by Brian Bakos
24. Dreary Breakup
So, this is it, Patricia thought acridly, the final act of the drama ... at last.
“Can I drive you somewhere, Kristen?” she said.
Kristen looked up from her packing and offered a strained little smile.
“No thank you, Patricia,” she said. “I’m getting an Uber ride.”
“Suit yourself.”
Patricia lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke theatrically; this whole scene was theatrical. She felt suddenly old – or rather, it was a sense of having covered this same ground too often before.
Against her better judgment, she asked: “Would you mind telling me why?”
Kristen looked up again, another bright, false smile.
“We’re just very different types of people, Patricia ... I guess that’s it in a nutshell.”
Patricia noted the expensive new shoes and handbag being included with the packed items, purchases from the last shopping trip. Kristen sure knew how to time the breakup. And her performance in bed the night before had possessed an almost violent, grand finale aspect to it. Patricia had not been blind to the implications.
So, Kristen had completed her little walk in the wild side garden and would be returning to the world of boyfriends and straight sex. Maybe, in the alcohol buzz of a girls’ night out, she’d mention her fling with the rich dyke who had “such wonderful taste in clothes.”
Kristen shoved the last items into the suitcase and zipped it shut.
“No, there’s more to it than that,” she said.
“What?” Patricia asked.
“You use people,” Kristen said. “There doesn’t seem to be anything genuine in your heart.”
Damn, not this again! Patricia thought.
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” Kristen said. “It’s just the way you are. I knew it from the beginning. If you weren’t so damned sexy, I’d have passed you up.”
“Hmm.” Patricia said distractedly. She had no energy for disputation.
Kristen’s cell phone pinged.
“Oh, my ride’s here already!”
She kissed Patricia on the cheek.
“Bye, Pattie.”
“Bye.”
Already Patricia was going over the list of new prospects in her mind. Would that gift shop girl at the hospital be worth another visit? She could apologize for being so grouchy the last time, worried about Dad and all that – and how about lunch, someplace very upscale?
“I’ll never forget you,” Kristen said. “Your taste in clothes, and in sex toys, is absolutely amazing.”
Then she was gone, leaving Patricia feeling oddly empty and alone, deserted once more. She gazed along the expanses of her huge apartment. A long series of meaningless affairs stretched into the past ... and more of them reached toward the future.
Get over it, girl. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.
She moved to the bar area in the corner of the living room and fixed herself a stiff vodka martini, dry with two olives. This was her favorite drink; though, when she was courting a new prospect, she usually went for something sweet and colorful. More exotic, you know.
Her father preferred vodka martinis, too, and she was a lot like him – much more so than Henry was.
Henry ... by the time she was on her second drink, her brother began to rise favorably in her thoughts, a burnished version of him, more substantial that he really was. She needed somebody to talk to, and nobody else was available right now. She grabbed her cell phone.
“Hey, Sis!” Henry said the moment he picked up. “How’s it hanging?”
Of all the things he could have said to her in her current mood, this had to be the most jarring.
“I broke up with Kristen,” Patricia said, trying to keep the alcohol slur out of her voice.
“Ohhh, sorry to hear that,” Henry said. “So, have you talked with Dad lately?”
Patricia paused and took a sip from her martini. The switch from commiseration to self interest had been very abrupt, even for Henny. She’d been foolish to expect any kind of emotional support from him.
“Sis?” Henry said.
“I saw him at the hospital yesterday,” Patricia said flatly.
“And?”
“And what?” Patricia said.
“Did you talk to him about the reorganization plan?”
“I was only there a few minutes,” Patricia said.
“You could have said something. You know, pique his interest a little.”
Patricia banged her glass down on the coffee table.
“Dad was in a terrible mood,” she said. “What was I supposed to do, give him a big lecture? He practically threw me out as it was.”
“Okay, Sis. Keep your shirt on.”
“And cut the macho metaphors while you’re at it,” Patricia snapped.
“Alright, I get it,” Henry said. “Sounds like this Kristen break-up really hit home.”
“Yes ...” Patricia murmured.
She didn’t know if Henry heard or not, and she didn’t care. He was too much like her to offer any real sympathy – another empty-hearted type who used people.
“I sent the papers to Dad’s office,” Henry said, “so he can give them a good look over.”
“Uh huh.”
“Then I sent an email,” Henry said.
“That’s wasn’t smart,” Patricia said. “Haven’t you figured out by now that he resists being pressured.”
“Well ... I suppose you’re right,” Henry said. “It was just a little reminder, though.”
Patricia snatched an olive out of her martini and chewed it with resignation. Of course Henny sent the email – how could it be otherwise? He had all the psychological subtlety of a belch. No wonder their father had so little patience with him.
Then again, maybe it was the best approach. Dad always was smitten by the cocktail waitress, thinking with his dick, like most men. He wouldn’t like the idea of cutting her out, however much business sense it made. In any case, Henny would follow his own course. She couldn’t look out for him all the time. Not like back when they were kids ...
As her brother droned on in the phone, Patricia recalled the time, back in their childhood, when a gang of bullies would ambush him on his way back from school. Patricia determined to put an end to this and arranged her own ambush, lurking behind some high shrubs near the gang’s meeting place.
She was older and bigger than the three bullies, and she’d brought along a stout ‘tire thumper’ club to improve the odds. She waited until her brother rounded the corner and was accosted by the gang. They pushed him and knocked his books to the ground, all the while shouting abuse. Henny was terrified and unable to offer any resistance.
Patricia snuck up behind the leader of the three heroes.
“Got something for you!” she said.
The kid turned her direction just as Patricia swung the club, two-handed, at his head. He went down hard. Patricia beat him several more times as he writhed on the ground, screaming for mercy through his broken jaw.
The other bullies looked on, paralyzed with fear. When she was finished ‘reeducating’ their leader, Patricia glanced up coolly at them.
“OK, who’s next?” she asked.
They ran off and never bothered Henny again. There was a bit of a flap with the authorities, but Dad’s money and influence smoothed things over. He even paid to repair the damned kid’s jaw ....
Since that day, Patricia had always seen herself as the legitimate heir to her father’s business empire. Sure, Henry could play a subordinate role, chief legal counsel, something well-paid and largely powerless, but she was the true inheritor of the family stones.
The important thing was to get rid of the cocktail waitress. Everything else was secondary at this point.
“Listen, Henry,” she interrupted, “I’d really like to continue this charming conversation, but I’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”
“Uh ... okay, Sis,” Henry said. “Talk to you late
r.”
“Thanks for being so sympathetic,” Patricia said.
She hung up the phone and drained the last of her drink in one gulp. The sudden rush of alcohol hit her hard.
“Damn,” she chided herself, “enough of that, girl.”
She needed to stay clear-headed so as to carry out her plan today. And that plan was to get rid of the cocktail waitress once and for all. Henry’s scheming wouldn’t accomplish that by itself, only the suspicion of sexual infidelity would enrage Dad enough to finally cut the gold digger out of the picture.
In a burst of activity a month ago, before she’d lapsed back into her indolent lifestyle, Patricia had launched an effort to do just that. She’d gone so far as to hire a detective firm, of the somewhat less reputable sort, and had them track down Laila’s ex to see if the guy could prove useful.
According to the investigator’s report, Keith Frost had been through rehab and no longer abused drugs or alcohol, though he still gave the impression of being a ‘loser.’ Through her intermediaries, Patricia bought him a new suit, paid for an upscale haircut, and lined his pockets with enough cash to make the whole charade worth his while. Keith was low on funds and was not inclined to ask many questions.
It was just a matter of waiting for an opportunity. It came soon enough during one of Laila’s frequent visits to the mall.
In retrospect, the whole thing seemed dumb. Keith was still fairly good looking, though, and perhaps Laila would go for a little extra-marital fling for old time’s sake – a timely respite from middle-aged Frank.
Keith had played his part well, smooth-talking Laila enough to take her to lunch at the hotel café. Of course, there had been detectives on hand to photograph them together; an especially damning picture shot in front of the hotel showed the two of them actually smiling at each other.
Keith had taken a room at the hotel, providing some tempting circumstantial evidence. Laila had been polite, but cool with her ex and had made it plain that this was only a one-time event – a mending of fences as it were. Clearly, she was not enamored with the guy.
So, Patricia retained the ‘evidence’ for possible future use while she plotted another chance encounter for her step mother with somebody more tempting than Keith. After all, Laila was still young and incredibly attractive, why wouldn’t she seek some recreational sex away from her aging husband?
If the absolute truth were told, Patricia had designs on Laila herself, but she kept a tight rein on her lusts. Laila was an enemy; she had to go – by any means necessary.
Dad would be receiving another delivery at his office today. Maybe the package was a bit thin, but there wasn’t time to beef it up. Besides, once Dad’s volatile temper got the better of him, Laila would be history. Hadn’t he unloaded Mom quickly enough once his suspicions were aroused?
Yes ... Mom. She’d gotten a very raw deal. Rejected, thrown out, hounded by ruthless lawyers who made Henny look like a pussy cat. Patricia always wondered if Mom’s car ‘accident’ was really accidental – or had it been the result of suicidal despair?
Maybe it was time for some payback.