Countdown to Killing Kurtis

by Lauren Rowe

  Chapter 46

  Hollywood, California, 1992

  20 Years Old

  Killing Kurtis Day + 200 Days

  “Will you grab me a coke, baby?” I holler. I’m floating in the pool on a raft, reading a screenplay in the glorious California sunshine. I’m feeling fat and sassy and fine as cream gravy. Life cannot get any sweeter than this.

  “You bet,” Wesley calls to me from inside—and a moment later, he’s standing at the edge of the pool in his swim trunks, holding my drink, his chiseled muscles on full display.

  I paddle over to the pool’s edge and Wesley hands me my coke.

  “Thank you, baby.”

  “Is that a good one?” He’s referring to the script in my hand.

  “Yeah, a really good one.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Well, there’s this really good-lookin’ guy who fills out an application to a dating service, and the girl who reviews his application sends him an anonymous note that makes him wanna hunt her down. I’d play the girl’s best friend.”

  Wesley looks unimpressed. “Sounds like a porno.”

  “Well, that’s not the only script I’m considering. There are other ones, too.” I exhale. “I’ve got so many to choose from, my head’s spinning.”

  “Aw, you’ll figure it out, baby. You always do.”

  “Yeah, I reckon I will.” We share a smile. Wesley’s always had such faith in me. Back when we were kids and I told him I was gonna get discovered like Lana Turner in the malt shop, he didn’t doubt it for a second.

  I lay the script facedown on my chest for a moment and close my eyes, drifting lazily across the surface of the pool, soaking in the sun and reveling in my good fortune. I’m free as a bird; my Wesley’s here with me, and we can make love any time we like (and we sure do). I’m beautiful and young and talented and in love—and there’s no one to tell me what I can and can’t do.

  I’ve finally found my platinum-lined happily ever after.

  I continue floating for several minutes, slipping into a daydream, when the ringing of the telephone jolts me.

  “I’ll get it,” Wesley says. He hops up from his lounge chair and grabs the phone. “Hello? Yes, she is. Who’s calling, please?” Wesley’s got the nicest manners—I just love that about him. “Just a minute, ma’am,” he says into the phone.

  “It’s for you, baby. It’s a woman from the government. She says it’s important.”

  I paddle myself to the edge of the pool, careful not to splash my hair or makeup as I do, and gingerly crawl off the raft. I grab the phone from Wesley. “Hello?” I say.

  “Mrs. Jackman?” the female voice asks.

  I bristle. Who on earth would call me that?

  “This is Sylvia Gonzalez from the Department of Corrections,” the woman continues. “I’m very sorry to inform you, ma’am, your husband was killed at the prison today.”

  My mouth hangs open.

  When I don’t say anything, the woman forges right ahead. “He was stabbed by another inmate with a makeshift blade crafted out of a razor and a toothbrush.”

  I can’t speak. My thoughts are racing like pigs at the fair.

  “The perpetrator is currently unknown,” the woman adds.

  I’m surprised at how many things I’m thinking and feeling, all at once. On the one hand, I’m actually a touch sad to think Kurtis Jackman has drawn his last breath. The man wasn’t all bad, after all, even if he was mostly bad. At the end of the day, he made me a star, just like he promised to do. I reckon time and happiness heals all wounds because, even after all those months of wishing Kurtis dead and relieved of his blood supply, I’m surprised to find myself saying a little prayer the poor man didn’t suffer too much pain when he bled out.

  On the other hand, however, I’m awfully grateful for the millions of dollars I just inherited from my dead husband—that ought to come in handy. And most of all, I’m feeling a special kind of elation to think my daddy finally, finally managed to do something sweet for me, after all this time. It’s that last thought that chokes me up and brings a happy tear to my eye more than anything else, actually.

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” the woman says.

  I reckon I’d better say something. “This is devastating news,” I finally say. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  She tells me about some paperwork I’ve got to fill out on account of me being Kurtis’ wife and we arrange for me to get Kurtis’ personal effects.

  “Goodbye, then,” I say. “Thank you again.”

  I leap over to Wesley. He’s lying on a lounge chair, sipping a soft drink and looking like sex on a stick. “Well la-de-dah, my daddy loves me,” I coo. I shake my tail feathers in celebration.

  “What was all that about?” Wesley asks.

  “Ding dong, Kurtis is dead,” I say.

  “Oh,” Wesley says, smiling broadly. He puts down his coke. “Sounds like it’s time to celebrate.”

  “Pop the champagne, baby!” I say. “And buy yourself a brand new pair of boots!”

  Wesley chuckles.

  “I can’t believe after all this time, my daddy finally came through for me,” I say, suddenly choking up. “I’m so touched I could cry.”

  Wesley looks like he could cry right along with me. “The lady said it was your daddy who did it?”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” I say. “That’s the best part—the fools have no idea who did it.”

  Wesley smiles broadly. “Imagine that.”

  I swat at Wesley’s leg to make him scootch over in his lounge chair, and then I lie down right next to him, pressing my near-naked skin into his. “It sure is a delicious feeling having someone take such good care of me,” I say, tracing the ridges in his abs with my fingertips.

  Wesley’s entire body stiffens. “Well, I take care of you.”

  I look up at him. Oh, damn. His feelings are hurt. “Well, hells bells, of course you do, Wesley—and you always have. I just meant it’s nice to get such a sweet valentine from my daddy, considering how I’ve been waiting on him to do something nice for me my whole life.” I run my fingertips over Wesley’s muscular chest, across the letters of my name, and press myself into him again, trying to coax him away from his hurt feelings. But, dang it, no matter how much I caress him, Wesley still looks like he’s got a burr under his saddle. I reckon I just haven’t explained things well enough to him. “It’s just that, up ’til now, my daddy’s been as useful to me as a steering wheel on a mule,” I explain, “and all I’m saying is that it feels extra special to have him finally come through for me, that’s all.” Tears flood my eyes and I wipe them away. “No one’s ever given me a valentine quite like this before.”

  I can feel Wesley’s body tense with anger, and I instantly realize my mistake. Shoot. Open mouth and insert foot. When Kurtis killed Bettie for me, he technically gave me the same sort of valentine Daddy just did. Dang it. I hate it when Kurtis’ name comes up around Wesley. Wesley’s always had a hole in his heart about Kurtis getting my virginity instead of him—and, then, on top of that, I know it rankles him to no end that Kurtis got to kill Bettie for me, too. Dang it. The last thing I’d ever want is for my Wesley to feel second fiddle to any man, least of all a lying, cheating monster like Kurtis. I kiss Wesley’s soft lips, trying to seduce him into forgetting all about Kurtis, but his lips don’t return my kiss. Dang it.

  I’ve got to make Wesley understand how much I love him—that he’s better than Kurtis ever was, that he’s good and kind and loyal and sweet, exactly what I’ve always ached for my whole goddamned life, exactly what I always wanted Kurtis to be, but he never was. Wesley needs to understand I don’t want a man who’d wallop me upside the head and lie and cheat. I don’t want a man with a monster inside him who’d turn a woman’s head into Spaghetti O’s. Hell, Wesley has more character in his little pinky than Kurtis ever had in his entire, brawny body.

  “Kurtis killing Bettie doesn’t count as a valentine,” I say, pressing myself into W
esley, “because I never loved Kurtis.” Once again, I touch the tattooed letters of my name across Wesley’s muscled chest. “This right here is the best valentine I’ve ever gotten, baby. Hands down.”

  Well, that does the trick. Wesley leans into me and kisses me full on the mouth.

  “Oh, Wesley,” I breathe. “I only love you—I’ve only ever loved you. Don’t you know that?”

  He nods and kisses me again, this time with even more heat.

  “You’ve got me so hot, you could fry an egg on my belly,” I whisper. “Come on, baby.”

  Wesley yanks my bikini bottoms down and slides his finger inside me, making me gasp. “You’re mine now,” he says, his voice intense.

  “Of course, I am,” I whisper. “He’s dead and gone now, baby. It’s just you and me.” I kiss him and run my hands over his muscled arms and grind my pelvis into the hard bulge in his swimsuit. “Come on, baby,” I purr, tugging on his swim trunks.

  Wesley can’t resist me anymore—he can never stay mad at me for long. He stands to pull off his swim trunks and when he lies back down with me, he pushes me roughly onto my back, pins my wrists above my head with his strong hands, and slides himself into me, as deeply as a man can go.

  Oh my, he’s taken my breath away.

  “You’re all mine now,” he says, thrusting slowly in and out of me, staring into my eyes.

  “Yes, Wesley, yes,” I gasp out. “I’m yours.”

  “I’m the one who loves you. I’m the one who takes care of you. Me.”

  My heart is racing. “Yes, Wesley. Yes.”

  “Not him.”

  “Not him.”

  “Me.”

  “You’re the one, Wesley. You. The only one.”

  “Because you’re mine.”

  I glance down from Wesley’s beautiful face to the letters of my name on his chest, mesmerized by the way they’re sliding up and down on top of me with each ferocious thrust of his body. I’m on the verge of pure ecstasy.

  “Marry me,” Wesley growls.

  “Oh, Wesley,” I breathe. My insides are beginning to erupt. He’s ripping me in two and, damn, it feels good.

  “Marry me,” Wesley says again. “I want you to carry my name.”

  My insides erupt and explode all at once. “Yes,” I choke out, my body convulsing with pleasure. “Yes.”

  When I’m all done, Wesley’s still going strong, so I put my lips against his ear. “I’m gonna be your wife,” I whisper.

  Wesley cries out and shudders with a forceful release, and then he lets go of my wrists and slides his hands to my face. He cups my cheeks tenderly in his palms and gazes into my eyes. “You’re mine, Charlene—my princess bride.” He kisses me gently. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

  Chapter 47

  Lancaster, California

  20 Years Old

  Killing Kurtis Day + 231 Days

  All hell has broken loose. Two minutes ago, the guard who was frisking me blurted, “Oh my god! You’re Buttercup!” and that’s all she wrote. Every damned correctional officer and visitor in the entire prison converged on me like ants on a crumb, asking for my autograph, and I didn’t have a choice but to smile and chat and sign every last scrap of paper shoved under my nose. Normally, I wouldn’t mind the attention—I’d do anything for my fans—but today, I’ve got something pressing to do and I’m chomping at the bit to get to it.

  It’s true I could have had the nice folks at the prison mail me Kurtis’ personal effects and forms that need signing, but, mad genius that I am, I figured I could use this errand as an excuse to see my daddy without anyone figuring out we’re related. And I wouldn’t have missed that golden opportunity for the world.

  I haven’t visited Daddy since he left me in the lurch on Killing Kurtis Day. Honestly, after Daddy left me hanging, I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to see him again. But all that changed when he finally came through for me last month.

  Goodness gracious, the minute I hung up the phone with that prison lady, I wanted to fly down here in my hot rod, throw my arms around Daddy’s neck, and thank him from the bottom of my heart. But I couldn’t. No way. Because now that I’m a famous and beloved celebrity the world over and well on my way to picking up the torch lit first by Lana and picked up by Marilyn and carrying it ever-farther into the catacombs of history, I can’t ever do a damned thing that lets anyone find out I’m Charlie Wilber’s Daughter. Christ Almighty, talk about something that would fuck up the trajectory of my entire life if anyone found out my daddy’s name. Woo-wee, it sure turned out to be a lucky break after all that Daddy was never listed on my birth certificate. According to the world, I’m the daughter of “Father Unknown,” which, as far as I’m concerned, means I’m the daughter of a preacher man who died in a tragic incident with a hippopotamus on a Godly mission to Africa.

  I’ve been standing just inside the prison doors getting mobbed for half my life, smiling and giving every last guard and visitor my autograph, when one of the guards finally offers to escort me to the front office to handle my business.

  “Sylvia,” the guard says, handing me off to a woman behind a counter. “Look who’s here.”

  Sylvia puts out her hand and introduces herself as Officer Gonzalez, the same woman who called me a month ago with the sad news of my husband’s demise. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jackman,” she says.

  It takes all my strength of will and character not to correct this woman and say, “I’m not Mrs. Jackman anymore—I’m Mrs. Miller now.” But I reckon now wouldn’t be the time or place to share that particular piece of happy news. “Thank you,” I reply, forcing myself to look appropriately sad and demure.

  Officer Gonazalez pulls out the various forms needing my signature, which I dutifully sign, and then she grabs a small box filled with Kurtis’ meaningless things. I sit down and poke through the paltry contents of the box for a few minutes, trying to feel some sort of emotion about the whole situation—but I don’t. I’m Wesley’s wife now—I belong to him—and I couldn’t be happier about the way things have turned out. My life with Kurtis, along with all his lies and betrayals, seems like a distant memory.

  Surprisingly, the only thing I’m feeling toward Kurtis as I sift through his box of belongings is gratitude. That’s it. Kurtis was the man whom the Lord sent down to earth to deliver me to my sacred destiny, and he’ll always have a place in my heart. It’s true I’ve still got a ways to go before I’m carrying my torch into the catacombs of history, but I’m well on my way. And it was Kurtis who got me started down the road. Thanks to Kurtis killing Bettie, and the trial that made me famous, I’ve got almost everything I could ever dream about now—the only thing missing from my perfect picture is having my darling daddy by my side.

  “Sylvia,” I say, looking up from the box. “I was wondering if you could look someone up on your computer for me?”

  Sylvia looks at me quizzically.

  “There’s an inmate here who’s been sending me fan mail for a while now. He seems like a sweet enough fellow, actually, despite whatever he’s done to get himself in here. And as long as I’m here today, I thought I might make this poor guy’s day and pay him a quick visit? You know, give him an autographed photo to remember me by?”

  “Wow. That’s awfully nice of you,” Sylvia says.

  “It’s a small thing to do to brighten the day of someone less fortunate,” I reply. I motion to the prison around us. “I’m sure he’d appreciate someone showing him some kindness for a change.”

  Sylvia’s face softens. “That’s really kind of you.” She takes a few steps over to a computer on the far side of the counter. “You’re sure he’s housed here?”

  “I’m sure,” I say. “He always puts this place as his return address on his letters.”

  Sylvia taps a few keys on her computer. “What’s his name?”

  “Charles Wilber,” I say, and the minute the words escape my mouth, adrenaline floods me. I can’t wait to see Daddy again. I’m dying t
o thank him for what he finally did for me, and I’m even more excited to tell him, “I forgive you.” Because you know what they say—holding a grudge against someone is like taking poison and hoping the other person’s gonna keel over.

  It’s gonna feel like riding a unicorn and sliding down a rainbow to say those powerful words of forgiveness to Daddy. And the best part is, when I say them, they’re gonna be the God’s truth. I do forgive Daddy—for every last thing. For leaving me in the trailer with Mother; for never writing me but that one time; for all the birthdays he missed and all the times I sat under the mailbox, just waiting for the postman to come; and even for making me wait a year to kill my husband when I could have come up with a Plan B in half the time. I forgive all of it. In fact, now that my life has turned out so well, I wouldn’t have it any other way, just in case doing any of it differently would have changed how things ended up. I’m just that happy.

  Speaking of which, I can’t wait to tell Daddy about Wesley. Daddy’s gonna be so proud to find out I’ve managed to marry my soul mate—the true love of my life—a man who treats me exactly the way Charlie Wilber’s Daughter deserves to be treated, and then some. I look down at the wedding band on my finger and feel a wave of unadulterated joy wash over me. I’m married to the sweetest, sexiest, most loyal man in the world. Thanks to Wesley, my heart is bursting with love and kindness and forgiveness all the livelong day. And I’m ready to share all of it with Daddy.

  “Hmm,” Sylvia says. “I’m not finding a Charles Wilber. Looks like he’s not housed here.”

  My heart skips a beat and my stomach clenches. “No, he is. I’m sure of it,” I say. “Can you please check again, ma’am?”