by Jc Emery
“I’m Vicky,” she says, making damn sure I know her name. I grip her hand tightly in an attempt to make her squirm. I want her to know who she’s dealing with; but she’s strong. She squeezes back and I squeeze harder. The smile has now fallen from her face and she’s giving me a pointed look. It’s a challenge.
“Colleen Patrick. I’m Brad’s wife. But we went over that at the station,” I say, a fake smile plastered on my face. I look down at my attire or lack thereof and give my best innocent look. “You’ll have to forgive us. We’re newlyweds, you know.” She’s squeezing me too tight, I try to pull my hand back but she won’t let go. I look to Brad and whimper.
“Vic, come on,” he urges her to let go. I smirk at her. That’s right, Bitch. Brad shakes his head.
“Come sit down, pretty girl,” Brad says in a gentle but commanding way. I would go sit down, you know, if I could get my hand back!
“It’s okay, Colleen,” Vicky grins, “you don’t have to pretend here. I know you guys aren’t really married. I never would go out with a man with a real wife.” Excuse me? She’s joking, right? If what I just did doesn’t qualify me as a real wife, then everything Grammy said about marriage is a lie.
“Oh,” is all I can say. She finally lets go of my hand and takes her seat beside Brad. I narrow my eyes at her as I watch her hand touch his knee. Brad grits his teeth. I walk over and plop down on his lap, crushing her hand beneath my leg. She yanks her hand back, clearly annoyed. Brad is shirtless and he looks amazing. I wrap my right arm around his neck and place the other on his chest, making a light trail. His entire body tenses.
“So, what brings you to our home, Vanessa?” I ask, watching her ire rise.
“Actually,” she reaches out and rubs her hand on Brad’s arm and batting her lashes at him. “Brad invited me.” My nails dig into the back of his neck as I fight the urge to slap her hand away.
“Oh, did he?” I ask, glaring at him. He’s wincing. How in the hell could he do this to me? This is beyond mortifying. I compose myself quickly, removing my nails from his neck and stand up. “Where are my manners? Is there anything I can get you two to drink?” Brad shakes his head but Vicky nods.
“Yes, do you have any juice?” she asks.
“Is Cranapple alright with you?” I ask. She nods again and I walk off. From around the corner in the kitchen, I can hear their muffled conversation.
“… Great ass, Bradley. Seriously, it’s firm and perky. God, you’re a lucky man.” I hear him grumble and then walk into the kitchen. I try to look like I was getting glasses out of the cupboard the entire time.
“Would you put some goddamn pants on, please?” he snaps, his face livid. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Why would I do that? You don’t want your precious little tart to know that you fucked me? Or is that a dirty little secret you’d like to keep?’ My voice is cold and callous; but his face softens at my words.
“No,” he says softly, his hand finds mine. “You are not a dirty little secret, Colleen, not ever. I want you to put some pants on because Vicky is bisexual and apparently she thinks you have a great ass.” Oh.
“Oh,” I say, blushing just slightly. I move our hands to my ass, encouraging him to touch it. “And what do you think?” He grins and pulls me flush against him.
“Keep it up and I’m going to bend you over this counter and give Vicky a good show.” I laugh and slap his chest away. I walk to the fridge and pour two glasses of Cranapple juice. Brad takes one and downs it. I want to be annoyed with him—he said he didn’t want any juice, and yet—but I can’t bring myself to be. It’s not like he’s being a jerk. I refill the glass with Cranapple and put the juice away. The laundry room is just off the kitchen, so I sneak in there and grab a pair of sweats and pull them on. Vicky may be bisexual, and she may think I have a great ass, but I know she still wants Brad, I can tell.
Walking back into the kitchen, I pick up the glasses. I peek around the corner and see that she’s looks unhappy.
“I get that I have bad timing, but she’s being a real bitch, Brad,” she grumbles. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”
“She’s just embarrassed,” he whines.
“Is there ever going to be a day that you won’t blindly defend her?” she grumbles. “You told me that Medusa in there tries to make friends with your girlfriends. You promised me lunch dates and clothes shopping and gossip, not bruises and emotional scarring! You owe me for putting up with her bullshit, pal.” Well… I’ve never. How rude. I have been as nice as I possibly can to an interloper like her.
“I know. It must be the effect my manhood has on you ladies—fighting over me,” he sighs and they laugh. Suddenly I feel very small and inconsequential. To my face, he defends me; but now I know what he says when he thinks I can’t hear, and I don’t think I like it. My eyes water and I bat the tears away. I refuse to look so needy in front of her. Once my eyes are dry, I leave the kitchen about to show her what a bitch really looks like.
I bring Vicky, the two-bit floozy, her juice, a fake smile plastered on my face. Brad smiles at me. He is oblivious to what is about to happen. I neatly tuck my left foot under the rug and continue on with my right. As my left foot catches, I lean forward-- planned shocked look on my face-- as the She-Devil's juice flys out of the glass, drenching her perfect bosom.
"I'm so sorry!" I screech, playing the part of the apologetic host. I don't offer her a napkin as she whimpers and tries to wipe down some of the mess. "Your poor thing," I lay it on thick, "you must be used to having jizz--" I contain my giggle, "I mean juice all over you."
"And why would she be used to that!" Brad snaps; his voice thick with rage. I shrug, though inside I’m upset. He should be on my side.
"Oh, well," I say innocently, "I must have heard James wrong, then," and I rush out of the room to clean the few drops of juice that landed on me. I sure do hate to be sticky.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(Colleen)
… as cheesy porn music starts to play.
BRAD STALKS INTO the room. He is absolutely livid. Oh well, I’m not real pleased with him, either. “What the fuck is your problem?” He growls, making his way to the sink. He grabs the nearest hand towel and wets it.
“I’m mortified, you asshole. What was this, all a ploy to embarrass me?” His scowl turns to a frown.
“No,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I asked Vicky to stop by earlier when I was pissed. I didn’t know you were going to maul me when you got home.” I don’t miss the smile forming on his lips. Brad likes to be mauled. I’m saving this for later, you know, when I don’t want his nuts on a stick.
“I know. But this is embarrassing,” I mutter. My anger is waning. Part of me wants to be angry with him; the other part of me wants to drag him back upstairs. I feel really bipolar right now.
“Colleen,” he says, moving to my side. “This was all a ploy to make you jealous, pretty girl. I know how possessive you get.” He chuckles. I scoff. I’m not that stupid. I know that man and the amazing Mac have been around, and if he thinks he’s going to convince me that bringing Veronica here was for the benefit of our… relationship… he can just kiss my somewhat perky ass.
“You’re a big, stupid liar!” I snap and march through the living room and up the stairs into our bedroom. Vicky is still in her spot on the couch. Sticky slut. I slam the door when I get to our room. Because, you know, I’m mature like that. Brad brings out the worst in me, he always has.
I sit on the bed and sulk for a while. I can hear Sir Moron down there apologizing to Sticky Slut. He doesn’t take long sending her off. I really don’t want to see him right now, so I quickly gather a change of clothes and rush to the bathroom down the hall. Right now I wish we had more than one bathroom so he won’t be tempted to come in for any reason.
I hop in the shower and turn the water on hot. I don’t know what I’m trying to wash away: the hurt or the humiliation. I had stupidly believed that sex would change things between us. J
ust as I’m getting comfortable under the spray, the bathroom door swings open. I peek around the shower curtain to see Brad’s chest heaving.
“You can’t just go around being a bitch to whomever you want!” he yells.
“Oh yeah? Watch me!” I laugh and stick my tongue out. Slowly, he walks into the bathroom and rips off his pajama pants. My rueful laugh turns to a horrified squeak. If he thinks he’s getting in this shower after the humiliation I just suffered he’s damned mistaken.
“Brad!” I warn, shifting my weight from my left foot to my right. “Do not even think about it.” His eyes twinkle and I know I’m completely screwed. Okay, maybe not completely screwed yet, but by the grace of God, I’m about to be. Oh, Mac!
“You know you want me, baby” he coos, stroking himself. Mac grows instantly. Oh no you don’t!
“After that spectacle?” I ask, annoyed. “Not even you’re that good, pretty boy.” He takes a few more steps forward. If I don’t do something soon he’s going to be in the shower with me. I lean down and grab the first thing I get my hand on—a can of my shaving cream—and throw it at him. He lets go of Mac and blocks himself as best he can. The can bounces off of his upper thigh.
“What the fuck!” he shouts. “Woman, you are unbalanced!” He takes a few more steps toward me and I throw the shampoo bottle, but it doesn’t deter him. With every step he takes I throw one more item at him; still he won’t stop. Finally, he steps into the shower. I narrow my eyes at him and reach out to push him away but he catches my hand first and wraps it around Mac who throbs beneath my touch; and I’m a goner.
SUNDAY MORNING I ran out of the house before Brad even woke up. I called Lindsay and asked her if she wanted to go to the museum with me. Lindsay is a museum tramp. Me, I’d rather go shopping, but whatever. It was a convenient distraction from the horny bastard I left at home. The only real issue I’d had on Sunday was the never-ending questions about why I was avoiding Brad. I couldn’t really answer them without someone winning that stupid bet; of which Brad and I have vowed not to tell anybody. Let them sit and wonder.
Monday morning has come quickly, thank God. I just don’t know how much more time I can spend with Brad, alone, in this house. It seems the angrier I am with him, the more I want to have sex with him; and he sure is excellent at pissing me off.
I sip my coffee while I stand at the kitchen counter. I have my purse and brief case beside me, all ready to go. Brad isn’t due into the station until late morning, so when he walks downstairs butt naked, I’m a little surprised.
“Mornin’ pretty girl,” Brad mumbles. He slides up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. I lean my head back and place my coffee mug to his lips. He slips it carefully and smacks his lips. I smile up at him over my shoulder. We’ve been getting along since Sunday evening. Well, when we’re having sex we get along; so we’ve been having a lot of sex. As Brad says “we finally found a way to get along.” So now we’re all about “getting along.”
“Where’s your laptop?” Brad asks as he nuzzles my neck. I curl my face into him and giggle.
“It’s in my briefcase,” I laugh. Brad tenses behind me.
“Can you leave it here today?” he asks. I turn to face him. My smile falls when I see the look on his face. He’s nervous.
“I can’t,” I say, my brow furrowing. “Why?” I ask.
“I sort of broke mine last week,” he says. He’s acting strange. I figure maybe he wants to borrow it for a little self-loving before work. Before all the sex I’d be grossed out. Now, I’d leave it with him if I didn’t have it take it to court with me today. I set down my coffee mug and grab my purse and briefcase.
“Colleen!” he shouts. I turn to look at him.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“You can’t take the laptop with you today! You have to leave it here!” I step away from him and walk quickly towards the front door.
“You are acting very weird, pretty boy,” I laugh and rush out of the house without looking back.
The drive to the office is quick, there is very little traffic. It’s not the short commute that I enjoyed to and from my condo, but it’s not bad; and I have to admit that I kind of like being back in the old neighborhood. It reminds me of every good thing I’d forgotten in my time spent downtown. People know me in Southie, some of them even love me. I came up on these streets, left my mark, and for a number of reasons that I can’t remember right now, I ran away as fast as I could.
Once in the office, I avoid looking anyone in the eye. I don’t feel nearly as comfortable here as I used to and it seems as though I’m not as welcome as I used to be. If I think too long on it all, I might feel like I’m regressing into who I used to be. Used to. It seems that everything has changed as a result of my marrying Brad. Had I known this, I don’t know if I would have married him back in Vegas. Realizing I’m in love with him is just a strange byproduct of our marriage, though I have a hard time truly regretting it.
An hour after arriving in the office and my head is spinning. I still haven’t had time to turn my laptop on much less do a last minute review of my notes. Thomas is all smiles this morning and I suspect it’s because I’m the idiot who signed that stupid form regarding my conduct. I have half a mind to shove that conduct form up The Toad’s ass.
“You ready to go, Colleen?” Thomas pops his head into my office. I smile politely up at him and nod.
“Yes,” I say, “and you?” Thomas nods and gestures me to follow him. I grab my briefcase and we leave the building for the courthouse.
“And how is married life, Mrs. Patrick?” Thomas asks. I note the hint of faux interest in his voice. The mask he wears on his face is one of kindness, but I know better.
“I’m loving it,” I smile genuinely up at him. “How are Lisa and the kids?” I ask. Thomas tenses up. He doesn’t like to discuss his wife and children with me. It seems to put a damper on his attempts to get into my pants. Disgusting fool.
“Fine,” he clears his throat and turns his attention elsewhere. It seems that catch-up time is through.
We get into the mediator’s office in the courthouse and settle in. I pull out my laptop and turn it on. It’s just me and Thomas in here right now so I have a few minutes to re-group before the Judge, the mediator, opposing counsel, and our clients come in. I just hope it’s enough time to get everything started up.
I sit down just as the computer starts up. I stretch my legs out underneath the large conference table. With my hands held onto the side of the table and my legs stretched out, I hear moaning. My eyes shoot up to Thomas who is staring at me quizzically. I don’t know where it’s coming from, so I really wish he’d stop staring at me. The laptop screen goes black and cheesy porn music starts to play. My mouth drops open as a cheesy porn movie plays on my laptop screen. In a moment of unforgettable horror, my hands push off from the table but the wheels to my chair get caught on something below. I screech as I fly backwards, head first to the floor.
Thomas rushes around the table and closes the laptop screen but the porn music continues to play. Me, with my heels high in the air and my skirt inching its way upwards, I scramble from my position on the floor to stand; but it’s no use. Thomas is standing over me, doing everything in his power to stop my laptop’s shenanigans, while effectively blocking any means of me righting myself. Finally, I give up and kick him a little on my way to standing.
“What the hell is this, Colleen? Thomas hisses. Tears flood my eyes and I shake my head.
“I…” I whisper-sob, “I don’t know!” I reach over to open the laptop screen and am greeted by what can only be described as some kind of man-on-man free-for-all. “Ew!” I yell as I fumble around to pull the battery out. Just as I have my hand on the battery pack, the Judge walks in.
“Counsel,” he says sternly, “what in God’s name is going on in here?” He is beat red and in no mood for a half-assed explanation set to cheesy porn music. My heart beats in my chest so hard that
I worry it might jump out. Finally, I regain my senses and yank the battery out and the music finally stops. I hear the Judge railing on us in the background but all I can make out are the words “embarrassment”, “professionalism”, “lawsuit”, and “contempt.” All I can think is “please, God, don’t let me get fired or disbarred for this.”
Thomas dismisses me from the room and allows me to clean up in the bathroom down the corridor. He is clear to make sure I return because “despite [my] inability to remember my position as an officer of the law, a position which is to be taken seriously,” he still needs me in there today and he doesn’t have time to replace me as co-chair. I can’t really blame him because I wouldn’t want to be around me right now, either. I know for certain that the porn music was intended to be some kind of joke, but as always, it didn’t turn out quite so funny.
In the bathroom, I clean myself up and check my cell phone. I have two missed phone calls and three missed text messages from Brad. “Hey pretty girl. Please do not open your laptop today. I’m not kidding. Adam installed this porn virus on it as a joke. Please call me back.”
Oh.
Oh.
He thinks he’s funny. That’s okay. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Game on, Mr. Patrick.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
(C0lleen)
She’s the only person who’s always been supportive of my choices.
THE MEDIATION ENDS without any more fuss despite the fact that I can’t access my notes on the case because they’re tucked away in the porntop. Thankfully, I know my stuff and I manage just fine without them.
“You did well, Colleen,” Thomas says as we load everything back in his Lexus. Whenever we need to leave the office for business purposes, we take his car. Apparently, my three-year new Honda doesn’t send the right image to our clients. Like his Lexus does? If I were our client, that Lexus would tell me I’m being overcharged.