Derailed (17 page)

One good thing that came of my kids changing schools – they no longer are in contact with Ritchie’s kids. Which means there is little chance of Ritchie’s little girls telling my girls that I spend nights at their house. This affords Ritchie and me some leeway, for which I am especially grateful.

Quietly, I continue working on renovations in our new home and prepare for our big move. I’m not sure how much money Ritchie has, but since he always uses his calculator before he okays an improvement or renovation, I have to assume he doesn’t have that much. I, on the other hand, have lots of money, am more than happy to use it, but he flatly refuses my financial help. His pig-headedness has led to a few arguments between us. 

“I’m the man here, and I will provide for you. I know I can’t compete with our future PM, but hey, I promise you will like what I give you.”

Pig-headed. 

Random Seduction Tip

Do not be discouraged if your target resists your seduction attempts. Resistance simply calls for greater seduction. He may be moral or in a position where a scandal could cost him everything, hence the hesitation. That does not mean he’s resisting you; it means he’s resisting the seduction. Outwardly. You can be certain that inside, he is simply dying to be intoxicated by you, your wiles and charm. You’re the breath of fresh air he so badly needs and he welcomes being overwhelmed by someone like you. He is coveting the forbidden fruit you provide, allowing him the much-needed vacation from his life cumbersome with responsibility. He may impart disinterest, but that is merely a façade. He will surrender, sooner or later, and when he does, you will have him in the palm of your hand. 

SCARLETT

“A sequel!” I scream at my laptop screen. “A fucking sequel? Are you serious? My fucking book, and she is milking it? Thief!”

My blood boils as I look at her profile photo. A white Givenchy pant suit. That nut job knows fuck all about fashion, she knows fuck all about makeup, she knows fuck all about writing, yet there she is,
professionally
made up, looking like someone who knows what she’s doing, who knows how to write. She’s hijacked my style, hijacked my books, my future earnings, hijacked my fucking
life
! Day by day, she is morphing into me and simply plucking at everything that is rightfully mine. Uuuurrrggghhh! So furious am I that my head pounds, my throat constricts, and my vision actually blurs with red rage. This is what it must feel like to suffer a heart attack.

She is turning me into a lunatic, the raving kind. I need air. I fling open my patio doors and step outside my front door. With my eyes closed, I gulp at the fresh air and fight for calm.

When I open my eyes, I stare straight into the faces of our neighborhood flotsam – Mabel and Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters, Drusilla and Anastasia. They glare at me with pursed lips.

I eye the brown patches of grass that were once a lush green. Okay, so it doesn’t really spell w-h-o-r-e like I wanted it to, but hey, it’s brown, patchy, scorched – a giant smoker’s brow. As for Mabel’s precious roses, kaput! I flash my teeth at them. It’s the least I can do.

Anastasia and Drusilla give me the usual greeting – the middle finger. I laugh in their faces. They go on to give me two fingers each. I laugh harder, tempted to show them my arse. I’m going to be first lady, so I curb my inner bitch.  

Instead, I go inside, sit in front of my laptop, and work out my response to Rival’s latest fuck you. After a while, I type out an email to Arena. Let’s see what happens to that bitch when Arena and the rest of Rival’s clan, the mucilage that keeps Rival together, slowly fragments. As I pound at my keyboard, I smile at the taste in my mouth – bacon. 

RIVAL

I am so stunned to see Scarlett at WIN’s new offices, drinking tea with Arena and Fatima, that I stand at that entrance to Arena’s office with my mouth open.

“Hi, Rival,” Arena says in a nervous voice.

“Hello, Rival,” Fatima says, oblivious to my shock.

Scarlett doesn’t greet me. She sits back in her chair, links her hands under her breasts, and gives me a smile filled with victory and smugness.

“Hi,” I say, trying hard to get over my shock, and trying harder to pretend that Scarlett’s presence here hasn’t left me speechless.

After a few moments, I hurry off and pretend to work. But it’s useless – I can’t concentrate. I can’t even pretend to. My surprise at Scarlett’s intrusion has mutated into full-blown fury. How dare she? How dare she encroach on my friends? And Arena? How could she befriend Scarlett? When did they make contact? Why wasn’t I told about this? 

After wearing out the threadbare carpets for about twenty minutes, I throw my gear into my bag and storm out of WIN.

“Rival, wait!”

I spin around and glare at Arena. “How could you do this to me, Arena? After all that happened between Scarlett and me, you
befriend
her? I thought you were my friend, Arena. How could you betray me like this?” It’s an effort not to cry. “She’s taken everything from me, my children, my husband, my home, my freedom, my future…”

“Rival, I know, I –”

“You’ve been my constant, and now she’s managed to take you away too? How could you allow this?”

“Rival, it’s not like that, I prom –”

I dismiss her with a wave of my hand and storm off.

Arena runs after me. “Rival, I turned down her invitation to be maid of honor, remember? I didn’t even attend the wedding or the bridal shower. Remember?”

Slowly, I turn around and look at her.

She takes my arm and leads me to the car. “Look, she emailed me about donating to WIN and…I dragged my feet as I thought about my answer, thinking of a way of gently letting her down. I mean, think about it, who turns down a donation for a cause like this? Who’s going to understand when I say no thank you to a donation because I don’t like the donor? You know what I’m saying?”

I don’t answer.

“Scarlett is smart – she showed up at the offices, met with Fatima, and the next thing I know, I’m at a scheduled meeting with a Mrs. Murdoch. I couldn’t get out of it, and I had to tread carefully. She thinks she’s smart – let her think that.”

I say nothing and keep my eyes to the ground. 

“I am your friend, Rival. Please believe me.”

I scrape the tarmac with my shoe. “So, how much is she donating?”

“A million.”

My head jerks to look at her. “That’s ridiculous.
Impossible
even.”

“Well, she wants to host a ball to raise money for us. Says she thinks she can do it by tapping into her network of wealthy friends and supporters.”

My shoulders sag. One million dollars. How can I possibly expect Arena and Fatima not to be excited about it?

“So, she will host the ball and WIN will suddenly become her baby?” My voice is sneering.

“She will…let’s put it
this
way – she will host the ball, because she is raising the money, and we will honor her, yes. WIN is nobody’s baby. It belongs to the Arenas and the Rivals of the world. To those women who need a helping hand. Remember, I was once there – I didn’t even have money to buy my kids a McDonald’s burger, Rival. I was denied Legal Aid, and Centrelink refused to help me. Had Fatima and her team not stepped in and secured me an attorney, I would have had to go back to my abusive husband. WIN was born when the organization that helped me leave my ex was forced to close down due to lack of funds. I couldn’t let that happen. But we don’t have enough money to accomplish our goals, and every cent helps a woman in need, Rival.”

I nod, feeling self-absorbed and selfish.  

Arena touches my arm. “Don’t look so glum. As much as I need her million bucks to help us and other shelters that are on the verge of closing down, I have a plan that includes…
you
.”

She has my attention now. After glancing behind her, Arena lowers her voice and whispers her plan.

SCARLETT

I’m really excited to be part of WIN. Finally, I managed to get one of my Louboutins through the door and it’s up, up, up all the way from here. I am going to make so many new friends. To break the ice and to give these simpletons a glimpse of my charmed life, I plan to throw a catered black-tie cocktail party at my home. I will invite every single person from WIN and their significant other and party the night away with them. All except Rival. Let’s see how she handles being left out in the cold. Let’s see how she handles our “meetings” with the ladies of WIN at fancy five-star restaurants, where we sip on fancy cocktails and expensive French champagne and nibble canapés as we talk
business
. I can just envisage her face when she sees my carefully selected photos of us on Facebook. Rival will burn, combust even. 

I’m going to sexify volunteer work, romanticize fund-raising, entice a new breed of volunteers with someone like me at the helm – glamourous, high-profile and youthful. I’m going to single-handedly change people’s perception of fund-raising, and everyone is going to
clamor
to fund-raise.

I’m also going to suggest that some of the WIN meetings be held at local, upmarket beauty spas. What’s wrong with getting a manicure and a pedicure as we conduct business? I know a place where they serve chilled champagne and indulge you with a relaxing head and foot massage as you get your nails done.

A mud slather – that will be wonderful. Rid ourselves of free radicals and toxins while we save the world. (Or save women – whatever!) Hey, isn’t that a catchy line? I might just use that line with one of my Facebook photos. The one I plan to upload of us with mud on our faces and necks, and white turbans around our heads. Everyone will just die of envy.

Actually, I see no reason why we can’t hold some of our meetings in Bali and other such delightful venues. Oh, well, Bali is out since most Australians are boycotting it because of the string bean prime minister who was dumb enough to give the world the finger. You know that time when he tortured (some people call ten years in prison before being shot by a firing squad torture) and executed those two silly drug mules. We cannot afford to rile up anyone who can donate to WIN. So sorry, Bali, I’m joining the masses and telling you politely: fuck off.

South Africa; now that’s an idea. Arena is from South Africa – she’ll love it. She’ll probably become emotional over the fact that I chose a destination so close to her heart. We could hold a week-long conference at a safari game lodge where Mandela worked. Or presided – whatever! We’ll just drop Mandela’s name, and that will get her all soppy. We will work on WIN from 10 a.m. to 12 noon, have a gourmet champagne lunch, followed by sunset cocktails before a hedonistic and entertaining dinner delivered by beefy black Africans with shiny bodies and bulging loin cloths. Exciting! I can’t wait to present my suggestions, and I have no doubt that the ladies at WIN are going to be
seduced
by my suggestions and my unbridled enthusiasm. No more mundane or ordinary for them. They are going to quietly congratulate themselves for taking the adroit Mrs. Scarlett Murdoch on board.

Of course the kicker here will be Arena’s invite to dinner at her house. Imagine Bradley, me, and the kids breaking carbs with Arena and Bear? How will Rival handle that? Knowing her, she’ll probably combust from fury. Mental note to self: get an urn for Rival’s ashes. An ugly one. A sinkable or biodegradable one. Nothing that will allow for a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Chapter Thirteen

SCARLETT

Both Arena and Fatima gasp at the bank statement in front of them.

“Is this correct?” Arena asks in a voice saturated with excitement and confusion. 

I just smile and flick my hair.
Of course.
  

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” Fatima says. “That’s how much you’ve RAISED?” She slaps her forehead. “I can’t believe it. Wow!”

I lick the cream off my lips and say, “There’s more coming.”

“Wow!” Arena says, her breath sporadic. “This is fantastic! Wow! Did you do this all by yourself?”

I nod. No need to tell her I got my father to blackmail all his clients, associates, and people in his sphere of influence into purchasing tickets. Bradley is right, you know – my father’s business is booming now that everyone knows his son-in-law is hurtling toward Kirribilli house. Everyone wants to be Milton Smyth’s friend these days.

“I’ve been working flat-out to sell them,” I say. “So I’m really exhausted.”

“Of course, I can understand that,” Fatima says. “How ’bout I make you a cup of coffee?”

I put up my hand. “No, this halfway mark calls for a celebration. I’ve booked us a table at Chevaliers’s for lunch.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Arena says. “I’d love to, but I’ve got so much to do!”

Fatima frowns. “C’mon, Arena, it’s the least we can do for Scarlett. She’s worked so hard.”

Arena nibbles on her bottom lip, a thoughtful look on her face. I know what she’s thinking – she is worried about her loyalty toward slutty Rival.

“We don’t have to be long,” Fatima urges. “Just an hour or so?”

“Yes, we won’t be that long,” I say to the ingrate in mommy jeans and well-washed polar fleece.

After a little more lip biting, Arena nods. “Okay, I guess.”

I smile. I cannot wait to get these bitches drunk and disorderly. I know a great strip club in Kings Cross that allows, not to mention
encourages,
drunk women patrons to dance. I will have my camera ready to click away. Imagine the photos of Arena on Facebook, drunk and wrapped around a stripper’s pole. Scandalous. Imagine compromising photos of Arena plastered on the walls of her children’s school – bacon.

“Great,” I say in a grateful voice. “The limo is outside.”

“Limo?” they chorus.

I nod.

Both bogans race outside.

“Ohmygod!” Arena cries at the sight of the white stretch limo.