THAT MAN: The Wedding Story

by L'Amour, Nelle

  Jennifer

  I wanted Blake to rest. Doctor’s orders. It was Saturday, hence no need for either of us to go into the office. So I made him put on his pajamas and tucked him into bed. Then, I heated up the leftover matzo ball soup I’d made and frozen a few weeks ago. He said he wasn’t hungry, but I forced him to eat it. In fact, I fed it to him, lovingly blowing on each tablespoon before putting it to his lips. Blake, it seemed, was always taking care of me. The role reversal felt so good. I loved taking care of my man. That man who loved me so. He told me he felt a little better after finishing the bowl of the nourishing broth. I smiled. Blake’s grandma was right: matzo ball soup was Jewish penicillin as much as it was an aphrodisiac. Blake, however, was in no condition for a romp.

  I joined him in bed, snuggling close to him. I flipped on the TV to get our minds off the results of the urine test. In the middle of a SpongeBob episode, Blake’s cell phone rang. It was Dr. Klein. I asked Blake to put the phone on speaker mode. My heartbeat sped up with anticipation.

  “Blake, we got back the results of the urine sample,” began Dr. Klein.

  “And…” Blake sounded anxious. I clasped his hand.

  “Everything is normal except…” The doctor paused. “The lab found a high level of Rohypnol.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the brand name for flunitrazepam, a drug that is commonly used in drug-facilitated sexual assaults. Otherwise known as the date-rape drug.”

  There was silence on Blake’s end. His lips tightened into a grim, angry line. I knew what he was feeling. I was feeling it too. A maelstrom of rage and abuse.

  The doctor continued. “Blake, this is very serious. It’s considered a crime. Do you have any recollection of who did this to you?”

  Blake drew in a sharp breath. “Doctor, like I told you before, I don’t. I went to a club, the one I belong to, and had a cocktail at the bar. Someone must have slipped it into my drink.”

  I gave his hand a little squeeze, letting him know he’d handled the inquiry perfectly. The doctor responded.

  “Well, Blake, I still think you should report it. And let me tell you, you’re very lucky. The high dose of Rohypnol mixed with alcohol could have killed you.”

  A shiver ran through me from my head to my toes. The thought of Kat taking Blake away from me forever was unfathomable. I squeezed his hand tighter, never wanting to let go of him.

  Maintaining his composure, Blake told Dr. Klein he would think about it and then took another deep breath. “One thing, Doctor. I hope you’ll share none of this with my parents or sister.”

  “Of course not, Blake. Doctor-patient privilege.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Of course. One last question, how do you feel?”

  “Better but still queasy.”

  “That’s normal. I want you to rest and drink plenty of fluids. By tonight, the drug should be out of your system.”

  “I will.” Blake paused, placing his free hand on the duvet close to his cock. It had been very still today. A look of uncertainty washed over his face. “Doc, will this flu-nit-shit-whatever drug have any long-term effects on my uh…um…equipment?”

  I heard the good doctor chuckle. “No, Blake. You should be absolutely fine.”

  Blake blew out a breath of relief. Inwardly, I did the same.

  With that, the two exchanged good-byes and Blake ended the call. He hastily tossed his phone onto the bed and then turned to look at me. His look of relief had turned to rage.

  “The fucking bitch!”

  I gently cradled his embittered face in my hands, turning it toward me. “Baby, the good news is you’re going to be okay.”

  Taking me in his arms, Blake thanked me again for trusting him and for making him take the test. But he was still mad as hell. What was most infuriating him was that he didn’t know what do next. He explained all the ramifications of taking Kat down. Exposing her. Moreover, Kat most likely still had all the photos on her phone and could use them to spin more evil.

  He slammed his fist against the bed. “Fucking, fucking bitch.”

  Thank God, for the cushy memory foam mattress (we’d never bought a springy one) because on any other surface, Blake would have likely broken some bones with the force of his fist. I lifted the hand to my lips and tenderly kissed the back of it.

  “Fucking, fucking bitch,” he muttered again.

  “No, baby, fuck the bitch.” My father had always preached, “Don’t get mad. Get even.”

  I told Blake my idea without giving away too many details. And that I needed his help. “I trusted you, baby. Now, you must trust me.”

  “I do, tiger.”

  After a sweet kiss, he did as I asked and made two calls. Yes! Things were working out.

  Sucking in air through his nose, he set the phone down on the bed and asked me to face him. His large hands took hold of my shoulders. He looked anxious.

  “Jen, there’s something I’ve got to tell you about Kat. About our past that I should have told you before.”

  My pulse sped up and my eyes fluttered. He hadn’t been honest with me?

  He took in a shaky breath and on the exhale he simply said, “I got Kat pregnant.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “You have a child?”

  “No, tiger.” And then a long tense pause. “She had a miscarriage.”

  “When did this happen?” Though shocked, I kept my tone even-keeled.

  “The summer after high school. We were at some graduation party, and I got drunk. As always, she was all over me. Stupid me succumbed. The fucking condom must have torn from her nails, and I guess she was off birth control.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Jen, she wanted to keep the baby so I would marry her. My parents were up in arms. Rightfully, neither of them thought we should do that. We were too young. I wanted nothing to do with her, and believe me, the last fucking thing I wanted was to be a father at the age of eighteen. Her parents, however, wanted us to marry. The recession had hurt them, and they were going through lean times. If Kat married me, they would no longer have to support her extravagant lifestyle, and they could smooch off my parents, who had protected their investments. So, they supported Kat’s decision. I was fucked. Afraid of a scandal that would embarrass my family, I lied and told her I’d marry her if she kept my identity under wraps until the baby was born. She went along with it, taunting me each day she would break her promise if she caught me with another girl.”

  Blake had stunned me in into silence. Wordlessly, I listened on. His voice faltered.

  “Six months in and barely showing—her friends thought she’d just gained weight—the bitch went horseback riding.” Blake paused, taking a breath. “She went into labor. My sister was discreetly there for her, but the baby was stillborn.”

  “Oh, Blake!” So, that was what Marcy was hiding. I cupped my petite hand over his large one, still splayed on my shoulder. Raw emotion poured through my veins as he went on.

  “It was a boy. We had a proper Jewish burial for him and had to name him. Gabriel…after an angel.”

  The angel of revelation.

  “Just our families attended.” Blake’s voice softened, and he closed his eyes for a long moment as if he were going back in time.

  “Jen, I’ll never forget that day and that tiny shoebox-sized coffin being lowered into the earth. My little mistake. As our rabbi recited the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, it began to drizzle, and the anger I had toward Kat turned inward. I hated myself and grieved for the little boy I didn’t want or would never know. With each shovel of the earth, I grew numb. Kat didn’t shed a tear. At the end of the service, she spat in my face and called me an asshole.”

  He bowed his head. “She was right. I was an asshole. A stupid fucking asshole.”

  “Blake, look at me.” Slowly, he lifted his eyes. “You’re not an asshole.”

  My heart was cracking. This story explained so much of Blake. His fear of relationships. And his baby-phobia. My m
ind flashed back to the lunch we had last year with Jaime and how uncomfortable he initially was with his twins. And then to his uncomfortable reaction to my pregnancy test. The story wasn’t over.

  “After the burial, Kat had a breakdown. Maybe from a hormone imbalance, depression, or guilt. Or a combination of all three. She tried to commit suicide and her parents institutionalized her. A year later, she was released, and the first thing she did was show up at my UCLA dorm and tell me how much she loved me. One night, she even managed to break in, and I found her naked in my bed. I had to get a restraining order. Fortunately, she went to live abroad but returned to LA last fall. Jen, to make a long story short, she hasn’t stopped stalking me. The girl is sick. Poison. I just wish I’d told all of this to you sooner.”

  “Why didn’t you?” My voice was tender, my eyes compassionate.

  “I wanted to. She stalked me in Vegas and threatened to tell you herself.”

  My blood simmered. Did she hit on him?

  “I wanted to tell you the minute I came back, but I couldn’t with the way you were feeling. Then, the day you went to see Marcy, she fucking assaulted me again at Saks. I thought she’d gotten to you when I couldn’t reach you. That’s why I flew to Boise. But when I found out about your dad, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I didn’t need to lay this heavy shit on you and upset you more.”

  I held his face in my hands and gazed lovingly into his remorseful eyes. He had made the right decisions.

  “And then I was going to tell you last night at dinner. And the psycho bitch fucked me over again.” His eyes burnt into mine. “Can you forgive me, tiger?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, my love. It wasn’t your fault. It was a nightmare you had no control over. We just can’t hide things from each other.”

  Silently, he nodded in my palms, and I acknowledged him with a smile on my lips and in my eyes.

  “Blake, baby, I love you so much. Do you believe me?”

  He drew me tight against him, and the hot, passionate kiss he planted on my lips was all I needed.

  Fraught with emotion, I lay in bed with Blake until he dozed off. Quietly, I slipped away and booted up my computer. It was time to take the sick bitch down. For all the pain she’d caused me. And for all she’d caused my Blake. I typed away.

  To: Katrina Moore

  From: Jennifer McCoy

  Subject: Meeting/URGENT

  Dear Kat~

  I am writing you with tears in my eyes. I am completely devastated by the photos you sent me of you and Blake.

  You were absolutely right. Blake is still into you. How could I have been so blind? And so foolish for trusting him with my heart and my life?

  I have no choice but to end our engagement and call off the wedding. I’ve already given him back his ring. With all due respect for his family, I would very much like to meet with you discreetly tomorrow to discuss how we can best break the news to all involved. I am temporarily staying at a bungalow at The Beverly Hills Hotel, which, at least, Blake had the decency to put me up in. I would appreciate if you could meet me there.

  I never thought I would thank you, but I owe you my deepest gratitude. Though sadness fills every crevice of my being, it is better to know now where I stand with Blake than to have had my heart broken by him after our union. I can only hope he does not do the same to you.

  With my sincerest app­recia­tion~ Jennifer

  I reread my e-mail. I loved writing every single word. With a wicked smile, I hit send. Just like I thought…I instantly got a response.

  To: Jennifer McCoy

  From Katrina Moore

  Subject: Meeting/URGENT

  Dear Jennifer—

  My heart bleeds for you. What Blake did is appalling and I am partly accountable. In all fairness, I tried to warn you. His feelings for me are strong and real. In fact, he just called me and informed me about your breakup. He can’t wait to get back together with me. He ended the call by saying that I was his first and only true love.

  Yes, I agree we should meet tomorrow. Let’s make it 3 p.m. I’ll come directly to your bungalow and we’ll strategize an exit plan. Thank you for trusting me.

  Yours truly—Katrina

  Perfection! I confirmed the meeting. A fiendish grin whipped across my face. My newest production, Fuck the Bitch, was underway. It was now time to recruit my co-producer and co-stars. Grabbing my cell phone, I made two calls, one right after the other.

  Lights! Camera! Action! Every­thing was in place. To­morrow could not come fast enough.

  Blake had made arrangements for the bungalow—the same one my parents had stayed at during their visit. It was permanently leased by Conquest Broadcasting and used for visiting dignitaries, investors, and out-of-town producers, directors, and stars. Luck was on our side—it was vacant.

  I headed over to The Beverly Hills Hotel at lunchtime, leaving my car with the valet. The pink stucco bungalow, located in a very secluded area of the property, couldn’t have been more perfect—consisting of an elegantly appointed living room, bedroom, and kitchenette. Soon afterward, my partner in crime, Libby, showed up. She was beaming with excitement.

  “You’re a fucking genius, girl,” she exclaimed, tossing her canvas bag onto the plush Hollywood Regency-styled couch.

  “Hope it works,” I replied. “Pussy and her girlfriend should be here any minute.”

  Pussy was Pussy Amour, the co-star of SIN-TV’s highly rated prime time show, Private Dick. She had recently created a stir in the porn world after revealing she was gay. To the industry’s surprise, the fact she was a lesbian only helped the show’s ratings. Pussy had some very special talents as did her girlfriend whose name was Swell.

  Libby and I were drinking some Diet Cokes when the doorbell rang. I leapt up from the couch to open the door. Sure enough, it was my expected guests.

  Pussy, who I’d gotten to know from various conventions, gave me a big hug. I introduced her to Libby and she introduced us to Swell.

  Both women were wearing tight-ass jeans, mile-high platforms, and tanks that clung to their planet-sized boobs. Each was a carrying a small overnight bag though they were returning to Vegas in the evening. Bearing a striking resemblance to Pink with their short spiked platinum hair, they could practically be sisters except Swell had piercings all over as well as sleeves of colorful tattoos along her arms.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said, ushering them into the main room.

  “Anything for you and Blake,” responded Pussy. “Are you ready to take the bitch down?”

  I drew in a gulp of air. “Yes, but I’m nervous.”

  “There’s nothing to be worried about, honey.” She shot her companion a flirtatious wink. “Come on, Swell, baby. Let’s get ready and set things up.”

  Taking their bags with them, they ambled arm in arm to the bedroom. Five minutes later they re-appeared.

  “Holy shit!” exclaimed Libby, her jaw as wide opened as mine.

  Both women were clad in matching black leather bustiers, fishnets, and stilettos. Tattoos were everywhere on Swell’s body. Pussy had one, too, of a sex kitten by her shoulder.

  “I’m so ready for the Pussy-Kat show,” purred the porn star. She let out a ferocious meow and mock-swiped her claws.

  I went over the plan with them. Everyone knew what to do. At close to three o’clock, Pussy and Libby flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the bungalow entrance. Swell was in the bedroom. At exactly three, the doorbell rang. My heartbeat sped up. Showtime!

  Wasting no time, I swung open the door halfway. Standing before me was Kat, dressed to kill in a tight-fitting designer silk dress that accentuated her D-cup boobs.

  “Hi, Kat,” I said in my most despondent voice, even adding in a sniffle. “Let me take your bag.”

  With a smug smile, she handed me her monstrous purse and stepped inside the bungalow.

  “Where would you like—”

  Before she could finish her question, Pussy and Libb
y ambushed her. Pussy seized her arms while Libby grabbed her stiletto-clad feet by the ankles.

  “What the fuck?” she shrieked. “What are you doing to me?” Writhing and kicking, she continued to rant as Pussy and Libby hauled her into the bedroom.

  “Thanks for coming, Kat,” I said brightly, trailing behind them, her handbag slung over my arm.

  In no time, we were in the bedroom, and Kat was flat on her back on the bed. Libby and I pinned her down while Pussy and Swell worked together to fasten the pink leather restraints on her wrists and ankles.

  “You can’t do this to me!” she growled, the restraints quickly in place. “I’ll have you arrested.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said nonchalantly as I fished through her roomy bag in search of her cell phone. I found it shortly in the zipper compartment.

  “Smile!” I aimed the phone at her and snapped a photo.

  She made of face of utter disgust.

  I tsk-tsked and shook my head with mock-disdain. “No selfies for you today.”

  “Shut up and undo me!” she spat back at me.

  “What do you think, girls? Does she look pretty in pink?” asked Pussy.

  “Very!” Libby, Swell, and I responded in unison.

  “Who are you?” Kat hissed, her green eyes flaring at Pussy.

  “Someone you’re never going to forget. And this is my girlfriend, Swell.”

  After a succulent kiss, Swell rolled her pierced tongue around her lips and in her husky voice said, “Hi, babe.”

  “Oh my fucking God,” Kat cried out, heaving on the bed and trying desperately to free herself from the restraints that were attached to the brass headboard and footboard.

  Pussy snickered. “What do you say, girls? Should we find out how pink the bitch’s pussy is?”

  “I’d say it’s showtime.” I handed Libby the phone.

  “Lights, camera, action!” shouted Libby, adjusting the phone’s camera setting to video while Swell reached for a large pair of scissors on the night table. Starting at the hemline, she began slicing Kat’s dress apart, inch by silky inch.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” shrieked Kat. “This is a two-thousand dollar Armani!”