In Jeopardy (3 page)

‘Richard?’

‘No – this is Christine.’

Without another word the female caller hangs up.

Moments later Richard’s phone chimes ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and stops after five rings. There it is sitting on the desk under the cut glass lamp. Christine picks it up and reads the message on the screen:
Where are you? I phoned your room. That woman answered.

Christine switches off the phone. She pulls open the bar fridge in search of something strong to drink, pours herself a straight rum on ice. She sits at the desk, gulps the contents from the glass and stares at the message on the phone for what seems like an age. She picks up the phone again, scrolls back and reads previous messages. There are one, two, three messages from the same woman.

She is unaware that Richard has appeared and is watching over her shoulder before he snatches the phone from her.

‘What the f—k are you doing?’

Her heart skips a beat, delayed thoughts translate into words. ‘You scare me when you creep up behind me. How many times have I told you not to do that?’

‘F—k you – stay out of my life! What’s on my phone is none of your business.’

‘When a strange woman keeps calling you I have a right to know about the details.’

‘Quit the snooping.’

‘Amuse me – invent another one of your stories.’

‘She’s just a colleague from work.’

‘The same one, the she-devil who abandoned the project you had to rescue?’

He storms into the bathroom without another word; the silence closing in becomes heavy and suffocating. Christine runs from the room to escape the ugly scene.

She enters the ‘Ladies’ in the lobby to splash water over her burning face. Instead of finding a refuge she bursts in on the chime of excited voices before slipping into a lavatory cubicle.

Two women stand chatting. The tall blonde with a sharp bob wears corporate navy and an exuberant scarf of tropical colours. The other is short and thin with long, swishy hair, one side caught up in a dazzling fuchsia hair clip, matched with a floaty chiffon dress, black patent stilettos and a short black satin jacket.

‘I can’t imagine why he had to bring her here.’

‘He’s married. That’s not a complication he can just edit out of his life.’

‘They fell out of love ages ago and besides, it’s not as if they have any children.’

‘Is that what he said?’

‘Not in those exact words. I just know it’s over.’

‘It’s never that simple. I bet he hasn’t said anything about leaving her or kicking her out.’

‘He told me she doesn’t love him anymore – meaning that it’s over.’

‘He’s brought her to Sydney and we’re meeting her tonight at dinner. It doesn’t sound over to me.’

‘She’s a ball breaker, the bitch insisted on coming. How could poor Richard refuse?’

‘I’m looking forward to meeting her, she sounds interesting. Richard Banks doesn’t strike me as ever being desperate or foolish enough to marry anyone. It’s my guess he’s in charge in that relationship.’

‘What would you say if she has horns and a tail?’

‘Now that sounds scary.’

They both burst into a spray of laughter. The blonde follows with jagged and excited braying before becoming breathless and gasping for air.

Christine’s face flushes red charged with shame then anger. She wants to cover her ears to block out the torment, burst from the cubicle, out onto the street away from this nightmare. Instead she remains listening as her face burns.

They walk out. Christine strains to hear their voices as they fade behind the closing door.

In an attempt to stifle tears welling up and prevent them from spilling down her face, she shuts her eyes. She hears and sees a bolt of lightning strike a tower, glass and bricks shatter into tiny pieces spilling over the ground. Her eyes are still closed when she feels a large hand shove her violently as if attempting to push her from a great height.

She opens her eyes and there is nothing there. This sequence of images mirrors the disturbing truth that has been thrust on her in its raw ugliness and brutality. Christine wishes she had remained in Richard’s company despite his unpleasantness. This would have allowed her to accept the illusion she had created about her marriage, rather than another one of Richard’s cruel betrayals slapped hard into her face by strangers.

The lobby is a blur of chaotic scenes colliding into each other.

Without her noticing, Richard touches her left elbow; she jumps back. ‘There you are. You left the room without a word. Where have you been?’

She turns her face away from his attention. ‘Do you really care?’

‘Don’t be like that.’

She turns to meet his gaze and runs an insolent look over him.

‘If looks could kill – Christine.’

‘Earlier, upstairs, you subjected me to a battery of insults.’

He touches her arm again, only this time clenching it under his hand. ‘We’re having drinks at the bar, come and join us and meet some of the people who we are dining with tonight.’

Despite Richard’s outward appearance of genteel charm, Christine would rather that the ground open up and swallow her. ‘I’ve some holiday reading I’d like to start; I’ll meet your colleagues tonight.’

He points to the bar lounge beyond the long marble reception desk. ‘If you change your mind we’re sitting over there.’

Christine looks to where he points and there she is; staring at them, wine glass in hand, as the group, another woman and three men, talk. She is incongruous, a baby doll, draped in silver chains and rings to match that painted face, finished off with a glittering head piece catching that curtain of hair. The other woman’s short silver mop teams well with black and is softened by a string of pearls. She blends well with the men’s suits.

‘There’s the mystery caller; the likely explanation for our cancelled trip and your strange behaviour lately.’

He shifts himself to block Doll-Face from Christine’s view, hisses through clenched teeth, ‘This is not the place for you to start up with your accusations – creating another scene.’

‘Who is that woman staring at us?’

‘What woman?’

‘No more games. You know who I’m talking about, the one dressed for a party.’

‘Don’t grill me in public and make a spectacle of yourself.’

‘No one’s making a spectacle. It’s inconvenient that I care – or does that disturb you?’

Christine turns and walks away from Richard then turns to face him again. Their eyes lock for an instant before he turns and walks towards the group.

Despite his bridled rage, she maintains the appearance of composure, deflecting his cruel words by feigning indifference. This was the greatest lie about their relationship. Instead of confronting him, demanding he explain himself further, she always walked away. This time she wants to break his face and rip chunks of hair from Doll-Face’s skull then watch them both reel in pain.

Heartbroken, humiliated and angry, Christine is still prepared to endure Richard’s carelessness towards her. She isn’t about to hand him over to Doll-Face. The duel has just begun and she is up for the fight.

Having returned to their room, unable to read or flick through the hotel’s magazines, Christine paces from door to window before she collapses onto the bed. Behind closed eyes she is haunted by visions of strange and menacing places. Disturbing landscapes reflect her waking life and the frightening reality that she is helpless as her life spins out of control.

She plans her next move. There will be no more questions, Richard hates questions. There will be no more interrogation or argument. She will win him over with charm and grace, determined to endure
his infidelity as she always has, refusing to surrender him to a woman young enough to be his daughter. Tonight Christine will take on this challenge; she will dazzle and out-sparkle Richard’s bit on the side.

It’s too late to scour the city for a new outfit. The ivory maxi teamed with the black patent sling backs, a necklace of multiple stringed faceted onyx beads, black diamond ring alongside the diamond cluster. Finally she will wear the wedding band and engagement ring.
This will serve to remind the she-devil who I am and what my husband spends on me. I have the advantage of being tall, long-limbed and able to wear a full length gown with an open seam above the knee.
Christine bought this latest outfit following the cancelled trip. It was a small compensation for her disappointment.

She slips into the hotel’s beauty salon, it’s almost empty. The hairdresser washes and blow waves Christine’s hair then applies makeup. Tomorrow she will buy another outfit and jewellery that will reflect the style and opulence that only serious money can afford. She will wear a harlequin or fire opal that will catch the light under a night lit room, decorated in white linen, crystal and flickering candles. Such an opal will dance. She will be the belle of the ball and will show up Doll-Face’s style for what it is – loud and tasteless.

Richard is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back half turned, staring into a glass of red, unaware that Christine has returned. When she touches him on the shoulder and rubs his arm he springs up and away from her, wine spilling onto the carpet. ‘You freaked me out. Now look what you’ve done!’

‘I’m sorry.’

Christine calls housekeeping. Richard walks to the bureau and wraps his hands over the top of the chair. She resists the urge to run her hands through his hair, wary of triggering another defensive outburst. ‘Richard.’ She repeats, ‘Richard.’ She places a hand on both shoulders.

He throws his hands up into the air. ‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Richard, let’s put this unpleasantness behind us, it need never be mentioned again.’

‘Don’t you get it yet?’

She looks at him, feigning incomprehension. The conversation she heard earlier in the lobby bathroom clarifies the situation beyond doubt. ‘I don’t need to pry further.’

‘F—k you – do you need me to spell it out?’

A brooding tense silence permeates the room. Christine’s earlier resolve to challenge her rival with confidence and the assurance she will win has faded.

She waits for Richard to tell her what she dreads to hear. He is about to turn her world upside down, abandoning her with impunity as she has often feared he would. She thinks he can insult her and feels the sting of his own words rebound, perhaps not now but sometime in the future. Words said today become our past, and the past is always there to spring back and strike. This may well be the fate that Richard creates for himself. She expects it will end as it always has, when his apology presents in the form of a piece of prized jewellery.

He punctures the silence and her thoughts, ‘Don’t you have anything to say? No questions?’

‘No.’ Christine’s head throbs; her thoughts become crashing waves under a stormy sky. She moves to the window sill and looks out. A flash of lightning strikes from the sky smashing into a towering city building, leaving it strangely unmarked. In rapid succession three knives fall from low cloud cover scudding across the sky.

‘It’s over, we’re finished.’

‘Just like that! Why did you bring me to Sydney to tell me this?’

‘We fell out of love long ago. I’ve met someone else and I’ve fallen in love.’

‘With a girl young enough to be your daughter.’

‘What else do you know?’

‘That’s all I know. She has a name; doesn’t she have a name?’

‘It’s Heaven.’ He uttered this without hesitating and as if to convince Christine as much as himself that this time he’s dispensed with her forever.

She recoils with distaste. The name gives the impression of a girl who plays the role of a fragile and innocent child walking in Richard’s shadow. Underneath the mask lurks a temptress. Would this she-devil seal his fate? Her heart pulls in different directions, memories of her marriage flood the crowded space in her mind. The wordless room closes around her becoming airless, suffocating and unbearable.

Details decorating the room have become a blur of images. Some are magnified and distorted while others morph into menacing pieces of ugliness. The painting of striped magenta and white orchids leers at Christine. Bright light throws itself against the wall and threatens to burst into flames.

‘There’s nothing more to say.’

‘I guess not.’

‘I’ve booked another room for you in the hotel.’

‘How kind, did you think I’d be grateful?’

Richard rubs his hands together then vigorously scratches his arm. He shoots Christine a look through narrowed eyes. Teeth clenched, he hammers out the words; ‘You are to pack yourself out of this room. You can take my offer, or make your own arrangements.’

Christine walks away as if wanting nothing more of Richard. As she packs she tries to block him from her mind, feigning indifference, oblivious to his existence. She stops at the door. He rushes up to her, ‘Can I take these to the lobby for you?’

‘Save yourself the trouble.’

‘We can talk about this later.’

‘Can we? In your own words, there’s nothing else to say.’

Leaving her luggage at the lobby Christine collapses into a lounge chair in a dark abandoned corner at the bar. She stares at an empty space for what seems to be hours. The concierge arranges a taxi to the train station where she books a ticket home, leaving Sydney the next morning. It takes every fragment of Christine’s nerves to maintain her composure. She has always felt refreshed by Sydney’s colour and exuberance. Now it becomes a jangle of deafening noise; a collage of lurid pictures erupting from behind a camera flash. It’s not new for Christine to feel alone; her sanity teetering on an edge.

She wraps the light coat she is wearing tighter against the early evening and fading warmth then walks to the harbour empty handed. She blocks out the dense, crowded streetscape.

She pushes her way through crowded streets and across traffic flying through intersections. She races along streets that narrow closer to the harbour, then stop. The waterfront stretches along the coast. Beyond steep streets with terraced rows of red brick houses, clusters of modern eateries and bars, she hears the hum and clatter of the city’s edge. The waterfront meets an expanse of sky; the coastline bends into a deep crescent its tip touches the Opera House and Botanical Gardens.