by Mary Monroe
“As always. Nothing has changed on my end. If anything, my husband has gotten worse—if that’s possible.”
“Joan, you are a smart woman. A smart, young woman who should be in a much healthier relationship. Why in the world do you stay with that loser?”
Loser? Reed was a lot of things, but a loser was not one of them. At least not by my definition. He was a very successful dentist, and a lot of people respected and admired him. He was outgoing with everyone he interacted with in public. Every year most of his patients sent him Christmas cards, and a few even gave him gifts. He’d even been interviewed by one of the many national medical journals he subscribed to. Last year, two local elementary schools had him speak to their students about the importance of good dental hygiene. Because of Reed, I had security, a wonderful son, and a beautiful home. I knew that most women would be happy as pie to have what I had. But behind closed doors, I also had a distant, moody, and controlling husband who knew that I was miserable.
Even with all the good things I had because of Reed, I still wanted more. And from the way things were going, all I had now was all I was going to get out of my marriage. As far as I was concerned, if anybody was a loser, it was me.
Before I started searching for sex partners on the Internet, I had never cheated on Reed. But one night when he climaxed before he even entered me—spilling his semen all over my thigh—I bit the bullet and decided to take some serious action. I was determined to get my body the attention it deserved. As soon as he started snoring that night, I slid out of bed and tiptoed to the library, where we kept one of our computers. I immediately logged on to Google and searched for dating sites. I came across some interesting ones and was quite impressed. The main thing I realized was that the “one size fits all” rule didn’t apply. I didn’t waste my time checking out the sites that catered exclusively to Christians, gays, overweight people, senior citizens, or any other category I didn’t fit into. I was interested solely in connecting with men who only wanted to have sex.
Less than a week after I’d started my search, I hooked up with a couple of cool dudes. I had fun, and the sex was acceptable, but I needed something more substantial.
When I eventually stumbled across Discreet Encounters, I knew I’d hit the mother lode. Most of their club members sounded more open-minded and sophisticated than the ones on the other dating sites I’d explored. They were interested in having sexual encounters with other members, nothing more. And it was easy to find potentially compatible partners. All a member had to do was click on the home page search box and enter the preferred age range, gender, and ethnicity of the person whom the member wanted to connect with.
I immediately became very popular with the male members of Discreet Encounters. Some of them were so awesome, I felt guilty about having so much fun while poor Lola was sitting around twiddling her thumbs and sleeping with duds. I eventually told her my “dirty little secret” for two reasons. One, she was so uptight, she was getting more and more frustrated with her lackluster love life. The other reason was, sometimes I needed her to cover for me when I went on dates. With Reed breathing down my neck, in person and by telephone, sometimes it was difficult for me to get away for two or three hours a few times a month. Even though I spent a lot of time shopping, visiting family, and participating in other miscellaneous pastimes, I still needed to use Lola as an alibi to explain my rapidly increasing absences to Reed.
Lola had reluctantly joined Discreet Encounters. At first, she’d compared it to prostitution! I eventually got her to understand the difference between prostitution and organized sex clubs. “Prostitutes get paid; sex club members get laid. Case closed,” I told her. Now she was going on as many dates as I was! And she often used me as an alibi so she could keep her new social activity from her stepmother.
Internet dating was doing wonders for my morale and even more for my body.
I had already seen Ezra’s profile when he contacted me for the first time six months ago. We had enjoyed each other so much on our first date, I allowed him to become one of my “regular” dates, and that was one of the things I had promised myself I wouldn’t do with any of the club members. That was a promise I had not been able to keep. So many hot dudes wanted to see me more than once, I couldn’t help myself. But I had not added any new regulars since Ezra. Not only did I meet up with him in hotel rooms for a two- or three-hour romp, he often called me up just to chat. No matter what the subject was, I managed to slip in a few comments about how unhappy I was with Reed. I kept telling myself that I needed to be more careful about how much personal information I shared with my lovers in the future. Even though I no longer loved my husband, at least not in a romantic way, I still had feelings for him. I didn’t want to hurt him, and I didn’t want other people to say things about him that would make me feel guilty and act defensive. But, other than myself and Lola, my lovers were the only people I allowed to talk trash about Reed. After all, he cared more about me than any other man I knew, and I appreciated that.
“My husband is not a loser,” I defended, feeling confused and frustrated. “He . . . he’s really a good person, in some ways.”
“Whatever you say,” Ezra said with a chuckle. “So are my four ex-wives,” he added, chuckling some more. “And while we’re on the subject of losers, that’s what they all call me.” His last remark even made me laugh. It didn’t take long for me to bounce back, but I wasn’t sure what to say next, so I remained silent for a few seconds.
“Joan, are you still with me?”
“Yes, I’m still here. I was thinking about what you just said about my husband.”
“My dear, I am really sorry. In the future, I promise to think before I speak. After all, you do have a history and a child with the gentleman. It’s not so hard for me to understand why you stay with him. I’m sure that if I had not dumped my first wife, she’d still be with me, even though we had no children together and she knew about my extracurricular activities with other women. Why she stayed with me as long as she did baffles me to this day.”
The main reason I stayed with Reed was because I didn’t want him to kill himself, and he’d assured me that he would do just that if I left him. Of all the men I’d been with on the side, none of them knew the real reason I stayed in an unhappy marriage. The “relationships” I had with other men were only supposed to be about sex, not therapy sessions for me. It was hard at times, but I usually managed to stay more focused on the sex than my marital problems—especially when my partner was a hottie like Ezra. He was one of the most charming men I’d ever met. He was also one of my best lovers. I’d had four dates with him in the last two months.
“Listen, I’m sitting in this hotel room with a bottle of your favorite champagne and my Johnson got as hard as Chinese algebra as soon as I heard your voice. Can you come out and play with Mr. Johnson tonight?” Ezra said in a mock pleading tone.
I answered immediately. “Most definitely.”
I was not used to the attention I got from this man, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Last month he had to attend a seminar in L.A. Afterward, he boarded a private jet, flew up to the Bay Area, and booked a suite just so we could spend a couple of hours together before he returned to Florida.
“Sweetheart, you just made my day!” he hollered.
“I just made mine, too.”
“What I’m about to say next may sound corny, but I’m going to say it anyway.” Ezra cleared his throat. “I think about you a lot, Joan; my marvelous, sexy, beautiful HotChocolate. And that’s such a fitting screen name. You have some of the most amazing skills, and I’m sure you know what I mean. . . .”
“Thanks,” I said meekly. “You have some amazing skills, also, and I’m sure you know what I mean, too, DrFeelGood.” We both laughed. “Those mysterious pills you gave me to put in Reed’s drink last month worked better than I thought. He was out—way out—for over ten hours. He could have slept through a hurricane.”
“I hope that means you can stay
the whole night tonight.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll put an extra pill in his drink this time so he’ll still be knocked out for a few more hours even after I get back home.”
“Joan, I can’t wait to see you again. I can’t say it enough; you’re the most exciting woman I’ve ever known. Not only have you done wonders for my morale, you’ve done wonders for my health. Because of you and your talk about healthy living, I exercise regularly now and I watch what I eat. As a matter of fact, according to my physician, I am almost as fit as I was twenty years ago. You make me feel like a college boy again. If only I’d met you before you met your husband.”
“You tell me all this every time we talk,” I reminded. We laughed again.
Despite the good mood I was in now, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lola and all the mushy things she’d said about Calvin Ramsey this afternoon. Even though he was only a truck driver, I hoped that he was also the dreamboat she’d been looking for.
Chapter 6
Calvin
WHEN LOLA AND I FINALLY MET IN PERSON FOR THE FIRST TIME the Saturday before the Super Bowl, I wish I could have killed her that day. There was no doubt in my mind that of all the women I had to murder, she deserved it the most. Not just because she resembled my ex-wife Glinda—the two-timing bitch who had caused me to go on a killing spree. But also because Lola was the most annoying, shallow, oversexed heifer I had ever encountered. Even her laugh, which sounded like the screech of a magpie, made me cringe.
I had to hold my breath and suppress my anger a few times just to keep from lunging at her while she sat across from me in that coffee shop sipping coffee. The whole time, she “inspected” me as if I were a piece of meat to be bought by the pound. Patience used to be one of my good qualities, so I had no trouble restraining myself with her that day. But I couldn’t wait to wrap my hands around her pretty little throat and squeeze the life out of her.
You would have thought that Lola’s coffee had been spiked with booze the way she’d sat across from me batting her eyelashes. She practically drooled as she babbled all kinds of silly shit about reality TV shows, her stepmother, her job in a fucking grocery store, and even shopping. It was obvious that she thought I was her Prince Charming, with a white stallion waiting outside for us to ride off into the sunset. I always found women to be so goddamn gullible and unrealistic! Well, this “Prince Charming” was actually every woman’s nightmare.
That Lola. She was a real piece of work, and I had my work cut out for me. She was on my mind in such a profound way, I could still hear her voice and smell the stench of that unholy, floral-scented perfume she wore. And to think, she had the nerve to attempt to come off like she was so demure and respectable.
She had come to our meeting dressed in such prim and proper clothing, had I not known any better I’d have sworn she was a Sunday school teacher or some preacher’s daughter. But those women did a lot of dirty things too. It was no wonder so many men were frustrated, confused, and angry when it came to romance. With so many of the “good” girls actually being the “bad” girls in disguise these days, a man looking for a decent woman to marry didn’t stand a chance.
I wondered what Lola’s family and friends would think of her if they knew she was nothing more than a sex machine, picking up men online, and knowing her, no telling where else. She had eagerly admitted that she liked to drink in bars and at parties. I wondered how many fuck partners she had picked up at those places. I could still see that smile on her face. Well, she wouldn’t be smiling by the time I got through with her!
She was good for laughs, being so superficial and giddy. If there was life after death, she’d be good entertainment for Glinda and the rest of those no-good bitches I’d killed. It was a thought that made me laugh every time it entered my mind.
There was one thing I never laughed about, and it not only scared me, it made me very nervous: ghosts. A lot of the people I knew believed in them. Two of my coworkers swore that their late parents’ spirits had visited them more than once. Despite all of the documentaries I had seen on TV and reports I had heard from credible sources, I was still somewhat skeptical. But something very peculiar and spooky was happening in my life that I couldn’t figure out or ignore. Five nights ago, I heard a strange noise coming from the other side of my bedroom wall. My bedroom was right next to the garage, where the sound was coming from. It sounded as if somebody was moaning. It was so loud, it woke me up.
I was buck naked in bed because, at my request, one of my random female associates had made a booty call. I’d put her in a cab and sent her home a couple of hours earlier because I liked to sleep alone in my house.
I’d sat up and clicked on the lamp on my nightstand. This was not the first time I’d heard strange sounds coming from my garage. The first time, which was last month, I’d heard something crash to the floor. Naturally, I thought an intruder had entered my residence. My ranch-style three-bedroom house was located in a quiet, middle-class, well-maintained neighborhood in San Jose, just a few blocks from the police station. However, we had our share of burglaries.
Last year on two separate occasions while I was out for the evening, some asshole broke into my house. The first time the crook helped himself to my laptop, my cell phone, and a few other small items.
The second thief stole my new laptop, a fifth of cognac, and a leather jacket. Since I’d installed cameras outside, like several of my neighbors, I hadn’t had any more problems. At least not with burglars. And to be even more on the safe side, I kept a loaded Glock semiautomatic pistol in the top drawer of my nightstand. I had a license for it, and so far, except for target practice, I had never fired it.
The world had become a very dangerous place, even for a dangerous man like me. I was just as likely to die violently in America, in my own home, as I had been when I was stationed in Afghanistan. I didn’t care what I had to do to protect myself. Hopefully, I’d get the bad guy—or the bad girl—before they got me.
I eased open the drawer and removed the Glock. Even with all of this fire power at my disposal, my hand was still shaking. And for more than one reason. First, I feared that I’d shoot and miss the motherfucker who’d been bold enough to break into my place. Another fear was that I’d end up shooting myself instead of the intruder. But one thing was for sure: I would shoot first and ask questions later.
Without turning on any other lights, I moved closer to the wall and put my ear against it. I listened for a few minutes. The “moaning” suddenly stopped. I waited a few seconds and told myself that it had been the wind.
I heard the moaning again last night. I knew for sure that it was not the wind, because this time it sounded more human. I also knew that an intruder had not come into my house and started moaning, because those bastards tried to be as quiet as possible during their break-ins. And it certainly had not come from one of the three dead women I stored in the freezer in my garage. At least that was what I hoped. I had always been a reasonable, no-nonsense type of person, so it didn’t take much for me to convince myself that I had imagined what I’d heard.
I owned a Bible, but I rarely cracked it open. It had belonged to my grandmother on my late father’s side. It was quite shabby now. Some of the pages were dog-eared, some were falling out, and every single one had turned yellow. But Scotch tape and staples kept it from falling completely apart. I kept it mainly for sentimental reasons. Grandma Daisy had scribbled births, deaths, and other important events in our family in the records section. Other than my house and enough money to pay for a management training course, the Bible was the only thing she had left to me when she died.
Like the devout Christian people thought I was, I had always displayed the “good book” on an end table in my living room. Right after the moans stopped last night, I tumbled out of bed, padded to the living room, and retrieved it. I put it in the nightstand drawer right next to my Glock. With such an arsenal, I was confident that I had nothing to worry about.
A few minutes later, after a sho
t of bourbon and a hasty prayer, I returned to bed and slept like a baby.
When I got up this morning, I decided that I was not going to waste any more time thinking about the strange sounds. If and when the situation developed into something more ominous, I’d deal with it then. I’d even get Reverend Fisher to come out and do a blessing. In the meantime, I wanted to sharpen my focus on Lola and how I was going to fuck the living hell out of her when we finally decided to hook up in a hotel room. She was more than enough to keep my mind occupied for hours at a time every day. The only other thing I thought about more than the sex I had coming from her was the fact that she was going to be my most memorable victim.
Chapter 7
Lola
JOAN AND I WOULD HAVE STAYED IN THE BAR LONGER IF SHE HAD BEEN able to. But with Reed being such a suspicious crybaby, she’d had no choice but to leave just when we had begun to really enjoy ourselves. I was glad we left before it got dark. Crime in Northern California had become so bad in the last couple of years, I didn’t like to go out at night unless I was with a man. Murder was bad enough. But even more disturbing was when a woman turned up missing and was never found or heard from again. Like the three missing black women featured in a recent local newspaper article. I shuddered every time I thought about that story. The most unsettling thing about it was that all three of the missing (and presumed dead) women resembled me. . . .
I was back in my bedroom now, stretched out on my bed staring up at the ceiling. All kinds of thoughts were moving back and forth in my mind. Joan was in almost all of them. Before Reed entered her life and sent her on a one-way trip to the doldrums, I’d envied her. She had been the most well-adjusted, happy-go-lucky girl I knew. I had not seen her half as happy since she married Reed. She reminded me of a poor little rich girl who had everything money could buy, except peace of mind.
Despite Joan’s bad marriage, I was still anxious to have a husband of my own. I didn’t expect a perfect man, and certainly not a perfect marriage, but that didn’t make me want it any less.