Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
Belinda
left, and Julian found himself attending to his daughter's daily needs with the
help of the faithful Consuela. After three weeks, he received a phone call from
his sister who was working on a project in Stockholm asking him if he could fly
to Australia immediately. Their mother had been diagnosed with cancer.
Julian
rang Belinda to apprise her of the situation asking her if or when she was
returning to LA. Her own father being at death's door, she simple couldn
’
t. She told him he should take Madeline
with him and go to Australia to see his mother and sister who was also flying
over; she
’
d
see them both upon returning from the windy city.
Julian
packed and left LA with his daughter at the end of February telling Belinda to
join them in Sydney whenever the situation with her father was sorted.
Melissa
and her husband, Charlie, had flown over with the girls, and Julian was
grateful his daughter would not be the only child present while all adults were
preoccupied with Helen. They had hired a governess to take care of the children
while they were trying to decide what the best course of action would be for
the next few months, making appointments with specialists after
specialists.
On
March 3
rd
, 2004, Julian's world exploded. The governess rang him in
a panic telling him Madeline had had an accident while playing; she fell
unconscious, and it seemed her heart had stopped. She had been taken to
the hospital for immediate surgery.
Melissa,
Charlie and Julian rushed to the ER. Upon arriving, the attending told him they
were doing everything they could to save her life, and the next 24 hours would
be critical, as heart surgery on children was highly dangerous. Desperate with
fear, Julian asked if there were anything he could do instead of just pacing in
the waiting room. The doctor replied he should be donating blood in case a
transfusion was need. The three adults donated, and Melissa rang Belinda to
inform her of the tragic news, as Julian had been so out of it, he simply
forgot to call his wife.
Ten
hours later, Madeline was out of surgery but still in the OR until a room was
assigned to her, and the prognosis she would recover was good. The three
parents had exhaled in relief; the waiting room had been suffocating, their
fear palpable in the air. The doctor asked to speak to Julian privately about
something that had come up in the blood tests that had been done. Julian,
mentally exhausted, had replied that whatever he had to say he could say in
front of his sister and brother-in-law. The doctor had cleared his throat and
asked him if Madeline had been adopted.
Bewildered,
Julian had asked twice what the doctor meant, as Madeline was his daughter, and
he couldn't comprehend where this line of questioning was coming from or going.
The doctor had replied to a stunned Julian that his blood type simply could not
have produced Madeline, no matter what Belinda's blood type was.
Julian
had been shattered. He couldn't speak or move and fell on the hospital chair
with tears streaming from his eyes. The doctor excused himself saying he would
come later to give an update about Madeline's condition after she left the
OR.
Melissa
and Charlie did not know what to do to alleviate Julian
’
s pain.
Belinda
would be arriving the next day from Chicago, and they both knew nothing good
would come out this reunion.
((~~!~~))
After 14 days in hospital, the
doctor declared Madeline had a 100 % chance of recovery, and could be released
in the care of her parents with appropriate medical care at home, but she would
not be able to travel for another 8-12 weeks minimum.
They were
stuck in Australia.
Julian
had rung Todd Spencer, one of his best friends, but also his attorney, the very
next day after finding out Madeline was not his biological daughter; he wanted
to assess the legalities of the matter if he decided to divorce Belinda.
He
needed to have all the pertinent information before confronting the bitch.
He
had been cold towards her since her arrival, and when she had asked him why the
sudden change after the warmth he had displayed before her departure for
Chicago, he had stated he had been so scared for his daughter: he simply had no
energy left for anything or anyone else at the moment. She had accepted his
explanation without further questioning.
Now,
they were back at the McCarty estate in Darling Point, their daughter sleeping
in the next room under the care of a professional nurse they had hired on the
day of her release, and Julian had decided he couldn't bear to have his wife
anywhere near him anymore.
He
informed her he was filing for divorce.
((~~!~~))
“
Madeline?
”
Belinda repeated, as she felt her stomach
tighten.
Her
husband
’
s
eyes were blazing and his visage was contorted with a mix of contempt,
challenge and utter sadness. She could tell, he was ready to explode and daring
her to give him a good reason to. Was she going to ask why Maddie was his cause
for wanting a divorce?
She
knew in that instant that the day she had feared the most had arrived. She
didn't know how it had happened, but with the look Julian was giving her, she
was certain he knew the truth.
There
was no point in playing dumb and denying it, so, with trembling lips, she just
said, "When do you want us to leave?"
"I
want you gone today, but I am keeping her." he had replied flatly.
Belinda
stood up from the sofa she had been sitting on and approached him until only
inches separated their eyes. She gently touched the face of her husband, as she
knew this was the last time, genuinely smiled, and said in the coldest
voice he had ever heard from her,
"Over
my dead body."
Only
then, she granted his request, and walked out of the room.
Ethan
March 2004. Darling Harbour. Sydney.
Australia.
“
Where
the fuck do you think you're going?
”
I asked coolly.
I
had been waiting for her in the dark for the past ten minutes.
I
knew she had come home and gone upstairs to get her gateway bag.
I
knew she intended to leave me tonight.
I
knew she was pregnant.
I
simply could not let her go.
((~~!~~))
It's all about winning, isn't it? Who
cared about a little collateral damage?
I
had lost my way a long time ago and she was the first one to point it out.
But what was I supposed to do?
Vic
knew me, sometimes better than I knew myself, and I felt horrible knowing she
was now terrified of me. But again, what was I supposed to do?
When
I asked her to marry me, I truly thought she would be the perfect politician's
wife. She was beautiful, intelligent, multi-lingual, a real cosmopolitan woman,
and a lawyer. I felt truly lucky to be the man she loved. I wanted to show her
off everywhere we went.
One
couldn't have created a more perfect candidate for the role. Every time I
looked at her I felt my heart twinge, and my loins react, I couldn't wait for
her to be officially mine. I simply couldn
’
t take a chance of having any other man
whisk her away from me. She was mine.
We
made a striking couple, her mocha skin and
ambery
green eyes contrasting with my blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin. We were in
love, had amazing sexual chemistry and with my political ambition, I was
certain nothing could stop us on our way to the top.
Now 3
years later, as I was waiting for her to come down, I wondered when it all
had started to crumble.
When
we had become strangers to each other
…
When
I had become the monster I now was....
When
it would all end...
((~~!~~))
I wanted to be the Premier. At all costs.
First,
the state; then, the country.
Nothing
and no one would stand in my way without suffering the consequences.
My
true love wasn't my wife. It was politics and winning.
Well,
at least my priorities were in that order, once...
((~~!~~))
For better or for worse. She had accepted
my proposal and within seven weeks, we were married.
Our
first year of marriage had gone seemingly smoothly, we adjusted to married life
quite easily; we were still madly in love with each other and moved into a
new house. The only wrench was Vic not being able to practice law in Sydney
because no one would hire her. I discovered with stupor that my own country was
anchored in prejudice and my wife was a first-hand victim.
It
made me furious, but she had refused my help every time I had offered it, she
wanted a job on her merits not because of whom she was married to, so I gave
up, and tried to distract her with the best Sydney
’
s social scene had to offer. I made
sure she would receive invitations for all cocktail parties, charities' events,
and any gathering worth going to; she had memberships in all the best
clubs and the likes, so she would keep occupied and not be too
distressed at not finding a job. I was home every day, cherishing her, making
love to her, reassuring her; I still and would always want her, no matter what.
Fuck the job, she didn
’
t
need to work, money would never be an issue for us. I really was afraid, almost
terrified, she would pack her bags and leave me then, if she couldn't practice.
It
didn't happen.
Even
after she found out I had, indeed, made a call to get her hired at a top tier
firm; she didn
’
t
leave me, as I feared she would. She had simply said,
“
You did this for me, not to me. It makes
me love you more. Just don
’
t
do it ever again.
”
She
just resigned, and her practicing in Sydney was never mentioned again.
We
celebrated our first anniversary in Bali. I chose Bali because a few
months back upon offering her a new house as a 6 months wedding anniversary
gift, she had chosen a Balinese theme for our home. She made a couple of trips
to the island to hand select furniture and said she truly felt at peace every
time she was there even if only for a few days. The house was a reflection of
this and the countless hours she had spent decorating it was a testament to her
love of the place. I thought it would be perfect to have a bit of peace before
the year of the election started as I knew upon our return, the craziness
would be overwhelming us, and my marriage would have to take a back
seat, we stayed 8 days being absorbed only by each other. She was still my
everything, and I was hers.
Things
were good between us. Still.
Soon, they
would change...
I
would become Premier in 12 months from now, no matter what. That was my
vow.
Within
3 weeks of being back, I hired Anna Blaton as my campaign manager. She was a
former creative director, and had successfully transitioned into the art of
selling politicians. Her credentials were impressive, and the woman had the
appearance of a model, which didn't hurt one bit.
She
was smart which was a given for her job, but she was also truly ruthless which
made her a kindred spirit for me. When my wife called me
‘
corrupted
’
as I would tell her of my strategies
to crush my opponents, Anna called me 'brilliant
’
.
Anna
understood the game. And before I realized, we were sleeping together.
Ok,
that's a lie.
I knew what I was doing: affairs don't
just happen.
Ask
any man who's cheating on his wife; they'd tell you, there's always a deciding
moment when they make the conscious decision to sleep with someone else. Even
when they are drunk as skunk,
there is this millisecond before one
succumbs...
For
me, it had happened on a late evening August 2002; about six months after
starting to work closely with Anna and five months before Election
Day. I was writing a speech I would be giving at the North Sydney
Club the following weekend, and Anna had asked me if Vic would be present.
I had said no, and maybe the tiredness or irritation at my
wife's refusal to attend any public event in my company, made me add,
"Sometimes, I wonder if I made a mistake marrying her." I regretted
the words the minute they passed my lips,
truthfully
, but it was too
late.
I
knew full well the toll the
campaign had taken on my wife, who
eschewed politics, so really I had no excuses. Yet, I let the words slip,
probably as a justification as to what was about to happen.
Anna
looked at me, said nothing, went around my desk and my chair, and started to
massage my shoulders. I closed my eyes as the tension left my body, and she
finally said softly, "Ethan, maybe you did make a mistake. You need
someone who will support you no matter what, and sadly Vic doesn't understand
the compromises you have to make in the name of the game..."
That's
how it started, a few soothing words, one touch, one kiss after this statement,
and my will faltered. I was having sex with my campaign manager on my oak desk.
I
rationalized by telling myself Vic would never know, and what she didn't know
could not and would not hurt her. I was still hers, not matter what. She still
had my heart and my soul. Who cared if I took care of my carnal needs on the
side? I didn
’
t.
I was a man with needs, and while I still loved my wife very much, our sex life
had gone from 100 to nil lately due to our constant disagreements over the
tactics I chose to use to get ahead of my opponents. Vic was slowly closing
herself to me, and I couldn
’
t
force her to have sex with me when she regarded me with loath in her eyes.
She
is the only woman, no, person, I know whom with one look can pin me down and
make me feel all kinds of shame; a feat, even my mother never managed. It
’
s a tremendous amount of power to have
over someone, and she has it over me. Whether it was my political or personal
choices, she still can with that one look, make my heart constrict in my chest,
and create that lump in my throat
…
When
we would have sex, it was as intense as ever, I
’
ll admit. No other woman has ever been
able to take me where Vic has. There is this fierceness between our bodies,
this silent understanding about our boundaries, or lack thereof, my
never-ending need to please her, so she stays mine
…
but these occurrences were getting rarer
and rarer. Anna was just there to pick up the extra slack.
Of
course, the affair was to remain secret. No one would ever know or be
suspicious; after all, Anna was my campaign manager, it was normal we
would spend so much time together.
But
Anna had other ambitions, and as we had been regularly sleeping together for 4
months, as Election Day was approaching, she told me she wanted more, and asked
me if I would leave my wife anytime soon. I told her this would not happen,
ever, and broke it off with her on the spot. While she didn't resign from her
position,- she said she didn't quit her clients until they were elected -, she
did make a public remark with a bantering tone to a journalist at the last
press conference to the local news outlets before the E-day, which
could lead to a disturbing interpretation if my wife ever heard about it.
Unfortunately,
Vic had caught it and confronted me on the eve of the election.
I
was stressed, pissed off and on edge. The day had been exhausting to say the
least with the last minute rounds of constituents to remind them to vote,
foreign press interviews and other candidate sparring, speech preparation for
the next day's results,
etc
,
etc
,
etc
…
When
I got home that night, I just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep until next
year.
Vic
had other plans: she was waiting for me, a very rare occurrence. She had been
chain smoking as I could see the remands in the kitchen ashtray,
and greeted me home with this: "So tell me E., how long have you
been sleeping with Anna?" when I entered our kitchen to get water from the
fridge.
She
had this smile, almost challenging me to contradict her. I could tell she was
furious.
"I'm
not sleeping with Anna." I replied calmly, already wanting to leave the room
as I could feel my own anger flare up, and did not want to have an argument
with my wife that specific night. I simply did not know if I could keep myself
in check.
Vic
was determined. She pursued, in a dangerously calm voice, "E, don't
lie to me. The woman practically declared to the press she was your de facto
wife! No woman would be stupid enough to make such a declaration, in public no
less, if there weren't some truth in it! So, don't insult me! It's
bad enough you are humiliating me by sleeping with her!"
"I
am NOT sleeping with Anna. This is the last time I'm saying this, so please,
let it go!" I yelled, walking out of the kitchen. This seemed to infuriate
her more. She followed me to our bedroom where I had gone, and was already
beginning to undress...