The Reconstruction of Carla Millhouse (21 page)

It was time to call in his favor.

* * *

When Heather emerged from the bathtub, she saw her phone lying on the floor and picked it up. She remembered she’d forgotten to erase the call from Salvatore and did so immediately. A smile popped on her face when she saw that Phil had texted her.

She erased his text and called him back. They struck a deal for the following week as he was unavailable till then. She would have given him whatever he asked for wanted it done right. There was no room for mistakes. She wanted a rosy future in Salvatore’s bed, not some lesbo’s in prison.

After dressing in hot pink designer sweats, she went downstairs. She couldn’t mask the surprise on her face when she found Orson in the den slouched in a chair sipping a drink. However, knowing that Phil would be erasing him from her life, she smiled.

“You’re home early. Had I known, I wouldn’t have dallied in the bath so long.”

“It’s okay. I put the time to good use,” Orson said, smiling.

“I’ll call out for dinner. What would you like?”

He shrugged. “Anything you choose, my dear, will be fine.”

She went to retrieve her stack of menus she kept in a kitchen drawer by the phone. Hemmings set down his drink and followed her. Heather grabbed a stack of menus and was sorting through them when Hemmings came up close behind her. He could smell the sweet scent of her body wash, which he now found cloying. He wanted to wrap his hands around her small neck and squeeze the life out of her. Instead, he steeled himself by the thought that Louie would take care of the problem soon enough and clasped the diamond choker around her neck.

“You
were
listening!” Heather’s hands flew to her neck and she squealed with joy as she ran to check out her new bauble in the hall mirror.

“I’m glad you like it, my dear,” Hemmings called to her.

“I love it!”

Under his breath, Orson said, “Enjoy it while you can. Too bad you’ll never expect my real gift or see it coming.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hemmings smiled as he strode over to Jessie Thompson’s desk the next day looking as dapper as ever dressed in a new, double-breasted, charcoal-gray, three-piece suit. Knowing that Heather would soon be history, he felt a spiritual renewal.

He also stayed focused on the task at hand and knew he had to lay the groundwork for his alibi. When the police discovered Heather’s corpse, he wanted all the pieces to firmly fit in place. After all, in most domestic murders, the spouse is the most likely suspect. He had no desire to throw away his life because of something he’d overlooked. Heather’s sendoff would be flawless.

Louie had been told that Heather would be alone in the house. He didn’t even have to break in. Ring the bell and send the bitch to hell. When Louie had asked if he should wait around in case she wasn’t home, Hemmings assured him she’d be there waiting for a fabricated special delivery—diamond earrings to match the diamond necklace he’d just given her.

“Jessie, I have to go out of town this weekend to attend the auto show in Vegas. I’ll be leaving tonight.”

Hemmings thought it a good omen that the annual unveiling of the new car models was being held this weekend. It gave him the greatest alibi. Hundreds of people would see him there. And Louie could work his charm while Hemmings was out of town.

She nodded. “How long will you be gone?”

“I should be back late Sunday night.”

Repressing a smile, Jessie nodded again. When Orson walked out, Jessie sighed in relief. Now she had ample time to speak to Heather and ask for the money. Hopefully, her old friend would return the favor Jessie had done for her when she warned her about Haywood.

* * *

Carla had finally reached her weight-loss goal and was ready to deal with the final change—namely her hair. She was now the same weight she’d been when she and Martin had tied the knot. She looked good and felt the best she had in years. It was all systems go to read Martin the riot act about his philandering and take back her marriage.

Now that Martin had agreed to children, she should have been thrilled, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t worried about herself being a good mother. What scared her was the fact she wasn’t certain what type of father he’d be. Her own father had been a workaholic and she hardly knew him before he died. A massive stroke left her mother a widow at 45. It had been rough for the both of them and her mother had been devastated emotionally. Then again, Carla assumed her father had been faithful to her mother.

There was also another little thing on her mind that was like a tickle one couldn’t quite reach to scratch. She was no longer certain that she wanted to have Martin’s children. Whenever she thought about cuddling a baby to her breast the face she envisioned smiling at them was Richard’s and not Martin’s. She was no psychologist, but she didn’t think thoughts like that boded well for her future relationship with Martin. Perhaps she was getting such ideas because she missed Richard’s friendship. However, if she was honest with herself, she knew it was more. Now that she was poised to sock it to Martin about his infidelity, she wasn’t sure of her own feelings.

Chapter Thirty

Carla had taken Lynne’s suggestion to become a blonde. After 35 years of being a brunette, perhaps the change would do her good. She wondered if Martin would like it. Maybe her competition was a blonde, too. To hell with all these crazy thoughts. Will
I
like it? was the only thing she should be concerned with.

The moment of truth had arrived. The dye had been washed out and she was now sitting in the chair at Raoul’s station at the upscale hairdressing establishment called “Curls by Raoul”. It was hard to tell the color while her hair was wet. She watched as he began to blow it out.

Finally, Raoul asked, “What do you think, Carla?”

She looked in the mirror at her reflection. “It’s…different.”

“But, do you
like
it?” he asked.

She noted a hint of worry on his affable features. “I think so, but…do you have any idea who that strange woman in the mirror is?”

Raoul gave a hearty laugh. “That’s you, babe and you’re beautiful,” he said as he held her head steady.

From that moment on to the time she walked out, Carla kept stealing glances in the mirror. It was a shock to see the face she normally saw surrounded by thick, wavy blond tresses streaked with highlights, shimmying in the fluorescent lighting instead of dull brown hair. She wasn’t quite certain how she felt about it and had to get used to it herself, let alone attempt to guess Martin’s response. Since she had some time to kill before going home, she drove by Lynne’s office hoping she was there.

* * *

Carla found her friend behind her desk on the phone and walked toward her. Lynne held up a finger and wrote something down on a pad. A second later, her eyes snapped back up. Obviously, Lynne hadn’t recognized her at first, but when recognition set in, a huge smile appeared on her face and she stuck up her thumb in a
good
job
gesture, and she quickly ended her call.

“Hello, girlfriend! You look—”

“Like a stranger,” Carla said quickly.

“Yeah, but a beautiful one. The color is perfect.”

“Just like you,” Carla said coming around to hug her friend. “How do you know these things?”

Lynne looked up at Carla. There were tears welling in her almond-shaped eyes. “I only want you to be happy, kiddo.”

“I know.”

There was so much Lynne wanted to say, but didn’t. She was hoping that Carla had made all those changes for herself and not Martin, whom Lynne felt didn’t deserve her. When Carla had first introduced him to her, she disliked him instantly. The vibes he’d given her weren’t good; however, knowing Carla was crazy about him, she’d held her tongue. Lynne never trusted him and wasn’t surprised to learn he’d been unfaithful.

Had Martin been her husband, he’d be singing the higher notes in the choir. Therefore, when it came to counseling Carla on Martin, Lynne was forced to walk a tightrope. Yet, there was still hope.

Now that Carla had remade herself even better than before, she’d hoped she’d give Martin his marching papers and end up with Richard. She would have had to be dense not to see how Carla’s face blossomed with happiness whenever she was with Richard. And, if she were correct in reading his body language, he cringed whenever Carla spoke about Martin.

Poor guy was probably in love with Carla. There were so many times that Lynne had wanted to tell Carla her suspicions about Richard’s feelings. But if she even hinted at it Carla would shrug it off as nonsense?

One time Carla came right out and pooh-poohed the thought of she and Richard having feelings for one another. Called it friendship. Only Lynne had never been certain it was merely that. Now with Richard out of the picture Carla seemed so sad.

“Martin will love it. Damn! Any guy would love it.” Lynne smiled.

“Thanks, Lynne. Thanks for everything,” Carla said, but it sounded more melancholy than happy. “Got to run.”

“Good luck, tonight.”

Carla pursed her lips and nodded.

I hope you’re doing the right thing, Lynne thought.

* * *

As Carla sat in front of her mirror applying the final touches of her makeup, she sipped a glass of wine to help her mellow out. It wasn’t just trying to get used to her new look that made her ill-at-ease. There was an unexpected underlying current of uncertainty spreading through her.

She couldn’t understand why this was happening now. After all, hadn’t she striven for this moment? She intended to proclaim her love for her husband and have him do likewise. So, what was wrong? Why did she suddenly have cold feet? She took a big sip from her glass.

A conversation she’d had with Lynne, a while back, popped into mind. They were having lunch and Lynne brought up her relationship with Richard.

“What’s with you and Richard?”

“Huh?” Carla replied, caught off guard.

“It’s not a trick question,” Lynne responded looking directly into Carla’s eyes.

“Then what…nothing. We’re friends. What else is there?”

“I don’t know. When I’m with the two of you I feel something like static electricity in the air.”

“Well then I’m glad your clothes are clinging to you and mine aren’t. Just don’t electrocute yourself.”

“Carla, must you make a joke out of everything?” Lynne seemed annoyed as her pouty, crimson-coated lips turned down at the corners.

Carla dropped her fork into her plate. “For God’s sake, what did you expect me to say? I’m married to someone else.”

“It was just an observation. I meant nothing by it,” Lynne replied.

However looking back, Carla knew Lynne had touched a nerve. Carla understood now why. She hadn’t then and had become defensive. She remembered her assertion to Lynne:

“I guess you forgot that I’ve been killing myself in order to win back my husband from the clutches of some home-breaker.”

“No. Not really. Only, goals sometimes change,” Lynne had responded quietly. “Life isn’t a flat line.”

As the memory faded, Carla now understood what Lynne had meant about goals changing. Should she be trying to win Martin back? The feelings she’d once had for him weren’t as strong as they once were. Yet, despite all that, she didn’t want to just throw away their marriage. Like her ideas for her books, she’d worked with them until she exhausted all attempts to make the stories work. She was all for saving, not destroying.

However, this wasn’t fiction; this was her life. She couldn’t keep trying to make it work forever.
Then, what do I want?
She asked the image in the mirror. The person that looked back at her remained silent. She sighed. All the preparations had been completed. She’d go through with what she’d planned.
Que sera, sera. What
will
be, will be
, she thought as she drained the glass.

* * *

Blondie alerted Carla to Martin’s arrival. She lit the candles and looked at the dining table one last time. Everything was set and ready. The wine had quieted her jitters. She met Martin at the front door dressed in a black silk peignoir, which had been Lynne’s suggestion.

Martin’s jaw dropped nearly to his knees. His eyes bounced from her face to her body and back again.

“Are you going to remain there all night while dinner gets cold?”

Eyes now riveted to her face, he asked, “What did you do to your hair?”

“You don’t like—”

“No-no-no! I love it!”

“I was afraid it might have been too—”

Her words were drowned out as Martin’s lips crushed hers. He hadn’t kissed her like that for ages. She guessed they were off to a good start.

Regaining his composure, Martin asked, “What’s the occasion? I didn’t miss our anniversary, did I?”