The red-haired woman began screaming like a banshee. Natalie was vaguely aware of telling her to remain calm as she searched for Raymond's pulse. No response, and he wasn't breathing, either. A nurse burst into the room, took one look at Raymond, dashed back to the door and called for a crash cart, then added, "All of you—out!"
"I'm a doctor," Natalie said, readying Ray for CPR, not looking at his face, trying to remove herself from the reality that the man under her ministrations was her husband. Her philandering, cheating, deceitful husband.
The nurse shooed the other women—one silent, one blubbering—from the room. A crash cart team arrived within seconds, and shoved Natalie aside as they attempted to shock Raymond's motionless heart back to life. She shrank to a corner of the cluttered room, gasping for air as if her own heart were failing. For all she knew, it might be. Her knees sagged and an attendant ushered her into the corridor, urging her to breathe deeply.
Only after she assured the man she was okay and he returned to Raymond's room did she realize the two women stood a few feet away, leaning against opposite walls. The older woman maintained an iron grip on her purse, as the younger woman sobbed uncontrollably. Natalie glanced toward the redhead with disdain—she had no sympathy for Raymond's mistress.
"How is he?" asked the woman she'd met in the bathroom. The mistress choked into silence, staring at Natalie expectantly.
"They're still trying to revive him." She wiped at her eyes, then extended her hand to Beatrix, determined to make the best of meeting Raymond's ex-wife. "I'm Natalie. I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances."
But Beatrix ignored her hand and straightened. "You knew about me?"
"Of course," Natalie said quietly. "Raymond mentioned you many times."
"Mighty big of him. Before or after you slept with him?"
Natalie angled her head. "Excuse me?"
"Did he mention me before or after you slept with my husband?"
"Before," Natalie replied, puzzled. "Raymond was up front about the fact that he was a divorced man."
Beatrix gaped. "Divorced?"
Alarm embraced Natalie, then she recalled Raymond saying his first wife suffered from depression and other disorders. "Yes," she said calmly. "Two years before I met Raymond."
"Really? And when was that?"
Natalie began to grow angry herself. "Six years ago. We were married shortly thereafter."
Beatrix flushed. "Married? That's impossible."
The redhead chose that moment to chime in. "Then he divorced her last year." She addressed Beatrix, jerking a thumb toward Natalie. "More than two out of every three marriages in the United States end in divorce," she added matter-of-factly.
Natalie wheeled toward her husband's girlfriend. "Divorced?"
The young woman nodded, then hiccuped. "So that Ray and I could be married."
"And you are...?" Beatrix asked.
"Ruby Lynn Carmichael." She tossed her long hair, which, from the wild roll of her eyes, made her dizzy.
Feeling faint again, Natalie touched her head, trying to keep pace with the conversation. "Did you say 'married'?"
Ruby Lynn nodded and thrust out her left hand, flaunting a huge diamond, paired with a slim band. "Six weeks ago. Ain't it a beaut?"
"He married you too?" Beatrix cut in. Her mouth opened and closed. "Ladies—new bulletin: Raymond and I are not divorced."
Horror washed over Natalie. After a long pause of her vital signs, she whispered, "Raymond and I aren't divorced either."
Ruby narrowed her eyes and stared back and forth between them. "You mean that we're all three married to Ray?"
"That lying son of a bitch," Beatrix muttered.
"That cheating, no-good, three-timer," Natalie murmured.
"Ray didn't tell me he was Mormon," Ruby declared.
The door to Raymond's room swung open and the doctor emerged. "Mrs. Carmichael?"
The three of them turned toward the man. "Yes?" they replied in unison.
Chapter 3
Fighting the impulse to turn and run, Beatrix Carmichael stepped forward. "I am Mrs. Raymond Carmichael." An ambiguous title, apparently. Her voice sounded less than confident even to her own ears. "Is my husband going to be all right?" If the bastard died before she had a chance to confront him, she'd never forgive him.
"Mrs. Carmichael, I'm Dr. Everly." He removed his glasses and stuck an end in his mouth. "Your husband is stabilized, but he suffered a serious heart attack. Without tests, I can't predict the damage sustained. He's in critical condition. We're preparing to move him to the cardiac intensive care unit."
The woman named Natalie angled her body closer and exchanged medical mumbo-jumbo with the doctor. The red-haired coed resumed her boo-hooing at top decibels. Twenty-one years of devotion to a man, and this was her thanks—vying for position at his deathbed. A red glaze descended over her eyes.
Throwing her arms in the air, she shouted, "Enough!" and was rewarded with a few seconds of stunned silence. She moistened her lips, tasting Raisin Wine No. 3, and used her hands to punctuate her calm words. "I need... to speak... to my husband."
"Mrs. Carmichael," the doctor said gently. "Your husband is unconscious."
Beatrix gave him a tight smile. "Raymond usually dozes off when I talk to him, Doctor. Step aside."
"I'd also like to see him," Natalie said.
"Me, too," piped up the other one.
Beatrix wanted to scream. Dr. Everly's eyes darted around the group. "Are all of you immediate family members?"
"No," she declared.
"Yes," Natalie and Ruby chorused a half-beat later, and stared at her with defiance.
The doctor's eyebrows climbed, but at that moment, the door to Raymond's room opened and the foot of his bed emerged. "Sorry, ladies," he said. "You have from here to the elevator to say your piece."
When Raymond's ashen face appeared, Beatrix crowded in next to a nurse and trotted to keep up as the bed barreled down the hall. "Raymond! Raymond, can you hear me?"
From the other side of the bed, Natalie and the other one took up the refrain, each trying to elicit a response from Raymond. He lay completely still, and for a spiteful second, Beatrix wondered if he were faking it—the man hated confrontation.
"Raymond, I'm here for you," Natalie said over and over.
"I love you, Ray!" sobbed the other one.
People recoiled in their wake as they approached the elevator like a big, noisy centipede. Beatrix hated Raymond for forcing her to take part in the embarrassing spectacle. Barely able to hear herself over the din, she shouted, "Wake up, you coward! Wake up and face your problems like a man!" She could have sworn she saw him flinch.
Someone pried her hands from the rail as they slid the bed into the elevator. The baffled-looking doctor blocked the door to keep the trio from boarding. "Next elevator, ladies. It'll take us a while to get him settled in. There's a waiting room on the eleventh floor." He raised his finger in warning. "But you'll have to keep it down."
The door slid closed, nearly pinching the toes of Beatrix's Gucci loafers. She stared at her reflection in the stainless steel doors, appalled at the thought of turning around and facing the two women her husband had... She couldn't bear to even think the word. More than anyone, she knew Raymond was a playboy. But if these women were telling the truth, what he'd done to her—to all of them—was not only unconscionable, but criminal.
The young one was still caterwauling, now with a noticeable twang. Her patience exhausted, Beatrix swung around. "Will you please shut up!"
The girl straightened with an abrupt hiccup, covering her mouth with her beringed left hand. Natalie stood a few inches away, hugging her thin self. Gone was the confident medical persona. The woman looked as terrified as Beatrix felt.
Natalie caught her gaze. "What on earth do we do now?"
Beatrix closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Natalie was easily young enough to be her own daughter, and the other one could squeak by a
s a granddaughter. What could Raymond have been thinking? Her anger boiled. After a nurse called her about the car accident and she realized Raymond was okay, she'd made the three-hour drive wearing a smirk. On the return trip, her husband would be forced to converse with her, uninterrupted, for one hundred and eighty minutes—a special occasion for which she'd skipped her evening sleeping pill. As a result, she was stone-cold sober for this little rendezvous.
She opened her eyes, still at a loss for protocol. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm going to find a coffee machine."
"Did you know that the average coffee drinker consumes three and a half cups a day?" Ruby asked behind her.
Beatrix turned and pointed at the girl. "You are a kook. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your distance."
An orderly gave her directions and they traipsed to a vending room in loose single file, maintaining silence by mutual consent. Walking as if a shield encircled her, Beatrix distanced herself emotionally by staying a few feet ahead of the other women. She punched in her selection of black coffee and watched numbly while the dark liquid bubbled out. Natalie diluted hers with non-dairy creamer. Ruby bummed fifty cents from Natalie and opted for hot chocolate with little marshmallows—surprise, surprise.
Minutes later, they boarded an elevator, each claiming a far corner, and rode to the eleventh floor. Beatrix hadn't experienced a hot flash in at least two years, but her makeup was melting in anticipation of the impending discussion. Why, oh, why hadn't she brought her pills?
At a station just outside the elevator, a nurse informed them in hushed tones that Raymond remained in critical condition and they could visit him for ten minutes every odd hour if his condition allowed. Beatrix was already thinking she'd be looking for a plug to pull.
The waiting room on the eleventh floor sat virtually empty except for a young couple asleep on separate couches and a janitor vacuuming potato chips from the smelly carpet. Taking the lead, Beatrix pulled out a wobbly chair around a square Formica table and sat down heavily, sloshing lukewarm coffee through the hole in the lid. Pale and drawn, Natalie followed suit, and the other one joined them, her eyes welling over again.
They stirred and sipped—Ruby slurped—for several long moments while Beatrix's mind reeled. Finally, Natalie set down her cup. "Why don't you start from the beginning, Beatrix?"
The beginning. That would be the first time she saw Raymond Carmichael at a fundraiser for a hospital clinic that would eventually bear her father's name. Outrageously handsome in a charcoal tuxedo, ten years her junior, and on the arm of her best friend, Blanche Grogan, Raymond had caught her eye instantly. After the toasts were made, he'd dumped her friend and pulled Beatrix into a coat closet to share a bottle of vanilla rum until everyone else had left.
On that night, she couldn't have imagined the suffering she would bring upon herself by succumbing to Raymond's irresistible charm—and now after years of paying penance, this. Damn the idle selfishness bred into her by cold, wealthy parents. She'd learned to expect so little happiness out of life... and her expectations had been met to the letter.
Glancing up from her half-empty cup, Beatrix realized the other women were poised, nervous and waiting. "Not much to tell, really," she said with a shrug. "Raymond and I met and were married twenty-one years ago. We've lived in the same house in Northbend, Tennessee since then. Or at least I did. Raymond traveled so much..." Of course, now she knew why.
"But you were never divorced?" Natalie's voice cracked.
Beatrix managed a dry laugh. "No, we were never divorced." This situation would provide fodder for the Northbend Country Club gossip mill for eternity.
Natalie leaned forward on her elbows, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Did Raymond have any reason to think the two of you were divorced?"
"None whatsoever."
If possible, the woman's deep blue eyes grew even bleaker. Sorrowful and eroded, she remained an attractive woman. A memory stirred, but Beatrix couldn't pin it down.
Natalie's mouth twitched. "Do... Do you and Raymond have children?"
Beatrix averted her gaze. "No." She couldn't conceive, and Raymond had refused to adopt. Just another of life's little injustices. "Do you have children?"
Natalie shook her head, then joined Beatrix in a heart-pounding stare at Ruby, who swallowed hard, but at last shook her empty head.
She allowed a pent-up sigh to escape. Thank God for small miracles.
"How did you find out he was here?" she asked Natalie.
"I received a call from a state trooper who handled the accident. You?"
"The hospital called me to verify medical insurance." She cast a glance toward the other one without making full eye contact. "What about you?"
"Ray called me," she said with big-eyed innocence.
Beatrix joined Natalie in swallowing a gulp of bitter coffee. It was apparent who Raymond had wanted by his side, and why he had been so surprised to see her and Natalie. She almost smiled at the irony.
"How did you meet Raymond?" Ruby asked Natalie. The young girl's mascara leaked down her cheeks. Her eyebrows were too thin and her mouth too full for her face to be truly beautiful, but she was striking. And Beatrix suspected that under the shapeless yellow dress lurked a magnificent body. Raymond, you insufferable cad.
Natalie, too, seemed to size up the younger woman while she contemplated her answer. Her mouth stretched into a wry smile. "I met Raymond at a medical conference seven years ago."
Ruby nodded with youthful exaggeration. "One out of three people meet their mates at work."
Beatrix squinted at the girl's nonsense, then elected to ignore her.
Natalie fingered her gold and emerald wedding band—surprisingly, the only jewelry she wore—and lifted her moist gaze. "He told me he'd been divorced for two years, and I never questioned him. I never dreamed... I mean, he traveled so much..." Her face crumpled, but she bit her bottom lip to stem her tears.
"Where do you live?" Beatrix asked with as much calm as she could garner.
Natalie inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, puffing out thin cheeks. "We live—I mean, I live in Smiley, a small town outside St. Louis."
"All those years, and neither of you suspected a thing?"
They turned toward Ruby. Beatrix felt a twinge of camaraderie with Natalie—at least they both shared a history with Raymond. The little girl barely had a history, period. "How old are you?" she blurted out, her resentment unbridled.
Ruby sniffed. "Twenty-one."
Beatrix rolled her eyes. Christ, she'd probably lost her virginity to the slug. "And how did you meet Raymond?"
She wiped her eye, smearing blue eye shadow across her temple. "A few months ago he started coming into the place where I work, and after a while" —she shrugged prettily—"we got to be buds."
Beatrix pressed her lips together, then asked, "And when exactly did you go from being 'buds' to being married?"
A dreamy expression softened Ruby's kohled eyes. "Ray stepped in and saved me from a rowdy customer. We went to the late show that night and made out in the back row—" She stopped abruptly and cleared her throat. "After that, we went out every time he was in town."
"In town?" Beatrix asked.
"Leander, Kentucky," she explained. "About forty-five minutes east down I-64."
Three wives in three states—which explained how he'd juggled the paperwork, she presumed.
"Ray surprised me on my birthday by proposing at the steak house." Ruby held out her ring again, moving her hand to catch the light. "I'd never seen such a big diamond."
Beatrix chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you still haven't."
Ruby frowned. "Huh?"
"Cubic zirconia—it's fake."
The young woman jerked her hand to her chest. "Is not!"
Beatrix considered the wisdom of waging an "is too, is not" war. Instead, she opened her purse and withdrew a cigarette, even though she couldn't light it. "May I ask w
hat line of work you're in?"
"I'm a dancer," Ruby informed them with pride. "Feature show at Pink Paddy's."
Beatrix traded knowing glances with Natalie, then cut back to Ruby. "You're a stripper?"
The young woman's smile faltered a bit. "Raymond prefers the term 'exotic performer.'"
Nodding slowly with her tongue poked in her cheek, Beatrix tried valiantly to tamp down the anger that surged anew. "Well, Raymond had a remarkable talent for putting a good spin on things." Un-fucking-believable. She snapped the brown cigarette in two.
"Has," Ruby corrected.
Growing weary of the girl's wide-eyed innocence, Beatrix sighed. "What?"
"You said 'had,' like Raymond's dead or something."
"Oh, so you're a stripper and an English teacher?"
Ruby frowned. "You don't have to be mean."
Beatrix regarded her for a few seconds, then leaned forward. "No, I don't have to be mean. I could simply be amused by the fact that my husband married two other women while still married to me!" She smacked the top of the table for punctuation.
Ruby blinked. "Well, it's not our fault that—" She broke off and lifted her cup for a nervous drink.
"That what?" Beatrix asked, pursing her lips.
Ruby squirmed.
"Not your fault that what?" Beatrix demanded, half- standing. "Not your fault that my husband wasn't satisfied with me?"
"I... I..."
"Not your fault that I couldn't keep him happy in my bed?"
Natalie closed her eyes and Ruby shrank back in her chair.
"Not your fault that my husband is a scumbag bigamist?"
"Excuse me."
Beatrix turned toward the voice. Behind the gaping janitor, the man and woman who had been sleeping on the couches stared at them. "Would you mind keeping it down? This is a hospital, you know."
"Mind your own damned business!" Beatrix barked, standing. Her chair thumped to the carpet. She strode out of the room in the direction of the nurses' station and asked for directions to the ladies' room. By the time she reached the tiled room, her jaws ached from grinding her teeth. Thank God the place was empty.
Our Husband (a humorous romantic mystery) Page 3