Chapter 10

Where Onslow has several surprises for me — not all pleasant.

The conference table shone in designer spotlights. So did the regiment of spotless designer glasses and all the pretty bottles of designer water. There were designer coffee containers and designer cups. There was also hot water for the pretty teabags in the precious wooden box. Earl Grey, I read. Ceylon and Oolong and China Blossom, names that took me away to exotic places.

I was early. I knew I would be. I always liked to just sit alone for a while before an important meeting, just to savor the moment and take in the feel of the place, the smell and the sound. I hardly ever used that time to read papers or prepare myself with pertinent information. I just sat and stared — taking in even the tiniest fleck that danced in the lamplight.

I had no idea how it worked, but when the meeting started, I was always the most relaxed person in the room. Maybe I just "owned" the place more than the others. It felt as if it were my turf, I guess.

But this time my brain refused to empty itself. Too much had happened. And too much depended on the next few hours.

That evening on our way down from Rhode Island to New York we never stopped — other than to fill the tank with gas and to buy some junk food.

The girls had huddled up in the back seat. They talked, their voices were too low for me to understand. At times I thought I heard sobbing. Later it seemed like giggling. When I looked back to check on them, they had both fallen asleep.

I knew we were in big trouble. I also knew that everything might have been for nothing, anyway. There was a good chance Myriam would run off again the moment we arrived. And even if she didn't at once, it might be a matter of time.

She had held me tight, almost desperate, the first twenty miles after we dumped Enthwistle. She'd kissed and thanked me — pushing her half naked body into mine. She had cried.

Erica had driven a while, then I had taken over the wheel — telling the girls to get some sleep.

I glanced back again. Streetlights washed over Myriam's face — she looked relaxed. There was a little smile around her lips. She was intelligent. She must know how deep the shit was that she had sank us into. Or I, for that matter. But for the moment she seemed beyond that.

I wondered who she was now and that thought brought a dark cloud with it. In the magazine pictures and at the engagement party there hadn't been a sign of Estelle around. Nor had I seen any of the vulgar behavior that came with Myriam's sex-crazed alter ego. Oh yes, she had gone wild today, fucking Erica. She had come more extravagantly than she had ever with me. And she had readily done things Myriam would not ever have dreamed of. She certainly had acted as Enthwistle's submissive sexpot.

But she had been Myriam all the time. She had been soft, gentle, even subtle in her outrageous actions. The way she had dressed (when she was dressed) had been tasteful, even modest — as far as her obscene new breasts allowed. Nevertheless she had been Enthwistle's creature. In how she acted she might have been Myriam, but in what she did the control of Estelle was evident.

Her mother's words came back to me. "By now Estelle can be both the prude and the slut if need be. She has taken over." I glanced back. Was she right?

As we passed New Haven the thought hit me that somewhere inside her mind a barrier must have been removed; a wall between her two personalities was gone now — if something like that had ever existed. Maybe right now there wasn't someone like Myriam still there. Or even Estelle, for that matter. She might have just merged into a completely new person — a complete person.

It would explain a lot, but would it be a good thing? I looked back once more to see her face. Her mouth made sucking noises. It didn't look obscene — just childish.

I returned to my thoughts. Had the two of them melded together? Or had Estelle just taken over, usurping all the fine social graces she needed in her new role of society princess? It was obvious that Myriam was not in charge. She would never have fallen for the Turd or his sick father. She would never have allowed them to make her their personal toy and company whore.

The words toy and whore made me wince — even just thinking them.

But — on the other hand — she had untied my ropes, so we could escape. That must have been pure Myriam. It proved she still could withstand Estelle, did it not? I clung to that thought until I saw the first lights of Manhattan. It was about 3 a.m. when we at last drove into the parking garage under my apartment building. Erica had long since awakened. I had shared some of my musings with her. She agreed with the change, but she couldn't explain it any better than I could.

The concierge hid his surprise when we walked past him in our robes and ruined clothes. Erica and Myriam went into the shower together. I just stayed in the bathroom for a second longer, watching their vague silhouettes through the sanded glass. It looked as if they had become one. There were giggles and little sighs.

I looked at my face in the shaving mirror and watched my eyebrows knit. There was more sighing than giggling in the shower cabin by then. I turned and walked to the balcony. Yes, I thought. Erica had been adamant that she should go and get Myriam. I remembered our discussions. Definitely - she had been adamant.

I inhaled the night air of the city.

Next day it took the shit only a few hours to hit the fan. By evening I was gloriously covered by it.

The Enthwistles charged me for quite a list of things with the Providence police. Among the more serious accusations were the use of violence, assault and battery, and the threat with a lethal weapon. I also was accused of forcefully abducting Enthwistle senior, leaving him behind in a life-threatening situation. My abduction of the Turd's fiancée, the unwilling Ms. Myriam F. Collins, came only about eighth on the list, even after a charge of doing damage to the house. Almost hilarious was the item of me raping Myriam before I took her with me. More serious was the charge that I used the false pretense of business to gain entrance to the Enthwistle property. I had committed misrepresentation if not fraud by making Erica into someone she wasn't.

I knew I had it coming — except for the rape, of course. It was typical for the old pervert to put his own misery first. It just confirmed how little he cared for his would be daughter-in-law. In the end it was just greediness on his part — but the sort of greed that would no doubt herald my professional death.

Then Onslow surprised me. He called me into his office. I was very nervous about what he might say — or rather what he would do. I had without a doubt blown every chance of us getting the merger. That alone would cost us dearly. It would also cost me my job and any prospect of getting anything else that was half-way decent. And on top of losing the new business for Onslow, Enthwistle would certainly try to rob our company of every penny he could lay his hands on. So when I walked in, I was prepared to get fired.

Onslow stood behind his desk. He smiled. That by itself was a surprise. But when he walked around his impressive desk to hug me, I was stunned.

"Fuck them!" he said. "Pierson, you got yourself into an amazing heap of shit and I don't know if we'll ever get you out of it — but sure as hell we're going to try!"

He slammed into my shoulder and led me to one of his overstuffed leather club chairs. My ribs hurt. As did my shoulder.

"Whiskey?" he said, already pouring. I accepted the glass. He had poured himself a double vodka on ice. He cheered; I raised my glass, wondering.

"Tell me what happened, Bruce," he said, sipping.

I told him briefly what we had done. He never asked for details, which surprised me. He also never grunted at my more stupid actions. He didn't even deride my romantic notions, which wasn't like Onslow at all. Most of all he wanted to know what I was being charged with. And instead of looking worried, he laughed out loud at quite a few of them. Onslow isn't an easy laugher. And when he does, he has a rather repulsive likeness to Enthwistle the Elder.

He rose and once more laid a hand on my shoulder. "Don't lose sleep over it, Pierson," he said, chuckling. "Our lawyers will give them hell."

That didn't really cheer me up. "What about the new business?" I asked softly.

He just grinned some more. "Go to bed, Pierson," he said genially. "Go to bed with that amazing woman of yours and we'll do the worrying tomorrow!"

A few minutes later I was on my way home. I hadn't lost my worries. I had just added an uneasy feeling about Onslow to them. A nasty bastard had changed into "best pal" mode overnight — it just gave me more questions to mull over. Quite a few of them, actually.

Erica wasn't there when I got home. Myriam said she'd just left. She was in her bathrobe — her skin glowed. Her hair was damp. She had come to the door and hugged me. Her body was soft and inviting. But the day had left me wound up like a clock's spring - in fact so tight that nothing could slip past it, let alone feelings.

I kissed her on the cheek. Then I went for a beer and asked her to sit with me. I felt her gaze on me all the time. "Is something wrong, Bruce?" she asked after sitting down on the couch beside me. She leant into me. Her bare thigh showed where the robe fell open.

"Of course there is, Myr," I said, moving away from her. "Enthwistle is charging us with a million serious accusations. One of them is raping you, by the way — before I abducted you."

She giggled at that. Then she stopped as she saw I didn't even smile. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Will the charges stick?"

I marveled at her naiveté. She couldn't be this stupid. I knew she wasn't. "Myriam," I said. "I grabbed the guy in his own house and threatened him with a gun. I abducted him. I knocked him unconscious. Then I kicked him out of a car, half naked and in the middle of nowhere. To top it off I robbed him of his favorite fuck toy and future trophy daughter-in-law. Now you ask me if they'll stick?"

I saw how she flinched at me calling her a fuck toy. "But he raped Erica," she said.

I laughed. "Yes, he did. So did you."

She blushed.

"Anyway," I went on. "Even if you and Erica help me deny it, it will be his powerful word against our highly compromised opinions, won't it? Plus the fact that he indeed was found half naked in the middle of the woods."

She spluttered. "Of course we will stand by you!" she exclaimed.

I silently watched her. "Thank you for that," I said, wondering where the sarcastic twinge in my voice came from. "But anyway," I went on. "It will cost me my job, whatever the judge says."

Her eyes went wide. "Why is that?" she asked.

I studied her gaze for a bit. She seemed really perplexed. Then it hit me that she probably didn't know the first thing about my involvement with Enthwistle's companies. Why would she? So I told her about the merger and how Enthwistle was involved. She laid a soft hand on mine. She looked concerned now.

"Honey," she whispered. "You should not have taken that risk for me. It cost you too much." She leant in to kiss me. The skin on my lips felt taut. I held her slightly away from me.

"If you hadn't thrown yourself at this asshole Enthwistle, I wouldn't have had to do it, would I? Why did you anyway?" My voice was harsher than I intended.

"I..." she said. Her hand went to her mouth. It trembled. I saw a tear at the corner of her eye. I pulled her to me, hugging her. She started sobbing.

"Sorry," I said. "I know — it wasn't you. And I surely must have hurt you with what I did in Baltimore. Please forgive me. Don't cry." It must have been the pathetic last remnants of love in my heart that clung to the belief. It certainly wasn't my brain.

After a while the sobbing stopped. Her wet face touched mine. Her lips opened wide and weak. We kissed.