Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (12 page)

TWENTY

“So…
even though it feels like we just finished the annual fundraising, it’s already time to start planning next year’s event,” Arielle Liscombe said, eliciting resigned groans from some of the board members. “What’s that saying about resting on our laurels?” Arielle asked, her picture-perfect smile belying the fact that hard work never bothered her, as long as someone else was doing it.

“Don’t worry, Arielle—I’m still fired up from last weekend!” Carla Dickens said with a high cackle of enthusiasm. Madeline rubbed the sore spot between her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but there.

“Fabulous. That’s just what I want to hear,” Arielle said.

“My mind’s been in overdrive since the event,” Carla continued. “I thought everything came off splendidly, and of course, the amount we raised was frankly beyond our expectations. But as I said, I’ve been coming up with all these other ideas that would just add to the sizzle—”

“I’d love to hear your ideas, Carla, as I’m sure all of us would, but right now we need to focus on the agenda,” Arielle said, clearly wresting control of the meeting out of Carla’s all too eager hands. Carla’s face froze, leaving her with an expression that was startled, euphoric and baffled all at once. “We must first discuss the benefactors’ thank-you dinner, which I think should be held at the San Ysidro Ranch. All in favor of this, raise your hands…”

Madeline sat through the interminable meeting comprehending little of what was said. Other than the occasional kicks and aggrieved looks from Carla, Madeline was only cognizant of her own personal drama. Several times she had to restrain herself from getting up and walking out the door, away from the veiled bickering and the tedious urgency of issues that didn’t mean a thing to her anymore.

Every now and then she was hit with the fact that her days in this rarified environment were surely numbered. The glowing looks of admiration she received whenever she dared to raise her eyes from the printed agenda nauseated her. She was tortured with glimpses into the near future when news of her upcoming divorce from Steven would be wagging every tongue in town.

The way everyone praised her tireless efforts and the roaring success of the benefit made her feel that much worse. She doubted anyone in the room would be caught in her company once Steven’s version of their breakup hit the airwaves. Though she couldn’t bear to think of it, Steven’s new propensity for meanness almost assured that those disgusting photos of her with the stranger would make their way around town, if not the entire world.

“Are you alright?” Carla whispered, snapping Madeline out of her dismal reverie.

“Yeah,” Madeline replied, straightening up in the chair, trying to look cheerful and alert, but not pulling it off very well.

“It’s probably exhaustion,” Carla said, hand to her mouth in an attempt at discretion.

“Was there something you wanted to add, Carla?” Arielle asked, interrupting herself with feigned solicitude.

“Oh, no,” Carla said, tight smile on her face. As soon as Arielle had the floor to herself again, Carla murmured “bitch” out the side of her mouth. For some reason—probably because it was the most lighthearted moment of her day—Madeline burst into a fit of giggles which she covered with a coughing attack. Grateful for the excuse, Madeline left the room in search of water.

“I don’t care if her husband is our biggest benefactor—I think this organization needs a good shuffling,” Carla said as she sidled up next to Madeline at the refreshment table. If Carla thought this sentiment was a news flash, she was only kidding herself. Madeline was sure Carla dreamed of the day when her name came up first on the local NHDF board of directors’ masthead. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t really seem yourself.” Madeline took a deep breath and let it wheeze out of her.

“I don’t know—maybe I’m coming down with something,” she replied, hoping that would scare Carla away. “I really miss Lauren,” she added, with such weariness Carla laughed sympathetically.

“I told you you’d regret giving her a whole week off,” she bragged. Madeline huffed. “You know, you’re just feeling the anticlimax of the benefit. I’m sure that’s it.”

“You think so?” Madeline asked, though she wasn’t the least bit interested in Carla’s theories. In fact, she had absolutely no interest in a thing anyone in the building had to say. She was only there on Burt’s insistence that she mingle with her peers while she still could. This might be the last chance she had to find out about her behavior Saturday night. But all she could think about was drowning her sorrows—and maybe herself—in a hot bubble bath.

“Honey, think about it…you put a
year
into the planning of Saturday’s ball, and
pouf!
it’s over in a flash, and now we’re starting over at square one like it never happened.”
I wish it never happened,
Madeline thought morosely. “Really, it’s no different than a wedding—except there was no honeymoon!” Carla brayed at her witticism.

“But if it’s any consolation, you couldn’t have been more radiant if it were your wedding.” Carla stopped her prattle long enough to regard Madeline fondly. “You really were something that night,” she said with a chuckle, shaking her head.

“What are you talking about?” Madeline asked, mortified by her tone and the suggestive leer on her face.

“I’m talking about your Las Vegas nightclub persona.” Madeline’s ears started to buzz and her face turned red. Carla took this as a sign of Madeline’s normally self-effacing manner being forced to reconcile with her more outlandish, usually dormant self.

“Why do you think the bidding became so frenzied? It was all you, girl. I wish I could take credit for it. Had I known what a ham you could be, I would’ve never gotten up there with you. What are you looking for?” Carla asked as she watched her co-chair dig through her handbag.

“Did I seem drunk?” Madeline asked, pretending not to care. Carla waffled her hand non-committedly.

“No, I wouldn’t say
drunk.
Just relaxed…you know, self-assured. I’d say you had a light buzz on. But nothing like Natalie!
She
was in a world of hurt the next day, let me tell you.
Were
you drunk?” she asked belatedly.

“I don’t know. No, not drunk…just a little intimidated at being up there.” Carla laughed loudly, a jarring sound to Madeline’s ears.

“If that’s the case, you sure hid it well. Did you lose your keys?” she asked. The way Madeline continued to scrounge through her tote was starting to get on her nerves.

“I’m trying to find some ibuprofen.” Madeline’s search was made all the more difficult due to the large manila envelope she was too paranoid to leave unattended.

“Got a headache? Here, let me hold that envelope for you.” Madeline grabbed it just as Carla tried to snatch it out of her way.

“I just remembered I’m out of them,” she said as she hastily stuffed the pornographic bombshell back in her bag and zipped it closed.

“I’ve got some. Let me get my bag. Oh, that reminds me—did you get those lists I sent you?” Madeline stared at her uncomprehendingly. “The guest list and the donor list,” Carla prompted her.

“Oh…ah…I’m sure I did. Sorry, with Lauren being gone and losing my cell phone, I just feel completely discombobulated.”

“How’d you lose your phone?” Carla cried out in sympathy. Madeline shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Carla said, patting Madeline affectionately on the arm as she went back into the conference room to get her purse.

Madeline had to smile at the image of her iPhone resting at the bottom of the toilet tank in her bathroom. She wondered idly if Steven’s goons could still track it from its watery grave as she seized the opportunity and disappeared through the front door before anyone else could waylay her.

TWENTY-ONE

Madeline stood on the curb across the street from The Edgecliff, waiting for her rendezvous with Burt Latham. Merely being so close to where her life began its unraveling made her feel tense and vulnerable.

“Where the hell are you, Burt?” she muttered under her breath while debating whether she should get back in the car or stand out there feeling conspicuous.
I’ll give him two more minutes,
she vowed as she tried to read her watch in the dim light radiating from a street lamp.

“I’m right behind you,” Burt said. Madeline turned and saw his silver hair glimmering in the light. The tank top, shorts and wig he’d been wearing earlier had been replaced with a dark suit, open-collar dress shirt and his attractively greying hair. The transformation took Madeline by surprise. He motioned for her to follow him. She hesitated only slightly before falling into step with him.

“You think you were in one of the cottages,” he said, seeking confirmation as he led her down the pathway that wound through the high foliage into the maze of cottages, each containing four separate rooms. Madeline nodded. She was trying to remain calm, but the physical memory of her early morning departure made her pulse race. She stopped suddenly, grabbing onto Burt’s arm for support.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said, trembling.

“Okay, that’s fine. We’ll turn around and get you out of here,” Burt said soothingly. Madeline held onto his arm until they were back on the sidewalk by her borrowed car.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Madeline nodded hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. I’ll have another crack at the front desk staff. I’ll see if I can find out who booked rooms in this section that night and take it from there.” Burt looked back in the direction they had just come from. “Did you get the sense we were close to where you exited Sunday morning?”

Madeline turned slowly to face the path, her mind retracing their steps. It seemed a shorter distance this time than it did the first, but she didn’t feel confident in her recollection. Fear had warped both escapes.

“I think it was further in,” she said.
Had there been another turn in the walkway?
She shook her head apologetically.

“It’s no problem. Would it help to refresh your memory if we went inside the public rooms, retrace some of your steps that evening?” The suggestion sent her into a panic.

“No, no—I can’t do that!” she said under her breath as a couple passed them on the sidewalk. “Everyone in there knows who I am.”

“Alright. Time to get you back to your hotel,” Burt said, gently escorting her to the driver’s side of the Mercedes. “Are you okay to drive? Do you want me to follow you back?”

“I’m fine,” she said, breathing hard with relief. “Would you mind sitting with me for a minute, let me get my bearings back?”

“Not at all.” Burt took the key from her hand and unlocked her side, holding the door open while she seated herself. He went around the front of the car where she could see him and unlocked the passenger’s door. He ducked in and placed the key in the ignition

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Sorry I couldn’t be more useful.” Burt held up his hand to stop her. “It’s been a really long day,” she said, becoming more fatigued as she recalled just how long and emotionally charged it had been.

“It’s been a really long week,” Burt corrected her. She laughed half-heartedly. They sat in silence for a few more minutes. The only sounds they could hear were the crashing of the waves and the occasional passing car. Burt recognized her fragile state of mind and didn’t want to leave until she had time to recover.

“You must have a very strong stomach,” Madeline said, breaking the soothing silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I could stand to dredge through the sordid details of other people’s lives. I’m having trouble just dealing with my own.” Burt chuckled.

“To me, it’s a matter of sifting through the garbage to find the truth.”

“Is there such a thing as the truth in situations like this?”

“Yeah. It’s not always easy to find. There are usually several variations of the truth, but there’s always at least one solid fact at the center of every conflict. I guess I’ve always thrived on getting to the core of the matter, righting a wrong, helping people get out of jams.” Burt shrugged. “Just my calling to be nosey, I guess.” Madeline thought this over for a moment.

“What about the ‘ick’ factor? Don’t you ever get sick of humanity?” Burt favored her with a lopsided smirk.

“I make sure I take a long, hot shower at the end of every day,” he said. This made Madeline smile.

“Speaking of which,” she said, pushing the key into the ignition, “I think I’m going to need to bathe twice tonight.”

“I better get back to work. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, let you know what I’ve found out.”

“Thanks, Burt,” Madeline said.

“Get some sleep,” he said, then stepped out and closed the door. He waited until the Mercedes receded from view, then headed for the lobby, taking the long way through the grounds, retracing their steps. He played back the conversation they had at the Douglas Preserve in his head, wondering if he’d jinxed his luck by confiding in a client.
I better not be slipping,
he thought. There was no room in his line of work for mistakes.

Madeline lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to assimilate everything that had happened since morning. She was dead tired and having difficulty remembering all the encounters she’d had. Hopscotching around wasn’t helping matters. She forced herself to start at the beginning of the day—a day so long and disturbing, she felt like she’d aged two years.

“Okay, disaster number one—the credit card debacle. Disaster number two—Steven freezing our bank accounts. Disaster number three—the missing jewelry.” This last offence got Madeline off the bed and pacing. There were too many injustices to take lying down.

“Number four—Elizabeth Collins-Wainwright. Oh that miserable, lying, ruthless bastard!” She fairly bristled with anger as she raided the freshly stocked minibar. This time she couldn’t be bothered with ice. She drank the double in straight gulps and braced herself for the one-two punch of the burning gullet and the onset of pleasant numbness.

Every bit of this nightmare was perfectly calculated. God knows how long he’s been romancing Elizabeth Whatever-the-fuck. He’s probably got it worked out that he’ll move her in right after he’s got me moved out.
This last thought ignited a flame of defiance. “Maybe I just won’t move out. Maybe I’ll continue to play the repentant, confused dope, hanging onto hope and my undying love for that scum-sucking piece of shit!”

Madeline flopped onto the sofa. No, the mere thought of actually having to look at him again was enough to veto that plan. She had her attorney now; they’d wait for the first volley and respond in kind, plus start hitting him up for financial support while they haggled over the details of the divorce. But hopefully that wouldn’t last long; hopefully Burt would have something concrete to tie Steven to the frame-up. Then the tables would be turned. She had a pleasing visual of Steven being hauled away in handcuffs as Madeline slammed the front door of
her
house.

That gleeful apparition disappeared as soon as reality reared its ugly head. She was so far from untangling the ropes Steven had hogtied her in, she had no time to indulge in fantasies. She had to keep her guard up and stay proactive. She sighed and scraped at the cold, hardened cheese left over from the enchiladas she’d picked up on the way back to solitary confinement.

As she ticked off tomorrow’s must-do’s, she absentmindedly polished off the leftover tortilla chips and salsa. She grabbed a beer out of the minibar, enjoying the whooshing sound as she pulled the tab back. She tilted her head and drank straight from the can, something she hadn’t done since her college days.

The beer and the carb-overload definitely buoyed her spirits. She found the notepad and began to diagram her strategy for the following day. It was going to be relatively easy compared to the previous day. But just thinking about saying goodbye to her house and Erma and Hughes made her anxious. She got off the sofa and perused the hotel snacks.

She gave into her sudden craving for sweets and ripped off the wrapper of a dark chocolate bar. It tasted impossibly good. She hadn’t allowed herself to eat anything like that in years—none of it. She pulled up her sweater and eyed her full belly with defiant detachment.
Good thing I joined a gym,
she thought as she dropped the wrapper in the pile with all the other trash.

Feeling satiated, she ran the bath water, stripped out of her clothes and brushed her teeth. While she washed her face, a fresh wave of depression broke against her false sense of serenity. She sank to the edge of the tub and gave herself over to tears of self-pity.

“This can’t be happening,” she lamented. “This simply can’t be happening.” She turned off the water and lowered herself into the bathtub, all effort to stem the tide of tears abandoned. She cried until she could barely see out of her swollen eyes, then cried some more. Every time she thought there was nothing left to mourn, she’d find a fresh wound to pick at.

“What did I do wrong?” she wailed. She beat her hands against the now tepid water, sending sprays all over the floor. “What in the hell did I do wrong?”

As she wallowed in all her grievances, she realized she was finally cried out. There was no use railing against fate; her enemy was her husband, for whatever reason. Now that she had calmed herself, she reviewed what Burt said to her at the fitness center. It gave her a sharp pang to think all this evilness stemmed from not providing Steven with an heir.

If only I hadn’t lost the baby,
she thought. But it chilled her more to imagine having given Steven a child and then suffering the same kind of rejection. And what sort of father would he have been? She splashed cold water on her face and climbed out of the tub, mortified by the thought of his demonic need for control.
Why didn’t I notice it before?

As she wrapped the bathrobe around herself, she had to acknowledge that she was not blameless; she had been looking for a man of wealth and privilege to sweep her off her feet, and she hadn’t once scratched his immaculate facade in search of his soul. She tossed the evidence of her despair-induced gluttony in the wastebasket, turned out the lights and crawled under the sheets. She was safe for the time being, but she needed to be on top of her game if she was going to make it out of this marriage with her sanity intact.