Laying a Foundation: Bonus volume: Includes series prequel, The Groundbreaking (The Love Under Construction Series) (7 page)

“Okay, okay. See you then.” He slammed down the phone, and Phyllis, the woman who worked at the next desk, turned and stared at him.

“Damn telemarketers,” he said to her with a small smile. He headed out to find that coffee and didn’t come back for an hour and a half.

After work, he piddled around until he ran out of places to piddle and went home about six thirty. Sherry was already there, and she’d cooked something – her dishes were always unidentifiable. Steve threw down his briefcase and looked at her. “What’s so important?”

“What’s so important is that we’re married and we haven’t had a conversation in six weeks, that’s what.” While she talked, she spooned something out of the pan and onto two plates.

All she does is yell at me when we’re together
, he thought.
No wonder we don’t talk
. “So what are we talking about?”

“Did you hear from the firms?” She picked at whatever she’d put on their plates, then took a bite. Even though she’d cooked it, he could tell she didn’t like it.

He couldn’t find a way to keep the information from her anymore. “Yeah, I heard from them. Got turned down by every one of them.” He picked at the food, then tried it. Yeah, inedible.

“God, Steve, every one of them?” she shrieked at him. “You’ve got to find a firm, and pretty soon. I’m not going to wait forever.”

“Wait for what?”

She hesitated for a second, then blurted out, “Wait for you to be successful!” There – she’d said it, what she really meant. Steve felt his face start to burn, and down deep a sort of fury started to brew.

“Wait for me to be successful?” he growled. “Wait for me to be successful? You know, you harp at me every waking minute. It’s a miracle I can even hold the job I have!”

“Every waking minute? I never see you! When you’re not at work, you’re at some bar, or doing something with your friends, or just generally staying away, and I’m sick of it. Are we married or not?” she asked, standing, her hands on her hips.

“It doesn’t feel like a marriage. It feels like a death sentence,” Steve muttered, throwing the plate into the sink.

“Really? Well, let me tell you, it isn’t a marriage as far as I’m concerned. I’m gonna lay it all out, Steve.” Sherry took a deep breath. “Here goes: I’m involved with someone else. We’ve been seeing each other for six months. But you were too busy staying away from me to notice. And yes, we’re sleeping together.”

Steve felt his insides go cold. “Is this someone I know?”

“None of your business,” she told him, throwing her plate into the sink too.

“Oh, really? I told you I wanted to start having kids a year ago, but you haven’t seemed to be the least bit interested in starting a family! Do you even care about that?” Steve yelled.

“We can’t have kids when you don’t have a decent job!” Sherry yelled back.

“We have enough. If I got a good job with a good firm tomorrow, how long would it be until you thought we had enough to have a kid? Two years? Five years? Fifteen years? You just don’t want kids – admit it!” Steve was getting really pissed.

Then Sherry dropped the bomb: “Steve, I was pregnant. I had an abortion eight months ago. I can’t have kids with you, and I certainly don’t want to be married to you anymore. I’m filing tomorrow – I’ve had enough.”

Steve didn’t hear anything about not being married anymore or about filing. His comprehension of what she was saying ended when she said the word “abortion.” All the years he’d wanted a child, and she’d done this? It wasn’t what she’d done; if ever anyone believed a woman had the right to control her own body, it was Steve McCoy. No, it was that she hadn’t even told him, hadn’t consulted him, hadn’t given him a choice, knowing how important it was to him. He felt something deep inside him shutting down, and his face went completely blank. “Go!” she muttered. “Get the hell out. I don’t care anymore. It’s over.” He grabbed his jacket and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him as he went.

By nine, he was so wasted that he couldn’t sit on the bar stool, so Sammy, the bartender, moved him into a booth. He tried to make sense of what had happened, but he couldn’t. It hurt so much that there was no point. All he wanted to do was numb the pain, but it had been with him for so long that it seemed more like an old friend. It had become the center of his life.

All he’d wanted was a family, a family with a mom who didn’t have fifteen boyfriends, a dad who didn’t hit anyone, and happy, pretty children. All he’d gotten was rejection and pain. The last person who’d loved Steve was Sarah, a long-gone baby who hadn’t even known he existed. It was over forever, and he wouldn’t try again.

A cute girl came over and sat in the booth with him, but he didn’t really talk to her. She wanted someone to sleep with, and when she left, she took him home with her. He fucked her for four hours, ignoring her requests to satisfy her, just doing what pleased him, and then got dressed and left, with her cursing him as he went. That’s how he’d operate from then on, he decided – fuck ’em and forget ’em. It would work better than being hurt over and over.

“McCoy? Steve McCoy?” Two nights into his bender, Steve sat on the curb, too drunk to stand. Who was talking to him? He tried to look up, but the street light above the figure backlit it and made it look totally black.

“Yeah, I’m McCoy. Whaddya want?” he slurred.

“I need to talk to you. Let’s get you sobered up.” The figure helped him to his feet. “And cleaned up. You smell like a brewery.”

When he managed to get himself upright and take a look, he saw that the figure was an older gentleman in a trench coat. The man helped him down the block until they found an all-night diner and ducked in. Once inside, they took a booth and the waitress brought them black coffee and dry toast. In thirty minutes, Steve was able to make a sentence that sounded somewhat intelligent.

“Why do you want to talk to me? And who the hell are you?”

“Who I am is of no concern.” The man took another sip of coffee. “But the man for whom I work has been watching you and your career. He would like for you to come to work for him.”

“Doing what?”

“The law,” the man said plainly.

“Why me?”

“Because you need a position. Because he needs a lawyer. Because he thinks you’re the right person for the job. He has a firm but he will be retiring, and he believes you will be the person to take over his practice. He is prepared to offer you this.” He slipped a piece of paper to Steve.

When Steve unfolded the paper and looked at it, he almost fell out. He was being offered a brand-new BMW, a four-bedroom house, full benefits, use of a plane, a membership to a country club he’d never heard of, and an income that was close to a million dollars a year. “Holy shit,” Steve whispered. “Wait – where is this?”

“Louisville, Kentucky. Are you interested?”

“Hell, yeah! Sign me up!” Steve practically shouted. There was nothing left in St. Louis for him anyway.

“Then be at Lambert, hangar 89A, at six thirty in the morning.”

“I’ll be there!”

At six thirty the next morning, Steve boarded a small private jet and got comfortable in the leather seat. He hadn’t brought anything with him. For what he was about to step into, he could buy all new stuff. Even though he’d never been to Louisville, he was pretty sure he was going to love it.

July 1991

“K
rystal, goddamn it, get yo ass ovah heeyah. This man be wantin’ service,” Bledsoe barked, picking sesame seeds out of his grill with a toothpick. The tiny brunette hated his gold caps; she thought they made him look even seedier.

“Hey, cute thing! Let’s go party!” The guy oozed sleaze, wrapping an arm around Krystal’s waist. They walked along the Hoboken street past dozens of other girls, then turned and walked down an alley, coming out in the courtyard of a pay-by-the-hour motel. He led her down to room one eighteen, took out a key, and opened the door to the shabby hole in the wall.

Everything reeked of cigarette smoke, but that was nothing new. Krystal never knew what kind of rat hole she’d be lying down in from trick to trick. Once they were in the room and the door was closed, the man turned to her and ordered, “Take off everything. I want to look at you.”

Krystal did as she was told. She’d lost her modesty years back when she’d come into the life as a runaway at thirteen, and she’d grown used to stripping off so men could stare at her body. When she was naked, he walked over and pinched both of her nipples viciously. Because she’d cried out, the man slapped her across the face, then said, “Nice little tits. How old are you, eleven? Tell me you’re eleven.”

“How did you guess?” Krystal asked him. She wasn’t; she’d be nineteen in two weeks, but he wanted her to be eleven, so for that moment in time, she was. She was whatever they wanted her to be if it would keep them from beating her.

“Oh, I can tell. I’ve had lots of little girls, and I like me some virgin kiddie pussy.” He rubbed his hand roughly up and down her slit, and it burned her skin something fierce, but she tried her best to look like she liked it and it was turning her on. Then he dropped to his knees, spread open her folds¸ and looked up at her from below. She moved slightly, and he took it to mean she was being uncooperative. Slapping the inside of her thigh, he sing-songed, “You’re gonna have to be still for Daddy, sweetheart.”

He stood, and his fingers went around the back of her neck, gripping tightly. He forced her to kneel on the floor, then took his penis from his pants and pressed her mouth down over it. She tried to do the job herself, but he wanted to do it for her, wrapping his hands in her hair and yanking her head up and down over him. The head of his penis hit the back of her throat repeatedly, and she gagged and choked, tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, little slut? I’m coming; you’d better swallow it all down.” He grunted a couple of times and her throat was flooded. She felt like she was drowning, and she tried to swallow, but his penis was buried firmly in her throat, and she was getting closer and closer to fainting.

Finally, he pulled back and she was able to breathe, but before she could really catch her breath, he grabbed her by the hair, threw her on the bed, wrestled her to her hands and knees, and rammed into her rear entrance without any warning. Krystal screamed and begged him to stop, but he just kept ramming her, then pulled out of her, threw her onto her back, and started to plunge into her vagina with all his might. She was crying in earnest, begging him to at least slow down, but he kept going, all the while slapping her face or breasts or backside.

When he was finally done with her, he told her to put her clothes on. Pushing her out the door, he handed her a wad of bills, then slammed the door. She was left to walk back to the strip in the dark by herself.
Oh, well, there’s nothing anyone could do to me on the way back to Bledsoe that would be worse than what just happened
, she thought. Everything below her waist still hurt and she was having trouble walking, but Bledsoe expected his money immediately.

She tottered out onto the main street in the ridiculously-high heels that Bledsoe said made her fuckable, and he was on her before she could whistle. “Whayah my money, bitch?” Bledsoe asked her. Krystal handed him the wad of bills. “Sweet! Hey, day a guy ovah dayah want some lovin’. I tole him you’d supply. Getcho ass over dayah and do yo thing.” He pushed her toward a blue sedan. Krystal walked up to the window and asked, “Hey, wanna party?”

“Get in,” the guy said gruffly. Once she was in the car, he leaned over and pulled her legs apart, then stuck three fingers into her vagina in one shove, and Krystal gasped in pain. “Nice and tight.” He drew out his fingers and drove her to a parking lot three blocks away. Dragging her out of the car by her hair, he practically threw her in the backseat, then climbed in and fucked her fast and rough. When he was finished, he didn’t even let her back into the front seat, just drove her back to the block where he’d picked her up, handed her some cash, and barked, “Get out, whore!”

Bledsoe appeared out of nowhere. “Hand it heeyah, bitch.” Krystal handed him the money and he counted it. “You stealin’ from yo ol’ man?”

“No sir. What’s there is what he gave me,” she said, trembling. With his violent streak, Bledsoe could be dangerous when he was crossed.

“Asshole; don’t wanna pay fo quality. Times is hard.” He pocketed all of the money.

Krystal was hurting. Men violated her all the time, but those two had been particularly rough. She thought the pain would take her down, but before she could even sit and rest, Bledsoe told her, “See dat man ovah dayah? He lookin’ fo a good time. Getcho ass ovah dayah and do what he want, heeyah?” Barely able to walk, Krystal tottered over to the car. “Ready to party,” she said, wincing.

This guy said, “Get in,” but it was softer and gentler than they usually spoke to her. Krystal got in, hoping he’d be something of a human being. He drove them to a park four blocks down the street, parked the car, and turned to Krystal. She expected him to pull his penis from his pants, but instead, he looked at her with a gentleness in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen in a long time.