A 3rd Time to Die

by George A Bernstein

Luckily, he found Kristen, and while strictly a pro, she made it seem romantic. He was The Hero, like in high school and college. That’s how it should be.

  But Ashley adored their two kids, not him. Not any more, anyhow. She treated him fine, usually respecting his needs… despite this thing with the damned horse… and having this new baby. The problem was, she expected to be treated the same way, not accepting a woman's natural subservient role.

  It was her parents’ fault! Probably her mother had scared her about sex. The bitch! That lucky accident on Lake Shore Drive got rid of those meddlers, but it didn’t help. His damned wife thought she was just as important as he was! And their sex had long since perished.

  Now with Kristen becoming harder to afford, with things off track at work, he needed a real mistress. A hot babe who'd lovingly screw his brains out every chance they had. Probably less costly than the pro, but how to find a gal like that? A new challenge, one of many.

  So his priorities were to pull the Board’s heads out of their asses and save the company, and find the gal of his dreams, someone willing to share him. No way he’s backing out of this marriage.

  Ashley's family's wealth was too important to throw away, even without love. She was a high-class beauty, popular and socially involved on the North Shore, and her presence made him important and well liked.

  And that was good.

  He placed his empty glass on the polished walnut coffee table, disdaining the ring its wet bottom would etch into the wood, and stood, stretching. Time for dinner, and repairing the damage he’d done with his wife. He needed her happy and trusting, and he wasn't going to be too proud to make amends to achieve that.

  Ride the stupid horse, for all I care. Maybe she’d fall off and abort the baby. Or hit her head and die. Hmm. That’s something to consider.

  Sometimes luck needs a little help.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "I was out with friends," Toni said, pulling out a chair at their round, glass-top breakfast table. She carried a mug of black coffee, the rich smell of vanilla bean permeating the air.

  "We had too much to drink, so I stayed over. Don't be so dramatic, darling." Smiling confidently, she settled, one bare leg tucked under her in that seductive feline manner she had perfected. She scooted her chair next to his. A gossamer black lace teddy did little to conceal her considerable assets.

  "Poor Craig. So grouchy in the morning. We'll have to do something to cheer him up."

  Tousling his hair, she drew his face into the warm, delicious prison of her copious breasts. Unbidden, his hands found the firm curves of her buttocks. She slid on to his lap, kissing him teasingly.

  Born on the soft, moist wind of her breath, her tongue tantalized his ear. His fingers developed a will of their own, stealing over the hills and swells of her lush flesh. A small, silver-chimed laugh escaped her. He was drowning in her pheromone fragrance, her narcotic taste, the silkiness of her skin.

  Gritting his teeth, he struggled free from the drug of her sensuality, panting… a deep-diver, fighting to the surface for a life-giving breath.

  Goddamn it! She's doing it again!

  The only time they had sex was when he challenged her about her increasingly blatant escapades. She would ply her sensuous wiles, seducing him, and he was powerless to resist.

  She was a succubus, skillfully draining him of his energy, and finally, his resolve. But her erotic voodoo lacked magic today… the carnal obsession waning. Had this last blatant infidelity been the proverbial “straw?” Whatever, he swelled with the strength to resist!

  He had swum to the surface of his entrapping pool of lust, cherishing a carnally free breath for possibly the first times since they met. His addiction to her lascivious wiles fracturing, a tiny glimmer of a different future ignited in his mind.

  Breathing a small growl, he pushed her away, disentangling himself from the enervating tentacles of her lust. Her sexual ardor, so easily ignited… as myriad other men had discovered… was suddenly lost on him. Coldly calm, he lurched to his feet, plunking her down and backing away.

  "Stop this. It’s not going to work this time."

  Her hands ran over her trembling body, cobalt eyes, large as quarters, following him with amazement. So exquisite, but abruptly repellent to him. How was it he suddenly saw her as disgusting?

  "Oh, Craig darling! I'm so worked up. You can't leave me like this." She slipped out of her flimsy teddy, wantonly flaunting her sensual curves. She stalked after him, her perfect breasts thrust tantalizingly forward. He retreated, arms extended, palms up, as if holding back the waves of intense eroticism pouring out of her.

  "Cut it out, Toni. You can't use sex to solve every problem. Not with me, at least. Not anymore."

  But, why?

  "Don't I excite you, baby?" Her lower lip protruded, a petulant little girl denied access to the cookie jar.

  "We do such glorious fucking, and I want you so badly. Don't you love me?"

  "I… I don't know. It's hard to separate love and passion with you. Sex is what we do when you want something from me. Then it's not making love. It's just fucking."

  "Whatever you call it, I need to do it, right now." She stamped her foot. No one denied Toni Rudolph Thornton whatever she demanded. Certainly never a man.

  "Sorry, you'll have to manage it yourself. I'm outta here. And I expect you to be home when I get back from work. This late night catting around with 'friends' is gonna stop, or we're gonna have a serious problem. I mean it, Toni. A serious problem!"

  He hurried off, slamming the French glass-paneled front door almost hard enough to shatter the panes. Straightening his tie, he ran a hand through his disheveled, curly hair as he crossed the cobblestone drive, beeping the alarm on his maroon Jag convertible.

  He was already late, and he'd scheduled a management meeting for first thing that morning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Craig drummed his fingers on the leather-bound steering wheel of his Jaguar convertible, trapped in the slowly flowing river of steel called the Kennedy Expressway during the morning rush hour. The lazy current of traffic swept him along, requiring minimal attention, leaving his mind free to wander.

  What a sorry state. Toni has cheated on him for years. Through his therapy, he realized she was fraught with insecurities. A loveless childhood had sent her on an endless, almost Quixotic quest for the passion her parents never supplied.

  Where better to find "love," plastic though it may be, than in the arms of some desirable young man. The more men, the greater she saw her own worth, but it was never enough. There was always one more male windmill to conquer.

  He chuckled mirthlessly. What would his highbrow wife think if she knew whom she actually married? Craig Tannenbaum became Craig Thornton, complete with a new, very non-Semitic nose, before he transferred to a new high school for his Junior year.

  He had a plan and needed a change, if he wanted an unbiased opportunity to succeed. Hard work and a sharp mind got the new Craig Thornton to Yale on scholarship, something more difficult to achieve for a Jew named Tannenbaum.

  He pledged a top, WASP-only fraternity, paying his way doing dishes and waiting tables. His dark Gaelic face and mysterious, obsidian eyes, created a different sensuality Toni couldn’t resist. The elite fraternity, top grades, and his father's "transportation" business, were high recommendations to her parents.

  Wouldn't the Rudolphs be shocked to learn his father's “business” was driving a hack in Manhattan? Craig grimaced, knowing these truths would be an odious ace up his sleeve, should he ever actually decide to fracture the invisible chains he… and Toni… had cast around himself, binding him in this strange marriage.

  Despite Toni's excesses… the men and the alcohol… he stayed. But why? At first he thought he loved her, and was snared by her ardor and incredible sexuality, but there was nothing between them anymore. His highly successful upscale mail order business was his creation, straight out of college, elevating him beyond being just the Rudolphs' s
on-in-law.

  Did he still love Toni? Had he ever, really, or was he blinded by her heat and beauty, and the lure of the different life he so fervently sought? He didn't know, but it seemed foolish to remain bound to a faithless lush. Didn’t he deserve a real woman in a real relationship?

  He thought of Ashley Easton, perched on her big roan gelding, soaring over the course, gobbling up fence after fence as if they were nothing more than cavallettes. As exhilarating as it was to watch, it also brought him a strange sense of comfort… and strength.

  Strength? Had watching her somehow shined a light on the realities of his fractured marriage? The two seemed totally unrelated, buy abruptly he was no longer willing to sit idly by while Toni screwed her way through all the young men on the North Shore?

  Did just watching Ashley Easton bring him to this resolve? He had no idea, but he was flooded with peace as he visualized her. She was apparently a new entry to the “horsey” set. He’d never seen her at any event before last week at Onwentsia.

  Wonder if she’s going to the horse-season’s opening Gala? Maybe we’ll meet…

  Jeez, don’t become obsessed over a gal you don’t even know! But he did seem to know her… somehow, somewhere…

  Too bad. Toni’s the cheat… not me. But there’s something about that gal…

  Craig was jolted from his reverie by a blaring horn. There was a fifty-foot gap between his Jag and the car in front. They had finally crept past the confluence with the southbound river of vehicles from the Edens Expressway, and traffic opened up, heading for the Loop.

  Driving required more attention, but in the back of his mind, he thought of the card in his wallet. A business associate, a survivor of bitter divorce, had, over lunch cocktails, pressed into his reluctant hand when Craig unburdened himself about Toni’s dalliances.

  Mike McNeely, Private Investigations.

  Honest and discreet, Jack said… and expensive! But the package he would amass would be unshakable in court, if it were needed. And if Craig decided on divorce, it would come to that. Toni bitterly disliked giving up things she thought of as hers.

  Maybe he should put Mr. McNeely to work, just in case he finally had enough. It will be an easy job for a professional. Toni made no effort to be devious about her affairs.

  It might be different if they ever had kids. Any that lived, anyhow. Clenching his jaws, tears welled up at the thought of their infant son, dead three days after his birth.

  She murdered him, just as surely as if she used a gun. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, the doctor said. Craig threw out all the booze when he found her totally sloshed during her second month, but she must have had a hidden stockpile. Poor little Andrew didn’t have a chance. She never became pregnant again. If it happened now, it probably wouldn't even be his kid.

  Yes. He just might give Mr. McNeely a call. Just in case.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Keith paused in front of the modern four-story building, its stainless steel and bronze glass walls set ablaze by the western sun.

  A relentless stream of vehicles surged by on Michigan Avenue, filling the air with an incessant rumble. Peering through the double glass doors of the plush lobby, he spied an attractive blonde poised behind a large stained oak desk, checking in a steady flow of duffel bag toting men and women of all ages.

  It looked inviting. Still he hesitated, considering the real reason he was there.

  Nicole Phillips taught an aerobics class at the North Loop Health Center and Spa. She sounded like a goddess when he overheard two guys slobbering over her during lunch two days ago. He was intrigued as they speculated whether anyone was "getting any," impelled to come and see for himself, still hopeful of finding a full time mistress to replace the costly Kristen. The hooker was terrific, but he ached for a real lover whose life would revolve around him.

  Maybe pissing in the wind, chasing some gal he didn’t know, but it seemed the right thing when he left the office.

  "What the Hell," he muttered, pushing through the doors into a marble-floored, wood-paneled lobby. The flaxen-haired angel, sensually displayed in black leotards, was seated behind the oak secretary. A real beauty, but clearly not Phillips, who supposedly had coal-black hair.

  "May I help you?" Her warm smile lit up the room. God, she was exquisite. Could this Phillips dame be any more exciting?

  "Hi. I understand you have a free, one month trial offer."

  "That's right. If you apply now, you have until the end of next month to buy membership. That actually gives you five free weeks."

  "Swell. Where do I sign? If all the staff is as beautiful and friendly as you, why would anyone look elsewhere?"

  "That's so sweet." She slid across an application and a pen, then gathered up a small pile of brochures and rate sheets for him.

  "I keep telling my husband we have the nicest members in the whole city." Still smiling, she handed him the small stack of papers.

  "The locker room is the second door on your right. If you hurry, the next aerobics class is starting in ten minutes."

  "Great. Who teaches that one?"

  "Nicole Phillips, of course. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why all the men are here every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at two and again at four. It could give a girl a complex." Her chuckle was totally devoid of rancor.

  "You're much too attractive to feel threatened by another woman," he said, smiling with her, and meaning every word.

  "You are sweet, aren't you? You've made my day. But you haven't met Nicole yet, have you?"

  "No, but I hear she runs a great class."

  "Oh, she does. She does. I'm sure you'll work up a dandy sweat… one way or another. If you hurry, she likes to meet new members before the class begins." She winked, grinning mischievously, before turning to a new arrival.

  Keith grabbed his bag, heading for the locker room. Damn, his heart was doing a drum roll. How could Nicole Phillips be any more exciting than that little blue-eyed blonde… April Callahan, according to her name tag.

  Too damned bad she was married. But so was Keith. If things didn't work out with Nicole, April might be a great second choice, husband or not. A married woman might even be preferable.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cantering out of the oak-shaded woods, Injun vaulted a small gurgling brook. Clutching his mane for support, Ashley squeezed with her knees as they bounded over two downed trees, with just two strides in between. Breathing hard, her heart pounding on pace with his flying hooves, they charged a moss-covered stone wall, looming thirty feet ahead. The powerful chestnut gelding took it cleanly, before heading out into an open meadow.

  C’est bon!

  Shaking her head like a dog fresh from the lake, Ashley blinked, twisting to look back. The practice ring slid into focus, the sweet pine-smell of the forest drifting away. Slowing Injun, she saw the training jumps… the last a wall, and before that the white wooden rails of a two stride in-and-out, preceded by a four-foot oxer.

  Those, and the six other jumps she set up had again been mystically transformed into this strange reoccurring vision, sweeping over her more and more frequently whenever she attacked a course. And there was French, cheering in her head.

  This whole experience was terrifyingly insane, but as she began reluctantly releasing herself to it, also wonderfully exhilarating. She was usually conservative… square, her friends would say… but this bizarre illusion charged her with passionate recklessness. She was riding and jumping far better than she should expect, unable to harness a wild aggressiveness… nor the gleeful French voice, chortling in her head. It was totally weird and almost sensually stimulating.

  She told no one because there wasn’t a rational way of describing this apparently psychotic thing she called The Metamorphoses. Even more inexplicable, she always sensed another rider, following close behind her.

  Exiting the ring, she dismounted on shaky legs, hugging the big horse, rubbing her face against his sweat-dampened neck. Tossing his head, he lift
ed her off the ground.

  She giggled. They were becoming a formidable team. She glance at the bleachers, then along the ring’s white railing, but he wasn’t there.

  Who was that guy… and why should she even care? Because he tossed out some good, last-minute advise? Or because he was so strangely alluring? Those bottomless dark eyes and quirky, thin-lipped smile peeked into her mind. She shrugged, shaking her head.

  Quit it! You’re a married woman. She turned to Injun, scratching behind his ears.

  “I wonder if you see those fences as strangely as I do?” He nudged at the pocket of her vest, pulling at it with his teeth.

  “Okay! Okay! You’re as impatient as a little kid.” She snickered, fishing out a carrot.

  “You’re a great guy, Injun, but what’s life coming to when a horse is my best friend. I do love you, baby, but it just doesn’t seem right.”

  Best friend? That slot should be reserved for a husband, but were they ever really friends? There should be more, with two children and another on the way. His family’s company is facing a crisis, and that might be reason enough to be moody.

  It’s her job to comfort and support him, but he’s never around and is withdrawn when he is. When was the last time they had sex? She patted her belly. Nearly four months ago, that’s when!

  She was isolated and alone, except for her two (and a third!) children… and Injun. Thank God for that horse! She hadn’t been so lonely since their break-up in high school. Why did she ever let him back in her life after what he tried to do to her? Absently currying Injun’s coat, thoughts again drifted to that turbid time.

  Keith had beaten his head against the wall of silence she erected between them before moving on to greener pastures: Judy Winters, a girl of low morals. Keith was certainly not her first.

  Ashley began dating Allen Clarke, a boy totally different from Keith. He respected her. They made out plenty, and she even allowed some light petting, but he always stopped whenever she made it plain he’d gone far enough.