by Agatha Rae
Chapter 3
Two weeks after he had moved in with Cindy, he had had enough. He hated the place. The old interior, the creaking bed, and furniture in general was one thing, but he had to spend most of his days alone. Cindy was going to work, Molly wasn’t back yet, and John was bored.
He didn’t have a stable job; he worked for a company that organized more or less exotic trips for other companies’ staff or their individual clients, really anyone who was able to pay a lot of money for their vacations. If there were clients willing to go to Antarctica, the Fiji Islands, Zanzibar, Australia, Cape Horn, Iceland, or wherever else, it was John’s task to organize a trip, find quality people in the destination areas to be the clients’ guides, and to make sure they were properly prepared for the excursion. Most times it was only a matter of what to take, what not to take, what documents were needed, as well as letting people know about all possible safety regulations.
Sometimes it required John to travel to the requested places himself in order to ensure everything was as requested and the people who were to take care of their clients were competent and professional. An executive concierge of sorts. A few times his boss allowed him to travel with the clients, which created a unique possibility to both work and relax at the same time. He’d heard stories that some trips were at the edge of legality, with people wanting to travel to sport-hunt for exotic wild animals, for example, but he had never had an opportunity to take part in something like that. Not that he would refuse, no, why would he, he wasn’t the first nor the last person to participate in such a thing, so his potential refusal wouldn’t save any endangered white rhinos, big cats or elephants from being killed by a different group of ambitious amateur poachers. He simply hadn’t had a chance to do it yet.
The groups were never bigger than ten or twelve people, and the trips were hardly ever longer than three weeks. The trips had created a wonderful opportunity for John to break loose from Margaret and taste everything the foreign culture and country had to offer. It didn’t matter whether those were the local women or the legal substances’ availability.
To be honest, at the beginning of their marriage, when John got the job, he often offered to take his wife with him, so that she would see a bit of the world, but she would always refuse. She kept on telling him she felt safe in the country, where she knew the laws, the rules, and the regulations, that she was afraid of getting into trouble with any authorities abroad. John told her a few times that as long as she didn’t steal or murder anyone, chances were nothing bad would ever happen to her, but she never wanted to go with him. Some years later, he was sure she was using the trips to have some free time to sit at home and drink freely whenever she wanted and as much as she wanted. Too bad, but he couldn’t see any reason to resign from his job and the perks it involved, because his wife wasn’t able to get a grip on herself. She wouldn’t even allow him to take Mickey with him and he had tried many times. Margaret had always been a party pooper.
He hadn’t had any new trips to organize for two months. It wasn’t a catastrophe, as he usually made enough money organizing just one junket than most people earned after two or three months of a regular and steady job. John was perfectly capable of living his life the way he liked it while having not more than four trips to organize per year and during the past nine months, he had already been responsible for six, so he was perfectly fine with having a couple months off. It had been a good year so far.
John was trying to persuade Cindy to go on a trip with him, nothing fancy, just a few days by the beach, in some nice resort, but she wasn’t willing to agree. She kept on telling him she had a very difficult time at work, that her co-worker was on sick leave and there was no chance for her to get any vacation days until November.
John had a feeling the negative energy was eating him alive. Disappointed in Cindy’s work ethic, bitter that Molly still wasn’t around, he met Paul on almost a daily basis and they would either drink some beer in his friend’s club (night clubs during the day looked simply miserable with bright light shining through the windows, older ladies cleaning the bar and the floors, suppliers coming in and walking out, and empty chairs and tables), cruising around in one of Paul’s fancy sports cars, or simply hanging out in private rooms with the night club dancers – a service Paul would pay them extra for. John was so cunning; he lived the good life until late afternoon, always had the time to do some shopping, pick up Cindy from work, who was charmingly unaware of what his day had looked like. Then, he would make dinner and spend the rest of the evening either watching TV with her, occasionally going out for a walk or to the movies. After two weeks he felt he was asphyxiating in this new life.
The nightmare with the cage and the reek of sulfur happened more or less a week after he had moved in to Cindy’s and had not reappeared, but because it was so scary and so realistic, John had caught himself thinking about it a few times, and every time he had, he always felt that unpleasant chill down his spine and he felt his heart beating a bit faster. He wasn’t able to recall having such a horrible dream before, and, what was more, remembering it in such a detail.
Despite the two weeks passing, he still hadn’t called Margaret. He was a bit afraid to do that, because he knew that talking with her wasn’t going to be pleasant. He spoke to Mickey once, though. Poor kid was completely disoriented, had no idea why his stepdad had moved out, and John had to admit he was positively impressed with the fact that Margaret didn’t try to turn the boy against him. John told him a few clichés about irreconcilable differences, and that he would always love him. He reminded Mick he had to support his mother and make sure he was taking good care of her, and that sometimes such things happen. That Mick was a grown-up man now, and once things between John and Mickey’s mom settled down, they would go for a beer and he would explain everything to him. He really liked the kid, although he was aware of the fact he wasn’t a master of showing his emotions. Mickey became his step-son when the boy was three years old, His real dad was never interested in him, and John would sometimes take him for camping, help him with his homework, and explain to him all the stuff about the birds and the bees, once it was clear it should have been done. John also provided for Mick’s education and hobbies. The situation between him and Margaret was actually the very first truly adult thing the boy had to face, and if he had problems dealing with it, then so be it; either he was mature and grown-up, or not.
One of the reasons why John still hadn’t contacted Margaret was that there was no way he would be able to move his things to Cindy’s apartment. He did wonder if it wouldn’t be a good idea to break up with her and move in with Molly once she was back, but the problem was, Molly’s lifestyle was almost unacceptable for John and he wasn’t sure if he was able to stay with her for a longer time, unless he had to. Which wasn’t an option. John never had to do anything. Want? Yes. Have to? Never.
The girl was a veggie-fundamentalist, obsessed with everything that was either “bio” and “organic”, would do aerobics in front of the TV at 5:30 a.m. from Monday thru Friday and 6:00 during the weekends. She had a beautiful, luxurious apartment, which looked more like a museum rather than a place where people lived, with its perfectly shined furniture, not a single crumb on the table, with a feng-shuied arrangement, and impeccable set of pillows on the bed. It wasn’t a place a person like John, a man who appreciated living to the fullest above everything else in life, would feel good in. Molly was an incredibly intelligent and sharp woman, a flight attendant for one of the most prestigious airlines in the world, unbelievable in bed, but, to be honest, he had some problems imagining himself living with her. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t seem to be a person interested in a full-time relationship. It seemed that an occasional shag and a weekend at the outskirts of the city was enough for her.
Since he found out that Molly’s shift was prolonged for a couple of weeks more, he knew there was no other option, he had to stay with Cindy for a while, but that didn’t mean he had to stay in her st
inky, tiny, old apartment.
Two weeks after he had begun living at her place, John secretly started looking for an apartment to rent and he found an ad for a two-story penthouse apartment located about forty minutes away from Cindy’s hovel, while at the same time, much closer to the downtown, which John thought was a bonus. Three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen combined with a very big sitting room, two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs, and an impressively big wardrobe. It was very stylish and new, complete with a 60-inch-big TV on the wall, and a classy and expensive sound-system.
John checked the rent and smiled; he was able to afford it without a problem. A thought occurred in his mind that perhaps he ought to ask Cindy if she liked it, but he snorted. What nonsense. She hadn’t the slightest idea he was looking for a new place to stay, but, let’s be honest, it was something he had found for himself, mostly, since, apparently, she must have been okay living in her sorry excuse for an apartment; otherwise she would have been looking for something else. She had no taste, no demands, no expectations, and her two-bedroom shithole was a reflection of her state of mind. Fortunately for her, John was there to teach her some taste, to show her that there were other ways of living. One did not have to accept mediocrity.
He called the owner, arranged a meeting and on the next day, John went to the apartment to check it out. It looked even better than in the pictures; luxurious, but not pretentious, tasteful, and cozy. The wardrobe was spacious enough not for two but for four people, easily, and, the moment John entered it, the thought, the relief, that ironically blossomed in his head was that there was no fucking lavender odor.
He discovered there was even a fireplace in the sitting room, something he hadn’t spotted while looking at the photographs on the website. John wasn’t able to imagine Cindy not liking it.
The owner told him he got a job in a different country, a three-year long contract, and he had to leave his condo. He was already living abroad, but came especially to see him, and to show him around. John thought that if he did like the place, and it was definitely possible, he might as well offer to buy the owner out sometime during those three years, but he did not say anything yet.
The rental price was one thing, but there were also the costs of living; bills, and the monthly maintenance company fee to ensure the electricity, the elevators, and the building in general worked perfectly, not to mention the landscaping. John had to admit, he had not seen that one coming, he had focused entirely on the rental fee, but he immediately thought that Cindy ought to take care of it. He was already improving her life by taking her out of the shithole she was living in and into this fine, modern, civilized place, where successful people, such as himself, would live and make the most of it. Deep down, he knew Cindy wouldn’t be happy about the moving, but she would get over it. She had to.
When the papers were signed and the deposit paid, two days later, while Cindy was at work, he moved their things to the new apartment. There wasn’t much to take, after all, the new place was fully furnished and had all possible equipment installed and ready to use, from frying pans and coffee maker to a Blu-ray set, so all he had to pack were their clothes, cosmetics, CDs, DVDs, and books. Everything fit into six bigger boxes, which he easily put into his Land Cruiser, and when Cindy was done with work, he went to pick her up, and told her he had a surprise for her. She smiled and, unaware of anything, allowed him to take her to her new, high-quality life.
“Where are we?” she asked while they waited for an automatic gate to open and let them drive into a well-guarded, high-ticket gated community. “Are we meeting someone here?”
“Kind of,” he replied while putting the remote control back into a glove box. “You like it?”
“Sure, it’s beautiful here,” she admitted looking around through the window. John smiled and gently pushed the gas pedal. The car obediently moved forward, leaving the already closing gate behind them. A friendly gate guard nodded his head in a welcoming gesture and John, as he reciprocated the gesture, thought that he was finally living the way he was supposed to.
“So, who are we visiting?” Cindy asked, turning her head in John’s direction.
“You’ll see, but I promise you’ll love it,” John replied as he gently drove along charming estate roads lit with small street lamps, not higher than maybe a yard. They were standing above the grass in equal, about fifteen-yard long intervals.
Torches. Torches lightning the dark, damp tunnel. The face, the hairy, ravaged face looking at him.
John suddenly stopped the car and blinked a few times. He felt his pulse rising and took a deep breath to calm down.
“What happened?” Cindy asked, looking attentively at him and put her hand on his lap.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he replied a bit irritated, and wiped a few drops of sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. What the fuck was that? He hadn’t thought of that dream of his for almost three weeks now, and yet the memory of it seemed as vivid, as if he had just woken up. He looked at Cindy, spotted she was worried, so he finally smiled and, in a much more relaxed manner, told her he was fine and that there was nothing to worry about.
They started moving forward and finally stopped in front of garage door leading to a garage under one of the apartment blocks. John used the remote control again, and once the door was open, they drove into the dark space, which was now being automatically lightened with lamps showing the driver where to go.
“Are we allowed to park here? You know, as guests?”
Oh, dear God, woman, just relax, admire the surroundings, and enjoy the fact that for once you do not need to zip your jacket and open an umbrella while walking the distance between your car and the staircase, John thought.
“Yeah, there won’t be any problem,” he replied.
They parked, walked out of the car and called the elevator. Soon they were on the sixth—top floor of the building. It was very elegant, with limestone and marble on the walls, a carpet under their feet, and nicely dimmed light pouring from the ceiling.
“Here we go, Cindy,” John said, and took a bunch of keys from his jacket pocket, and opened one of the doors. She was looking at him, not comprehending what was happening, but walked inside the apartment. When John closed the door, he turned on the light and Cindy was astonished the minute she saw the interior of the place.
“Do you like it?” he asked, knowing exactly she would, but he wanted her to say it out loud.
“It’s beautiful!” she replied honestly as she was walking around the sitting room. “Oh my God, so much space! And so classy!”
“Right?” John smiled. He felt really proud of himself. After all, if it wasn’t for him, Cindy, most probably, would have never been able to live in such conditions.
“Who lives here?” she asked, looking at him. “Whose apartment are you taking care of? Paul’s?”
“No, no, it’s not Paul’s,” he said, but before he was able to say anything else, Cindy looked at a bookcase standing in the corner, and John knew it was better not to say anything at that point.
She walked closer to the case, took out one of the books and looked at John questioningly.
“This is my book, John,” she said, showing him Danielle Lee Zwissler’s newest edition of her bestseller novel Her Last Chance and opening it up to expose the dedication written especially for her on the very first page. “Why is it here?”
“Well, there’s more of your things here, honey, look around,” he replied and smiled warmly.
Cindy took two steps back from the bookcase and looked at it more carefully. He was right, her whole collection of Zwissler’s novels were there, as well as others. All of them. The whole bookcase was, in fact, filled with books belonging to her. She looked at John and he could tell, by her look, she was going to demand an explanation.
“Not only your books are here, but your movie collection, your clothes, your cosmetics; everything’s here,” he said calmly.
“What are you talking about? How is that possible?�
�� she asked a bit nervously and looked at the TV set. She bent and saw her films on a shelf, just under the sound system-Blu-ray combo set. Cindy also saw her CDs on a stand right next to it.
“Oh, come on, honey. How is it possible I have a remote control to the gates, how is it possible I have the key to the door? Honestly, as you kept asking me about who we were visiting, at some point, I thought I would simply lose my mind!” He laughed. “Just put the facts together already!”
“John, damn it,” she said angrily, and threw the book on the sofa. She turned around and looked coldly at him. “What the hell is going on?”
“Do you like this place?” he asked and walked towards the kitchen annex.
“Why does it matter whether I like it, or not?” she replied angrily.
“Well, quite a lot, to be frank.” John opened the fridge and took out a bottle of champagne. He put it on the kitchen island and took out two glasses from a cabinet under its top. “This is where we’re going to live now,” he said and smiled, very pleased with himself.
“What!” she exclaimed and walked towards him. Unsure if it was a matter of emotions, or the fact she was walking around the apartment with her coat on, she instantly felt so warm, she was about to cook inside. Cindy nervously took it off and threw it on a leather sofa in front of the TV.
“What the hell are you talking about, John?” she asked breathing a bit faster, in a tone demanding immediate answers. He had to admit, that this wasn’t the reaction he had expected. The way he had imagined it, was that she would be delighted, that she would put her arms around him and thank him for improving her life, for giving her the kind of comfort she wasn’t able to afford herself. And what was he getting? A row coming up. Christ.
“The owner of this place has to move to another country for three years, and he wanted to rent the place. I thought you’d be happy,” he said and put the glasses away. Somehow, he did not feel like celebrating anymore.