Husband and wife slipped into a comfortable
routine. Peter spent his free time trawling for men at his favourite haunts;
Victoire spent considerable time at her ocean front house overseeing its
refurbishment. But that was not all that was getting fixed up. In between
decorators, shopping expeditions and social engagements with her husband,
Victoire’s long term goals and priorities were undergoing a serious facelift.
Three options danced in
her one-track mind like witches before a bubbling caldron: to either continue
as if nothing happened and hope Peter died soon of AIDS; to take him to the
cleaners armed with irrefutable evidence; or, finally, resort to good
old-fashion blackmail. But that
morning, the hammering and non-stop chatter of the fastidious decorators
interfered with her thinking. She needed to get out.
The half-empty Silver
Dollar in Tomales Bay smelled of fried food, and the television over the bar
blared. A Grace Slick lookalike waitress well past her sell-by-date shuffled
about braless in a tight fitting T-shirt and Birkenstocks.
Victoire sat tucked
away in a booth toying with her shrimp salad. Her intellect reawakened after
the purchase of the glasshouse, and the vapid lifestyle of shopping, pampering
and partying held less and less interest. With her energy levels coursing at
full speed, the idea of blackmail gained momentum.
A frown marred her
face. In order to blackmail her husband, she needed an accomplice. But not just
any accomplice; Victoire required unconditional allegiance and unquestioning
loyalty.
“Care for some more ice
tea, sweetie?” asked the waitress before popping a loud bubble with her gum.
Victoire looked up and
nodded. She was about to ask for the bill when her ears tuned into the
newscast.
“Word from in Sunnyvale
is that Theo Thompson and co-founder Willy Waites are unveiling a new
peripheral compatible with the Sinclair 7 unit that will send tremors through
the Valley…”
Victoire jumped up to
get a better look at the screen, knocking her newly filled glass onto the table
and her lap. She gasped, reached for a paper napkin and wiped her jeans.
The waitress looked
startled. “Are you alright?” She pulled a handful of napkins from the metal
holder to contain the damage. “Hang on. Let me get you something to clean
yourself up with.”
An idea came to Victoire
at lightening speed. She pulled out a ten-dollar bill, shoved into the
astonished waitress’ hand and bolted for the door.
# # # #
Friday nights at the El
Toro were sacrosanct to Willy. The popular Tex-Mex cantina renown for its
guacamole and buxomly servers sat in Silicon Valley next to a three-star hotel
that included hot tubs.
Willy shuffled in with
a group of four others and quickly ordered a round of drinks. His mind slowly
disengaged from office matters letting the weekend mode slip under his skin.
Aside from going over a new modem design eating away at his brain, he only
planned to buy groceries and get a haircut. He had toyed with the idea of
asking Julie out on a date, but by the time he seriously considered the matter
it was already Friday morning.
Victoire sat in a dark
corner and kept to herself during Happy Hour, her eyes darting between her
watch and the door. When Willy eventually turned up, she watched where he and his
nerd posse seated themselves and slipped out of the cantina to set the wheels
of her plan in motion. She retrieved a nail gun and shot several nails into the
front right tire before returning to El Toro.
She waved and slowly
weaved through the crowd. Willy looked stunned and missed the punch line of his
friend’s joke. His body relived the same rush he’d experienced when he first
laid eyes on her. The admiring glances from the men around were not lost on
Victoire. She wore a short skirt that showed off her tan legs at their best. A
floral scent snaked up his nose seconds before she spoke. To the group’s
surprise, the predatory blonde bent down and planted a kiss on Willy’s flushed
cheek.
“Hello, Willy.”
Transfixed, words failed to come forth. The group
went silent and stared. “Would you mind if I joined you?” Willy cleared his
throat and nodded.
A chubby fellow in a
short sleeve shirt with pens gapping from his shirt pocket recognized her from
his days at Bassadai. He nudged his nearest companions and said, “We were just
leaving.” He looked at the third fellow whose eyes doubled since Victoire’s
appeared on the scene. “Catch you later, man,” he said, steering the geeks to
the bar.
“Wha-what are you doing
in this neck of the woods?” Willy asked in a croaky voice.
“I’m waiting for AAA to
sort out my car.” She pushed her hair back; he noticed she wasn’t wearing a
wedding band. “I was driving back from Carmel when I got a flat tyre.” She
sighed. “I’m told it’ll be an hour’s wait before they can get to me they’re so
busy. I was lucky it didn’t happen in the middle of nowhere, can you imagine?”
She absentmindedly ran the tip on her middle finger around the rim of his empty
Margarita and slowly licked off the salt. “Yum…”
Willy gulped.
“That tastes so good,” she said enticingly.
“Can I get you one?” he
blurted.
She placed her hand on
his thigh and looked grateful. “Oh Willy, I’d love one. I’ve had a long, hectic
day, I could use something to relax me.” She slowly took off her cropped
jacket. Her nipples strained against the thin white T-shirt. Willy’s reason
teetered like a seesaw on speed.
Victoire led the
conversation, pulling every emotional string she could think of between rounds
of Margaritas. “I miss working with you guys.” He looked up at her quizzically.
“Honest. There was a buzz, a sense of accomplishment.”
“You lead a very busy
life,” he said, remembering the articles he recently read about her. “It’s not
like you just sit around, Victoire.” A flicker of resentment crossed his eyes.
“Of course I don’t just sit around! But
Peter’s so much older and expects so much of me.” Her tone sounded hurt. She
took another sip before continuing in a calmer tone. “I miss being with people my age, Willy. Hell, I still miss
our Friday nights hanging out at TGIF!”
She shrugged prettily and added shyly, “You were the only person who
could make me laugh.” She briefly touched his cheek. “I don’t do a lot of that
these days.” She took a deep breath and reached for her jacket.
Willy’s heart skipped a
beat. “Wait, what are you talking about, Victoire?”
She looked down and
shook her head. “Nothing, Willy. Forget I said that.” Then she got up to call the recovery service about her car.
Dumbfounded and mellowed by alcohol, Willy watched her disappear in the crowd.
He settled the bill and went out to look for Victoire.
She cut a melancholic
figure, leaning on her car in the semi-darkness waiting for his preordained
move on the board of her narcissistic chess game of greed.
“Victoire?” She turned
to look at him. “Why did you leave? You can’t go anywhere.”
She pretended to be
startled. “Oh Willy, she cried, turning to face him. “You frightened me!” A teardrop glistened as it made its way
down her cheek.
“You’re crying?” he asked
softly.
Feigning embarrassment,
she delicately wiped her alligator tears. “I’m okay, I’ll be alright.” She
sniffled and placed her forearms against his chest.
Without thinking, he
put his arms around her. To his amazement, Victoire lifted her face and looked
into his longing eyes. A raw moan escaped his lips before they clumsily locked
onto hers.
When Willy woke up the
next morning, Victoire had already left. He reached for her pillow and pressed
it against his face inhaling every last inch of her scent. He looked up at the
innocuous hotel ceiling feeling the happiest he ever felt.
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