by JD Nixon
She collected her handbag and we caught the lift down to the foyer to wait for her lawyer to arrive and escort us to the resolution centre. We weren’t kept waiting too long (only about $600 worth of time in lawyer terms), before that esteemed member of the legal profession made her appearance.
She was a hard-faced woman in her mid-thirties with a black, severe-fringed bob, a well-cut but glaringly bright yellow designer suit, stupendously high heels, bright red lipstick and an unmistakable fuck-you attitude. Patricia introduced us; her name was Corella Moon. I nodded politely. She glanced at me as if I was a piece of gum on her shoe, then ignored me, talking to Patricia in a harsh, fast voice about tactics for the day’s meeting.
I trailed them out of the foyer and sat in the back seat of Corella’s red Audi convertible. She took off with a squeal of tyres and barked out instructions to Patricia the whole way. She barely concentrated on her driving, nearly rear-ending an ambulance at an intersection. She didn’t even notice, but I sat white-knuckled, glad when we finally pulled into the parking lot of a drab office block. There was no chance of me forgetting that car accident when faced with driving like Corella’s.
I gathered from what I’d overheard of the women’s conversation that we were meeting in the office of a government-sponsored mediation service. It existed mostly to provide neutral ground and an impartial referee for warring parties, in a vain attempt to ultimately reduce the caseload on the Family Court. Corella skidded to an abrupt stop, all of us thrown forward in our seats, and parked crookedly across two parking spots. I walked next to Patricia as we entered the building, my eyes peeled for any trouble.
We were directed at reception to a small, depressingly drab waiting area with brown vinyl flooring and rickety chairs. We perched on them uneasily, waiting for the other party to show up to the meeting.
After about twenty minutes, we were still waiting. The mediator popped his head around the door, enquiring politely at least five times whether the other party had arrived yet, checking his watch with subdued annoyance. Patricia grew increasingly anxious, clutching and twisting her hands, while Corella paced the floor with building impatience.
Eventually we heard a strident voice in the distance, becoming closer and louder. Patricia stiffened next to me, and I knew her estranged husband was finally on his way. He burst into the room with a flood of profanity and reeking of bad mood, yelling at someone walking behind him.
“I told that cocksucking assistant of yours that the meeting was at ten-thirty. Ten-thirty, Gerry! Not fucking eleven! Now we’re late and I hate being late. You know that, Gerry. It puts me at a disadvantage before anyone’s even opened their fucking mouths.”
He stopped suddenly and eyed the three of us. I gave him a deliberate once-over, sizing him up. He was mid-height and meaty, with sandy, blow-dried hair. He’d been attractive about ten years ago, but good living had made him soft and paunchy, his face ruddy with temper. He stared at me with pale, protuberant blue eyes, his face reddening even further. He glanced back at his lawyer, who shrugged in ignorance.
“Tricia, who the fuck is this person?” he asked, taking a step towards us. I jumped to my feet immediately, taller than him, and stepped towards him.
“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your distance from Mrs Warburton, please sir,” I said firmly, but politely.
It was as if my words flicked a switch in his brain. He clenched his fists and almost snarled at his wife.
“What the fuck, Tricia? A bodyguard? What the fuck did you think I was going to do to you today? Hurt you? I would never do that. I love you.”
He stepped closer to us. I pushed Patricia behind me protectively.
“What about all the times you did hurt me, Gary?” Patricia shrieked at him in fear from behind my back.
I stepped closer to him, bulking myself up as much as possible. “I’m telling you again, sir, to step back from Mrs Warburton.”
“Get away from her!” screeched Corella.
“Gary,” warned his lawyer, grabbing him by the arm.
He shook off his arm furiously. “Fuck off, Gerry! I’m just trying to talk to my wife without this dyke and you wallet-sucking lawyers getting in the way.”
He moved nearer to us. I was now officially annoyed.
“Last warning, sir. Back away from Mrs Warburton right now,” I stepped closer to him, almost butting up against the obnoxious jerk.
“Tricia, I can’t believe you’ve done this, you stupid bitch.”
“Gary!” remonstrated his lawyer, genuinely shocked.
“Mr Warburton!” simultaneously objected Corella in mock-outrage, but unable to hide the triumphant tone in her voice. She had dollar signs in her eyes now. The settlement would certainly be more favourable towards her client after this blatant show of poor behaviour, witnessed not only by both lawyers, but also by the mediator who’d poked his head out from the negotiation room in fearful curiosity at the racket.
Warburton regarded me with unattractive bellicosity and calculatingly took another step forward, his chest pushing against mine.
I knew his type – he was nothing but a bully, simmering with hate, needing to subject and humiliate anyone less powerful than him to boost his own self-importance. The kind of man who thinks women were born to serve. Well, he was sure messing with the wrong woman today. I crossed my arms and stepped forward myself, pressing him backwards with my elbows, shooting daggers at him.
“I wouldn’t recommend that you take one more step forward, sir,” I warned coldly, ready to rip off his balls and serve them to him on a platter, lightly sauteed with butter and garlic chives. I sincerely hoped I was conveying that particular thought with my eyes.
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” he seethed, so angry he was hissing, spittle foaming the corners of his mouth. “If I want to talk to my wife, I fucking well will, and no poxy, big-titted twat is going to stop me.”
He was really beginning to get up my nose, especially with that comment about my boobs. I stepped forward, bulldozing him backwards again, our eyes locked in combat. But I hadn’t fully appreciated the man’s short fuse.
Without any warning, he launched onto me, shoving me backwards with his strong hands on my chest, his face an unhealthy red. I heard the general clamour of dismay and protest from the others as I stumbled, tripping over my own boots, taken by surprise.
Fortunately I managed to quickly regain my balance, completely focussed on him.
I advanced on him again, pushing him away from Patricia with my palms on his chest. We struggled together for a while, pointlessly lumbering back and forth, both grunting with exertion and repeatedly gaining ground, only to cede it again a few moments later. It wasn’t quite an even battle – he had the distinct advantages of weight and bulk on his side, while I was left to fend with the crumbs of my superior height and (possibly) training.
I could almost hear Heller’s accented voice in my ear, cautioning politeness and restraint as I’d been taught. But my blossoming anger began to override more sensible emotions. I knew that Heller wouldn’t be pleased about how quickly matters had escalated, but the fact was that Warburton obviously had come to the meeting cruising for a fight, and I’d merely been the one to give him a trigger. If it hadn’t been my presence, it would have been something else that set him off. Even so, I’d probably find myself in major trouble with Heller later on, berated for my lack of professionalism. But to be honest, that was a situation with which I was awfully familiar, so I didn’t sweat over it.
After a great deal of straining effort, I managed to prise Warburton’s hands off my chest, not appreciating the physical contact. Not to mention that he hadn’t seemed averse to slipping his hands a little lower on occasion, touching my boobs as we grappled together. That didn’t improve my mood much either. My boobs were not public property.
I mustered up all my strength and thrust forward, gaining the advantage for a few precious moments. I forced him up against the wall, keeping my body tight against
his, pushing one forearm hard across his throat to pin his head back, my other hand painfully gripping a fistful of his thinning hair. He spluttered with the pressure on his windpipe. I leaned right into his ear, pressing my body up against his, so near him that I could feel he was becoming aroused by the altercation and the close contact. Ugh! My sympathy for Patricia only grew if this was how the man she married liked to get his rocks off. I wondered briefly what she’d been through with him.
I hissed in his ear. “That was a really stupid move. Threatening your soon-to-be ex-wife in front of her lawyer – a woman who crushes men’s nuts with her teeth. You are a stupid man, aren’t you?”
He struggled furiously, trying to push me off him. I compressed down harder on his throat with my forearm until he moaned with pain.
“You’re a stupid man, aren’t you?” I whispered viciously again.
He unexpectedly responded, not by agreeing with me, which was what I’d obviously wanted, but by latching his hands onto my boobs, squeezing them mercilessly. I couldn’t afford to miss a beat though, not willing to give him an inch of leeway. If I didn’t instruct him about the rules of play now, the rest of my time on this job was going to be a nightmare. He would believe he could behave however he wished and treat Patricia with as much disrespect as possible. So, despite the revolting feel of his hands on my body and the pain he was causing, I didn’t flinch. Instead, I bestowed an equal amount of tender loving care on him by brutally kneeing him in the balls.
He whimpered, tears flooding his eyes. He released my boobs. I still had my arm across his neck and I pushed down even harder until he gagged.
“Don’t you ever touch me again. You understand, you dumb prick?” He nodded, hatred burning in his eyes. “Now you will apologise to Patricia and the mediator for your bad manners. Understand? Yes?”
He nodded, not able to articulate anything except a choking noise.
I took my arm away, glared at him with disgust and calmly resumed my seat next to a trembling Patricia. My stomach roiled, and I gulped in a few deep breaths and swallowed hard a few times to keep the bile down. My boobs ached and I wouldn’t be surprised to find finger-sized bruises on them this evening.
Warburton brushed himself down, rubbed his throat, and tried to assume some dignity.
“Patricia, Mediator, I apologise for my behaviour,” he said, turning from his tremulous wife to the anxious man poking his head around the negotiation room doorway again.
That done, no matter how insincerely, all parties proceeded to troop into the room, Warburton cutting me a dirty look as he did. I gave him the mental finger. The scathing glance he threw back made me think he was telepathic.
I didn’t hold out much hope for a positive outcome for anyone today.
Chapter 6
I sat in the waiting room for the rest of the day, yawning quietly to myself. Security work could be so butt-numbingly dull sometimes. My only diversion was a brief break for lunch, which Patricia, Corella and I took out in the sunshine in a park across the road. Patricia was very quiet and subdued, barely even nibbling on her sandwich. Corella spent the entire time divided between gobbling her food, shouting into her mobile and snapping out orders about the afternoon session to Patricia.
When they reconvened, I passed the time unsuccessfully trying not to think about that scene with Heller the other night. I wished I’d handled it all better, but there was something about sleeping with him that just –
I didn’t get to finish articulating that critically important point to myself when the doors to the negotiation room were flung back angrily, and Gary stormed out, his lawyer hot on his heels. I jumped to my feet, bracing myself for more action, heart pounding. But he only glared at me, muttering, “Fucking bitch,” before leaving, and I wasn’t sure if he meant me, Corella or Patricia, or maybe all three of us, cursed generically. Gerry chased after him begging him to be more temperate in future meetings.
I smiled to myself. Obviously, things didn’t go the bastard’s way.
Patricia and her lawyer came out next, Corella looking extremely pleased with the outcome. They were followed by the mediator who seemed almost on the point of tears, stressed beyond endurance. And this was only the first day of mediation.
I walked the two ladies to the car, particularly observant in the carpark, almost expecting Warburton to be lurking in some darkening shadow, waiting to pounce. But of course he wasn’t. After another hair-raising drive with Corella, Patricia and I were thankfully safely deposited back at the hotel. Corella farewelled us, promising to pick us up again at the same time tomorrow.
“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” I asked Patricia as I escorted her to her room. “It’s no bother.”
“No, I’ll be fine,” she insisted quietly. “But I’d like it if you stayed for dinner. Otherwise I’ll be alone.”
She sounded so pathetic as she spoke that of course I agreed. I didn’t want to dine in public in my uniform and she wasn’t keen on eating out either, so she ordered room service. We settled down with a bottle of wine and a couple of delicious meals, although I noticed that once again she barely pecked at the food. She made up for it by drinking the wine generously. After downing a glass and pouring herself another, she became more talkative.
“This will be hard for you to believe, but Gary was so charming when I first met him. He completely won me over with his smooth tongue. My family weren’t keen on him at all. He wasn’t in our social class, but that’s what attracted me, I suppose. He was a lot rougher than the men I normally met, and I guess I thought I could play Pygmalion with him. I thought he was a diamond in the rough, but of course I was wrong. He’s always been an aggressive person.”
She took a huge gulp of wine, finishing the second glass, which she’d only just poured.
“I thought his anger towards me was justified for a long time. Maybe I wasn’t such a good cook or housewife or . . .” she blushed, “good in bed. I hadn’t been with anyone else before him. Perhaps I didn’t measure up to his standards.” She poured herself another glass of wine. I had barely touched my meagre quarter-glass. The bottle was emptying rapidly.
“I blamed myself all the time for not being perfect. Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not smart enough. I was rich enough though, so I guess that saved me from his fists. But I still felt the sting of his slaps often enough.” She laughed, but it was a sad sound. “And then to find out he was cheating. Not just once, but frequently, ever since we were married. I blamed myself for that too. He was sexually very experienced when we married, I wasn’t. I came to believe that sex was supposed to be as rough and fast as what I usually had with him. I didn’t know any better, but I knew I didn’t like it that way. It wasn’t romantic at all. It was painful – he hurt me. When he was in one of his moods, he didn’t care a scrap if I wanted to have sex or not; he just took what he wanted, when he wanted. I finally had to escape. Now, of course, I understand that he’d been raping me for years and I didn’t even realise. I just thought that was how all husbands behaved. I’m so stupid.”
Her face took on a dreamy cast. “It wasn’t all bad times, of course. When he was in a good mood with me, it was so wonderful. He could be incredibly tender and loving.” She sighed and slammed back her third glass of wine. “I suppose that’s why I stayed with him for so long.”
Her words had started to slur as she spoke, her eyes blurring with well-deserved tears. I helped her to her feet and then into bed. She was adamant that she didn’t want me to stay, so after clearing up the dishes and leaving them outside the room for the hotel staff to collect, I called Heller and waited in the foyer for my ride. Heller picked me up himself and I spent the trip home telling him about my adventures with Warburton.
“More trouble tomorrow?” he asked, concern clear in his voice.
“No. I’m sure he’s well aware of the dollar cost of his actions,” I said confidently. “It’s probably the only thing he does care about.”
“Okay, but I want to be ke
pt fully informed of all developments,” he commanded.
“Of course,” I replied dryly as we pulled into the driveway of the Warehouse.
We walked up the stairs together and he left me at my place, telling me he was going out that night. Every couple of weeks or so he went out to get laid, his preference being bored or lonely women staying at the top-end hotels in the city. He would pick up a different one each time in the hotel bar, and spend the night with her in her room making all her erotic dreams come true, before returning home in the early hours of the morning. He never stayed all night with them, not trusting anyone enough to fall asleep with them. He also never brought anyone back to the Warehouse, being almost paranoid about security.
Obviously, due to his incredible good looks, he never had any trouble picking up women. I know from what he’d told me that some of the women he met liked it very rough indeed. He was happy to oblige, and for him, morals never came into it. He didn’t care whether the women were married or in relationships or had children, because for him, it was just pure release. Emotions never entered the equation either.
I knew all this because he was disarmingly honest about his sexual activities, if not about other aspects of his life. All of us knew when Heller was out on the prowl, and I was usually ‘privileged’ enough to receive a summary of his romps from him the next day, whether I wanted to hear about it or not.
Forcing a smile on my face, I wished him well for his forthcoming carnal activities, crushing the sharp stab of jealousy that ripped through me. I had no claim on him and no cause to be jealous, I reminded myself harshly.
After a quick dinner, I rang my parents, promising to visit them soon, and I almost even meant it. I hit the sack early, trying not to let my mind dwell on Heller and what he’d be currently doing and who he’d be doing it to.