The Evisceration

First, friends, a confession. This is presented as a SemperAmare story, but was almost entirely written by me, the author known as Vandemonium1. After jointly developing the outline, my partner in crime, CreativityTakesCourage, became busy starting a new business and finishing her professional trilogy. She did edit it, though, and half the concept is hers.

You know, amusingly, some people have accused me and CTC of being the same person. Rather begs the question, doesn't it? If I could write as well as her, why the f$%k would I keep writing badly as me?

This story has been independently rated 3.5 pickaxe handles on the BTB-ometer.

Now strap in and enjoy the ride.

*********

TODAY

THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE of the Dramatic Arts, NIDA, has a tradition. Whenever final year students are putting on a performance, old alumni are invited to be members of the audience. Then, at a post-production social event, budding actors, set designers, costume designers, prop makers etc., can rub shoulders with celebrities, both major and minor, to hopefully get honest feedback on their efforts and make connections beneficial to their future careers.

Thus, it was the actress and alumni—her name is not important and will be withheld for her protection—was mingling after the performance. She remembered back the near dozen years to her final year here and smiled. The intervening years had been exceptionally kind to her. Exposure in the local industry had quickly led to offers from Hollywood. She was now regarded well enough that she could pick and choose her roles. Her agent had just told her she'd been approached for a role as an escort. She was considering accepting that one for the pure devilment of it.

Just about everyone wanted to meet her, but she believed in the purpose of her invitation here and sought out members of the cast and crew to speak with and offer her feedback. A pretty, early twenties, girl introduced herself as Sarah, the set designer, and the actress complimented her on the innovative use of space and clever interchanges between sets. She was just about to move on when the girl leaned in a little.

"My father wants to know if you'll have dinner with him tonight?"

"Young lady, many people want to have dinner with me. Here's my agent's card, ask him to..."

"He told me to tell you his name is Mr. X."

The actress froze.

So, after all these years, what she'd secretly feared had come to pass. Fuck! Hang on a minute. The guy has a grown-up daughter. How bad can it be? Surely, he won't demand sex if his child is involved.

On one level, she'd always been grateful to him. After all, it was he that suggested she become an actress in the first place. Until then, she'd never considered it. She'd been an economics student when she met him. After his suggestion, she'd applied to NIDA and hardly ever looked back.

On another level, though, she'd always considered the guy a threat. Why? He'd been a client. Only once, but once was enough.

The actress thought of the contingency plans she'd developed over the years. One whiff of her past by the gutter press and she would be in full defence mode. She was big enough to survive it, probably, but it was a battle she didn't want to have to fight.

Where was the harm in having dinner with the guy? Besides, ever since the first and only time they'd met, she'd burned with curiosity to know what it had all been about. Yes, where was the harm? She asked the girl where and when to meet the mysterious Mr. X. It was a restaurant not far from the hotel she was bunked in. The time allowed her to mingle for another hour, then go to the hotel, shower, and change. She rang first her lawyer, then her husband from the limo. Her husband demanded she ring as soon as the fourteen-year old mystery had been solved.

After a two-block walk to the restaurant, she was shown into a private dining room. Just before she entered, she put on a confident face to mask the nervousness she actually felt. If the guy was going to attempt blackmailing her into sex, she was going to call his bluff. Her lawyer already had the guy's daughter's name.

The door to the private room opened and a wave of relief swept over the actress.

There was the girl who'd been at NIDA, sitting next to another girl who appeared a year or so younger. Her eyes travelled to a late forties man she recognised from a single meeting fourteen years previously. Mr. X. The last member around the table was a lady she estimated was around the same age as the man. Mr. X stood and shook her hand, introducing himself as David Brown, before introducing his wife and daughters.

After ordering and consuming their mains, with the ladies asking the obligatory celebrity questions, Dave called for quiet. He announced that now that his youngest daughter, Wendy, was eighteen, he had a tale to tell. It was his side of the story only, and he was very glad the actress had agreed to join them to corroborate some of the details.

The actress looked over at the two younger girls and noticed the expectant looks on their faces. Then, she noticed that she herself was sitting on the edge of her seat. Smiling, she forced herself to relax. Dave looked nervous. Only Maria, his wife, looked relaxed. She held her husband's hand for strength. After a squeeze, he looked at her, then forward again, before continuing his speech.

Dave explained the motivation for telling his strange tale. Partly, it was to fulfil a promise, he nodded toward the actress at that point, and put her mind at ease for the strange events of the decade and a half before and the knowledge that there was someone out there who could damage her image. She nodded her thanks at Dave.

Secondly, it was to tell his daughters, for the first time, why they hadn't seen their birth mother for over fourteen years. He explained that he'd fully intended telling Sarah when she turned eighteen, but she'd never asked. That was a compliment to Maria, he said. She was obviously all the mother his daughters needed. After that explanation, he prewarned them that after telling them the story, he was going to beg their forgiveness for his unilateral actions of so long ago.

With his audience champing at the bit, Dave started at the beginning.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, a woman was lying sleepless in a cheap motel bed, listening to the snoring pig beside her, reviewing the mistakes she's made that led to her current situation.

*********

MARTHA, PRESENT DAY

I DON'T THINK I was born entitled. More, I think, I developed a sense of entitlement from the easy course of my life. Born into a comfortable middle-class family, growing up I wanted for nothing. With next to no effort, I finished university with an arts degree and diploma of education. Daddy used his old-boy-network to land me my first post in a good school rather than me having to work my way up from the usual out-in-the-sticks shitholes.

I worked for five years, never settling on one hobby, one pastime, or one man. In short, I enjoyed sampling all life had to offer. I dipped my toe in any pond that appealed to me. Then, as I was nearing twenty-eight, daddy begged me to settle down and make something of my life. By this point, he was the chief aide to a federal Senator, and knew in his heart he himself would never make the top job. Perhaps, he wanted to achieve through me what he couldn't achieve for himself, or, maybe, he saw in me something I hadn't yet seen in myself. Regardless, over the course of an hour, he hooked me with stories of the power his boss wielded. Between us we came up with a plan to put me in the running to be our country's first female Prime Minister within the next twenty years.

The list included; successful career, family, joining a political party, a more visible connection to a mainstream church, and charitable works, to name but a few. With my new-found ambition, again things seemed easy.

Through a church committee, I met my future husband, but not in the way you think. I was attending a meeting in a side room of the church when I went into the apse to ask a workman redoing some of the antique woodwork to keep the noise down. He was on his knees with his back to me when I yelled to get his attention. He unfolded his tall frame, turned, and smiled. A waft of his musky scent hit my nostrils and appealed straight to my womanhood.

We were married less than a year later.

Yes, he was only a cabinetmaker, but it was a good honest trade and supplemented my salary well enough that we could afford a good house in the best end of town.

Kids were put on hold, when joining the local Liberal Party introduced me to several members of the board of an exclusive girls' school. With their help, I attained the position of Deputy Head, then, Headmistress; a position I'd held for two years when I made the worst decision of my life.

That position was attained even though I'd taken two lots of twelve months leave for the births of my daughters. Sarah was born in 1998 and Wendy a dignified two years later. I wanted to return to work and a heavy schedule of committee and fundraising three months after each birth, but Daddy advised me to wait a year. The public, he told me, would judge me as a mother above practically everything else.

So, at the time this story really starts, Sarah was now six and Wendy four. The nice house had been traded for an even nicer house. I had a nice career as headmistress and was head of several charitable organisations. I swear the local church wouldn't run without me, but, best of all, I was favourite to head our party's ticket in the next state election, two years hence.

Life was wonderfully hectic, if a little exhausting at times. Three or four committee meetings each week, fundraisers, entertaining visiting church dignitaries, you name it. Through all of that I was expected to look good and keep a smile ready for any cameras.

I couldn't have done it all without Dave, though. Being self-employed, he could start work as early as he liked so that he was home in time to pick the girls up from school and daycare. He then looked after them while I was away in the evenings. To be honest, he did the vast bulk of the weekend entertaining as well. I was usually busy elsewhere or resting before starting it all again on Monday. As a New Year's resolution, the year my marriage ended, I vowed to devote more time to Dave and the girls but after being absent for much of their lives, well, I felt a bit of an outsider. Other pressures then forced me away from them again.

On top of all my other duties, I also had to keep up my professional teaching accreditation. That meant attending two conferences a year. The last of which that particular year, I forgot to tell Dave about until the last minute. How was I to know he'd organised a babysitter for the entire weekend, having planned a romantic get-to-know-Martha-again weekend? He was disappointed, to say the least, when I told him I had different plans, but I knew he'd get over it. He always did.

The conference meant I'd be away Friday and Saturday nights, so I promised him we'd have our own party Sunday night. He didn't look impressed and hardly spoke to me before I left to attend. I vowed to myself to be more understanding in future. A divorce at this point would be close to disastrous.

Unusually, Dave didn't ring Friday night. I put it down to him still being peeved. When he called me on Saturday I thought he was over his sulk. It was late, well after suppertime, when the phone in the room rang. In the immediate wake of the call, I thought I was in a difficult but not unsalvageable position. Now, I know my fate was decided at that moment, barring one future decision.

The conversation started normally enough with each of us enquiring about the other's day. I was in the middle of something and, as I said, it was late, so I tried to end the call as quickly as I could. Maybe the wine I'd had at dinner didn't help my cause. Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm a cheap drunk. What is known in the local vernacular as 'a two-pot screamer'. I'm pretty sure the last few sentences went something along the lines of.

"I have to go now, Dave, darling. The first seminar starts at eight tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Shall I tell the girls you miss them?"

"Of course. Give them a kiss from me."

"Will do. Say hi to Allen for me."

"Okay, I'll- WHAT?" The last to the dial tone.

Oh, I forgot to tell you about Allen, didn't I? Well, not to put too fine a point on it, Allen was my lover and had been for nearly a year.

It wasn't a conscious decision to take a lover but, looking back on it, I had everything else I desired, so why not? Allen worked for the public relations company the party hired to look after me. We worked closely together. He arranged all my meetings with the media and was basically responsible for my public persona. One weekend away, while I was on a high from pulling off a big sponsorship deal for a charity I helped, we became lovers. I'd celebrated with one too many wines and we'd just fallen into bed and gone for it.

The next day I was terrified at what the repercussions would be if I'd been caught. The end of my political aspirations was a given. The next few days I was on alert for a leak, but nothing was ever said. I relaxed.

The trouble was, it didn't end there. Allen was young, attractive, and, ah, vigorous in bed. The naughtiness and slight risk made it very thrilling and, in truth, I don't think the idea of not keeping it up ever seriously crossed my mind. The sex was still vibrant after a year, possibly because we only met a couple of times a month. I'd worked hard for years and deserved some luxuries. The fact that Dave had worked equally hard, if not harder, on the family side, never entered my head. I may not have been born with a sense of entitlement, but I sure had developed one.

On that night, Allen, sitting naked on my bed listening to me talking to Dave, would have seen my face fall and my jaw drop. We quickly decided this was the worst crisis yet. Allen shut me down when I wondered aloud how we'd been caught. I'm not stupid and had always been incredibly careful. I even had a checklist that I mentally completed before every tryst: meetings had to be out of our town, disguises had to be worn, and Dave's whereabouts had to be known with certainty. When travelling, separate rooms with interconnecting doors were always used. One thing was certain; when I went back to my husband, not a smell, taste, or anything physical of Allen would go home with me. I knew that if Dave ever suspected I had a lover, Allen would be the main candidate, so, whenever we were together we were incredibly careful.

Except for that weekend.

As the trip was not strictly politically oriented, Allen had no business being at my hotel, but seeing as Dave was committed to the Sarah's soccer finals all weekend, I calculated there was zero chance of him turning up. As long as I was careful getting Allen into and out of my room, it was risk free.

Or so I thought.

That's why Dave's casual words and my inadvertent admission, whether because of the wine or the fact Allen kept me awake the night before, shook me to the core.

It took me a while to remember I had a contingency plan for this. Even with the late hour, I called Daddy and he called his lawyer.

*********

I KNOW NOW I should probably have handled things differently. I suspect, that if I'd gone straight home, told Dave my affair was over, and thrown myself on his mercy, he may have forgiven me. He was incredibly family oriented. It was just the one affair, after all. I'll never know if the extremely vicious assault Dave launched on me shortly after this time was inevitable from this point, or whether my reaction to being caught caused it all.

Daddy was horrified at what I'd done and pointed out that I'd handed Dave the power to destroy all my hard work. He told me he'd arrange to get me on the next flight home and told me to pack and get my ass to the airport.

Allen's reaction to the whole episode was surprising, although, maybe it shouldn't have been. I suppose, to intensify the experience for myself, I'd pretended to have deep feelings for him. His reaction certainly proved he loved me. It was a pitiful sight, seeing him beg me to leave my husband and marry him. This gave me pause for thought but not for long. I didn't love him, I loved Dave. Yes, I was very fond of him. Yes, it was very flattering to be with a younger man, and, yes, it was very empowering to have a lover, however secret. But leave my husband for him? Not going to happen.

Besides, having a partner over ten years my junior, that I'd dumped my husband and broken up my family for, would make me a laughing stock and destroy any chance of salvaging my career. I did, however, feel sorry that I'd allowed him to fall in love with me so completely, therefore, I threw him a bone. He was away for the next week, so I promised to come to see him when he got back, after my home situation had stabilised. Just because my husband had apparently found out I had a lover, well, that didn't mean I had to stop, did it? Only if my husband insisted and threatened to weaponise that knowledge, I suppose.

I won't bore you with details, but my father, his lawyer, my sister and I arrived at my family home just as Dave and the girls were leaving the house Sunday morning to go to the zoo. Between us, we forced Dave back into the house while my sister took the girls.

I was tired, and we hadn't rehearsed, so I left the talking up to Daddy and the lawyer. Initially, Dad hadn't liked my choice of a mere tradesman as a partner, but Dave was so likeable that he'd soon gotten over his reservations. They'd gotten on fine over the years, even becoming friends of sorts. Given a choice, however, between that friendship and supporting me, Dad didn't hesitate in choosing sides. I must say, I felt a little sorry for Dave being subject to the assault he was.

Daddy opened the argument with a review of expectations. He surmised that Dave had obviously expected me to be faithful and maybe that had been an unreasonable expectation, given the disparity in our social classes, earning capacities, and achievements. I was a little horrified at this approach. Blind Freddy could see the devastation I'd caused my husband and that hurt me. I was sorry for that hurt and I tried to make eye contact with Dave to convey this, but he just looked defeatedly at the table in front of him.

And what an assault it was. I'm glad I wasn't on the receiving end. There were threats of gag orders, writs, libel and slander suits. Dave showed no emotion throughout. Ditto when my father asked what evidence he had of my infidelity. He practically admitted he had none. In fact, it turned out he wasn't even sure I was having an affair until I inadvertently admitted it on Saturday night. Putting the pieces together much later, I believe that all my precautions had been for nought. A friend of Dave's had overheard Allen bragging about bedding me and tipped Dave off. Not fully believing it, Dave threw in his statement, "Say hi to Allen for me," to see what shook out of the trees. The realisation of the shock he must have felt when I answered as I did, rocked my conscience to the core.

Daddy had no such conscience, however. After asking the lawyer to leave the room, he intimated that to save my reputation, evidence of Dave's infidelity might have to be fabricated. Dave showed no emotional reaction to that either.

In fact, I was thinking he'd completely emotionally shut down until the lawyer came back in and went on about the mother always getting custody and the current trend for the father to only get access to the kids every second weekend. I watched his face harden but turned away when his gaze focused on me. I couldn't face that. He didn't in any way deserve what was happening to him. He loved his girls. Doted on them and spent every available hour he could raising them. That's why I could afford to be absent from the family home so much.