Derailed (10 page)

The day is hazy and I struggle to concentrate. It could have something to do with my change in sleep patterns – I’ve been up at 4 a.m. the last three mornings.

At around 2 p.m., I find myself calling Bradley.

“Sure, I can meet you, Big,” he says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re calling
me
and asking to meet. That’s rare these days.”

I shift around, pangs of guilt shooting through me. Truth be told, I want to know what Rival is up to. He’s my link to her right now.

“Yeah, well…” I trail, not knowing what to say.

An hour later, Bradley and I are seated across each other, knocking back whisky.

“Fucking Milton is on my back,” he complains. “And Scarlett…”

I zone out, waiting for the keyword – Rival. Has he perhaps showed her the ring? Of all days, he doesn’t talk about her. How’s that for luck?

The moment there’s a lull in his tirade, I edge in. “What’s the latest in your love life then? Rival?”

He shrugs. “Thinking of asking her to work for me.”

“Oh.”

“I need some help around the office and…” His eyebrows wriggle. 

“And you’ll have a reason to hang around each other,” I add in a bitter voice.

“And all the privacy I need, Big.” He throws out his arms. “Am I smart or what? Scarlett thinks she’s smart, but I’ve found a way to be with Rival after all.” He slaps the table and guffaws.

I’m so riled up by what he just said, I have the urge to slam my fist into his face. 

Quickly, I jump to my feet and throw some bills on the table. “Gotta run.”

“You didn’t finish your drink.”

Ignoring him, I get into my car and drive home.

After dinner, I sit on my patio and stare into the dark. Meeting Bradley was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

“What’s wrong?” Girly asks, stepping onto the patio and lighting up a cigar.

“Nothing,” I mumble.

With her eyes on me, she blows out a steady stream of smoke, making a hissing sound as she does. “Why your face like six o’clock, then?”

“It’s not. I’m…okay.”

Her eyes narrow.

“I’m okay, Girly. Seriously.”

“Whachu do to Rival?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“She disappear like Mother Cat.”

I stroke my chin, my eyes fixed to the ground. “Gave her an ultimatum.”

She reels back, almost dropping her cigar. “What?” She wallops me on the head with her left hand. Her
left
hand. “Why do you do that? What is wrong with you, Pig?”

“Ouch!” I jerk my head out of her reach. “Nothing.”

“Then why you hit her?”

“Noooo, I didn’t hit her! I gave her an
ultimatum
.”

She blinks rapidly, then takes a puff of her cigar. “Why?”

“I…I…I dunno. I had to.” I give a series of shrugs and keep an eye on that left hand of hers. “That was some hit. You’re ambidextrous?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” She knows what ambidextrous is. Okay then.

“Go fix it, Pig. I miss her pies. Go fix it.”

How
?

“Unless you can make pies.”

After a slight hesitation, my lips curl. “Only humble pies.”

She nods. “I don’t like humble pie, so you go fix it.”

“Mm.”

“Hey, one day, I go to Uluru and eat possum pie –”

“God, Girly!”

“—crocodile pie, koala pie, kangaroo pie, and humble pie. Small pieces, like tapas. All with tomato sauce and beetroot.”

I chuckle in spite of my low spirits.

“You go fix it, Pig, then your face look like 3 o’clock again,” she says in a kind voice.

I look at my housekeeper. “I’ll see what I can do,” I mumble.

“Good.” With her eyes on me, and with exaggerated movements, she stomps out her cigar in an ashtray.

I get scared enough to think I’d better fix things with Rival.

RIVAL

It’s been three days since I’ve seen or heard from Ritchie. The adrenaline has worn off, my anger has dissipated, and I find myself questioning Ritchie’s words, his ultimatum. Then I remember him putting his hand over my heart and asking me to search it. Time for some serious searching.

Okay, so I want to win with Scarlett, but do I want to lose Ritchie in the process? And what
exactly
do I want to win with Scarlett? Bradley? I don’t want Bradley anymore, so what is the prize? What if Bradley suddenly said,
Okay, I’m leaving Scarlett?
What would I do next? Move in with Bradley? Let him touch me, put his tongue in my mouth, let him slip his hands under my skirt? The thought is so unpleasant, my thighs spasm. 

To win with Scarlett, I have to pay a price. Right now, I have to sacrifice my life and love for Ritchie in order to win. Is it worth the price?

After a lot of soul-searching, I come to the conclusion that I am prepared to lay down my baseball bat when it comes to Scarlett. Ritchie may be right – I have won already. With all the dissention I caused between her and Bradley, things can never be the same between them. I mean, the other day I walked into the spare bedroom at Bradley’s and found him asleep in it. I suspect they are no longer sharing a bed. Is that an indication that I have already won?

I won when Bradley betrayed me, because had it not been for that small blessing in disguise, I would never have met Ritchie. I might never have experienced the kind of love Ritchie and I share. So yes, I have won.

As for Scarlett, she may be right; I am the other woman now. I have become her, unwittingly, maybe even wittingly. I mean, to be honest, Scarlett’s book on seduction has helped me seduce both Ritchie and Bradley. I can vehemently argue that I am justified in my pursuit of my ex-husband, given the manner in which his current wife ensnared him from me. Some people may even say I’m justified in instilling discord in their marriage. But inadvertently, I acquired the label of The Other Woman. That is not a title I am proud of. Especially considering that I no longer care for Bradley in that way.

What I want right now is Ritchie. I
need
him. He is the man I should seek out and apologize to. But I am paralyzed with pride, so I don’t. I guess I should expect a tumble sometime soon, because we all know what pride comes before.   

RITCHIE

After dropping the kids off at school, I head straight for the one person I can talk to – my sister. It’s pointless going to work – I’m unable to concentrate with Rival on my mind. Arena has a way of slotting things neatly in perspective for me, so I thought I’d chat to her. 

“What’s wrong, Ritchie?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I came to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanted to see how you are?”

“Really now?”

“Yeah, really.”

Her eyes fly to the wall clock. It’s 9:15 a.m. “The kids?”

“Dropped them off at school,” I say as I take a seat at her dining table.

We eye each other, the air full of unspoken words and questions.

“O…kay.” She makes us coffee and puts slices of raisin bread in the toaster. “Talk to me.”

Feeling a tad embarrassed that I’m always running to my older sister when I need a sounding board, I drum my fingers on the dining table.

“’Bout what?”

“It’s Rival, right?”

Am I that transparent?

“You’ve had a fight.”

I shrug.

“Over Bradley? Over her seeing Bradley?”

My lips curl.

“You’re jealous, right?”

I throw out my hands in exasperation. “She’s unrelenting, ’Rena! She’s hell bent on getting back at Scarlett and I’m…I’m…I can’t do this anymore, okay? Just can’t.”

Bread pops out of the toaster and Arena starts to butter them.  

“I want her to focus on me, on
us
. Is that too much to ask? Huh? Now it’s all down the tubes, and Girly, she misses her pies.”

Arena squints at me. “Pies?”

I flick my wrist.

“What is Rival saying? Like, after you both talked.”

I have to think about her question. “Rival did not say anything, come to think of it.” Out of sheer embarrassment, I fail to mention that I did not
talk
to her about anything, I just demanded. “She just looked
shocked
when I threw my tantrum.”

She pauses with her buttering. “Did you just use the word tantrum,
boet
?”

I stare hard at my sister. Is that what happened? Did I throw a tantrum?

A twinkle forms in her eyes.

“Well, tantrum is the wrong word, then. I just…
expressed
my feelings. Perhaps a tad harshly.”

“So it wasn’t a
discussion
as such, then?”

“Accusatory – that’s how you’re coming across, Arena. Gimme a break, okay?”

“I’m not accusing, but Rich, you have to know that Rival’s got beef with Scarlett, and she’s not in any way concealed her intention to win Bradley over–”

“But…but…we are together!” 

“– and thus win the battle she has waged with her once best –”

“But she loves me, Arena! I know that for a fact. Shouldn’t that change her course of action?”

She slides over a plate of buttered toast. “Agreed. But,
boet
, maybe it would have been better if you
talked
about it, placed your cards on the table and gave her a chance to think about it.”

I don’t answer.

“If you really love her, and I suspect you do, because,” her eyes sweep over me, “your eyes are bloodshot, you’re unshaven, and you haven’t
touched
your toast, then I suggest you put an end to your pain. Buy her flowers and woo her back. Simple.”

“Simple?”

She nods. “Women aren’t as complicated as you think.”

Pfft!

“Shave first, get some eye drops and…look sharp.”

“You think she’ll want me back?”

“Of course. She’s in love with you,
boet
.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Head over heels.”

Head over heels.

Like a little boy, I race out of my sister’s home and back to mine. “Girly!” I shout as I barge inside.

She appears with a mop in her hands. “What?”

“Where’s my black t-shirt with the writing on it?” I drag my hand across my chest.

“Which…one?”

“The one that shows my muscles, Girly? Don’t you know which one?”

“Oh, I just wash it. Why?”

“Because I’m going to see Rival.”

“Rival?” Her eyes turn large.

“Put it in the tumble dryer, quick,” I say as I walk backwards. “I need it now, Girly.”

She tosses aside the mop and races toward the laundry. “I do it now!”

A quick flirt with my shaver and I’m stubble free. Some eye drops and I no longer look like I’ve had an encounter with some Kush bush minutes ago.

I brush my hair, but it doesn’t look right. It sticks up in all directions.

“Girly!” I shout.

“What?”

“Where’s the hair wax Liefie bought me? I can’t find it.”

She runs up to my room and starts riffling through the draws. “Here it is. You blind, I think.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” I say taking it from her.

She watches as I make a mess of the wax. “Not like that,” she snaps, grabbing the tub of wax and shoving me toward the bed. “Sit down, I do it for you.”

Like a five-year-old, I sit on the bed as my housekeeper spikes my hair with wax.

“See? Now you look like a singer from the boy band Ally like.
Wrong Direction?
”

“
One Direction,”
I correct.  Then I frown at her. “Ally likes boys?”

“Same thing. Finished.” She points at the mirror.

I run up to the mirror, look at myself and nod. Rival better appreciate all the effort I’m putting in for her.

Finally, dressed in the black t-shirt that has been known to glaze up Rival’s eyes whenever she sees me in it, I make my way to our local florist.

Gaytri Singh, who is four foot something and as sharp as a tack, has been my florist since I’ve lived in Australia.  

“Ritchie Rich!” she says, her eyes lighting up when she sees me. “How are the girls?”

“They’re great. How are your kids?” We exchange pleasantries for a while.

“So, what can I do you for today?” Gaytri asks.

“Twenty-four roses, Gaytri. “Long-stemmed, red –”

“Occasion, or have you been a bastard?”

“Bastard,” I say in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Ah.”

“Should I get more?” 

She wriggles her lips. “How bastard?”

“Like…very.”

“Okay, three dozen if you are desperate.”

“I’m desperate.” I hand her my credit card.

“Message?” she asks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Message?” she repeats.

“I’m sorry.”

“What do you want to say in the
card
? Like,
Dear
…”

“
I’m sorry.
That is the message.”

She frowns. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Simple.” I shrug.

She writes it down and sticks the card among the flowers.

“Liefie is gonna love these,” Gaytri says as she boxes the roses. “And she is going to forgive you for whatever –”

“Liefie? Oh, no, we’re not together anymore.”

She pauses with her boxing and looks at me with big eyes. “Oh, no, Ritchie. What happened?”

“She left me,” I say in a matter-of-fact voice.

“She did not!”

I nod and throw in a pout to gain Gaytri’s sympathy. And possibly a discount.

“Poor Liefie,” she says.

What? Liefie gets the sympathy, not me. How is that fair?

“What about your baby she’s carrying? You bought that lovely baby bouquet not so long ago?”

“Oh, no, that’s another man’s baby. Not mine.” 

Her eyes pop. “Oh, you poor thing! How could she do that to you?”

Finally, I’ve got Gaytri’s sympathy, but I’ve somehow managed to botch this conversation along the way. With a dismissive wave, I say, “She’s re-married now.”

“Already!”

I nod.

“Wow! You Westerners are crazy.”

“You could say that.”

She looks at the roses. “Um, so…who’s this for?”

“Rival. She’s the new –”