|  Author | Topic: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I? (Read 151 times) |
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|  | CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Thread Started on Aug 15, 2009, 8:22pm » | ![[Quote]](http://s1.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
CHAPTER 22 – WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
Even when the fool walks along the road, his sense is lacking, and he demonstrates to everyone that he is a fool. Ecclesiastes 10:3.
Ever the “epitome of chic,” Elke changed into an updated version of the little black dress that she helped to popularize as a model in the 1970’s—a mod creation by Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche with a black belt. It was a look that designer Karl Lagerfeld would later proclaim: “Its interpretations have been able to follow through different times and epochs.” Elke’s legs were bare and she wore a pair of black patent leather open-toe pumps on feet. Uncharacteristically, she wore her hair down, adorned only with a simple black headband. Her jewelry was elegant and understated and in keeping with her outfit. She wore a pair of onyx and diamond earrings, with a matching bracelet.
A couple of Elke’s friends were due to arrive shortly for a casual luncheon. However, before their arrival, she had a couple of tasks that needed attending to. First, she wanted to touch base with Frazier to get a sense of how his unofficial investigation into the “theft” of her earrings was progressing. The matter weighed heavily on Elke’s mind, as Philippe had given them a week to identify the supposed culprit(s). After that, Philippe wanted the matter turned over to the police.
The second more pleasant task involved contacting Philippe at work and discussing her earlier meeting with Esther Finklestein.
“Yes, darling, it went very well!” Elke claimed. “As a matter of fact, I’ve chosen something that I’m sure you will agree with.”
“Bon!” Philippe said. “Did she bring the certificates of authenticity with her for your stolen earrings? You know that I’m anxious to file that insurance claim.”
Without missing a beat, Elke replied, “Oui, mon amour! Oh, and I’ve taken the liberty of ordering flowers for the Forresters. That poor family! I can’t help wondering how poor Eric is holding up.”
“As always, you are very thoughtful. Undoubtedly, this has been a horrible ordeal for the family.” Philippe said.
“Indeed,” Elke coolly replied before hurriedly ringing off. She certainly had no desire to commiserate over the Forrester’s pitiful misfortunes.
When Elke hung up the phone, she looked up to see Frazier staring at her, his demeanor cold and correct while his eyes barely concealed the disdain he held for her.
“What do you want?” Elke rudely asked.
It took Frazier a moment to think of a reply. He simply couldn’t abide this ‘legal prostitute’ and looked forward to the day when her husband would finally realize that he had married a viper. “Madam, I’m here to inform you that your guests have arrived,” Frazier coolly replied.
“Fine,” Elke snapped, finding it virtually impossible to say thank you or to express anything remotely resembling gratitude.
“Very well, madam,” Frazier intoned sourly. “If there isn’t anything else…”
“Oh, but there is something else,” Elke reminded Frazier. “You were supposed to start investigating the staff and you were to get to the bottom of the theft of my jewelry. I fully expect a progress report, and as I told you before, failure is not an option—that is if you value your job!”
_______________
"As I explained to your father, Miss Forrester, it is my firm belief that your mother is suffering from acute stress disorder,” Dr. Rivera began to explain to his audience. “You see, Mrs. Forrester was exposed to an event that was so traumatic that certain stressors triggered the type of response you and your sister-in-law witnessed. There is a marked disassociation with the event. Other symptoms to expect are numbness, detachment or a lack of emotional response. There is also a reduction in the awareness of her surroundings. On a conscious level, Mrs. Forrester may not remember what happened to her. However, she may have revisited the event in recurrent flashbacks, dreams and thoughts. In addition, she avoids any stimuli that may cause her to recall the events associated with the trauma. That includes feelings, thoughts, people, activities, places or conversations."
"Thanks for that explanation, Dr. Rivera,” Kristen replied, before cutting her eyes at Taylor.
“Yes, thank you,” Taylor slowly added. “I’m quite familiar with this particular disorder and its symptoms,” she was forced to admit.
“Dr. Rivera also provided a profile of the person who did this to Stephanie,” Eric commented. “It sounded like some kind of crazy person.”
Dr. Rivera chuckled and restrained the urge to recoil at the descriptor Eric used to describe the assailant. The word, crazy, was simply not in his vocabulary. “Well, as I explained previously, the assailant obviously had a lot of pent-up rage, which manifested itself in a psychotic episode. It’s my belief that this may have been a one-time event for that person. However, this attack was planned and designed specifically for Mrs. Forrester—to bring her as much pain and suffering as possible before ultimately killing her.”
Taylor mulled over Dr. Rivera’s words before asking, “Do you think we’re dealing with a sociopath then, or maybe someone with borderline personality disorder?”
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Rivera replied. “Like most sociopaths and borderline personality types, this person may seem as normal as you and I. That is why--with all due respect to Mr. Forrester—I reject the word, ‘crazy,’ in describing such people. This person may function as normally as you and I. As for this vicious attack, I suspect this may have been an isolated incident for her.”
“Her?” Taylor asked, seizing on that one word.
“Yes,” Dr. Rivera said. “As I told your father-in-law, the probability that your mother-in-law’s assailant was a woman is extremely high. The injuries Mrs. Forrester sustained indicate that she was kicked repeatedly by someone wearing a dress shoe or a boot with a pointed toe.”
“And this pent-up rage you mentioned,” Taylor began, seizing on the subject, “where would that have come from possibly?”
“From someone who may have felt repeatedly victimized by Mrs. Forrester,” Dr. Rivera replied.
Kristen thought about Dr. Rivera’s response for a moment. She was loath to verbalize what was on her mind for fear of offending and embarrassing Eric, but it had to be said. “Dr. Rivera, I’m afraid the list of suspects is quite long. I love my mother, but I have to say this. You see, my mother was…she was not always the nicest person in the world. She can—could be quite harsh in her judgments and treatment of others. And as much as it pains me to admit this, she could be cruel, thoughtless and quite vindictive herself especially towards other women.” Kristen said, wondering if her father would still be speaking to her by the time they were done.
However, instead of the condemnation she expected, Kristen was surprised when Eric silently nodded in agreement. “I’m afraid my daughter is right,” Eric quietly said.
Unable to deny the truth of Kristen’s summation of Stephanie’s flaws, Taylor chose to remain silent.
For his part, Dr. Rivera was mindful of the private discussions he and Stephanie had regarding her relationship with her daughters, as well as her own failings as a parent. He was already well aware that his patient was no saint. He found her family’s acknowledgement of her flaws refreshingly honest.
Eric worriedly asked, “Based on what you observed when you were with Stephanie a few minutes ago, is there any chance at all that she could tell the police who attacked her?”
“The disturbance with which Mrs. Forrester is afflicted causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational or other important areas of functioning. Unfortunately, she is suffering from something we call dissociative amnesia. In other words, she is unable to recall an important aspect of the trauma. I understand that she may have actually identified her assailant by name; yet, barely moments after that, she indicated that the person she identified was not her assailant. She may have blurted this woman’s name in an agitated state because she remembered that the shooting occurred in this woman’s office. Right now, until she becomes more lucid in discussing this trauma, I’m afraid that she can be of no real help to the police.”
Eric became despondent and sighed. “And, how long did you say this would last?”
“Anywhere between two to four weeks of the event.” Dr. Rivera responded. “I’m so sorry,” he said sympathetically.
“What about hypnosis?” Taylor blurted, causing Eric and Kristen to glare at her.
Dr. Rivera gave Taylor a small smile. “I think not, Dr. Forrester,” he softly replied.
“Why not?” Taylor demanded. “You, yourself, said that you were quite impressed with the breakthroughs that Dr. Peterson made in this area, and—”
“—and, if I’m not mistaken, Dr. Forrester, you and Dr. Peterson used hypnosis as a means of treatment. In this instance, it would be inappropriate right now. You are suggesting something that could be highly dangerous to an obviously fragile patient. The possibility of Mrs. Forrester being subjected to the power of suggestion while she is in a hypnotic state—especially now—is simply too great. It’s just not something I would recommend right now,” Dr. Rivera tactfully explained.
“What if we used someone who didn’t know Stephanie personally? Or maybe the police could suggest someone?” Taylor asked, unwilling to let the matter drop.
“My answer would be the same,” Dr. Rivera firmly replied.
“So, what are we supposed to do then? Just sit and wait for two to four weeks for her to remember?” Taylor rudely demanded.
“Taylor—” Eric began.
“Did it occur to you, Dr. Forrester, that it may not take that long for her to remember? Please also keep in mind that your mother-in-law also has her physical recovery to deal with and will need to marshal as much of her mental and emotional resources to deal with that, including the possibility of permanent paralysis. I am certain that Dr. Sussman will agree with me. Hypnosis is not something I would recommend at this time.”
“You wouldn’t recommend it? Well, what if we want a second opinion?” Taylor arrogantly snapped.
“Back off, Taylor!” A fed up Kristen snapped. “If my father feels there is a need for a second opinion, that is his decision—not yours!”
Dr. Rivera watched the interplay between the two women, made a mental notation and filed it away in his mental Rolodex for later reference. He then addressed Taylor directly. “Not only do I not recommend hypnosis at this time, Dr. Forrester, I expressly forbid it.”
_______________
“Now that’s a philosophy I can totally get behind!” Brooke said. “I definitely will not be allowing people to harass, assault or defame me at will or without protecting myself.”
“Good,” Ted said with a smile at Brooke’s feistiness. “Now that we can establish a possible motive for Mrs. Forrester’s trip to the office that night, have you given any more thought as to who her attacker may have been?”
“I’ve thought about it at length,” Brooke said. “But, again, she has managed to piss off so many people who work at Forrester that it could have been anyone from the mailroom clerks to one of our competitors.”
“Would one of your competitors have had access to your office after hours though?” Ted asked.
“Well, this is where the story gets really interesting. This morning, Forrester’s Chief of Security, Joe Barnes, made me aware of a serious security breach involving none other than Stephanie herself. Apparently, weeks ago, she approached Joe and demanded he give her an extra electronic key to the building. When he dared to confirm if hers had been lost, she verbally attacked him and threatened him. She also warned him not to tell me or Eric about it. Nor, was our security company—Guard-Co made aware of the breach. Had they been properly informed, all keys would have been deactivated and returned, and everyone would have been issued new keys.”
Storm shook his head in disgust. “So you have no way of knowing if Stephanie’s key was lost or stolen and for weeks. Meanwhile, the rest of you were like sitting ducks because of her need for secrecy!”
“Interesting…” Ted said quietly. “I’m very curious as to why she needed that extra key and the scorched earth approach she took with Mr. Barnes. I’m also curious as to why this had to be kept a secret from you and Mr. Forrester.”
“The moment Joe told me about this, I smelled a rat,” Brooke said. “She is always up to something sneaky and sly. What surprises me though is that she would knowingly endanger Eric and Ridge. Plus, I would still like to know what she was doing in my office that night.”
“Well, this certainly gives the police more suspects to consider,” Ted commented. “Mrs. Forrester’s behavior raises the likelihood that someone else was creeping around your building that evening. I’m also starting to wonder if she facilitated it.”
“With her, you never know,” Storm said with a frown. “But it brings us back to the same question—why?”
“It’s something that Megan had to remind me of,” Brooke said soberly. “She said we still had no way of knowing if I was actually the intended target. Do you think…you don’t think Stephanie let someone in the building that night to…hurt me, do you?”
“Either that, or she actively facilitated it with the hopes of keeping her hands clean,” Ted replied.
“And, there’s still the Macy angle,” Storm added. “Maybe Stephanie had something planned all along, but your altercation with Macy gave Stephanie the final push she needed to put her plan into fruition.”
_______________
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jrtllf01
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #1 on Aug 18, 2009, 9:06pm » | |
Ridge moaned in frustration and rolled his eyes. He was getting sick and tired of having to explain himself and to clarify what he actually meant. “For the last time, this was not some vast conspiracy! It was a conversation I overheard between my wife and my mother that I thought should be brought to your attention!”
Detectives Moretti and Blair’s faces remained impassive during Ridge’s little tirade. Detective Moretti flipped a few pages of the pad he had written on and quickly reviewed his notes. He then asked Ridge, “I understand that your wife stopped by the office the morning of your emergency board meeting. What was she doing here?”
Ridge’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, um, she was here because we were supposed to get together for lunch, but we didn’t.”
“Why not?” Detective Moretti asked.
“I was so upset by everything that happened that I forgot our lunch date and left the office for the rest of the day,” Ridge replied.
“Where did you go?” Detective Blair inquired.
“To Spago,” Ridge snapped shortly.
“And how long were you there?”
“I dunno—maybe a couple of hours,” Ridge answered.
“And you were there having lunch all by yourself for approximately two hours, leaving your wife behind? Did you try calling her?” Detective Blair continued her line of questioning.
A guilty-looking Ridge became uncomfortable, knowing full well that he had enjoyed a leisurely lunch with Phyllis that afternoon. “I simply forgot, alright?” Ridge defensively responded.
Detective Moretti looked at Ridge and gave him a small smile. “Were you aware that your wife and Ms. Logan had gotten into some kind of altercation that very afternoon?”
“I’m always aware of what my wife is up to!” Ridge claimed.
“Uh-huh, and is she always aware of what you’re up to?” Detective Blair archly asked.
“That was a cheap shot!” Ridge grumbled under his breath.
“How were you made aware of what happened between Ms. Logan and your wife?” Detective Blair pressed on, ignoring Ridge’s comment.
“She told me later at home,” Ridge said.
“Describe the substance of that conversation,” Detective Blair invited Ridge.
“Well, she was naturally upset about my standing her up for lunch. She screamed at me about it, and then she started in on what happened between her and Brooke. She said that Brooke—” Ridge suddenly stopped, fearful that what he would say next would incriminate Brooke.
“Go on,” Detective Blair prodded. “What did your wife tell you?”
“She told me that Brooke attacked her and Macy,” Ridge slowly said.
“Verbally or physically?”
Ridge’s eyes darted about and beads of sweat began to form on his upper lip. “I don’t remember,” he mournfully replied to the skeptical detectives.
Detectives Moretti and Blair exchanged looks. They were well aware that Ridge had been less than truthful with them in his earlier statements and unfortunately for Ridge, they had no reason to believe anything he said at this point.
“Don’t remember?” Detective Moretti asked. “Why am I not surprised by your rather selective memory?”
“I don’t remember!” Ridge yelled. “I really don’t remember!”
“Of course you don’t,” Detective Blair said. “We understand that you have been under a great deal of stress. Let me ask this then; did your wife indicate whether she spoke to your mother about what happened with Ms. Logan?”
“I—I honestly just don’t remember,” Ridge truthfully said, shaking his head with sadness.
“Okay, Mr. Forrester. I understand,” Detective Blair said gently. “I want you to listen to my question and think before you respond—and I want an honest answer. Now, is it possible that your wife spoke to your mother?”
“I don’t know. So much happened that day and our argument escalated the moment Taylor started screaming about Brooke. It usually does when we start arguing about her. I mean, it’s highly possible and it wouldn’t be that unusual.” Ridge was forced to admit.
“I see,” Detective Blair nodded. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that such a conversation did take place. Would it have been typical for your wife to confide in your mother about being attacked by Ms. Logan?”
“Yeah,” Ridge hoarsely replied.
“And given what you know about these two women—your wife and your mother—would your mother have felt compelled to act on your wife’s behalf? And, please try to be honest with me.” Detective Blair implored.
Feeling like the hunter who too late found himself captured by the game, Ridge felt a rush of adrenaline. Then unexpectedly, his eyes became wet with unshed tears. He mutely nodded.
“Mr. Forrester?” Detective Blair asked. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes!” Ridge sobbed.
“I’m going to ask you something, and again, I need you to be completely honest with me,” Detective Blair began.
“I’ll try…I mean, I will,” Ridge claimed.
“With the scenario I suggested, coupled with what happened at that emergency board meeting, is it possible that your mother and Ms. Logan finally had it out? And, would your wife have been aware of what was going to happen? Would your wife have tacitly or expressly approved of your mother’s actions?”
“Honestly?” Ridge openly cried. “Yes—to everything!”
Seeing a box of tissue on Ridge’s credenza, Detective Blair quietly got up and walked to Ridge’s credenza. She then discreetly handed Ridge a few tissues. Ridge gratefully accepted them and proceeded to wipe his eyes.
As Detective Blair took her seat, Detective Moretti took the opportunity to carefully ask, “Mr. Forrester, is it possible that that is the substance of the conversation you overheard between your wife and mother?”
_______________
Finally deciding that he had had enough of Elke’s none-too-subtle threats, her autocratic demands, deceit and overall foolishness, something inside of Frazier snapped. Forgetting his years of training and everything he had to lose, without warning, he leapt across Elke’s desk and pounced on the unsuspecting woman. He slapped her face twice, his handprints visible on her fair skin.
Elke gasped and her hazel eyes widened in horror. “Chien! Vermin! How dare you?!” She screamed. She quickly stood and reached out to slap Frazier back. However, he angrily shoved her backward into her seat. Any further protests by Elke were stifled, when she felt Frazier’s hands around her neck. “AGGGGHHH! Let…go…of…me!” She managed to croak as she vainly attempted to fight Frazier off. However, she was not strong enough and the usually staid butler overpowered her.
Angered by years of having to suffer Elke’s behavior in silence, Frazier’s eyes took on a maniacal gleam. Free! Free! FREE! How he had longed for this day! He tightly gripped Elke’s neck as she vainly pummeled him with her fists. “DIE, you evil woman! DIE!” He screamed as he continued to squeeze even tighter. “You are evil…vile…cruel…” Frazier ground out between gritted teeth.
Non! Elke tried to scream but her windpipe was slowly being crushed by the pressure of Frazier’s hands. Oh, my God! Philippe! Cécile! Her guests! Someone—anyone—please help meeeeee! Oh, God—please don’t let me die! Please don’t let me DIE! Elke silently screamed before everything faded to black.
_______________
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jrtllf01
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #2 on Aug 20, 2009, 9:59pm » | |
Unlike her newly acquired lover, Phyllis was on top of the world. Although she was always supremely confident, even she had to marvel at her sudden good fortune. The cosmos was definitely blessing her, and as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. By being in the right place at the right time last Thursday afternoon, her life had changed for the better. Where she previously fretted about how she would pay her bills, she now had a job and the fringe benefits were excellent. Just like that, she was able to score a condo in an upscale neighborhood and a new Beemer, both without a credit check. Just on the word of Ridge Forrester, doors simply opened for her.
As the cabdriver pulled into the circular driveway of Phyllis’ new Century City address, she grinned. It was amazing what giving up a little bit of tail could do for a girl! In her former life, Ridge would have been “Danny Romalotti, circa 2001.” An easy mark, who would have done anything to hold onto his sainted wife, even if it meant ultimately giving her up. Phyllis, however, told herself that this was different. She did not exactly know how; she just knew that it was, and she was determined not to blow it this time. True, she gave up the booty a little too soon, but it was well worth it. Phyllis did not walk into Ridge’s office expecting to have sex with him that morning. Her original intent was just to toy with him and to merely give him a little taste of things to come. Who knew he would succumb to her charms this quickly?
As the cab came to a stop, Phyllis reached into her purse, grabbed a few bills and paid the driver. She then opened the door and with much ado exited the cab. As she walked toward the entrance, a very impressed Phyllis took stock of her surroundings. The high-rise building had been acquired by a New York investment bank the previous year, and was considered a trophy building. Accordingly, no expense was spared in remodeling the building with such renovations as bathrooms with floor to ceiling Italian marble and toilets that automatically flushed; a swank, two-story lobby and entrance with cantilevered canopy; dramatic exterior glass curtain walls; and a state-of-the-art fitness center with locker rooms made of white tiger-tooth marble and European dual flush toilets. The building’s other amenities included 24-hour concierge service, round-the-clock security, a roof-top pool, a full-service salon, a Federal Express distribution center, and Starbucks Coffee. The grounds were immaculately landscaped, and the building had a well-paid maintenance staff that worked six days a week. The fully leased building had a mixture of original tenants, who were smart enough to purchase their apartments when the building converted to condos in the late 1970’s, as well as upwardly mobile professionals, celebrities, and some discriminating, high-end commercial tenants.
Phyllis could barely contain her excitement as a uniformed doorman opened the door and greeted her as if she were a visiting dignitary. Oh, hell yeah! She could definitely get used to this! She thought. Like the diva she knew she was, Phyllis strutted through the lobby with a new kind of swing in her hips. It was a swing that let everyone know that she was “all that.” Not only was she “all that,” but she wore her inner bitch on her sleeve and proudly owned it. Phyllis approached the concierge’s desk with a look that said, “Serve me!”
“May I help you?” A conservatively dressed young woman asked.
“Indeed, you can,” Phyllis replied with a smile and a tilt of her head. “I’m Phyllis Summers, and I’m here to meet with Mr. Cohen—the building manager. I believe he’s expecting me.”
“Of course; if you could wait a moment, I’ll let Mr. Cohen know that you are here,” the concierge replied with a smile. She then picked up the phone and dialed a code. She spoke briefly into the receiver, and when she was done, she addressed Phyllis. “Mr. Cohen will be out shortly. Oh, and this is for you.” She said as she handed Phyllis a gold card embossed with the Starbucks emblem.
“Thank you! What is this for?” Phyllis asked.
“It’s a complimentary $20.00 gift card, which is something we give to all of our new tenants to welcome you to the Century Building.”
“WOW! This is so nice! I think I’m really going to like living here!” An enthusiastic Phyllis said.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll love it!” The concierge concurred. “The building is really nice and so are the tenants.”
Within moments, a handsome man with dark hair approached Phyllis. Well dressed and officious, he carried a folder containing a sublease for Eric’s condo, as well as a separate sublease for the garage space, and a “Welcome” packet containing the condo’s house rules and other documentation.
“Ms. Summers, I presume?” He asked. “I’m Ronald Cohen, the building manager of the Century Building. But, please call me Ronnie.”
“It’s nice meeting you, Ronnie. Please call me Phyllis,” Phyllis warmly responded as she extended her hand.
“And, it’s nice meeting you, Phyllis. I’ve already spoken to Ridge Forrester, who advised me that his father had a new tenant. Your timing is perfect because I had two other couples scheduled today who were interested in the unit. Once these units are advertised, they go pretty quickly. I hope you like the building so far,” Ronnie said.
“Oh, I do, and it’s absolutely gorgeous!” Phyllis said.
“Well, Phyllis, on that note, if you will follow me, I will show you your new home, and I will give you a tour of the building. Did Shayla give you your Starbucks card?”
“She sure did,” Phyllis confirmed.
“Good. Oh, and we can sign the leases in my office, after which I will give you your security key fob and pool pass. Oh and there’s a waiver form you will need to complete before you use the fitness center.”
“No problem!” Phyllis said, scarcely believing how quickly things were moving. Oh, my God! She was actually going to live here!
Phyllis and Ronnie then made their way to the ultra modern elevators, which had mirrored and redwood paneling on the inside. Once they stepped inside the elevator, Ronnie swiped his key fob against an electronic reader. Once the light turned green, Ronnie pressed a button that would take them to the sixth floor.
After the doors closed, and the elevator began to move, Ronnie gave her a brief history of the building. Phyllis barely heard him however, as she started to make plans. After leaving here, she would go over to Beverly Hills BMW to pick up her car. Afterward, she would head back to the Beverly Hills Hotel to settle up her bill and make arrangements to have her things sent to the condo. She had every intention of sleeping here tonight. She would worry about picking up her portfolio from the photographer tomorrow. Phyllis then wondered how soon Ridge would be able to spend the night. Today, the condo; and if she played her cards right, it would be a matter of time before she moved into the Bel Air mansion. Phyllis vaguely thought about Ridge’s wife and briefly thought about the mechanics of getting her out the way. Oh, yeah…I’ll take your man! As the elevator stopped at the six floor, Phyllis began to smirk. I’ll take your man? Oh, no Miss Thing, let’s amend that—your man is already MINE!
________________
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Beloved,
I realize that you may think this is a hoax or some cruel, sick joke. It’s not. When we were first married, we had the world at our feet, only to be devastated by the cruel twist of fate that left me unable to be the husband you wanted and deserved. When I “departed” this life, I honestly believed I had no hope of seeing your sweet face again. I also believed that you deserved a life partner who could not only love you as a husband should, but who could also give you what you desired most—a child. On the first point, there is no doubt that I love you the way a husband should. Unfortunately, on the second point, I failed you miserably. I will always cherish the time we had together. Isn’t it ironic that when people learn that they are living on borrowed time, that we are forced to spend each day as if it were our last? When we said what I thought were our last goodbyes, I was left with the memory of your beautiful smile and voice.
My jewel, every day away from you has been like an eternity. There have been so many times when I wanted to return to you, to make your pain go away, but I simply could not. Initially, my pride would not let me; I just did not want to come to you with just half a body. And, ironically, because of my foolish pride, there may be enough of a man left for you to hate because I abandoned you. I’m sorry my love, and all I can do is hope you will understand and forgive me. I simply did not want you to bear the burden of caring for a sick man. Nor did I want you to get your hopes up only to have them crushed. So I did what I thought was best. With the help of an incredible woman—Taylor—I was able to live again. However, the price for her help was far too great, and I now realize that I simply cannot bear to be away from you another moment. As time went on, I told myself it would be easier this way. Yet, nothing could erase the longing I felt to see you again and to hold you in my arms.
While I have been blessed to love and be loved in return by some incredible women, you are the one true love of my life. I know that I am not being fair—selfish, in fact—but if I truly believed that the man you are with now could make you happy, I would have stayed away forever content in knowing that you have finally found the happiness you so richly deserve. However, I know for a fact that he has not made you happy and I blame myself for that.
My jewel, remember what I used to tell you when I knew I was going to be out late? Please leave a light on for me; beloved, I am coming home to you.
Your soulmate and your TRUE husband …
The young man with the soulful eyes wept quietly. He had revised this letter repeatedly until he finally had the words right. He folded this final letter and sealed it in an envelope. He placed it with the other two letters, along with the bills that he would drop in the mailbox in the building’s lobby. He logged out and shut down his PC. He stood and stretched his tall body. He had chosen to pack lightly, figuring that he could purchase whatever he needed once he reached Los Angeles. As he began to gather his things, he briefly scanned the apartment as if he were committing it to memory. If things turned out the way he wanted, there was a possibility he would not be back.
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #3 on Aug 22, 2009, 10:28pm » | |
I am still loving this story. Please don't let Elke die - I just adore her. Okay, I wouldn't want her as a friend anymore than I'd want Phyllis as a friend, but they are wonderful characters to read about. I love the skanky evil of Phyllis and the elegant evil of Elke. With the exception of Brooke, they might be my favorite characters in this story.
The story is wonderful and I can't wait to read more. And I did love Phyllis in her new "home".
I know Taylor will be dealing with the evil that is Phyllis; but wouldn't you love to set Phyllis and/or Elke on the present silliness that is Bridget?
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"Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living. We have grasped the mystery of the atom and rejected the Sermon on the Mount." Omar Bradley
"The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die!" Ted Kennedy, 1932 - 2009
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jrtllf01
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #4 on Aug 24, 2009, 1:01pm » | |
Aug 22, 2009, 10:28pm, janice wrote:I am still loving this story. Please don't let Elke die - I just adore her. Okay, I wouldn't want her as a friend anymore than I'd want Phyllis as a friend, but they are wonderful characters to read about. I love the skanky evil of Phyllis and the elegant evil of Elke. With the exception of Brooke, they might be my favorite characters in this story.
The story is wonderful and I can't wait to read more. And I did love Phyllis in her new "home".
I know Taylor will be dealing with the evil that is Phyllis; but wouldn't you love to set Phyllis and/or Elke on the present silliness that is Bridget? |
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Hi, Janice! Thank you for reading and your comments!
I won't leave you hanging too long with Elke's ultimate fate. I agree with you that she is a delicious villainess and the story wouldn't be the same without her. However, all I can do is suggest that you keep reading.
Like Elke, Phyllis is deliciously evil and she doesn't apologize for who or what she is. I know that Taylor is going to catch it, but I almost feel sorry for Ridge because he has no idea who and what he hooked up with. Phyllis undoubtedly loves her new "home," but as you know, she has set her sights a lot higher. It will be fun seeing if she actually attains that mountain top. Hopefully, the wreckage she leaves in her wake won't be too devastating.
Thanks again for reading and your comments! 
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Determined not to let others steal my joy!
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jrtllf01
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #5 on Aug 24, 2009, 10:33pm » | |
“Stephanie,” a worried Eric murmured. “How are you feeling, dear?” He asked as he kissed her cheek.
“They say that I’m doing fine, but I sure as hell don’t feel like it,” Stephanie replied somberly. “They even said I may have talked about the shooting; I just don’t remember that happening either.”
“What is it you don’t remember—the shooting itself or having a conversation about it?” Eric carefully asked.
“I don’t know!” A distraught Stephanie sobbed. “Eric, I’m trying so hard to remember and I just can’t! I know that I was shot in Brooke’s office, and you told me that she was the one who called the police. You said she stayed with me to the end. Why would she do that, Eric? Why would she even want to help me?” Stephanie wondered in bewilderment.
“Because that’s just how she is,” Eric said quietly. “No matter what, you can always depend on her to step up when it really matters.”
Taylor pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. She wanted to scream in frustration. Lord, forgive her for she didn’t mean to seem so petty, but good grief! She was about to pull her hair out! It was Brooke, this; Brooke that! Meanwhile, everyone seemed to be forgetting who the real victim was in all this!
“Mother, you’re needlessly getting yourself worked up,” Kristen said soothingly as she sat on the edge of Stephanie’s bed. She gently massaged Stephanie’s brow, which seemed to have a calming effect on the older woman. “You still have your MRI to get through and we should try to focus on that right now, okay?”
“Of course, you’re right, honey,” Stephanie said with a smile. She reached out and took Kristen’s hand in her own and grasped it like a lifeline. Who knew that her daughter would end up being such a source of comfort? Speaking of which … Stephanie quickly scanned the room. Her eyes trained on Taylor and she was briefly startled by her daughter-in-law’s appearance. What in the world…?
Taylor knew she could no longer hide and tried her best to put a pleasant smile on her face, but Stephanie was not fooled. “How are you, sweetie?” Taylor sweetly asked. She quickly crossed the room and kissed Stephanie on the cheek. “I—we were all so worried about you! I agree with Kristen that you shouldn’t get yourself too worked up.”
“I have no idea how I would have gotten through this ordeal if it weren’t for the love and support of my family—all of you,” Stephanie said. “I just wish Felicia was here to complete the family circle,” she said in a forlorn voice.
“You’ll always have our love and support, Stephanie,” Eric said reassuringly. “And, Felicia will be home soon.”
Stephanie smiled benevolently at Eric, before stating, “And, how like you to want to romance me even when I look an absolute mess!”
Eric chuckled richly. “I promise you that there will be plenty of time for romance, but I don’t want you overexerting yourself,” he said.
“You sure could have fooled us, Dad,” Kristen laughed. “Those roses are simply gorgeous! The moment the nurse showed them to me, I knew who they were from.”
“They sure are,” Stephanie agreed with a nod. “What a thoughtful and beautiful gesture,” an appreciative Stephanie said, “but I’m afraid you’re going to have to take them home—hospital regulations apparently.”
A puzzled Eric knitted his brow in confusion. “Ladies, as much as I would love to bask in your praise, I’m afraid I can’t accept it.”
“Oh, there he goes, being modest again!” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes and pretending to be annoyed. “Come on, Eric, ‘fess up! I’m sure you meant to surprise me and you probably think the surprise was ruined. Well, I appreciate the gesture just the same, you charming devil! What did you do with the card by the way?” Stephanie innocently asked.
“But, Stephanie, that’s just it. I didn’t buy these roses.” Eric emphatically stated.
“You didn’t?” A confused Kristen asked. “Well, Dad, if you didn’t buy them, who did?”
_______________
A miserable Ridge’s shoulders slumped forward. What could he say? Try telling the truth! His conscience screamed at him. Ridge cleared his throat to speak and he tearfully replied, “Yes! I honestly believe that’s the substance of what they were talking about! That’s why—that’s why I had to call you. I swear I wasn’t trying to waste your or your partner’s time. When I made that call, it was my firm belief that my mother knew who her attacker was, or at least suspected it. I believed they were up to something and I wanted to nip it in the bud before it went too far. I even begged her to speak up and the she got evasive. I tried not to press the issue too much because she had been through so much.”
Detective Blair regarded Ridge briefly before asking. “Mr. Forrester, sitting here today, has your opinion changed in that regard?”
“Not really,” Ridge replied hoarsely.
“Do you believe that if we went to the hospital today that your mother would be prepared to give us a full statement?” Detective Blair asked.
Remembering what Taylor said, Ridge visibly blanched. “She’s having an MRI today,” he stated.
“I don’t think that’s what Detective Blair asked you,” Detective Moretti said. “Is your mother in a position to give us a full statement today?”
“I don’t know—I mean, I don’t think so.” Ridge responded nervously.
“I think we’re done here,” Detective Moretti abruptly announced. He then shut off the small tape recorder and proceeded to close his notepad.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Forrester,” Detective Blair graciously said. “You have been most helpful—more than you realize.” She extended her hand to Ridge, who reluctantly shook her hand.
“So that’s it then?” Ridge asked as he stood.
“It is for now,” Detective Blair replied. “However, we may want to touch base with you if we have any follow-up questions.”
“Of course; of course,” Ridge said with a nod as he walked the detectives to the door.
However, Detective Moretti’s words gave Ridge some pause. “Oh, and one more thing before we go, Mr. Forrester; what is your wife’s schedule like these days?”
“Um, she’s pretty flexible; why?” Ridge asked, dreading what was coming next.
“Obviously, we would like to interview her regarding her interactions with your mother last week, as well as her own activities that day. And, we’re especially interested in that conversation she had with your mother.”
By now, Ridge wanted the ground to open and swallow him up. How was he going to explain all this to Taylor? She would never forgive him! He fretted. “I can let her know that you wish to speak to her, but she’s usually home in the mornings with the children. She rarely sees patients anymore and she typically runs errands or does some shopping in the afternoons. So the best time to catch her is in the mornings or anytime after 4:00.”
“Thanks, Mr. Forrester,” Detective Blair said. “We’ll be contacting your wife shortly. Meanwhile, if you happen to think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.”
“Right,” Ridge said numbly. “Oh, um, should I be there when you’re talking to Taylor?”
“There’s no reason that you can’t,” an amused Detective Blair said.
“And, I have no doubt that your wife will be just as candid and truthful as you were,” Detective Moretti commented in his understated manner as they reached the door. “Oh, and may I give you a word of advice, Mr. Forrester—man to man?”
“Uh, sure,” Ridge said, not sure where this was going.
“It’s no good, Mr. Forrester,” Detective Moretti noted.
“What? I’m not sure I know what you mean,” a confused Ridge stated.
“The rush clean-up job before Detective Blair and I arrived; the too-hot-to-trot redhead who was practically draped all over you for all to see—it seems to me you’re going to end up having to explain a lot more to your wife than how you managed to finger her in some poorly defined plot to pin this shooting on Ms. Logan.”
Ridge blushed and then attempted to put up a front. “Ms. Summers is an employee, and this was her first day of work!” Ridge defensively said.
“My advice, Mr. Forrester—next time, try not to sh*t where you sleep.”
“Oh, and do try using some Lysol, Glade or Renuzit the next time,” Detective Blair added.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Forrester,” Detective Moretti said with a smile.
_______________
“Frazier, I asked you a question!” Elke snapped. How dare this pompous fool stand there gawking at her like a gigged frog!
It took Frazier a moment to reconnect to his surroundings. He was startled that he had become so disconnected that he drifted off into a fantasy world. Ye gods! Was it only a fantasy? He wondered, strangely disappointed. Oh, how his fingers itched to grasp that long, swan-like neck and snap it in two! How he longed to snuff the life out of this Swiss-German tart whose only claim to fame was marrying well! Finally finding his tongue, Frazier was hard-pressed to respond politely to Elke’s question.
“Begging your pardon, madam, but one can hardly expect me to attend to my considerable duties in running this household and working overtime playing amateur detective just for your benefit!” He snippily replied. “Exactly when do you expect me to find time for such an endeavor madam? And, what do you hope to accomplish once I do discover the identity of this alleged criminal? Shall I hold him or her in leg irons until the police arrive?”
Used to being instantly obeyed with no backtalk, Elke was appalled by Frazier’s demeanor. Was it her imagination or had this pompous fool actually deluded himself into believing he was her equal? And what was with this ‘alleged theft’ nonsense? Elke wondered. By now, her lies had become so real that it was becoming easier to accept that her jewelry had, in fact, been stolen. That Frazier doubted her word offended Elke greatly. Elke abruptly stood and walked around her desk until she was face to face with the unfortunate major domo. She placed a hand on her hip and addressed him in a voice dripping with scorn.
“Frazier, do you know when people like you are brought back down to earth and shown up for the lowly worms that you are? It’s when you don’t know your place! It’s when you aspire to something over and above your assigned station in life. Now, as much as it may boost your ego to believe that this estate would go to pot without you, I would suggest you keep this one irrefutable fact in mind. No one is indispensible, and that includes you! With one word from me, you could be gone from here just like that!” Elke said, snapping her fingers for emphasis. “Now you keep your mouth shut and you do what I ask! Otherwise, you’ll find yourself retiring to Devon a lot sooner than you planned—without your pension!”
Frazier could only impotently glower at Elke. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that she had better remember that even wives were indispensible and could find themselves gone just like that also. However, he chose to hold his tongue, fearful that if he said too much, he would tip his hand. Frazier was also afraid that his all-too-vivid fantasy would become a reality. “It shall be as you wish, madam,” Frazier murmured. “I suppose you want me to start with your personal maid, young Miss St. Georges,” he said sourly.
“Alex, I’ll take ‘things I already knew’ for $500.00!” Elke snapped sarcastically. “Of course, I want you to begin with Cécile,” Elke said in that imperious tone that Frazier had grown to despise. “Although I have absolutely no reason to distrust her, I have to admit that she is closest to me and has free access to my rooms and personal belongings—including my jewelry.”
“Madam, forgive me for asking, but do you honestly believe Miss St. Georges is responsible for this—this theft?” Frazier asked, finding it more and more difficult to go along with Elke’s rather ridiculous ruse.
“That’s for you to find out,” Elke replied sweetly. “As for how you will find time to thoroughly investigate the staff and fulfill your other duties, I’m afraid that is your problem. Now, get gone!” Elke dismissed Frazier with a wave of her fingers as if she was shooing away a pesky fly. “Oh, and please seat my guests in the parlor and let them know that I will be with them shortly.”
“As you wish, madam,” Frazier stiffly replied with a slight nod. Lord, give me strength to keep me from strangling her! He silently prayed as left the “queen’s” presence.
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jrtllf01
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #6 on Sept 1, 2009, 9:29pm » | |
“Quick question, Brooke; what’s the word on those transcribed minutes from your last board meeting?” Ted asked.
“I’ve already spoken to my assistant, Megan, about that and she indicated she would be working on it soon. Apparently, the police want a copy of it also so there’s a lot of pressure on her to get it done,” Brooke explained.
“Were there any other activities or actions that were memorialized in writing that day?” Ted’s paralegal, Brandon, asked as he made some quick notes on a yellow legal pad.
“You know what? I typically take a legal pad or a steno pad with me to take my own notes, and if I’m not mistaken, I took a pad to that meeting, as well, especially since the meeting was called out of the blue.” Brooke suddenly remembered. “But, I just don’t recall what, if anything, I may have written.”
“Where are your notes now?” Ted asked.
“I think I left them behind on the conference room table. The only thing I recall leaving that office with was my pride and my shoes!” Brooke quipped, causing the others to laugh good-naturedly.
“And, have you given any more thought to my suggestion that you take a polygraph exam?” Ted inquired.
“I have, and I’m just not comfortable with it right now. As for the image consultant, I don’t see the need for that either. I am who I am—warts and all,” Brooke firmly stated.
“Fair enough,” Ted nodded with a small smile. “And because you are who you are, I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you yet another homework assignment.”
“Uh-oh…what’s that?” Brooke warily asked.
“You remember my telling you that our firm micromanages everything when we take on a client. Part of that is knowing everything about the client. I need you to put together a narrative of your life, Brooke. I want to know everything—the highlights; the low-lights; your relationships; your marriages; your relationship with your children, parents and siblings; your educational background; your professional life; a list of all your assets, including their fair market values; a list of your liabilities and your net worth. All this will give me the background information I need to formulate a defense for you if it ever comes to that. In the hands of a skilled prosecutor, all of the negative things will be revealed anyway. This way, we will be prepared and ahead of the game.”
“I see,” Brooke slowly said. “There are things about me, Ted, that I haven’t shared with anyone—not even my family,” she noted, nodding her head in Storm’s direction.
“Are there things that you will be embarrassed to tell me about?” Storm asked.
“Possibly, but as Ted said, those negative things will be revealed about me sooner or later anyway especially if they want to see me fry for shooting Stephanie.” Brooke commented.
Ted nodded and then stated, “This is where I’m really going to need you to focus, Brooke. I want to know everything about your relationship with the Forresters, including any background information you can provide on the family itself. I want you to then laboriously bring me up to speed on the events that led up to last Thursday, including your own activities that day, starting from the moment you woke up to the time you found Stephanie Forrester on the floor of your office. I especially want you to focus on that board meeting and very carefully narrate what happened. I need you to make me feel as if I am in that room so I want everything—from what everyone was wearing, where everyone was seated, and everything that was said. I know it’s a huge undertaking, but it’s going to be crucial to our defense.”
“I can do this, Ted, but when am I actually supposed to find the time?” Brooke asked.
“You can give me your narrative in a piecemeal fashion if it will be easier for you. You can type it and email it to Brandon and me, or you can meet with Brandon or one of our other paralegals and dictate your narrative. Another thing you might want to consider is recording it and having someone here transcribe it. Again, it doesn’t have to be done all at once, but the sooner you start on it, the better.”
_______________
In his private bathroom, an emotionally shattered Ridge splashed cold water onto his face. He blindly reached for a towel and dried his face. He could scarcely fathom what he had done to the women in his life. His wife…his mother…his Logan… Ridge knew that sooner or later that he was going to have to face them all, and he had to prepare himself. The first person he knew he would have to deal with was Brooke. They would be in close proximity with one another when she returned to work and when they got together with Jabot’s representatives later that evening. She knew him like a book and would immediately know that something was amiss. Ridge had started that morning being excited about the Jabot project; now, for the first time, he entertained the possibility of canceling or at the very least bowing out and letting Brooke handle the meeting alone. Then there was his wife, whom he would have to face sooner or later that evening. Hopefully, she’ll be asleep when he got home, but somehow he doubted it. Ridge knew Taylor would be on the warpath because of their argument that morning. Then he compounded his folly by hanging up on her; now the police wanted to interview her. And he could just imagine what she would say, Ridge silently lamented. She would be furious—probably so furious that she would tell Detectives Moretti and Blair about what happened at the hospital. Ridge’s stomach began to lurch as he had no doubt that they would ask what happened. Then he thought about his mother, and this caused his stomach to roil even more. Ridge woodenly left the bathroom and in a daze trudged back to his desk. He sat down heavily and placed his head in his hands, trying to decide what to do next.
While Ridge was drowning in his sorrows, a tall, elegant woman quietly made her way down the hall toward Ridge’s office. Chosen by Eric to model the showstopper in Forrester’s New York show, she wore a blush-colored gossamer gown that needed to be pinned and then sent to the seamstresses to fit her figure perfectly. Her flawless skin was the color of molten copper, and she chose to wear her close-cropped hair in a kinky-curly fashion. She defied the conventional wisdom that she should get her hair weaved if she wanted to work as a model, and was gratified when Eric and Ridge agreed with her position after reviewing her portfolio. She instinctively knew that with long hair, she would appear rather ordinary. However, with her haircut, her high cheekbones, light green eyes and full lips, she stood out from the pack. It drove her nuts when the media and fashionistas constantly referred to her beauty as “exotic” and obsessed about what she was “mixed with”—her mother was of African and Berber origin; her father was Portuguese.
Normally cool and nonchalant, she remembered the first time she encountered Ridge at a private showing in Soho, New York a few months ago.
When he first saw Alima, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Ravishing!—the first word that came to Ridge’s mind upon meeting Alima. He nearly knocked several people out of the way trying to get to the elusive beauty, who worked the room with confidence. His eyes were glued to Alima, and he saw no one else. When Ridge finally caught up with Alima, he managed to make a fool out of himself by blurting, “I have to have you and I will! Name your price!” Initially alarmed, Alima thought that Ridge was some kind of masher and proceeded to cuss him out in her elegant, understated way. Ridge fell over himself to apologize and tried to explain what he actually meant. Alima then laughed—a throaty sound that totally turned Ridge on in spite of himself. Man, if he wasn’t so miserably married! He had silently thought. Before the evening was over, Ridge had contacted Forrester Creations’ travel office, which immediately made first-class accommodations for Alima to travel to Los Angeles. Although she was skeptical at first, she listened to Ridge’s lavish promises as they talked quietly over drinks. Despite offers from Elle and the Ford Modeling Agency, Alima decided to take a chance on the House of Forrester. She quickly became one of the hottest models in America, and was often in high demand. Forrester Creations more than fulfilled its promises to Alima, and she was now considered the fashion house’s premier model. Unbeknownst to Alima, that was going to change.
She quietly knocked on Ridge’s door and let herself in. Her mouth formed into a round “O” of surprise when she saw an ashen-looking Ridge slumped at his desk.
“Ridge?” A concerned Alima called in her throaty, slightly accented voice. “Is everything alright?”
Ridge looked up and found himself thinking the same thing he thought when he first introduced himself to Alima—Ravishing! “I’ve had a pretty rough morning,” Ridge explained.
“It’s not—it’s not your mother is it?” Alima haltingly asked, placing a hand over her heart.
“No, my beauty,” Ridge replied. “From what I understand, she’s okay.”
“Well, that’s a relief! Ridge, if you need anything, all you need to do is ask,” Alima said.
“Thanks, Alima.”
“Ridge, I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but I was scheduled for my final fitting for the showstopper today, and you indicated you wanted to measure me. I can come back later if you want,” Alima offered.
Ridge sighed deeply. “If you don’t mind, Alima, I think that would be a good idea. In the mood I’m in right now, I’m liable to stick you so many times you’ll end up looking like a porcupine by the time I’m done.”
“I understand,” Alima said with a smile.
“Oh, and I also need to talk to you about something else,” Ridge sheepishly said. “But, it can wait until tomorrow.”
“No problem!” Alima said before turning on her heel and leaving Ridge alone.
_______________
Taylor checked her retouched makeup in the hospital ladies room. She looked a little more presentable, but her nerves were all but shot. What in the world was happening here? She repeatedly asked herself. Taylor decided that she had to do something quick, fast and in a hurry. She had already played her hand to no avail. It was one thing to have Eric and Kristen being skeptical and disbelieving. She now had another mental health professional to worry about—one whom Stephanie obviously trusted and who was not likely to budge from his position.
Taylor was genuinely surprised when Dr. Rivera dismissed her suggestions out of hand. On so many levels it was offensive and downright embarrassing. For so long, she had been the authority whenever the family needed an expert opinion, some counseling or treatment. Admittedly, she was overly proud that her family relied on her so much and often looked up to her. Taylor was also keenly aware that she had no business treating her family members and sometimes crossed her fingers and hoped her advice would not come back to bite her on the butt. She conveniently forgot how she “diagnosed” Brooke and Thorne’s relationship as a sick one and the damage her role in the Venice plot caused. Telling herself that that was an anomaly, she chose not to think about it. Taylor had bigger concerns right now. That she had been shown up in front of Kristen and Eric—and by a fan of hers at that—was difficult for Taylor to understand.
Taylor left the ladies room and pondered what to do next. Thoroughly convinced of the rightness of her cause, Taylor took the elevator to the hospital cafeteria. She needed help and she knew just where she could get it. When Taylor reached the cafeteria, she took out her cell phone and speed-dialed the one man whom she knew would come to her—and Stephanie’s—rescue in this matter. When the phone was answered, Taylor immediately blurted: “Oh, Pierce! Thank God you’re there! Pierce, I desperately need your help!”
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Determined not to let others steal my joy!
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jrtllf01
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| | Re: CHAPTER 22 - WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
« Reply #7 on Sept 7, 2009, 3:58pm » | |
After what appeared to be an interminable period of time, Thorne crossed his legs. He checked his watch and made a few bored noises. When he caught Adam and Sally glowering at him, he decided to pluck their nerves even further by whistling and doing other little annoying things to set them off. As he expected, it did not take long for Adam to react.
“Why are you still here?” A seething Adam demanded.
“I’m here at my wife’s request,” Thorne simply explained. “I fully intend to be there for Macy when she makes her statement to the police.”
Feeling that Thorne’s support was a bitter pill to swallow, Sally could only fume. “Thorne, we appreciate that you’re here for Macy,” she said tightly. “But, after today, then what?”
“If you’re asking about our marriage, that’s for Macy and me to hash out,” Thorne glibly replied.
Adam’s eyes narrowed. “So in other words, you are still going to allow our daughter to think that your marriage is intact! Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I have no idea what you’re hearing,” Thorne said in a nonchalant manner. “What I did say—and it bears repeating—is that Macy and I will decide what to do about our marriage. I don’t know how many times I have to say that before you people get it!”
“Look you—” Adam began.
“Not now, Adam,” Sally cautioned. She then turned her attention to Thorne. “I can appreciate what you’re saying, but would you mind satisfying my curiosity about one thing though?”
“I’ll be happy to try.” Thorne flippantly replied, which brought a low growl from Adam and tightened jaw from Sally.
“How long has your cheap affair with Brooke been going on?” Sally bluntly demanded before unleashing her own venom. “You know, it’s bad enough that you carried on with that floozy in Europe, but I would have thought that when you and Macy got married in Amsterdam that it would have stopped! It’s disgusting and we’re not going to stand for it any longer!”
“A cheap affair?” Thorne laughed shortly. “Is that what you think Brooke and I had?”
“What else could you possibly have with a tramp like that?” Sally angrily spat.
“Come on, Red,” Adam said. “Now, look who is getting upset.”
“I can’t help it! He’s been screwing around behind our daughter’s back and now he wants to sit up here like he’s doing us some huge favor. The only reason Macy is in this fix to begin with is because of him and that blonde hussy!” Sally said accusingly.
Thorne’s hand began to twitch. He was sick of having to defend himself and his relationship with Brooke. In a fit of anger, he attempted to warn Macy’s parents that they did not want to go there with him. “I would strongly suggest you shut your mouth about my relationship with Brooke,” he warned. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to speak the truth and I know you don’t want to hear it.”
“How dare you speak to Sally that way, you bum!” Adam exploded.
Sally immediately stood up and placed her hands on her ample hips. “The truth? And what truth is that?! That you are a lowdown cheat and that your girlfriend is a slut who doesn’t care about anyone but herself?”
A fed up Thorne retorted through clenched teeth, “Brooke was not someone I was just having an affair with, you cow! We were engaged! She was going to be my wife!”
His audience was rocked by his declaration, as this was news to them. Sally and Adam looked at one another and then at Thorne. The wind had been practically knocked out of Sally, and she sat down heavily in her seat.
“Your wife?” Sally asked in disbelief.
“Kind of rocks your world doesn’t it?” Thorne nastily asked.
Adam stared at Thorne darkly before asking, “Is my daughter aware of this?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Thorne responded.
“So you married Macy on the rebound then!” Adam yelled. “You couldn’t have Brooke for whatever reason, and my daughter just happened to be there. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“There you go, hearing things again!” Thorne responded in a smarmy manner. “I never said any such thing. The fact of the matter is that I loved Brooke—loved her enough to want to marry her. Is that the truth you and Sally wanted to hear?”
“You no-good, piece of—that’s it! This marriage is over! You are using our daughter as a substitute because you can’t have the woman you really want. And, instead of being a man about it, you come over here to try to save face and play the big hero. Macy might be impressed, but we’re not! All you’re doing is setting her up for more disappointment!”
In a warped and perverted way, Thorne could not help but be impressed by Adam’s light and clarity moment. He almost wished he had a glass of champagne so that he could silently toast Adam for finally getting it and saving him the trouble of telling the whole, unvarnished truth.
For her part, Sally angrily shook her head in denial, not wanting to believe what she just heard. Oh, if only she had kept quiet! She silently lamented. “Look, do you love our daughter or don’t you?” She asked Thorne in a tortured voice, fearful of what his answer might be.
Thorne exhaled deeply and almost felt sorry for Sally. For so many years, she had fought to keep him and Macy together. He thought of all the stunts and antics she pulled over the years to accomplish that, including her most outlandish stunt—disguising herself as a man and sneaking into Forrester Creations to convince Thorne not to give up on Macy.
Thorne twisted his mouth and spat, “Come on, Sally. Give me a little credit! I would have never married Macy if I didn’t love her.”
…
“You are a dirty, rotten whore, Brooke Logan!” Macy muttered.
While her Thorne and her parents exchanged barbs and insults, Macy surreptitiously listened from the kitchen. She had earlier showered and managed to pull herself together. However, by the time she applied her lip gloss, she could no longer feel the “sweet effect” that sent her into such a euphoric state earlier. Frowning in dissatisfaction, she silently cursed Thorne. Damn him! His timing always sucked! Thanks to his killing her initial buzz, she had to creep back into the kitchen for a double-shot. This time, she did not leave even a remnant of the extract in the bottle. After drinking what remained of the extract, Macy partially refilled the bottle with water and placed it back in the cupboard. She told herself that she would stop by the store and purchase a new bottle of the valuable extract and quietly substitute the bottles before her mother even knew what had happened.
As the “sweet effect” overtook her, she could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation coming from the living room. She vaguely processed the most damaging parts of the conversation. Were Thorne and Brooke actually engaged? Had she, in fact, been the default patsy, who just happened to show up on that bridge at an opportune moment? Not for the first time, Macy remembered how a heartbroken Thorne cried on that bridge. She had foolishly convinced herself that his tears were actually raindrops. Macy then recalled the wedding dress that she found packed away in Thorne’s office and how she had convinced herself that it was for a showing.
“See there, dummy!” The little voice mocked her. “I told you it was Brooke’s dress!”
“Screw you!” Macy whispered.
“Girl, are you some kind of fool? Your man was engaged to Brooke. He bought her a ring and a dress!”
“That dress was mine, damn it!” Macy angrily insisted.
“Mmm hmm… And, what about the ring he bought Brooke?” The little voice asked.
“I never saw any such ring! There was no engagement. Brooke is nothing but a sexually aggressive slut, who trapped Thorne!” Macy said, her voice beginning to rise shrilly.
The little voice laughed relentlessly and continued to mock Macy. “Yeah, you keep right on telling yourself that! The fact is, you silly little fool, he loved Brooke and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her!”
Macy could no longer stand it. She picked up a nearby coffee mug and angrily flung it against the wall. “SHUT UP!” She screamed.
_______________
“Where are you now?” Ridge abruptly asked when the recipient of his phone call answered.
Phyllis, who was in the process of signing her leases, was pleasantly surprised as she held her tiny cell phone against her ear. “Um, excuse me, Ronnie, but do you mind if I take this?” She politely asked the building manager.
“Of course not,” Ronnie replied. “While you take your call, I’ll photocopy these for you so that you have fully executed copies for your files.” With that, Ronnie left Phyllis alone.
“Ridge, I’m actually finishing up with the building manager here. By the way, the condo is fantastic!” Phyllis happily said.
“I’m glad you like it,” Ridge replied. He then surprised Phyllis by announcing, “Baby, I need to see you.”
Phyllis was beyond thrilled. Already, the power of the bootay was working its magic! “Okay, sure, but when? I’m not exactly moved in yet and I still need to pick up my car.”
“Perfect,” Ridge said. “Just stay put. I’ll come by and pick you up and take you to get your car. That way you won’t have to spend any more money on cabs. But, more than anything, ‘Rouge,’ I just want to be with you. We don’t have to, uh, do anything intimate but I have to get out of here and I can’t think of a better way to spend the afternoon than spending it with my newest muse.”
“Your newest muse, huh? Don’t you mean that I’m your only muse?” Phyllis asked in a teasing voice.
For the first time since Phyllis left, Ridge genuinely laughed. “My, my and she’s vain, too!”
“I’m sure that you’ve been in the industry long enough to know that most models are quite vain!” Phyllis giggled. “I’m flattered that you want to spend the rest of the afternoon with me, and yes, I’ll wait for you to pick me up.”
“Good!” A relieved Ridge said. “I’m on my way!” Ridge hung up and immediately sprang to his feet. For him, this was the perfect escape from his problems. He would not have to deal with Brooke immediately upon her return and it would give him a brief respite from his problems with his wife, as well as his mother’s problems.
Ridge grabbed his keys and practically skipped down the hallway toward the elevator.
“Ridge, are you on your way to the hospital?” Megan asked.
“Nope!” Ridge happily answered. “I’ll be out for most of the afternoon. If anyone in my family needs to reach me, have them call me on my cell phone!”
“And, what about Brooke? Don’t you have to prepare for your dinner meeting?” Megan dared to ask.
Ridge looked at Megan and smirked. “Oh, I’ll be back in enough time for that! If Brooke gets upset, tell her to keep her panties on!” He quipped. “For once,” he managed to say under his breath.
Megan was taken aback by Ridge’s behavior. However, after years of working at Forrester Creations, she had been conditioned not to ask too many questions.
_______________
“Thank you for everything again, Ted,” Brooke said as she, Storm, Ted and Brandon walked down the corridor at the conclusion of their meeting.
“As always, Brooke, it’s been a pleasure. Just be sure to keep me abreast of any developments and don’t hesitate to call no matter how insignificant something may seem.” Ted said with a smile.
“Of course,” Brooke replied. “And, I promise to get cracking on that homework assignment.”
As they passed the large conference room, Brooke allowed her eyes to briefly linger on the conference room door, which was now partially open. She briefly glimpsed a woman who was conversing with a middle-aged man with sandy-colored hair, as well as four other men who were huddled in a small group. However, the one person she expected—and hoped—to see was no longer there. Brooke felt strangely disappointed. She had been “thisclose” to Trent earlier, and now the opportunity had passed.
“Excuse me, Brooke,” Brandon interrupted Brooke’s thoughts. “We have your email addresses at work and at home, but would you mind setting up a secure email account where we can communicate with you directly and without prying eyes?”
“I can certainly do that, and I’ll notify you immediately once I’ve done so,” Brooke replied.
When the four of them reached the receptionist area, Ted and Brandon said their goodbyes. Brooke suddenly realized that she needed to make a pit stop and asked the receptionist for a lady’s room key.
“I promise I won’t be long,” Brooke assured Storm.
“Why don’t I save us some time and go and get the car and wait for you downstairs? By the time you’re done, we’ll be ready to roll.” Storm suggested.
Brooke smiled and gave Storm the thumbs-up sign. “That’s a great idea,” she said before she rushed off.
_______________
Stephanie laughed as she listened to Eric and Kristen posit several theories about who actually presented her with the flowers.
“Maybe, Mother has a secret admirer,” Kristen hypothesized with a wink.
“Oh, sure,” Stephanie cracked, “a secret admirer, indeed! Everyone knows that Eric is the only man that I will ever love.”
“Well, someone sent them,” Eric commented. “Are you sure they aren’t from Ridge and Taylor? Or, maybe Thorne and Macy sent them. Speaking of which, I wonder why they haven’t put in an appearance yet.”
Kristen looked slightly uncomfortable. “I stopped by their house yesterday; they’re, uh, working through something right now, but I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
“Good,” a relieved Stephanie said. The last thing she wanted was to hear about any trouble between Thorne and Macy especially after everything Eric, Ridge and Taylor did to bring their union about.
Before any of them could give the flowers, or Thorne and Macy, any more thought, the spinal cord injury specialist, Dr. Ross Cannaday entered Stephanie’s room to examine her and to prepare her for her MRI.
_______________
“Taylor, please slow down!” Pierce begged. “What do you mean the hospital is preventing Stephanie from getting the help she needs?”
“I’m sorry, Pierce. It’s just that I’m so frustrated right now! I know you’ve heard about the shooting and everything. Well, Stephanie blurted out the name of the shooter, and these people are totally discounting it!” Taylor insisted.
“That sounds really hard to believe,” Pierce commented. “What people are you referring to by the way?”
“Stephanie’s social worker, along with Eric and Kristen. And, this social worker—well, I’m almost inclined to do some research on his credentials!” Taylor huffed.
“I’m sure he is well qualified,” Pierce observed.
“Pierce, I don’t have a lot of time before I have to get back upstairs to Stephanie’s room. I need to talk to you at length—and in private—about what’s going on here and what can be done about it. In the meantime, could you do some quick research for me?” Taylor hurriedly asked.
Pierce frowned in confusion, not quite knowing what to make of Taylor’s behavior. He also dreaded her request and steeled himself. “You know that I would do anything in the world for you, Taylor, and I will support you in any way I can,” he said. “Now, what do you need from me? Do you need me to see what I can find out about Stephanie’s social worker?”
Normally more measured and deliberate in her methods, Taylor immediately got down to brass tacks. “I’ll take care of investigating Dr. Rivera myself. Pierce, I need some thorough research done on “excited utterances” and how they are typically applied by law enforcement in investigating crimes. Oh, and I also want to consult with you on how to circumvent this Dr. Rivera, who is preventing Stephanie from getting the help she desperately needs.”
_______________
“Thank you so much,” Brooke politely said, as she returned the ladies room key to the receptionist.
“My pleasure, Ms. Logan. Enjoy the rest of your day,” the receptionist said.
“Thank you, and you do the same,” Brooke said with a pleasant smile.
As she made her way toward the elevator, the side seam of her silk dupioni skirt got caught on the sharp edge of a glass table with wrought iron scrolling. Brooke looked down in irritation. She bent down and tried her best to remove her skirt from the table’s edge, only to become dismayed when the delicate threads began to unravel. Damn it! She thought. In her frustration, Brooke continued to tug at her skirt only to end up doing more damage. Fearful that the skirt could not be salvaged or that she would be unable make her way downstairs without being embarrassed, Brooke despaired about what to do next.
She put her brief case down and continued to do what she could to disengage her skirt from the table’s edge. How embarrassing and stupid was this? She asked herself. So focused was she on her damaged skirt, she was startled when a deep masculine voice said, “Here—allow me.”
Brooke gasped and quickly looked up into a pair of amused cobalt blue eyes. “Oh, my God! It—it was you I saw!”
“You actually saw me? I’m inclined to ask where, but right now, I need you to hold still,” Trent sternly said as he tried his best not to burst out laughing. With the most infinite care, he did what he could to disengage Brooke’s skirt without doing too much more damage. He also took care not to touch Brooke’s skin lest she thought he was trying to get fresh. Although, he did his best, the skirt was ruined beyond repair.
To Brooke’s mortification she was now looking at a gaping hole instead of just a few less threads. “Trent, thank you,” an embarrassed Brooke said.
“For?” Trent asked with a smile.
“Well, for rescuing my skirt, or at least trying to. Oh, I can’t walk around looking like this!” Brooke fretted as she placed her briefcase over the area that exposed her skin for all to see.
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Trent agreed. He then surprised Brooke by quickly removing his wallet and a few other items from the pockets of his jacket. Trent then removed his jacket and draped it around Brooke’s shoulders with a flourish.
Brooke laughed. “What in the world are you doing?” She asked.
“Brooke, never let anyone tell you that chivalry is dead!” Trent said with a laugh.
“Oh, my goodness! You’re actually giving me your jacket?” Brooke asked in disbelief.
“I’m allowing you to borrow it long enough to get downstairs and back to your office. You can return it to me later when we have dinner,” Trent boldly suggested.
Brooke could not help laughing again. “Smooth, Mr. Grayson; real smooth! But, I’m afraid dinner is out of the question!”
Trent placed his wallet and other things in his pocket and picked up his briefcase. He then placed a hand on the small of Brooke’s back and gently led her to the elevators. “Well, how else will I get my jacket back then?” Trent asked.
“I’ll have it dry-cleaned and couriered to you,” Brooke quickly rejoined as she pressed an elevator button.
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” Trent said. “I won’t settle for anything less than a personal delivery—directly from you.”
Brooke and Trent’s elevator arrived, and the doors opened. Brooke looked up at Trent and asked, “And what if I don’t want to have dinner with you?” She asked in a teasing manner.
“Oh, I won’t worry about that right now,” Trent smoothly replied with a twinkle in his eye as he and Brooke boarded the elevator.
“Okay, I know I’m crazy for asking, but why not?” Brooke wondered as she pressed the button to take them to the lobby.
“Let’s just say that I have 41 floors in which to change your mind!” Trent snappily replied as the doors closed.
...
Coming next: Brooke has the elevator ride of her life.
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Determined not to let others steal my joy!
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