Joe returns home and is fingered for breakfast; but not as you would expect. Dinner with Allison's boss, the mid-life crisis Jim Nebill, offers Joe another possible name on his hit list if indeed his life has gone awry.
Genre: Thriller
Downfall, a novel by Joe Rendace, details a tense three week period in the marriage of Joe and Allison Vincent, where dying means never having to say you're sorry.
Www.JoeRendace.com
Check out the novel and screenplay.
Joe returns home and is fingered for breakfast; but not as you would expect. Dinner with Allison's boss, the mid-life crisis Jim Nebill, offers Joe another possible name on his hit list if indeed his life has gone awry.
Genre: Thriller
Downfall, a novel by Joe Rendace, details a tense three week period in the marriage of Joe and Allison Vincent, where dying means never having to say you're sorry.
Www.JoeRendace.com
Check out the novel and screenplay.
CHAPTER 4
One should never underestimate the value of a good night’s sleep. I heard the line on a commercial, but never gave its meaning much thought. Between the jetlag and the attempted sex upon my return home, I was physically and mentally exhausted. I relied on finding solace between my sheets. When the morning sun made its presence between the verticals of the bedroom window, I awoke to the sweet smell of jasmine. My first view of Allison arranging a floral bouquet was surprising. She appreciated the appearance of a well-constructed centerpiece but was not one to find time to create it. She caught sight of my awakening.
“Good morning, honey. Sleep well?”
“Good morning, babe.”
“Are you hungry? Would you like some eggs and homemade biscuits for breakfast?”
She had not been one to cook in the morning for some time. My smile was my response.
“Good. I’ll have it ready in no time.”
With a parting grin, she exited the bedroom. Aware that it was the second week of December, I still waited for her to pop back in and yell, “April Fool!” When there was no sign of a joke, I rose from the bed and headed for the shower. The cold water rejuvenated my body. I felt good enough to skip all the way to work. After a clean shave, I put together a snappy ensemble and made my way down to the kitchen. The banister was beautifully decorated with holiday lights and Allison had our Christmas CDs playing. By the time I entered the kitchen my plate was waiting on the table. Seeing the steam rising from the sausage and bacon, I took a seat and quickly dug in. My gratitude was a thankful smile as I watched her lean against the sink with her arms folded. I smiled.
“The flowers are beautiful.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you noticed.”
“You did a great job with the decorations. How early did you get up?”
“Oh, earlier than usual. I couldn’t sleep. You know how I am when I can’t sleep. I fidget around. I did some laundry and unpacked your luggage for you.”
My attempt to stick my fork in a piece of sausage ran into issues. “Wow, thanks a lot. I am sorry. I know how you like me to throw my dirty stuff in the hamper.”
While still looking at her, I raised the utensil to my mouth before dropping it in horror.
“But I was so exhausted yesterday that I…”
“What the hell?!”
On the edge of the fork, in plain sight for all to behold, was the hooker’s discolored thumb. As my words rung out, I glanced at Allison and back to my dish. Releasing my grip from the steel utensil, the handle clanged against the plate in a deafening manner. My mind furiously raced in a thousand directions while my feeble attempt to create an excuse was barely plausible. Allison did not afford me the time to research a better one.
“What the hell is a woman’s thumb doing in your luggage?!”
Exasperated, I had no response. She was not looking for one.
“You goddamn freak! What kind of sick shit are you doing on your trips?”
Lost in my emotions, I tried to speak without any idea of what I should say. Judged guilty without a trial, she was beyond reasoning.
“Was this my souvenir? Were they out of postcards?!”
Screaming at the top of her lungs, she was completely hysterical. Try as I may, my scurry for an answer to gain control of the conversation was fooling no one.
“Allison! Listen to me, you’ve got it all wrong!”
About to rise from my chair, I suddenly felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. Pushed back down into my seat, the bristles of a rope tightened around my neck. Before I was able to blink, the struggle for air became my only concern.
“I told you he was no good, sis. Do it now!”
Feeling Victor’s breath on my neck, I realized I was beyond helpless. His elbows braced into my back, making it clear that I was going nowhere fast. Allison flung the counter drawer open and grabbed the large carving blade.
“Let’s see how easy your finger comes off!”
The last thing I heard as she lunged across the table was Victor’s maniacal laugh. Letting out a scream that sent me deep into the eternal darkness, I willingly embraced the void.
✽✽✽
I wildly punched into the air until I heard her voice. When Allison opened the bedroom door and the light reached my eyes, I coiled back and squinted.
“Joseph! Are you okay?”
I did all I could to stop my heart from racing. By the time my eyes focused, I faced the last thing I needed to see. A crow. A black, fucking crow on the television. As the screen went black, I focused my eyes on Allison turning off the TV with the remote.
“I said are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I fell off the bed.”
She moved toward my side, crouching down near my face. Looking at her carefully, I still felt the enraged emotions of her actions in my nightmare.
“Are you sure that was all? You were screaming ‘No’ when I opened the door.”
My mind clearer, I tried to reassure her that I was fine.
“Uh, you know what they say, in the second it takes to fall off the bed, you create a dream that feels like it lasted hours.”
Her eyes indicated disagreement. “Are you sure it wasn’t a bad dream that sent you over the bed?”
“Anyway. I’m okay.”
Her concern slowly dissipated. “Was I in your dream?”
I pondered my answer before opting for the easy way out of the conversation.
“Of course not, honey. How could you be part of anyone’s nightmare?”
A quick kiss on her nose before moving toward the bathroom was a nice touch on my part. I assumed she took the comment as sincere because she left it at that. Unfortunately, she started the next debate.
“Are you going to get ready now?”
My dumb expression led to another slight hint of anger in her eyes as she let out a sigh.
“I told you yesterday when I called you in Romania. We’re having dinner with my boss and his wife tonight.”
I tried not to stare as if she was crazy. Under normal circumstances, I may have laughed in her face. Yet, I had no recollection of the conversation she mentioned. The way my mind played tricks on me lately, anything was possible. So, I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
“Oh, right. Yeah, I’ll get ready now.”
I looked around for my travel bag. My luggage, still where I left it, had not been unpacked. Allison looked puzzled when I took the small bag into the bathroom.
“You want me to shave, don’t you?”
Our brief moment of silence seemed like an eternity. I fully expected her to bust me. Thankfully, she nodded in agreement and I was able to shut the door. Once alone, I scurried through the bag in search of the thumb. Upon retrieval of the evidence, I let out a sigh of relief and threw it in the toilet. Without further hesitation, I hit the handle to flush it out of my life. The water formed a whirlpool, finally seizing the wretched reminder of a trip gone wrong. Out of nowhere, I felt the door slam my backside. My choice to slam the seat cover down and sit on it was met with the glance of a mother catching her child in a mischievous act.
“What the hell was that about?”
“I uh, you know. Airline food. You shouldn’t be in here.”
Faking a look of embarrassment, I assumed my lie sufficient when Allison smirked and grabbed her vented brush.
“Spray.”
Once she closed the door, I was free to drop my head into my hands.
What the hell was I doing? Some people might wonder how I could function at all in light of the situation. I dealt with death in one form or another since childhood and this just needed to be handled and accepted like anything else. What other choice did I have? Having no faith in the judicial system, I was not one who could surrender to the authorities. I refused to be judged by another flawed individual. With this as my guideline, I could do nothing more than move on with my life.
I stripped off the remains of my clothes and found the energy to climb into the shower. With the WaterPik set to massage, I tried in vain to work the kinks out of my sore joints. The water washed the dried sweat off my aching body and I felt more exhausted than before. Most people felt invigorated by a shower, yet I did not. Instead of feeling refreshed, I felt like an old car that finally had its oil changed and fell apart because the dirty liquid was the only thing holding it together.
I planned to sleep through the night until morning, but my nightmare combined with Allison’s plans would have none of that. Instead, I was forced to find the strength to attend a dinner with people whom I did not know. My thoughts were cut short as I watched Allison through the open door. Swaying her hips to the bedroom radio, she gently put on her best pair of earrings and sprayed on the perfume I bought her for her birthday. “Beauty” may have been the name on the box, but it didn’t do much for my senses. Some adorable cosmetics girl at the counter was pushing it last year and I would have bought paint remover in a bottle as long as she smiled.
Dressed only in her bra and gray skirt, Allison had her eyes closed while she sang. Marveling at her and all her glory, I rarely made it further than her bosom. Forever hypnotized by its presence, many a fight had been lost because of their influence on me. She didn’t know that. Never give your opponent an advantage. Many things in my marriage were done against my will just because Allison had the sense to wear a low-cut blouse. I often joked to the guys that if we ever got divorced, my next wife would be flat as a board, so I could control my own life again. Sexist? Male-chauvinistic? Probably, but I was a Northeast Italian male raised in the 1970s and on too much from Hollywood. It was what it was.
Allison though, recently made strides toward improving her career. She had always wanted to be a homemaker and raise our children, but things changed. Dressed and possessed, we were ready and on target for our reservations. We decided to take the nicer vehicle. Although we were only having dinner, we needed to be fully armed in case the conversation moved to the parking lot. It was a simple rule of life.
Always look your best. Always be closing.
She drove us in the Explorer to the restaurant. I figured I could rest my eyes on the way.
“We’re having dinner with my boss Jim and his wife Dora.”
Opening my eyes, I peered over to her.
“And?”
“And, I want you to act like you have some interest in being there.”
She knew me too well. “Jim and Dora. Got it. What’s the point of this dinner?”
“Well, as you know, I have been working under Jim now for five months.”
As soon as she spoke, I visualized her under his body.
“He thinks I’m doing a wonderful job. He’s always complimenting me on my work.”
Right. I‘ve seen how she dressed for work some days. Like I said, a low-cut blouse did wonders to any man.
I sought more details. “Uh huh, and?”
“And, he’s in line for a promotion to V.P. You know how these things go. If he wants, I could be promoted up with him. If he keeps me as his assistant, that would be a fantastic position for me.”
I stared like she said something dirty and unfortunately, I thought out loud.
“OH? And what fucking position will secure the job? Missionary or doggie style?”
Allison barely contained herself. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I’m not capable of acquiring the job based on my skills?”
We had just pulled up to Don Luigi, and she didn’t want to cause a scene in the parking lot. “No, I’m just kidding. Jeez, I can’t even joke with you.”
She just stared at me with daggers coming out of her eyes. Gathering her purse and jacket, she slammed the door shut. I took a deep breath and prepared for an uneventful night. Hopefully, they had a bar area where I could catch some of the hockey game on the tube. As far as Italian restaurants went, the atmosphere was respectable, and the food was edible. Jim and his wife were already two drinks deep as they waited at the bar. Right from the beginning, I could tell what kind of people they were. The one useful thing that came from many years of TV and movies was that I became a pretty good judge of people. I had seen enough to peg which mold a person was cut from. Add in some personal oddities to distinguish one from another, and you had humanity.
Jim’s wife shared my disinterest for attending. I found some comfort in the fact that I was not alone in my desire to run screaming. Allison worked for a major credit card company in Melville. Three years with the firm, she previously worked for two women. I never met either, nor did I ever give much thought to her working for a man. Aside from my lewd comments, I trusted my wife. I figured that if someone wanted to cheat, they would. There was no way to watch someone all the time, and if you had to live like that, what was the point. Yet, I did not want to be put in a position to worry, and that was what I foresaw from the situation at hand.
To my chagrin, Jim Nebill was exactly what I hoped he would not be. Late forties, salt and pepper hair. It all indicated a man who was deep into his mid-life crisis. At thirty-four, I was passing through my pre mid-life crisis, which was a warm up for the main event. His snug suit indicated that he had gone back to the gym and wanted everyone to know it. Every guy knew younger women fell smitten at the sight of a well-maintained older man with salt and pepper hair. It was one of our edges.
What a prick.
Based on the look in his eye, he wanted to devour my wife. Barely paying his spouse any mind, Jim had no clue that Dora had not taken her hand off either bottle of wine on our table. There was only one way to find out how deep Jim was entrenched.
“Say Jim, was that your minivan I saw outside? It said ‘JimmyBGood’ on the license plate.”
His mouth dropped open but his wife found humor in my question. Insulted by my words, his facial expression went from aggravation to pure pride.
“No, mine is the candy red 2000 Corvette. Brand new. Picked it up two months ago.” He was beaming. “Oh. Very nice.”
Prick.
Dora, as if rubbed wrong by his smugness, added her two cents.
“’SlimJim,’ is our plate. Isn’t it, Jimmy?”
I recognized the look of death he gave her. I caught mine on the way over.
The night dragged. I was forced to listen to how great a woman I married. How she was such a wonderful worker and how I shouldn’t let her get away. If I were hearing it from another woman or a man in his late sixties, I might have believed what I heard. As far as I was concerned, this was all babble. The more he tapped her shoulder and hand, the more aggravated I became. It was even blatantly obvious to his drunken wife. Dora looked to be in her forties but had not aged gracefully. While she was an attractive woman, the bottle had taken its toll on her over the years. Her facial expressions confirmed that her husband had done this before and would not stop until he got in Allison’s panties. Dora seemed resigned to the fact, making it clear she was married to his money. By pure luck, both Jim and Dora went to the bathrooms at the same time. Allowed the moment, I wasted few words.
“He’s a dirty, old bastard, Allison.”
Her eyes lit up, but not enough to seem surprised.
“What? Where did that come from?”
I mocked Jim’s words, leaving little room for interpretation. “’She’s certainly a beauty, Joe. Hold on to her.’ This son of a bitch won’t stop until he gets you!”
Shocked, Allison lowered her voice.
“Where is this coming from? Is it so inconceivable to you that he respects my mind? Since when did you turn into a jealous psychopath? You go from ignoring me lately to now treating me like your property?”
Instead of fighting, I softly touch her hand.
“No, treating you like the woman I love.”
The air deflated right out of her. A truce formed, she leaned closer.
“Are you feeling well, Joseph? Are we being honest here? I’ve been worried about you lately. You haven’t looked well. I wasn’t sure if it was the job, or something else. But now, now you seem even more...”
Her words were cut short by Jim returning to the table first, followed by his staggering wife. Throughout the course of the night, I excused myself for a variety of reasons. Fake beeper pages and bathroom runs. It allowed me to hit the bar a few times and watch the Rangers lose 5–3. Dinner ended about eleven thirty and by then I was so tired, I could barely keep my eyes open. The alcohol took effect and I had the makings of a killer headache. I politely nodded my goodbye to Dora, but Jim had to put his hand out, so his grip could confirm the gym indications.
Allison talked while they walked us to our vehicle. Once the doors finally shut, I was able to close my eyes and relax. I had meant to inform her of my realizations about her boss, but she was too excited. Anything derogatory would be construed as more jealousy and I was not in any condition for the fight. Once we pulled out of our spot, I heard her voice above the pounding in my head.
“Oh, what happened to them?”
Opening my eyes, I saw we drove right near Jim and Dora’s parking spot. He was upset and screaming about something. Allison rolled down her window and asked what the problem was, but Jim had lost control of his composure. Calming down long enough to answer my wife, the anger remained in his voice.
“Some degenerate had the audacity to key my car!”
“I’m so sorry. Will it come out?”
Allison’s attempt to show compassion irked him further. Dora was hysterically laughing. She was completely hammered, but she managed to blurt out what was deeply keyed into the door. She continued to make faces at Jim until he motioned for her to get in the car. Once we pulled out of the parking lot, Allison looked my way, as if to ask me something. My loving smile prior to shutting my eyes forced her hesitation. I could sense her debating whether to ask me and I was glad when she finally sighed and decided to forgo the question.
I grinned to myself once more, envisioning what had been engraved into the car door. In big letters, was scratched:
PRICK.