Barry walked her through the huge living room, past a large den, and down a long hallway, then past a back stairway. Finally they walked into the media room. “I thought you might enjoy relaxing and watching a movie.”
Speechless, Chanelle could only nod. The screen in the media room was almost as large as a screen in an actual movie theater.
“More wine?” he asked.
“Uh, do you have anything sweet?”
“Would you like a Kir?”
“What’s that?”
“White wine with a shot of crème de cassis. I think you’ll like it.”
He left Chanelle ogling her surroundings, but was back in a flash with the drink in hand.
Chanelle took a sip. “Mmm. Now, this is good.”
“Glad you approve. Look, check out the movie collection. I’ll give you a tour of the place in a minute; I want to get out of this suit and put on something comfortable.” He patted her on the shoulder and quickly made his way out of the room. Chanelle could hear his footsteps as he cheerfully trotted up the back staircase.
Uninterested in looking at movie titles, Chanelle decided to roam the downstairs unescorted. She wandered into the kitchen. It was a wondrous open area with granite kitchen counters. The island and counter bars seated up to eight guests. Fabulous! Chanelle couldn’t cook, but she’d certainly start taping some of those cable cooking shows to prepare herself for her new wife/hostess role.
She climbed up on one of the leather-cushioned stools and swiveled around as she checked out her soon-to-be cooking area. Merrily, she took big sips of her drink. She’d already forgotten what Barry said the drink was called, but whatever it was, it was delicious and the way she was guzzling it down, she’d be ready for another drink soon.
A door in the kitchen opened to the terraced backyard. She had instant visions of elaborate, catered cook-outs. She looked around as far as her eyes could see in search of a pool. With all this ground, there had to be a pool somewhere. She closed the door and returned to the media room to wait for Barry to start the tour.
While waiting, she snapped open her purse to admire the six hundred dollars he’d slipped her for coming to his home. Hershey would pay her the additional five hundred in three days, Chanelle assumed. Damn, she’d earned eleven hundred dollars for an evening of dining and chitchat with a rich, handsome man.
Good looking out, Hershey! she said to herself. And good looking out to you, ex-wifey! She raised her glass in a toast to Barry’s ex-wife for paving such a smooth path for her. If things worked out as she planned, she’d never have to turn one damn trick. She’d be Mrs. Barry Whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-was as quickly as she could sweep him off his feet.
She just had to figure out what he was looking for. She’d be whatever he needed. She couldn’t care less about the race thing, the class distinction, or the difference in their ages. Barry was husband material. That was all that mattered, she decided with a satisfied smile.
“Chanelle,” a high-pitched voice called.
Startled, Chanelle jerked around. It sounded like a woman’s voice; was she hearing things?
Chanelle gasped when Barry sauntered in. He was wearing makeup, an elaborate red wig, high heels, and a tight-fitting sequined dress. “Come, come.” He beckoned with fluttering fingers. “I promised to give you a tour.”
If this were a scene from a movie, Chanelle would have fainted, but somehow she held on to her composure. She mentally cancelled the wedding plans, but something instinctual made her go along with the charade. She’d made eleven hundred easy dollars off Barry. Treating him nice meant a constant flow of money; there was no point in insulting her transvestite cash cow.
“You look…um…fabulous, uh, Barry,” she said as she trailed him from room to room of the home that just a few seconds ago held the promise of being her very own.
“Thank you, dear. But please, call me Rita,” he said in a falsetto and grandly swung open a set of double doors that led into an elegant dining room that was dominated by a elaborate crystal chandelier.
Feeling numb from the disappointing fact that she’d never entertain in this grand room, Chanelle listened without interest while Barry/Rita droned on and on about every object in the room.
She thought of Barry’s ex-wife whom a few minutes ago she’d considered crazy for leaving her rich and handsome husband. Now, seeing Barry dressed up like a woman…well, Chanelle couldn’t blame the woman for fleeing her home. And Chanelle deserved to be well paid for the time put in with the woman’s nutcase, female-impersonating husband.
Chapter 21
The school nurse had administered prescribed medication to the students right after lunch. It was now a little after one in the afternoon. A few children were hunched over their reading comprehension assignment wearing intense expressions. The majority of Dayna’s students were slumped in their seats, motionless, and oblivious to their surroundings due to the recent scheduled doses of Ritalin, Adderall, and a plethora of other medications. The pharmaceutical industry had deemed these mood-altering substances the latest wonder drugs for children with ADHD.
Dayna hated seeing her high-spirited students subdued into a zombie state, moving in slow motion if at all. It was a heart-wrenching sight—a classroom filled with dull-eyed, sluggish children. She believed the medications were doled out to make the school day more manageable and less chaotic for the staff. As far as she could tell, there were no benefits to the students. If she could get away with it and not get fired, she’d tell every parent to refuse to allow their child to be drugged.
But that was just her opinion and her opinion didn’t matter, Dayna supposed. So while her students quietly and listlessly worked on the reading comprehension test, Dayna took advantage of the peaceful environment. She flipped open her cell phone to make a quick call to her father. She’d been leaving messages at his office for the past two days and hadn’t heard a word from him yet. The hell with her own problems with Reed, she was starting to feel panicky about her father. What on earth would prevent him from returning her calls?
His secretary answered on the second ring with a cheery good afternoon.
“Good afternoon, Monica. Is my father in the office?” Dayna whispered.
“Uh…” The secretary paused. “No, Dayna, he isn’t.”
“Has he gotten the messages I’ve been leaving?”
“Yes, I’ve given him all your messages,” she said in a clipped tone that suggested no other information would be forthcoming.
Dayna sighed in exasperation. Monica was typically very helpful, but not now. Her tone was almost defensive. Something was going on. “Is something wrong, Monica?” Dayna asked, concerned.
“No,” she said quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to track down my father for two days, and he hasn’t returned my calls. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m starting to get the feeling he’s avoiding me…”
“Oh, Dayna, that’s nonsense. Your father’s been extremely busy. Look, the other line is ringing; I’ll make sure I give your father your message.” The secretary clicked off.
Dayna clutched the cell phone, not knowing what to make of her father’s neglect. Monica was covering for him, but why? She could call him at home later tonight, but then she’d have to put up with his resentful new wife. It was sickening the way her father had allowed himself to become so henpecked.
She promptly pressed her mother’s telephone number. Her mother was no doubt sitting around wallowing in her own misery and Dayna hated to involve her, however, she needed some answers.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, keeping her tone low.
“Hi, darling.” There was no enthusiasm in Pamela Hinton’s greeting.
“Are you okay?”
“Actually, I’m not,” her mother said gloomily. “Your father has been refusing my calls and Monica has been giving me the run-around. How many years has Monica worked for your father?”
“I don’t know…she�
��s been his secretary for as long as I can remember.”
“Exactly. So how do you think I feel being treated like one of his pesky clients instead of his wife?”
“You’re his ex-wife,” Dayna reminded her mother. “Mom, you should move on; Daddy sure has,” Dayna said sternly, though she felt like crying. “Monica’s only doing Daddy’s bidding; don’t blame her.”
“Oh, I blame her plenty. She’s been covering for him. You won’t believe what I found out when I finally got him on the phone…” Pamela Hinton’s voice cracked.
“What?”
“Your father got that bitch pregnant,” she sobbed. “He’s having a baby! Can you imagine that? At his age!”
Dayna’s heart dropped. She couldn’t conceive a child and yet her father, who was well past his prime, was going to have a new baby.
“That’s why he stood me up on Mother’s Day. She told him the news and he took her to brunch instead of me. He replaced me with the mother of his unborn child.”
The words new baby rang in Dayna’s mind. She suspected that she’d been replaced as well. Her emotions were about to spin out of control, but she had to keep it together for her mother’s sake.
“Mom, please don’t cry. You really have to get on with your life. Join a support group or something.”
“What can a support group do for me? Can a support group replace the years I wasted with your father? I was with him throughout law school; I helped him get his practice off the ground,” her mother ranted.
Dayna had heard the spiel a million times. She wanted to console her mother, but her own pain was too severe to come up with one coherent word of comfort.
“I’m finished, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Imani, one of Dayna’s brightest students and one of the rare few who was not taking prescribed medication.
“Hold on, Mom,” she continued whispering into the phone and then took it away from her ear. “Very good, Imani. Now, turn your paper over.”
“Can I collect the papers?” Imani asked eagerly.
Dayna looked at her watch. “Not yet, Imani.” Speaking to the other students, Dayna said, “Five more minutes, class. When I say stop, I want everyone to turn your papers over and put your pencils down.”
She put the phone back to her ear. “Mom, I’m in class; I’ll call you after school.”
Dayna now had a clearer picture of what was going on. Her father was trying to cut his ties with her mother—probably at his wife’s insistence—and in order to effectively disassociate himself from his ex-wife, he had put some distance between himself and his daughter.
My dad doesn’t want a relationship with me. It was unnatural for her father to reject her—to break her heart like this. It’s expected that a husband or a boyfriend might break a woman’s heart, but not a father. A father’s love was supposed to be unconditional, a love that could always be counted on. But another woman had stolen her father’s heart and would soon give him a new child to dote upon—to distract his attention away from his first born. It felt like a betrayal and it cut like a knife.
Dayna bent over and briefly cupped her face in anguish, then abruptly sat up. She’d be damned if she’d make one more call to her unresponsive father. She’d handle her problems on her own.
“Mrs. Reynolds.” Ever vigilant, Imani brought Dayna out of her inner world. “Is it time to collect the papers?”
“Oh shut up, teacher’s pet,” a student said in a voice that was a slurred grumble. Amazingly, the student was being combative despite the drugs.
“Stop writing, class. Go ahead and collect the papers, Imani.”
Weary from a long day at school that included a Home and School Council meeting after regular school hours, Dayna arrived home and went straight upstairs to run bath water. A Calgon moment was truly in order. As she languished in the bathtub, she decided not to dwell on any of her numerous problems. Instead she cleared her mind and focused on the tranquility of the warm soapy water.
No sooner had she closed her eyes and slipped into a peaceful state when the locked bathroom door was suddenly kicked open. The door banged against the linen closet; it sounded like an explosion.
Dayna shrank back in fear, then bolted upright from her reclining position, splashing water as she scrambled out of the bathtub. Her naked body was covered with soap suds.
Reed stood in the doorway, leaning menacingly against the frame.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?” she screamed at him as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body.
Reed’s lips stretched into such a hateful smile, Dayna hardly recognized him. “I had to show you that a locked door can’t keep me out. When you stop locking doors around here, I’ll stop kicking them down. This is my house and I don’t want you to lock another damn door. Understand?”
“Your house! Now I know you’re out of your mind.” Dayna tried to push past him, but Reed blocked her path.
“Get out of my way!” She shoved him as hard as she could, but he didn’t budge.
He gripped her jaw; hatred shone in his eyes as he dug his fingers in so deeply it felt like her teeth might crumble. “Don’t put your hands on me again, Dayna,” he warned. He kept a tight hold on her jaw and then released it with a spiteful shove.
She rubbed her face, wondering if it were bruised. “Let me out of this bathroom, Reed.” There was a threatening tone in Dayna’s voice.
His eyes ridiculed her. “What are you going to do? Knock me down?”
Dayna’s eyes desperately swept the bathroom.
“Oh, I forgot about the window,” he said mockingly and nodded his head toward the small single window. “That’s the only way you’re getting out of here. So go ahead, be my guest. Jump out.”
Standing there soaking wet, a naked captive covered with just a towel, she felt so degraded she wanted to cry. Acting on pure instinct, Dayna rushed toward the window, but instead of raising it, she grabbed a metal vase on the window ledge and hurled it at Reed’s head.
Too stunned to duck, Reed was an unmoving target. “Damn!” he yelled and slumped against the wall. He covered his forehead with both hands. Blood gushed between his fingers, creating red speckles on the sink and tiled walls.
Dayna darted out of the bathroom and ran down the hall to the security of her bedroom. She locked the door and struggled to push the dresser against it. Panting, she pushed, pulled, and tugged until she had practically every piece of furniture in the room barricaded in front of the bedroom door.
Feeling safe enough to shift her gaze, she located the phone, which had fallen on the floor. She raced across the room to pick it up. She had to call her mother. Someone had to help her.
She picked up the receiver and to her utter amazement, she heard Reed’s voice. “My wife is in here going crazy. She’s trying to kill me. I need help now!”
“What’s your location, sir?” asked the emergency dispatcher.
Reed gave their address. “Hurry up!” he hollered. “Get an ambulance over here before I bleed to death!”
Dayna quickly hung up. How badly had she hurt Reed? She ran an anxious hand through her hair as she pondered what she should do. Get dressed!
She raced to the dresser to get a pair of panties and a bra, but she couldn’t open her lingerie drawer because it was pressed against the door. She made a beeline to the closet and snatched the first pair of jeans in sight.
Still damp from the tub, she struggled into jeans that were two sizes too small. Why, oh why didn’t I get rid of all my skinny clothes, she wailed to herself. She got them over her hips but couldn’t zip them up. There was no time to search through the clothing rack for something more comfortable. Dayna threw on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sneakers without socks.
She picked up her cell phone to call her mother, but remembering her mother’s fragile mental state, she called Cecily instead.
“I’m having a crisis over here,” she blurted and was shocked that she sounded just like her mother.
“What�
�s going on? Did Reed hit you?” Cecily shouted.
“No. I hit him. He called an ambulance. He’s bleeding really badly.”
“Dayna, listen to me. Grab as much stuff as you can and get over here. You don’t want to be there when the ambulance arrives.”
“Why not? It was self-defense.”
“Do what I say. Hurry up!” Cecily hung up.
She thought Cecily was being overly dramatic but under the stressful circumstances and considering her own confused state of mind, Dayna was in no position to second-guess her girlfriend.
Badly shaken, Dayna walked in a perplexed circle for a moment. She didn’t know where to begin. If she removed the blockade from the door, Reed could burst in and physically retaliate. But she knew she needed to try to escape while he was incapacitated.
Piece by piece, she pulled the furniture away from the door, yanked open the drawers, and began tossing lingerie and other clothing into a duffle bag. Then she rushed into the hallway.
A trail of blood from the bathroom to the stairs stopped her cold. Her hand covered her mouth to suppress a gasp. She could hear Reed moaning downstairs and was afraid to investigate the extent of his injury. Oh God, is he dying?
Finally, she mustered the courage to creep down the stairs. Reed was sitting in a chair holding a bloody towel to his forehead. Blood was everywhere—on his clothes, the chair, the carpet, the walls. But he was sitting up, so Dayna hoped the injury looked worse than it actually was. Ever so quietly, she inched past Reed and made her way to the front door. Just as her hand twisted the doorknob, she heard the blare of sirens.
Now she couldn’t make her great escape. She’d have to stick around and endure the embarrassment of telling the emergency crew that she’d bashed her husband in the head with a vase. She’d explain of course that she’d only meant to subdue him, not cause him to bleed all over the house. Being his wife, she’d probably be expected to ride along in the ambulance with Reed. Damn! Damn! Damn! Dropping her duffle bag in defeat, Dayna opened the door to face the most humiliating experience of her entire life.
Dangerously In Love Page 14