― Anaïs Nin
~~~
Renata Koreman
Betty Jo jumps to her feet and begins to pace back and forth in angry jerky motions. “We’ve been living together for six months. Six months! That fucking whore got her claws into him. I’d like to scratch that bitch’s eyes out. Gary’s mine. Mine! Some women are total sluts.”
Why does she blame the woman in this picture? Particularly as it’s obvious her boyfriend was unfaithful. Does it make her feel better to imagine that he’s innocent? She seems to have convinced herself some evil woman purposely lured her innocent man, twisting his arm, forcing him to put his dick inside her.
I frown, thinking it over. They lived together for six months. Why did Gary have an affair with another woman? If he wanted someone else he should have broken it off with Betty Jo first.
It sounds to me as though he was the unfaithful slut.
The way women are quick to attack other women is a mystery to me. True, I missed high school and all that teenage angst when girls are mean to each other. I’ve seen teen movies, but I never had the experience. At the time, I was living on the streets. Pleasing my parents, passing exams, chasing boys and backstabbing weren’t on my radar. Finding food and staying warm and dry were more in my line of interest.
“Do you know the woman he was with?”
Her dark blue eyes fill with hate. “No, but I’m going to make it my mission to find her. I’m going to wipe the smug grin off her face, that bitch!”
I frown. “How do you know she’s a bitch?” I ask. “Maybe Gary told her he was single. Perhaps he pursued her over a period of time. It might not be her fault at all. If men can be unfaithful, they can also tell lies.”
Betty Jo’s eyes widen. I can see this is a completely new and unpleasant idea for her. “Gary loves me,” she cries out. “He’d never have left me unless some slutty whore seduced him away.”
“Oh,” I say blandly, marveling at the power of denial.
Betty Jo is seriously screwed up. She hates and distrusts women—she has mother issues for sure. I can’t doubt her father issues either. Talk about toxic and pathological family dynamics. This further betrayal must be one straw too much.
André believes women cheat because of loneliness. They desire intimacy, communication and emotional connection. He says what most people don’t realize is, men cheat for exactly the same reasons.
Sure there are those that are unfaithful to punish their partners, or for the thrill of the chase and the ‘excitement’ of living on the edge. There are sex addicts who can’t get enough and narcissists who put notches on their belts. However, by and large, infidelity is less about sexual pleasure and more about meeting unfulfilled, essential needs on an emotional level.
I don’t like Betty Jo, yet I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Unfaithfulness is the ultimate betrayal. It causes a person to question everything. After such personal disloyalty, it’s difficult to allow oneself to trust the next time.
I wouldn’t wish that kind of introverting mind fuck on anyone.
Thankfully, Betty Jo’s phone rings.
She answers it and continues pacing. “Hello?” she says in honeyed tones to whoever’s on the other end, expertly hiding how upset she is. “Mr. Fairbanks, it’s such a pleasure,” she oozes.
I unbuckle Briley from his highchair and carry him into the living room to play with his toys. Betty Jo remains in the kitchen, talking on the phone, thank God. I try to tune her out for a bit, to forget she’s here. Instead, my thoughts drift to Grant. I hope he’s OK.
To my surprise, my own phone rings—it’s Grant. The police have released him! He’s coming home and everything’s fine. If Betty Jo wasn’t here I’d be high as a kite with this news. Even with her here, I still feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted.
“What’s going on?” he asks me, sensing my tension.
“Your sister decided to visit. She’s here now.”
“Shit. I’ll be home in twenty minutes or so,” he tells me. “Will you be OK until then?”
I sigh. “I think so. Betty Jo’s upset—long story. Just now she’s on the phone, I think a customer has called. I’ll tell her you phoned and you’re on your way home. She has no idea where you’ve been.”
“Thanks for that. Hang in there. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
My stomach flutters, my heart warms. He and I have come so far together. Despite numerous obstacles, I only need to hear him say, ‘I love you’ and everything in the whole world seems perfect.
I wonder, just where is Mitten? Maria is also conspicuously absent. Grant’s housekeeper will probably remain hiding upstairs until Betty Jo leaves. I can’t blame her. In fact, I'd like to join her.
I change Briley’s diaper and sit him upright in his walker—not that he can make it move yet. He likes exploring the toys that dangle and surround him there. He's really a great kid. There’s going to be a huge hole in my heart when we give him back to his parents.
With Betty Jo temporarily pushed out of my thoughts, for a while, I mentally drift off, thinking of Grant. I imagine what our children might look like. Perhaps a little boy like him and a little girl like me? Or maybe all of our kids will take after him.
I want a big family, a happy family. All of us growing and learning together, overflowing with love and laughter—the way a family should be.
When I lived with André, he asked me what I wanted to do with my life. At eighteen years old, my instant response had been, “I want to get married and have babies.” Nothing has changed. Home. Family. Love and children.
I never had these things as a child. What I’ve found with Grant—this sense of intimacy, family and belonging is what I’ve always craved. That and really hot sex with the most wonderful, gorgeous guy in the whole world.
I snicker and shake my head as visions of Grant’s sexy, built body, handsome face and expressive eyes flash through my head.
Betty Jo suddenly and unexpectedly blasts into the living room like a cannonball shot from a cannon. Her powerful mint smell and her aura of angry, chaotic energy makes every nerve in my body tense.
She’s finished her phone call. I wish she’d go away!
“You didn’t answer my question,” she snaps accusingly. “Where did my brother say he was going?”
The jarring sound of her voice sets my teeth on edge. The way she glowers makes me cringe. I’m worried already. I don’t need this. Man, why doesn’t she go home?
My chin jerks up. “Grant didn’t say,” I blurt out, unthinkingly using his first name. It’s an outright lie, but dammit! The woman unnerves me.
Her glare is malicious, her eyes stab into me like icepicks. “So, it’s Grant now is it? Is he fucking you?”
Something in my manner must give me away, or it’s a lucky guess on her part.
“I knew it!” she cackles like the evil witch she is. “I knew Golden Boy couldn’t keep it in his pants when there’s a slut in heat around. Mr. Perfect is screwing Briley’s penniless babysitter—a woman with no connections and no family.”
Pay attention! Don’t fall to her level. Don’t be a bitch. I mentally chastise myself. Unfortunately, I find it difficult to listen to my own advice.
Thoughtlessly, I jump to my feet. Images of our beautiful, imaginary children are at the forefront of my mind.
“Grant and I are engaged. W-w-we’re going to be m-m-married,” I hear myself snap back at her without thinking.
What the fuck? Why did I say that? I haven’t even asked him yet! We've never discussed marriage. Shit! This is humiliating. What'll Grant think when he finds out? I can't take it back, it's already out there.
Pictures of my imaginary children instantly disappear, abruptly replaced with shock and shame. My stomach churns. I think I might be sick.
Betty Jo gapes at me. “What?” she gasps, a look of horror distorting her lovely features as her eyes fall to my fingers. “I don’t see an engagement ring.”
“We… w-w-we have a
n understanding,” I add belatedly.
I feel so stupid, embarrassed and ashamed for telling this whopper. What was I thinking? Now I have to ask him, but I didn’t want to do it like this! What if Grant doesn’t want to marry me?
“You stupid slut,” Betty Jo bites out, her face red, her features twisted with anger. The tears she’s shed for her unfaithful boyfriend, quickly morph into rabid fury toward me.
Eyes wide, I stare at her in sudden alarm.
Chapter 23.
“Don't try to win over the haters; you are not a jackass whisperer.”
― Scott Stratten
~~~
Renata Koreman
“My brother will never put a ring on your finger,” she spits. “He’s better than that. You’re a nobody. A nothing! Alex was an idiot to secretly marry Sky—don’t think Grant hasn’t learned a thing or two from that stupid mistake. Look what happened to them. Now they’re forced to have a pathetic, gold-digging little tramp babysitting their child!”
This shrill, venomous speech obliterates every warm, fuzzy thought I have.
If a man had raised his voice to me, I’d probably be cowering. To my surprise, it seems I can deal with an irate woman. I’ve never been so angry, but it’s a cold, icy anger that bolsters my courage. Years of being bullied and harassed—a lifetime of being victimized has built up in me.
I’m so done with taking this kind of shit.
For the first time in my life, I understand with heart-stopping clarity. I was always waiting to be rescued, always hoping for someone to save me.
As a child I longed for a knight in shining armor. I wished and prayed for someone to stop my father from beating us, or stop the kids at school from bullying me. I wanted a hero to ride in on a white horse and save the day. Maybe they could make me stronger, or tougher, and to teach me how to stand up for myself.
As a child I felt worthless. I burned to belong, to feel valued and important. I yearned for a savior to change my life—to change me. At this moment it’s all so obvious. I’m not a child anymore.
It’s up to me to save myself.
Don’t fall to her level. Don’t be a bitch.
“I… I f-f-feel sorry for you,” I say calmly, curbing my anger and trying to ignore my stutter. Having a stutter is an insignificant imperfection in the greater scheme of things. I can get my point across, that’s all that matters.
I shake my head. “I d-d-don’t know what happened to make you this way, B-B-Betty Jo, but you’re not a happy person. You look for l-l-love, but never find it. You don’t know how to be l-l-lovable, do you? It’s so sad,” I tell her. “For all your beauty, wealth, c-c-connections and education, you’re so very, very empty inside.”
A long moment of silence presses in on me.
Grant’s sister draws in a sharp, audible breath—more like a gasp, really. I’ve shocked and surprised her. The sure knowledge that I’ve done so, fills me with surprisingly wicked and malicious glee…
…for about two seconds.
The inhuman screech that leaves Betty Jo’s throat cuts off any pleasure I might’ve been feeling, transforming it into a headlong rush of terror. It’s the scream of a wounded animal in extreme pain—or maybe even dying.
They say, ‘The truth hurts,’ but who would’ve thought that it would hurt this much?
My observations regarding the emptiness inside of her must’ve been a direct hit. I clearly pushed her over the edge, but hells bells! She must have been close to cracking already.
The woman completely loses it.
In two running strides, she comes for me, her hands out in front of her, they soar for my throat. She’s so fast I don’t even think to protect myself. Her fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze, hard.
Face to face, the dark light of madness shines in her eyes.
I’m unable to inhale a single breath. Even the overpowering smell of mint has gone away. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. Desperate, I claw at her fingers. I think she’s cutting off my air supply, and stopping blood from getting to my brain.
André encouraged me to take a self-defense course. Why didn’t I listen to him?
I struggle with all of my strength and energy, but I can’t stop her. This crazy woman is going to kill me! Thank God I put Briley in his walker. She may have killed him too.
What will my beloved Grant do if he comes home to find me lifeless? As sure as I know anything, he’ll be enraged by my death. Then he’ll end up going to jail for actually killing a member of his family.
My vision tunnels.
Poor Grant.
My concern for him is my last conscious thought, until I suddenly hear an enraged yowl from Mitten. My vision is going, but I can still see. Seemingly, from out of nowhere, Mitten jumps right on top of Betty Jo’s head!
My adorable, fearless Mitten saves the day.
Scratching, biting and clawing, my tame, domestic house cat, attacks her, more furious than an enraged tiger!
Betty Jo immediately lets go of my throat, desperately and madly flailing her arms to free herself from Mitten. She can’t get him off of her, which sends her into full-blown panic.
Light-headed and dizzy, I stand there stupidly, trying to recover. I gasp, sputter and cough as the air flows back into my burning lungs and the blood flows back into my brain. My hand goes to my throat as I watch the incredible scene that unfolds before me.
With an earsplitting scream, Betty Jo spins around and around, weirdly reminding me of the scary girl in The Exorcist.
As if demon-possessed herself, Betty Jo spins and flees from the room, bolting like a rocket toward the front door.
The last glimpse I get of Grant’s sister is of her racing out of the house. Mitten is firmly clamped on top of her head and over her ears. He looks as if he’s some sort of black and white, Russian fur hat.
My knees are so weak I slide down the wall and end up sitting on the floor. I’m panting, but to my utter surprise, I don’t panic.
Despite a rather extreme and terrifying physical attack, I’m fine. Actually, I feel strangely euphoric.
I triumphed!
I stood up to the wicked witch!
While not completely victorious through my own efforts, I’m still rather proud for standing up for myself. I didn’t back down, nor did I accept any of the shit she tried to pile on my head.
On my head… on her head!
I giggle breathlessly, remembering the ‘cat hat’ Betty Jo was wearing. Mitten’s black and white fur actually matched her outfit. Ah well, color coordination is important. Always impeccably dressed, André would approve.
I giggle even louder, breaking into a full-blown laugh. What a fashion statement.
I glance over at the baby. Much to my astonishment, Briley's also gurgling with laughter. Why not? ‘The Cat in the Hat,’ children’s books amused me. ‘The Cat AS the Hat,’ is pretty funny.
My precious Mitten is the best. He probably saved my life… and indirectly even Betty Jo's. Grant would've strangled her if I’d died.
Rubbing my sore throat and neck, I smile. Where would I be without Mitten?
I faced Betty Jo independently. For that—even though she may have killed me, I feel justifiably proud. But I had a wonderful ally on my side.
Oh, what was I thinking? I was so wrong.
I don’t have to save myself on my own.
We all meet many unsung heroes throughout our lives. My warm, lovely librarian, Mr. Brand, was my first hero. He was the first person I genuinely trusted. Kind and encouraging, he gave me unconditional support and a belief good people do exist.
Then Jamie rescued me from our foster father. He showed me that no matter what a person’s gender, anyone can give and receive love.
André soared above them all, validating me. He taught me to interact with the world and to love and accept myself. With him, I found my voice and grew wings to fly.
Grant is also my hero. He needs me and I need to be needed. Until I met him, I never fully understood w
hat I sought. The joy and love we’ve found together seems like a fairy tale. Sure it’s an off-script, twisted kind of tale, but our happily ever after is right on track.
Lastly, but no less importantly, I have my fiercely protective, wonderful Mitten.
Now I can join the ranks of my own heroes. In a strange way, I have Betty Jo's over-the-top behavior to thank for my epiphany. Because of her, I stood up for myself. I didn’t recoil or shrink away in fear.
When all is said and done, no one does it on their own. People need others. And at some point in our lives, we can all use the help of a hero.
My Hero is my very best friend.
He is also furry and has four paws.
Chapter 24.
“There is no normal life that is free of pain. It's the very wrestling with our problems that can be the impetus for our growth.”
― Fred Rogers
~~~
Grant Wilkinson
I sit with Detective Bronowski in his car, laughing about the sidesplitting spectacle we just witnessed of my self-important, well-dressed sister being attacked by a house cat.
It happened so fast!
We were caught off-guard, we could only laugh. If the event took longer, I suppose both of us would’ve jumped out of the car and rescued Betty Jo from her determined feline headwear.
The whole scene was particularly hilarious for me, because it was my sister who was attacked, not some innocent for whom I'd feel sympathy.
I have more than a sneaking suspicion Betty Jo had this coming to her. She generally deserves a good ass kicking. I was glad to find Mitten was up to the task. That woman can be a menace.
I bet my sister could make way more money by thrilling the masses with this comic stage exit than she could ever make as a realtor.
As I laugh, I glance toward the house and notice the front door's still open.
“Jesus, Renata!” my sudden shout echoes loudly in the small space inside the car. I fling open the Impala’s door, scramble out without bothering to shut it, sprint up my driveway and into the house.
My heart hammers against my chest. My breath is short from dread, not from my mad dash. I find the love of my life sitting on the carpet of the living room, her back against a wall. Maria's attending to her, on her knees by her side. Mitten's alert and attentive on the rug before them.