Chapter 5 Unjust Desserts?
“It’s too late now. There’s no way you can hide that, Beth. Anyone can see you were in a brawl last night.” Bella rolled her eyes.
I knew my sister was right but I still tried to justify my actions. “I just defended myself.”
“So you say, but do you think Peter Balfour will believe you? “She shook her head. “He knows you fight.” She fixed me with an appraising stare. “He probably knows a little of how much you like fighting.”
There was nothing I could say. I was more than sore from the fight. The high I’d gotten from destroying Kim had almost gone. I didn’t want to think about what Peter would say when he saw me. I had been so looking forward to seeing him too.
The fight was all his fault anyway. I’d originally invited him to our apartment. I was going to cook him a special meal and he’d meet Bella. I had almost everything ready when he called to cancel, and instead suggested that we meet at Emily’s bar the next night.
.
I felt sick at heart – another guy standing me up. I left the dinner half-cooked in the kitchen and went to Emily’s – and there I got into a fight. I didn’t start it, no matter what my sister – or Peter Balfour – might say, and at least I won. Who started it, and who finished it, didn’t matter though. Peter knew I fought and he liked me fighting but that didn't matter either. Nor did it matter that he knew I was a competent marketer and wanted me to do more work for him. He couldn't get enough of my lovemaking – even that didn’t matter.
What really mattered – what mattered to me – was that I wanted a long lasting relationship. I wanted that more than anything and I wanted it with Peter Balfour. A slightly older guy like him was so right for me. And therein lay the problem. Turning up at Emily’s tonight, for a very special date where my man was going to meet my sister, scarred and bruised from last night’s fight was not the way to get what I wanted.
I cursed myself through the first part of the evening. Everything seemed to go wrong. Peter’s first words were to ask about my fight. I felt awkward, and I knew it showed. The whole conversation was uncomfortable and almost came to a standstill several times.
Suddenly Peter blanched. He knocked his glass over. I reached out to hold his hand to comfort him. “Is there anything wrong?”
Suddenly an angry voice sounded right behind me. “What the
hell do you think you’re doing…holding my boyfriend’s hand?”
I whirled round to stare open-mouthed at Kelly Haldane. She went on but what she said – other than to reinforce her point that Peter was her boyfriend – went way over my head. I just didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be there. I wished with all my heart that I could just disappear.
It all made sense as she went on, “Yes, Peter’s my boyfriend. I thought that would be obvious, even to a slut like you! It was me who invited him to the garden party where you met him. You knew that. You also knew he…and for that matter his family’s business…wasn’t a client of ours. He wasn’t on the guest list, so you should have realised he wasn’t a prospect either…at least not then. No, he was there because he was my boyfriend.”
I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. All my dreams had just gone up in smoke.
Kelly lectured me. She made me look at her, just like my mother used to do when I was little by holding my chin. She told me I was good at my job, that I didn’t need to screw around to get ahead. It was almost the same lecture I got from Naomi Ruggles, and just like that time, I felt sick to my stomach all over again.
It got worse. “You didn’t have to get into bed with Peter to get the work. I gave it to you because I thought you could handle it…and I was right. You did a good job.”
I was no use telling her that I didn't bed Peter because I wanted a job. That was the reason people thought I'd bedded Henry – they were wrong about that too, but no one had believed me then and Kelly wouldn't believe me now..
“You did a good job of fucking Peter too. Slut!” She turned to Peter. Her next words made me want to curl up and die. “I bet she’s a really good fuck, isn’t she Peter? But you want more than a good fuck, don’t you?”
That was all I had been to him. All my dreams were destroyed. I hid my head in my hands. I didn't want Peter – or anyone else – seeing what a mess the crying had made of my face. Kelly said something to Peter and he stood up. I didn’t even dare to look at him as he and Kelly started to leave.
Bella stuck up for me. She blocked their way and blasted Kelly for being controlling, for setting me up with Peter. I should have told her it was no use trying to argue with Kelly, but I was still weeping and too busy feeling sorry for myself.
What happened next surprised me. Bella – my self controlled, calm and usually gentle sister –
fought Kelly Haldane. Even more surprisingly – for a while at least – she looked like winning. I don't remember all, or even most, of what happened during that fight, but I’ll never forget the look of shocked horror on Kelly's face as Bella took the fight to her.
Bella's initial success didn't last though. I don't think the person has been born yet, who can beat Kelly Haldane. Kelly ended the fight by actually knocking Bella out. That was the first time I ever saw a knock-out.
Kelly was gracious in her victory – just like she’d been when she beat me at the garden party. She helped Bella to sit up again and then, with Emily's help, did some first aid. She told Bella what I already knew and what that night had just reinforced – the only way to survive when Kelly was around, was to do as she wanted. If you did that, she helped you, protected you, even went out of her way to do things for you. If you crossed her however, you had no chance. There was no use whining about it. That would be like biting the hand that feeds. No, you just had to accept that Kelly was in control.
Emily bought Bella and me a drink after Kelly and Peter left, and chatted with us for a while. I knew she was just trying to make us feel better but I appreciated it nonetheless. She insisted on her barman driving us home, saying we were in no condition to get home ourselves. He was quite attractive and perhaps if we hadn’t been so miserable, we might have talked to him, flirted a little, maybe even invited him up for coffee. As it was, he left us on the doorstep and called a cab to take himself home.
Only the thought of Bella hurting all over, from her fight on my behalf, made me struggle to get out of bed the next day. Left alone, I'd have stayed curled up under the covers with my misery. As it was I got breakfast ready but Bella insisted we go out for coffee afterwards – back to Emily’s. She said we had to show we weren’t afraid.
But I
was afraid of work the next morning – Monday – and not just because I’d probably run into Kelly. I had more work to do on Peter Balfour‘s and Vic Hely-Hutchinson’s relaxation CDs. What had been a one off CD had morphed into an ongoing project. Vic had told Kelly my marketing skills had made the CD very successful. The first press had sold out and another bigger press had now been released. It had been so successful that Vic and Peter were designing a follow up CD. This had more scenes from the forest pool and surrounds. Vic also had plans for a fitness CD and more. I had to meet him with marketing proposals for both the new relaxation and fitness CDs. At least I didn’t have to face Peter.
I met Vic him after work that Monday with my portfolio of ideas for the second relaxation CD. They differed from the first. I explained “You want to attract a new type of customer. Yes, you want repeat customers and you’ll get those just by doing similar marketing…I’ll design that programme…but to get new customers who will grow your business, you need new ideas”.
Kelly had already approved the portfolio so thankfully I didn’t have to see her again about it. I knew she’d be magnanimous – she was always was to those who, like me, she had at her feet – but I didn’t need to be reminded every day.
I hoped to keep the discussion with Vic very professional. I knew I’d cry at any moment if I shifted onto what had happened at Emily’s. Somehow Vic knew something was wrong, and that it involved Peter. How he knew, I didn’t want to ask, but he was sympathetic – a gentleman.
After the meeting he invited me to dinner with some of his friends. That took my mind off work, even though he introduced me as a business colleague. It also helped take my mind off Peter and my conflicting emotions. We talked about music, film and so many other interesting things – his friends were interesting people too. Vic had a wicked sense of humour – one moment he was talking about Wagner’s
Ring Cycle and the next he regaled me with stories of Wagner’s personal life. I’d never known just what – to use Vic’s words – a “cheating shit” Wagner was. He fled from creditors and from police after the 1848 revolution. Then he turned traitor, betraying his fellow revolutionaries. He cheated on his wife with a series of women, one of them the wife of his financial backer and another, the wife of his conductor.
Then Vic told me about the two operas –
La Boheme – I hadn’t heard of Leoncavallo’s opera and how Mimi’s death really revolved around bad drainage. He said that no one got that sort of disease in London after it had been properly sewered. That alone made me laugh, not so much from what he said – thought it was interesting – but how he said it. By the time I walked back to my car after agreeing to meet him on the following Wednesday to discuss the ideas again, I was feeling a lot better.
That time, we had a quick working lunch – no more than a hastily consumed sandwich. He was concentrating on the work in hand. He seemed to know just what I needed – some entertainment on Monday night, some hard work on Wednesday. I looked forward to seeing him again on Friday with the detailed campaign proposal. In between time, I had all my other work bubbling along too. I had no time to mope, no chance to think about what might have been. It was good
So was Bella. As always, she was supportive and helpful. I don’t know how she got to work on Monday and I know I should have been home to cook her dinner that night, but she said she didn’t mind and I was grateful. I made her meals the next few days until she began to recover fully.
On Friday, Vic called. “I’ve got some tickets for the Symphony tonight. Would you and your sister like to come?” I called Bella and she agreed. We had supper afterward. Again Vic was a gentleman. Even Bella approved.
The next week was just as hectic. Twice I met Vic for a working lunch, this time with another girl from the office. The project was getting so big that I’d gotten permission to bring in another staffer. Jann helped me with the art work. It wasn’t the first time I’d had art work done by someone else of course, and Jann and I both had other work to do but it was the first time I’d had an artist assigned to ‘my’ project. For the first time, I was a team leader.
On the Wednesday after that, Vic took Bella and me out to a concert. From what he let slip, he must have heard something of what had happened in Emily’s Bar and he didn’t like it. It was as if he was trying to make amends.
Friday evening, he invited Jann and me out for a drink. It struck me then that, apart from the hurried lunches in a busy cafe near work where many of the staff went, Vic had been careful to have a chaperone. There had been no quiet tête-à-têtes with him. I didn’t dwell on that however – I wanted to talk about launching the fitness CD with a function at Emily’s, and Vic liked the idea. I thought a function would be a different kind of launch from either of the relaxation CD's and I wanted to do it at Emily's for two reasons. Firstly, it was popular with one of the main target audiences – young, fit men and women who were part of the beach culture. The other reason was that Emily told me she had relatively little business from October on so we’d be helping out a friend. Besides, Emily would spread the word among her customers. It was a win-win – we would both do better with a bigger crowd.
Jann had excused herself to go to the bathroom when I saw Vic’s mistress Wendy stride up.
“So this is where you've been!” she hissed at Vic, then rounded on me. “Can't get your own man, so you’ve gotta steal mine!”
“You got me wrong,” protested Vic. “This is business.”
She looked intensely sceptical. “So where's your colleague…Balfour, isn’t he?”
I flushed at the mention of Peter’s name. I couldn't begin to explain about that. “I’m here with another girl from work,” I explained instead. “We were meeting Vic to show him some proposals.” I glanced round to see them. They weren't here. They were on Jann's laptop and she'd taken it with her to the bathroom. She'd always been obsessive about losing things since someone had snatched a tote bag from her about a year ago. All I had was a small folder and a pad on which I’d been taking notes.
“So where is she?” snapped Wendy.
“She's in the bathroom.”
“I suppose that's where the proposals are too! Lying whore!” She suddenly lashed out and grabbed my hair. I screamed out loud in surprise and pain.
I shouldn't have worn heels, especially when I’m as tall as many men – I'm taller than Peter even without heels – but I did. Call it vanity but I liked to be tall. Now I was paying for that vanity as Wendy yanked me off balance. I slumped forward trying not to roll an ankle.
Wendy slammed her fist into my boobs. I groaned. I knew she was a vicious bitch from when I’d seen her fight Lauren, but the power she packed in that punch took my breath away. She didn’t let go of my hair either as she punched me three more times before I was able to straighten up, seize her shoulders and force her back a foot or so.
Still she didn’t let go of my hair – well actually she did, by tearing the clump she held out by the roots. I shrieked again, even louder. Never had my scalp hurt so badly. My boobs felt little better but at least I was free. I scuttled backward with my arms up defensively.
Vic said something – I didn't hear exactly what but he was telling Wendy back off. She didn't, of course. The bitch charged me. I surprised her with a kick that hit the base of her gut hard. She groaned and doubled up coughing. Again Vic implored us to stop but now I was as angry as I was hurt. I scowled. Vic hadn’t seen either of my recent victories, the first over Alison and the second over Kim. It was about time he learned that I wasn’t just a marketing consultant. “No way! I’ve got this bitch! She thought I’d be easy pickings. She was wrong and now she’s about to pay for that!” All the hurt, the shame of the past two weeks suddenly morphed into a white-hot rage.
I used my longer reach – I was a good four or five inches taller than Wendy – to slap at her face. As she began to straighten up, I slapped at her upper body too. It felt so good as the solid, thudding slaps smacked home leaving red weals on Wendy’s face. I landed about half a dozen unanswered slaps before Wendy retreated.
I went after her but stumbled in my heels. I kicked them off but those few seconds allowed Wendy to recover and she came after me now with her fists up, ready to box. She fired punches at my midsection. I tried to use my reach advantage to keep her at bay, jabbing at her face and upper body where I slapped her before. I dodged sideways or retreated when she attacked. I even scored a couple of lucky strikes, one to her cheek and one just above her left breast. Both drew gasps of pain and slowed her attack for a moment but still she kept coming. I kept defending, avoiding most of her blows and those that did hit, didn’t hit hard because I kept her at the outer limit of her range. Still she plugged away though, and even those light punches would weaken me. She was stronger and fitter. I knew that just like Jo St Leon had in the wash room, Wendy would outlast me. I had to act now.
I kicked out hard. The kick missed but Wendy scurried back, surprised. I’d bought some time and space. I closed but not far, careful. I hoped to stay at the edge of her range, but close enough for me to hit her. She blocked the left that I threw at her midsection She evaded my right too, aimed at her face, but my kick hit her thigh hard. She hissed in pain. I followed up, punching hard at her body. She defended well, ducking or blocking almost all my blows and hit back a few times until I kicked her thigh again in exactly the same place. She groaned, staggered and her leg almost buckled.
I fired a right at her left breast. She blocked it but not my left, which slammed home on her chest just below her shoulder. That got another grunt of pain out of her.
We traded blows. She defended with her hands better than me and blocked most of my blows, but I was able to weave around and avoid most of hers too. From her groans and gasps, it seemed that with my longer reach, my punches that hit her did more damage than hers that hit me. Her damaged leg meant she was slow. She stepped closer. Now she could stand and slug it out despite her shorter reach. She still defended better than me, blocking more of my punches than I did hers. She didn’t seem fazed by the few punches I landed on her, and I didn’t have the advantage of my reach now. I stepped back but she came after me and fired punches at my boobs. My man magnets were a big target and they hurt when she hit, crushing them against my ribs. I groaned with each blow. They were going to be black and blue by morning.
I kicked again. Wendy stepped back and avoided the kick but I’d put some distance between us and I was going to use it. I remembered how Bella had come so close to defeating Kelly by slapping had at her face. She’d swung from her hips to get maximum power and I planned to do the same, standing back and using my reach advantage – and I did. I swung my right arm and body together in a fluid slap at her left cheek.
Wendy didn’t know what hit her. She gasped, faltered and turned away just in time for my left palm to strike her right cheek just as hard, just as painfully. She groaned and staggered. I pressed the attack, slapping hard, throwing my hips into the blows. Wendy tried to deflect them but she couldn’t retreat, not with her wounded leg. I was just too fast and I kept the pressure on. She couldn’t deflect properly either. She might block one arm but the other would pound her before she had a chance to block it. Each impact rocked her to one side, then the other. Her gasps became groans, then sharp cries of pain as she stepped back, increasingly clumsy.
She tried to counter attack but I stepped back to maintain my distance and my advantage, and kept hitting her mercilessly. Wendy gagged as the slaps hammered her face in rapid succession. Although I was tiring, gasping for breath myself as the fight wore me down, the adrenaline kept me going. I was winning. I was showing Vic that his mistress was no match for me. I saw Jann too, standing with her mouth open wide, watching as I took the fight to Wendy.
Wendy bobbed down to a half crouch. I adjusted my slaps, leaning forward, a little stretched out but determined to keep my distance and use my reach advantage. I slapped hard. She groaned and stumbled back a step. I closed to keep her within reach. She ducked further, under my slap. Stretched out, my arms extended I couldn’t counter her sudden spring forward nor her fist that powered into my stomach.
First I felt the air rush from my lungs and – together with spittle – erupt from my lips. A moment later I felt the pain – only surface pain for a second or so but then it sank in and I felt it in my abs and deep into my stomach wall. My gut churned. I felt that I wanted to be sick.
I stumbled back, my hands protecting my stomach. Focused on my own pain, I was too late to block Wendy’s fist as she slammed it into my face. My head snapped back as the force of it sent me reeling backward. I kept going, trying to regroup. Wendy came at me, her fists out ready to slug. I blocked the first few punches but she didn’t give me the time I needed to launch a counter attack. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t move fast. Neither could I – she’d nearly winded me with that belly punch. All I could do was defend against the hail of punches that peppered my sides, my boobs and stomach – and defend I did, grimly, my breath rasping, my movements slowed. I managed to block most of her punches. I told myself that if I hung on for a few seconds, I'd get my breath back. When that happened I'd be able to move more freely and I'd have a chance.
I didn't get that chance. Each of Wendy's blows that hit home hurt a little more than the one before. Each made it harder to drag my hands up to defend. I retreated but that did no good. She just came after me. I tried to hit out. She brushed my arm aside and fired another punch at my gut. I just managed to deflect it a little so that it hit my side rather than squarely in my midsection but it hurt just the same. Again the pain seemed to seep in.
I knew she was softening me up, breaking my resistance with each punch and there was nothing I could do. She brushed aside my attempts to attack, and followed me as I back pedalled. She broke through my defences more and more often. No, there was nothing I could think of to do. I knew Wendy was going to take me apart. “Wendy…Wendy…” I croaked. I wanted to beg her to stop – if only I could find the breath.
She paused for a moment, looked at me – then spat in my face. Her left fist crashed past my arms and buried itself in my stomach. I rocked on my feet as, all over again, I felt the air rush from my lungs. The pain worked its way deep inside my body and my stomach churned once more. I had no breath left to even plead with her now.
When she slammed her right fist into my stomach a second later, my legs gave out. I fell to my knees clutching my stomach, moaning. I’d never been hurt so badly in all my life. I felt my stomach heave again, and then the bile gurgled in my throat. I choked it back, telling myself desperately that I couldn’t disgrace myself and throw up – that would be the ultimate humiliation – but a wave of nausea washed over me and made me dizzy. I couldn’t even stay on my knees. I threw my arms out in front of me to stop myself from falling completely to the floor. Crouching there on hands and knees, I vomited up my dinner and drink all over the floor.
Wendy kicked me in the side and I toppled over, thankfully avoiding the noisome puddle. “What was that you said?” she sneered. “Something about easy pickings? Well that’s what you were. I hardly raised a sweat.” She looked around. “I want a souvenir. Yes…that little folder.”
I tried to beg her not to take it. It contained all my worked up plans for the fitness CD launch – the venue, the catering, much more than I’d put in my emails to Vic and Peter. I’d even started on the guest list and those notes too were in the folder. But I couldn’t say anything.
“Look at her, Vic! Isn’t she pathetic” said Wendy scornfully groping him. “Ï know…I knew all along…you’re not fucking her. You’ve got way too much sense to fuck Balfour’s cast off. Still, the slut deserved what she got anyway.” She looked over at me. “How’s it feel to fight your own battles instead of getting others to do it for you, bitch? Not that you did any better than her.” She took Vic’s hand. “Come on, let’s leave the loser there and go celebrate.”
Jann came over as they left. She helped me to sit up. It wasn’t easy. I could hardly even breathe and it was quite a while before I could stand. I remembered how I’d worked Kim over – had she felt this bad after what I’d done to her?
*****
