RAPE-Serialized version

 

Hi Everyone:

After reading chapter two of my novel, RAPE, I hope you will decide to visit my website at:  joshswritingroom.com  where you can find a very clever short story and information about three of my published novels:

PATH TO A PARDON,

                            THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

                                                                 PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

 

As each new chapter is published on this blog, the previous chapter(s) should be archived below, so even if you did not read it when it first appeared, you can easily catch up. Your suggestions are appreciated and will receive careful consideration.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Officer Hall gave Gary a nonchalant salute. “I sure hope this turns out well for you.”

“It’s got to, I’m innocent!” Gary said, closing the door of the police cruiser. Standing on the sidewalk, he watched the car pull into traffic, and then glancing up at the windows of his office decided that facing the questions of his staff had to wait; he needed to go home, needed to talk to Carol. He strolled toward his parking place while punching in Erica’s number on his speed dial.

When she heard his voice she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine and I’m back, but I’m not coming in right now. I have to get home to let Carol know what’s going on. You can tell everyone that the Chief just wanted to know when I got to Julia Walsh’s place, what time I left and what happened in between.

“Gary, did the police charge you with anything?”

“Miriam West accused me of rape and assault, but I haven’t been charged with a thing.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. You’re right about not coming in, the sales reps are all out. Martha and I are here alone. I’ll tell everyone that you’ll be in tomorrow.” 

He started the Maserati and headed back toward County Road and home. He was no more prepared to face Carol than his office staff.  I need to step back, need to take a break, he thought, but not in some dark dingy bar. What better place than at The Breakers, my favorite haunt. Only this morning Erica had brought him a message from Clifford, the golf pro at the hotel. He recalled asking her to handle it, suggesting that if he asked her to lunch, she should accept.

          She gave him one of her cross-eyed looks. Later when she handed him the call slip from Julia Walsh he grabbed the phone and dialed the number from memory. The Empress of Palm Beach had been his first major client on the island. She had opened a lot of doors for him. Because of her, he now insured many of his client’s winter homes here in Palm Beach and their northern summer mansions, as well as private planes, cars and in some cases, their business interests. When she called, he jumped, and he didn’t touch mother earth until he carried out her wishes.

          Turning onto the long drive up to the hotel’s front door, he viewed the closely manicured lawn and remembered their conversation. “Julia,” he had said, “I just learned that you called. It’s so nice to hear from my favorite client. How can I help you today?”

          “Gary, you sly dog; I’ll bet you say that to all your clients.”

          “Now Julia, you know I never lie to you. You’re not only my favorite client, but also one of my best friends.”

          “Gary, I swear, you spread more fertilizer than my gardener.” She nailed him for a contribution to the big Red Cross Ball she was chairing.  He quickly agreed, and she asked him to come to her home to see her niece, Miriam West, whom she asserted had won an Academy Award for best supporting actress for her role in Slater’s Revenge. The star had recently come from Hollywood with a lot of uninsured jewelry.

          After setting the appointment, he asked Erica about the Star’s movie, which he had never seen. Erica had lowered her pen and grinned at him. “Clifford,” she said, “had called again and had asked her to lunch.”

          He asked if she had accepted. When she shook her head, he asked why not, and learned that Clifford was a Lech, something that everyone but he knew.  He apologized, took her to lunch at the Chesterfield, where she told him about Miriam’s movie, and how, while she played her part well in that one, was later panned in a stinker about a woman who marries a sheik in Saudi Arabia.

He tipped the Valet with a ten-spot and admonished him to treat his car with care, before strolling through the front door.

The lobby of The Breakers always reminded him of a magnificent tunnel; this one contained a couple of dozen stone encased pillars supporting a curved baroque ceiling from which half a dozen magnificent chandeliers cast subdued lighting. He by-passed the check-in counter and found his way to the elegant Tapestry Bar, loaded with cozy overstuffed furniture groupings nestled between the bar and the back wall decorated with distinctive tapestries from which the place took its name. There were only a few people imbibing, no one he knew.

He took a seat at the back of the room, allowed his body the pampering provided by the soft cushions, and ordered a single malt scotch on the rocks. Waiting for his drink, his mind began to focus on the task ahead. Should he call Carol? No, that’s much too cowardly. He needed to look her in the eye, let her read the innocence in his. He checked the time; the children were still in school. He considered just calling to invite her to meet him here.

The waiter brought his drink. He took a sip, held it in his mouth, and savored its flavor on his pallet before allowing the smooth elixir to journey down his throat spreading its comfort through his chest on its downward course.  After the trauma of his police interview, he felt he deserved this chance to unwind, and find a new perspective. Half an hour went by and he still had no clear idea of how to broach the subject with Carol.

 Hey honey, guess what happened to me today—no.

 Carol come sit here next to me. There’s something we need to discuss—not much better.

Boy! Did I have a rotten day—a big fat no.

Sweetheart, do you remember me telling you about the sales call I made at Julia Walsh’s place yesterday? Hm, much better, he decided and drained his glass.

The waiter stepped to his table to ask if he wanted another.  He glanced at his watch it showed two-thirty. Time was slipping away from him; he wanted to get home well before the children arrived so he and Carol would have plenty of time to decide on the best course of action. 

Conscious of the liquor on his breath, he kept the big sedan below the speed limit and concentrated on his driving. He drove north on County Road passing innocuous as well as spectacular entrances to well hidden mansions. When he reached The Beach club he turned toward the ocean, and then made a smooth left turn onto the Ocean Road. He felt an urge to stop, take in the sight of soft waves breaking on the narrow beach to chase the sandpipers, but having settled on an opening gambit he opted against delay.

He parked in the garage and entered through the back door. Walking from the kitchen toward the front of the house his masterful plan evaporated. Carol paced back and forth in the living room, intermittently running her fingers through her short blond hair, and then rapidly rubbing her hands together. As he moved closer, he noticed her cheeks, stained with mascara.

She spotted him through red-rimmed eyes, stopped, stood on one foot, and removed one of her loafers, which she threw, hitting him in the chest. “What the hell have you done!” she screamed.

“Carol honey, let me explain.”

“I’ve heard all about it. Is this going to be like that fling you had with Alana?  What was it this time—a lover’s quarrel? How could you do this to me? How will I ever face my friends?”

“Wait a minute. You say you heard all about it. What are you talking about? It only happened a couple of hours ago.”

“Well this kind of dirt travels at jet speed, you stupid bastard. A reporter named Miguel Rodriguez or maybe it’s Gonzales came to see me. He told me that Miriam West filed a complaint against you for rape and assault. How long has this been going on? How could you sleep with that big boobed actress? Aren’t I good enough for you anymore?”

“Listen Carol, when I came home yesterday I told you exactly what happened. I went there on business. I had never met that woman before and I didn’t do anything wrong, or cause her any harm. I have no idea why she claims that I did. Now you can believe me, or not. I have no way to prove that what I’ve told you is true. You’ll just have to trust me and have faith that I speak the truth.”

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I’ve heard that song before. What kind of perverted beast are you? First you assault that—that woman, and then you make love to me. You’re a stupid idiot! Well, answer me this Mr. Big-shot businessman, what are you going to do to clean up this mess?”

“Nothing—there’s nothing I can do. So I’m going to continue to work at my business and hope the police find the guy who did it.”

Carol pulled a tissue from her jean pocket and wiped at her eyes. “Until they do, I think you’d better move into the guest room.”

Gary took a deep breath and sighed. “This will pass.”

Carol shook her head. “That’s what the Egyptians thought when they saw the first swarm of locus. You’d better hire a damn good lawyer.”