Fatal Marriage Page 7

  “Well, they're good under the circumstances. She has to go in for some more tests and that's always a scary time. There's a lot of waiting and seeing.”

  “Ha! Isn't that the thing about life?” Franklin asks. “Seems like we're all just waiting around to die, aren't we?”

  I'm taken aback by his statement and I straighten my shoulders, squaring off with him.

  “No, I'm sorry,” he says quickly. “Crap, that was a really fucked up thing to say.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “See, that's exactly why I need a drink. Nothing I'm doing or saying today seems to be any good.”

  “Don't worry about it,” I repeat myself after a long pause.

  “So, Aurora tells me that you want us to set up another date with Chelsea,” Franklin says, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, I'd like that. Is that okay?”

  “Of course! More than okay. I'm glad to hear it. When I saw that you and Aurora had been talking so much, I sort of got something else in my head about you two.”

  My breath gets stuck in the back of my throat but I don't make a move.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask as nonchalantly as possible.

  “Well, you know, I grabbed her phone instead of mine one day and I saw all the messages that you guys have been exchanging, so…I got a little worried.”

  “Really?” I ask, totally surprised. “Why?”

  He shrugs. “You are her ex…”

  “Wait, you didn't actually think that we were spending time together… romantically?”

  “Yeah, a little bit,” Franklin says, leaning slightly toward me. He's analyzing me, challenging me but I'm not going to reveal what I think.

  “Hey, you were the one that wanted us to be friends, remember?” I point out. “I was perfectly fine not ever seeing her again but you insisted.”

  “I know, I'm such an asshole. I was the one that invited you to our house and set you up on that date.”

  “Speaking of which, that's actually the kind of girl that I'm interested in. Chelsea. Hot, rich, single. What more does a single guy in the city want?” I ask.

  “Perhaps an ex-girlfriend who has recently married a billionaire?” Franklin asks.

  I stare at him and he glares back. Neither of us blink.

  “I'm just kidding,” he says after a moment, starting to laugh.

  I join in and our roar fills the room.

  “Well, I'm glad to hear it,” Franklin adds. “Otherwise, I would probably be a little bit more concerned and a lot less accommodating.”

  I sit back in the chair, not sure how to interpret his sudden change of mood.

  “So, you don't want me to talk to her anymore?” I ask.

  “No, of course not. I’m not an asshole.”

  I wait for him to continue but he doesn't. Instead he reaches over, picks up a pen off his desk, pressing the top in and out a few times while I wait.

  “So, how's everything going with the podcast? Any problems?”

  “No, not really. I'm just busy going through all of the articles and I’ve been watching everything that they ever put out on O.J. Simpson. It's kind of a big job.”

  “Yeah. That was the biggest story in 1994 and he kept selling newspapers and driving ratings throughout the 90s.”

  “Yeah, I remember seeing it on TV,” I say. “It was always the top story. That's why I think the listeners are so interested in it. There's a whole new generation of people that only vaguely came in contact with it when they were kids.”

  We talk about it for a while and the various angles I should pursue to give the podcast a fresh feel. He has some good suggestions. I listen and take notes.

  “The thing about O.J. Simpson is that I am a married guy who can understand where the hell he was coming from,” Franklin says as our conversation starts to wind down.

  I scowl at him.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “He was a powerful guy with a really hot wife and she was fucking someone else.”

  “Are you saying that it's okay that he did it?”

  “No, not exactly.” He waves his hand. “Although I have to admit, I see where the man was coming from.”

  “But he was doing the same thing. He was cheating on her with almost every other woman in town, possibly even her best friend.”

  “So?” he asks. “Does that give her permission to cheat on him?”

  “Yes, why not?” I ask.

  “Nope,” Franklin says, shaking his head. “Don’t believe that shit that women are putting out there. Men and women are different and that’s a good thing.”

  Flabbergasted by his misogyny, I don’t know how to respond.

  “C’mon now, don’t look so shocked. Remember, we’re men. We take what we want and we want the impossible.”

  16

  Aurora

  The following day, Franklin calls me from the office and tells me that he wants to have dinner with me. A formal dinner. He wants me to dress up and put on my makeup, do my hair, go all out, and he wants to have a date. I'm not entirely healed, not even close but I don't think he wants to see my bruises, so I do my best to camouflage them.

  Franklin called me a nurse and she came over. She even offered me Vicodin. I turned her down and said that I would deal with the pain myself with a little bit of Advil for good measure.

  I wish that I could go to the hospital or the police and make an actual report about what happened but it is too risky. I need to get him on my side. I need to find out more about him and about his involvement with my father and Tate Media before I make this case. If he thought that hurting me would put me in my place, he was wrong. It just made me angrier and more determined.

  At least, that's what I keep telling myself as I get ready for dinner.

  It takes me a long time to put on the dress and zip up the back. My ribs throb with each breath and I don't have much range of motion in my arms.

  I put on a pair of high-heeled boots and cover my shoulders with a cloak. The black cocktail dress is a familiar one, my go-to item whenever I have to dress up.

  I don't know if it's just me but I don’t like to wear fancy things. Sometimes, the thing that scares me the most about going to certain places and dealing with uncertain situations is wearing unfamiliar clothing. That’s why I chose this one for this occasion. I have been inside of it and I know what it’s like.

  Just like on my wedding day, my hair, my makeup, and my dress will be my armor. It worked then. I just hope that this is enough to protect me now.

  When I come downstairs, my heels make a loud clicking sound on the marble.

  Franklin is standing in a three-piece suit in front of a roaring fireplace with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He's tall, slim, and wide-shouldered.

  He is beautiful on the outside but incredibly cold on the inside. He is what romance novels are made of but our relationship is nothing like that. Some people can be changed. He’s not one of them.

  He's evil incarnate and he's damned. The only little thing left to do is to bury him underground and never put up a gravestone.

  When I walk up to him, he turns around and pulls me in. He kisses me lightly on the cheek. Instead of pushing him away, I turn my other cheek toward him, presenting it for a kiss.

  Franklin touches his lips to mine but only slightly, not pushing me to return the gesture. I don't.

  I take a step back, cold and collected. I am here but if he wants me to be here in a good mood, he will have to do a lot more than that.

  “I know that you're still angry with me,” he says, “So, let's have some food first.”

  I follow him to the formal dining room where dinner is almost served. I sit next to him at the table that spans the entire wall. For a second, I'm tempted to take the seat at the far end but this is a safe place to talk and I want to take advantage.

  The waiters serve wine and appetizers. I take a piece of bread from the bowl and bite into its delicious softness. I've been tryi
ng to avoid carbohydrates but tonight I need all the strength that I can muster.

  We talk about the weather and his workout at the gym and nothing else in particular. I don't watch much Netflix or television and he doesn't read many books so we don't even have popular entertainment in common.

  “I know that I should probably not bring this up,” he says, putting his fork down. “It feels like an elephant in the room.”

  “What does?” I ask.

  “All of that stuff that happened,” Franklin says without batting an eye.

  “I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that,” I say after a long pause. I put a strawberry from my salad into my mouth and taste its explosive flavor.

  “I just want you to know that I'm sorry.”

  “You said the same thing when you smacked me,” I point out.

  I know that I'm pushing my luck but I hope that we can have a real conversation here, not something topical and without substance.

  “I know,” he says with a long face. “Sometimes, I just get so full of rage that I lose control of who I am. It's hard to explain.”

  “I don't know what you want me to do.”

  “I want you to forgive me.”

  “Okay, I forgive you.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “You're lying.”

  “I don't know if I can forgive you, just like that. I mean, you're sorry now but what if it happens again?”

  “It’s not going to,” he promises. “I'm sorry. I’m such an asshole.”

  “Yes, you are,” I say. “But I guess you're my asshole.”

  He looks up at me and gives me a smile.

  “You mean that?” he asks.

  I shrug and look up at him after a moment.

  “Please don't ever do that again,” I say.

  “I won't, I promise.” He reaches over and grabs my hand.

  He squeezes it tightly and a shiver of fear rushes through me. This is a different side of him but right around the corner, I know that a darker version is lurking.

  I thought that I knew what would make him snap. I thought that I could control the monster but now I know that he can come out from anywhere, at any time, and the only thing I can do is steady myself. For now, I'm just grateful that he seems to be at peace. We have made amends and that's good enough.

  17

  Aurora

  Later that evening, Franklin takes a call from work and disappears in the middle of dessert. I'm relieved. After happily finishing my tiramisu, I take a second slice to my room. There, I get out of my heels and into my sweats.

  Just as I get into bed and settled in with a cup of tea and something mindless on my tablet, my phone goes off. I see that the camera that I had set up had started recording. I quickly turn off the notification so it never goes off in the future and wait.

  I turn my attention back to Netflix but my curiosity gets the best of me. What is going on in there?

  The camera is set up as a motion detector so it only records when someone is in the room. I click to the secret folder and, when the screen loads, my mouth drops open.

  I see Franklin standing in his office, wearing nothing but a robe. There's a girl whose face is away from the camera. She is small, diminutive even, and dressed in jeans and a tank top. Her hair is in pigtails. Instead of waiting for her to leave and getting onto the massage table with a towel over his butt, the way that it's customary to do in legitimate spas, he just drops the robe and watches her.

  I feel sick to my stomach. Physically ill, I rush over to the bathroom and dry heave but nothing comes out. After a moment, I glance at the phone again. Now, he's lying down on his stomach on the massage table.

  I don't want to watch. I want to make it stop.

  If I drop this phone and go over there right now and interrupt them, it will come to a stop. She won't get hurt but I also won't have much to show anyone. It will just be my statement against his and that's if the girl sides with me. If she doesn't, then I'll have nothing.

  I don't know what to do. I don't want to be complicit in this. I want to help her. I don't know what's to come but I see the wreck coming. The train is coming around the bend, it has already derailed and it's about to crash right into her. I have to stop it but I can't make my body move.

  I'm terrified. Franklin has already done a terrible thing to me and that was before he knew that I knew his secret.

  What else is he capable of?

  I don't know how much time passes. I debate with myself over and over again about what I should and shouldn't do. Minutes continue to tick away.

  When I finally force myself to look, the girl is crying. Her head is hanging low and her shoulders are moving up and down with each sob. Franklin pulls away from her and I realize that he had made her go down on him.

  I shake my head in disbelief. Tears stream down my face.

  I didn't stop this. I was here and I was too afraid.

  I hate myself and I hate my cowardice.

  Franklin says something but I can't make out what it is. The girl continues to cry, this time turning toward the camera. That's when I realize who she is. She's the one who I ran into in the elevator.

  She came back!

  “Why did you come back? Don’t you know that he's a monster?” I whisper at the screen.

  More tears come and my body starts to shake as much as hers. When she doesn't respond to whatever Franklin is saying, he spins her back around and points a finger in her face. He looks angry. Pissed off. Just like he did when he hurt me.

  That's when I realize that she came back for the same reason that I didn't help her. We're paralyzed with fear and when the paralysis is strong enough, you will do anything just to survive.

  Suddenly, the door opens and someone else comes into the room. He's tall, wide-shouldered, and older than Franklin. He's dressed in a suit and has an expensive haircut. He looks familiar but I can't place him. Then, I remember. He is the governor of New Jersey.

  I’ve only seen him on the news. He is middle-aged, balding, and rather round. He laughs and says something to Franklin, completely ignoring the girl in front of them. I shake my head as more tears start to well up. I know what he’s about to do. I can’t let it happen, no matter the consequences.

  I rush over to the door and grab the handle but when I turn it, it doesn’t open. I try again and again.

  “What the fuck?” I stare at the door.

  It’s locked.

  My mouth drops open. Franklin actually locked me in here. He knew this was going to happen and he didn’t want me walking in on them.

  I try the door again and again but it refuses to give.

  I even try to break it down but the mahogany is too strong.

  I pace around the room trying to figure out my next move. I’m still holding the phone in my palm but I don’t dare look at it. I know that it is recording and there’s nothing that I can do to stop whatever is happening. The only thing that I can do is not watch it.

  A few minutes pass and then a few more. I crack my knuckles. I sit down on the bed and get back up. I walk from one side of the room to the other like a caged tiger. I don’t know how to make any of this stop. Eventually, the curiosity gets the better of me and I look down at the screen.

  There are now two other girls in the room. Franklin and the governor surround them. They touch all of them. I look at the girls’ faces but I don’t recognize them. They don’t look much older than the first one.

  The familiar nauseous feeling starts to build in the pit of my stomach.

  Franklin laughs and then takes a step back from everyone else. I see the smile on his face as he turns to face the wall and looks almost straight at the camera.

  My heart sinks and I hold my breath.

  “No, no, no,” I say over and over again. “Please don’t see me.”

  I look closer trying to figure out if he is just looking at the picture behind which I hid the tiny lens or if he’s looking directly at me, knowing full well that I am locked in here
and watching him.

  His gaze goes up along with his arm and I see him mess with something that looks a lot like my camera in the corner of the room. The only problem is that it is not my camera.

  When he returns to the girls, I stare at my phone trying to figure out a way to rewind. I don’t know if it will stop recording if I start clicking around so I let it go.

  Did I just see him do that? I ask myself. Is he recording this?

  I don’t know why he would want to have a recording of himself doing any of this but I can think of a few reasons for why he would want to have a recording of the most powerful man in New Jersey frolicking around with some underage girls.

  That’s the kind of thing that can give you a lot of leeway when you need a favor or two.

  When I pace around the room this time, my thoughts are more focused. If he’s recording himself with them, who else does he have recordings of?

  I now know exactly why everyone is so afraid and accommodating with my husband.

  Now, the only thing to do is to find the videos.

  18

  Aurora

  When I discover that Franklin is recording not only himself but other men with those underage girls, I search my room for any cameras and recording equipment.

  Luckily, Jackie has shown me what the really small and really good ones look like and where to hide them so I know what to look for.

  First, I check the lamps. Then the headboard. I go through every nook and cranny of the room and then check it all again just to make sure that I didn’t miss a thing.

  I go to bed with a heavy heart and I sleep restlessly. My sleep is so light that I hear him come to my room in the middle of the night and unlock the door. The lock moves very quietly and it would be easy to miss if I wasn’t already on high alert.

  I let out a sigh of relief. So far, he doesn’t know that I know. I’m only safe for as long as that continues.

  The following morning, when Franklin is gone and the housekeeping staff isn't around, I begin the search for the videos. I look through all of the cabinets in his office. I rifle through the desk and the bookcases. There are papers, bills, pens and pencils, and manila folders, but there are no memory sticks.