O
nce a week, a professional cleaner comes into our home to give it a thorough cleaning. It’s always on a Wednesday, and always during the hours when Charles is at work. To make it simpler for her, we gave her a key, and she knows the security code for our home.
Katya is my key to getting into my house today.
Even if I’m nervous as hell at the prospect of doing it.
My Jetta parked in the driveway, I grip the steering wheel and count to ten. Katya’s Sunfire is here, so I know I can get in.
“Just do it,” I whisper. “Get out, walk to the door.”
I open my car door. A shaky breath oozes out of me. God, why am I so nervous? I’m still married to Charles. This is still my house.
My legs wobble as I walk to the door. I turn the handle.
It’s locked. And I’d bet my last dollar that Charles changed the locks.
I reach for the doorbell but think better of that. Katya’s going to wonder why I don’t just use my key.
I quickly scan our front porch. There’s a huge potted plant. Not the greatest choice, but I heave it into my arms nonetheless and bring it to the door. Then I use my nose to ring the doorbell.
It takes Katya a good minute to get to the door, at which point I’m sweating from holding this freaking plant so long.
“Annelise!” she exclaims. “My goodness. Let me help you with that.”
“No, I got it.” I huff and groan as I stumble across the threshold. But once inside the house, I can no longer hold the plant. Katya helps me ease it onto the floor.
“You should have put it down until I got to the door. You’re going to break your back.”
“I know…I wasn’t thinking.” I take deep breaths and look around. “Wow, the place looks great. Smells great, too.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you almost finished?”
“Upstairs, yes. Downstairs, no.”
“Ah, I see. Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m gonna try and figure out where I should put this plant. Maybe right here in the foyer, for now,” I add with a laugh.
Katya shrugs. But thankfully, she heads off in the direction of the kitchen.
I run in the opposite direction, to Charles’s home office. I disappear into the room and close the door.
I waste no time going to work. I open desk drawer after desk drawer and rifle through papers. My eyes frantically scan to see something out of the ordinary. Not just the charity books, but something I can use to help my cause. Like a bank account number, because I’m sure Charles is hiding money from me and will try to screw me in the divorce.
I search for anything but find nothing.
I pause to look around the room. There’s a sixteen-by-twenty-inch photo of Charles on the west wall, framed in beveled glass. I always thought it was tacky.
But tacky or not, there’s a safe behind that framed photo.
I carefully take the picture down from the wall, hoping to hell I don’t break it. As I stare at the wall safe, I think. Think about what the combination could possibly be.
I try his birth date. Doesn’t work.
I try our wedding date. Doesn’t work.
I try my birthday. Again, that doesn’t work.
I bang on the safe. “Open, damn it.” I know Charles keeps cash in there. But short of going at it with a power saw, it’s unlikely I’ll get it open now.
I head back to the desk. This time, I go through it more carefully. And this time, I notice something
beneath
the hanging folders.
It’s another folder. The tab reads, “Mortgage.”
Bingo.
I flip open the folder. Inside is the deed to our house. I quickly scan it. Only Charles’s name is on it.
Jerk,
I think, remembering how he told me that with my financial history, it would be better to have just his name on the deed. I have no doubt that even then, he was thinking about the day he would screw me over.
I don’t know if it’s going to help me to have this, but I’ll take it anyway. On second thought, I decide to make a copy of it on the office color copier.
The copy in the folder, I fold and stuff the original into the back of my jeans, beneath my shirt.
Satisfied that I’ve found all I’ll find in the office, I replace the picture, head out of the room and up the stairs. The deed is helpful, but I need to find the books for the charity, and hopefully information about an offshore bank account.
The more I thought about Dominic’s bombshell, the more I realized that Charles probably is hiding money out of the country somewhere. I remember the sudden business trips where he came back with a tan. I’ll bet the asshole is hiding money in the Caymans.
Once inside our bedroom, I close the door. My heart is still beating out of control. Charles shouldn’t show up at this hour—but what if he decides to come home on his lunch break?
I quickly rummage through his night table. Nothing out of the ordinary. I go through the closet, searching for secret papers hidden in pockets, shoe boxes. Anywhere.
Damn. I see nothing.
Where can the papers be?
I search his drawers, look at every scrap of paper. Why is there nothing here?
Defeated, I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands. What am I doing wrong?
The bed,
a voice says.
Look under the bed.
I drop to my knees and lift the skirt on Charles’s side of the bed. I sigh with relief when I see a shoe box.
I pull it out and flip through the contents. I don’t see anything incriminating, but I do see something that piques my curiosity. It’s a brochure with a picture of several boats moored in a bay framed by picturesque mountains. Big, cursive letters boast the name LOS SUEÑOS. Beneath that reads, Resort and Marina.
I flip open the brochure. “The Bay Residences are an exclusive enclave of thirty waterfront condominiums,” I read aloud. The night shot of an illuminated infinity pool is to die for. I scan the rest of the text and see the words
Costa Rica’s Central Pacific Coast.
Costa Rica!
All of a sudden, I remember a few months back, walking in on Charles in his office practicing Spanish from a cassette. He’d said he was simply broadening his horizons by learning a second language.
Son of a bitch. It all makes sense now.
I had heard that Costa Rica was a new hot spot for Americans. Apparently, it’s the new hot spot Charles is interested in.
“Got you, asshole.”
Still on the floor, I slip my hand between the mattress and the box spring. I don’t feel anything, but maybe there’s something beyond my reach.
I shove the mattress off the bed. It bangs into the night table and sends my lamp crashing to the floor.
“Shit,” I mutter. I do a quick sweep of the box spring and don’t see anything.
“Mrs. Crawford?”
Katya’s voice nearly scares me out of my skin. I whirl around to see her standing in the doorway. Then I glance at the mattress half pushed off the bed, and the drawers in disarray.
I can’t imagine what she’s thinking.
“What’s going on in here?” she asks.
I have no clue what I’m doing when I march toward her. “I found a box of condoms in Charles’s drawer,” I find myself saying. “Are you having an affair with my husband?”
“W-what?” she sputters.
“Are you?” I demand.
“Of course not! I would never!”
“You’re fired, Katya. Right now.”
“But Mrs. Crawford—”
“Leave right now, Katya. I’ll see to it that Charles sends you your final check.”
Katya starts to sob. “Please, Mrs. Crawford. I need this job.”
My heart is ramming hard against my chest wall. “Fine. I’ll leave. But make no mistake, I’m going to talk to Charles about this—tonight!”
I leave a stunned and distraught Katya standing outside my bedroom door as I charge down the stairs. When I sail through the door, a smile erupts on my face.
“Costa Rica, here I come.”
I’m driving along I-285 when my cell phone rings. I dig it out of my purse.
“Hello?”
“Annie! Where the hell did you disappear to?”
It takes me a moment to realize who it is. “Sam?”
“Yes, it’s me! One minute you were staying with me, the next you were just gone.”
“Sam, that was a week ago. You only now noticed that I left?”
“Ugh,” she groans. “Last week was insane. I was seeing this guy, and staying at his place. For the first time in a long time, I actually thought I was in love. But he was screwing another dancer behind my back. Do you believe it? One minute he was in love with me, and a week later, he was cheating on me. That’s why I don’t trust men. I dumped his ass this morning.” She finally takes a breath for air. “But what is going on with Charles?”
“A lot,” I tell her. “He’s not just cheating on me, he’s cheating the charity he volunteers for. And I’m pretty sure he’s got property out of the country. In fact, I have to go to Costa Rica as soon as possible.”
“Costa Rica?”
“Yeah. But the bastard’s left me penniless.” I groaned. How the hell could I afford to leave the country? “I’ll call one of my friends, see if I can borrow some money to get a flight tomorrow.”
“Uh, hello? What about me? I’ve been wanting a reason to go to Costa Rica for a long time. You know I love me a hot Hispanic man.”
“I thought you just had your heart broken.”
“What better time to take a trip?”
“Sam, you’re not serious.”
“Of course I am. And don’t worry about the money. One of the perks of my job is that I’ve always got lots of cash on hand.”
“Well,” I began, “maybe you can just float me some cash—”
“Uh-uh. I want to go.”
“Sam, you are not going to Costa Rica with me.”
“Why not? It’d be fun. We hardly spend any time together. It’d be nice to do a sister trip.”
“But this trip isn’t about hanging out. I’ve got business to do.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Charles might be there. I called the office and they said he’s out of town. Again. And his slut, too.” I shake my head, thinking of how long he’s been planning this behind my back.
“Then you’re gonna need me. For support.”
Samera might just be onto something. Maybe I will need her. What if I get into trouble and Charles tries to hurt me? Being in Costa Rica alone, no one would ever know what happened to me.
“You really want to come with me?”
“I want us to be closer,” she says softly. “We don’t hang out the way sisters should. This trip…it could be good for us.”
Her words touch me, more than I expect.
“And I speak some Spanish. One of my boyfriends, Paco, taught me some stuff.”
“I can only imagine what he taught you!”
“There’s this thing guys do in Cuba, with a papaya. They teach the young men how to perform oral sex on a woman. Apparently, the shape and feel of a sliced papaya—”
“Okay,” I say, stopping her. “Too much information.” But I’m laughing. A papaya as a tool for teaching oral sex. Who knew?
“Can I come with you?” my sister pleads.
“Are you near a computer?”
“Yeah.”
“Then start looking for flights to San José, Costa Rica. Even tonight, if there is one.”
Samera squeals, excited. “We’re going to Costa Rica! We’re going to Costa Rica!”
“Stop singing and check the computer. Then call me back.”
“You got it.”
I
spend a miserable few days moping around not only my home but the office. It’s so bad that before I go on the news at noon on Wednesday, my station manager has to pull me aside and ask if everything’s all right with me.
It isn’t, of course, but I don’t tell Linda that. “I’m fine,” I lie.
Linda closes the door to my office behind her. “I know you’re not fine. And I’m not stupid. I’ve noticed that you’re not wearing that huge rock anymore.”
“I’m sure everyone’s noticed.”
“Glenn, right?”
I nod.
“It’s pretty obvious to me that he’s broken your heart. But you can’t let him get to you, Lishelle. You’re beautiful. Intelligent. You have a lot going for you. You’ll meet a decent guy.”
“That’s the last thing I want to hear.”
“I know. But remember when Martin broke my heart? Announced after five years of marriage that he wanted a divorce? I let it eat away at me for months, not knowing he was doing me a favor.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“I don’t want you to spend months letting this suck the life out of you. Just be happy things ended now if they weren’t going to work out. Trust me, you’re far better off.” Linda shrugs. “And if you need to make a voodoo doll and stick it full of pins, go ahead. But please, remember you have a life outside of this guy. I’m only saying that because I know what I went through, and I know how much it hurts.”
Surprisingly, Linda’s words make me feel better. “Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome. Now get to makeup. You go on air in thirty minutes!”
A couple hours later, Linda’s words are still with me. And I realize how right she is. Glenn took a lot from me, more than he ever should have, but I can’t let him take any more.
If he’d just broken my heart, that’d be one thing. But he had to take my money, too.
After leading me on in the worst possible way.
I shouldn’t be moping—I should be pissed. Pissed enough to take action.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Glenn’s about to find out just how pissed off I am.
A short while later, I walk purposefully into Ruben Santiago’s office. Ruben is known at our station as “The Man.” You need someone found, and Ruben can find him. Provided the person isn’t hiding in a monastery in Tibet under an alias—although Ruben did track an AWOL slumlord down in Mexico City once. That feat won him a broadcaster award for excellence in investigative journalism.
Needless to say, I trust that if anyone can find Glenn, Ruben can.
Ruben’s face lights up as he sees me. He’s a mix of black, Irish and Spanish. His skin looks like he has a permanent tan, but the long, kinky hair he always wears in a ponytail shows his African-American heritage.
“Lishelle, sweetheart,” he says as he rises from his desk. “You’re looking fabulous, as usual.”
“Thank you, Ruben.” He never fails to make me feel special. But his flirting is always harmless. A good thing, since he’s only about five foot four and I’m not physically attracted to him. He’s married though, something else I’m happy about, because I believe Ruben’s one of the good guys. He deserves a decent woman.
“What’s happening, Ruben?”
“Nothing much. What’s happening with you?”
“I need a favor, babe. And you’re the man for the job.”
“All righty, then.” Linking his fingers, he stretches his arms, then moves his head from side to side. “I always knew one day you’d be ready for me.”
I laugh. “Oh, I’m ready all right. Ready for you to find someone.”
“What you got?”
I hand Ruben a piece of paper on which I’ve written Glenn’s full name, plus his birth date. I also list the phone numbers he gave me, even though they’re both disconnected now.
“This is a Phoenix number,” Ruben comments.
“Right.”
He nods. “Piece of cake.”
“How long, do you think?”
“Probably by the end of the day.”
Excitement fills me. “Really?”
“If not, then I’m slipping. But if not today, then early tomorrow. You sure this is his real name?”
“Yeah, and I don’t expect that wherever he is he’s using an alias. He’s just trying to hide from me.” I smile sweetly.
“I pity the fool.”
“Oh, you should.”
Ruben winks at me. “I’ll get right on this.”
Nearly four and a half hours later, when I’ve just finished the six o’clock news and I’m back in my dressing room, there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call.
Ruben opens the door and peers his head inside. “I wanted to catch you before you got out of here.”
“You found him?” I ask excitedly, sitting straight up in my chair.
He kisses me on the cheek as he hands me an envelope. “Everything you need to know is in there, babe.”
“Oh, Ruben.” I throw an arm around his neck. “You’re the best.”
“So my wife keeps telling me.”
“You hang on to her. And don’t do anything stupid to mess that up.”
“Honey, please,” he says in a tone that implies he knows he’d be a fool to screw up a good thing.
When Ruben’s gone, I open the envelope. There are five printed pages in there. The first one lists Glenn’s name, date of birth and social security number. It goes on to list his current address and contact information, as well as his employer.
The second sheet has DMV information, and I see that Glenn was charged once with DUI as a minor in Indiana. Beside that information, Ruben has written,
Charge was expunged.
But it’s the next page that catches me off guard. Winds me as surely as if I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
It’s a marriage certificate.
I don’t even look at the woman’s name. I quickly scan the next page to see if it’s a record of divorce. Instead, it’s a record of where he went to school.
But the page after that delivers the knockout blow. Children. Glenn has two of them. According to this printout, two boys ages three and five.
Oh. My. God.
“He’s married! The son of a bitch is
married!
”
Why on earth would he propose to me if he’s already married to someone else?
But I don’t even have to think about this one. As painful as it is to admit, Glenn was using me. Traveling to Atlanta as often as he did, he clearly knew I’d made something of myself. He wanted to get his hands on some cash and saw me as a way to do it. I wonder if he really wants to open a charter-plane business, or if that was a lie, as well.
I’ll bet it was a lie. I can’t believe a friggin’ word he said to me.
The jackass probably faked his orgasms.
I flip back to the marriage-certificate page. Glenn apparently got married six years ago in the state of Arizona.
Son of a bitch!
Maybe Glenn and his wife have separated,
I think.
Maybe he didn’t want to tell me he was married because of how it would look…
No sooner does that thought come to me than I want to shoot myself. Why am I even trying to make excuses for him? If he were separated, he could tell me that. He wouldn’t have had to come up with some whole other scenario to pretend he was free and available.
I scan the marriage certificate. The woman’s name is Tess Baxter. Tess…Tess…Why does that sound familiar?
And then it hits me. The woman Glenn told me he’d been engaged to. Her name was Tess. Tess, who had a couple of kids and was married.
I have to laugh, it’s so pathetic.
Fucking prick.
I debate what to do as I drive home.
I could get on a plane and head right to Phoenix—confront Glenn, and even his wife.
Oh, I could give Tess an earful. Tell her exactly what her husband has been up to. How he ate my pussy and made me come nonstop. How he proposed to me like I was the only woman in the world for him. How it was all a ploy to get at my cash.
Surely if I tell the wife all of this, Glenn will be throwing my money at me faster than I can blink.
But what if Glenn is married to the type of woman who will allow him indiscretions—as long as he always goes home to her? That’s entirely possible. What if she knows about the scam and encouraged it? With some women, you just don’t know what they’re capable of doing to keep a man in their lives. Women who become partners in crime when otherwise they would never have done anything against the law.
And what if she’s nothing like that? What if she’s sweet and caring and I’ll devastate her world by showing up on her doorstep? Quite frankly, she deserves to know—but should I be the one to break it to her?
At home, I go over the possibilities in my mind the entire night. I’m still torn in the morning when I’m driving to work. I think about Annelise and Claudia and how they’re planning some delicious revenge. They deserve no less. Let’s face it—they were both screwed royally. Above and beyond the typical breakup.
Glenn has done the same to me. And while I’d love to get my money back, I’d also love some serious payback. To make that motherfucker fear
his
world is falling apart.
I’m almost at work when an idea hits me. Oh, God. It’s perfect.
Glenn’s a greedy bastard. And I know exactly where to find him. If I dangle some bait for him, he’s as sure to gobble it up as a fish going after a worm.
But is it ethical?
Not entirely, but neither is what Glenn did to me. And maybe it’ll be exactly what I need to do to get him to give me back the money he’s stolen from me.
Yeah,
I think, smiling for the first time in a long time.
This could be perfect.