Empty Shell

by Ashley Fontainne

  Simba’s black tail thumped the hardwood in response as she dropped something from her mouth and began to chomp on the kibble.

  “Whatcha got there, girl?”

  I bent down to pick up a pair of underwear. Simba had developed a taste for underwear, socks and t-shirts in her youth. I groaned, thinking I must have left the clothes hamper on the floor of the laundry room again, which meant I was about to stumble upon a shredded mess of clothing.

  I walked over to the laundry room door and eased my hand inside, grazing the wall until I felt the light switch. I was surprised to be greeted by a clean and tidy room, which is how I remembered leaving it. The clothes basket sat on top of the dryer, full of only the clean blue jeans I had folded last night.

  Huh, wonder where Simba found my underwear? It’s not like I dropped them for Jack during a heated session of lovemaking.

  I flicked off the light and shut the door. I would figure out when I got home later where Simba confiscated my undies from before she ingested more. That would end up costing―

  Wait…these are silk…

  Upon closer inspection, my heart skipped a beat. I caught a whiff of a familiar scent of perfume but couldn’t quite place it. Chanel? Obsession? I walked over and held the underwear in front of the window, examining them under the morning light. They weren’t even close to what I would consider wearing. Perhaps they weren’t even panties, because the miniscule swatch of sheer material was barely enough to cover three inches of skin and maybe four pubic hairs at best.

  Confused, I stared at Simba while she happily crunched on the remaining nuggets of her breakfast. She’d been inside all night, so where did she get them from?

  “Hey girl. Good girl. Here, you want these back?” I cooed, squatting down to her level and dangling the chewed up panties in front of her. “Come on, come here. Show Mommy where you found these, huh?”

  Simba ignored me and continued to scurry after the bits of food. I stood up and glanced around the room Jack and I called the media room, which was nothing more than a couch and big screen television. The downstairs only consisted of the laundry room with an attached bathroom, media room and the small room next to the stairs Jack used as his office. My heart pounded faster as I scanned the open area for any signs of clothing and found none. A knot formed in my stomach as the sensation of something wrong took control. Hard, tight and pounding, the pressure pushed a wicked thought up to my brain: I will find the answer in Jack’s office.

  I spun around and darted down the hallway, then stopped. Jack was a stickler about keeping his door shut. He didn’t want Simba, or me, messing up his workspace, or nosing around the neatly stacked piles of papers that he graded or the lesson plans he worked on for his honors history class.

  I winced when I noticed the door was slightly ajar. I peeked in and saw the mess inside, and blood whooshed in my ears at the thought of Jack’s reaction. He was going to flip when he saw the after-effects of Simba’s night of fun. Oh well, he should have made sure the door was locked before he went to bed last night.

  I pushed the door all the way open and scanned the room. My eyes settled on the briefcase and Jack’s travel bag amongst the shredded papers, useless pillows and one computer chair leg Simba must have chewed off. The black leather bag sat open in the middle of the floor, the edges gnawed and Jack’s work papers covered in dried slobber and teeth marks. I almost laughed—and then I spotted another pair of panties on the floor next to it.

  I bent down and picked up the silken material, unearthing a small scrap of paper embedded inside them. It looked like a receipt from a hotel. My hands shook when I brought it closer to my face. The five-hundred-dollar receipt for a one night stay in room 510 was from The Duchess, an overpriced hotel downtown that I had never stayed in, nor had Jack, at least to my knowledge.

  The receipt was dated for last Friday night, when he was supposedly attending a two-day conference for work. But the thing that really caught my attention was the faint smell of a familiar, feminine perfume.

  I recognize that scent. Chanel. That’s the fragrance Serena wears. Wait a minute. On Friday, Serena called my cell and told me she was sick and wouldn’t be in, and I had to call that temp to cover her absence…could it be? No way…

  A small vibration caused me to nearly jump out of my skin. It was the buzz of a cell phone on vibrate. That made no sense because Jack’s was upstairs on the charger, right next to mine. He had another one? I groped around in the zippered pocket and sure enough, there it was. One of those cheap, disposable phones you pay cash for each month. I flipped it open and read the first, unviewed text that had a picture attached from “SR”:

  Do me again baby I want you now Fri & Sat rocked! Meet me @ lunch Mon? Ur wife will be busy…got some new panties since u ripped my others

  The crotch shot of a woman popped up. A woman with long, tan legs, wearing hot pink underwear that looked exactly like the ones in Jack’s briefcase and Simba’s mouth. I pushed the back button and my stomach churned. I recognized the number the text was from. I had seen it numerous times because she called at least twice a week with some inane excuse for being late.

  I pushed my glasses up and brought the receipt closer. I almost fainted when I saw the name.

  Serena Rowland.

  It took a full minute for me to regain control of my faculties. Sorrow and anger fought for control of my mind. A wave of dizziness threatened to knock me off my feet, so I braced myself against the door frame for support. After all these years, all the love we shared, how could Jack betray me like this? Worse yet—the betrayal sealed with a boney-assed dingy blonde who worked at my office!

  A flashback to last year’s Christmas party clouded my vision. I recalled the look on Jack’s face as he tried to keep his jaw from dropping when a tipsy Serena sauntered over and introduced herself in her skintight, hot pink dress. I remembered the pang of jealousy that poked in my gut, but had dismissed it as nothing. Hell, all men looked at her like at, so why would my all-American, red-blooded husband be any different?

  Because he was my husband.

  Memories of our nights together, holding tightly on to each other for comfort at yet another disappointing attempt to conceive almost made me cry. My heart was shattered—visions of Jack in the arms of another woman made me clutch my chest in physical pain. Was Serena the first? Oh, God, what if she wasn’t? I glanced back down at the phone in my hands. Her text seemed to magically remove the blinders I didn’t realize I had been wearing from my eyes. The last six months of Jack’s moodiness and complete and utter lack of interest in me sexually made sense.

  Guess he doesn’t need hormone pills after all.

  No, I wouldn’t succumb to the tears that threatened to burst out of me. Not today. Later, I knew they would come, and the deluge would drown me. I stuffed them deep inside and let my anger take full control of my mind.

  Decision made as to which emotion would win at the moment, I found my voice. I stepped out of Jack’s office and walked to the bottom of the stairs. Simba had just finished her last morsel and waited patiently by the back door to go outside and do her business.

  I ignored her. Hopefully if the urge to relieve her bowels hit, she would do so on the briefcase. Maybe throw up her kibble, too. That would be a nice touch since it was what I wanted to do.

  “Oh, honey, could you come down here? Seems Simba made a bit of a mess in your office last night. Looks like you’ll need a new travel bag and briefcase, too, unless you want to keep ones covered in teeth marks.”

  I heard Jack grumble, his footsteps heavy above my head as he moved down the hall. An evil grin pulled my lips tight as I wondered if he felt even the briefest sense of panic, knowing I was in his office. Was his mind trying to recall if he had locked his briefcase and emptied his bag? Were the wheels spinning off their tracks, wondering if his little secret was exposed?

  The door frame was strong, the wood smooth against my skin. I leaned against it and waited
for the war of words.

  Communication was about to commence. Oh yes, lots of communication. One-sided communication. I didn’t plan on giving Jack a chance to say much.

  My fingers were wound so tightly around the little piece of black plastic that my knuckles were bone white. The minute I showed the undeniable, incriminating evidence to Jack, I planned on doing the exact same thing to it as he did to the alarm clock this morning.

  Well, with one minor difference.

  I didn’t plan on throwing it at the wall.

  CHAPTER THREE - MONDAY, MID-MORNING

  My usual thirty-five minute drive to work on I-30 took me less than fifteen. It helped I was running late and missed the morning traffic that turned the three lane freeway into a congestion of vehicles. Although it wasn’t even nine yet, the heat already shimmered across the blacktop, an indicator it was going to be another sweltering summer day. Just what I needed—a hot, humid Arkansas afternoon to help fuel my fury.

  With my foot planted against the pedal, I zoomed in and out of traffic, greeted by honking horns and the extension of several middle fingers from irritated drivers I blew past. I pushed my Camaro past ninety a few times. How I didn’t get pulled over for speeding was beyond me.

  I shoved my car into park and exited it in an annoyed huff. My heels clattered on the concrete in the parking deck as I stomped toward the elevators. Still on an emotionally-charged high from my confrontation with Jack, I planned on using the boiling anger to rid myself of another huge thorn in my side.

  Serena.

  Before I left the house, Jack had been forewarned not to attempt to contact the little blonde hussy and inform her that I knew about their unholy trysts. I told him that if he did, he would regret it. He’d already betrayed me enough. He owed me the chance to confront her face-to-face, catch her off guard and speak my peace. I had solidified my threat to him with a well-placed throw of the cell phone, smacking it against his cheek. I was confident the neighbors had heard me scream that if he warned her, the next body part that would feel pain would be his crotch.

  The expression on the face of our elderly, and extremely nosy neighbor, Ms. Preston, had been photo worthy. She had been standing in her front yard watering her gardenias and heard my last harsh words flung at Jack. I doubted thoughts of providing water to her plants were on her mind after the early morning show she witnessed.

  Disturbing thoughts muddled my brain as I walked through the quiet parking deck. While driving, I had waffled back and forth about whether or not I would end our marriage. Could I forgive him? Should I forgive him? If this would have happened earlier in my marriage, when my faith was stronger, I would have turned to God for strength, support and wisdom. But that line had long been disconnected after years of my tearful pleadings for a child went unanswered. I hadn’t stepped foot inside a church in two years and quit sending up prayers over a year and a half ago. Why bother? God had more important issues to work on and had left me to navigate the tumultuous seas of life alone. So, as with all the other sorrows life had thrown my way, I would deal with this one by myself.

  Would I be able to ever look at Jack the same way? I certainly wouldn’t be able to trust him, but was our love strong enough that he would be willing to try and regain it? Had he used a condom? What if he hadn’t and he contracted some venereal disease and passed it along to me? I made a mental note to make an appointment with my doctor for a full checkup. Jack had sworn that the affair only started three months ago and that the mess with Serena was the only time he ever strayed, but was that the truth?

  I solidified my decision to end our marriage when I thought back to the last time we made love. It had been a few months ago, after a long day of meetings with the designer and contractor whom we had just hired to renovate our house. I had been standing in the room that was set aside for a nursery, tears running down my face, knowing I would never step foot inside the dainty space as a mother. Jack’s way of offering comfort was to lead me to our bedroom. If he was telling me the truth about the time frame of the affair, then it began right around that time. How could he have been so loving, so comforting, so concerned about me, then rush right into Serena’s bed? Fresh pain ripped at my chest as dueling images of our sweet lovemaking fought for control over the concocted one in my head of the Jack and Serena going at it.

  No, I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t rest beside Jack at night knowing he opted to find his own solace with another woman when we needed each other the most. When I needed him the most. How could I ever wipe the thoughts away? They would haunt my every waking moment. Maybe invade my dreams.

  Over the years, I had watched too many of my friends go through this nightmare. Held them while they wept, hearts ripped apart. So many strong women turned into empty shells, nothing but former husks of themselves. Some went crazy and spent every penny they could scrape together on invasive surgeries, expensive cosmetics or extreme weight loss methods. All sad, vain attempts to regain their youth through modern technological advances. The thought process seemed to be that if they could somehow turn back the clock, love would find them once again. Others found comfort in the arms of a younger lover, which just made them look like fools.

  Who knows? I might end up following the trend and doing the same, silly things to bandage my wounded heart. I wasn’t able to think that far ahead at the moment.

  I punched the third-floor button with enough gusto that my nail snapped down to the quick. My foul-mouthed response reverberated off the metal walls of the elevator, thankfully heard only by my own ears. I always tried to refrain from swearing. My mother thought it wasn’t very ladylike, but there were days when the f-bomb seemed, well, appropriate.

  Today was one of them.

  While I fumbled around in my purse with my other hand to retrieve a napkin and stop the blood from dripping all over my pants, the shoulder strap on my bag snapped. The contents made a huge racket as they skittered across the tile floor. A lump of hot tears lodged in my throat, my stress level in the stratosphere. Jaw clenched, I shoved the pain down deeper.

  Can’t lose it now. Maintain, Melody. Just get through the day.

  I scrambled to pick up all the pieces, wincing when I heard the ding of the elevator as the doors slid open.

  “Good morning, Melody. Oh, it looks like you could use some help.”

  I glanced up in mid-swipe, no smile on my face as I looked at the concerned countenance of my boss, Roger Stanek.

  Dandy. Now he knows that I’m late. This Monday is one for the record book. Worst. Day. Ever.

  I grabbed the last few items and stuffed them inside my bag before he had a chance to help. The heat of anger and embarrassment crept into my cheeks. “No, but thank you Mr. Stanek. Sorry I’m late. Busy morning and, as you can see, it’s a Monday. Complete with a bleeding finger, traffic and a ruined purse.” I stepped out of the elevator and into the main lobby of Stanek, Overton and Smith, my home away from home for the last ten years. Something felt odd, out of place. The air was thick with tension.

  Oh, my God. Does the office know? Has Jack already called and warned Serena? Lord, she probably has been bragging to others behind my back!

  “Don’t worry about the time, Melody. It’s understandable, considering things. Oh, you are bleeding. Sarah,” Mr. Stanek called to the receptionist, “do you have any tissues or a bandage?”

  “I think I have some in here somewhere,” Sarah replied, her voice thick and distant as she rifled through her desk.

  I didn’t want to stand there and be the subject of pity. Mr. Stanek and Sarah both looked more distressed than a bleeding finger called for. “I’m fine, sir. Really. I’ll just freshen up a bit and then get right to work. I’ll make up the time at lunch, if that is acceptable.”

  Mr. Stanek cleared his throat, his dark brown eyes not missing a thing. I knew he saw right through my façade, but he didn’t verbalize his perceptions. He nodded in silent agreement and turned on his heels.

  Sarah s
tood up and handed me a bandage, her hand shaking. “Here, Ms. Dickinson. Sorry, it’s old. There might be some more in the kitchen. Want me to go look?”

  “No, I’m fine. This will do. Thank you, Sarah.”

  “Oh, Melody?” my boss called. “Once you bandage your finger, please stop by my office. There are some pressing issues this morning that need tending to, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  Though I tried to fight to keep control, my body began to tremble. My plan to storm into the office, demand with righteous indignation the ultimatum of it’s either Serena or me took a nosedive. Obviously, Mr. Stanek already knew that my husband was banging her and wanted to diffuse what he rightfully assumed would be a volatile situation once she arrived at work.

  Controlling my breath, I summoned my voice. “Yes sir, I’ll be there shortly.”

  Mr. Stanek turned the corner and disappeared down the long corridor toward his office. I let out my breath and offered a feeble grin to Sarah as I moved in the opposite direction toward the restroom.

  “Mrs. Dickinson? I…I just wanted to say how sorry I am about this. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, working so closely with Serena and all.”

  The shame and embarrassment I’d felt a mere second before vanished with Sarah’s words, replaced with anger and indignation. My heart thumped faster, pounding my blood through my veins. If I didn’t walk away, right now, I feared I would have a heart attack or stroke. Or worse, unleash my sharp tongue on poor Sarah. She was a sweet, quiet girl who didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my anger. I decided not to respond with anything other than a nod of agreement and practically ran down the hall to the bathroom.

  Inside, I slammed the stall door and plopped down on the cool seat. It took all my intestinal strength to keep the sobs of sorrow in check. I couldn’t very well have a full crying jag, then go talk to Mr. Stanek. Or worse yet, let the other employees see me falling apart. Most importantly, I wouldn’t give Serena the satisfaction of seeing how much pain she had caused me.