LifeoftheParty (15 page)

“
Our
baby?” Gina cried, livid. “You bastard! You
raped me!”

He laughed. “Gina, everyone knows you can’t rape a whore.”

Doug lunged at him, slamming him against the wall, his arm
against his throat. “You piece of shit! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Get…him…away…from—” he struggled out. “It was
your…decision. No…one made you do…anything.”

“Oh no?” She unfolded a piece of paper, shoving it into his
face. “You know what this is? This is the violations report of one Lucas
Mumsford, one that would have sent him to jail for five years.”

His eyes flared. “I destroyed those files! Where—?”

“Out of the folder at the scene of the crime. Not like you
noticed because rapists rarely notice anything when they’re otherwise engaged.
Took me until today to realize if I turn it in, Mumsford risks going to jail.
If you do, it’d prove you were suppressing evidence. Double checkmate, Ted. You
can’t hold anything over me again.”

Applause went up outside. Ted flinched toward it.

“Oh don’t worry about that. They’re just introducing Jerry
Szabo as the new candidate for Congress. Looks like the bus to Washington is
leaving without you.”

Ted went wild, struggling within Doug’s grasp. “Fucking
bitch. Liar! I’ll get you—”

Doug’s fist clenched, ready to launch, but Gina grabbed his
wrist. “No, darling, this pleasure’s all mine.” She hauled back and lunged,
hooking Ted with a solid left. He slumped to the floor.

“Gina!” Doug cried. “I never knew you were a leftie.”

“Ambidextrous,” she said, shaking her hand. “
Ow.
”

Two uniforms shoved into the room, MacDuff, right behind
them. “Welland!” he cried, eyeing Parks. “What’d I tell you? You bucking for a
brutality charge?”

He threw up his hands. “Don’t look at me. We got us a
Million Dollar Baby here.”

“Hi,” Gina said, hand flexing, the uniforms hauling out a
dazed Ted Parks.

MacDuff snorted. “Gina Bardone, right? I’ve seen that name
before.”

“Yeah, well, my days as the savior of lost causes is long
over. I never want to see a courtroom again.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Are you related to
someone name of Erika Bardone?”

She did a double take. “She was my aunt.”

“And a court reporter, right?”

“For over forty years.”

“Go to Courtroom Four and look on the right side of the
bench. It’s—”

“One floor up, I know. Why?”

“Just go and find out.” He looked to Doug. “But before you
do…” He waggled his fingers. “The phone, please.”

Doug pulled the BlackBerry from his pocket. “Sorry, doll.
They need it for evidence.”

“My phone? How will I ever…?” She took a deep breath and
smiled. “I suppose I’ll just have to manage.”

“Come on,” Doug said, nodding toward the door. “Take me
upstairs.”

He trailed her out into the corridor and up the staircase,
their footsteps echoing through the empty building. Gina skulked through it all
with a church-like reverence approaching awe when she yanked open the big
carved door to Courtroom Four. It was a wide, classical courtroom, with Ionic
columns in the corners and murals on the walls, huge leaded and arched windows
on either side of the tall oaken bench, streaming rays of afternoon sun. She
slowly walked up the aisle, head craning around, ending up at the left side of
the bench. She bent into it.

“Oh my God,” she said softly.

Doug joined her. On the side of the bench was a small brass
plaque.

Dedicated To Erika L. Bardone, Court Reporter. Forty Years
Of Service.

“I never—knew,” Gina said, her voice cracking. She turned
around, sweeping her gaze over the courtroom. “I can’t tell you how much time I
spent here. And you know, Doug? I miss it.”

“Then come back,” he said. “And while you’re at it…” He took
her into his arms. “Come back to me too.”

“Oh Doug.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I never really
left.”

“Neither did I.” He kissed her, tangling his fingers in her
hair. She sighed against him and he deepened his kiss, pulling her against him.

He nuzzled her neck. “You seem…taller.”

“There’s something to be said for four-inch heels.”

“My wild woman,” he said, growling in her ear. “You were magnificent
back there.” He slid his hands inside her jacket. “And you look totally smokin’
in my clothes. Though I can’t help thinking how much better you look out of
them.” He slid his hand down the slope of her behind, trailing it under her
skirt to suddenly stop. “Hm, it looks like we’re back to not wearing
underwear.”

“Well, I was kind of in a hurry. I wasted a lot of time
dragging that monster of a bed across the room.”

He pulled back, grinning lasciviously. “It’s getting me hot
just thinking about it.”

“Well, I sure as hell worked up a sweat. Remind me to return
the favor.” She flashed the handcuffs from her pocket. “I’m definitely keeping
these for a later date. It’ll be your turn next time.”

“I can hardly wait.” He turned her around, pressing her back
atop the clerk’s table. “
I can hardly wait
,” he breathed, sliding up her
skirt.

“You wouldn’t dare…not in a
courtroom
!”

“Gina, my love, do you know the literal translation of
habeus
corpus
?”

“’You shall have the body?’”

“And you shall,” he grinned, his hand on his zipper and
yanking down. “Mine
.
Over and over again.”

“
Jus necessitatis
,” Gina squeaked. “I’ll be right
here.”

CARMELLI RESIDENCE—RIVERBORO

Six weeks later

“Roark, is that you?”

He tossed his keys to the kitchen table. “No, it’s the vet
from the Philadelphia Zoo. Heard you have a hippo ready to drop.”

Pam turned from the sink, giving him the finger.

“Now that’s the kind of behavior that got you in trouble in
the first place.” He ran his hand down her massive belly, planting a kiss on
top. “How’s my little guys today?”

“They’re having a dorm party inside. I could’ve sworn I
smelled bongwater. Hey.” She poked him. “Did you bring me a croissant?”

He dropped a bag to the counter. “Chocolate. Nice and
sloppy. Just like you used to be.” Then he kissed her, sliding his hand down
her behind.

She pulled back. “Don’t touch me! Jesus, my hormones are
going haywire these days. All I’m thinking about is sex.”

“No shit. What else do you think about when you can’t have
it?” He sidled up next to her, filling a glass from the tap. “Doug called me
today. He took that job with the Capitol Police.”

She shook a colander full of cranberries. “So I guess
they’re staying in D.C. then.”

“Well, yeah. Gina’s officially resigning at the first of the
year, before Congress’ next session. Doug says she’s going back to lobbying,
this time for children’s health care.”

“So I guess this means they’ll be setting the date soon?”
She popped two berries into her mouth, crunching.

“Doug said sometime in February. They want to do it up here
at the courthouse. Hey.” He pulled her hand back, just before she plucked
another cranberry. “How can you eat those things raw? They’re sour as hell.”

“I don’t know. I
hate
cranberries. I guess there is
something to this craving thing. Anyway, I’m glad they’re getting married in
February. I’ll have these little sycophants out of me by then.”

“And me back in you,” he said, taking a sip of water. “Did
the doctor call?”

“Finally. She said I’m to come in at eleven on Monday. And
nothing to eat or drink from ten o’clock the night before.”

“Four more days. It’s really happening then.” He slid his
hand to her belly. “Are you nervous?”

Pam leaned her head against his shoulder. “I was, but now I
just can’t wait to get it over with. And I’ve made a decision. While they’re in
there rooting around, I want them to tie my tubes.”

“Babe, I told you I’d get it done, you don’t have to.”

“You misunderstand me, sweetie. I want to make sure this
never happens again. With your super sperm? Every time we screw I’ll be afraid
I’ll end up like that woman in California, dropping a litter.” She sighed.
“Roark, I swear to God, I love you and I already love these kids, but I never,
ever want to get pregnant again.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You won’t have to. Not when
I super-sized you.”

“Oh Roark…” She nuzzled against him, taking in his warmth.
All of a sudden she flinched. “Roark?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please tell me you just spilled your water.”

The End

Trudy Doyle has worked as a newspaper reporter, advertising
copywriter, mortgage loan officer, casino slot cashier, proofreader and
bookseller, and is currently an Assistant Professor of English, all while
writing some of the most cogent and incisive novels known to modern literature.
Besides continually exceeding the bar, she believes 70% cacao chocolate should
qualify for a tax deduction, James Carville and Rush Limbaugh ought to settle
it once and for all in a naked Jell-O pit fight, and Maureen Dowd is the new
Mark Twain. Trudy lives, writes and waxes political deep in the heart of
Southern New Jersey.

Trudy welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
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Crimes
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Life of the Party

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Life of the Party Copyright © 2013 Trudy Doyle

Edited by Jillian Bell

Cover design by Mina Carter

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and Konradbak/dreamstime.com

Electronic book publication July 2013

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