Like a Woman Scorned

by Hart, Randi

  She wanted to be remembered as the tall, thin, blue-eyed blonde paralegal who worked for him as his secretary for about a year. She would no doubt be on video camera throughout the lobby and perhaps even up here on the 12th floor. But those tapes weren’t going to help anyone find a person who simply ceased to exist.

  He was away so much of the time that he never noticed how little involvement she had with things in the office other than at her desk. The plant service watered the plants and the cleaning people did all the cleaning. She rarely touched anything in the small kitchen space. No trace of her would be found in that area. She wiped the phone clean with antiseptic wipes, knowing any prints or fibers from her would be gone within seconds.

  It all looked good. She took off her rubber gloves and left the office for the last time, careful to not leave any prints on the doorknobs.

  Carley then went home and followed the same routine in her apartment, cleaning, looking around, checking and double checking. She wanted to leave the place sparkling. No point in having the property owners wanting to come after her. She would simply have moved out ahead of time, vanished, and the owners were not likely to care much once they saw there was no damage or missing items. Carley then called for a taxi to the airport. She was booked on the ten o’clock flight to Zurich, the last flight out.

  After a short flight delay, Carley had no trouble falling asleep once the plane was up over the Atlantic. She was exhausted. They were due to land at approximately 8:00 am.

  A flight attendant woke her when the plane was about to land. Carley quickly got herself together. After de-boarding and picking up her bag, she followed the signs to the trains.

  Carley got off the metro at a stop near her bank and slipped into a restroom stall. Out came the contacts, off came the wig. She was now a redhead with hazel eyes again. A few minutes with a hairbrush was all she needed to turn back into Alison Carson.

  Alison wrapped the wig into a plastic grocery bag before stuffing it into the restroom trash can. Then she brushed her jacket so that any remaining hairs would fall to the floor, and looked in the mirror to see her old self staring back before exiting the restroom.

  At that moment, a busy train unloaded passengers in the underground station. Alison found herself surrounded with the others and blended right in as she came up the stairs from the tunnel. She was bumped and jostled, but finally managed to get out and head down the street to her bank. It would have just opened for business for the day.

  Alison held the key to her safe deposit box, gave the clerk the box number, and together they headed into the vault. Within a few minutes, she had her regular passport, driver’s license, the $10,000 she’d left, and her old cell phone all back in her purse. She put all the identification items for Carley Morrison into the safe deposit box, locked it up, and said goodbye to the clerk. Outside and around the corner, she tossed the safe deposit key down a sewer drain when she was fairly certain no one was paying her much attention. Then she checked into her hotel room and spent the rest of the day shopping in Zurich.

  The next morning she grabbed her phone, now fully charged again, and went out for breakfast on the patio. Alison was craving fresh air, and felt as if she hadn’t been outside for months. The trees were full and blooming, squirrels chasing each other around, birds nesting. One tree in particular resembled the willow on Granny Paula’s old farm and brought back sweet memories. The coffee and croissants arrived, and Alison consumed them with a rare delight. They were the best she could ever remember enjoying.

  She finished her coffee and dialed her mother’s number. The length of time that had gone by since she last contacted her parents made Alison’s eyes well up as the phone rang. She missed her family. Her mother was thrilled to hear her voice, talking so fast that Alison could hardly understand her. As they both calmed down, it was clear that a reunion was in order so Alison decided she would go to Phoenix and see her folks. It’s not as if she had anything better to do.

  Alison told her mom she would get a flight from Zurich to New York and call back from there in two or three days, depending on whether she wanted to spend a day shopping in New York. Then she would fly in and see them.

  Alison’s father got on the line and had the same sense of excitement, looking forward to seeing her. He said he understood her need to shop for a day in New York, because, “After all, you’ve only been in the most fashionable part of Europe for a year.”

  “Yes, Daddy, you’re right. That’s probably why I didn’t buy anything. It was too much so, if you get what I mean. I probably didn’t even spend $100 shopping.” She feigned the shock she was passing on to her father and they both giggled. They said goodbye. Alison couldn’t wait to see them.

  Alison spent two more days in Zurich, and then boarded a flight to New York. After landing, she picked up a Boston Globe from the newsstand on her way to the taxi line. She saved it until she got into her hotel room.

  There it was, on page 3 of the local section in the Boston Globe. Local prominent attorney Rick Waterman indicted for misappropriation of client funds. The Bar Association had frozen his membership pending a complete investigation, and local authorities were considering filing criminal charges.

  Criminal charges? Alison was startled by that. It was probably just for hype. Co-mingling client trust funds was a fairly common violation. It was usually done by accident, and only discovered during a random audit by federal regulators. Most law firms were eventually fined some small amount for minor bookkeeping errors with the trust account. Alison knew this particular case would be more significant because of the large amounts of money involved, and their almost-direct tracing to a payment on a personal luxury item. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was dis-barred. But criminal charges seemed a bit extreme. She doubted it would come to that, and felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction at seeing Rick get what was coming to him.

  Happy, Alison went shopping.

  She then texted Emil to let him know she was back in the country and going to her mother’s in Arizona for a few days, and asked if they found a new place to live yet. He got right back to her, saying they did have an apartment leased, not too far from her, and were already in the middle of moving into it. They could be completely out in a day or two. All was well at her place, and nothing noteworthy happened over the year she was gone. They agreed to meet for lunch the following week to catch up on all the details. There were six large cardboard boxes of junk mail waiting for her when she got home.

  Two days later, Alison landed in Phoenix. She was overwhelmed with emotion at seeing her parents. They looked fantastic, or maybe it was because she was so glad to see them.

  “Where’s your luggage?” Dad asked.

  “This is it, just my carry on. I shipped everything else straight to San Francisco because I didn’t want to get bogged down with bags. I had enough of that already with customs. So we can get out of here.”

  “Good thinking, honey.” Her father was exuberant. They got to the car and he handed Alison the keys. “Here, get back in the groove.”

  She had no problem doing that, since her father had a new Mercedes. Alison knew he was showing off with her, so she decided to appease him and rant over the car excessively. They arrived home within the hour and had coffee and pastries that Alison brought. This was always one of their favorite things to do together.

  “What’s with your voice?” Dad asked when they got back home. “Did you pick up an accent on your travels? You sound like your grandmother.”

  In horror, Alison realized she was still speaking some sentences in her Bostonian blonde-floozie voice.

  “Oh, that. Yeah Dad, I’m a little horse today for some reason. Maybe because I’m jetlagged. And I think I might have adopted a strange bit of an accent from somewhere, heck maybe from everywhere. Hope I lose it soon.” Alison made a strong mental note to work on losing Carley’s voice before seeing anyone back home.

  Her parents asked lots of questions about her travels and Alison was fully prep
ared to answer with a web of lies. She mixed in a few invented funny stories at popular tourist locations, and even alluded to a relationship with a male friend she made in Germany. She finally begged off and headed to bed, the usual spot in the guest room made up for her. She was tired.

  But her sleep left her. Alison tossed and turned all night. She began feeling sick to her stomach. She knew it was not from anything she ate. Just as she once knew when she was pregnant in spite of a test telling her she wasn’t, Alison knew exactly what the problem was now. What she did to Rick was uncalled for. It was too much. Messing up the guy’s life a little—what she originally set out to do—was one thing. Ending his career and putting him up on possible criminal charges was quite another, and way over-the-top. She despised him so much it never occurred to her until now that she might actually regret doing what she did.

  Now she had to find a way to live with it.

  Alison spent the next few days with her parents, cruising around in the new car and getting in a round of golf with her dad. By dinner time the third day, she was satisfied with her visit and announced she would be going back home tomorrow. She decided to take the shuttle bus to the airport in the morning, despite the arguments from her dad.

  She looked back and waved as the van pulled away from her childhood home. Her parents returned the wave. Alison felt a tremendous tug at her heart. Would she see her parents a next time? She always wondered how much longer they would live. When they were no longer in sight, Alison took a deep breath and stretched her legs in front of her. She felt free, and couldn’t wait to get home.

  The flight was short. In a matter of hours, Alison was back in her own San Francisco house. She locked the door behind her and took a deep breath, realizing just how much her home really meant to her. There was no hint of Emil and Lisa, which was nice. In her guest room were all the packages she’d shipped to herself from Zurich and New York, which included her recent shopping items as well as most of her luggage. It would take her a couple of days to go through everything, time she planned on enjoying.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was only a few days before Alison was right back in the middle of her normal life. Well, her recently-retired normal life, anyway. Sometimes she couldn’t shake a need to be doing something productive, so she didn’t bother re-hiring the maid service and instead cleaned the house herself. She also began running again, and felt good doing it—really good. Better than she had in years. Not having to go to work meant longer daily runs, sometimes in the middle of the day, which was nice.

  Brenda desperately wanted to get together, so Alison agreed to be picked up by her the second Saturday she was home. They headed for the wine country in Petaluma to spend some quality time together and catch up.

  “So, did you go to the Eifel Tower?” Brenda asked while sipping on an over-poured zinfandel sample at the third winery they stopped at.

  “Of course,” Alison replied. “You wouldn’t believe the view from the top. It’s a little scary, though, being up that high.”

  “What about Munich? Did you go to any beer halls?”

  “Yes, one or two, but I prefer the wine. The Germans actually make great wine, and not just the sweet desert wines they are known for. I had some wonderful dry Rieslings there.” Alison lifted her wine glass in the air as she spoke, a bit surprised at how good of a liar she was—especially while looking straight into her best friend’s eyes.

  “What about men?” Brenda asked. It was the question Alison knew was coming.

  “I didn’t go to China, Bren.” They both laughed.

  “No, seriously,” Brenda persisted.

  “Well,” Alison began, smiling mischievously while looking upwards, “it’s funny you asked about Munich and the beer halls. I did meet an interesting guy there who, um, showed me around a little, and even took me wine tasting.”

  “Oooooh, please go on. Details, girl. Details.”

  Alison broke her lofty pose and slowly shook her head. “No, no details. Not today, anyway. Let me just say now that he was a nice guy and I’m glad to have spent some time with him. But we both knew I was moving on soon in my travelling, and he couldn’t get out of work. It was probably for the best. I liked travelling alone. I really did.”

  Brenda giggled like a school girl and finished off her zinfandel sample. Alison had to admit it was nice hanging out with her like this, just like the old days, and they ended up having a great time. Well, as good a time as one can have when having to compound lies about one’s life. That certainly did take something away from the female-girlfriend relationship, and Alison regretted it. She didn’t want to live the rest of her life out as a liar—but at the moment, she couldn’t see a way around it. Alison was careful about what she said, knowing the wine could easily cause her to slip up with inconsistencies in her stories. She resisted the temptation to make a full confession to her inquisitive best friend as the afternoon’s wine consumption progressed. They ended the day on a good note and promised to do things like that more often.

  Several months then went by. Alison came back from a run one morning just as a fog was rolling in and the weather about to change. It was early summer on the bay. She made herself lunch, and before she realized it had finished an entire bowl of chicken salad and two croissants.

  The house phone rang. Alison stood and moved to answer it.

  Croissant crumbs fell from her lap to the floor. No good. She stooped to clean them.

  The machine took the call. The voice that started speaking sent Alison’s heart up into her throat.

  It was Rick.

  “Alison, this is Rick Waterman. Remember me? Maybe I’m glad you didn’t answer, as it makes this a little easier. I’m calling to apologize for what I did a couple years ago. I only have five minutes to make this call and you can’t call me back. Something happened and I’m now in prison. I’ve been so troubled by what I did to you that I feel I just have to apologize. I was engaged when I met you. That’s why I didn’t call back. The wedding was a month later. I’m sorry. I know what I did was wrong. I want you to know I meant it when I said I love you. I just couldn’t get out of what was happening in my life. I am so sorry for hurting you and hope you are okay. Bye.”

  Alison dropped the crumbs back to the floor and remained frozen in place for several minutes. Her cell phone then buzzed with the sound of a new text message. She checked it and was relieved to see it was from Brenda. She texted back that she had just walked in and was planning to call her but was dead tired, so how about tomorrow.

  The situation called for something stronger than coffee. Alison opened a new bottle of wine and seated herself on the window bench to look out over the neighborhood she loved so much. The fog was now becoming thick. She couldn’t believe Rick’s phone call. It wasn’t necessary to play it again. That message would be forever in her brain. What on earth had happened to him? And why was he suddenly reaching out to her now?

  One week later, Brenda sat with Alison on the same window bench as Alison added more contrived details to her year-long lie of travelling throughout Europe. Brenda loved hearing Alison talk about the trip; all the cities in Austria, Germany, France, and Switzerland—and the restaurants, of course. Alison spoke of having her hair done in Zurich and manicures in quaint small villages, and described all the great hotel rooms she stayed in. She even let Brenda think there had been a second man while she was in Vienna. Brenda was wide-eyed and loved hearing it all. It never would have occurred to her that Alison was making it all up.

  Then, quite spontaneously, Alison told Brenda about the out-of-the-blue phone call from Rick and played the message for her. Brenda’s mouth hung open as it finished. She just sat there, staring back at Alison for a full minute before speaking.

  “Oh my God, what is that about? What are you going to do, Ali?”

  “I’m not going to do anything. What am I supposed to do? He said what he needed to say and I sure as hell can’t simply forgive him.”

  They said no more about i
t, but their conversation turned sedate and awkward. Brenda left shortly thereafter.

  The following week, the phone rang just as Alison was coming back in the house from her run. She answered this time, and the voice which spoke came barging into her heart as well as her head.

  “I’m glad you answered. It’s Rick Waterman. I assume you got my last message. Alison, I meant what I said. Everything I said. That I’m sorry. That I love you. I know I must have hurt you terribly, and I cannot stop apologizing no matter how much time has gone by. I’m in a lot of trouble now, and I’m trying hard to sort out my life. Will you let me talk?”

  Alison sighed and sat down.

  “Yes Rick, I got your message. It’s okay, all right? I accept your apology. I wish I could say you didn’t hurt me too much, but that would be a lie. Just so you know, I was pregnant—and had to terminate the pregnancy.” Alison couldn’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth. Apparently, her emotions were getting the better of her and overruling commands from her brain. “I really don’t know what else to say to you,” she continued. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in state prison, Alison. I let my life get out of control, even more than it was when I met you, though I never told you about any of that. My long-time, trusted secretary quit and I hired a friend of hers as a replacement, without checking her references out first. It was a terrible blunder on my part. She kept the office going for about a year and then disappeared one day, and suddenly my accounts were all co-mingled with a paper trail of client funds leading to yacht down payment that I didn’t make. You know how the State Bar feels about that. I have no idea why or how it happened, but I was held responsible for being irresponsible. My new wife left me, but we weren’t going to make it anyway. I think she could tell I was in love with someone else—you, of course. My kids have stuck with me, thankfully, and I have a good defense lawyer. But I lost everything and can’t practice law anymore. I’ve thought of you constantly, and I wanted to call and apologize more than anything else—but I was terrified to do it until now.”