A Middle Class Existence by Celine Chatillon
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“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it…” Mark 8:35
Hell
H
ave you ever driven past wealthy people’s homes and wondered what’s going on inside? I mean what’s really going on? Not the stupid, puton stuff celebrities do for TV shows that my daughter enjoys watching on MTV. You know what I'm talking about—the how-rich-girls-shopfor-designer-clothes and where your-favoriterock-star-lives type of shows. I mean, do rich people ever scrub toilets or muck out junked-up closets? Do rich people ever spend time on their knees praying their marriage will make it to another anniversary or that they won’t succumb to breast cancer before age fifty like their aunt did? Personally, I don’t think rich people ever worry about cleaning house, but I could be wrong about the praying. I remember the first time I saw Morgan Fahr’s ivy-covered, brick fortress. I’ve seen small hotels of comparable size, and most of them didn’t have an indoor heated pool and a private tennis court. I’m not even sure how many garages it has— about six, I believe. Fahr owns at least two 1
Celine Chatillon Mercedes and a Jaguar that I know of, plus a few poor folk cars like a Chevy pick-up and a Jeep plus a speedboat. I’m off topic here, I know, but haven’t you ever wondered what goes on in rich people’s houses? Don’t be afraid to admit that you do. But let me tell you something I’ve learned the hard way: sometimes ignorance is bliss. With blood pounding in my ears I drove to the Fahr estate that day, the day after Daniel lost his job at Fahr Industries. How dare the bastard! How dare Morgan Fahr yank my husband’s livelihood out from under him without so much as a “how’d you do.” I wanted to spew pure verbal venom at Fahr, to make him taste the bitterness of empty stomach backwash as he came to understand how his keeping the lights burning at his mansion was stealing the very bread from of our children’s mouths. I curled my hands into tight fists and pounded on the great front door, grinding the smooth oaken boards into pulp with my fury. A minute later a walking skeleton appeared in a sliver of doorway. It smelled of medicine and alcohol and death. “What do you want?” a small voice said. I swallowed hard. My breath came in short, shallow gasps and my heart thundered in my ears. I cleared my throat once, then twice. 2
A Middle Class Existence “What do you want?” the voice said again. There was a tiredness, a sorrow in its even tone. I determined it was a woman’s voice—an older woman’s voice—but whether her pain had to do with my pounding on the door or some other reason I couldn’t say. “I-I’m looking for Mr. Fahr,” I managed at last. “So are a lot of other people.” She opened the door a bit. “But he isn’t here this weekend. This is his annual golfing holiday with the board of directors.” Now that I could see her face, I realized who this frail figure of a woman was. She was Madeline Fahr—Morgan Fahr’s wife. Why on earth didn’t she let the butler or maid or whoever kept up their castle answer the door for her? Her ratted hair hung limply against her pale cheeks; her casual clothing was mussed, her eyes glazed over in a drug-induced haze. She seemed a ghost materialized. Maybe she was sick? Her face had shrunk from a normal fullness to almost a line and each hair on her head seemed to have been touched by frost. She looked nothing at all like her photos in the society column of the paper. The poor thing reminded me of dear Aunt Imogene, moldering in the dank ground now with only the worms for company… How fitting an end for a farmer’s wife. I shook my head and dispelled the happily 3
Celine Chatillon gruesome image. The bag of bones in front of me should have been resting in bed with a cup of chamomile tea. “Can I help you?” She raised a silvery eyebrow. “Help?” The word echoed over and over in my ears. I wanted to run, hide, but my feet felt trapped in ankle-deep in wet cement. “I’m not sure you can.” “Try me.” Just then her skeletal body convulsed in a hideous spasm of coughing. Her tall frame bent practically in two. Her bony arms hugged her sides. I took a step forward without thinking. “Are you all right?” She nodded weakly as the wracking coughs subsided. “Yes. I just need to rest now. Sorry.” She turned around and let the heavy door shut silently behind her. It wasn’t a deliberate snub I realized. The woman was genuinely ill—seriously ill. Why hadn’t I heard rumors that small-town philanthropist Madeline Fahr was on her deathbed? And why did the fact of Fahr’s wife’s imminent demise only heighten my desire to see Morgan Fahr crawl on his knees to me, begging me to leave him be at any price? On the drive home I started formulating my plan. On that drive home I put any fear of God I had to rest and began a slow descent into hell. 4
A Middle Class Existence
Plan
T
errorists have the right idea. I’m serious. What perfect crimes they pull off— no fingerprints, no blood on your shoes, no body to dispose of… Just ram an airplane or a truck into a building and poof! There goes your enemy in a big ball of flame in a matter of seconds. If I had had one ounce of sense I would have sent off for a build-your-own bomb kit. I’m sure I could have found one online somewhere at the college library. I should have blown Morgan Fahr sky high to Kingdom Come rather than letting it come to what it did in the end. But I didn’t. Don’t ask me why. And don’t worry if you don’t follow me at this point. You’ll soon see what I mean. **** Arlene McNeal knows all about being a prostitute. She worked as a hooker for years—in between 5
Celine Chatillon marriages and other jobs. I never held her past against her. In fact, now I wanted to know all about what she knew, and I wasn’t afraid to ask. We go a long ways back, Arlene and me. I worked with her at the Golden Doughnut Coffee Shop starting when I was seventeen and she was between husbands four and five. At the time she was hooking on the side, quiet like, for a few “regulars” as she called them, but most of her income came from managing the second shift at the restaurant. “I’m getting up in years,” she’d say, inhaling deeply on a lipstick-stained cigarette while I munched on stale doughnuts during one of our breaks. “I can’t sell my wares forever, and I know it. But I can’t make a decent livin working as a glorified waitress, either.” She’d take another long drag and sigh. “Sure wished I’d gone to college or trade school. You do right by yourself, Riki. You save up and go to college or get some training and land you a decent paying job and a good husband. Not a bum like any of the jerks I’ve shackled myself to over the years.” “I will, Arlene,” I told her, nodding solemnly. “I promise.” “Good girl,” she’d say, stubbing out her cigarette with a wink. “But don’t forget that all work and no play ain’t much fun, either.” 6
A Middle Class Existence Arlene now worked as the third shift manager at Denny’s and slept days, but I knew she’d be awake now watching her soaps in the late afternoon. After I dropped Ben off at ball practice and transported Ellie to her dance lessons, I’d have a couple of hours to pump her for information. “Riki, my sweet child, how are you?” Her crooked smile beamed genuine affection as I opened her storm door and let myself into her home. She inhabited a two-bedroom bungalow in a quiet section of town, a bit run-down and in need of some white paint on its clapboards, but all in all not a bad place for a fifty-seven year old prostitute to wind up in life. “I’m doing okay, Arlene. You heard about the plants lay-offs, didn’t you?” She nodded grimly and lit another cigarette, motioning for me to sit on the couch beside her. The intense smell of smoke that permeated her home brought back my craving for cancer sticks that I hadn’t touched since I was pregnant with Ellie. Today I needed the release of the nicotine, to taste the carefree memories of wild, days gone by they held. She interrupted my thoughts. “Is Daniel taking things okay? He’s not hitting the bottle, is he?” “Daniel?” I shook my head at the ridiculous thought. “No, no, you know he’s a good Baptist 7
Celine Chatillon boy and never touches the stuff. I came to ask you a few questions for myself…” My voice faded as I mumbled, “I want to start a little ‘private enterprise’ to help make ends meet until Daniel’s gainfully employed again.” Arlene hit the mute button on her TV remote to shut out the blaring commercials. “I thought you told me Daniel was helping out his cousin with deliveries.” “He is—this week, at least. We never know from week to week if Sean’s got enough work for him. But it doesn’t pay much. It’s Sean way of helping keep Daniel sane while he searches for another manufacturing job.” “Is it enough to keep food on the table?” I rolled my eyes. “I could stand to lose a few pounds.” She flicked her cigarette ashes into a glass ashtray stolen from a cheap hotel across town and grimaced. “You of all people don’t need to be losing weight. You ain’t got half the spare tire I have. And your babies can’t afford to go hungry, either. Now, what kind of ‘enterprise’ were you thinking of starting?” So she had heard me. And by the knowing look in her dark, crowfeet framed eyes I could tell she knew exactly what I was going to say next. “I want to be a prostitute.” Arlene slowly inhaled then expelled the smoke 8
A Middle Class Existence from her thin lips before answering. “No, you don’t want to get into that business, sweetheart. You’re far too young and pretty and smart. Ain’t you finished college yet?” “I have a year to go. I was going to attend summer term again when the kids were attending sports camp at the Y, but we can’t afford it. Plus, I’d have to have some money saved up for clothes and baby-sitting when I do my student teaching. We’re draining our savings now just to keep the lights on.” “Can’t you get a loan—one of those college loans? The government don’t charge you an arm and a leg interest if you get a loan for school. That’s what one of those job counselors at the unemployment office was always telling me. He kept thinking I had the brains and the where-withall to go to college and get me a real job skill.” She crinkled her nose and a sly grin played across her mouth. “But I showed him where my real talents lie.” I gasped. I wasn’t really surprised, but I did enjoy the look on Arlene’s face when she thought I was. “You didn’t—did you?” “I did!” Arlene cackled, crushing out her cigarette. “Hell, how else do you think I landed the job at Denny’s? I got me a GED, but Mr. Unemployment Counselor with a kinky women’s shoe fetish swore to the owners that I done some 9
Celine Chatillon business college work when I filled out the job application. God bless ’im and his little black heels.” Laughter filled the air thicker than her cigarette smoke. “You definitely know how to go after what you want,” I said, sighing as our mirth subsided. “I want to get something, too.” She grabbed her Marlboros and her lighter and extracted another cigarette. “What’s that, Sweetheart?” “Revenge. I want Morgan Fahr to know what it’s like to wonder where your next meal is coming from…to know what it is not to be on top of the world twenty-four seven. I need to see him… to see him…” Arlene lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply. That wise, all-knowing look had come back into her eyes again. I knew I could trust her. “I know what you need, darlin’.” She exhaled her words as slowly and deliberately as her smoke, her thin lips curling into a sneer. “It’s what all those bastards deserve. You need to see him suffer. I can help.” And she did. Arlene knew exactly who to call and what questions to ask. Within a week I knew exactly where Morgan Fahr liked to hangout after a long day of destroying people’s lives around the office. Better yet, I learned that the prick indeed had a history of screwing around on the side. The 10
A Middle Class Existence fish would snap at the bait even quicker than I thought imaginable. My blackmail plan had a very good chance of succeeding. **** Now, I know you can’t imagine yourself ever performing the impersonal, immoral acts involved in my struggle for us to continue our ordinary, middle class existence. Most decent folks would never consider doing such things. I don’t even know why I did what I did myself. And if I have trouble explaining it to myself, how can I ever hope to gain anyone else’s sympathy? For the lack of a better way, I’ll start closer to the beginning. **** Daniel had just received a promotion. “Call the plumbers. We can fix the non-existent water pressure in our shower,” my husband said, greeting me with a quick peck on the cheek while I prepared supper. “We’ll replace that sieve of a back screen door, too.” “You rob a bank?” I put down the chopping knife and returned his kiss. Daniel is a prince among all the men with whom I have had the misfortune to cross paths with, but it wasn’t like 11
Celine Chatillon him to be so optimistic about our financial situation. We weren’t on Food Stamps yet, but sometimes it seemed like we were only just scraping by. Still, we had obtained some semblance of a middle class life. We were buying a three bedroom, two bathroom home in a respectable area of town. We owned two cars, one a late model SUV that all the families on our block drove. And our children took dance and softball lessons and dressed as nice as their classmates. It was a far better childhood than either Daniel or I had experienced growing up. And we both desperately wanted it to stay that way. “I’m a full-fledged line manager,” Daniel continued. “Old Man Fahr gave me a raise and everything. I start my new position on Monday.” “That’s terrific, Honey.” I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, slowly and suggestively this time. His fiveo’clock shadow at six-fifteen tickled my lips; the scent of his sweat and fading aftershave awakened a familiar aching in my groin. I gave his backside a brief pat after I made sure the kids weren’t watching from the other room. He blushed like he did when I first met him before pulling away. Daniel isn’t really into public displays of affections. I decided not to press him on this point 12
A Middle Class Existence on such an important day. “I’m so proud of you.” I smiled and carried the chopping board to the sink. “Maybe we can take that honeymoon to the Caribbean we were always planning to take after the kids were old enough to stay at your cousin’s?” He scratched the top of his head and grimaced slightly. In spite of the slight crow’s feet developing beside his eyes and the thinning hair up top, his facial expressions give him an almost boyish air at times. “Well, maybe. But let’s not plan on taking a long trip until next year. I still don’t have that many vacation days accrued after Ben’s hospital stay, remember?” I nodded. Did I mention that our eight-year-old son has severe allergies to insects? Two years ago he was stung by a bee while playing soccer and his throat swelled shut. He was rushed to the emergency room, and it was very touch and go there for a while. Daniel stayed by Ben’s side for a week. He’s a terrific father. Ben is all right now. We have to watch him closely, especially when he’s outside in the spring and summer months, but other than that he can do pretty much what other boys his age can do. “I’m still proud of you,” I repeated, pulling my reluctant lover back into my arms and kissing him on the lips. “Ugh. You two get a room.” 13
Celine Chatillon “Ellie!” We jumped apart as if hit with a cattle prod as our oldest child entered the kitchen. “Wherever did you hear that phrase?” I asked. She shrugged slowly. At twelve years of age she acted as if a heavy weight rested on her thin shoulders at times. “Nowhere. Television, probably.” “Or you picked it up from that foul-mouthed girl down the block.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed. His occasional need to preach a sermon was coming over him. “You don’t hang out around her anymore, do you, El?” “Ashton? Nah, she’s a bore. I haven’t seen her in ages.” “Uh huh.” I snorted. Mothers aren’t so easily taken in by daughters as fathers are. “I find that hard to believe. You two ride the same school bus.” Ellie shrugged again, flipping her curly ashblonde locks away from her heart-shaped face. “She sits in the back with the gang members. I stay up front where it’s safe.” “Good for you.” Daniel turned to the pot on the stove and sniffed at its contents. “Hmm. Beef stew. My favorite. Perfect for a celebration.” “Is it somebody’s birthday?” Ellie asked. “No, Daddy got a raise,” Daniel informed her. He took some plates and cups from the cabinet and began setting the table. 14
A Middle Class Existence Her eyes brightened. “Can I get some contact lenses now? Please, pretty please? I promise—” “Only when you act responsible enough not to lose them,” I interrupted. “You barely wear your glasses now and you left them in your desk at school only last weekend and didn’t even tell us until—” “Yeah, yeah, I know. Gripe, gripe, gripe. You could win the lottery and I still wouldn’t have contacts. Even Ashton wears contacts. All the kids do.” Daniel set down a glass. “I thought you said you didn’t hang around that no-good girl anymore?” “I don’t, Daddy. Everyone knows she wears contacts. They make her eyes bright purple and…” “When are we eating?” Ben yelled from the back door. “I’m starving.” I checked the rolls in the oven. “Just a few more minutes, Baby. Come on in and wash your hands. You haven’t been playing near any ant hills or anything, have you?” “Nope” He stomped through the battered back door and shuffled pass me to the hall leading to the bathroom. “I’m careful. I’m always careful, Mom.” He was. His brush with death had made him cautious, almost wise beyond his years. Both our 15
Celine Chatillon children seem to be very old souls, almost the complete opposite of Daniel and myself who seemed to be in our second—and possibly only— childhoods. Growing up poor in dysfunctional families, only now that we were both settled with a home and children of our own did either one of us feel we could relax a little and enjoy life. And our similar histories only made what was soon to come that more distressing and painful. I won’t go into anymore details about Daniel’s promotion here. Suffice it to say, we fixed the plumbing, got Ellie some contact lenses and began to think about saving for a belated honeymoon. But within the year Morgan Fahr’s best laid plans had landed his factory in deep financial shit. Cut backs had to be made, he said, and what he really meant he was going to let go his better paid employees and make the poor line workers take up the slack with no overtime. Daniel and his fellow line managers felt the ax slowly one by one. It was like Chinese Water Torture or something. Morgan Fahr must have received some kind of sick thrill out of watching his employees sweat, hoping and praying that they’d be able to put supper on the table just one more week, just one more day... Finally, it was Daniel’s turn. “I really hate to let you go,” Fahr told Daniel 16
A Middle Class Existence that afternoon in his office. Daniel described the scene to me in vivid detail—which is quite unusual for him. He told me how the devil himself couldn’t have uttered that cliché any cooler, any smoother, or with any less unfelt sympathy. “I’d be willing to stay on as a line worker,” Daniel had begged, “until things get better.” Fahr casually shook his head, his eyes never quite meeting Daniel’s. “Nah, I don’t want to plant any false hopes in you or the others, Daniel. It’s best if I let y’all go. You’re eligible for unemployment benefits and the county employment agency tells me that there’s manufacturing jobs opening up over in Springfield. You’re a good worker. You’ll do all right.” And that was that. It felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest when I heard the news. Daniel didn’t need to tell me what happened in so many words. I knew. I knew it the moment I saw his eyes as his approached the back door that day an hour earlier than usual. I knew then that things would never be the same again for us—or between us. I guess I should be grateful to Daniel’s cousin, Sean, since the odd jobs he tossed to Daniel gave him a reason for getting up in the morning other than to check out the meager job listings at the local unemployment office. But I’ll admit it—I 17
Celine Chatillon don’t like seeing Daniel driving a delivery van around town. It’s beneath him. Daniel wore a tie when he was line manager like most of the other husbands on our street. He isn’t some dirt-poor farmer or crack-showing tradesman in a paint-splattered uniform. He started at Fahr Industries at age nineteen—right before we married—and climbed his way up from working on the line until he knew how the plant worked inside and out better than anyone. Too bad he didn’t know about the plant’s money troubles before it was too late. “Sean’s got some long haul deliveries he’s interested in me doing for him,” Daniel announced over a meager dinner of store-brand macaroni and cheese a month later. “I said I was game. It pays better and it’ll give me some experience driving a big rig.” “You fixin’ to drive a semi?” Ben’s eyes widened with anticipation. “Cool. Can I come along on the trip?” Daniel laughed and tousled his cowlick. “Not this time ‘round, son, but maybe when you’re a little older and out of school.” I shot Daniel a please-don’t-encourage-the-boy-look then headed for the sink. “Come on kids. Help me clear the table.” “Daddy’s a truck driver now?” Ellie whispered, following me into the kitchen. “I don’t think any 18
A Middle Class Existence of my friends’ fathers drive trucks other than regular-sized ones to haul their water skis up to the lake.” “You’re probably right.” I tried hard to appear calmer than I felt. I turned away from her probing look and opened the dishwasher. She handed me her plate for scrapping “With daddy working as a truck driver, will I still be able to take ballet lessons?” I put down the dish and held her close, kissing the top of her head. She smelled like sunshine and floral shampoo. She was growing up into a beautiful young lady. She deserved to have the best things in life… the things I never had a chance to enjoy at her age. “Yes, baby girl. Don’t you worry. Mommy and Daddy will take care of everything.” I released her. “Now, go tell your brother and father to bring their plates in here.” My reassurances seemed to satisfy her, but they didn’t satisfy me. From that moment on I was more resolved than ever now to bring my plan to fruition. Morgan Fahr would finance my children’s hopes and dreams. Morgan Fahr would pay for robbing Daniel of his identity as our breadwinner. There is no simpler explanation for why I plotted Fahr’s downfall than this: Daniel’s identity as my savior and my hope for a brighter future for 19
Celine Chatillon us and our children had been snatched away from him by a man who thought of his workers the same way a rancher thinks of livestock. We were like sheep lead to the slaughter, our fresh, red blood splattering against the slaughterhouse walls like some obscene abstract painting. We were expected to act dumb and let the bullet blow our brains out without whimper or protest. But Morgan Fahr never foresaw the likes of me. This sheep wasn’t about to close her eyes and let the cold metal of the killing gun rest against her forehead, feeling the hot liquid gush of blood dripping down her cheeks, invading her lips while the salty life force drained away... This sheep had teeth and nails and claws— “Richelle, don’t go promising the kids things that they can’t have.” Daniel entered the kitchen and interrupted my morbid reflection. “Unless you’ve landed a paying job that can pay on some of our bills, there ain’t going be anymore ballet or sport lessons for a while.” I was tired of his nagging me to stop being a room mother at the school or a Girl Scout volunteer. Just because he had lost his job didn’t mean the children and I had lost our circle of friends and our interests. “I’ve been looking for work. I told you so already,” I mumbled. “Okay. As long as you understand. Have you 20
A Middle Class Existence been checking just the want ads or have you tried going online at the employment office?” I turned away from him and started scrubbing the pots. “Just the want ads so far.” “Well, keep looking. I know you hate the idea of working in a restaurant again, but it might be your only option.” With that, he left me alone for the rest of the evening. It was becoming our typical pattern. The further away from each other we kept, the easier it was for us to get along. That night as I lay awake in bed I thought hard about my plan and what all I had learned from Arlene. I’d start tomorrow night. I’d wear red— Uncle Louie had always liked me in red. He sure couldn’t keep his hands off me when I wore red… I guess that’s why I seldom wear it nowadays. I left my aunt and uncle’s home at sixteen. I moved to town with an older girlfriend from high school to get away from all that groping and grabbing and prodding and under-the-coverexploring… I had been only a little older than Ellie when it began happening. I couldn’t believe that the two people who had swore to my parents’ on their death beds that they’d take care of me wouldn’t keep their promise. My aunt seemed to turn a blind eye to it all. I guess she was just glad her husband wasn’t out fucking hookers like Morgan Fahr. 21
Celine Chatillon I never told anyone about what my uncle did to me because I knew no one would ever believe me. To everyone I was just a kid—a cute little kid who didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. And even by the time I turned fifteen, when everyone in my class looked full-grown with breasts and hips and all, I still looked like I was ten. That’s the curse of having red hair and a round-shaped face and standing only five foot two. I knew I was a woman—I certainly knew more about sex on a firsthand basis than most fifteen year olds—but nobody would believe me. So I kept my mouth shut and ran away from my aunt and uncle’s farm as soon as I was able to and got a job at the doughnut shop working beside Arlene. I had always wanted to be a teacher, but now I found myself a high school drop out who could barely pay her half of the rent. It was Daniel—squeaky clean, fresh-faced Daniel—who had spotted me slaving in the restaurant and asked me out on a date and later asked me to marry him. My Prince Charming in grease-stained overalls, but a prince all the same. It was a miracle I could have never dreamed in a thousand years: Daniel didn’t seem to mind that even by age seventeen I had slept with my fair share of men and boys. He never asked me about my past—my sexual history as it were. The long, sordid story of losing my virginity to a relative…. 22
A Middle Class Existence The horrors of waking up after an all night drunk, not knowing what I had done with the halfdressed yahoo lying beside me and gladly helping myself to a tip from his wallet before I got the hell out of his place before he woke up. A two hundred dollar tip to be exact. I figured if Arlene could make money sleeping with jerks so could I. Not one of my shining moments I’ll admit. And so my savior took me away from the squalor of minimum wage plus tips existence, helped me get my G.E.D., encouraged me to keep studying at the community college and allowed me to start a family and build the life I’d always wanted. The life I’d sell my soul to keep.
23
Celine Chatillon
Job
“M
y name is Riki. Riki Parker.” My full name is actually Richelle Alexandra Parker Aldridge, but my friends call me Riki. Daniel has never called me Riki for some reason. Daniel himself has never gone by any other name or nickname such as Dan or Danny. I don’t know why. It isn’t like his family was any more high society or blue-blooded than mine. You could say we both came from trailer trash families. Maybe that’s why Daniel insists on such formalities. He wants to better himself—both of us really. He wants our children to be proud of us and what we’ve been able to accomplish. I don’t know. As for me, “Riki” just fits my personality. So whenever we’re together in public it’s “Richelle and Daniel” never “Ricki and Dan”. And because of this inconsistency I knew I could get away with what I was going to say next to the man who had just asked me my name in the early evening shadows of that smoke-filled bar. 24
A Middle Class Existence “My name is Riki. Riki Parker.” I flashed him a smile through my whore-red lips, batting my ten foot long false eyelashes as I stubbed out my cigarette. “Ricky?” Morgan Fahr replied, clearly puzzled. “Sort of a masculine name for a pretty little girl like you, isn’t it?” I swallowed hard and willed my hands to stop shaking. It was hard to take a deep breath in a room filled with the smells of smoke and whisky and cheap aftershave and sweat. And the two rum and Cokes I’d consumed and the several cigarettes I’d smoked in the hour I’d been waiting for him weren’t helping, either. To make matters worse, Fahr didn’t act like your typical john. He didn’t act the way Arlene said he would. He was different. Dangerous somehow. “I was named after Ricky Ricardo on I Love Lucy.” I laughed—a false, hollow titter that wouldn’t fool anyone that I wasn’t deathly afraid. But, somehow, it fooled him. He chuckled. “Not Lucy?” He put down his bourbon and water and reached out to finger a curly tendril of my auburn hair. “What’s a cute little red-head like you do hanging around a place like this?” I prayed my seductive grin looked real. “Looking for a good time with a handsome man like you, of course.” 25
Celine Chatillon He appeared to buy into my lie as he took another sip of his drink, raking his eyes up and down my frame. I wondered—why on earth would a man of Morgan Fahr’s means hang out in a dive off the interstate like Pete’s Pump House? Why not pick up bored socialites at the nineteenth hole at the Country Club? But sure enough, Arlene’s friend in the business was right. The man was here. A moment later I had my answer. “You from around here?” he asked, putting his empty glass on the bar. “Not originally.” It wasn’t a lie. I had grown up for the most part in the county over. It was obvious he didn’t recall ever shaking my hand at the yearly company picnic. And why would he? I wasn’t all that important in the scheme of things, and, sitting in a dimly lit bar without my kids in tow and ten feet of cosmetics plastered on my face, not even my next door neighbor would have recognized me. He raised an eyebrow and nodded at my left hand. “You married?” I twisted the empty space on my left ring finger with my right hand. The groove my wedding band made after fifteen years was deep and noticeable. “Formerly.” That seemed to please him. I guess he didn’t feel so guilty picking up divorcees. 26
A Middle Class Existence “My name is Stanley.” He slowly turned on his stool to bring his face closer to mine. He lowered his voice. “I’m passing through town on business, and I’m a bit lonely. Would you like to come back to my hotel room for a drink and some pleasant… conversation?” Conversation? Maybe he got off on dirty talk and not so much on the actual sex? This thing might just work out after all… I was wired for sound with a small tape recorder in my jacket pocket. I had purchased it to help me take notes in class, but now I was going to use it tape Fahr propositioning me and then blackmail him into giving back my Daniel his job and never to threaten him with a lay-off again. Or maybe I’d get a big lump of cash out of the rich bastard— enough money to buy a Jaguar or two of our own. Somehow, it never occurred to me that the blackmail thing might not work with Morgan Fahr. “Just conversation, Stanley?” What a lame fake name! I fluttered my eyelashes once more for effect and grinned coyly as I reached for my smokes. “You strike me as a man of action, you do.” He leaned closer to me and pushed the cigarette pack away. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, see the dark shadows beneath his moist, steel-gray eyes and imagine the coarseness of his silvered 27
Celine Chatillon stubble against my cheek. For an instant, he was Uncle Louie coming closer to me… touching me…pleasuring me… making feel that way, the way Daniel seldom made me feel in bed… I pushed the memory aside. “Well, now, it could be more than just conversation, little lady.” I don’t know what came over me, but before I knew it I’d blurted out, “And your wife? She don’t mind?” “My wife?” Fahr looked down at his left hand. His wedding band groove was twice as deep as my own. “Nah, she won’t mind. She’s dead already.” A shadow passed over his features. “She died a long time ago.” The sincere catch in his voice scared me. A cold chill raced down my spine and lump formed in my throat. He looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Maybe Madeline Fahr hadn’t been able to be much of a wife in recent times to him due to illness. I had to admit that she wasn’t exactly the picture of health when I met her at their door. My head began to spin. What was I doing to this man? No matter how horrible a businessman he was did he deserve to be put through such grief? But he was a man after all and like Arlene had said, “A man has certain needs. It’s up to you to take advantage of them.” “I’m real sorry to hear about your wife,” I said, 28
A Middle Class Existence placing a hand on top of his resting on the bar counter. “I suspect you’re rather lonesome.” He expelled a pent-up sigh and placed his other wide hand on top of mine. “Lonesome hardly does justice to how I feel at times.” I slowly moistened my red lips with my tongue. I’m not sure what came over me at the moment, but I felt the sudden urge to kiss Morgan Fahr so hard that it’d steal his breath away—and then hold him in my arms and rock him gently back and forth like I did my boy Ben whenever he’d suffered a setback. It’s sick idea, I know, but at that moment I yearned to be both a whore and a mother to a man who was at least twenty years my senior. And it was then I realized my plans for revenge had changed—dramatically. “Let’s go back to your room and talk about how you don’t need to feel lonesome no more, Stanley.” I stood and nodded toward the exit. “You staying at EZ-Sleep next door?” He mutely shook his head yes. His jaw practically scraped the counter at my sudden acquiescence. As I hobbled to the door on my too-high heels I congratulated myself on how the whole thing was working out better than I’d planned. I didn’t have to search the want-ads anymore. I’d found me a steady job. 29
Celine Chatillon **** “You want the money up front or later?” My finger resting on the off button of the tape recorder hesitated. I had recorded our dialogue up to this point and this was certainly a damning statement. But if I was going to nix the plan to blackmail Morgan Fahr all at once then I might as well and save the batteries, right? Something inside my head got the better of me. I left the tape recorder going and slowly removed my short black leather jacket instead, gently hanging it on the back of the spindly chair by the bed. Might as well record at least forty-five minutes of our “conversation” in case I changed my mind later. That recorder had a good little microphone—I knew it would be able to pick up a few interesting noises once our bodies hit the mattress and rocked those squeaky springs some. “It don’t make me no never-mind. I’m easy.” I sniggered at the pun. “Nah, you can give me the cash now so I don’t forget.” Fahr walked away from the doorway, pulled his billfold from his back pocket and threw the bills on the middle of the bed. “I believe that’s the going rate.” My mouth watered at the sight of all that grocery money. “That’s fine.” I sat down on the edge of the bed then slowly leaned over to retrieve 30
A Middle Class Existence it, purposefully displaying my cleavage in my red spandex short top to its best advantage. His gaze and then his body followed. “What is a nice girl like you doing in a racket like this?” He sat beside me as I straightened up and tucked the wad into my back jeans pocket. “Making a living like everyone else, I guess.” I crossed my legs to remove a spike-heeled sandal. “Everybody got to eat. Everybody got to breathe. Everybody got to fuck now and then, too.” A dark cloud traversed his features, but the storm quickly passed. He leaned back on the bed and folded his arms beneath his head, watching me unzip my pants with unadulterated lust. “You shouldn’t use such crude terms. You’re much too young and pretty to be talking like a sailor. You remind me of somebody… somebody I met once. Now, who could it be?” I shimmied out of my jeans then carefully folded and placed them by my jacket. Could he have remembered me from a company picnic? Or maybe those few times I actually came by the factory in the middle of the day to talk to Daniel about the kids? Did I have enough guts to bluff my way out of this situation if he did place my face and name together? I turned around, facing him, and took a deep breath, filling out my black, lacy B-cup as much as possible as I peeled off my top. “Your Sunday 31
Celine Chatillon school teacher perhaps?” His gaze dropped below my chin. It worked. I wouldn’t have to worry about him studying my face too much. The man was going to explode if he didn’t get off soon. He chuckled. “More like the little red-headed girl I snuck out of Sunday School with to makeout behind her father’s barn. Come on over here.” I laid down next to him on the bed. Beneath his lackadaisical exterior I could sense he felt as nervous as I did. “You ever done this kind of thing before?” he asked point blank, raising up on one elbow to look down at me with those penetrating eyes of his. I was going to lie big-time, but I knew it wouldn’t come out right. Besides, I figured the sweet little innocent girl routine was the turn-on for him. I rolled to my side and began unbuttoning his shirt for him. “Not much. But I like sex.” He let me remove his shirt and expose his chest hairs. Some were white and silver, but most were still black. For a man in his fifties, his body was in superb condition. His biceps and pecs were round and firm and his abs as flat as a pancake. No beerbelly for the rich and infamous, I guess. My fingers began to dance between the hairs and I lowered my lips to lick at his nipples. He moaned. “Oh, God.” He closed his eyes and laid back to 32
A Middle Class Existence allow me to continue my ministrations. “You sure you’re old enough to be doing this kind of thing?” “In every state except Utah,” I joked. I knew my red hair, round face and short height made lots of people think I was at least ten years younger than my thirty-three years. I relaxed and let myself go with the flow at that point. Morgan Fahr would never link my face up with Daniel’s since Daniel’s serious nature always made him appear ten years older than his thirty-four. My hands eagerly massaged Fahr’s shoulders as my gaze traveled southward to his beltline and the bulge straining at his zipper. Fahr’s body was definitely in way better shape than many thirty year olds. My mind wandered as I plied his body with kisses and elegant twirls of my tongue. His smooth flesh tasted alternately clean and spicy. My nostril flared. What kind of cologne was he wearing? Something very expensive and exotic, no doubt. Whatever it was, I liked it. I could tell my pussy was sopping wet by this time and my nipples ached for his touch. Was it the fact that Morgan Fahr was a handsome man who possessed such great wealth and power in our one-horse town that turned me on so, or the fact that Daniel and I hadn’t really made love in such a long time? Or was the real turn-on the fact that I was the one in control here... I had absolute power over my enemy and he was begging me to 33
Celine Chatillon release him… to stop torturing him with my eager tongue and my expert hands? I pulled back as if scorched. I felt the color drain from my face. Fahr’s eyes popped open and broadcast a look of concern. “You okay, darlin’?” Darlin’? No one other than Arlene had used that term of endearment with me since I was little… Since before my daddy and mama were killed by a freak twister that toppled our barn with them in it while I was hunkered down safe in the storm shelter five miles away at school. Tears pooled in the corner of my eyes. I sniffed and wiped them away. “I’m just fine. And so are you—a fine specimen of manhood if there ever was one, Stanley.” I reached for his zipper, but he stopped me and cradled my hands in his. “You don’t have to do this, Riki. You go and put your clothes back on. And don’t worry—you can keep the money.” “But I… I…” The words simply wouldn’t come. I don’t know what got into me at that moment, but I bent down and tenderly kissed Morgan Fahr on the forehead. He sat up and looked at me long and hard. “What was that for, darlin’?” “You feeling so lonesome for a woman, yet caring how I felt. You’re a real gentleman.” 34
A Middle Class Existence He shook his head. “Yeah, but if I were really a gentleman I wouldn’t have brought you back to a motel room to screw your brains out.” “But even gentlemen have certain needs that have to be met from time to time…” I licked my suddenly dry lips, my gaze falling on his strong mouth and firm chin. “I know I do.” I placed an arm around his neck and pulled his face close to mine. Before either of us knew what was happening our lips met and our bodies locked together in a passionate thirst for intimacy. My black lace bra and panties melted away as his nimble fingers and rough tongue stroked and tasted every inch of my skin. When we came up for air I helped him out of his boots and jeans then retrieved the condoms from my pants pocket. If it hadn’t been for Arlene’s repeated insistence I wouldn’t have brought any—since my original plan had simply ended with recording his propositioning me on tape. But now things were different. I knew at that moment I would have let Morgan Fahr fuck me without protection and without a thought to the consequences. I was hungry for a man’s touch, to feel a man inside me, filling me, completing me. And I wasn’t disappointed. His cock was large and hard and insistent. From the first thrust onward I felt engulfed in the most dizzying of sensations. 35
Celine Chatillon “Am I hurting you, darlin’?” he panted. “No. Fuck me as hard as you want, Stanley.” “I told you not to say those kinds of words.” “Yes, you did. I’m a very naughty girl. Teach me a lesson.” He held nothing back—and neither did I—as he pumped into me ever harder and faster. Arching my back, I practically wrapped my legs around his shoulders and felt his long cock plunge up to the hilt into my quivering pussy. Good grief! He was drilling me into the flimsy mattress with such force that it slid off its cheap box springs. I gasped for air and clawed the sheets at the crash of the rough landing and cried for him to stop, but he wouldn’t… he couldn’t. Lust-crazed, he replied to my cries for mercy by ramming himself even further inside me. The build-up to our mutual climax was exquisite torture. Lying half-way upside down, the blood rushed to my head like a burning river of desire. I felt his rod pulse as his last thrusts came faster and faster, moaning loudly as the tension he had created could no longer be maintained. Whether it was his need for release that I held within my pussy’s powerful grasp or my own need that finally sent me over the edge, I’ll never know. All I remember is screaming his name repeatedly, thrashing about the mattress without a 36
A Middle Class Existence care to who could hear us. I had never climaxed like that before—so intensely and for what seemed an eternity. I swear it was that good. It was that hot blooded. It truly was the most incredible sex I’d ever experienced in my life. And I didn’t feel one ounce of guilt for unashamedly cheating on my husband—and with the bastard who had fired him for that matter. “You got a ride home, darlin’?” he asked a few minutes later as he stood to retrieve his clothing. I lay still for a moment and breathed deeply, my body tingling from the thrill of his touch and the conquest of my fears. “Yeah, I’m parked over at Pete’s.” He pulled on his jeans then began to button his shirt. “I’ll walk you back over. A gal can be none too cautious on this side of town after dark.” I pulled myself up to my elbows, my damp legs still spread wide across the twisted sheets, and smiled. “Ever the gentleman, Stanley. I like you.” A flush tickled his cheeks. He averted his eyes momentarily and then stared long and hard at me. I felt a chill of excitement race up my spine as the thought that he’d rip off his clothes in an instant and have me again filled me with joyous anticipation. He swallowed and took a step closer to the bed. “You don’t have any more business tonight, do 37
Celine Chatillon you?” he asked. I knew it. He was hooked. He was mine. From now on, he’d do anything I asked him to… “No, you’re all the business I’ll ever need, Stanley,” I purred. I stood and slowly approached him. Like a wild deer caught in the headlights of a semi he stood motionless, eyes transfixed on my face. I wrapped my arms about his neck and stood on tip-toe to kiss him. He kissed me back, briefly crushing my curves to his before letting go. “I just wish that we…we could…” I paused and sighed deeply for affect. “We could what?” “We could have gone on doing what we were doing forever.” His eyes narrowed as he observed my reaction. “You really enjoyed yourself?” I shook my head an enthusiastic yes. “You weren’t just faking it to get my repeat business?” The poor man had been with too many prostitutes. He didn’t seem to trust his own sexual technique anymore. What a shame. “Stanley, I ain’t lying. You were fantastic.” His attempts to appear cool and unaffected didn’t quite conceal his growing enthusiasm. “Are you saying you want me to be one of your regulars?” From what Arlene had told me Morgan Fahr hadn’t been seen with any one working girl more 38
A Middle Class Existence than a couple of times. And since Pete’s was close to a big truck stop, there were quite a few transient hookers that worked the area that Fahr could have picked up as well from time to time. But a married man of his position had to be discrete, and possibly he was growing tired of going from woman to woman to woman. He wanted to become one of my “regulars” and, if I wasn’t too far off target, an exclusive regular. “I don’t want to do it with nobody else but you from now on,” I said huskily, careful not to use the graphic language that seemed to unsettle him. “I could make love with you night and day and die a happy woman.” “Make love?” He pulled me back into his arms and tenderly squeezed by ass. “Not just go at it like a couple of animals?” “No, make love. You’re a master at lovemaking, Stanley. Didn’t you know that?” He lowered his lips to mine and affirmed my beliefs. The man was desperate for relationship with a woman that didn’t entirely revolve around sex. “Darlin’, you don’t know how happy I am to hear that,” he whispered against my mussed up hair, breathless. “Good. I don’t want you to be lonesome no more. I’m more than enough woman to take care of you.” 39
Celine Chatillon He gave a throaty chuckle and gazed down at me with admiration. “You certainly are. You look just like my little niece straight out of college, but you definitely know your way around the bedroom.” I rewarded him with another deep kiss. My instincts about him being attracted to young, unsullied girls was dead on target. I wouldn’t bother wearing spike heels and red lipstick anymore. “So, when can I see you again?” he asked. “I don’t think I can go that long without seeing you again.” Lord above, he was mine to use as I pleased. I bit my lip. I hadn’t thought this new line of attack through very well. It was hard enough explaining my absence on a school night to the kids, and I already owed my neighbor Becky some babysitting in return for the favor. I flashed a naughty schoolgirl grin at him. “Could we meet in the daytime?” “I suppose we could…” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I usually take a long lunch from about noon to two on weekdays.” “That would be perfect. Where do you want to meet?” I deliberately put the ball in his court. I knew he wouldn’t want to risk his work car being seen at Pete’s in the middle of the day. He’d driven one 40
A Middle Class Existence of his slouch cars tonight, I was certain of it, since I hadn’t seen a Jaguar or a Benz in the lot. But my in my wildest dreams I never could have imagined the scenario he painted for me next. He grabbed a cheap pen and pad of paper from the table and motioned for me to get dressed. I obediently complied, curious at his furious scribbling. “Here’s the address and directions,” he said handing me the slip of paper as I slipped on my jacket and finger-combed my unruly hair. “It’s a new gated retirement community just south of town. A couple of business partners and I are building townhouses there overlooking a small lake and golf course we have planned, but there’s no one out there now except construction workers working further on down the road and maybe the occasional real estate agent. The first house to your right through the gates is a finished model home complete with furniture. We’d have it all to ourselves.” “Except if someone wants to take a tour of it?” “Well, yes, that’s true. But usually they call first and make an appointment before they drive all the way out there. In fact…” He took my hands and pulled me into his arms again. “I was thinking of advertising for a part-time booking agent and demonstrator. You think you’re up for the job?” I quirked a saucy eyebrow. “I’m more than up 41
Celine Chatillon for it, but does it pay as well as the job I have now?” “Even better,” he said, chuckling, squeezing my ass again. “I promise you, you won’t want for nothing. Plus, it’ll all be square with the government. You’ll be on my payroll. And no one will be able to say a thing about your job description since you’ll report directly to me.” I giggled. “Wonderful. And I start tomorrow?” “Tomorrow at noon. I’ll me you there with a key, but I’ll get you your own and a garage door opener, too. No use letting our cars get too hot sitting out in the mid-afternoon sunshine, is there?” He thought of everything—a good cover story and a way to leave no clues as to what he was really up to... I hated to admit it, but he was probably the most handsome, intelligent and calculating bastard I’d ever met. I honestly admired his cleverness. “You’re so right. There’s no use in letting our cars bake in the sun.” I gave him a long kiss goodnight to remember me by. “Stanley, I know I’ll enjoy working under you.”
42
A Middle Class Existence
Talent
“Y
our flower bed is really something, Mrs. Moore. I just love the colors. Are those zinnias mixed in with the geraniums?” I always complimented our next-door neighbor whenever I drove up and spied her gardening in her front yard. Call it preventative neighboring. Alva Moore is a silver-haired, spindly-legged seventy-seven year old busybody with a thing for making our landscaping look like a tornado had done the brunt of it. I figured if I was nice to her someday she’d put some of her green thumb skills to good use on our side of the fence. Spade in hand, Mrs. Moore strutted toward our yard as I pulled groceries sacks out of the back of the SUV. She flashed her glaring white dentures like a used car salesman smiling to make a sale. “Why thank you, Richelle. Yes, I’ve decided to do a little mix and matching with my planter flowers.” She wrinkled her beaky nose, closely observing my somewhat tousled appearance. “Just 43
Celine Chatillon got back from the gym I take it?” I absentmindedly finger-combed my hair and quickly smoothed my blouse. My flushed face and dewy skin were a dead giveaway to anybody with half a sex life, which obviously Alva and her neardead husband didn’t possess. “No, I’m just in a hurry. I had to swing by the store after work to pick up some chocolate chips and other ingredients for Ellie’s Girl Scout troop. They’re making cookies for their monthly nursing home visit this Friday.” “How nice. Your two children are such angels compared to a few hooligans on this block I could mention.” She pointed a skinny finger toward the Appelbaum’s house on the corner. I concurred with a solemn nod. “Your boy playing ball this summer?” I smiled. “Yes, he is. First base.” “That’s great. Sure glad to hear his allergies aren’t bothering him none.” “So are we.” I hoisted a bag and slammed the car door with my hip. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get these chocolate chips inside before they melt. Take care, Mrs. Moore.” “You, too, Richelle. And tell that good-looking husband not to work too hard.” “Don’t worry I will.” My grin held out until I got into the house where I tossed both it and the food on the kitchen 44
A Middle Class Existence counter. Keeping up the perfect home in the suburbs and keeping up with the nosey neighbors were exhausting by themselves, but I had the added tasks of supervising the kids, finishing my college degree, earning money and extracting revenge from that bastard Fahr… If anyone worked too hard in this household it was me. I put the perishables in the fridge, grabbed a diet Coke and hit the shower. The kids would both be home in about twenty minutes. With practiced efficiency I was in and out of the bath, into cooler clothes and chopping vegetables for supper within fifteen. “Mom? How come you don’t come to watch my softball games no more?” Ben’s deep blue eyes were big and moist as he deposited his mitt and bat by the back door. It was easy enough to lie to Daniel—we hardly spoke more than three words to each other at a time these days—but I found it tough lying to my children about my new occupation. “I’ve explained it all to you and your sister before, Ben.” I turned away from his probing gaze and focused on the food preparation. “Mama’s got a job now. It’s what paying for your softball league fees and Ellie’s dance classes and putting gas in the SUV to take y’all to your activities this summer.” “But you work all the time.” He took off his 45
Celine Chatillon cap and ran a hand through his sweat-darkened brown hair, slumping as he laid his sun-freckled cheek against the coolness of the kitchen counter. “Eric’s mom only works three days a week in the mornings. How come you have to go whenever your phone-thingy goes off? How come you have to work on Saturdays and Sundays, too?” I kissed him on the forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby, that I’ve missed some of your games. Don’t worry—I’ll be there for your next game no matter what.” “But we lost today… I needed you there today to cheer for me. I struck out twice and threw the ball to the wrong base once. And no one cheered for me.” My heart could have snapped in two when I saw the tears trace a silent path down his round cheeks. How I hated myself at that moment for acting like a defective parent! Didn’t I suffer long enough for not having any parents? My children deserved better. “How ‘bout I make it up to you? We’ll go out and get some ice cream for dessert tonight, okay?” He immediately sat up. “Can I have a Peanut Buster Parfait and a chocolate milk shake?” Thank heaven Ben showed no signs of food allergies. He’d have a stomachache tomorrow for sure, but I couldn’t deny him his happiness. “You sure can. Now, go do your chores and wash your 46
A Middle Class Existence hands before we eat.” “Okay, Mom.” He raced off to his room, smiling in anticipation of our visit to the local Dairy Queen. I sighed. It was easy to make things all right with kids. You just gave them a little of what they really wanted every now and then and they’d be yours forever. Too bad my aunt and uncle had never followed such simple advice. But Ben was right. After three months, the “part-time job” had become more like a full-time job. Townhouse construction was in full swing now and more and more people dared to venture out of town to tour the model homes. There were now four different models for consumers to consider. For me it meant I enjoyed four times as much work—four times as much money— And four different beds to fuck Morgan Fahr in. But what with all the damn real estate agents and potential buyers everywhere, it was a wonder we ever got a chance to do the deed some weeks. Still, my hold on him was as strong as the first time we met at my place of employment. He was my more-than-willing slave, eager to please me both physically and financially in return for my undivided attention in two hour intervals. I’d never encountered a job before where I dictated my own terms and in return my desires were met, a job where the employee yielded absolute power 47
Celine Chatillon over her supposed employer… I remember butterflies fluttering in my stomach on that first drive through the forest of skeleton houses, their long shadows casting straight lines across open fields in the noonday sun. I had misread Fahr’s directions and entered the subdivision through the north construction entrance instead of the south, but eventually I wound my way along the unpaved road to the main gate area and the lone finished house complete with too-green-to-be-true installed turf and instant trees and shrubbery. Mayfield Country Estates a tall sign in the front yard announced. Financed by Robert E. Wilson-Todd J. Calloway-S. Morgan Fahr Properties. S. Morgan Fahr? I had never heard Morgan Fahr’s full name before. Maybe Stanley was really his first name, the name he liked to be called. Sort of like Riki was the name I liked to be called but, for some reason, nobody we lived with ever used our preferred nicknames. The garage door slowly opened. Fahr stood next to his Benz parked inside. I pulled the SUV in beside his car and allowed the garage door to fully close before stepping out. His look of surprise at the late model, soccer-mom type of vehicle I traveled in wasn’t lost on me, but his momentary astonishment faded into a leer of pure lust as he took in my ensemble. 48
A Middle Class Existence I wore a short, white cotton mini-skirt with a rose-colored, peasant-style floral blouse. Beige ballet-flats completed the outfit. I wore my curly hair loose with one small clip in the shape of a daisy pulling it off my face. The only make-up I wore was light pink lipstick and a little blue mascara. How funny, I thought. The last time I’d worn the skirt and blouse together was Easter Sunday when we visited Daniel’s cousin’s church in Tulsa. But it seemed to do the trick. “Very nice,” he said, motioning me to enter. “You look very professional. I’m glad you’re not in jeans and too much make-up. Folks looking to buy a home will believe anything from such an honest, sweet face.” “You think they’ll be looking at my face?” I batted my eyelashes and wiggled my hips, sauntering past him into house. “Don’t I have nice legs?” He swallowed. “Yes, you do.” His eyes drifted from my cleavage downward. “You’ve got the complete package. That’s why I know you’ll do fine.” It was simple townhouse, not huge by any means, furnished with all the latest in luxury amenities and appliances. Fahr’s eyes never left my backside as he gave me the grand tour. He particular lingered in the master bath, acting like 49
Celine Chatillon kid as he demonstrated the built-in jet-spa tub and over-sized, glass-walled shower. The master bedroom itself contained a flat screen TV on the wall across from the foot of the world’s largest king-sized, canopy bed. “What do you think?” He grabbed one of the canopy poles and swung around like Tarzan swinging from a tree. “I wasn’t sure if this queer decorator from Dallas was all he was cracked up to be or not.” “It’s beautiful,” I replied honestly. “It needs some more pictures on the wall, but I really like the cabbage roses on the quilt and how they’re picked up by the wallpaper border. And these gauzy swags—” I ran over to the French doors and wrapped myself up in the silky window treatments— “are simply divine. You did okay.” “So, you feel like you wouldn’t have any trouble selling this place?” I unwound myself from the curtains and laughed. “No problem. It’ll practically sell itself. As long as a person has the money, who wouldn’t want one?” He nodded then leveled a serious gaze at me. “I’ll let you have this one after I’m done selling the rest of them.” I gave him an odd look. “I’m too young to live in a retirement community.” “But I’m not. I was expecting to move out here 50
A Middle Class Existence in a couple of years once the place was near completed. There’s no reason you couldn’t live out here with me.” Live with him? No, this farce had gone on long enough. I couldn’t lead him on anymore… I had to call his bluff before he called mine. “What about your wife?” I said point blank. “I’m assuming you’re the letter S in S. Morgan Fahr out front. Everyone knows that Madeline Fahr is one of the biggest philanthropists in the county. Her name is on that gigantic bronze plaque at the new performing arts center at the junior college.” “You attend the junior college?” “Uh, y-yes,” I stammered. I hadn’t meant to give out any specific details about myself. “I mean I did attend. I graduated a year or so back. But you didn’t answer my question about Mrs. Fahr.” He threw up his hands and wearily sat down on the edge of the bed. “Where do you want me to start? Do you want me to say that I married her almost thirty years ago for her daddy’s money, or that I’ve been faithful to her except these past four years after she received her diagnosis and gave me her blessing to seek sexual gratification from other women?” The pain evident in his voice got to me again. I had to be careful. I might come to care for this miserable shell of a man if I allowed myself to. I 51
Celine Chatillon rushed over to him and knelt at his side. “Is she terminal?” He nodded. “The doctors gave her two to three years. She’s already beat those odds by about two years. It’s only a matter of time now.” I took his hands in mine and gently kissed them. He smelled of expensive aftershave and power. I allowed him to caress my hair like a plush lap dog. “And she really does want me to be happy,” he continued. “But she doesn’t want it broadcast around town that I have to find physical comfort elsewhere. She’d rather people didn’t pity her, but remember her for the good she did in the community. That’s why she wanted to help the junior college build their new theatre. It’s her idea of leaving her mark in the world.” “There, there,” I soothed, rising to sit beside him. “You don’t have to explain any more. I understand.” “Thank you. You really are a caring individual, Riki.” He kissed my cheek. “And you’re very intelligent—I could sense that the moment I met you. You still in school?” “Yes, I attend when I can afford it,” I confessed. “I have other bills to pay at the moment and no money to pay someone to watch my kids when they’re not in school.” His body immediately stiffened. 52
A Middle Class Existence Shit! I had gone too far mentioning Ben and Ellie and knew it the moment the words had slipped from my lips... Well, so be it. He’d have to know why I wouldn’t be able to live with him in the future, my age notwithstanding. Children simply weren’t allowed in retirement communities. I ‘d pulled the rug out from under my own plan I thought at that moment. Thank heaven I had the cassette tape from the motel. Forty-five minutes of the most incredible sexual sound effects ever recorded. Screaming and thumping and moaning and sighing… Whenever I played it in my car’s tape machine I found myself growing horny all over again. It was pure dynamite. But I soon discovered I was wrong about mentioning the kids. Being fertile only made Morgan Fahr want me more. “You sell yourself to strangers in order to take care of your children?” I nodded. “In tough times a mother will do whatever it takes to provide for her babies.” His gaze took on a distant air. “I wouldn’t know.” I snorted and crossed my arms. Arrogant asshole. “Yeah, of course you wouldn’t know what it’s like to struggle, ‘cause you’ve never had to worry where your next meal was coming from.” “No, no, you’ve got me all wrong,” he 53
Celine Chatillon protested. He tried to take my hand, but I resisted. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. What I meant was Madeline couldn’t have a baby, never wanted to adopt or go the artificial route, and I’ve always wanted a house full of kids.” At this point, he grabbed me by the shoulders and looked deep into my eyes for what seemed a full sixty seconds. A shiver zinged down my spine. I sat, frozen, an ice statue in Fahr’s grasp unwilling to melt for any price. “Riki, you’re still young enough to have children.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of fact. His meaning was obvious. Morgan Fahr longed for an heir to pass the family business on to some day. If I played my cards right, Fahr Industries would someday be mine. You filthy whore! a voice echoed from the past. Riki, with your talent you’ll go far, echoed another. I willed the demons of the past away and mentally pinched myself. I had to remind myself how I was only screwing Fahr to avenge Daniel— Daniel the man I truly loved. The man I had promised to protect and to cherish all the days of my life… A true and decent man who would be heartbroken if he knew how far I had fallen into Satan’s lair. I stood and marched through door straight into 54
A Middle Class Existence to the living area. “Stanley, you know we shouldn’t be talking like this. You have a wife, sick or not, and I have children to bring up. It wouldn’t do for any of our loved ones to find out we were fooling around behind their backs. Maybe I should just go back to freelancing at Pete’s.” “Riki, I…” He rushed toward me and jerked me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I was moving too fast. I won’t mention it again. Please forgive me.” I didn’t look at him for several long moments. I wanted to make him sweat. “All right,” I said at last with just a hint of a smile. “Just don’t go there. This is strictly a job, and I promise to do the best I can. Nothing more. Okay?” “Okay.” His hands traveled from the small of my back until they cupped my buttocks and pressed me close. I could easily feel his hard-on through the combined thickness of his slacks and my skirt. He pressed his fleshy lips against mine and thrust his tongue inside, eager to taste me, savor me, eat me whole. The musky scents of our rising sex and my spice-shaded cologne mingled together into an overpowering aroma of passion. A moan escaped both my throat and his simultaneously, harmonizing in a primitive ballad of lust. Relaxing, I allowed his libido to run wild. I was totally in control of the situation. He was more 55
Celine Chatillon than willing to forget about his plans for a rosy retirement and an heir and get down to the business at hand—sex, and plenty of it. I wouldn’t disappoint. We did it on the king-sized bed, of course, but even I hadn’t thought about the pleasures of soaking in a big tub while straddling a hard and demanding cock or sucking one dry while enjoying the silken cascade of the shower on our skin. Daniel isn’t much into making love any place other than the bedroom and, even then, he only likes doing it rather conventionally. But one thing you could say about Morgan Fahr—he sure had a hell of an imagination. Actually the first place we did it that afternoon was on the dining room table. From near the bedroom he lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his back. Gently he laid me across on the table, feeling me up good under my school-girl short skirt before pulling down my panties and pushing up my blouse. How appropriate—having me for lunch since it was the noon hour. “You like my matching pink undies and bra?” I teased him. I remembered how thrilled I felt earlier that day as I retrieved my rarely worn lacy lingerie out of my dresser drawer to give them a public airing. I felt more alive and sexier than as any of those anorexic Victoria Secret models. No longer prim and proper Richelle the Soccer Mom 56
A Middle Class Existence from the suburbs, it was my time to shine. Fahr’s eyes widen at the sight of my curves incased in frilly nothings. They only seemed to turn him on more. “I like your panties… a lot. Bad little girl you are to show them to teacher.” “Then you’ll have to give me a right good licking, won’t you.” He made a joke about eating the first meal in one the model homes and then proceeded to give my pussy his nimble tongue’s total attention. All too soon I bucked and shuddered like a bronco in the chute, my cries of ecstasy echoing again and again off the high ceiling and bare walls. Like I said Fahr was very imaginative. After that he picked me up, a rag doll to be carried over to a big overstuffed chair and matching footstool which he bent me over to fuck me from behind. It was tricky, but I did finally manage to get him to wear a condom. I kept telling him it wasn’t just to prevent pregnancy, it was to protect him from disease. For some reason, he wouldn’t believe a sweet thing like me would harbor any sexually transmitted disease. But at this point in my plan I sure as hell wasn’t going to chance getting one from him. Our two hour assignation lasted almost four before I realized I needed to head home. I scraped myself off the mattress, dressed, and helped him tidy the place some, spraying it liberally with 57
Celine Chatillon pine-scented air freshener. On the drive home I could barely sit without wincing, and for a week afterward my bottom half felt downright sore from all the fucking we did. My throat felt scratchy and my ears rung, too, from all the hollering we’d both done as we climaxed repeatedly. “Too bad I didn’t bring along the tape recorder,” I scolded myself, pulling the SUV into the garage later that day. “We could have recorded a CD’s worth of sexual gymnastics and sold millions.” Speaking of recordings, I have to admit that the motel tape remained in my glove compartment for almost a whole week before I removed it. I did so love to listen to it from time to time when I was alone. Not quite the latest audio self-help bestseller, it was inspirational nonetheless. But finally my common sense got the better of me. What if the kids found it? What if Daniel found it and listened to it? He may not call me Riki, but he knew other people did, and he might just recognize my vocalizing, too. I made myself take the tape to Arlene’s place for safekeeping. “What’s this?” she asked as I waved the cassette in front of her nose. “Something I need you to keep for me.” I entered the house and headed straight to the kitchen, opened a cabinet and started searching. 58
A Middle Class Existence “You got an old recipe box or similar container I can put it in?” “Yeah, I do.” Arlene put her cigarette on the counter’s edge by her coffee cup and took down a large cookie jar from the top shelf. Shaped like a famous cartoon pig, it somehow reminded me of Uncle Louie. She removed its head and gutted it of contents. “Bon appetite, Mr. Porky.” I dropped the tape inside. Arlene put the lid back on and placed it back in the cabinet. “I sure hope he never opens that big mouth of his.” She turned and looked askance at me. “What’s on the tape?” “A little insurance in case I fail to collect any more dirt on Morgan Fahr.” “I see.” She picked up her cigarette off the counter edge and took a long drag. “Ain’t ya got enough to get your revenge now?” I shrugged. “Possibly. But I think he’s got a lot more juice in him, and I aim to squeeze him for all he’s worth.” Her dark brows knitted together in concern. “Riki, remember what I told you about becoming too involved with a john? It can be a dangerous thing to—” I cut her off, chuckling. “Oh, Arlene. I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m not that stupid. I’m not involved with him.” 59
Celine Chatillon I spun around and headed out, pausing in the front room. “I’m working for the bastard—legit. My job description just happens to be a bit flexible, you could say.” Her expression remained serious. “Uh-huh. I don’t like the sound of it. Sweetie, you be careful. You stop now before it ruins your life—or your babies’.” “Thanks for caring, Arlene.” I kissed her cheek. Her skin felt dry and cool. Her circulation must be poor. For some reason, it had never occurred to me that Arlene would ever get sick or grow older. To me she’d always be the aunt I should have had—compassionate, understanding and willing to help me out when I needed it most. “I can’t help caring,” she said, swallowing hard. I realized then that I’d never seen Arlene cry before… The image she projected was always as a solid and strong as a brick house—and built like one, too, when she was younger, she had joked. “Don’t worry. I always take charge like you told me. I know that we’re the ones in control, not them.” But Arlene’s crooked grin and distant look told me she remembered a time when things weren’t always so. “Yeah, but don’t forget sometimes it ain’t true. We’re not always in control. Sometimes it turns out to be the other way ‘round.” 60
A Middle Class Existence “No, I don’t think so. Fahr needs me. He doesn’t have another outlet for his… tensions. He trusts me to be discrete. It’s going to work out for a while. A long while if I’m lucky.” I reached for her pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and withdrew one, holding it steady while she lit it for me. The nicotine felt good as I inhaled deeply, adding to the rush of excitement I experienced thinking about the next time Fahr and I were going to get it on. I exhaled, smiling through the dreamy fog of smoke. “It’s going to work. I know it will. Daniel and I are going to pay off our debts and keep our home. We’re going to have all the things we need and then some. We’ll never suffer want again. I know I can do it.” I snubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and walked toward the door. “Have faith in my talent, Arlene. My Uncle Louie certainly did.”
61
Celine Chatillon
Dependence
T
he phone ringing interrupted my recollections of my first week on the job. By sheer coincidence it was Arlene. “Riki, honey? You okay? We haven’t talked in quite a while.” I tossed the vegetables into the roaster on top of the meat, sprinkled on some pepper, shoved it into the oven and set the timer. Daniel had called from the road and left an answering machine message saying he’d be home soon. I wandered into the living room with the cordless phone and began to straighten up. “I’m fine. Just been real busy. How’s it going for you?” “I’m hangin’ in there, but I’m about ready to quit Denny’s. Damn general manager just gets up my nose. And what’s worse is he’s gay. No way I’m going to get him on my side, if you know what I mean. The dang pervert.” I chuckled at the thought of her trying every 62
A Middle Class Existence trick in the book to seduce her boss. “Same ol’ Arlene. You’ll figure some way to get him seeing things your way. I’m sure.” “Yeah, but it won’t have anything to do with sex—unless he fancies my golden retriever!” At that we both burst into peals of laughter. I realized that if there was one thing a survivor like Arlene possessed above all else it was a sense of humor. Some days mine was difficult to locate, but I couldn’t complain. I couldn’t locate my sense of decency, either. “You still working for Morgan Fahr?” she asked as our laughter subsided. I rescued Ellie’s CDs from the recliner and plopped down to put my feet up. “More like working on him. He’s paid my tuition so I can take the rest of my classes.” “You’re kidding.” The amazement was clearly evident in her voice. “He done wrote a check for the full amount? Are you sure? Did you see it?” “He made it out to the school, and I’ve already submitted it along with my course schedule.” “Damn, you’re one smooth operator, girlfriend.” She paused thoughtfully then asked, “Does Daniel know?” “Not yet. Tonight I’m going to tell him I applied for a scholarship last spring and it finally came through. Now all I’ve got to do is do some juggling with my work schedule, my class 63
Celine Chatillon schedule and the kids’ schedules and we’ll be fine.” “Work schedule? I thought you told me all the condos were going to be finished before then.” “Well, they should be…” I didn’t know what else to say at this point. Arlene had been such a good friend helping me get the goods on Morgan Fahr so I could blackmail him. And she hadn’t questioned my sanity after I decided to alter my plan and take the bastard for all he was worth before threatening to deliver the damning evidence of his infidelities to the hungry piranhas of the small-town media. I had recorded several other very vocal sessions by now. I even secretly photographed Fahr’s car parked in the garage of one of the model homes and snapped a shot of him snoring peacefully in the buff while holding onto one of my lacy panties after one particularly eventful afternoon. Arlene had agreed to hold onto the growing stack of blackmail fodder for me so Daniel and the children would be none the wiser. Still, she never tried to second-guess my actions and for that she deserved to be told the truth. “We’re still behind on a lot of bills and Daniel’s junker desperately needs replacing.” I lowered my volume in case the kids came rushing into the room. “I’ve decided to extend my working relationship with Mr. Fahr a while longer.” 64
A Middle Class Existence “I’m sorry to hear that, but remember what I told you early on? ‘The deeper you step into shit, the harder it is to shake it off your boots.’” Arlene’s colorful metaphors always ran straight to the point. I felt a tremor of fear race down my spine but chose to ignore it. Images of me, Daniel and the kids driving the streets of our subdivision in an expensive, shiny new car and traveling on that long-awaited Caribbean cruise swirled about in my head. We would have what we always wanted… We’d be the envy of the neighborhood... We would have our revenge. “Did I tell you?” I was prematurely congratulating myself on a job well done. “Daniel’s interested in buying his own truck and going into the delivery business for himself. He’d wear a tie again and order others around like he did when he was a line manager. So why should I quit what I’m doing? I’m making good money, and I don’t even have to fuck the creep some days. It’s a win-win situation all-around.” “All right, Honey. I understand.” Arlene sounded tired, her voice strained. Something wasn’t quite right with her, but I couldn’t put a finger on it. All I could think of at that moment was the money, the power, and the control I exerted over Morgan Fahr. All was right with the world as far as I was concerned. 65
Celine Chatillon “If you feel you can handle it, I won’t say anything more,” she continued. “It’s not that I didn’t run a profitable little side business of my own during several of my marriages. Of course, those were the marriages that ended with the most fireworks.” The lump that suddenly materialized in my throat made it hard to swallow. The sound of Daniel crashing through the kitchen door brought me back to reality. “I’ve gotta check on dinner now, Arlene. I’ll call you back this weekend. Bye.” “Damn! Who left all these aluminum cans out here?” I jumped out of the chair and ran to greet my husband. “Sorry, Baby,” I soothed. “Ellie’s troop is making money for their camp trip by recycling. I was going to load the cans into my car tomorrow and drop them off on my way to—” “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Daniel plopped into his chair at the table and gave me a half who-cares and half why-me look. “Dinner ready?” “Near ‘bouts.” I turned up the oven to speed things along and then grabbed the pitcher of ice tea from the fridge and poured him a tall glass. “You have a good day?” He took a long sip of tea, allowing the cold liquid to dribble down his beard-stubbled chin before pushing his cap off his forehead with a 66
A Middle Class Existence dirty forearm. He smelled of dust and sweat and diesel fumes. It was if the semi had eaten my sweet Daniel whole and spit out a grimy trucker version of him. And I hated it. “If you call driving six hundred miles round trip in less than twelve hours a good day then I suppose I did.” “You wanna take a shower while I get the last bit of dinner ready?” I suggested. “Nah, I’m too tired. I’ll just lay down and take a nap. Wake me when it’s on the table, will ya?” “Okay, Honey.” He rose stiffly from his chair and shuffled down the hall toward the bedroom. I knew for a fact that it would be next to impossible to wake him until tomorrow morning if he fell into a deep sleep now. The kids would experience another day without glimpsing their daddy conscious. And for sure Daniel would be in a rush in the morning to get back on the road, and there’d go our chance for any sex—any intimacy—again. Our marriage had become nothing but a convenience for the both of us. I knew if we didn’t take the steps to prevent drifting apart even farther now we’d both live to regret it. I checked on our dinner. The oven timer said the roast had another forty minutes to go. Maybe if I acted quickly and Daniel had a little energy we could…? I tiptoed into our bedroom, shut the door 67
Celine Chatillon and lay down beside him. “You awake?” “Almost,” he mumbled. “It’s nice when you snuggle up next to me.” “I like to snuggle, too,” I replied, wrapping my arms around him. I was lying. I wanted more from my husband than just snuggling. I enjoyed having my brains royally screwed out on occasion, and it didn’t necessarily have to be Morgan Fahr’s big cock doing the screwing. I began to gently ply my husband’s neck with kisses. After a few moments he took the hint and rolled over. But the instant he placed his lips on mine he flinched then pulled away and grimaced. “Ugh. You’ve been smoking, Richelle.” Shit! I’d forgotten to brush my teeth before he came home. “No, I haven’t. It’s second-hand smoke. I visited Arlene today,” I lied. Of course I’d been smoking. I started smoking regularly that night I met Fahr at Pete’s Pump House. The night he’d fucked me hard and fast and stole my breath away… And whenever I needed a little pick-me-up and no cock was nearby to satisfy my longing I snuck a cigarette. A pale comparison, but equally addictive. “No, you’ve been smoking. The stench is on your lips as well as in your hair. I realize you’re under a lot of strain and old habits can spring to 68
A Middle Class Existence life when you’re under stress, but you’re not smoking in the car with the kids, are you?” “You know I’d never do that—” “Good,” he said, cutting me short with that sometimes superior tone of his. “‘Cause you know how bad it is for Ben’s lungs in particular. We don’t need him to develop asthma on top of his allergies.” I chewed my lip, but kept my voice steady. I didn’t want to start an argument. “Don’t worry. Ben is fine. Ellie is fine.” “And stay away from that Arlene. I know she’s been kind to you like the mother you never had, but she’s got a reputation that our neighbors wouldn’t exactly approve of.” His comment from out of the blue caught me off guard and immediately put me on the defensive. I pulled myself up to my elbows and stared at him. “Says who?” “Says everyone at Sean’s. Said everyone at Fahr Industries. Funny, for a person always trying to appear perfect in front of complete strangers, you don’t notice folks talking about you behind your back. They think it’s odd you’d even think to associate with an old, has-been hooker.” Daniel rolled away from me and yawned. “Wake me when dinner’s on the table. I promise we’ll snuggle later tonight after you’ve washed your hair and brushed your teeth… And be sure 69
Celine Chatillon to pitch the cigarettes. I don’t want Ellie to see you with them and think they’re cool just because her mother smokes.” Stung by my husband’s rejection of my advances and Arlene, my closest friend, I rose and walked Zombie-like toward the kitchen. It seemed like Daniel didn’t care about me— about any of us—anymore. I wondered: Did he really care? Or maybe he was acting like he was because he cared more about his own need for sleep than our collective happiness? Maybe this selfish side of Daniel I’d rarely glimpsed before the layoff and now dealt with on a daily basis was the real Daniel. Maybe his condescending thoughts about Arlene revealed his true character, his actual personality. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. It hurt. It hurt to think my own husband considered me a pariah, yet my lovers would have never pushed me away over one small infraction of the rules… You have talent, Riki. You’ll go far... Now, don’t tell your aunt what we’ve been up to, y’hear? You don’t have to do this, Riki… But you definitely know your way around the bedroom. I turned to the cupboard and mechanically started setting out the plates. A part of me wanted to rush back down the hall and hold and rock Daniel until he fell fast asleep and tell him things were going to be all right, things would work out 70
A Middle Class Existence fine just as soon as my plan had met its ultimate goal. We were all going to be fine… Filthy rich and all right. But there was another part of me—a cold, angry part—that wanted to scream and pitch things at Daniel and tell him to grow up and act like a man. To put aside his childish dislikes and treat me like the woman I was—the woman I am. To fuck me and lick me and hold me and kiss me and squeeze me and need me like I needed him. And I needed him. I needed a man. I tossed the silverware on the table in disgust. I hated myself at that moment. Why did I need anyone? I was the one in control here I realized. I could start and stop events at will. My husband certainly didn’t possess that power. I mean, you didn’t see Morgan Fahr sleep walk through life simply because his wife couldn’t have sex anymore. No, the bastard grabbed life by the horns and held on and looked elsewhere to satisfy his needs. Why should I be any different? Fahr was role model of independence. He didn’t depend on anyone else. Well, except me, of course. I sure as hell didn’t depend on him.
71
Celine Chatillon
Decision
B
y late August they were hardly any lots left to sell. The main drag through Mayfield Country Estates was littered with “just sold!” signs and most of the cul-de-sacs had been improved upon as well. Since the kids had returned to school I didn’t need to make up lies for how long I’d be gone to show the model homes in the daytime. My time was my own. Daniel traveled the roads for longer and longer periods now. He was making pretty good money as a trucker. Not as much as he was before when he could wear a tie to work, but it wasn’t too bad. We were climbing out of debt, and I began taking night classes. I was actually starting to relax some—to really enjoy the situation I’d finagled myself into, to really think we’d make it after all. I should have known then something would turn sour between me and my employer. “Riki, darlin’,” Fahr drawled, after a rather robust session of sex at our so-called home base, 72
A Middle Class Existence the very first model home’s master bedroom. “We’ve had some offers on this unit. Some good, solid offers.” I rolled over to my side and let my fingers languidly waltz across his chest and stomach. I was only half listening to him as usual. It was his body I enjoyed— not his conversation. “Really?” “And we’ve about sign the contract on two of the other models. Bob told me the other day he wanted the last one we built for himself.” He caught hold of my hand and squeezed it hard. “Darlin’, I can’t hold off any longer. I need to know. If you want this place, I’ve gotta make a bid on it and a damned good one, too.” A shiver tingled down my spine. Why had I been blind to all the clues? Our partnership was drawing to an end. I’d have to get the tapes and photos together and figure out the most effective way to present them in order to milk Fahr for maximum benefit. I shouldn’t have felt so out of sorts, but I did. Things essentially were proceeding as planned, I realized, but one element seemed to be missing. I glanced over at Fahr and caught my reflection in the dresser mirror. Who was that sultry woman with the tousled hair and dreamy eyes staring back at me? That woman who worked hard to get everything she ever wanted and then some? Suddenly a crazy idea got a hold of me and 73
Celine Chatillon wouldn’t let go. I could do this—I could play this card and win yet another hand. I shook free of Fahr’s grip and sat up, cradling by bare legs in my arms. I sniffed loudly. “You want to dump me. Is that it?” His steel-gray eyes widened and his jaw dropped. I had him. “No, no, that’s not it at all. I just need to know if I should make an offer on this model.” He rubbed his forehead, considering his options. “That’s fine if you don’t want the place. I can let it go. It’s not like I’d be able to move into it myself anytime soon.” The hairs on the back of my neck instantly stood on end. My eyes narrowed as I faced him. “What’d you mean? I thought you said your wife had taken a turn for the worse.” “She has, she has,” he insisted, reaching out to hold me, “but I can’t chance upsetting her side of the family by buying a townhouse until the estate is settled. Her family members are the ones with the real money. They’re the ones with the real power over whether I’ll end up a prosperous business owner and real estate tycoon—or not.” I leaned away from him and mulled over what he just said. Then I realized I’d been blinding myself to this very fact for some time now. I should have known Fahr was only a lowly junior 74
A Middle Class Existence partner in all his business activities. A few weeks into our relationship he had offhandedly mentioned that Robert Wilson was his brother-in-law and Todd Calloway his wife’s family’s lawyer. Coincidence I had thought at the time, but the more I observed Fahr up close and naked, as it were, the more I could tell he wasn’t any more brilliant than the next guy. Daniel possessed more brains than Fahr did on a lot of topics—like how to shop for bargains and how to avoid being in anyone’s debt. It was just too bad for me Daniel didn’t possess Fahr’s imagination and daring when it came to bedroom gymnastics. But then I realize there’s no such thing as the perfect man. I’d done fairly well in life to find two males who almost added up to one. How many women could claim that kind of success? “Riki, darlin’?” Fahr’s tone sounded urgent, desperate. I so enjoyed watching him sweat while waiting for my answer. I sat up straighter and refused to meet his gaze. Everything was all beginning to make sense to me now. Morgan Fahr was in charge of Fahr Industries, but he didn’t actually own it. Madeline Fahr did. In a way you could say it was all Madeline’s fault things had started going under when they did. Fahr had even admitted it was so when he let slip how Madeline’s expensive 75
Celine Chatillon alternative health treatments these past two years were costing him the company. It was then that I knew who I was going to blackmail with the tapes and photos. Not Morgan Fahr but his wife… Madeline Fahr, philanthropist and heiress. . . a woman who so desperately wanted her marriage to convey an air of propriety above all else. I smiled to myself. Fat chance, bitch. She was going to pay. I turned my attention back to playing my winning poker hand. “Oh, I do love this place,” I purred, settling into Fahr’s arms, a counterfeit expression of utter bliss glowing in my eyes. “So many happy memories. But I can’t move into the townhouse just now. Can’t you buy it and rent it out for a while? I mean, you could tell your wife that it’s a great rental property and will more than pay for itself in a matter of time. When she’s finally gone and the lawyers are all happy with the paperwork, then we can think about our future. What do you say?” He kissed me hard and squeezed my tit. “I’d say you are as smart as you are pretty. That’s exactly what I’ll do. And I’ll tell Bob and Todd at the club tonight.” I kissed him back, slowly rubbing my body against his cock. He moaned and became clay in my hands to be molded into any shape I desired. 76
A Middle Class Existence “Good.” My right hand dropped to his budding erection, coaxing him along. “I don’t want your business partners to think I’ve been sleeping with the boss just to land myself a gorgeous town home. Mr. Calloway certainly implied it once when he came out to look at a one of the models with a client.” “He did?” Fahr pulled back and looked twice at me. I nodded and averted my gaze, blushing slightly for effect. Morgan Fahr might have been a joker instead of a king, but broad, tall Todd Calloway was no such fool—that much was obvious by his first-rate reputation on the local legal scene. The giant of a man made me nervous. And although he hadn’t actually voiced his concerns to me, his body language had communicated them very well the first time we met. Calloway had caught me one afternoon freshening up in front of the bathroom mirror of our home base after a particularly physical rendezvous with Fahr. Transfixed, he simply stood and stared, practically drooling as I slowly buttoned my blouse close and finger-combed my hair into place. I couldn’t miss the growing bulge straining against his zipper. His unspoken compliment of my allure made me feel as if I was a giant myself. The smell of sex on me was undeniable, and I 77
Celine Chatillon quickly doused myself with cologne before turning to leave. As I brushed past Calloway I felt his lustful stare burn into my very skin. I spun around at the touch and our gazes instantly locked. It was then I knew he was a man to be reckoned with. I forced myself to look away and excused myself to meet the customer in the living area. If I had been a piece of meat and he had been a wolf, a feast of flesh would have ensued then and there like none other… “The man’s a cretin,” Fahr mumbled, jarring me out my reverie. “The only way he could have passed the bar was by sleeping with the test administrators. To think something so low down about a girl as straightforward and lovely as you... In spite of his Ivy League education the man has absolutely no class.” “But you have class, Stanley,” I sighed, stroking him with fervor. “You’re one, big class act.” Fahr’s answer to that, of course, was to roll me over to my back and slide his fat cock deep inside me. I’d given up on forcing Fahr to use condoms by this point. I knew he wasn’t fooling around with anyone else but me. Besides, what with Daniel on the road all the time, I figured why waste perfectly good birth control pills. “Yes, yes,” I murmured. “Faster now. Harder… Harder… Oh, yes!” It was exactly what Fahr needed to hear—a 78
A Middle Class Existence running commentary on his sexual prowess. And no matter how it looked from the outside, I was total control of the situation. I could get him—and myself—off any time I liked. Sometimes I milked our afternoons for all they were worth and other times I brought us both to a yowling climax in minutes flat. Today session had gone on long enough. I arched my hips, angling higher for maximum penetration. Fahr never disappointed. “Oh, God, you’re going to rip me in half, Stanley. You’re so big… so big. ” Grabbing my buttocks he swung me around toward the edge of the bed and stood on the floor, permitting me to arch even higher as he continued his enthusiastic thrusting. “I’m just stretching you out good for when Junior’s head comes on through, darlin’,” he said in between gasps. “He’ll be one big fella.” “Just… like…his…daddy… Oh!” I let loose with an animal cry, deafening in its intensity. Whatever his shortcomings in the business world the man certainly was gifted in the bedroom. My pussy muscles began to rhythmically contract, squeezing him into completion simultaneously. He groaned my name and collapsed on top of me. Winded, his face turned ashen with the intensity of his efforts. Ten minutes later, Fahr’s cell phone woke us from our nap. 79
Celine Chatillon “Yeah, Bob. I’ll be there at three. What? It’s twofifty now? I’m on my way.” He clicked off the phone, grabbed his clothes and hurriedly began to dress. “Damn it. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.” I sat up and demurely pulled the sheets over my breasts. “You’re definitely not too old, Stanley.” Smiling, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. “I don’t know about that, darlin’. That last time about killed me. I need plenty of recuperation time between sessions.” “Is that why I haven’t been called out much lately?” I employed my best pouting voice and little-girl-lost face on him. It made him feel powerful how I had to practically beg him to pleasure me at times. “I really need the work, you know. If I’m not out here showing model homes then Mr. Calloway and Mr. Wilson might get suspicious about the amount of my paycheck.” He stood up and tucked in his shirt. “To hell with them. I’m the one who hired you, and I’m the one who’s paying you. Besides, after all the lots have been improved on you’re going to come and work for me at the factory. That way I’ll have you around all the time and we can still take our ‘lunch breaks’ together.” He bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry to have to rush out like this. Can you straighten up by yourself?” 80
A Middle Class Existence “Yeah, sure.” My mind began to spin at the thought of working in the same office where Daniel had been laid off. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Fahr raised an eyebrow. “Riki, you okay?” “Uh-huh.” I slowly sat up. “Someone’s scheduled to come by at three-thirty to look at model two. It’ll give me something to do while I wait.” “All right. Take care of yourself and your little ones. I’ll be in touch.” And with that he disappeared through the door. I got up and took a quick shower, dressed, combed my hair, re-did my make-up and began to tidy. My churning stomach calmed. The man was wrong, dead wrong. I would never work at Fahr Industries. Never. Humming to myself, I smoothed the covers across the wide mattress and plumped up the pillows. I couldn’t help but smile, thinking how the time to extract revenge by blackmailing Madeline Fahr was finally close at hand. The bitch would get what’s coming to her. My family would have financial security. Brokenhearted Morgan Fahr would have to find another whore to fuck. And I would be free… free to live the life I wanted but somehow had always alluded me. I caught a glimpse of my distorted reflection in 81
Celine Chatillon the blackness of the big screen TV and startled myself before the voice from the past comforted me. Riki, with your talents you’ll go far…Don’t tell your aunt. She’d never appreciated how talented you are. But I do. And I always will. **** “Arlene, I need the pictures.” The screen door slammed hard behind me as I entered Arlene’s darkened living room later that day. She lifted a blind to let the late afternoon sunlight pour in, picked up her cigarettes from the coffee table and lit one before sitting down across from me on the couch. She stared at me straight in the eye for a full sixty seconds then exhaled a long stream of smoke. Resting her cigarette in the ashtray, she began to cough violently. “You all right?” I rushed to her side and noted her pasty complexion. Being a night owl didn’t half way explain her pallor. “You fixin’ to get emphysema?” “Nah.” The cough at last subsided. “My heart’s goin’ to flatline first.” I returned to my seat opposite. “Don’t kid me like that, Arlene. It’s not funny.” “I ain’t kidding. It’s what the doctors told me. But never you worry. I’m tough. I’ll last a little 82
A Middle Class Existence while longer. May even get married one more time before I kick off.” I grinned. “To your gay restaurant manager, perhaps?” She laughed and took another long drag of her smoke. Her color returned momentarily and she looked like the old Arlene again. “Maybe.” “So, can you get me my pictures—and the tapes, too.” “Okay, but only if you’re sure you know what you’re doing, honey.” She placed her cigarette in the ashtray and shuffled into the kitchen. She pulled out the old cookie jar from the back of her spice cabinet which held my tape collection and the negatives and the photos, developed in Oklahoma City by a discreet friend of Arlene’s. Returning to the living room, she handed me the jar. Its insanely grinning porcelain pig features stared back at me as if it knew what sinister secrets its belly contained. “I just want the stuff. You can keep Mr. Porky here.” I tried hard to chuckle, but my light-hearted attempt at casualness didn’t fool Arlene for a second. “You’re scared, Hon, and right you ought to be.” She sat back down, picked up her cigarette and took another long drag. “Blackmail can backfire real easy. Your name could be the one dragged in the mud and paraded all over town if 83
Celine Chatillon you ain’t careful. What would your fancy neighbors with their nicely mowed lawns and their minivans with soccer mom bumper stickers think if they find out you’d been acting like a call girl?” My heart jumped a beat. There would be no way for our children to hold their heads up in town if people got the idea our sudden influx of cash was result of anything less than honorable… Damn stuck-ups always think they’re better than you when they find out you only got a G.E.D. and you had to work a job that made you sweat just to get where they are now by virtue of their last names and fancy college educations. But I couldn’t bail out now. I’d have to see the plan through to the end. Besides, like Madeline Fahr, when you’ve got money you can always pay folks to shut up with a carefully placed donation to a worthy cause. I slowly removed the jar’s contents and slid them into my canvas book bag. “Nobody knows. I’m careful. You know I’ve been careful, Arlene.” She shook her head and coughed hard again. I winced. “Have you seen a doctor about that cough?” She nodded and took another drag. “I told you I had. Nothing but bad news. He says I need to give up smoking.” “Well, he’s not the only one.” I sighed, 84
A Middle Class Existence remembering Daniel’s rejection of my advances. After that I was careful to wash up before he got home, but he still looked at me odd at times like he could smell the cigarettes on my breath. Funny, Fahr never once mentioned it. “I know I went along with this scheme before, but I just don’t feel like it’s the right thing to do now, Hon,” Arlene said, interrupting my thoughts. “Somebody else is going to find out and blab big time. And then all hell will break lose. I say better to cut your losses now and move on.” Arlene was such a dear to worry about me. I wished she lived next door instead of that nosy Alva Moore. I reached across the coffee table and patted her hand. “Don’t you worry none. Nobody—and I mean nobody— in town has any idea I’ve been screwing Morgan Fahr for the past half year, least of all Madeline Fahr.” “So you really think Fahr will pay you what you want to keep this stuff quiet from his wife?” “No—but then I’ve decided I’m not going to blackmail him.” “You’re not? Good girl. I’m proud of you. Get out of the business while you can.” A smile came over me at that moment and I find myself chuckling—chuckling harder than I had the day I’d heard the news about my condemning, self-righteous aunt succumbing to 85
Celine Chatillon cancer. I shook my head to clear the memory. “No, you misunderstood me, Arlene. The reason I’m not blackmailing Fahr is that I’m getting the money from dear old Madeline instead. The bitch owns everything and controls the purse strings.” Arlene eyes widened. “You don’t say.” “Yes, and she’s the one who’s more afraid of being exposed to public scrutiny than Stan—I mean, Fahr is. It’s her family’s money that set him up in business in the first place, and it’s her good name she wants remembered fondly after she’s gone. I know she’ll do anything—including pay me off big time—to keep things quiet.” Arlene rubbed her temples as her eyebrows came together. She didn’t appear at all convinced. “Yeah, but after you’ve bilked the bitch for money, her old man will see the bank statements. He’s going to be mighty upset with you for making his wife’s last days on earth so nasty.” Arlene took another long drag then roughly cleared her throat. “And after she’s stuck in the ground Fahr may not care who knows what and rat you out to get the money back. I mean, why should he care if folks find out he was screwing a pretty young thing? Gives him something to brag about on the golf course.” My jaw dropped. I didn’t know how to react. Arlene was infinitely wiser to the ways of the 86
A Middle Class Existence world than I was… and I hadn’t really thought that possibility through very well. Fahr was madly in love—or rather lust—with me, a younger, more playful sex partner. He wouldn’t want to risk losing me… Wouldn’t his needs to pleasure his cock overrule his loyalty to Madeline Fahr? I shook my head and zippered up my book bag. “No, I don’t think he’d do that. I mean why would he do that?” “Because he’s a man, that’s why.” Arlene snubbed out her smoke and leaned back into the couch. “Listen, Riki, and listen to me good. Just ‘cause you think you’ve got him hooked now don’t mean he’ll be hooked forever. He’s screwed around before—you know that. Why the hell do you think he’s got no qualms paying you for your time? Who’s to say he won’t drop you faster than a rattlesnake after you try to bilk his Mrs. and go find him another working gal to take your place?” The shocked look in my eyes spoke volumes. She softened her tone and reached out to take my hands in hers. “Honey, I think you’ve been fooling yourself about how easy this blackmail business is. It ain’t easy. If you’ve got something on both parties, then I’d say you can safely get away with blackmailing them both. They’ll both keep quiet—even after the old hag’s gone—if you have something on both of 87
Celine Chatillon them so they’ll be desperate enough to go along with your plans.” She looked straight into my glistening eyes. “You got anything like that, Hon?” One word sprang to mind instantly: Junior. But could I do it? Could I convince Fahr I was carrying his child. Yes, I was certain I could do it. He wanted an heir to run his enterprises so badly that he’d believe anything I tell him. And dear, deathly ill Madeline would be convinced of the fact since her no-good, whoring husband would be convinced. It could work. But what about a lawyer like Todd Calloway? He’d want evidence, legal evidence, that we’d been screwing around all this time and indisputable proof that Fahr was the father. The items in my hand certainly gave proof of our affair. But now came the fun part, the collecting of DNA and making a baby... It wouldn’t be too tricky a task for a woman of my considerable talents. “Hmm, Calloway…” I bit a lip and thought for a moment, mumbling to myself. “It shouldn’t be too hard to convince him. Fahr would pay whatever I wanted to keep dear Madeline in the dark and dear Madeline would pay to—” “Who’s this ‘Calloway’ person?” Arlene interrupted. “Who?” I shook my head to clear my 88
A Middle Class Existence ramblings. “Nobody in particular. A lawyer. Madeline Fahr’s lawyer and one of Fahr’s business partners.” “I see.” I picked up my book bag, pulled out the evidence and stuffed it back into Mr. Porky for safekeeping. Arlene raised an eyebrow but accepted the jar. “Do you mind holding on to my bits of evidence a little while longer? I need to work a little while longer with Mr. Fahr until I can properly execute my revised plan.” “Are you sure?” Both her voice and her hands seemed to shake a little. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I stood and it was then I noticed how she didn’t appear well. I felt bad for leaving so soon but I had to get home. Ellie had a dance recital tonight and Daniel had phoned earlier to say his run was out of state, and he wouldn’t return until early tomorrow morning. “Who knows?” I squeezed Arlene’s gaunt frame close to mine, trying hard to rekindle her smile. “Things may actually work out better in the long run.” She patted my hair and sighed. “I certainly hope so, hon. I certainly hope so.” I kissed her on the cheek and left. Things would work out better than I planned I 89
Celine Chatillon vowed. At the very least, things would work out different.
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I
t had only taken a couple of months to get pregnant with both Ellie and Ben so I was fairly confident it wouldn’t be that difficult again. That night as I got ready for bed I flushed my birth control pills down the drain before my better sense could get a hold of me. After all, this wasn’t between just me and Fahr and his old lady and their millions anymore. An innocent party was about to become involved. I froze in front of the bathroom mirror and stared at myself. Did I truly have no shame? Could I really do such a evil thing? Could I conceive another man’s child, calmly lie about it to my husband and then blackmail the town’s richest family? I automatically picked up a lipstick and slowly applied it to my pouting lips. My aunt’s abrasive voice echoed in my mind. Her twisted, darkly angry face contorted before me in the glass. You whore, you filthy, little whore… Wearing that 91
Celine Chatillon make-up and prancing about, jiggling those breasts of yours like you’re a stripper. Getting caught at the football game under the bleachers with that boy and not wearing proper underwear… You will burn in hell for your wicked, wicked ways. But my uncle’s gentle voice vindicated me as I vividly recalled the feel of his large, workroughened hands on my small, soft body. You’re a wonderful girl, Riki. You know that? Yeah, touch me there. I like it when you do that. I can make you feel good, too. Just don’t tell anyone. Yes, do that again, Riki… Again…You’ll go far with such a talent. I know it. What a good girl you are… Whore! Good girl. Whore! I put down the lipstick and grabbed a tissue to wipe it off. Raw and swollen, I slathered Vaseline onto my lips and turned away from the accusing images in the mirror, crawling into a cold, empty bed. Pulling the covers to my chin, I thought of how I had always wanted to have a big family to make up for being orphaned. Whenever I voiced this desire to Daniel, however, he acted evasive. When he saw the hospital bill after Ellie was born he almost fainted. Thankfully our insurance was fairly good at that time and covered most of the costs. By the time Ben came along lots of things weren’t covered anymore—like refresher Lamaze 92
A Middle Class Existence courses and private birthing rooms. Daniel at that point had pretty much put a damper on any ideas of the Aldridges ever becoming a Cheaper by the Dozen type of family. I rolled over and stared at the empty space my husband usually occupied. Where did he say he was going this time? Beaumont? Baton Rouge? It didn’t really make much of a difference. He was gone, and I was in charge like always. My savior excused himself from family activities a lot lately. “Gotta earn a living,” had become both our mantras. It was hard sleeping without another warm body in the bed beside me. I grabbed Daniel’s pillow and punched it up until it fit comfortably against my stomach. The questions continue to flood my consciousness… Did my need to secure my family’s financial future extend to avenging myself against Daniel’s pigheadedness as well as Madeline Fahr’s meanness? Possibly. Really, hadn’t I stumbled upon the perfect solution for our problems? Wasn’t having Fahr’s baby an easy—and enjoyable—way to accomplish my twin goals of vengeance and motherhood? But what would Daniel think if he ever found out he wasn’t the baby’s father? How would Ben and Ellie feel about having a little brother or sister? In the long run, did it matter? Whore! 93
Celine Chatillon Good girl. I tossed and turned until I found a comfortable rut in our old mattress. I couldn’t think about this topic any more I told myself. I had to put it out of my mind and handle things as I saw fit. But my instincts told me whatever I decided to do I had to act fast. Indian summer was approaching. The townhouses at Mayfield Country Estates would soon be completed. And I’d noticed lately how Fahr seemed distracted by his wife’s deteriorating health. Could he also be drifting away because he was bored by the lack of novelty in our relationship? No, I didn’t think so. But it couldn’t hurt to turn up the heat in the bedroom if I was going to strive to achieve the newest objective in my plan. The thought of actively pursuing my prey excited me. My hands drifted across my breasts and pussy, awakening their interest as I repeatedly touched their sensitive nubs. I laughed as I brought myself to a climax without a man. Drifting off to sleep, my grin broadened. I had always thought that if I worked hard and stayed honest I’d eventually achieve some level of success and happiness. How wrong that kind of thinking turned out to be! The only dependable way of getting ahead for any woman was also the most pleasurable and simplest way—on her back. 94
A Middle Class Existence **** “Stanley? Is that you?” I’d never phoned Fahr at his office. He always contacted me via the combination cell phone and pager I carried around while showing the model homes. I had been at his beck and call before, but now our positions were about to be reversed. He’d better get used to it. “Riki?” His voice sounded at once incredulous and scared. “What’s up? You get locked out of one of the houses?” “How did you guess?” My voice sounded two octaves higher than normal. I dished out another heavy dose of the ditzy schoolgirl charm. “I’m standing outside of number two and I can’t seem to find the remote control to the garage or the key on me. I must have left it inside on the counter while I took the clients around the back to show them the view of the lake and—” He chuckled and cut me off. “You must look real cute standing out there in the driveway. Any construction workers whistling at you?” I placed my palm lightly over the mouthpiece and whistled a catcall. “How’d you guess? A couple of them even called me some very suggestive names. Can you come on out and protect little ol’ me from these big, bad boys?” I knew I’d created an irresistible image in his 95
Celine Chatillon mind. He loved playing the brave, white knight protecting the sweet, young damsel from the evil clutches of the great, unwashed masses. It didn’t take much to bait this trap. “Riki, I’d love to come out, but I’ve got a very important business meeting in a fifteen minutes. Can you hold on until about twelve thirty? I should be able to get out of it by then.” “A whole hour?” I whined like Ellie did for effect. “Oh, okay. But don’t keep me waiting out here too long. I can’t get even get to my car since it’s in the garage. I’ll bake to a crisp without my sun block.” I heard somebody like his secretary mumbling in the background and papers rustling. Calling Fahr at work probably wasn’t a good idea after all. His business day and his pleasure lunch hour seldom mixed. I was beginning to think my attempt to lure him hadn’t been worth the risk when he broke into my thoughts. “Listen,” he said hurriedly, “I think Todd’s in the area now. How about I call him and tell him to swing on by and give you one of his extra keys? Then I’ll meet you at home base a little later. All right? I’ve gotta go. Bye.” I clicked off the phone. A shiver of dread raced up my spine at the mention of Todd Calloway. The two-faced lawyer didn’t trust me. Even though I had been instrumental in showing—and 96
A Middle Class Existence consequently selling—most of the townhouses of Mayfield Country Estates, it was obvious he didn’t think very highly of me or my job skills. The one time Calloway had caught me freshening up in the powder room and stared at me only proved his contempt I’d convinced myself. His obvious arousal at my disheveled state meant nothing. I knew exactly what those Ivy League types thought. A farm girl like me wasn’t good enough to associate with a man of his intellect, wealth and power. I was just another piece of poor white trash cluttering up the planet that he didn’t have any good use for. I’d soon find out how wrong I was. “Ms. Parker—your key.” Todd Calloway sauntered up the walk to where I had positioned myself on the porch swing. In actuality I had left the French doors in the back unlocked just in case Fahr couldn’t make it. I didn’t want to spend my entire day stuck outdoors even though the weather was sunny and warm. “Thank you.” I reached for the key he dangled in his hand. At the last second he jerked it away. “Hey—” “I want to ask you a few questions first, Ms. Parker.” He pocketed the key, sat beside me on the wooden porch swing, pulled out his cigarettes and slowly crossed his long, lean legs. The fine cut of his suit perfectly accentuated his sinewy frame. It 97
Celine Chatillon had to have been custom made for him—a man well above average height—and cost a small fortune. “What kind of questions?” I tossed back, defiantly cocking my head to one side and narrowing my eyes. I vowed the bastard would never see me sweat. He lit up, inhaled deeply, then blew out a sideways stream of smoke. He didn’t appear to be in any kind of hurry. “The basic kind. For instance, where exactly do you live?” I licked my lips and light stroked the back of my neck with my fingertips. My heart raced. I fought to keep my wits about me. I’d given out Arlene’s address as my home address when I had filled out the W-2 form, and I’d used my old Social Security card with just my maiden name on it as proof of identity, too. Everything was on the upand-up as far as Mr. Lawyer here was concerned. Still, there wasn’t any Riki Parker listed in the phone book. To beat this player at his own game, I knew I had to go on the offensive. “Why do you ask?” I laid the sugary Southern girl accent on thick while batting my blue-tinted eyelashes at him. “You wanna pay me a little ol’ house call?” He chuckled, looking at me askance. He leaned back further in the swing and sucked his cigarette harder. “It seems more likely you’re the one who 98
A Middle Class Existence does house calls.” “Excuse me?” I crossed my legs in slow motion, causing my short denim skirt to ride up my thighs a little higher than normal before I tugged it down with an extra wiggle. His pulse had quickened if his rapid smoke inhalation was any indication. “Of course, I perform house calls. I show the houses when I’m called. That’s my job.” “Part of it at least…” His voice trailed off. It was deep and mellow and sweetly suggestive. He raised a well-manicured hand to softly caress my cheek. “I think you show a few other things to Morgan Fahr from time to time. I’m right, aren’t I?” Instantly I saw blood. How dare this shyster try to blackmail me! I was the one in control here. He’d be the next victim caught in my web. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Calloway.” Feigning annoyance, I angled my body away from his and pushed his hand away. “Mr. Fahr is by far the most generous, most well-mannered employer I’ve ever worked for. You, sir, are no gentleman.” Calloway raked his devil dark eyes repeatedly over my white clingy, dangerously scoop-necked top and bare legs. It was working. He liked playing the naughty boy. I could tell he really got off on trying to seduce his business partner’s mistress. He quickly snubbed out his cigarette on the 99
Celine Chatillon concrete. “To misquote Rhett Butler, ‘And you, ma’am, are no lady.’” I gasped and turned to slap his cheek. For a forty-something paper-pusher he had pretty quick reflexes. He grabbed my wrist and forced my hand down to rub his crotch. “I doubt Morgan’s got as much going on where it counts as I do,” he murmured, a sinister grin spreading across his skinny lips. There was no comparison. Fahr was definitely more endowed, but Long John Calloway probably made up in strength and agility what he lacked in thickness. “Why, how dare you insinuate such a thing.” I tried to pull my hand away, but the wiry bastard was brawnier than he looked. “Let go of my hand.” “Shall we go inside?” He stood and halfdragged me to the door. Luckily there were no construction workers nearby to gawk at such an unlikely pair—the tall, Lincoln-esque lawyer and the petite home tour guide. He unlocked the door and pulled me in behind him, slamming it shut with my body sandwiched between it and his own. His cologne filled the space between us with a hypnotic spiciness. His thin lips hungrily explored my neck and cleavage while his hands slid up under my skirt and greedily fondled my cunt. 100
A Middle Class Existence “Hmm, you’re as hot and wet as I imagined you’d be.” He gave a low groan and plunged a lengthy digit inside me. “Waiting for a liaison with Morgan this afternoon, aren’t you?” I mumbled my reply and practically doubled over in pleasure from the thoroughness of his touch. The man possessed magic fingers… and they were smooth and silky, so unlike dear ol’ calloused Uncle Louie’s. “You wouldn’t mind making a few extra bucks, would you?” He stepped back and observed my flushed face. I numbly shook my head yes. He cackled. “I thought not.” And with that, I entered into a partnership of sorts with Todd Calloway. Or I could say he entered me. Being the lawyer he was, he was prepared for all contingencies. Bolting the front door, he dragged me into the back bedroom, threw me on the bed, drew the shades and retrieved a condom from his wallet. “I apologize if I can’t stay afterward and share a cigarette with you, but it may be a bit risky.” “That’s okay,” I breathlessly informed him, reaching for his zipper. “I’ve given it up.” “Really? So why do I have this feeling you’re pulling the wool over my eyes?” I yanked his trousers down. “Only thing I’m pulling is you, Mr. Calloway.” Then it was off with his briefs, off with my 101
Celine Chatillon panties and in with his cock, drilling me into the mattress with a relentless need. I was right about his agility. His hips could corkscrew a mile a minute while he simultaneously pounded his balls against my dripping pussy with a jackhammer’s force. I arched my back and rolled up my top, exposing my breasts while inviting him to drive his rod even deeper into me. He responded with a gentle flicking of his tongue against my pebbled nipples as his broad hands cupped my buttocks in an almost tender gesture. “You don’t want me to fuck me harder, do you?” he said in that irritatingly familiar manner of his while momentarily easing his erotic onslaught. “A sweet little Southern Belle like you never begs for sex, does she?” “Please, fuck me harder.” I groaned, thrusting my hips toward him. “Now.” “Well, let it be said I never refused a lady’s request.” “I ain’t no lady, remember.” The devil’s gleam sparkled in his dark, halfclosed eyes. “You’re right. And I’m no gentleman.” I didn’t have to plead with him again. He forced my legs farther apart with those meaty hands of his and rammed his full length into me before I could take another breath. He 102
A Middle Class Existence covered my screams with his mouth, plunging his tongue deep into mine, sucking the very air from my lungs as my bliss-filled brain teetered on the brink of ecstasy. But the sheer thrill of the illicit conquest soon would send us both of us over that edge. After a few dozen rough strokes of his cock, he threw back his head and gave a earsplitting cry and climaxed, dragging my quivering cunt to completion as well. A moment later, Calloway calmly stood, straightened his tie and pants, retrieved his wallet and tossed a hundred dollar bill between my gaping legs before departing. I lay there stunned, yet sated. Questions filled my mind… Was this momentary diversion worth it in the long run? Was a quick tryst with the eager Mr. Calloway worth risking my blackmail plan? It must have been. I never heard a word of complaint from Mr. Calloway ever again. And Fahr never showed. After I’d tidied myself and straightened the bedroom, I headed to home base and waited there until around two o’clock. I figured by then Fahr’s business meeting must have gone on longer than expected and he wasn’t coming. Just when I’d given up hope a knock at the door introduced me to a young couple out looking at houses. I decide to escort the pair around the neighborhood on a 103
Celine Chatillon mini-tour of all the model homes, showing them all the current construction sites. I’m not sure anything was in their price range, but it made me feel good to demonstrate what all I knew about the costs and materials involved and it did help pass the time. Driving home later that afternoon I smiled, thinking how in the past few months I’d learned some very marketable job skills—and not all of them had to do with real estate. My rapidly developing people management skills were a definite plus. **** Daniel’s delivery truck sat in the driveway when I returned at three-thirty. “You’re home awful early.” I discovered him in his favorite chair in the family room, bent and kissed him on the cheek. His eyes didn’t budge one inch from the NASCAR race on the television screen. “Where are the kids? For sure Ben should be glued to the tube watching those cars go around in endless circles with you.” “Ben is sleeping.” Daniel’s tone was flat, lifeless. “The medicine always makes him sleepy.” “The medicine?” A horrible image of Ben swelling up like a giant Thanksgiving Day parade balloon sprang before my eyes. “He didn’t get—“ 104
A Middle Class Existence “Stung?” Daniel had turned to stare at me with such contempt that I physically felt the depth of his rage without him raising a fist. “Yes, he got stung by a sweat bee while outside working on a class science experiment. The school said they tried reaching you to no avail at the number you gave them. They got a hold of me when I happened to check in with the dispatcher at work about the same time they called there…” Both his words and his anger trailed away. He gulped a long swig from his beer can and continued. “Anyway, I told them to give him the medicine, and I rushed on over there and took him to the emergency room to be checked out. He was lucky—he didn’t actually receive that much venom.” “My baby, my poor, poor baby.” I headed toward Ben’s bedroom. “What’s wrong with your cell phone, Richelle?” His words sounded like an accusation. I froze in mid-step. “How come your phone doesn’t work?” “It does work. It’s always worked.” I crossed to my purse on the kitchen counter and pulled out the phone. Sure enough, it was switched off. The only thing I could think off was that I had it clipped to my skirt waistband earlier in the day when Calloway squeezed me against the door. I was so distracted at the time and so busy afterwards that I didn’t realize it had been 105
Celine Chatillon turned off. Shit! Fahr may have tried to call me this afternoon, too. “I think the batteries are dead,” I lied, plugging the device into its recharging stand. “I’m sorry, Daniel. If I’d known, I would have rushed right over to the school.” He took another sip of his beer and returned his focus to the race. “Oh, well. It’s over now. He’s fine. Ellie’s a bit shaken, though. She remembers how sick Ben was that last time. You’d better talk to her.” I shook my head and tiptoed down the hall to peek in on Ben. He was snoring softly so I decided not wake him. I entered Ellie’s room and found her lying on her bed, cutting out photos of movie stars and rock idols from magazines. “You making another collage for your closet door?” “Uh-huh.” She didn’t look at me. I sat down at her desk chair and picked up her math book. “You finish your homework.” “I will in a minute.” Still, she wouldn’t look at me. I felt like an invader—unwelcome, unwanted. “You wanna talk?” She shrugged. “Not particularly.” “Okay, baby girl. I’ll go start dinner now.” As I turned to leave, she rolled over and stared 106
A Middle Class Existence at me. If looks could kill I should have been buried six feet under. “You’re never home anymore.” Her words came out an emotionless monotone. I sighed and leaned against the doorjamb, ramming my fists into my pockets. “I know, Sweetheart. But you all seem to like the money Mom brings home these days. There’s got to be a trade-off somewhere.” She sat up. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. “You weren’t here and you weren’t anywhere. No one could find you. If they hadn’t found Daddy in time, Ben might be hooked up to all those machines in the hospital instead sleeping in his own bed. He could have died.” “But he’s all right now,” I soothed. “What good is money if someone you love is dead?” My fists tightened around something paper-like in my skirt pocket. I pulled it out halfway and glanced down. It was the hundred-dollar bill Calloway had thrown at me. What good was having money if it broke the hearts of those I loved? What good was my plan for achieving financial success through my own brand of subversive vengeance if my little boy ended up in the hospital or worse? “You’re so right, baby,” I cried, throwing my arms around her. She resisted but I clung fast until 107
Celine Chatillon she stopped fighting me. “You are so, so right. And to make it up to you and Ben I’m going to take you to the mall all day tomorrow, okay?” She sniffed and pulled back. “Can I get my hair done special for the ballet recital?” “Sure you can. And so can Ben.” She snorted. “Boys his age don’t care about their hair.” “Well, he needs a trim anyway. We’ll all get our hair done and then get some new school clothes. How about it?” She nodded and smiled. “Okay.” “Good.” I stood. “Now, finish up your homework while I make dinner. We’re going to have so much fun this weekend, I promise we’ll lose all track of time.” As I started to exit her room, a shiny silver wrapping of a Virginia Slims package lying halfhidden beside Ellie’s bed caught my eye. “Is that what I think it is?” I took a step toward the offending object and bent to retrieve it. Ellie got to it first. “They’re not mine. Honest. They’re Ashton’s. I’m just baby-sitting them for her.” I stuck out my hand toward her, palm up. “Hand them over, Ellie.” “But I can’t,” she whined, tears glistening in her eyes. “Ashton will kill me. I’m only doing it so she thinks I’m cool enough to hang out with her 108
A Middle Class Existence group.” I crossed my arms. “So what’s so cool about smoking?” She shrugged. “I dunno. Fashion models and movie stars smoke. You even smoke sometimes— like when you visit your friend Arlene. Don’t lie. I smell it on your breath.” Sighing, I turned away. Some example of motherhood I was, wasn’t I? But what the hell did I really know about mothering a budding teenager? My own mother was dead before I was Ellie’s age and my aunt was a total loser in the gentle guidance department… Riki, you’ll burn I hell if you dare smoke another cigarette or kiss another boy… The devil will make you his own if you don’t stop your whoring, wicked ways now. You’ll do all right, Riki, Uncle Louie would soothe me. Just be nice to men. And they’ll be nice to you. “I’m sorry,” I said to no one in particular. Ellie approached and gently placed an arm around my waist. “It’s okay, Mom. I know lots of parents smoke when they’re stressed out with work. I forgive you. I promise, I’m not smoking. I think Ashton’s stupid to smoke. But she dates the hottest boys in school and if I ever want one of them to even look at me then…” “Then you have to act cool like Ashton?” 109
Celine Chatillon She nodded. “Dumb, huh?” “No, that’s how the game is usually played.” I patted her hair and held her closer. When had my little girl grown up? How could I prevent her from falling into the trap I’d fallen into in high school… the trap of becoming popular by dating—and consequently screwing—just about every good-looking, well-connected boy in my class? “All right, you can baby-sit Ashton’s cigarettes until tomorrow. Then you hand them right back to her and tell her that your mom’s a nicotine addict and she about smoked them all up. She’ll think you’re cool, but you’re off the hook from keeping them for her ever again.” Ellie beamed a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the greatest.” Yeah, Riki, you’re the greatest. You give the best blow jobs of any girl in school... “But you’re not entirely off the hook, young lady,” I said, pivoting her to look me straight in the face. “You’re not keeping anything else for Ashton and her boyfriends are you? Anything her parents should know about in case she slips up and becomes pregnant?” “Mom!” Ellie flew out of my arms and flung herself on the bed, pouting with righteous indignation. “How can you say something like that? We’re not sleeping around with boys. We’re 110
A Middle Class Existence only in seventh grade—we’re not slags like those high school girls are.” “That’s good to know, baby.” I shuffled into the kitchen, retrieved the ingredients for the kids’ favorite meal from the shelf and mechanically fixed supper. Suddenly I felt tired, drained. Only earlier today I had felt vibrant and alive as I seduced the disreputable Mr. Calloway and brought him under my spell. How I wished I could forget all about Fahr and Calloway and the blackmail. How I wished I possessed the moral convictions of my precious twelve-year-old daughter… But I was in too deep. I knew if stopped treading water now I’d drown.
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Countdown
T
ime passed by all too quickly. October was half over and the leaves were falling into great heaps that the kids in our neighborhood all enjoyed jumping in more than raking. Fahr acted very busy. I couldn’t tell if it was because of troubles at the plant or troubles with his wife. We met only once a week now. Even then he wasn’t always in the mood for screwing. But I was persistent. I kept track of when my most fertile days of the month were, and I tried to time our trysts to make the most of them. Who would have guessed I’d have so much trouble getting pregnant? “It’s about time to hang up our spurs here,” Fahr casually remarked one afternoon as he strolled through the bedroom door of our home base. “Not much use in showing model homes if we have orders for almost all the lots.” I leaned forward on the bed and slowly pulled 112
A Middle Class Existence down my baby-blue bra strap. “So… have you rented this place out yet?” “Not yet. I’m thinking of keeping it for myself and not tell Madeline after all.” He sat down beside me on the bed and removed my bra while gently fondling my breasts. “I mean, what’s the price of a small townhouse to her? A mere blip on the financial screen. The pain medication blurs her senses to the point she don’t care much what’s going on anyways.” I rolled to my knees and helped him out of his shirt and pants. “You could always tell her you need a place of your own for your hobbies. A playhouse. You golf, don’t you?” He chuckled, pulling me into his arms and reaching for my pussy. “Not much. I like putting with my big ol’ club on your green much better. I’m always assured a hole in one.” “The perfect score,” I purred, his lips descending upon mine. Fahr was acting more like his old self today, eager to taste and touch and enter me. Before I knew it he would be pumping into me fast and furious like somehow he knew he wouldn’t have a chance to do me again any time soon. But my plan depended on him being available until I knew for certain I had my little security deposit growing in my belly. I had to keep him interested—I had to keep him fucking me until I 113
Celine Chatillon had a positive test result to show him. Or did I? Maybe my word was just as good as any pink and blue test strip? Practical as I am by nature, I saw no use in missing this golden opportunity to further ensnare my prey. Arching my hips, I invited him to thrust his thick cock deep. He obliged and struck up a steady pace. “That’s it Stanley. Right there. Harder now and wriggle those hips of yours.” I could read his mind by this point in the dance, and he responded as usual, picking up the pace. But moments later his effort started to flag. “You need a younger stud, darlin’,” he said, panting for breath. “I’m not a Chippendales dancer any more.” Just then an image of Todd Calloway flashed before me. I’d forgotten how talented the bastard was in bed with those lengthy, flexible joints of his. Good thing I was almost finished with Morgan Fahr. The bedroom boredom setting in only reminded me of how dull and predictable and practically non-existent my married sex life had become. Haven’t to practically beg to be pleasured by two disinterested males within one week was more than my fragile female ego could take. “You can shake it with the best of them, Stanley,” I encouraged him. I gave his balls a 114
A Middle Class Existence playful squeeze. “You’ve never let us down before. Show me what you’ve got. Fuck me hard as you can.” A frowned appeared between his brows. “Don’t talk nasty like that, Riki. You’re not a bad girl.” “Aren’t I?” I wriggled out from under him and rolled across the bed, eluding his grasp. “Maybe I’m just a bad girl in need of a good, hard spanking. Catch me if you can.” I ran out into the living room where we rarely frolicked anymore. Possibly a change of venue could rekindle the heat we’d made in our first couplings? Fahr didn’t disappoint. He cornered me at the large, overstuffed chair and bent me over. “You’re going to get it now, you naughty girl.” He slapped my butt cheeks while ramming me vigorously from behind. “Don’t ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’. Show me who’s boss, Stanley.” That always did the trick. He enjoyed thinking it was he who was in control of the situation. But I knew better. Laughing, I threw my head back and gladly accepted the punishment he doled out before letting loose with an animal cry as we both climaxed. We collapsed into each other’s sweaty embrace and slid down the chair to the living room rug. “Let’s do it again,” I murmured a few minutes later, massaging Fahr’s back. “I can’t get enough 115
Celine Chatillon of you.” He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. “You can’t seem to ever get enough, darlin’. You’re one insatiable woman.” “That may be true, but I meant that with all the extra hormones running through my bloodstream when I’m in the family way it just makes me all more the hornier. I—” His eyes snapped open. He rolled to his side and stared at me. “You’re pregnant?” I nodded mutely and gave him my best wayward schoolgirl blush. “Oh, darlin’…” He pulled me back into his arms and gently petted my butt. “I thought you felt a little plumper in places. I shouldn’t have been so rough on you just now. How far along?” “Not very.” “And not very good timing, either.” He gave a long sigh and let me loose. “Madeline’s still with us and it’s going to look awfully suspicious after she’s… she’s gone. No, not very good timing at all.” For a moment I was stunned. Somehow I had expected his initial reaction toward a potential pregnancy to be a more positive one. After all, he’d said he always wanted to have children. But then I remembered that the baby was my leverage to get money out of Madeline—not affection out of Fahr. It didn’t make any difference 116
A Middle Class Existence how he felt. It was my baby, my revenge, and I’d make sure he wouldn’t have anything to do with it. “Well, babies wait for no one,” I snapped at him. “They just happen.” His grin looked half-sad. “True enough. You’ve been a bit careless with precautions, though, haven’t you?” What a male chauvinist pig! I bit my tongue before I could scream it out loud. What could you expect from a man who treated people like paper cups, crumpling them up and carelessly discarding them when he had no further use for them? But I wasn’t much better. I had used him just as easily, and the bastard was too stupid to realize it. “I know we get carried away sometimes.” I batted my eyes, attempting my sweet young thing number on him. My fingers wandered across his tight abs to caress his member until it became hard once again. “And you know how I hate the feel of latex covering that gorgeous cock of yours. I do love feeling it pulse inside me.” My handiwork yielded the desired result. I threw my leg over his hip, sliding his rigid rod into my willing wetness. I twisted my hips around his staff in a slow, torturous dance of lust, and he suckled at my nipples until I felt I would explode with pleasure. 117
Celine Chatillon The instant I orgasmed all the fears I had that my plan wouldn’t work melted away. We both lay motionless, exhausted. “Madeline’s not going to be very understanding,” Fahr said at long last. “A baby is not a part of our bargain. I wasn’t suppose to do anything to embarrass her until after she was… she was…” The man seemed to have a mental block when it came to describing his wife’s imminent demise. “Until after she was dead and buried?” I blurted out of frustration. He grimaced. “There’s no need to be so callous, Riki.” No “darlin’” I noticed. I knew to keep my mouth shut on the subject. “Sorry,” I apologized. “It’s just that having a baby is a happy thing and you keep equating it with something not quite as joyful.” I sat up. “Maybe Madeline wouldn’t mind so much if she knew how much you’ve always wanted children? Why don’t I speak to her and find out her feelings on the subject. Her response might very well surprise—” “No!” He immediately stormed out of the room and began dressing. “I forbid you to bother Madeline. She’s got enough on her mind, and with the painkillers… Well, let’s say she’s not as coherent as she used to be. There’s no use 118
A Middle Class Existence upsetting her. Let her last days be as peaceful as possible.” “Okay, Stanley,” I said demurely. I rose and dressed. The time to confront Madeline Fahr and receive my reward was coming soon. I knew now that deep down Morgan Fahr didn’t really want a baby. He only wanted to go around town and beat his chest like Tarzan to prove he could get a woman knocked up. He didn’t give a rat’s ass for anything or anyone that upset his best-laid plans. He only cared about himself. But so what? I couldn’t care less for him. And my plan was going to work with or without his cooperation. **** “Richelle? You okay?” I turned over in bed that night and faced Daniel, a practical stranger. I hadn’t seen him in over a week and a half since he’d been on the road hauling heavy loads for his cousin’s business. But there he was Daniel, my husband, who, if I were totally honest, I didn’t feel a thing for sexually anymore. “I’m just tired.” I yawned. “Awful long days with only me around here to be both mom and dad.” 119
Celine Chatillon “I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you and the kids lately. I want to make it up to you.” Daniel pulled me into his arms and began nuzzling on my neck. I stiffened. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I lied, forcing myself to relax. “I know I haven’t been very attentive to your needs. I forget that women in there thirties are hitting their sexual peak while males are sliding down the long slope the other direction.” Some men were still riding on the top side of the slope, I thought. But then Morgan Fahr never had to work for hours on end, performing backbreaking labor just to put bread on the table for his children. “I’ve let the stress of trying to keep up with the Joneses kill my libido, too,” I admitted. “There’s no way we can afford to re-do our front porch steps like everyone else’s around here. We’d have to work a million hours a week to afford the concrete bill.” Daniel stopped his kissing and pulled back to look at me. “Is that why you’ve acted so cold toward me lately?” Cold? If only he’d seen me with Fahr or Calloway. No one would call me cold if they saw those performances. But the word itself brought a sudden chill crashing over me. I felt sick at my stomach. Could it be? At last… 120
A Middle Class Existence I snuggled closer to my husband and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to be mad at you for being on the road all the time. It’s taken some getting used to, this new life of ours. I don’t mean to act cold.” And with that I let my hands and tongue and imagination run wild. Daniel’s body became Fahr’s; his need to possess me became Calloway’s… The babe growing in my womb became his. **** “Be careful, Ben.” My head swimming, I steadied my boy on the stepladder. He bravely reached up to retrieve the small bag from the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. “There, you got it. Thank you very much for your assistance, kind sir.” He crinkled it in his hands and shook it. “What’s in it?” “Nothing special.” As soon as he was on the floor I took it from him and hid it behind my back. “Why don’t you go and help your sister out with the decorations for the Halloween party?” “She won’t let me paint red dripping from the skull’s mouth. She thinks it’s gross, but I think it would look creepier.” I grinned. “I think so, too. You can’t have a candy bowl shaped like a skull without a little 121
Celine Chatillon fake blood. Tell her I gave you permission.” He raced out back. I headed directly toward the bathroom. Three days of nausea convinced me of my hunch, and I was fairly certain the test kit still worked. I had bought it a couple years ago when I had missed a period and thought I was pregnant. That same day I found out that I wasn’t, and I didn’t use the test. My missed period simply turned out to be something stress-related. Fifteen minutes later I sat on the edge of the tub, scratching my head. The color didn’t indicate pregnancy. “Damn thing must have expired,” I grumbled under my breath. “I’ll have to get a new one and try again.” “Mom, Ben’s painting all the party decorations red—what’s that?” Ellie ran into the bathroom and stared at the test stick. I snatched it off the counter. “Nothing, baby girl. Go tell your brother I said he could only paint the skull with the fake blood.” “He says you told him painting everything red was okay.” The image of blood flowing like a river, staining my hands, staining my heart brought on another wave of nausea. I coughed and almost dropped the stick. “I didn’t give Ben permission to paint everything red. Tell him to stop and I’ll be there in 122
A Middle Class Existence a minute, okay?” Something in my voice convinced her. Ellie left without another word. I turned and gazed hard at my own reflection in the mirror. When had I become so haggard, so drawn, so old and ugly? It was if the evil within me was manifesting itself on my outward appearance… Whore! You will burn in hell, Richelle Parker. Burn in hell like all whores do. There was no way to deny that I had sinned against my husband and my family. But the child within would redeem me not condemn me. I had to believe that. This charade wouldn’t last much longer. I had to act quickly. Now that Fahr was convinced I was carrying his child, he would do what I wanted in order to keep me quiet about our little affair. Right? His wife would write the check… We’d be set for life… We could move if people started talking… “Mom, he’s still painting everything,” came Ellie’s whine from the back room. “He’s not listening to me. Ouch!” “She hit me!” Ben shouted. “You hit me first.” “Did not.” “Did too.” Fahr. I’d hit him hard—I’d make him listen. 123
Celine Chatillon And he would listen all right… I tossed the used test stick into the garbage and marched into the family room to break up the fight.
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Meeting
“M
r. Calloway?” I arched an eyebrow. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I stepped away from the door and allowed him to enter, a cool breeze of apprehension chilling my bones. I had called Fahr at work the next morning and asked him to meet me at our home base at noon, but my long-legged lawyer acquaintance had materialized instead. “I suppose I should say ‘trick or treat’.” His obsidian eyes rolled over my gauzy black handkerchief edged skirt, pumpkin-colored top and jack-o’-lantern earrings. “But I won’t.” I stood taller and walked toward the scheduling desk. He slithered close behind me. “What are you doing here, Mr. Calloway?” “I could ask you the same thing except I already know. Fahr let on he was going to miss his appointment with you as he went running from his office.” “Running from his office?” I sat down and 125
Celine Chatillon flipped over the calendar page before it dawned on me. “Mrs. Fahr… is she?” “Not yet.” He sat down on the edge of the desk, leaned forward and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up. “It could be any time now. She’s been hanging on by a thread for the past few weeks. I don’t know what keeps her alive except…” I leveled a hard stare at him. “Except what?” He took a quick drag then exhaled. “Except this insane need to meet the ‘other woman’ as she calls you.” My eyes widened. He chuckled softly and shook his head. “Now don’t go looking so surprised, Ms. Parker. Madeline’s known all about you for some time now. As her lawyer I was given the task of hiring a private eye, but I told her none was necessary. I knew exactly who Morgan was screwing, and I knew where and how to reach you.” “And you told Fahr that you screwed me as well?” His eyes flashed a momentary look of uneasiness before his lips curled into a confident sneer. He blew out a thin stream of smoke. I licked my lips in apprehension. “Want a smoke?” he asked. I nodded. A dose of nicotine sounded good just 126
A Middle Class Existence about now. He handed me a cigarette and lit it for me. “I don’t have to tell Fahr anything. I’m his wife’s private counsel and not his, Ms. Parker.” He took a deep drag and raised an taunting eyebrow, exhaling. “Or should I call you Mrs. Aldridge?” The bastard! How did he find out my married name? But it appeared that he hadn’t made the connection yet, how I was the wife of a former Fahr Industries employee. I inhaled and blew smoke out slowly through the corner of my lips, trying my best to hide my unease at his disclosure. “So, you told Mrs. Fahr that her husband was screwing one of his workers at the townhouse construction site?” “Essentially. You are on the payroll.” “What did she think about that?” He shrugged. “It’s happened before.” I leaned closer to him. “Why does she want to see me then?” “Call it her final wish. Call it what you want, but the woman actually wants to meet the woman who could very well be sleeping in her bed one day.” I feigned surprised and placed a hand on my heart. “Why, Stanley’s never once mentioned marriage.” Calloway’s eyes narrowed. He stroked my 127
Celine Chatillon cheek with one of his bony fingers. “I don’t doubt it. He’s not really the marrying type… unless it’s for money.” He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, his hot, smoky breath scorching my soul. “The three of us are truly ‘peas in the pod’. Fahr married for money, and you and I would do just about anything for money. Isn’t that right?” I smiled and tossed my head. “A girl’s got to make a living somehow.” He chuckled softly and snub out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. “So, you want to make a few quick bucks before I take you over to see Mrs. Fahr? She should be more coherent in a couple of hours, and Fahr will have returned to the office by then.” “Perfect,” I purred. I put out my cigarette and took his hand in mine, leading him into the bedroom. I couldn’t have planned a more perfect meeting set-up with Madeline… or a more pleasurable means of celebrating it than fucking the ever-eager Mr. Calloway. As his long cock entered me, filling me with a sense of satisfaction and control, I thought maybe, just maybe, fate was on my side after all. “You know, it’s always nice to meet someone who thoroughly enjoys her work.” He pulled my legs up over my head and shoved his full length— 128
A Middle Class Existence right up to his balls—into my cunt. I almost fainted. I felt a bit tender in places, but what with all the hormones raging in my body the pain was an almost welcomed diversion. “You seem to enjoy your work, Mr. Calloway,” I retorted with a rejoining thrust of my hips. “You can’t seem to get enough of Fahr’s private pussy supply. It’s fun not having to expend energy chasing your own skirt, huh?” “Touché, Mrs. Aldridge.” He chuckled and ground his hips against mine even faster. “I figure Morgan’s deserves what’s coming to him, and I can’t wait for you to come as well.” I groaned as he quickened his offensive. “Don’t call me, Mrs. Aldridge.” He halted his pounding, lowered his teeth to my nipple and teased it. “Why not? It’s your name. A mutual acquaintance told me so.” The pleasure-pain sensations flooding my brain kept me from thinking straight. “Who in the hell do you know that I know outside of Morgan Fahr?” “An old friend of yours came to me a few years ago when she needed help getting a divorce. She couldn’t afford to pay me the whole bill in cash so I let her barter for the remainder.” His dark eyes misted over with the memory. “Best damn decision I ever made. Arlene really knows how to make a young man feel alive. So I didn’t mind one 129
Celine Chatillon bit helping her out again when she called me the other day.” Arlene? How is Arlene involved in this? I opened my mouth to scream, but Calloway plunged his tongue deep into mine and returned to his skillful fucking. I gripped his butt and held on for the ride of my life. My voice hoarse from crying out, we at last shuddered in a mutual climax and slumped into each other’s arms. An unlikely pair we made I thought. But then the thought of Arlene and a young Mr. Calloway created an even odder mental image. “Mrs. Fahr? It’s Todd Calloway. I’ve brought her.” The room was dark. The nurse who had been sitting by Madeline Fahr’s bedside gave us a scowl and warned us to be quick about our business. There was no need for her to emphasize the briefness of our visit. I certainly didn’t care to stay any longer than necessary. The smell of a sick room and imminent death assailed our nostrils. I almost gagged. Then I spied what could only be called a white bag of bones connected to miles of tubing lying on the hospital bed. A dim light from a bedside lamp cast a shadow across the hollows of her cheekbones, rendering Madeline Fahr’s once patrician image into that of a ghost’s. 130
A Middle Class Existence Instantly I flashed back to another image of a dying hag.. my aunt. My aunt, who fought and struggled with cancer for months. A woman who couldn’t let go of life while disease ravaged her body but could oh-so easily let her husband fuck her niece without a second thought. “Todd? Is this the woman?” Madeline managed between gasps. “Bring her closer and go.” Calloway pushed me toward the bed then left the room. I smoothed my skirt absentmindedly and stood up taller. I was a giant here. I was a woman in control. So why did I suddenly feel so afraid? Drug-clouded gray eyes popped open. She tried to sit up, but her tubing wouldn’t allow it. “You’ve been sleeping with my husband?” she said at last. I nodded. “And he’s been paying you?” Another nod. “Good.” She relaxed back into the pillows and closed her eyes. “That means I don’t have to.” “But you do,” I said softly. “I’m carrying his child.” One misty eye opened again. “I think not.” The bitch… I cleared my throat and stood taller. “Yes, I am.” “Impossible. He’s sterile. Had the mumps when we were first married. Doctor said it left him 131
Celine Chatillon incapable of fathering children.” Fahr was… sterile? It didn’t make sense. He would have told me. The antiseptic sickroom smells made my head spin and my stomach churn. She had to be wrong, misinformed. I was pregnant. Why else did I have morning sickness? “He never believed it.” She closed her eyes and continued on as if reading my mind. “Thought I was the one to blame for us not having children. Stubborn fool he is, he kept insisting we try to have a child of our own past the time I was capable of conceiving artificially or the two of us adopting successfully. Never wanted to raise another man’s child he said.” The churning in my stomach grew stronger. My hands clenched into fists at my side. My blackmail plot had disintegrated with Madeline Fahr’s words. She wouldn’t pay me to keep quiet now. With no child in my belly there was nothing to prove to the world that her husband’s affair ever existed. And Fahr couldn’t pay me anymore than what he had paid me—he’d been clear enough on that point. All I was getting for the last half year of being his whore were my wages and some nostrings-attached sex. It wasn’t enough! Madeline Fahr would pay. She would pay dearly… And then it hit me—my baby must be Daniel’s. 132
A Middle Class Existence Daniel’s child. Our lives, our children—they were the reasons why I had embarked on this plan of extortion in the first place --- and why I would finish it once and for all here and now. “I wouldn’t be sure about my baby. Doctors make mistakes.” I coolly observed the corpse-like figure gasping for breath. “You should know that. They didn’t catch your illness until it was too late to do much about it. And there are plenty of medical procedures available nowadays to get around male sterility. How do you know your husband didn’t have one of them done while he was on an out of town golfing trip?” The rheumy eyes stared at me like I was the angel of death herself. “I could get a paternity test done to prove it to you if you like. But since Stanley’s been my one and only lover for the past half year I—“ “Stanley?” The fear in her thin voice was unmistakable. “No one calls him Stanley but me.” I had her. She closed her gray, death-shadowed orbs and turned her face toward the wall. “How much?” she whispered. “How much for what?” I thirsted to wring the last drop of emotional pain from her frail frame. “How much to leave Stanley alone and keep quiet about the child?” She swallowed hard. “No… How much will it cost for you to get rid of the thing.” 133
Celine Chatillon I gasped and teetered back as if she had hit me. My shock was genuine. “Get rid of my baby?” “Yes. A woman in your line of business… I suppose it’s a regular occurrence, like having your hair done.” Pure evil... The woman was pure evil. Fahr and I were no better than alley cats that loved sex and settling scores, I reasoned, but Madeline Fahr worked for the devil himself. I placed my hands on my hips. “I don’t think so.” “Against your religion?” she hissed. I stood taller. “Possibly. But I love Stanley and I love our baby. I would never do anything to hurt it.” “All right then. I’ll have Todd draw up a check.” She drew a rasping breath. “Will twohundred thousand be enough?” I nodded. “Come back later tonight. Nine o’clock.” The nurse re-entered the room at that point to check the monitors and her patient. “You’d better leave now,” she informed me. “Mrs. Fahr needs her rest.” “Yes, of course.” I quickly exited. A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. For all the pain and worry you’ve caused me and my family, you’d better hope you’ll rest—rest in peace, that is, demon bitch. 134
A Middle Class Existence I met Calloway in the front hall. “Good little chat?” he asked. “You could say so.” His quirked eyebrow said it all. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be going.” I headed toward the door. His lanky arm leaning against the door jam blocked my exit. I lifted my chin and glared at him. “Away to hearth and home, right?” He straightened to let me pass and pulled out a cigarette. He was about to light up in a sick house when he thought the better of it. “Going trick-ortreating tonight, are we?” “All work and no play makes me a very dull person.” He grinned. “No one could ever accuse you of being dull, Ms. Parker.” Smiling, I sauntered past him. “Same could be said of you, Mr. Calloway.” **** I felt like splurging on supper that evening. I bought the kids their favorite meal—the twelvepiece dinner at KFC with extra biscuits and mashed potatoes. “All right—fried chicken!” Ben hollered, opening the door for me and grabbing the bucket from my crowded arms. “I’ll even help you set the 135
Celine Chatillon table.” “And you’ll never guess what’s for desert, Baby.” I carefully pulled the bakery box out of the grocery sack and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Blueberry pie?” His eyes widened as he smacked his lips. He raced toward the bedrooms determined to be the first to share the good news. “All right! Hey, Ellie! Come see what’s for supper.” I hummed as I pulled plates and glasses from the cupboard and laid out our feast. It was the little things in life that I truly enjoyed—like watching my boy’s face light up when he saw his favorite meal. And after I received Madeline Fahr’s blood money later tonight, nothing would prevent my family from being able to enjoy our simple middle class existence ever again. “What’s all this?” Daniel raised an eyebrow, entering the house from the back door. He parked his truck in the side yard—out of sight from the street—in an area we planned on converting into a basketball court some day. “Did you get a raise?” “Something like that.” His prying made me feel nervous. “I didn’t feel much like cooking, either.” He sat down at the dinning room table and gratefully accepted the beer I handed him. “I suppose a little KFC won’t set us back too much. You have been looking a bit peaked lately. You feel okay, Richelle?” 136
A Middle Class Existence It felt like someone in jackboots was tap dancing in my stomach while jabbing me with a switchblade, but I couldn’t say so out loud. At least not yet. “I’m fine. A little overworked maybe, but now the townhouses are all about sold I’ll be able to take it easy.” He took a swig and ran a hand through his hair. “You going to have a job once they’re bought up?” “Possibly. They’re thinking of starting a ‘phase two’ project in the spring.” “Good.” He opened the box of biscuits and reached for the margarine. “You think you can handle working and being pregnant at the same time?” The pitcher of ice tea in my hand almost slipped. “Excuse me?” “Don’t play coy with me, Richelle. We have two kids. I remember exactly what you looked—and acted—like when you were pregnant before.” “What’s this ‘mystery dessert’ Ben’s so exited about?” Ellie stomped into the dining area and plopped into her seat. “Oh, yeah. KFC—my favorite. Thanks, Mom.” “You’re welcome, Baby.” Daniel flashed me that look that meant our discussion wasn’t over, but he refrained from saying anything more in front of the kids while we enjoyed our meal. We all laughed and joked and 137
Celine Chatillon pigged out thoroughly on mashed potatoes and fried chicken just like old times, the times before Daniel lost his job and circumstances became darker and my own life had grown as complicated as it had. After dinner the kids ran to their rooms to get dressed in their Halloween costumes for the community-wide Harvest Festival. Daniel helped clear the table for the first time in a long time. “Thanks,” I said, slipping the plate he offered into the dishwasher. “It’s nice you were able to make it home for supper tonight. You driving another route this week?” “You could say that.” Smiling, he leaned against the counter and casually crossed his arms. “You’re looking at a self-employed man. I don’t have to take orders from nobody except my customers.” My puzzled look prompted him to explain. “I’m buying my own rig—the one I’ve been driving. I’m buying it from Sean. He said he didn’t feel like expanding his routes right now, but that I was welcome to take on the long-haul customers with his blessings.” Daniel’s smile grew as he wrapped his arms around me. “I’m my own boss, Richelle. Any money I make delivering goods is mine and, other than the truck payments, we’ve got a fairly low overhead. You can even work for me as my 138
A Middle Class Existence dispatcher and bookkeeper if you want. You can work from home. That way you’ll be here for the kids.” His lips nuzzled my earlobe. My knees went Jell-O-like, but I knew it wasn’t anything to do with my husband’s affections. Something didn’t feel right. “But I’m studying to be a teacher, Daniel.” “That’s fine. You can still attend classes, but in the meantime you won’t have to work outside the house for others if you don’t want to. And I don’t think you’ll want to once your feet start swelling. You had to quit the diner when you got that way with Ellie, remember? I don’t think you miss waitressing one bit, either.” “Daniel, I…” I couldn’t think of what to say. My dear husband was offering me a chance to crawl out of the cesspool I had thrown myself into. And there was no reason on earth to continue screwing Fahr after I gotten this last paycheck from his wife. But something inside me rebelled. It didn’t want me to stop what I had been doing with Fahr—and with Calloway. It wanted to go on and on and on… “No, I don’t miss waitressing,” I said at last. I pulled myself from Daniel’s embrace and went back to scraping off plates. “I like the real estate business, though. Next to teaching, it’s the career 139
Celine Chatillon that interests me the most.” Daniel shrugged and sat down at the kitchen table. He didn’t seem too upset. “All right. You do whatever you feel best for now. In a few more months I know you’ll be singing a different tune. You’ll want to be home with that baby.” He leaned toward me and studied my face. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?” “I’m not sure.” “Don’t worry, Richelle. I’m not angry. These things happen—you missed a pill at the right time of the month I bet. Been to the doctors yet?” I nodded that I hadn’t. “Well, make an appointment. We’re still on Sean’s insurance. He said he’d keep me on his books as a part-time employee until my business grew enough to cover our own health care.” When I didn’t respond he took the plate from my hand and pulled me into his lap. “It’s a good insurance plan, too, much better than we had through the plant. Am I glad I turned that bastard Fahr down! Hauling freight is the best opportunity I have to make something of myself on my own terms.” Fahr? The fine hairs on my neck bristled. “What exactly did you turn down?” I demanded. “A job. He offered me a job back at the plant. I told him no thanks that Sean was a heck of a better 140
A Middle Class Existence boss than he’ll ever was or would ever be. I’m sorry I must have been tired that day and forgot to tell you.” My strength seemed to drain from me. “When did this happen?” “A while back. I can’t remember the date. I had just started doing the long hauls for Sean, and we were doing pretty good keeping up with the bills…” He looked at me oddly when I didn’t respond. He held me closer. “It doesn’t change anything for us, Richelle. Turning the asshole down flat was my own personal act of revenge for being laid-off after all my years of loyalty to Fahr Industries. I declared my independence from him. He can’t hurt me and my family anymore.” Hurt. Family. Revenge. Daniel had had his revenge. But I still wanted mine. It would come later tonight. I glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. I stood to finish the dishes. “We’ll have to hurry if we’re going to make it to the Harvest Festival.” “Is that tonight?” Daniel scratched his head, standing. “You feel up for it?” I lay down the dishtowel and sighed. “Not really. Can you take Ben and Ellie?” “Sure thing. You rest. Knowing them, they’ll 141
Celine Chatillon want to do every game booth and ride every ride at least ten times. Don’t we still got candy stashed away from last year’s? I smiled. “Probably. You want to borrow my pumpkin earrings so you can say you’re in costume?” He laughed. “Nah, I’ll just go dressed as a poor but honest trucker tired from the road. Some of our neighbors might not even recognize me without the tie. God, how I hated that tie!” “I know you did.” I kissed him and shared in his laughter. Then I bundled the kids up and sent them all out the door. Tie or no tie, like I’ve always said my Daniel is a prince among men. With the money I’d get tonight from Madeline Fahr he’d live like a king.
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Endgame
T
he first time I had driven to the Fahr estate I had been hurt and angry. Tonight I felt excited, yet cautious. The tap dancers may have quit clogging in my belly, but a flock of butterflies had taken up residence instead. Alternate images of light and darkness flashed through my mind. Words I’d heard repeated in an English literature class sprang to mind: They were the best of times; they were the worst of times… I was determined they’d be the best. I drove up the long slope of the drive and noticed the front porch light wasn’t on. I searched for Calloway’s car in the driveway but couldn’t see it anywhere. Strange, I had thought he’d be there as Madeline Fahr’s attorney. It didn’t make any never-mind to me now. I would park the car, knock on the door, take the money and run. The nightmare began on the second step of my plan. Morgan Fahr opened the door. “Riki?” A sweat broke out across his brow. 143
Celine Chatillon “What are you doing here?” Shit! How could I have been so stupid? Why had I let Madeline trick me like this? Fahr wasn’t out fucking me so he was certain to be home tonight… Why had I allowed the thought of all the zeros on her check cloud my judgment? I coolly breezed past him. “I have an appointment with your wife.” He allowed the heavy door to shut of his own accord and blocked my path. “I told you not to bother her. Madeline is a very ill woman.” “She knows about the baby, Stanley.” The color drained from his face only to be replaced with devil’s best shade. He came at me, eyes glowing with rage. “Did you tell her?” I leaned against the door. “No, no… I didn’t tell her. It was Mr. Calloway. He found out. He saw me puking my guts out the other day when he came by to deliver a message from you. He put one and one together and came up with three. He must have told Mrs. Fahr. After all, he’s her lawyer.” My explanation satisfied him. He drew back and gave a long sigh. “All right. I believe you. I wouldn’t put it past Calloway to pull such a dirty trick. Was he supposed to be here tonight as well?” I shrugged. “I guess so. I was told to come at nine. I can’t stay long. My kids are out trick-or144
A Middle Class Existence treating and—” He cut me off. “Nine? Madeline’s usually asleep by then and the nurse goes home. Are you sure Calloway said nine?” My hand inched toward the knob. The plan was screwed. I had to escape. “That was the time.” Fahr rubbed his chin and considered me for a moment. “I suppose now that the damage’s been done, there’s nothing for us to do but be honest with her. Maybe the medication will dull the disappointment.” Taking my free hand, he practically dragged me to his wife’s room. He knocked gently and slowly opened the door. The apparition that faced him froze him to the spot. Madeline Fahr was awake, sitting up in her bed. “Come in. I’ve been expecting the two of you.” The skeletal angel in death’s grip acted more lucid than she had earlier in the day. By the stunned look on Fahr’s face I could tell he had been caught off guard by his wife’s unsuspected reserve of energy. “Madeline, you seem to be feeling much better tonight.” “Cut the crap, Stanley, and come on in. Fluff my pillows for me.” I stood at the foot of the hospital bed as Fahr gently lifted his wife and rearranged her back 145
Celine Chatillon support. While he was reaching down to adjust the mattress angle the blankets slipped a little at that point, revealing a cold, metal object in Madeline’s bony grip. She quickly placed her hand back under the sheets. I’m no idiot—I knew it was a gun. Madeline Fahr was going to kill me. Or she was going to kill her philandering husband. Or she was going to kill herself. Or possibly the three of us. I started backing toward the exit. “Just where do you think you’re going, Ms. Parker?” The voice was supernatural in its hatred and intensity. I stopped and took a deep breath. “To retrieve a pen. After all, you have a check to write, don’t you?” “Check?” Suddenly Fahr was all ears. “What’s this about a check, Madeline?” “She promised me two-hundred thousand if I kept quiet about our baby,” I said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m here tonight.” His face turned red again. “You… you were going to take the money?” I shrugged. “It was either that or have an abortion. Your wife didn’t give me much of a choice.” My words had the desired effect. Fahr’s focus 146
A Middle Class Existence immediately shifted to his wife. “You bitch… you lying bitch.” His body shook with rage. He thrust his snarling face next to hers. “After all this time you’d deny me the opportunity to have an heir. Thinking you could buy off Riki’s affection for me and our child with one of your bottomless bank accounts.” “Not exactly, Stanley, you lying whoremonger.” Her indignant tone betrayed the depth of her wounds. “Blaming me all these years for being childless and then taking matters into your own hands to get another woman pregnant once I was past menopause…” My eyes fell to Madeline’s hand trembling beneath the sheets as she raised the pistol. I had to make my escape now. Running from the room the sound of a gunshot stopped me in my tracks as I reached the front hall. God knows I should have kept running at that point, but something held me back. Insatiable curiosity maybe—or was it the need to see if the vengeance I so craved had been fulfilled? I tiptoed back to Madeline’s room and pushed the door open, gasping at what I saw. Morgan Fahr’s body rested at the foot of the bed, bleeding profusely from where once had been his arrogantly handsome face. Madeline lay still, the only indication she lived 147
Celine Chatillon the horrible gasping breaths that rattled her chest and echoed through out the room. Her right arm lay half off the bed. She’d dropped the gun on the floor. I approach her with caution. The spent weapon had landed alongside some eerily familiar materials. One item appeared to be a naked photo of Fahr asleep, a pair of lacy women’s underwear flung across his chest. Beside it lay several cassette tapes labeled “S. Morgan Fahr and friend.” My mind raced. There was nothing in the photo or on the tape that would positively identify me as Fahr’s lover. Only Calloway would be able to testify to that in court since I had all but admitted it to him. But he was my friend, wasn’t he? And how did Madeline get the evidence? Did Arlene give Calloway the stuff? No, it couldn’t be… I slowly backed away from the gory scene and ran smack into a tall, dark figure. “Whoa there. Be careful you don’t touch a thing in this house.” “Calloway, you bastard. You set me up… You knew she’d do something like this. You’re going to rat on me to the cops and tell them I did it.” “Keep your voice down,” he ordered me in a hushed whisper. “Let me handle things from here on out.” Then I noticed the black turtleneck, trousers and gloves. He was dressed like a burglar. “What 148
A Middle Class Existence are you doing? Are you collecting the evidence?” “Yes, of course.” He knelt down beside the sleeping woman and began stuffing the tapes and photos into a canvas bag decorated with Halloween symbols. “We’ll talk outside. You got a handkerchief on you?” I grabbed a handkerchief from my purse and handed it to him. He stood and scanned the room for places that either of us might have touched, giving those surfaces a quick wipe. Then I followed him out of the room. He continued his print wiping on the doorknobs of the bedroom and the front door. “Any other place you might have touched?” “No, I don’t think so.” I frowned. “Why weren’t you here at nine?” “I had planned to be when Madeline intimated she was having company tonight, but I received an important phone call from an old friend of ours just as I was leaving. She’s in the hospital.” It took a moment to sink in. “Arlene? Arlene’s in the hospital?” “Yes, she’s had a scare with her heart. They’re keeping her for a few days for observation. It won’t help her recovery if she loses her closest friend to prison.” He glanced out the windows. “We need to get out of here. Did you park up front or out back?” “I… I’m parked on the street. Around the 149
Celine Chatillon opposite corner in the shadow of a big tree. I knew people might be out tonight for Halloween, and I didn’t anyone to associate my car with this house.” “Good. Smart thinking. Follow me out the back, and I’ll escort you to your car.” I did as I was told. For someone who had studied the law, Todd Calloway had a criminal streak a mile wide. He crawled in the passenger side and slumped lower in the seat, nodding that I was to do likewise. Pulling out his cigarettes he offered me one. I cracked the window slightly and lit up. “Before you say anything, I want to tell you that I didn’t think Madeline would ever pull on gun on either your or Fahr. I didn’t think she had it in her to do such a thing. Maybe I’m not that good a judge of character after all.” I laughed. Then man had no character. No wonder he couldn’t judge it very well. “Well, she did. Luckily for me she aimed at her husband first.” I took a long draw on the cigarette and expelled smoke from my lips sideways at him. “It still doesn’t explain how she got my evidence—the photos and tapes, I mean.” “You know where they came from. Arlene told me all about them. She’s known about her heart condition for some time and when she realized that you too had a mutual acquaintance—me—she 150
A Middle Class Existence thought she could trust me to do the right thing. I told Madeline that I’d gotten the evidence of her husband’s affair from an unknown source, and she never pressed me to reveal it. She even paid me quite well for my detective work.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He counted out seven thousand-dollar bills and dropped them into my lap. “It’s probably not close to what she said she’d pay you to shut up, but it should help ease the pain some.” “It helps some.” I smiled, crumpling the bills in my fist. Calloway had no idea about the baby or how big the check was suppose to be, but at least it was something. And Madeline’s goody-two-shoes reputation had been flushed down the toilet forever. Fahr was dead and I didn’t even have to pull the trigger. Sweet revenge indeed. I snubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and leaned over to kiss him. He put out his smoke and returned my attentions with fervor, slipping his hand under my skirt to fondle my wet pussy. I reached over, unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out. I gave it a good sucking before he pulled me on top of him and fucked me with all the desire and urgency of a man who hadn’t sex in weeks. The thrill of my total victory over Fahr and his wife soon sent me soaring over the edge in 151
Celine Chatillon ecstasy. As we came up for air and straightened our clothes I caught a look of what might pass for admiration in Todd Calloway’s lust-sated eyes. “Can I keep what’s in my trick-or-treat bag?” he asked. “The photos and tapes?” I thought about it for a moment. I had no real need of them other than the fact listening to the tapes really turned me on at times… But that career was ending. It was better if they were out of sight, out of mind. “Sure. You can keep them. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed making them.” “I’m sure I will. Here.” He tossed me his pack of cigarettes and smiled. “You will think of me whenever you get the… urge, won’t you, Ms. Parker?” I returned the grin. “Of course I will, Mr. Calloway.” And then my thief blended into the night. It wasn’t quite ten when I arrived home. I quickly undressed, showered and crawled between the sheets. Daniel and the kids would be home soon. “Riki? Honey, is that you?” Arlene looked like a fragile china doll tucked up in the hospital bed, her face a pale gray 152
A Middle Class Existence porcelain contrasting against the hideous peagreen blanket. She reached for my hand, but the exertion was too much. “Don’t tire yourself out on account of me.” I sat down on the edge of her bed and gently lifted her boney hand and placed it in mine. “They say they’re fixin’ to kick you out of here in the morning if you don’t cut out all your partying and behave.” “I’m behaving… I’m behaving just fine. You wouldn’t believe all the drugs they pumped into me through these tubes.” She took a long, shuddering breath. “You wouldn’t happen to have a smoke on you, would you?” I bent and kissed her forehead. Her skin felt cold, deathlike. “No, I don’t. Your smoking days are through they tell me. Now, you try to get some rest. I’ll come visit you again tomorrow.” I started to stand, but her limp hand suddenly sprang to life and gripped my wrist. “Did Todd help you any? I asked him if he would. He said he would.” “Yes, he did. He’s been very helpful. Arlene, you should have told me you knew him.” “I didn’t think he’d remember me. But he did. He did…” A smile of remembrance graced her bluish lips. She drifted off in medicated slumber and released me. I placed her arm back under the quilt and left 153
Celine Chatillon the room. Daniel stood out in the hall waiting for me. “She look okay?” He put his ball cap back on his head and followed me toward the elevators. Daniel hated hospitals. Too many people died there according to him. Madeline Fahr sure as hell didn’t. “She’s doing as well as to be expected. The nurses said the doctors are talking about a by-pass operation, but she’s awful weak. She may not survive one.” My husband placed an arm around me as the elevator doors slid open. It was okay to show affection in public if no one was watching. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek as the doors slid closed. “Thanks for coming with me. I hope I didn’t screw up your schedule too much this morning.” He shook his head. “Nah. I’m my own boss now. I can screw it up anytime I like.” We both laughed. “It is nice being your own boss, isn’t it?” I said, sighing. I had been my own boss up until the morning radio news broadcasted that Morgan Fahr was found dead at his home by one of his wife’s inhome nursing staff. No more fat paychecks from Stanley—Bob Wilson called at seven forty-five to say I was out of a job. In the days to follow I learned that Fahr 154
A Middle Class Existence Industries had been in some very difficult financial straits than even Fahr’s business associates didn’t know about. While Fahr was alive he’d handled things pretty much as he’d seen fit—up to and including overpaying the Mayfield Country Estates model tour guide. But I didn’t feel sorry one bit for his business partners. If they were stupid enough to trust the man, they got exactly what they deserved. Daniel squeezed my shoulders. “You still don’t want to work for Aldridge Trucking and Hauling Services?” I squeezed him back. “No, I’m going to finish my degree. I’ve got some severance pay coming to me according to Mr. Wilson. It should handle the after school costs while I’m student teaching and my new teacher’s wardrobe.” The seven thousand Calloway had given me could handle more than that, but Daniel didn’t need to know that. Better for us if I stuck it all in the new account I’d set up for myself at the bank down the street from where our joint accounts were set up. We could save it for a rainy day that way. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage it— juggling the kids and teaching?” Daniel said. “I mean, it’s two very important activities at once…” My mind wandered to those long lunch hours spent cavorting about the model home naked, 155
Celine Chatillon enjoying mind-bending sex with both Stanley and Calloway… I had successfully juggled my job, my thirst for revenge, my sex life and my family and had kept all the pieces up in the air. The elevator doors pinged open, and we stepped out into the bright sunshine of the lobby. Daniel immediately dropped his arm from my shoulders. I straightened up and smoothed my skirt as we headed toward the parking lot. We wouldn’t want folks to think we’d been necking in a hospital elevator, would we? “I’ll be able to manage the kids and teaching just fine,” I said, my head held high. “I can handle anything.”
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A Middle Class Existence
Hell Revisited
I
t’s eight months later. “Lovely begonias you got there, Richelle,” our next-door neighbor informs me as I weed our front flowerbed. I rise up on my knees. “Thank you, Mrs. Moore. But your rose bushes make me pea green with envy. What’s your secret?” “That rose food in the green and black box and water,” she says. I put down the spade and pick up the hand rake. “That’ll do it.” She raises an eyebrow. “Should you be outside doing such heavy work?” She is a dear for being concerned about my health. “I’m fine,” I say. “Everything’s fine. And I need to get in shape to begin teaching in late August, you know.” Smiling, she strolls back to her door with her mail, and I continue weeding. “Ah, yes. Good luck with your new teaching career, Richelle.” 157
Celine Chatillon “Thanks, Mrs. Moore.” I find myself thinking at times what I should have done differently this past year. But knowing how my mind works, would I have done things differently? Probably not. In case you’re wondering, I finished my student teaching this past spring. I’ve almost completed my remaining classes, too. I’ll be teaching second grade this fall at Ben’s school. His principal knows and trusts me from all the time I’ve spent as a room mother over the years. He said he was glad to give me a good reference for the school board. Madeline Fahr was charged with the murder of her husband S. Morgan Fahr. The police say she did it because she was angry over an alleged affair, but the woman Fahr was sleeping with was never identified. Most people say he slept around with several women. His golfing buddies testified he had been quite the tomcat while his wife had been bedridden. There had been so many women for so many years that who could really say which dalliance had finally been the last straw. Madeline Fahr never served any time. Six days after the murder, she died of complications due to her illness. In spite of her late-in-life lawbreaking, her legacy as a small town philanthropist remains intact—as does the large plaque with her name inscribed upon it at the front entrance of the junior college theatre. 158
A Middle Class Existence But most people feel sorry for her. They really pity the woman. Madeline would have hated that. And this fact pleases me to no end. Arlene had a double bypass operation and successfully gave up smoking. It’s a fair exchange she says—no more smoke, no more heart palpitations. But I do worry about her and check up on her often to make sure she’s taking her medicine. My pregnancy never came to term. I suffered a miscarriage five weeks after the shooting. The doctors were forced to perform a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. Daniel cried. I never realize how much he had wanted another child. He confessed to me while I was recuperating how he felt. He knew we couldn’t afford another mouth to feed and didn’t want to risk any more children with a serious illness like Ben’s, but he had always wanted us to have a bigger family. I was touched. Daniel’s trucking business is doing very well now. He’s even thinking of expanding his routes and hiring more employees. Truly, he is my prince. Still, I find myself wondering what I should have done differently. And, in the end, I realize it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. We enjoy a simple, fulfilling middle class existence. I’ll be a teacher in the fall. My kids take sport and dance lessons. We own a lovely home 159
Celine Chatillon on a respectable street with a brand new basketball court in the side yard. I drive an SUV. My life is drab and predictable as hell. I throw down the hand rake and go to the garage to put away my gardening gloves. On impulse I open the SUV door and search the glove compartment for the cigarettes I secreted there many months ago. I pull out a smoke and toy with it, letting it roll around my fingers and across my lips before I take the cigarette lighter to light it. As I draw in a deep breath of smoke I spy a business card tucked in the top of the pack. I pull it out and read it and smile. I wonder… what is Todd Calloway doing with himself these days? I heard he’s bought one of the townhouses at Mayfield Country Estates. Is he lonesome? Is he looking for excitement like I am? Would he mind a visit from an old friend? Riki, with your talents you’ll go far. I slowly exhale the smoke and silence the voice from the past. I’ve gone far, I know. Too far maybe. But, then again, maybe it’s not quite far enough.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Celine Chatillon is the alter ego of multi-published contemporary romance novelist, Cynthianna Appel. Celine finds writing erotica a very pleasant departure from her day job as a small press manuscript reader. Her eXtasy titles include Brandi Whyne and her Incredibly Erotic Adventures, Yes, Virginia Here Comes Santa Claus and Gifts Well-Timed. Email her at:
[email protected] and check out her web site at: http://celinechatillon.bravehost.com http://www.celinechatillon.com/
