Chapter 4

Darren wheeled his suitcase into the Saint Louis airport and Marcia dragged hers. They approached the check-in counter. “Weather delays in Chicago,” he remarked. “It’s going to be late by the time I get into Pittsburgh.”

“I’ll be late getting home, too,” she said. “I wonder what sort of mood Rob’s going to be in.” She made a snort. “Actually, I know what sort of mood he’ll be in.”

They headed to the security checkpoint and down the concourse. The waiting area outside their gate was nearly deserted. They sat in chairs overlooking the tarmac.

“You okay?” Darren asked.

She forced a smile and nodded. “I’m all right. I meant what I said, Darren. If nothing else I’ll cherish the memories.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “We might as well get a head start on our recommendation.” He pulled his laptop from its case and powered it up.

The flight to Pittsburgh droned on through pitch-black skies. Darren sat in the aisle seat, holding his forehead. He pondered the notion of telling Stephanie. Their marriage really was a dead-end. He feared the wrath of a woman scorned, though. How vindictive could she be? he wondered. He knew she was capable of plenty. Then there were the logistics -- dividing up their property ... selling the house ... moving his business. It was a daunting proposition. One thing he knew for sure -- Marcia had gotten under his skin. The safe course is the slow one, he reminded himself. There were easily four months of work for him at Kirk’s firm. Maybe more if he played his cards right -- plenty of time for him and Marcia to feel their way through a relationship.

The plane touched down. It was after midnight by the time he had retrieved his bag from the carousel. He stood by the taxi stand and waited for one to pull up. It would be a forty-five minute drive to his house in an affluent subdivision on the other side of the city. He gave the driver the address and the cab pulled onto the rain-slicked interstate.

Darren watched the landmarks pass. The cab headed into Penn Hills and onto the street leading to his subdivision. Stopping by his driveway the cabbie opened the trunk and retrieved Darren’s valise. He paid the driver and headed up his driveway. Parked near the front door was a white, customized Ford F250 pickup truck. So that’s how it is, he thought.

He unlocked his front door and stepped inside. A beep came from a panel near the door and he keyed in a code to disarm the security system. After locking the door he re-armed the alarm and headed upstairs. Easing open the bedroom door he peered in. Stephanie was asleep ... but she was not alone. He eased closer to get a better look at her bedfellow, but tripped over a shoe and knocked over a chair.

The young man leapt up. Within seconds Darren found his face against the carpet, his arms in a lock and a knee between his shoulder blades. “Steph!” the man yelled. “Steph! Call the cops. We have an intruder!”

“Let go of me, you moron,” Darren shouted, “this is MY house!”

The lamp went on. “Steph -- is this guy really your husband?”

“Yes, he is -- unfortunately.”

Darren was freed from his grip. The man extended a hand and helped Darren up. “Sorry, man ... I ... I think I’d better be going. I’ll call you tomorrow, Steph.” He started pulling on his clothes and then headed downstairs.

“Watch out for the alarm!” Darren shouted. He looked at his wife. “You probably gave him the code -- didn’t you?”

She glowered at him. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

“I live here -- remember?”

“You weren’t supposed to come home ‘til Friday.”

“No -- I told you I was coming home after the conference. It ended today. I got in late because of weather delays at O’Hare.”

“You could’ve had the decency to call.”

“Since when do I need an appointment to come into my own home? As a matter of fact, I did call. I got no answer so I left a message. You should check your voice mail more often.” He heard the sound of the F250’s diesel engine starting and then fading into the distance. “Tell me about your boy-toy.”

“His name is Evan. He has a landscaping business and he’s a personal trainer at my club.”

“And, he’s hung like an army mule,” Darren observed.

“You noticed.”

“It’s hard not to. I know I disappointed you in that department, Stephanie.”

“You never heard me complain.”

“Nonetheless ... I am pleased to see the eighteen grand I coughed for Extreme Makeover Stephanie Edition is being put to good use. Tell me -- is he really happy with an older woman?”

“I’ll have you know that Evan likes my body very much, thank you.”

“He ought to -- you have new boobs, new gut, new ass, new thighs...”

“He likes a woman who’s seasoned.”

“You’re well seasoned, Steph. How long has this been going on?”

“About six months.”

“That’s even before I took this Walnut Street gig. What, were you working in nooners before then?”

“Do you really want to know, Darren? You were the one who said, whatever makes me happy.”

“I did say that. Does Evan make you happy?”

“He does.”

Darren nodded. “Then, I hope you make him happy.”

“You can’t tell me that, in all the years you were traveling you never strayed.”

“In all the years I was traveling I never strayed,” he asserted. “Stephanie -- I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep in the guest room. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”

He dragged his suitcase down the hallway to the guest room. There he stripped to his briefs, turned down the covers and slid between the sheets.

Dawn light roused him. He dressed from his suitcase and went downstairs to the kitchen. After filling and starting the coffee maker he looked in the refrigerator. From it he took a pack of bagels and some cream cheese.

Stephanie stepped into the kitchen wearing a flannel robe. Darren regarded her. “I’m sorry to have interrupted a tender moment last night,” he said.

“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I meant it.” He poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to her. “This Evan ... are you serious about him?”

“I am. He’s serious about me. He says I possess the body of a twenty-year-old woman.”

“My God, Stephanie -- did he discover the box you hide it in?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “What about us? Do you think we should just call it quits?”

“I have been talking to Dickson,” she replied.

“Ah, Dickson. The attorney with a heart of gold -- only harder.”

“You certainly are in an odd mood this morning, Darren. We were trying to determine the best way to break it to you. We were hoping you’d cooperate.”

He slipped his wedding band from his finger and set it on the table. “Let’s go together. There’s no reason to battle it out. I think we can come to an equitable arrangement.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded. “I am. I’ll agree to anything that’s fair. Besides, if we file jointly it’ll eliminate the hassle of serving papers.”

“Why are you being so reasonable?”

“Why not? What good would acrimony serve? I’m ready for a change. Besides -- sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”

“Darren -- have you found someone?”

“I have.”

“Are you serious about her? ... I assume she’s a woman though these days nothing would surprise me.”

He chuckled. “Her name is Marcia. She works for Walnut Street and I’ve been working with her on this project for the past few weeks.”

“Marcia? What’s she like?”

“She’s about your age, maybe a four or five years younger. She’s smart and pretty ... and, she’s married.” He flashed a quick smile. “I really like her. I don’t know if we can make it work, but I’m going to do my part to try. I’ll give Dickson a call and see if he can meet with us this morning and get the process started. Then, I’m flying back to my client.”

“Darren,” she said, “if nothing else, you always were pragmatic.”

It was Monday morning. Darren walked from his temporary quarters to the Westmar building and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. “Good morning, Cory,” he said to Kirk’s middle-aged receptionist and assistant.

“Good morning Darren.”

He headed into the back office and stopped at Marcia’s desk. It was vacant. He approached a middle-aged woman with dark blonde hair pulled back with a headband. “Rebecca -- have you seen Marcia?”

“She called this morning and said she wasn’t coming in.”

“Is she ill?”

“She didn’t say.”

“We have that meeting tomorrow to discuss our vendor selection. I wanted to finalize our recommendation.”

“She said tomorrow is iffy, too. You might need to do it solo, Darren.”

“Do you have her home phone number?” he asked.

Rebecca turned to her computer and copied numbers onto a pad of sticky notes. “I shouldn’t be giving you this...”

Darren sat at the desk he had been provided and punched in the number. It rang without an answer.

“Rebecca -- I have a bad feeling about this. It isn’t like Marcia, and I know how much this project means to her.”

“You’re right. I’ve been worried, too.”

“Maybe I should go to her home and see if she’s all right.”

Rebecca’s gaze flicked from him to her computer and back. “All right...” He handed her the note and she added a street address. “Maybe I should come with you.”

He regarded her and the look of sincere concern on her face. “I think not, Rebecca. If this has to do with what happened during the conference -- I think it would be better if we were alone.”

“Why? What happened during the conference?”

“Marcia and I ... connected.”

Rebecca nodded. “I see.”

“It wasn’t anything I anticipated, Rebecca. It was just ... chemistry.”

“Oh, I understand. I met Ray under similar circumstances.”

“I care for her, Rebecca. I would never hurt her.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. Ray’s known you a long time, Darren, and he’s picky about who he keeps as a friend. I trust you.”

She handed him the slip of paper and Darren regarded it. “I’m not familiar with this town. How do I get there?”

“Do you have a car?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No -- for the amount of use I give it, it’s not worth the expense.”

“Ask Cory to call a cab.” He nodded. “Darren -- If she needs anything...”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Good luck.”

Darren waited on the street. He saw a white Crown Victoria with lettering reading City Taxi approach. The driver rolled down the window. “You call for a cab?”

“Yeah...” He handed the driver the slip and sat in the back seat.

Darren watched city buildings give way to a high-density residential area. The cab pulled into a private drive and stopped before a building with a half-dozen townhouse condominiums. Darren paid the driver and looked at the numbers on the doors. He spotted number 317. “Wait for a moment in case nobody’s home,” he said to the driver. The cabbie nodded, tapped out a cigarette and lit it.

He approached the door and rang the bell. “Marcia!” he called, rang the bell and knocked on the door. “Marcia!”

“Go away!” came a voice from behind the door. He knocked again. “GO AWAY! I’ll call the police!”

“Marcia -- it’s Darren!”

“Darren?” He heard the sound of the deadbolt being retracted.

Darren waved to the cabbie, who then drove off. The door opened and he stepped inside. “Marcia?”

Marcia was standing behind the door. She closed it and he regarded her -- she was in her bathrobe and had two black eyes, a swollen and cut lip and other bruises on her face. “Oh, my God! Did Rob do that to you?”

“Yes. We had a terrible argument. Ever since I started working at Walnut Street he’s accused me of being unfaithful. It’s because of all the long hours and off-site meetings. I always denied it. Then, last night he accused me again ... and...”

“You told him about us.”

Her lip trembled and she nodded. “I wanted to hurt him. He started slapping me around. It’s all my fault...”

Darren put two fingers under his front lip and blew a loud whistle. He held one hand upright and placed the other, palm down atop his fingers to make a time-out sign. “Marcia -- you are the victim. No matter what you said, no matter what you did -- it’s not your fault. Unless you threw the first punch, it’s not your fault. Do you hear me?”

She nodded.

“We must stop blaming the victim. Say it, Marcia. Say, it wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she repeated.

“Louder.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said, louder.

“Louder yet.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she yelled.

“Again.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Tears began flowing down her cheeks. “It wasn’t my fault! IT WASN’T MY FAULT! Oh, Darren!” She fell against him, weeping.

“That’s it -- let it out. Let it all out.” He held her as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking, until she began to calm. Tears were running down his cheeks, too.

“Oh, Darren...” Marcia grabbed a tissue and blotted her face; then she took another and blotted his.

“Has Rob abused you before?” he asked.

“Not like this,” she replied. “Up ‘til now it’s only been verbal ... and emotional abuse. Nothing physical.”

“This doesn’t surprise me.”

“Do you mean you anticipated it?”

“No -- I couldn’t predict it. But, it doesn’t surprise me.” He sat on her sofa and she sat beside him. “These things have a tendency to escalate. My sister was in an abusive relationship and she barely escaped with her life. In her case, it started out as verbal abuse and escalated to pushing and shoving, then to hitting. Then, one day, her boyfriend -- they weren’t even married -- came to her office and beat the tar out of her -- put her in the hospital.” He regarded Marcia and she turned her face from him.

“Don’t look at me,” she said.

He gently turned her face toward his and kissed her lips. “Tell me the whole story.”

Marcia picked up her purse and retrieved her cell phone. She punched in numbers and held it to her ear, then handed it to Darren. He listened to a voicemail message. Listen, you filthy cunt... “ He handed it back to her. “I heard enough.”

She pressed more keys and handed it to him. CALL ME NOW, BITCH! He returned it to her. “These were from when we were in Saint Louis?”

Marcia nodded. “Yes. There are more ... about twenty in total. The first night he called the room at one in the morning and railed at me for taking the trip.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to involve you...”

“I’m involved, Marcia -- and I was, then, and I am, now.”

“ ... and I thought maybe I was to blame.”

“Say it, Marcia. It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Don’t erase those. They might be useful.”

“When I heard these I knew I was in for it. It was late when I got in on Thursday. I came home and Rob was asleep. I got into bed. When I woke he was already gone -- his day starts at seven so he’s up early. I went to my office but couldn’t get much work done -- my mind kept wandering to you. Then our team had our usual Friday at Farley’s, but we also had a problem so Rebecca and I went back to the office to straighten it out. It was pretty late by the time I got home and Rob was already asleep again.”