A Clause for Murder Read online

By eight Saturday night, the happy hum of voices and music filled the place. Arlene and I sipped margaritas, put out food, and watched the parade of ex-lovers file by. We&rsquod agreed to donate a minimum of five guys apiece to the party, no easy assignment. I contributed Roger, a social worker who longed to find his ex-wife in a dark alley so he could punish her with a tire iron. Stan, a forty-five-year-old doctor who considered his parents dead even though they lived in Boca and golfed every day. And Sal, an oral surgeon who turned out to be obsessive-compulsive with a fear of dust. I almost had to call the paramedics when he dropped in for a drink one night and saw my apartment. Also Tommy Sims, a handsome yet notorious love &rsquoem and leave &rsquoem type. And finally Ken.

  In the middle of my transferring an enchilada casserole from the oven to the kitchen bar, Arlene hissed, &ldquoJesus, look who&rsquos here.&rdquo

  My head practically spun off my neck. But it was only Eric, Arlene&rsquos ex-boyfriend, a tall, balding forty-year-old, wearing shorts, a blinding Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. A man with so much body hair he probably had to shave more than his face to leave the house.

  &ldquoYou really did scrape the bottom of the barrel,&rdquo I said.

  According to Arlene, Eric had whittled away at her self-esteem until she could barely budge from her family room sofa to reach for a potato chip after they broke up.

  &ldquoI needed another guy to donate,&rdquo she replied sheepishly in her thick New Jersey accent, pulling at her spandex dress which clung like Saran Wrap to her chunky thighs and protruding abdomen.

  I considered suggesting she put on something looser. Except she might choose a blazer and slacks, which would make her look more like Ward Cleaver than June. Arlene stands over five feet ten and weighs just under two hundred pounds. She spent a year in the Marine Corps making guys sorry for being guys, as she likes to put it. She missed active duty thanks to a sprained ankle and a mysterious abscess somewhere unmentionable.

  &ldquoDamn Ken, why&rsquos he always late?&rdquo I grumbled, studying my reflection in Arlene&rsquos toaster.

  &ldquoRelax. He&rsquoll be here. And you look hot tonight,&rdquo she assured me for the tenth time.

  I certainly hoped I did. Because my jeans felt as if they&rsquod been lacquered on. My heels were so high my lower back threatened to revolt. And I&rsquod actually arrived braless under my white halter top. I felt tacky and cheap, thank God.

  Tabitha Fox, another college sorority pal, joined us in the kitchen for a wine refill. Tonight her black hair was spiked, pounds of green eye shadow covered her eyelids, and her ears sported six studs each.

  &ldquoThis crowd bites it,&rdquo Tabitha griped. &ldquoJust look at these losers. Everyone of them is a lost cause. Wait just a second. Who put him on the menu?&rdquo She pointed at a muscled blond stranger wearing a tight white T-shirt that emphasized his small waist and grapefruit-sized biceps.

  &ldquoThat&rsquos Duke. He owns a body and paint shop,&rdquo Arlene said.

  &ldquoHe&rsquos all yours,&rdquo I told Tabitha. &ldquoI&rsquove decided to concentrate on men with major family fortunes. It&rsquos the least I can do for Sofia.&rdquo

  &ldquoSpeaking of family dough, Duke used to date Courtney Farrow,&rdquo Arlene said.

  The three of us turned toward the family room. Courtney had just made her entrance but was already knee-deep in grinning admirers. Unfortunately, she made us all look like yesterday&rsquos fashion don&rsquots. Courtney was tall, red-haired, and full lipped. She had wide blue eyes, perfect bone structure, a flawless complexion, and a body carved in the image of a Baywatch lifeguard. In short, Courtney Farrow could have any man she wanted. And frequently did, according to Arlene, who claimed that Courtney&rsquos vagina had clocked more mileage than the Holland Tunnel.

  Tonight, Courtney looked as if she&rsquod painted on her leopard print body suit, a one-piece garment that hugged her curves from her sternum to her crotch. Over this she&rsquod layered pounds of jewelry. All real, according to Courtney, who frequently bragged that she only wore genuine diamonds and gold. That she could spot a fake stone from her posh La Jolla condo to her ancestral estate in Greenwich, Connecticut.

  &ldquoSo he&rsquos Courtney&rsquos recycled love,&rdquo I said, realizing that two thirds of the guys here were probably Courtney&rsquos castoffs.

  &ldquoShe supposedly went with him for a year. Not exclusively of course. You know, Courtney, the equal opportunity bed partner,&rdquo Arlene said, as we resumed our party preparations in the kitchen.

  A moment later, as I pulled out a spicy hot crab and cheese dip from the microwave, Courtney&rsquos throaty laugh sliced through the din. Something about the volume of her cackle made me put down the casserole dish, peel off my thermal mitts, and lean over the bar that bordered the kitchen. Until I could see beyond the guacamole, seven-layer bean dip, and enchilada casserole into the family room.

  There, standing beside Courtney, was Ken. My Ken.

  Courtney&rsquos large blue eyes combed Ken&rsquos face as her manicured fingers gripped his muscular upper arm. Then she pressed those cannons of hers into his chest, practically impaling him against Arlene&rsquos antique World Book collection. My heart lurched as she leaned still closer to whisper in his ear, her wide blue eyes intent on his face. To be fair, Ken wasn&rsquot grinning back like an idiot, like every other man transfixed by Courtney&rsquos beauty. In fact, he looked like a wild animal caught in a sixteen-wheeler&rsquos headlights.

  &ldquoBreathe,&rdquo Arlene said.

  &ldquoYou breathe. I&rsquod like to peel her face off.&rdquo

  For five months I&rsquod pictured my reunion with Ken right down to what I&rsquod be wearing. Not once, while mooning over my morning coffee, waiting in traffic, or choosing cereals at the store, did Courtney Farrow appear in this idyllic dream. Not as a lamp, a flowerpot, or even a chair. And I hated her for ruining the moment. Because tonight was supposed to be a test, a final exam, to see if Ken and I could work things out. And I hardly needed a third party muddying up the equation. The trouble was, I&rsquod wanted a firm commitment leading to marriage and Ken didn&rsquot. Hence, my trafficking in what Arlene calls human doo-doo at We-Are-Romantics, the dating service that had brought Roger, Stan, and Sal into my life. And eventually driven me to suggest this party to my friends.

  Suddenly, the music changed to a dance number. I watched stupefied as Courtney seized Ken&rsquos hand and dragged him outside to the patio by the pool.

  &ldquoThat bitch,&rdquo Arlene snarled.

  I tossed down my apron and charged toward the glass door for a direct view. Arlene and Tabitha followed. Peering through the screen, we watched Courtney undulating to the music, plastering herself against Ken. Then, like a large insect, she rubbed her nether regions against his. It was like watching an episode of Animal Planet only much more horrific.

  Maybe I shouldn&rsquot have cared. After all, tonight&rsquos party was about sharing old loves. But I certainly didn&rsquot feel very philanthropic toward Courtney. Especially when she spun around, caught me gawking at her, and smirked triumphantly. A look which gnawed right down to the bone of my self-esteem, which was fragile as hell already. Not that this was the first time Courtney had attempted to steal a man I wanted. Except that Ken was the only man I&rsquod ever really wanted.

  For an instant, I imagined Courtney and Ken leaving together. Tangled in each other&rsquos arms, their heads touching, they&rsquod speed off in Ken&rsquos Porsche with the sound of their laughter rippling across the soft coastal breezes. They&rsquod date, marry, and regale everyone with stories of their astounding honeymoon on the Italian Riviera and their new twelve-bedroom house perched over the Pacific. Because Courtney wasn&rsquot just beautiful. She also came with a trust fund, a new BMW, a beachfront condo, and a fancy pedigree from some old East Coast family with a permanent place in the society Blue Book.

  Without warning, Ken followed Courtney&rsquos gaze and caught me staring. No doubt every grisly emotion brewing inside me was etched across my face. I felt like a Mr. Potato Head. Ken i
nstantly peeled Courtney off him. We could hear him making excuses until Courtney&rsquos expression changed from seductive to homicidal.

  Back in the kitchen, I braced myself against the sink and waited to see what Ken and I would say to each other after five long months.

  At last Ken sauntered in. &ldquoWell, if it isn&rsquot Miss Hog Festival,&rdquo he teased, using my old nickname before leaning in and kissing my cheek, making my heart race. Until my face felt like it was about to explode into flames.

  Three years ago, after a bottle of Cabernet, Ken had confessed to lying on a woman&rsquos health application to cover up a serious illness so she would qualify for a decent policy. And I opened my big mouth about being Queen of the Hog festival back in Ohio. Which Ken found hilarious and never let me forget.

  Ken is six foot two with thick brown hair, large dark brown eyes, a wicked sense of humor, and his own insurance agency. We met at one of those insurance schools meant to educate salespeople about new products. But the only thing I learned at that seminar, after three days in bed with Ken, was that he was it, the one. He&rsquos a superb lover: gentle, tender, athletic, and wildly uninhibited. During our relationship, he was also generous, insane about my daughter, and (in his own screwed-up way) devoted to me. But he was also chronically late and refused to stop chasing other women, which he vehemently denied, insisting they chased him. Which was very annoying but possibly true.

  After a few seconds of pleasant banter with Arlene, Tabitha, and me, Ken put down his beer, reached for my hand, and said, &ldquoHow about a dance?&rdquo

  And there we were, wrapped in each other&rsquos arms, drifting slowly across the patio to a soft tune. For the first time in five months, I felt relaxed, even happy. Life. An hour ago, I&rsquod wanted to kick myself for inviting Ken. Now, with my head pressed into his shoulder and the smell of his cologne filling my senses, I knew we belonged together.

  &ldquoHow&rsquos Sofia?&rdquo he asked.

  &ldquoHaving a terrific time at camp. She loved the stuffed animal you sent.&rdquo

  He nuzzled my neck. &ldquoHow about a swim?&rdquo

  I would&rsquove preferred to stay in his arms forever. But maybe, in between playing Marco Polo, we&rsquod find time to throw a log or two on the old fire.

  In Arlene&rsquos bathroom off her bedroom, I squirmed into my new black bikini purchased especially for tonight. I just hoped my wax job had been close enough considering my swimsuit was the size of packaged meat slices. After a quick repair job on my face, I wrapped a towel around my waist and hurried outside. The August sun had begun to set above the mountains to the west. Dropping my towel, I received the appropriate whistle from Ken who looked like a Calvin Klein ad in his swim trunks. I slowly eased into the heated pool like an eighty-year-old with a hip replacement. I&rsquod just settled beside Ken when Courtney strutted outside.

  In sunglasses, five inch mules, and her tight bodysuit, she attracted every eye in the place. As if on cue, slow, honky-tonk music began bleating from the house. Pausing in the center of the patio, Courtney started a slow side-to-side sway as she began to move seductively to the music.

  The girls stared, their expressions tight with spite and envy. The male guests stopped arguing about the Charger&rsquos quarterback to lick their dry lips and watch. When the music reached a crescendo, Courtney tossed her head dramatically. Then her slender fingers grasped the top of her one-piece ensemble. Taking her time, she began to untie the knot behind her neck. Still dancing, a smile parted her full lips as she edged the thin straps off her shoulders.

  I held my breath hoping&mdashlet&rsquos face it, praying&mdashto spy breasts like aged bananas, cellulite, large knotted veins, or at least a few ugly skin tags.

  On she danced. Until she finally slithered out of her tight one-piece garment like a voluptuous lizard shedding its skin. She drew the garment through her long tanned legs until she revealed a tiny thong bottom and two matching leopard-skin pasties. Pasties that barely covered her nipples let alone her breasts, which stood out like deer antlers. In one languid move, she eased out of her mules. Turning slowly, she faced the pool, gracing the crowd with the perfect globes of her ass. Then she made a flawless dive into the water.

  Where I prayed she sank to the bottom like a dead lox.

  Unfortunately, she surfaced. And like a shark on the scent of rotting chum, she swam directly toward Ken and me. A few strokes later, she rose from the water directly in front of us. It was impossible to ignore her breasts bobbing above the water.

  Gazing rapturously into Ken&rsquos eyes, she shook out her long, thick hair. Grinning, she slid a lone red fingernail across his chest. &ldquoKen, darling, you and I really must finish our private business. Why don&rsquot we find someplace quiet where we won&rsquot have to watch what we say. Or do.&rdquo She sent me a sly look then looped her arm through his.

  I gaped too stunned to speak. Though my instinct was to hold her head under the water until she stopped squirming. Didn&rsquot this girl ever accept no for an answer? Hell, I was the number one salesperson in my office and I&rsquod never been this pushy.

  &ldquoCourtney, you&rsquoll have to excuse me but this is a party,&rdquo Ken said sternly. &ldquoAnd I&rsquom already with someone.&rdquo

  Turning back to me, he wrapped his arm around my waist and asked, &ldquoHow about warming up in the hot tub?&rdquo

  Courtney squinted. Her full lips became a hard line. After tossing her head indignantly, she doggy paddled to the opposite side of the pool. With a final venomous glance at us, she latched onto a ladder and climbed out. Ignoring the whistles and cat calls, she helped herself to a beach towel off a bench, retrieved her clothes, and marched inside the house, slamming the door.

  Ken&rsquos body relaxed like he&rsquod been holding his breath and was glad to be rid of Courtney, too.

  &ldquoGood to see you again, Bets. I missed you,&rdquo he said, as we settled into the bubbling hot water. Then he reached for me and our lips connected in a long slow kiss. The feel of his arms around me and his body pressed against mine filled me with my usual hope and desire. For once, I kept my big mouth shut. Why? If I opened up, I might start babbling about my lonely nights, disappointing dates, expensive therapist, visits to psychics, and endless dreams about him.

  Around eleven, when my skin had a boiled chicken look, and Ken had tired of doing cannonballs off the diving board, we went inside to change.

  Which was when I ran into Courtney again.

  Back in her leopard ensemble, hanging onto a supersized wine glass, she spied me from down the hall and staggered in my direction. &ldquoHold it right there, Betsy Ross,&rdquo she slurred loudly. &ldquoYou and I are gonna settle something right now.&rdquo

  &ldquoIt&rsquoll have to wait.&rdquo Shivering from the cool night air in spite of my beach towel, I dashed toward Arlene&rsquos bedroom, hoping to slip inside and lock the double doors. But when I turned the handle, the doors were already locked.

  From inside I heard a male voice say, &ldquoWhoa, baby, yeah!&rdquo

  Before I could figure out who was in there, since I&rsquod just seen Arlene dragging out the garbage, Courtney gripped my arm. Spinning me around, she stuck her face so close I could count the mascara beads on her lashes.

  &ldquoJust a second, Betsy Ross,&rdquo she slurred, holding tight. &ldquoIt&rsquos &rsquobout time we got a few things straight&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoNot now,&rdquo I snapped, yanking my arm free, intent on going around her.

  Once again she stepped into my path, blocking me. Latching onto me again, she dug her nails into my flesh. &ldquoListen, you stupid little twit. You better fucking pay attention or I&rsquom gonna make you wish you never&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoBack off!&rdquo I barked, wrenching free, launching myself loose with such momentum that I fell back, breaking the double doors apart. I dropped like a bomb across Arlene&rsquos California king, disturbing a couple in the throes of passion. A shocked moment later, the three of us bolted apart.

  &ldquoI&rsquom so sorry. I never meant
to ...&rdquo I froze mid-sentence, recognizing Eric, Arlene&rsquos hairy ex-boyfriend.

  Scratching his ape-like chest, Eric gazed curiously from Courtney to me while the naked brunette with him groped for her bra and panties.

  Indifferent to witnesses, Courtney staggered toward me. &ldquoI&rsquoll get you for this, Betsy Ross.&rdquo Then she tossed her drink in my face.

  4

  Fire burned through my eyes. Blinded, I staggered toward the double sinks off the bedroom. I had a vague sense of Courtney triumphantly marching away. I stuck my whole face under the faucet until the pain in my eyes subsided. Seconds later, I dried off with a towel and studied the results. My eyes, normally green, looked like raw tuna.

  &ldquoYou okay?&rdquo Eric asked. Clutching Arlene&rsquos flower print bed sheet around him, he stood beside me and stared in the mirror. &ldquoWow, your eyes look really messed up.&rdquo

  &ldquoI&rsquom fine. I just need a hot shower,&rdquo I said, shivering and upset.

  &ldquoSounds good.&rdquo Eric grinned, not budging an inch.

  &ldquoThanks for your concern,&rdquo I snapped. Stepping inside the commode and shower area, I slammed the door in his face. And locked it.

  Seconds later, the warm water melted away the cold. Too bad it couldn&rsquot wash away Courtney&rsquos hatred, her angry words, or the hollow feeling that choked my insides. Ever since she&rsquod waltzed into my life two years ago, she&rsquod made it her mission to seduce every man I&rsquod ever known. She occasionally stuck her claws in my friends&rsquo backs. But she seemed to prefer torturing me.

  &ldquoYou should feel flattered that she regards you as a worthwhile competitor,&rdquo people said. But I found Courtney&rsquos ruthless intentions upsetting.

  &ldquoShe must&rsquove been totally fried,&rdquo Arlene commented an hour later after all the guests had gone home except for Ken and me. Sprawled across Arlene&rsquos comfortable old sectional with a bottle of wine nearby, the three of us seemed like contented friends. The funny thing was, I felt content. The shower, the wine, and the feel of Ken&rsquos warm hand over mine made me feel safe. And being near him felt like old times ... sort of. Because a nagging voice in my head wondered if Courtney had a reason for acting so possessive of Ken.