Fiction Piece for Creative Writing
Feedback appreciated and essential!!!
adapted from this
As she anxiously stared out the tinted, mirrored limousine windows she grew impatient. Where is he, she wondered to herself, and why isn’t her answering his damn phone? He was never this late. He always sent his driver ahead, and awaiting her in the car was always a dozen red roses, and a bottle of vintage wine or champagne, and tonight had been no different. As usual as the car approached his building, she had called his cellular phone, then usually he would come down from his apartment and join her for a drink in the car before going out for the evening, tonight was different - he hadn’t picked up his phone.
If he was going to stand her up why go through the trouble of furnishing his limousine to her liking? She looked at her Haute Joaillerie Riveière baguette Cartier watch; the minute hand had crept past the Roman numeral XII, and he was officially a half an hour late. The diamond-encrusted timepiece was a gift from her soon-to-be fiancé, along with a pink canary diamond ring and a jewelry drawer full of other glittery baubles.
She ran her fingers down the smooth leather interior of the door and tapped the small button to lower the soundproof privacy screen. Anatoly, the driver, waited for her instruction, “Yes, Miss Martel?” She explained she would be back in a few minutes, she was checking on his employer, Mr. Shaw. She dismissed him before he could even offer to assist her with her door. She grabbed her black Fendi clutch and stepped out of the car in her Anya Hindmarch 4-inch heels. She smoothed her skimpy lime green silk dress and pulled her oversized faux fur black coat over her lithe figure. Anatoly watched her through the passenger side window in amazement, back in Russia this woman would be seen as a prostitute, but here she was a potential 3rd wife for a multi-millionaire. He continued to watch her as he made her way up to the doorman, her strawberry blonde hair slowly fading in the crowded evening sidewalk.
As she approached the front of the building on Museum Mile, she gave the doorman a one of her 100-watt smiles, “Is he still up there?” she asked sweetly. The man gravely nodded, “He and Mrs. Shaw came home from lunch at the club at three, and he hasn’t been down since.” He answered. Normally he would have happily stayed out of marital and extra-marital affairs, but with the economy these days he would never ignore an opportunity to profit from Mr. Shaw’s mistress’ generosity; especially when she simply compensated him for his honesty. “He didn’t take the Jaguar out for a ride?” she asked again, he shook his head ‘no’, as he held the front door open for one of the building’s older residents. “Thank you Jones, you’re a real lifesaver,” she whispered as she slipped him a crisp fifty in his jacket pocket; she brushed into and startled the older woman on her way into the secure building. She confidently strode through the lobby and made her way to the bank of elevators. In front of the last of the three elevators, she entered a fourteen-digit code from memory, the doors opened and the penthouse elevator proceeded directly up to the top floor.
The doors opened into an opulent sitting room. Surprisingly, none of the service staff greeted her upon her arrival; in fact the massive front room specifically meant for receiving guests was uncharacteristically void of anyone. She dropped her purse on the only piece of furniture in the room, a round table that could have easily been donated to the Metropolitan Museum for their prized collection of 18th century Italian furnishings.
Jessica Martel propped her purse against a bouquet of wilting flowers that she suspected the current Mrs. Shaw had arranged. She was still the same boring old woman, with boring old hobbies which bored Steven, she thought rolling her deep green eyes at the pathetic nature of their marriage. As soon as their divorce was finalized, she, the soon-to-be 3rd Mrs. Shaw would finally liven up the exclusive space. She walked slowly to avoid making her presence known; the sound of her heels against the marble floors was not the entrance she was hoping for. She didn’t want to seem like a petty criminal, and even though she had been in this apartment many times unsupervised, she didn’t want to draw attention to her unwelcome presence. She only wanted to know why he had stood her up.
She sighed as she made her way down one of the three corridors that led to the rest of the apartment. She made her way towards the library, the most likely place Steven would be. He loved the library, it was a reflection of his success, not to mention it was masculine, unlike the rest of the apartment; and though it was connected to his home office and the rest of the penthouse, there was a secret door that only Jessica knew about, a door disguised as one of the bookcases. She had found it late one night when she had stayed over. She didn’t know why she never mentioned that she knew about it to Steven, but she liked that he didn’t know - it was her secret.
She made her way down the long hallway towards the dining room, took a quick left and pulled back the molding as if it was a door knob, on the other side the heavy mahogany door opened just enough for her to get an eyeful and earful of Steven and Sara Shaw in the midst of one of their infamous arguments. She had chosen this route to the family room because of the door it offered, which was between the built-in bookcases on an entire wall of mahogany fixtures. With all the furniture facing the opposite wall, the focal point, a wall-to-wall window with a great view of the city, helped masque her intrusion.
Despite all the books, the couple never thought twice about looking towards them, they never read them; they were strictly there for appearances, much like everything else in the apartment. The remaining two walls were paneled in the same dark wood, and a 52-inch flat screen television hung like a piece of art from one of the walls. Steven was watching the news on mute; he loved reading the newscasters lips and the scrolling updates at the bottom of the screen, instead of hearing to the anchor’s droll voice repeating the events of the day. Sara Shaw was staring out into the darkening Saturday night sky.
Sara was going on about some charity event they had just been invited to attend and though she was speaking, it wasn’t clear if Steven was her intended audience. As Jessica continued to observe them, she noticed Mrs. Shaw’s demeanor changed and she began to tear up, “Steven, I think we need to talk…” she suggested as she turned to face him. Jessica noticed that she was not the fifty-something aged woman she pictured. She was maybe in her early thirties and quite beautiful, something Steven had neglected to share. Sara pulled a pair of lace La Perla panties seemingly from nowhere and tossed then towards him. He did not welcome the distraction, he was busy, but apparently what she has to say couldn’t wait. Jessica didn’t recognize the underwear, but she surmised that Sara had just found out about her, and their 8-month affair. It was inevitable, especially because they hadn’t even tried to hide their indiscretion.
Jessica silently closed the door, and decided to go home and wait for Steven to call. As she made her way down the hallway she heard Dakota, their 5-year-old son call “Mommy”. Not wanting to be caught and make the situation worse, she went to check on him and see if she could get him situated, and preferably quiet. A short, plump woman with graying hair was already on her way to check on her charge and the two women nearly bumped into each other. “Miss Martel, we weren’t expecting you this evening”, Elsa, the British nanny responded wide-eyed and surprised by Jessica’s presence.
“I just arrived, Steven never came out to the car… but I see he’s preoccupied this evening,” she explained politely. Elsa scanned the hallway for any sign of her employers as Jessica quickly entered the brightly colored playroom to see Dakota sitting on the floor watching an animated movie. She leaned down to say hello to the young boy, her future stepson, and he asked, “Are you my Daddy’s friend, the one who makes Mommy sad?” Jessica was taken aback, she was not quite sure what to say, “Dakota sweetie, I am your Daddy’s friend, remember we met before in the park… I’m…” Elsa interrupted, “Miss Martel, you shouldn’t be in here. If you’d like when Mr. Shaw is done with his meeting I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
Jessica shook her head, what she had witnessed was a far cry from a meeting. She knew it was going to turn out to an all out screaming match, and despite her instincts to go home and pretend this night had never happened, part of her desperately wanted to watch, “That is unless you’d like to come into the service kitchen and watch… ” Elsa Delaney murmured as if she could read Jessica’s mind. But actually she was hoping to intrigue Jessica, who solved her problems and offered her appreciation through large and albeit generous stipends; Jessica’s eyes lit up, despite her instincts that this was a bad idea. They left Dakota, absorbed in his movie, and both went into the whitewashed working kitchen, which was larger than some apartments Jessica had lived in. In the middle of the room, on the butcher block island, the bulk of the service staff gathered around the small television connected to the penthouse’s security monitors. Jessica grabbed a snack before settling in to join them in what she believed to be watching Steven tell his wife about her.
“Let’s keep this simple” Sara rasped through the small television, “I know exactly who she is and what you’ve done. There’s no use lying, Steven” she licked her lips and ran her manicured fingers through her thick brown curls. He remained unmoved, still sitting in his oversized chestnut leather recliner holding his evening drink in his left hand now looking out the large window into the October sky.
“It’s time to repent, Steven. Get down on your hands and knees and beg me to forgive you for your indiscretions.” She continued, He did not apologize, he did not look at her and the fact that he remained silent, sipping his whiskey from the good crystal very well may have angered her more than the affair. She was grasping at straws and in desperation she went to the safe on the opposite wall and after three quick turns she removes a hefty envelope which she promptly threw at her husband.
“They are fighting, Elsa. I knew he wasn’t lying…” Jessica commented quietly. “If there is anything Mr. Shaw can do is lie. She’s got proof of an affair, and there is an ironclad pre-nup and you know she’ll get custody of Dakota, the penthouse, and the money… I wouldn’t count your chickens…” “Before they hatch?” Jessica suggests.
Sara resumed her position across from him near the couch, an 18th century replica they argued over for weeks before she bought it anyways. He was never home, and she couldn’t understand why he cared about the furniture in a room he never even used. But he had gotten his revenge by ordering a tacky leather recliner he couldn’t live without. Now the library he had never used was unusable to her as well, and it became his domain to her dismay. With such an eyesore anyone would see the situation for exactly what it was - poor interior design and a disjoint in their marriage. She wasn’t one for speculation, so she entertained in the formal living room instead and never said another word about it, for fear he’d find some other way to destroy her social life.
He finished his drink in one final gulp, and rested the cup on the end table; she eyed it as a small ring of condensation became visible underneath. He didn’t bother to even use a coaster, but instead of reacting she tried to keep her wits about her as she watched him examine the manila envelope, slowly opening it and spilling out dozens of photographs of him with his mistress; At Cippriani, at the Ivy, at the ballet, at the Plaza Hotel. Her private investigator had done well. After examining the contents, he coos innocently in her direction, “Sara, what exactly is it that you think I've done.”
“Ashlee Stewart, 19, she has a loft in Soho she can’t afford, and just bought her first gallery. Funny she doesn’t have two pennies to rub together, wonder how she did that?” Jessica can’t believe her ears, who is Ashlee? As if answering question, he smirks at his wife, “She’s a colleague and I invested in her future, she had… potential, It’s just a loan darling, since when is that a crime?” Sara rolled her eyes, “She’s barely legal, Steven. Couldn’t you at least carry on with her in private instead of parading her out in the open in front of our friends?” Jessica is in shock, she takes a few steps back considering leaving, not just the penthouse, but possibly Manhattan for good, but her curiosity got the best of her, she disregarded that it killed the cat and continued to watch in awe.
“Please, if I wanted everyone to know about our relationship I would have served you papers in front of the girls at lunch and announced our engagement in the Times.” He chuckled to himself, that’s food for thought. She got up again and grabed one of the pictures off the pile still in his lap. Jessica was floored, he’s pre-engaged to her too, some tiny blonde pixie from Soho? This couldn’t be happening. “You’re engaged? That’s cute, Steven. Go ahead, you can take out a full-page ad for all I care; actually it’ll be my engagement gift to you. Do you think for a picture of the happy couple this will suffice?” Sara asked as she tossed a picture of him and Ashlee intertwined in an intimate embrace on his way out of her loft. His wedding ring and her dearth of clothing were both painfully apparent in the shot.
Jessica felt sick. She should have expected this, Steven cheated on his 1st wife with his second, and his second wife with her, it would make sense there’d be another women in the mix, just to keep things interesting. How many more were there, how many more had there been? Steven simply laughed, “Sara, you and I both know you’ll never admit defeat. While this is truly rousing it’s also extremely improbable. As much as you despise me right now, you can’t stand the idea of being divorced. Going from Mrs. Steven Shaw to Ms. Sara … what was your maiden name again… right… Dorian, it certainly has a ring to it” Sara crosses her arms and watches his reflection in the glass window. “Steven, what makes you think divorcing you would be a step back, I wouldn’t just go back to Chicago and be satisfied living in the old family estate. I’d stay close, probably redecorate our penthouse and be hell bent keeping you and your mistress from living in the lap of luxury. We’ll see how quickly the honeymoon afterglow wears off after the money runs out.” She watched as he went to stand up and the pictures spilled onto the Oriental rug. He came up right behind her, his hands snaked around her slender waist. “You think I’ll let you leave?”
Jessica had seen and heard enough for one evening. She practically ran from the kitchen to the main foyer, grabbed her designer bag and continuously hit the elevator call button until the doors opened. She ran past Jones without saying anything, leaving him dazed and confused by her sudden change passing; even Anatoly, looked up watching the beautiful waif run past him without so much as an explanation. And despite her choice in footwear and the calluses that would be inevitable from not wearing running shoes, she ran the 10 blocks back to her apartment, never looking back and never reconsidering her mode of transportation.
Of course, Jessica’s abrupt exit did not hinder the Shaw’s spat, in fact as Jessica was making her way home; Sara Shaw was thinking to herself, of course not, despite their flaws from the outside they were a perfect couple. “We have a son, Dakota, and you don’t do that to a child.” Steven continued, but instead of leaning in for a kiss as she suspected, his gentle grip tightened. “You think that’s a decision you can make?” she sighed, he’ll leave Ashlee she thought, but instead of apologizing, his face contorted and his hands grabbed a hold of her swanlike neck. Suddenly she was gagging and struggling until he released her and her body crumpled to the carpet, her breathing was ragged and her hands were left clutching her throat.
“Till death do us part, Sara” he murmured as he left her lying there. He closed the door to the library and knew that she wouldn’t do anything about tonight or the affairs. She was still the scared little socialite who relished being the wife of a pharmaceutical tycoon.
He proceeded to his office where he tried to call Jessica, he was sure she’d be disgusted that he had broken their date, especially on a Saturday night, but strangely she didn’t pick up her cellular phone, he left her a message and decided to try Ashlee. Halfway across town a cellular phone begins to ring until it stirs her from sleep. Ashlee glances at the screen; it reads ‘Steven Shaw’ she smiles into her pillow and picks it up.
The End
adapted from this
As she anxiously stared out the tinted, mirrored limousine windows she grew impatient. Where is he, she wondered to herself, and why isn’t her answering his damn phone? He was never this late. He always sent his driver ahead, and awaiting her in the car was always a dozen red roses, and a bottle of vintage wine or champagne, and tonight had been no different. As usual as the car approached his building, she had called his cellular phone, then usually he would come down from his apartment and join her for a drink in the car before going out for the evening, tonight was different - he hadn’t picked up his phone.
If he was going to stand her up why go through the trouble of furnishing his limousine to her liking? She looked at her Haute Joaillerie Riveière baguette Cartier watch; the minute hand had crept past the Roman numeral XII, and he was officially a half an hour late. The diamond-encrusted timepiece was a gift from her soon-to-be fiancé, along with a pink canary diamond ring and a jewelry drawer full of other glittery baubles.
She ran her fingers down the smooth leather interior of the door and tapped the small button to lower the soundproof privacy screen. Anatoly, the driver, waited for her instruction, “Yes, Miss Martel?” She explained she would be back in a few minutes, she was checking on his employer, Mr. Shaw. She dismissed him before he could even offer to assist her with her door. She grabbed her black Fendi clutch and stepped out of the car in her Anya Hindmarch 4-inch heels. She smoothed her skimpy lime green silk dress and pulled her oversized faux fur black coat over her lithe figure. Anatoly watched her through the passenger side window in amazement, back in Russia this woman would be seen as a prostitute, but here she was a potential 3rd wife for a multi-millionaire. He continued to watch her as he made her way up to the doorman, her strawberry blonde hair slowly fading in the crowded evening sidewalk.
As she approached the front of the building on Museum Mile, she gave the doorman a one of her 100-watt smiles, “Is he still up there?” she asked sweetly. The man gravely nodded, “He and Mrs. Shaw came home from lunch at the club at three, and he hasn’t been down since.” He answered. Normally he would have happily stayed out of marital and extra-marital affairs, but with the economy these days he would never ignore an opportunity to profit from Mr. Shaw’s mistress’ generosity; especially when she simply compensated him for his honesty. “He didn’t take the Jaguar out for a ride?” she asked again, he shook his head ‘no’, as he held the front door open for one of the building’s older residents. “Thank you Jones, you’re a real lifesaver,” she whispered as she slipped him a crisp fifty in his jacket pocket; she brushed into and startled the older woman on her way into the secure building. She confidently strode through the lobby and made her way to the bank of elevators. In front of the last of the three elevators, she entered a fourteen-digit code from memory, the doors opened and the penthouse elevator proceeded directly up to the top floor.
The doors opened into an opulent sitting room. Surprisingly, none of the service staff greeted her upon her arrival; in fact the massive front room specifically meant for receiving guests was uncharacteristically void of anyone. She dropped her purse on the only piece of furniture in the room, a round table that could have easily been donated to the Metropolitan Museum for their prized collection of 18th century Italian furnishings.
Jessica Martel propped her purse against a bouquet of wilting flowers that she suspected the current Mrs. Shaw had arranged. She was still the same boring old woman, with boring old hobbies which bored Steven, she thought rolling her deep green eyes at the pathetic nature of their marriage. As soon as their divorce was finalized, she, the soon-to-be 3rd Mrs. Shaw would finally liven up the exclusive space. She walked slowly to avoid making her presence known; the sound of her heels against the marble floors was not the entrance she was hoping for. She didn’t want to seem like a petty criminal, and even though she had been in this apartment many times unsupervised, she didn’t want to draw attention to her unwelcome presence. She only wanted to know why he had stood her up.
She sighed as she made her way down one of the three corridors that led to the rest of the apartment. She made her way towards the library, the most likely place Steven would be. He loved the library, it was a reflection of his success, not to mention it was masculine, unlike the rest of the apartment; and though it was connected to his home office and the rest of the penthouse, there was a secret door that only Jessica knew about, a door disguised as one of the bookcases. She had found it late one night when she had stayed over. She didn’t know why she never mentioned that she knew about it to Steven, but she liked that he didn’t know - it was her secret.
She made her way down the long hallway towards the dining room, took a quick left and pulled back the molding as if it was a door knob, on the other side the heavy mahogany door opened just enough for her to get an eyeful and earful of Steven and Sara Shaw in the midst of one of their infamous arguments. She had chosen this route to the family room because of the door it offered, which was between the built-in bookcases on an entire wall of mahogany fixtures. With all the furniture facing the opposite wall, the focal point, a wall-to-wall window with a great view of the city, helped masque her intrusion.
Despite all the books, the couple never thought twice about looking towards them, they never read them; they were strictly there for appearances, much like everything else in the apartment. The remaining two walls were paneled in the same dark wood, and a 52-inch flat screen television hung like a piece of art from one of the walls. Steven was watching the news on mute; he loved reading the newscasters lips and the scrolling updates at the bottom of the screen, instead of hearing to the anchor’s droll voice repeating the events of the day. Sara Shaw was staring out into the darkening Saturday night sky.
Sara was going on about some charity event they had just been invited to attend and though she was speaking, it wasn’t clear if Steven was her intended audience. As Jessica continued to observe them, she noticed Mrs. Shaw’s demeanor changed and she began to tear up, “Steven, I think we need to talk…” she suggested as she turned to face him. Jessica noticed that she was not the fifty-something aged woman she pictured. She was maybe in her early thirties and quite beautiful, something Steven had neglected to share. Sara pulled a pair of lace La Perla panties seemingly from nowhere and tossed then towards him. He did not welcome the distraction, he was busy, but apparently what she has to say couldn’t wait. Jessica didn’t recognize the underwear, but she surmised that Sara had just found out about her, and their 8-month affair. It was inevitable, especially because they hadn’t even tried to hide their indiscretion.
Jessica silently closed the door, and decided to go home and wait for Steven to call. As she made her way down the hallway she heard Dakota, their 5-year-old son call “Mommy”. Not wanting to be caught and make the situation worse, she went to check on him and see if she could get him situated, and preferably quiet. A short, plump woman with graying hair was already on her way to check on her charge and the two women nearly bumped into each other. “Miss Martel, we weren’t expecting you this evening”, Elsa, the British nanny responded wide-eyed and surprised by Jessica’s presence.
“I just arrived, Steven never came out to the car… but I see he’s preoccupied this evening,” she explained politely. Elsa scanned the hallway for any sign of her employers as Jessica quickly entered the brightly colored playroom to see Dakota sitting on the floor watching an animated movie. She leaned down to say hello to the young boy, her future stepson, and he asked, “Are you my Daddy’s friend, the one who makes Mommy sad?” Jessica was taken aback, she was not quite sure what to say, “Dakota sweetie, I am your Daddy’s friend, remember we met before in the park… I’m…” Elsa interrupted, “Miss Martel, you shouldn’t be in here. If you’d like when Mr. Shaw is done with his meeting I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
Jessica shook her head, what she had witnessed was a far cry from a meeting. She knew it was going to turn out to an all out screaming match, and despite her instincts to go home and pretend this night had never happened, part of her desperately wanted to watch, “That is unless you’d like to come into the service kitchen and watch… ” Elsa Delaney murmured as if she could read Jessica’s mind. But actually she was hoping to intrigue Jessica, who solved her problems and offered her appreciation through large and albeit generous stipends; Jessica’s eyes lit up, despite her instincts that this was a bad idea. They left Dakota, absorbed in his movie, and both went into the whitewashed working kitchen, which was larger than some apartments Jessica had lived in. In the middle of the room, on the butcher block island, the bulk of the service staff gathered around the small television connected to the penthouse’s security monitors. Jessica grabbed a snack before settling in to join them in what she believed to be watching Steven tell his wife about her.
“Let’s keep this simple” Sara rasped through the small television, “I know exactly who she is and what you’ve done. There’s no use lying, Steven” she licked her lips and ran her manicured fingers through her thick brown curls. He remained unmoved, still sitting in his oversized chestnut leather recliner holding his evening drink in his left hand now looking out the large window into the October sky.
“It’s time to repent, Steven. Get down on your hands and knees and beg me to forgive you for your indiscretions.” She continued, He did not apologize, he did not look at her and the fact that he remained silent, sipping his whiskey from the good crystal very well may have angered her more than the affair. She was grasping at straws and in desperation she went to the safe on the opposite wall and after three quick turns she removes a hefty envelope which she promptly threw at her husband.
“They are fighting, Elsa. I knew he wasn’t lying…” Jessica commented quietly. “If there is anything Mr. Shaw can do is lie. She’s got proof of an affair, and there is an ironclad pre-nup and you know she’ll get custody of Dakota, the penthouse, and the money… I wouldn’t count your chickens…” “Before they hatch?” Jessica suggests.
Sara resumed her position across from him near the couch, an 18th century replica they argued over for weeks before she bought it anyways. He was never home, and she couldn’t understand why he cared about the furniture in a room he never even used. But he had gotten his revenge by ordering a tacky leather recliner he couldn’t live without. Now the library he had never used was unusable to her as well, and it became his domain to her dismay. With such an eyesore anyone would see the situation for exactly what it was - poor interior design and a disjoint in their marriage. She wasn’t one for speculation, so she entertained in the formal living room instead and never said another word about it, for fear he’d find some other way to destroy her social life.
He finished his drink in one final gulp, and rested the cup on the end table; she eyed it as a small ring of condensation became visible underneath. He didn’t bother to even use a coaster, but instead of reacting she tried to keep her wits about her as she watched him examine the manila envelope, slowly opening it and spilling out dozens of photographs of him with his mistress; At Cippriani, at the Ivy, at the ballet, at the Plaza Hotel. Her private investigator had done well. After examining the contents, he coos innocently in her direction, “Sara, what exactly is it that you think I've done.”
“Ashlee Stewart, 19, she has a loft in Soho she can’t afford, and just bought her first gallery. Funny she doesn’t have two pennies to rub together, wonder how she did that?” Jessica can’t believe her ears, who is Ashlee? As if answering question, he smirks at his wife, “She’s a colleague and I invested in her future, she had… potential, It’s just a loan darling, since when is that a crime?” Sara rolled her eyes, “She’s barely legal, Steven. Couldn’t you at least carry on with her in private instead of parading her out in the open in front of our friends?” Jessica is in shock, she takes a few steps back considering leaving, not just the penthouse, but possibly Manhattan for good, but her curiosity got the best of her, she disregarded that it killed the cat and continued to watch in awe.
“Please, if I wanted everyone to know about our relationship I would have served you papers in front of the girls at lunch and announced our engagement in the Times.” He chuckled to himself, that’s food for thought. She got up again and grabed one of the pictures off the pile still in his lap. Jessica was floored, he’s pre-engaged to her too, some tiny blonde pixie from Soho? This couldn’t be happening. “You’re engaged? That’s cute, Steven. Go ahead, you can take out a full-page ad for all I care; actually it’ll be my engagement gift to you. Do you think for a picture of the happy couple this will suffice?” Sara asked as she tossed a picture of him and Ashlee intertwined in an intimate embrace on his way out of her loft. His wedding ring and her dearth of clothing were both painfully apparent in the shot.
Jessica felt sick. She should have expected this, Steven cheated on his 1st wife with his second, and his second wife with her, it would make sense there’d be another women in the mix, just to keep things interesting. How many more were there, how many more had there been? Steven simply laughed, “Sara, you and I both know you’ll never admit defeat. While this is truly rousing it’s also extremely improbable. As much as you despise me right now, you can’t stand the idea of being divorced. Going from Mrs. Steven Shaw to Ms. Sara … what was your maiden name again… right… Dorian, it certainly has a ring to it” Sara crosses her arms and watches his reflection in the glass window. “Steven, what makes you think divorcing you would be a step back, I wouldn’t just go back to Chicago and be satisfied living in the old family estate. I’d stay close, probably redecorate our penthouse and be hell bent keeping you and your mistress from living in the lap of luxury. We’ll see how quickly the honeymoon afterglow wears off after the money runs out.” She watched as he went to stand up and the pictures spilled onto the Oriental rug. He came up right behind her, his hands snaked around her slender waist. “You think I’ll let you leave?”
Jessica had seen and heard enough for one evening. She practically ran from the kitchen to the main foyer, grabbed her designer bag and continuously hit the elevator call button until the doors opened. She ran past Jones without saying anything, leaving him dazed and confused by her sudden change passing; even Anatoly, looked up watching the beautiful waif run past him without so much as an explanation. And despite her choice in footwear and the calluses that would be inevitable from not wearing running shoes, she ran the 10 blocks back to her apartment, never looking back and never reconsidering her mode of transportation.
Of course, Jessica’s abrupt exit did not hinder the Shaw’s spat, in fact as Jessica was making her way home; Sara Shaw was thinking to herself, of course not, despite their flaws from the outside they were a perfect couple. “We have a son, Dakota, and you don’t do that to a child.” Steven continued, but instead of leaning in for a kiss as she suspected, his gentle grip tightened. “You think that’s a decision you can make?” she sighed, he’ll leave Ashlee she thought, but instead of apologizing, his face contorted and his hands grabbed a hold of her swanlike neck. Suddenly she was gagging and struggling until he released her and her body crumpled to the carpet, her breathing was ragged and her hands were left clutching her throat.
“Till death do us part, Sara” he murmured as he left her lying there. He closed the door to the library and knew that she wouldn’t do anything about tonight or the affairs. She was still the scared little socialite who relished being the wife of a pharmaceutical tycoon.
He proceeded to his office where he tried to call Jessica, he was sure she’d be disgusted that he had broken their date, especially on a Saturday night, but strangely she didn’t pick up her cellular phone, he left her a message and decided to try Ashlee. Halfway across town a cellular phone begins to ring until it stirs her from sleep. Ashlee glances at the screen; it reads ‘Steven Shaw’ she smiles into her pillow and picks it up.
The End