Sworn Enemies, Secret Lovers

by Eve Rabi

  Both Damien and I shake our heads.

  So, Mahmood backed my story. He never mentioned Wyatt either. Or is he waiting for an opportune moment? Maybe if he brings things out in the open, so will I, and his cover will be blown. Wow! I’m totally gobsmacked to think Mahmood may be a CIA agent. If he is, Omar will now be doing cartwheels in his grave or wherever the fuck he and his soul are these days.

  A week later, the Army finally issues an executive summary of their report:

  Sergeant Megan Saunders had upheld the code of conduct and laws of war, and is cleared of criminal and propaganda charges. After a thorough investigation, we are satisfied with our findings and have good reason to believe that Megan’s temporary membership with Iraqi insurgents was insincere and definitely coerced. Lieutenant Megan Saunders has upheld the law and is to receive three medals:

  A purple heart for her injuries, a bronze star for meritorious service in combat, and a prisoner of war medal for her ordeal.

  My family is ecstatic and they hug Jake. Even my brother, Carl, shakes Jake’s hand and apologizes for his lack of faith in Jake. Being the good sport he is, Jake accepts his apology.

  “I’m finally going to spend some time with my lovely wife and precious son,” he says as he leaves the celebration.

  My dad brings out champagne and we toast. All I can think of is I can now go back to Iraq and look for my two boys.

  Damien hums with excitement. “I got people lining up to interview you. The book deal, the movie …”

  To my surprise, my mom voices her disapproval. “Now, Damien, she’s far too delicate to be doing all that …”

  “Dex Tanner – he’s our man,” Damien says, ignoring my mom. “He can turn anyone into a star.”

  I don’t miss the pointed look he casts me. Sighing, I look out of the window at the sky. Wyatt, Reed …

  My request for mandatory discharge from the Army has been granted too, subject to mandatory ongoing psychiatric evaluation. How the hell do I be honest and truthful to a psychiatrist? That’s a luxury I can’t afford right now. But how nice it would be if I could speak frankly to someone. Someone I can trust, who won’t judge me and feel obligated to report me to the authorities.

  As we drive, Damien glances at his rearview mirror and smiles. “They’re still tailing us.” He sounds so thrilled; you’d think he’s a newbie Hollywood celebrity with the paparazzi tailing him.

  “Our place is probably bugged too,” he brags to everyone he meets, “so watch what you say.”

  The reaction from family and friends is priceless – they either clam up and shift their eyes around or start speaking really slowly. But, they’re impressed for sure.

  Chapter Four

  I have a new dilemma – If I am being watched, what do I do if Reed tries to make contact with me? We will be busted for sure. How the hell do I work this one out?

  Well, he hasn’t so far, and there’s no guarantee he will. Best to avoid thinking about that.

  My mind drifts to Shaida, Bygone, Riyaard, and the others. What became of them? Did they perish when the bunker buster fell? They were part of my life for so long, I cannot help but grieve for them too. Poor Shaida, she loved Wyatt so much. I’m responsible for their deaths if they died that day. Guilt assuages me, and once again sleep evades me, giving me time to think, lament, wish, and even cry.

  Finally, when my sleep debt reaches an alarming level, I hit the sleeping pills, hard.

  When my body develops a resistance to the recommended dose and they no longer work, no problem – I just triple the dose. When waking up becomes a problem, I take uppers each morning. Then at night, it’s back to sleeping pills. The cycle continues, viciously, but it’s oh, so necessary.

  I’m a druggie, but I don’t give a rat’s ass.

  It’s been ninety days since I returned from Iraq. Ninety days with no Reed and no Wyatt. Reed’s forgotten about me. I know that for sure and it hurts.

  The way I’m feeling, the hollowness I experience every waking moment, I’d do cocaine or speed or any shit that would numb me, take the edge off, turn me into a zombie. Oh, how I seek oblivion!

  One thing I know for sure – I don’t want to die. See, when I’m well enough and able to lose Damien, I’m going back to Iraq to find my baby.

  And Reed, if he still wants me.

  ***

  “All you gotta do is show up, Megan,” Damien says, as he knocks back his third whisky. “I’ll do the rest. Think of the money – Beauty is Me calls fifty times a day. The product placements, endorsements, public appearances … millions! Just waiting for you. And you, what do you do? Nothing. You just won’t consider it.”

  “Too soon, Damien, I’m not ready for all that.”

  He flings me a look of contempt. “You’re too damn selfish, that’s your problem. You could think of our future, you know.”

  “Lemme alone, Damien,” I say, and turn away from him.

  “Guess you’re too stupid to understand the value of all this. Too simple.”

  Maybe I am too stupid – I married you, didn’t I?

  “Don’t know why I even married you,” he mutters as he pours himself a triple. “I could have done so much better. You …” he wags his finger at me, “you should get on your knees every day … every goddamn day and thank your lucky stars someone like me …me, took a second glance at you. You can’t even have a child. Useless in every fucking way!”

  The drunker he becomes, the more abusive he becomes. I’ve learned that it’s no use arguing with him when he’s like this, so I say nothing.

  He’s right about a lot of things, but not about the child bit. He’s crazy to think I can endorse or model anything. I look a mess – scraggy, hollow eyes with dark circles; dull, pale skin; dry, brittle hair. I no longer look in the mirror and I remain in my unflattering, baggy sleepwear all day, sometimes for days. I seldom venture out of the house, and when I do, I rush back home to my dimly lit room and my layers of blankets.

  I have no interest in music, books, television, or even the papers. I don’t care. I just want to be left alone so I can grieve. And take pills.

  Chapter Five

  My dining room table is plastered with papers – lucrative offers Jake has to go through. As he scans the documents, Damien rubs his hands together.

  “The Beauty is Me campaign is a piece of cake,” he says. “All you have to do is say that you’ve got scars. Simple, huh?”

  “They want to drape me in just a towel, Damien.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t want any nudity.”

  “Oh, puleeeese!” With an exasperated sigh, he throws both hands up in the air.

  I have a child now – I don’t want to ever entertain nudity.

  “Megan, the book deal, the movie rights, the launching of the Heralder Cruise Ship, and the Quick, When You Have to Run, You Have to Run sneaker campaign – four million! Four million, Megan, over two years. How can you say no to it?”

  I shake my head from side to side, feeling worn down by Damien’s constant pressure.

  He glares at me. “Don’t be an idiot, Megan.”

  I ignore him and zone out.

  “Okay, fifty percent of all profits goes to … to … orphanages in Iraq. Huh?”

  “Orphanages in Iraq?” Suddenly, he has my full attention. “Fifty percent?”

  “Wow!” Jake says. “That’s a lot to give away to charity.”

  “Yeah, Megan,” Damien says, “think of all the orphans in Iraq because of the bombings you guys carried out, huh? Don’t you care? You can make a difference. All the bad things you did – you can right all those wrongs. Make a difference.”

  I think about Reed’s kids and wife. How many kids are out there without parents and family? Damien is right, we can make a difference.

  “Okay,” I hear myself saying. “Fifty percent, nothing less. And no nude endorsements. I don’t want to do Beauty is Me.”

  “But that’s the most lucrative –”

 
“Not that,” I say. “Everything else, but not that, or the deal’s off.”

  He backs down, surprising me. “Okay, okay.”

  “You sure about this, Megan?” Jake asks, a worried look on his face.

  “Course she’s sure!” Damien snaps. “Why wouldn’t she be? It’s for charity, it has to be good.”

  Jake’s persistence irks Damien. “Megan?”

  I give a resigned shrug. “Whatever, Jake.”

  And just like that, I finally commit to all these deals. Reed has forgotten about me, so what is there to look forward to? Might as well give in to Damien and help orphans in Iraq.

  ***

  Dex Tanner, my Hispanic stylist appointed by Damien, is tanned, trendy, talented, and of course, gay. His shirt is pink, his pants are white and clingy, his zebra-print shoes match his zebra-print scarf, and I’m thinking his ensemble probably costs enough to feed a small third-world country. He’s also cold, impatient, and arrogant, with a tongue so sharp, it could probably cut through glass. I don’t like him – reminds me of Darla. But Damien loves him, so I have to love him.

  Dex looks me up and down and sneers. “The hair, the clothes, the posture – nahah darling. Has to go. All has to go. Today!”

  I cringe at his words.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, go on,” Damien says.

  When I see the exorbitant amount he’s charging us for his services, I hyperventilate.

  “We’re extremely lucky to secure him,” Damien argues before I can even say anything. “He’s worked with Amanda Sole, Stella Dawes, Lauren Mynre … Don’t even know why he would bother with people like us, so stop thinking ‘bout what he costs.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Dex starts work on me almost immediately. I have a ton of oxygen facials, my hair is highlighted in honey, caramel, and nutmeg, my clothes are carefully coordinated, and my wardrobe is cataloged and computerized, because heaven forbid I wear the same outfit twice.

  I am taught how to walk, how to sit, how to alight from a vehicle.

  My fitness instructor, Godiva (I kid you not, that is her name), drives me until I collapse in a heap. My dietician starves me and makes me drink green tea and eat quinoa, which I simply hate. Collectively, my village of helpers is challenged to turn me into a star, overnight.

  Enlisting the help of a mean bunch of villagers pays off because within months, much to Damien’s sheer unadulterated joy, my face is on billboards and buses, invitations to society events are pouring in, my bank account is bulging, and Damien is smiling all the time.

  I’m famous, I’m rich, but I’m as empty as a can of air. When I look in the mirror, it’s like I’m looking at someone else, and I feel like the world’s biggest phony.

  This is not me. In fact, I remind myself of a mannequin in the window of a designer clothing store – well put together, but no heart, no pulse, no friends. Just a pretty, cold, lonely figure admired for a moment, then almost immediately forgotten.

  When the world discovers the real me, when they find out about my lover and my baby, they will be so disappointed, I worry that they will want some type of revenge for the deception.

  “You need to lose that sullen face,” Damien chides.

  “Doesn’t have to,” Dex says. “They’re calling it melancholy. Some even like it. Like Diana. Her sadness was part of her appeal, remember?”

  “Oh, really?” Damien looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “Ignore what I just said, wifey.”

  As for Jake, he says little. He just watches quietly and periodically asks me if I’m okay.

  “Yes,” I murmur. I long to say, “No, I’m not okay. I’m empty inside because I miss my baby and my lover so much. I want to run away from all this and never see my controlling husband again. I want to go to my mom, snuggle in her arms and sob, but Damien won’t let me see her or my family members, and when they do visit, he’s rude to them and makes them feel like intruders.”

  “Of course she’s okay,” Damien says, and shoots me a warning look.

  Sometimes, I wish I had the strength to walk away from him.

  “Where you off to?” Damien asks when he sees Jake packing up his stuff.

  “Me, I’m going to find Bailey a present. It’s our four-year wedding anniversary and I plan to take her out. Been neglecting her these past few months, so I want to make it up to her. Spoil her.”

  I follow him out the door. “Congrats!”

  “Thanks.”

  “You love her a lot, don’t you?” I ask, my voice wistful.

  “Oh yeah! She’s my, well, other than my son, Lucas, she’s my light and I ...” He stops and looks at me. “Sorry, I’m being insensitive here.”

  I give a dismissive wave.

  “You have so much going on and I know how you suffered …”

  “It’s okay, Jake. I’m glad to know couples out there can love each other so much after so many years of marriage, that’s all.”

  He nods. “Guess I’m lucky.”

  “You are. Have fun, Jake, and regards to Bailey. Wish her a happy anniversary.”

  I envy him.

  Chapter Six

  I awaken with a start. Someone is banging on my front door and furiously ringing my doorbell. Startled, I leap out of bed, throw on a gown, and rush to Damien’s room, only to find that he’s not there.

  Terrified, I race around, looking for my phone to call 911, when I hear a familiar voice.

  “Damien! Damien!”

  I run to the balcony to see a woman staggering around. I look closer – it’s Bailey, Jake’s wife. We’ve socialized on a few occasions. She’s not the friendliest person around, but she’s Jake’s wife.

  She staggers back and forth, cursing and threatening, a half-empty bottle of vodka in her hands. “Damien, you bastard! You lying, cheating …”

  “Bailey? What’s going on? Why you looking for –”

  “He’s not answering his phone,” she slurs.

  “Who? Damien?”

  “Yeah, Damien, the rat! Where is he? Tell me. I’m not leaving. Where the FUCK is he?”

  Wait, hang on a minute! Damien and Bailey – this can’t be happening.

  “Where is he, you ask? He, as in my husband, huh, Bailey?”

  “He’s not your husband, you nut job. Hasn’t been in … in … umpteen years, stupid, naïve prima donna!”

  It takes me a moment to recover from the shock. She’s married, he’s married. “Really, Bailey? How many years, exactly?”

  She looks at the ground, then looks up at me. “Just over three years.”

  “Three years? I’m married for four, Bailey. That means, all this time we were socializing, you were fucking my husband, your husband’s best friend, you whore.”

  She shrugs. “Jake is never around. It’s always work, work, work, work!”

  “But … but you have a baby – doesn’t that count?”

  More shrugging on her part.

  Suddenly, a horrible thought crosses my mind. “Bailey, your son … Lucas, he’s what … about five months old? Is he Jake’s?”

  Her response is to uncap the bottle of vodka and take a swig.

  “You can’t be serious, Bailey! How could you do that to Jake? You’re such a slut.”

  She tries to stand up really tall. “Fuck you, you dumb …”

  I’m flabbergasted – she’s really pretty – long red hair in spirals, olive skin, slim with full breasts, and her Moroccan accent lends to her allure. What the hell does she see in Damien?

  Speaking of Lucifer – Damien screeches up our driveway, interrupting our friendly banter. He jumps out of the car and races up to Bailey. When he tries to grab her arm, she swings the vodka bottle at him.

  “Damien!” I yell. “Bailey just enlightened me on your three-year love affair. Three years, huh, Damien?”

  With a snarl, he grabs Bailey and shoves her into the carport. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying!” he flings over his shoulder, then disappears from sight.

 
; I go back inside, not really caring that he was unfaithful for most of my marriage, even though I was faithful. Until my capture in Iraq, that is. Until he shunned me.

  My mind drifts to Jake. Poor bastard. He thinks Damien’s his friend.

  ***

  When Damien and I see each other that evening, I’m awake and sitting in the lounge.

  We look at each other. “Why was I never enough for you, Damien? Why?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks as he helps himself to a drink. “You’re imagining things. Have you taken your medication today?” He tugs off his tie, flings it on a chair, switches off the light, and walks out the door, leaving me to sit in the dark.

  “You should keep your trap shut and go back to bed,” he flings over his shoulder. “God knows you need your beauty sleep.”

  “Why did you marry me, Damien?” I demand, following him out of the room. “You don’t love me and I don’t think you ever did. So why …?”

  “Because, my dear wife, Jake wanted to.”

  I cock my head. “Jake? What do you mean?”

  “Remember the day we met?”

  “Yeah …?”

  “Jake was with me?”

  “Ye …ah …?”

  “He said he was gonna marry you, so I beat him to it.”

  “Wha … Jake? He said that? I don’t get it. He didn’t know me.”

  “Well, wifey, you met, then you left the table and I said something … and he said, ‘Hey, don’t say that, I’m gonna marry that girl.’ So, I decided that I was gonna marry you. And I did.”

  Stunned, I stare at him. Jake must have been disappointed, yet he’s never done or said anything to Damien.

  “As for Bailey – she’s fucked up in the head, you know. I saved her ass. She was gonna go to jail for her tree-huggin’ ways. I had to call in tons of favors. And her behavior – that’s the thanks I get.”

  “Is that your baby?”

  “Fuck no!” His face gets red. “Did she say that? The fucking slut!”

  I shake my head and turn away. Jake needs to know. He thinks Damien is his friend. He thinks Lucas is his son. Oh, God!