by Eve Rabi
“Megan, you can have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. You need to wake up and smell the coffee. Grasp the opportunity before it’s too late and some other young woman comes forward with a more interesting story than yours. Understand? What you have right now, all the ad campaigns – small potatoes. We need to think big. I’ve been approached to do a mini-series on your time in Iraq. Based on true events, and after that, an Xbox game. It’s gonna be huge! We’re gonna be set for life.”
I put down my fork and scratch my chin lightly with my fingernails.
“We don’t have to pay a cent for our wedding. Everything will be sponsored – the ring, the venue, the food. Plus … Her Own is offering us …one million dollars for our photos.”
“Wow! People are prepared to pay that much for wedding photos? Of me?”
“Of … us. But I can start a bidding war and I’ll probably get $1.5 mill for them, maybe even two million if we can get George Bush to attend.”
My mind drifts back to my cramped three-bedroom apartment, where my most precious possessions in the world are waiting for me, to the wedding dress I could not afford, to the low-budget wedding I’m planning … I smile inwardly – I wouldn’t change a thing.
I lay down my fork. “But Damien, you are forgetting; there is no us. You abused me the last time we were together. A split lip, bruises … I had to use a ton of concealer for days. Then, you canceled my –”
“As I said, I want to make amends.” Realizing he’s snapped at me, he quickly reaches over and covers my hand resting on the table with his. His hands feel bony and cold, unlike Reed’s soft but firm hands. I resist the urge to jerk my hand away. God, I never want to be touched by him or any other man. Especially this prick. “You can’t say you didn’t provoke me.” Typical abuser mentality.
“Damien, it’s too late. I’m sorry.”
“Too late? For what? It’s never too late.”
“This time, it is, I’m afraid.”
“Megan, you’re in love with me. There’s no way you’ll be able to stay away from me,” he says in a smug voice, then savors a mouthful of his expensive steak. “This is me. I’m as good as it gets.”
I eye the expensive champagne my hard work paid for and flirt with the idea of emptying the rest of it on his head before walking out.
“We need to move, now. No time to waste. I’ll arrange for your things to be moved back to –”
“Damien, stop! I’ve found someone else,” I hear myself saying.
His smile is condescending. “Sure you did.”
“I really did, Damien.”
“Yeah, whatever. It can’t be serious. End it.”
“Damien, it’s serious. Very serious!”
He squints at me, then smiles and nods. “Okay then, a rebound affair. That’s understandable. But now, it is time to get serious again. Spend tonight with me. After all, we’re still married.”
He’s always told me that the thought of sleeping with me makes him sick. After the rape, that is. It’s funny how things have changed, because the very thought of him touching me intimately makes me want to vomit.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to.”
He stares in disbelief.
“I’m sorry.” I look around and gesture for the bill.
The shocked look that suddenly crosses his face tells me that it has just dawned on him that I may really have met someone. That someone would, God forbid, actually want me.
“Megan, this must be just a … a passing fling. Who the hell is this guy?”
“It’s not a passing fling, Damien. It’s pretty serious.” I ignore his latter question.
He sits back and studies me.
“So … thank you for the pleasant evening.” I slowly get to my feet, feeling a little sober.
Never imagined I’d ever see Damien at a loss for words. For a while, he just stares like a wax dummy. Finally, with creased brows, he settles the bill and we leave in silence. For the first time since I’ve known him, Damien looks unsure of himself.
“Are you living together?” he asks in a snappish voice, not looking at me.
“Yes.”
“Already?”
I nod.
“What’s he gonna do when he finds out you were raped, huh?”
Shrugging, I answer, “He already knows and he’s okay with it.”
“Does he know that you can’t have kids?” His tone is now malicious.
Anger washes over me. “You’re such a prick!”
He smiles and I have the urge to turn and kick him in the nuts. Irritated, I quicken my pace, leaving him to lag behind. A moment later, he falls into step with me and chuckles as I walk in stony silence to the car. This time, the dumb fuck doesn’t open the door for me.
As he drives, I put on some lipstick. He looks at me and gives a sneer, which I interpret as, “Why bother?”
We’re about five miles from the apartment when I say, “Jake will be representing me in our divorce. I would really appreciate it if we could speed things up. You can have everything we own. The house, the boat, any money in our account. I would just like to keep my car.”
He suddenly pulls over to the shoulder of the road.
I look at him with eyebrows raised.
“Get out!”
Scared he may strike me, I quickly tumble out of the car. With tires screeching, he speeds off.
Walking in heels is not easy, and taxis won’t stop on a motorway, but I am feeling so free, I don’t give a fuck.
I toy with the idea of calling Reed to pick me up. But I look around and the feeling of freedom is so sweet that I decide to hobble alone. Eventually, I remove my heels and walk barefoot.
In spite of what just happened, I’m feeling smug. I mean, Damien always said that no one will want me and I believed him. But now there’s a man waiting for me, a man who’s grumpy because I’m having dinner with my ex-husband or soon to be ex-husband. He wants me. He asked me to marry him. Sweet!
Damien’s ego, probably for the first time in his life, has taken a beating. And, guess what? I did it!
As I walk in the dark toward the apartment building, I spot Reed smoking in the dark on our tiny balcony.
I smile and keep walking.
When I get to the building, I look up at the third floor. “Angel-man!” I yell. “Angel-maaaan!”
Reed rushes over to the edge and looks down at me. “Shhh!”
Clasping my hands behind my back, I swing from side to side and smile at him. “Can you let down your hair so that I may climb without a stair, Reedpunzel?”
“You tipsy?”
“No, not tipsy, I’m sssssmashed! And, I need you to carry me up the stairs.”
“You that drunk?”
“Huh huh. Where’s my other boy?”
“Sleeping.”
A passing car with loud rap music hovers nearby. I raise my hands over my head and sway my hips to the music.
“Your date went that well, huh?” He’s unable to conceal the disappointment in his voice.
“I told Damien about you.”
“You did?”
I catch a glimpse of white teeth. He disappears for a while and when he reappears by my side, I’m still dancing.
“You did? You really did?”
I nod. “Baby, I feel so free right now and baby, I just want to be with you so much, and baby…” I throw my hands around his waist and hug him.
“So it wasn’t a date after all?”
I shake my head from side to side.
“What did he want?”
I spare him the renewal of wedding vows and all the drama that took place. “Well, I ended my marriage, bought my freedom by giving him everything. So, I’m like broke-ass now, so I need to be a kept woman. See, it’s like this; you’re stuck with me. Think you can manage that? Honey? Baby? Sweetheart?”
He grins and tightens his arms around me. “Think so.”
I smile. “Dance with me,” I whisper. In the dark, he sways with me and
a feeling of utter contentment and lightness seeps through me. Reed suddenly scoops me up and carries me up the stairs. As he walks, he starts to groan and stagger all over the place as if I’m five hundred pounds.
“I’m guessing … you … had … steak … tonight?”
I giggle at his antics.
Finally, he drops me on the bed and lies on top of me, our noses touching.
“I love you, Reed.”
“I love you, kitty,” he whispers.
In my arms, I have my Angel-man, who loves me so much that he would risk his life to find me, and a few feet from me lies my beautiful miracle baby. What more could I ask for?
“Finally, we have our happily ever after, Reed.”
“Yes, we do, baby. We do.”
Chapter Twelve
“Stop being so nervous,” Reed says. “I’m not an ogre, you know.”
“I know, honey, and I’m sorry, but … I am nervous. Sorry. I so much want her to like you and I really, really want her to like Wyatt.” Reed points to Wyatt. “Kitt, look at him – how can anyone not like him?”
I look at our adorable baby, lying on the couch, drinking his bottle, both legs in the air. When he sees us looking at him, he pauses with his drinking and gives us a beautiful smile. Wide enough for milk to dribble all over the side of his face and onto our lovely couch. But we don’t care – our baby can do nothing wrong in our eyes.
“You’re right, honey, she will love him. I’m stressing for nothing.”
The moment Maya sees Wyatt, her shoulders sag and she immediately starts blubbering. “That’s Ben. My God, Megan, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. He looks exactly like Ben. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
When she composes herself, she gives Reed a hug. “It’s good to see you again,” she sniffs. “Thank you for making my sister happy and fulfilling her dream. And I’m so sorry for my reaction. So sorry. I didn’t know how to react, I’m sorry.”
The moment her back is turned, Reed whispers, “You guys are a bunch of crybabies, I see.”
I chuckle. “It’s overwhelming for her. But … she likes you.”
“She’d better,” he says with a smile.
Maya invites us to dinner with her and her husband, Jack, who is a great, non-judgmental guy. Since he’s a medical researcher, he and Reed immediately hit it off, and soon, we visit each other often.
Now for my mom and dad and the rest of my family. They’re next on my to-do list.
Things are going smooth so far. Fingers crossed.
***
Humming, I pack my shopping into the trunk of my car, shut the door, turn around, and smack into someone.
“Oh, sorry!” I say and look up into Damien’s face.
“Damien! Wha –”
“Shopping for three, I see? Now, Megan, why do you have to do mundane things like shopping when you’re such a big celebrity? You could so easily employ someone to do that for you.”
“I –”
“Oh, but I forgot, you want to keep a low profile so nobody finds out about your Iraqi lover.”
“Wha …?”
“The one who lived with you in the bunker. The one who bullshitted everyone that he rescued you from … who was it now?” He smiles. “What dumb fucks we all were to believe you.”
“Wha …?” Even though it’s sunny, a chill runs through me.
Damien smiles like he’s won a lottery. “I know all about you and your terrorist you’re living with, the stupid wig you’re wearing so no one recognizes you, your conniving bitch of a sister who’s harboring a criminal, and when everyone else hears your dirt, he’s going to Guantanamo, you’re going to Guantanamo, and your sister is going to jail, my dear wifey.”
My knees suddenly threaten to give in and I have to lean on the car for support.
His smile widens at my loss of composure.
“There’s more and …” he slowly circles me, his gloating knowing no bounds, “I have it all on tape. Bugged your apartment, your car, and his car. Got conversations over the last fourteen days that made my ears siiiiing!”
I close my eyes and hang my head, my breath coming out in spurts.
“Now, be a good girl, get your fat ass in my Corvette, and follow me home.”
“I…”
He wags his finger in my face and says, “Don’t you dare refuse to!”
Trembling with fear, I get into my car and follow him to the home I once shared with him. As usual, it’s spotlessly clean and has that museum look. Unlike my apartment, which is a landmine of toys, photos on just about every wall, fresh flowers, and smells of baby powder.
Once inside, Damien motions to a high-back Edwardo Klas chair. Slowly, I lower myself into it. With my hands on my lap, I perch on the edge of the chair.
“I’m onto you. You can run and you can even hide in your disgusting –” he gives my ballet flats a look of disgust, “– housewives shoes and your mommy jeans, but Megan, I will sniff you out!”
At my grayish pallor, his smile widens. “Bugging your apartment, your life – gotta hand it to you, Megan, never expected this. Wow! Now, what a story this will make. And speaking of story, we need to write yours. And then, there’s the movie …” He smiles and rubs his hands together, his face a picture of glee. “Can’t wait!”
“You … no … I …” Words stick to my throat.
“You don’t have a choice. You’re not going back. Fight this and I’ll call the CIA, the FBI, and the military. They would love to bust your ass, and his. You want him to go to jail?”
“No!”
“Well, then …”
He hasn’t said anything about Wyatt, so I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something. But he rambles on and on about Reed and me. Maybe he hasn’t realized Wyatt’s my son?
“Just a doctor passing by – what a lie,” he says as he pours himself a scotch.
I stare at him, my stomach in a knot.
“Think you could fool me, Megan? Me? Listen to this.” He pulls out a little device from his pocket and hits a button on it. I listen in horror to a conversation Reed and I are having about Leeanne and Fazil.
Horrified, I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Wanna hear more? Huh?”
I shake my head. He ignores me and plays another conversation. We’re arguing playfully about how I fell in the shower. Reed’s accusing me of trying to seduce him. Silly crap, but highly incriminating.
“This guy really digs you, Megan. He tried really really hard to find you. He kept his promise, Megan. Isn’t that something? All that, only to have to spend the rest of his life in the slammer. What a tragedy.”
My eyes fly to his face.
“You were never a prisoner, were you? You cheap fucking whore!”
“I was.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“I was shot!”
“Listen, I don’t have to tell you that once it’s discovered you lied about when you met your boyfriend; everything you said will be regarded as an outright lie. You’re headed for the Guantanamo Hilton, Megan. You and your Iraqi terrorist boyfriend.”
I take a deep breath. “What do you want, Damien?”
“Everything.”
“You have everything Damien. What more do you …?”
“You think too small, Megan. That’s always been your problem.” His eyes grow misty. “I want everything! The money from the interviews, the book, the movie rights ...”
“You already took everything. You canceled my cards! How can I …?”
“It’s simple: you’ll dump Aladdin and come craaaawling back. Things will go back to normal with a few exceptions: You will do everything I say.”
I stand up. “I’ll never leave him!”
“Shut the fuck up and sit down!” he snarls and towers over me. “NOW!”
I quickly sit down.
“You’ll cut all ties with this son of a bitch. Nobody is to know the real truth about anything – Iraq, your asshole boyfriend, me – nothing! Fail to do as I
say, and it’ll be slammer time before you can say hammer time!”
I hang my head. How could this be happening when everything was going so well?
“Who knows about this shit?”
“N … nobody ...”
“Your parents? Your brothers?”
“No.”
“They’d better not be in on it. Would love a reason to throw their asses in jail. Actually, I can still do it. I can so easily manufacture a reason – got all the resources, remember?”
“Damien, please, don’t do this. We’re getting married! Please don’t do this!”
“Married? Hey, you’re my property. I tell you when it’s over and right now, it’s not over, red–rover!” He chuckles and raises his glass at me.
“You don’t love me, Damien, he loves me …”
“Love! A four letter fucked-up word meaning shit. Honey, there’s no such thing as love!”
My fear of him is suddenly replaced by hatred for him. Could I really have chosen such a heartless asshole to have and to hold?
“I can’t do this,” I say, shaking my pounding head.
“You can and you will,” he counters. “Hey, did I tell you that I know about the miscarriage?”
I have monkey-mind right now. He’s never mentioned Wyatt, so he probably hasn’t realized Wyatt’s my baby. That means, contrary to what he says, contrary to the fact that Wyatt called me mommy, he doesn’t know everything.
What a relief. I mean, maybe if I got hold of the damning tape and destroyed it, then it’s his word against mine about everything, and I could deny it all.
Maybe I could simply kill Damien and then we all would be safe? Reed can flee the country and Maya … crap! What the hell do I do about Maya? Can’t ask them all to flee the country. Fuck!
Damien pours another scotch.
“I … I wanna think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about, you stupid bitch! It’s prison for both of you. Don’t you get it?”
“Why haven’t you gone to the authorities already?”
“Listen, you go to jail, I get shit. You’re worth more to me out here than in some hellhole. But if you don’t play ball, I ain’t got nuffin’ to lose, hoe!” he mocks. “You’re my golden goose now. And if you’re thinking of dropping a toaster in my bathtub – forget it. My attorney has a copy of this. I die – it gets sent to every television station around and to the cops.”