. Her tires squealed with effort as her car slid forward trying to stop. But she didn't stop—and she smashed into the back of the Ferrari.

The sound of metal crashing against metal was deafening.

Christina was violently catapulted forward saved only by her seatbelt as her car's front end completely smashed into the backend of the Ferrari, crumpling it like an empty beer can.

The accident lasted a microsecond but to Christina it felt like an eternity—with steel smashing against steel, glass and plastic popping and breaking.

Then silence.

Dazed, Christina let out a deep breath. Was she all right? Was she hurt? Taking a split second to feel her body, she confirmed to herself that she was fine.

"Thank God," she whispered in relief.

Refocusing on the situation, she slowly looked up—through her cracked windshield—past her own mangled car—to see Bill Havenwood climbing out of his own twisted wreck.

And he was coming towards her.

"Oh God," she whispered in panic. He was going to recognize her and then—Christina suddenly gasped in shock as she remembered something else.

She didn't have any car insurance.