Bittersweet Revenge

  Heaven has no rage like love to

  hatred turned, nor hell a fury like

  a woman scorned.

  Charla looked around the room, checking and double checking, one wall at a time, checking each piece of furniture, making sure her fingerprints were either wiped clean or did not exist. She took her time; no need to rush. The plan had been in place for months, but she didn’t want to be too arrogant or complacent and make a mistake.

  The computer keyboard at her desk had been replaced. She had never used his keyboard or anything else in his office, of that she had been extremely careful. No law books had been touched or opened by her either. Any legal research needed had been done on her computer.

  And her computer led to nowhere, nothing personal ever searched for, no trails or links to life outside of that office, never. The risk would have been too great.

  Any hairs likely to be found would be blonde, but she wouldn’t be blonde for much longer. Besides, the cleaning crew was the best she had ever seen, so it was unlikely that anything would linger over the next few weeks. Once the plan was in motion, no one would even think to have his office searched, at least not for a long time.

  Nothing about her would be non-descript. She wanted to be remembered as the tall, thin, blonde and blue-eyed paralegal who worked for him for about a year. She would no doubt be on video camera throughout the lobby and perhaps even on the 12th floor where his office is located. But she also knew they didn’t keep those tapes for long.

  He was away so much of the time that he never noticed how little involvement she had with things in the office other than at her desk. The plant service watered the plants, the cleaning people cleaned. She rarely touched anything in the small kitchen space used for coffee and bottled water. No trace of her would be found in that area. She wiped the phone clean with antiseptic wipes, knowing any prints or fibers from her would be gone within seconds.

  She shivered.

  It was almost over.

  It had been a long time coming, but that made it all the better.

  Goodbye, Richard Westman. Have a good life.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alison could feel someone staring at her, the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. It was a sensation she’d tuned into since childhood. There were at least fifty people in the room, but she knew one of them bore eyes into her back.

  Brenda had not described the man she was to be introduced to, so she had no way of knowing who he was as she walked the perimeter of the large living room. She recognized some of the guests who balanced drink in one hand, food in the other, most chattering, oblivious to others. She was always struck by the fact that Brenda smoked but never allowed guests to smoke in her home.

  As she turned toward the dining area, she looked up into the dark green eyes of the most handsome man she’d seen in a long time – movie star handsome. Alison knew he was the one, the unidentified visitor who was anxious to meet her. The heat flush on her face ran to the top of her head, not from hormones, but reality of a man to be reckoned with.

  He was well over six feet, a great build, six pack buried under the blue velour shirt open at the neck. Both of them stood speechless for a moment. His eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen, and he sported a $200 haircut, without a doubt. She knew immediately that she was going to be in trouble emotionally.

  “You must be Alison. Hi, I’m Rick. Brenda told me to look for a stunning redhead and I don’t see any others in this room. I have to pinch myself to be sure I’m not dreaming. You’re beautiful and I’m already in love with you.”

  Alison laughed, not in a way to embarrass him, but nonetheless, a chuckle he couldn’t miss. The crazy thing was that she felt exactly the same way about him.

  They stared at each other for a moment, then Rick guided her toward the bar, asked what she’d like to drink, instructing her not to move, that he’d be right back. There was no way Alison was going to move from that spot. She couldn’t. She was frozen in place and consumed with a lust she’d never experienced for a man. At that moment, she understood that life as she’d known it would never be the same.

  Alison had at first decided to not attend her friend Brenda’s holiday party – too many people would drink too many drinks. She had a problem being around those who drank excessively and naturally proceeded to make fools of themselves. Brenda begged her to change her mind, said there was a new guy in town she wanted Alison to meet – “a keeper.”

  “Listen, he’s tall and very good looking, great smile, and a lawyer from Boston. I know you’ll like him. Please reconsider. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t know you would enjoy meeting him. And he you. I’ve told him about you.” Brenda finally took a breath and Alison rushed to get her words out.

  “Okay, I will be there. But I promise, if he’s a jerk and your party is out of control, I’m gone, okay? So don’t be mad if you turn around and I’m not there any more.”

  “Thank you. I accept that and understand. I just think you will be surprised, that’s all. I’ll see you tomorrow night. And the answer is no, there’s nothing you can bring.” Brenda laughed, anticipating Alison’s question.

  Alison heard Brenda puffing on a cigarette and pursed her lips in annoyance, hoping some day her friend would stop smoking. At least she did not smoke in Alison’s presence.

  “Okay, so I will be there, with nothing to bring but myself. Thank you. See you tomorrow night.” Alison blew her a kiss and hung up.

  It was the day after Thanksgiving, a day Alison always loved as she never went near the stores, left that to others who were foolish enough to get up at 4 a.m. for some bargain they couldn’t live without. But she always got excited at the way San Francisco looked from Thanksgiving on – the lights aglow from one end of the City to the other, the smell of fireplace logs mixed with pine trees and fog.

  Time for a run, her usual way to deal with the cobwebs in her head. She dressed and headed out from her apartment on Telegraph Hill, this day deciding on the route out Columbus Street toward the Embarcadero. Her daily run was five miles, a different direction each time, knowing each week she’d had a view of the entire City, all eleven miles square.

  When she arrived back home, she looked through her closet to decide on an outfit for the party the next night. Long ago Alison had begun to focus her wardrobe more in conjunction with her hair and skin color, as well as her height and weight.

  Her long red hair curled easily, a no muss-no fuss kind of style. She was fortunate to have curly and wavy hair, and it was meticulously cut at all times. But Alison had stopped using any heat products such as electric rollers or curling irons, preferring to allow her hair to breathe naturally. At 5’8”, weighing 130 pounds, her figure was perfect and despised by most of her friends, in a loving way. She could eat anything she wanted, but always maintained healthy food habits.

  She did not spend time in nail salons and facial spas, always taking care of herself at home, a routine she’d kept for many years that obviously worked well. Her skin was flawless; she wore little makeup, and spent little on products compared to most of her friends.

  The outfit Alison chose to wear for the party was a forest green mid-calf length velvet skirt and matching jacket, a black turtleneck sweater and black boots. Her only jewelry was a pair of long gold earrings. She didn’t wear a watch any more, instead used her cell phone to tell time, and only occasionally wore rings.

  In spite of Brenda telling her to not bring anything, Alison checked her wine cellar and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Grigio, a wine she knew Brenda would enjoy.

  A few moments later she was in a taxi on her way to her friend’s, the ride down Columbus Street toward the Embarcadero one she took almost daily. Within a few minutes, she was in th
e lower Market area at Brenda’s condo, a new Victorian tucked into a hillside. It was impeccably furnished as only Brenda could do, her style more rigid than Alison’s, but comfortable. Brenda was a successful marketing person who appeared to have unlimited funds and displayed them well.

  And there he was.

  They talked for a long time, effortlessly moving around the room yet unaware they were doing so. Alison was careful to not drink more than two glasses of wine in spite of Rick’s efforts to continually replace her glass. She noted that he, too, did not actually drink more than two glasses of champagne.

  He talked about his law practice with a focus on medical malpractice, almost twenty years in the Boston area after graduating from Harvard Law School, divorced five years, two children now in college, a boy and a girl. A case he’d hoped would settle did not and was on the trial calendar for Monday morning in San Francisco Superior Court. In spite of his high hopes, it appeared that he would have to settle in for the month of December and get the thing over with. The attorneys he was associated with for trial had provided him with an executive suite not too far from where Alison lived.

  They talked about her work as a senior paralegal for a large corporate firm where she’d worked for ten years and managed a case load comparable to the best attorneys around. Her “specialty” was entertainment law, which fascinated him as he didn’t know anyone working in that field. Rarely would a law firm in Boston deal with such cases since most were handled either in New York or on the west coast.

  Alison realized it was getting late and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by this man’s presence. She had to get out of there. This was not the time to pursue him on any level and she had no intention of winding up in a sexual encounter with Rick too quickly.

  He went to find the restroom and Alison decided at that second to leave the party. She knew it wasn’t right, but she had his business card and would contact him in a day or so. Brenda would be furious with her, but she could handle that.

  Within a few minutes, she was in a taxi headed home, the only place she felt safe from the power of this man she’d just met. His looks and humor, plus his intellect, had her totally spellbound and she did not trust herself.

  The moment she was in her apartment, she sent him a text message:

  R, had to leave, sorry, happy to meet u, can we talk tomorrow and get together soon for lunch?

  The message to Brenda was more explaining:

  B. Thx. Had to leave. Need to talk 2 u asap about Rick. Tomorrow? Luv, A.

  She didn’t even want to have the lights on as she undressed and put on warm pajamas to protect from the cold of the evening. There was enough light coming in through the windows and she knew she could not be seen. A cup of chamomile tea was in order, so she reached for her largest mug and when the tea was ready, curled up on the window seat in the living room.

  It was a full moon, a Harvest moon, and she was shaking. No one had ever affected her as Rick had. At least no man who wasn’t up on the big screen! As she saw it, she had two choices – either not see him again or see him again and just play it out as it happens. One choice was easy; one was dangerous and she knew that.

  Alison normally slept well, but not this night. She tossed and turned, had dreams about a sexual encounter with Rick, how good it would probably be, and she awakened with wet hair and clothes, goose bumps, and reality that she has touched a hot stove and there was no turning back to find a rescue squad.

  A shower and clean clothes didn’t do much for her attitude, which she realized as she drank her coffee was based more on fear – fear of giving herself to someone and losing control of her life, the life she had worked hard to create.

  She finally looked at her cell phone and saw two messages. It didn’t take rocket science to know they would be from Brenda and Rick.

  I went back into the room and you were gone. Let’s touch base tomorrow and plan that lunch. I don’t text well, would rather talk. R

  He was kinder than Brenda.

  Dammit, Alison, you couldn’t even say goodbye? OK, I understand.

  Call me. Bren

  Call Rick and call Brenda.

  Eventually.

  On that note, Alison went back to bed and was asleep within minutes. She never heard the phone ring or Rick’s message on her answering machine.

  “Alison, I still smell your perfume on my shirt, need to know who makes it so I can buy you more. Or maybe I’ll just take my shirt to the perfume counter at Saks Fifth Avenue. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Will you have dinner with me tonight? Let me know what time works for you and I can come by in a taxi or we can meet. I’m on my cell or you can call the hotel, room 787. Talk to you soon. Bye, beautiful.”

  The last word was what she woke up to.

  Nice. Classy.

  The message before his was from Brenda, as predicted.

  “Okay, I got your text message and understand, but geez, you left me trying to explain to him why you’d left. Isn’t he a dream boat? I don’t think I’ve met a guy that classy in a long time. And he’s really taken with you, kiddo, so play it right. He’s definitely interested. Call me when you can. Oh, and thanks for the wine. It’s delish. Bye.”

  She moved through the rituals as if sleepwalking – facial, shower, brushed her teeth, dressed in sweats, not planning to run today, just needing to curl up and make a decision – yay or nay to Rick. It was Sunday, the end of the long Thanksgiving weekend, and she realized quickly that she really wanted the day to herself and to not have dinner with Rick that evening. But she acknowledged that she did want to have dinner with him soon.

  So that she would not waver from her decision, she sent him a text message rather than phoning. She knew herself well enough to know that in a phone conversation, it was possible that she would weaken her resolve and say yes to dinner tonight.

  R, thanks for your message. Nice to wake up to. Sorry, plans this evening, cannot have dinner, but any evening later this week would work well. Let me know your schedule. A.

  Now she could let go for the entire day and not let him into her space any more than he already was – his smell, his look as if photographed in her mind, the way he moved so comfortably in his own skin. Rarely was a man that polished and at ease. She could just imagine him in a court room.

  Alison enjoyed the day, doing mostly nothing but watching football. She was in a vegetative state. There was no doubt in her mind that she was going forward in whatever developed with Rick, so she had put it out of her mind as nothing to angst over. That gave her the freedom to enjoy the day. Long ago she had given up the lifestyle of bringing home work from the office. She’d paid her dues for years; no more. Especially on a holiday weekend. Of course, that was also part of the luxury of being a boss with a support team of ten people. Only on the eve of trial would she be in a position to work over time.

  Alison’s salary provided her the ability to have her home cleaned monthly, to send her laundry and dry cleaning out, and she knew that the money spent would come back to her ten-fold, unlike money spent at beauty salons. In her mind, she thought she was way ahead of the game. But that also meant she could spend time doing nothing if she felt like it – or reading, listening to music, perhaps even working on the book she’d started many moons ago.

  Her most pleasurable time was trying out new recipes. Alison had a reputation as a gourmet cook – beyond gourmet, to a higher level like the best chefs in the world. Friends and family loved being invited to her place for it was truly an experience for, of, and by foodies. There was a time when she considered going into the business, but her decision not to do so was based solely on a desire to not work 24/7 and weekends. Not that the legal field was far from that at times, but she actually had not spent too many extra hours in the beginning when she “paid her dues to the profession.”

  The kitchen was outfitted with every gourmet utensil in the market place that Alison believed had a value toward turning out her finished product. She bought nothing on a whim, but carefull
y checked into something to be sure it was what she wanted to use. Her assortment of knives was professional, the best money could buy, as was her collection of pots, pans, baking utensils, and miscellaneous items. Over the years she invested a great deal of money in what she needed to complete each creation, things like butter paddles, a strawberry huller, vegetable cutters, and assorted miscellaneous tools of the trade. She had also invested in fine china, informal plates and accessories, table linens, crystal, non crystal drink ware, bar glasses, wine glassware, and cutting boards made of marble. This was her weakness, how she chose to spend her money rather than shopping for clothes or makeup all the time.

  Her kitchen was designed with a work counter topped in marble in the center of the large and open room, bar stools for eight people on one side, and a table in the corner to seat eight. Even friends who normally did not cook much enjoyed preparing a meal with Alison in that kitchen as it was fun for everyone. She had a freezer that stood as tall as the refrigerator, which was always full for whatever people wanted to make to eat or Alison’s whim of the day. Her pantry was meticulous with an assortment of spices and condiments that she kept refreshed at all times. Her basic list to have on hand was drawn from Giata de Laurentis’ list, “Staples to Live By.” Alison knew that she could go up against anyone in the world of cooking and hold her own, but she chose to open her home only to her friends and an occasional reception for a non profit organization she was affiliated with.