The Wentworths Page 19

  “Is it still wet?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Because if it is, I’ll have a lot of trouble getting those water marks off later.”

  “Do you want me to go check?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Use a clean dish towel.”

  “Will do.”

  “And bring me some mint tea.”

  “Mint tea. Anything else?”

  “Chocolate. There’s some in the pantry. Bring the whole box.”

  August went down to the kitchen. He didn’t know where the dishtowels were kept but just as he was about to press the bell to summons one of the maids, Rosa, came running from the laundry room.

  “You need a dish towel, Mr. Wentworth?” Rosa quickly opened a drawer and handed him a freshly ironed towel.

  “Thank you,” August said. He was puzzled but didn’t have the energy to ask how she’d known.

  “Should I make some tea?” Rosa was already filling the kettle with water.

  “Yes, tea.” August said.

  August went into the butler’s pantry and got the vase down. He polished it over and over, rubbing hard, trying to release that genie that would grant him peace. When he was sure there were absolutely no marks or even finger prints on the glass, he replaced it on the shelf and returned to the kitchen. Rosa had a tray prepared with tea and a box of chocolates which August carried upstairs to his wife.

  24

  The Itsy Bitsy Spider is a Brown Recluse

  Angela was crouched in the bushes outside of Conrad’s house. It was a dark cold night and she’d been waiting over an hour. She hadn’t planned to be here but somehow couldn’t stay away. How would Conrad respond to her note? Would he fly into a rage, break things? Would he pace the floor, pulling his hair out? She’d never seen him lose control. She wanted a glimpse of who he really was, one true moment. She wanted to see him shatter, grind his teeth and howl at the moon.

  Conrad’s flight landed at 8:30 Thursday evening. It had been his intention to go straight home from the airport, get a good night’s rest after the long, taxing trip. But then blond-haired, big titted Tiffany Dushay bent over his seat and offered him a cocktail, served him dinner and finally sat next to him during the movie. She told him her interminable life story but gave him a good look at her tight long legs by letting her skirt ride up. Conrad changed his plans. She was young, maybe twenty-five and very beautiful in that cheap flight attendant way. An ambitious little digger looking to lay a claim but sexy as hell. Now they were in the back of the limo headed to his house and as Conrad leaned in to kiss her, he found that he was not feeling the least bit tired.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” Tiffany whispered.

  “I know.” Conrad unbuttoned her flight attendant blouse and extracted a surprisingly pink nipple from her cheap, black lace bra. “Me neither.” He licked his fingers and twisted the nipple back and forth. She ran her hand over his crotch, then moaned when she found his rock hard erection. She went for his belt buckle with a healthy enthusiasm but he stopped her. They would be home in another couple of minutes.

  The car pulled up in front of the house and they got out. Conrad told the driver to take the car around to the side and wait. This was not going to be a long evening; he had an early breakfast meeting tomorrow, plus he didn’t like women to spend the night, especially on a first date. He opened the front door for Tiffany and punched in the code for the alarm. She made noises about how beautiful his house was, tiresome babble, so he kissed her to shut her up. They stood there in front of the huge plate-glass window, pressing their bodies together. She had a very firm ass and Conrad gave it a good hard slap just to see how she’d respond. She appeared to like it because she stuck her tongue deep into his mouth then went to work on that belt buckle. Conrad hit her again and she moaned. Excellent. She unzipped his pants then sank to her knees. Conrad smiled. If this little girl wanted to skip the prelims and blow him right here in the entry hall, fine with him. He could take care of this and get that good night sleep after all.

  Angela hadn’t expected him to show up with a girl. That was a real fly in the ointment, certainly a distraction. Angela crept a little closer to the big window. She watched as the girl unzipped Conrad’s pants and knelt in front of him. He was staring out the window, exactly in her direction, but Angela knew he couldn’t see her there in the dark. What was that look on his face, certainly not joy. He looked tired, maybe even bored? Angela smiled. He’d never been bored with her. The girl got to work and Conrad ran his fingers through her long blond hair then grabbed two big handfuls and worked her head back and forth on him. That’s what he always did with Angela, weird watching their private routine acted out with a stranger.

  I should have brought my jacket, not the leather Versace, the Ralph Lauren with the fur lining, cuffs and hood. And gloves. It’s freezing out here. But how was I supposed to know that Miss Angela Simms is a full-blown night stalker? Look at her over there crouched in the bushes watching my big brother get a very uninspired blow job from that little stewardess. I should open a school. I’m a very gifted teacher, you know. THE NORMAN WENTWORTH CENTER FOR THE STUDY OF ORAL SEX? We guarantee to turn you ladies into expert fellators in two weeks or your money back. What do you think? Heterosexual women would flock to me from around the country and heterosexual men would deem me a hero. I’m sure August would bankroll it. Go global, make millions.

  Oh, shhhh. Angela’s making a move. She’s creeping forward, commando style, through the hydrangeas. Trying to get a better look? I wonder if this is part of their routine, “Showtime” in the entry hall. I doubt it. I don’t think there is an Angela/Conrad routine any more.

  Well, would you look at that? Conrad just shot jism all over that nice girl’s face and hair. Damn that didn’t take long, couldn’t have been more than three or four minutes. Maybe my brother isn’t quite the player I thought he was. They have medication for the premature ejaculation problem. I’ll bring it to his attention at the next family dinner.

  Conrad watched as the stewardess made a big show of enjoying the fact that he’d come all over her face. She wiped her cheek then sucked her fingers. Yummy.

  “There’s a bathroom right through there.” Conrad pointed down the hallway. “Go clean yourself up.”

  The stewardess look confused, a little hurt, but recovered quickly. She stood and Conrad saw that she had a nasty run in her panty hose. “Be right back,” she said and walked down the hall, working that sexy ass, but Conrad wasn’t interested anymore. She’d served her purpose and he was ready for her to go now. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could just press a button and make them disappear?

  The stewardess came out of the bathroom all fresh and ready for round two. “Do you think I could maybe have a drink or something,” she said.

  Conrad shook his head apologetically. “Not really in the cards tonight.” He put his arm around her shoulders and gently herded her towards the door. “I’ve got an early meeting and I’m exhausted from the flight. You must be too.” He got to the door and opened it.

  “Wait.” The stewardess seemed to be having trouble deciding between pain and rage. “What do you mean?”

  Conrad took her arm and with just the slightest amount of pressure, pulled her down the front steps. “You’re great,” he said. “Beautiful. And I’m looking forward to getting to know you. Really, I am. Just not tonight.”

  “So I’m like, dismissed?” The girl pulled her arm away from Conrad and stood her ground at the bottom of the steps. Conrad whistled for the car and the driver pulled up front.

  “Just tell Randy where you want to go.” Conrad opened the car door. “He’ll drop you anywhere.”

  “You can’t...” The stewardess didn’t want to be loaded into the car so Conrad gave her a little push as he forced her body inside.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said and closed the door.

  The stewardess opened the door and sa
id, “You don’t have my number, asshole.”

  “Give it to Randy,” Conrad said. “Talk to you soon.” He gave a little wave of his hand then slammed the door. The car took off before she could argue.

  Wow, that was cold, huh? Even for Conrad. Can you believe he and I share a genetic history? He didn’t even kiss her goodbye. You want to always end on a high note, leave the door open for the future, just in case. It’s just good strategy. I would teach that at my school and the world will be a much nicer place if people would heed my lesson.

  Look, he’s reset the alarm and is heading upstairs. Surely we can go home now. I mean, what can Angela possibly be hoping to see once he goes to bed? He’s turning off all the lights, for God’s sake. Perhaps I’ll reveal myself once she gets back to her car. We could go for a nice coffee at the House of Pies or something. I will be her shoulder to cry on, offer up invaluable advice. She needs me.

  Angela didn’t intend to go inside. That was crazy; she could get herself shot. But when Conrad shut down all the lights and she lost access to him, she found she couldn’t tear herself away. She just had to see what he would do when he found that note. She had to be a part of it.

  It was obvious to Conrad that someone had been there. The books that obscured the video library were sitting on the table and he could see that several tapes were missing. He rushed into the bathroom to check the safe but it seemed to be untouched. The .44 Magnum was still in the drawer next to the basin. He grabbed it. Whoever the fuck had been here was going to pay. He returned to the bedroom and that’s when he saw the panties and the note there on his pillow.

  I’m telling you, this girl is insane but very impressive. Sneaking up the steps and opening the front door? I am positive Conrad didn’t give her that key. Now she’s disarming the alarm. A regular James Bond. And the good news is that it looks like she’s left the door ajar. So, what am I going to do? Well, I’m not going to sit out here in the freezing cold when the show’s clearly happening inside. Besides, she’s probably going to need backup when that lunatic brother of mine realizes Fort Knox has been invaded. Norman Wentworth to the rescue.

  Angela crept up the stairs. She was slightly disappointed not to hear Conrad ranting and raving. He could at least throw a vase. But it was quiet. She knew he was in his bedroom because of the light. Had he found the note? Of course he had, it was right there on his pillow. What was he going to do? What was she going to do? Angela had no idea. She reached the top of the stairs and crept down the hallway towards his room.

  Conrad set the gun on the bedside table and put the books back in their place. There was a part of his brain that was able to appreciate Angela’s plan, a tiny piece of him even admired her stupid courage. This was insane. Did she really think she could blackmail him? What, threaten to go public with the tapes unless he marry her or pay her off? How about he just knock her off instead and they could call it even?

  He sat on the bed and took off his shoes. What the fuck did he care if she went public with those tapes? There wasn’t much on them: straightforward sex, a little gentle torture. Those twins were young but good luck finding them. They were probably working some labor camp in Cambodia by now. He pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor. Did Angela really want her naked ass shown all over town lapping it up with her girlfriend Alison (maybe she did)? But whatever, that wouldn’t hurt him. He’d performed well in that little movie, if memory served.

  Conrad stood and took off his pants. He thought he should probably shower, wash the spit off his cock, but he was tired. The shower could wait until tomorrow. The only real problem was Rusty Goldman’s daughter. A big can of worms, that one. Very bad judgment on his part to film her, even worse to show it. What had he been thinking?

  He went to brush his teeth. Sweet little Bethany Goldman. She liked sex as much as any full grown woman he’d ever met. In fact, a case could be made that she’d instigated the whole thing, calling him at the office all the time, showing up at his house. He’d practically had to fight her off and a man can only be strong for so long. It had been going on for a couple of years. Just last week she’d called to say she finally got her braces off and asked to come over, even offered to bring one of her girlfriends. No, this was not good. He had to get that tape back. Conrad splashed some water on his face and dried himself. He looked tired. He was tired. He switched off the light in the bathroom. He could deal with this tomorrow.

  Angela brushed the dirt from her knees and did her best to smooth her hair. She wasn’t nervous. She should be. This was very dangerous. Crazy. Conrad had a very bad temper. But Angela felt calm or maybe she was just numb. Where should she be? Standing in the middle of the room? Hiding in the closet? Seated in the chair by the fireplace? Lying on the bed? And should she be smiling? Angry? Sexy? (No, that little stewardess ho had eliminated the sexy option for this evening plus she wasn’t really dressed for it.)

  Conrad wasn’t surprised to see Angela standing there in his bedroom. Nothing this bitch did surprised him. It was too bad he was naked, too bad the gun was over on the table, because he did feel just a tad vulnerable.

  It’s the Animal Kingdom starring the hyena and the lamb only lamby-girl is a hybrid-freak with viper teeth and a rattly tail. If she spits in his eyes, he’ll go blind—toxic venom like the world’s never seen. Conrad has no idea what he’s dealing with. They’re standing on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down. Any minute, I expect to hear hisses and growls. Conrad is naked. Just as I always suspected, he’s not nearly as well endowed as I am. His flaccid penis is so sad, don’t you think? Small and pathetic. When you see him here, like this, you realize he’s really not much of a man. Kind of makes you feel sorry for him, doesn’t it? I mean, you wouldn’t exactly hold him up as an example of fitness, vigor and health. Even for his age he’s very soft through the mid section and a little droopy in the rear. I will never let myself go like that. I promise you. Never! I’d rather die.

  We’re going on a good minute and a half, are they ever going to speak? Each of them is calculating the odds. My money’s on Angela. I’m standing here, tucked behind the door, and I’ve got a perfect view of the entire room. Look, you can tell Conrad wants to cover his feeble manhood but he’s fighting the urge, probably thinks it’ll make him look weak. Are those goose bumps? I think our girl is actually making him nervous. Here we go, Angela’s making a move. She’s pouncing like the fierce lioness that she is. Oh God. Oh no.

  Angela grabbed the .44 Magnum. It was very heavy and so she held it in both hands as she aimed it at Conrad. There wasn’t really a “gun plan,” she’d never fired one in her life, but when she spotted it her survival instinct dictated that she keep it away from Conrad.

  “Put the fucking gun down Angela.” Conrad took a tentative step in her direction. This crazy bitch could be dangerous. Fear made him suddenly cold and he could feel his balls pull up into his body. He had to get control. “Drop it, NOW.”

  It made Angela mad that Conrad thought he could tell her what to do. How dare he? She got to call the shots now; she earned it. And so she swung the gun over towards the doorway and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked back at her and blast was much louder than anticipated. Her ears rang. “Back off, motherfucker,” she yelled, exactly like a Brooklyn cop, then she re-aimed and pulled the trigger again. The television exploded in a million pieces. “I will blow your head off,” she said. “Don’t make me.”

  Norman wet himself. The first bullet exploded into the door just inches above his head and his bladder released. His pants were drenched but it could have been much worse. His bowels held tight and somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he congratulated himself for having such good control. He crouched down. Fight or flight? Fight or flight? He huddled with his eye glued to the crack in the door, paralyzed.

  Conrad just stood there, looking at the hole in the wall where his TV had been. Little twat. She broke into his house, stole his stuff and now she had blown up his plasma television, which had cost a fo
rtune. Conrad clenched his fists, all fear evaporated into rage. He looked at the skinny bitch. She was mean, capable of a lot of nasty things, no doubt. But she didn’t have the balls to shoot him. No way.

  Angela did not have time to think. Conrad was flying through the air in her direction, hate spilling out all over the room. She saw that he would kill her if she let him, so she aimed the gun right at his head and pulled the trigger just before he got his hands around her neck. What surprised her, what really seemed strange, was that his head did actually seem to blow off. Not that it was completely gone, part of the left side was intact, the cheek and ear, but enough of it exploded that you could make a case that his body was in fact headless. What a mess. Angela herself was covered in blood and little chunks of meat and bone. Who would clean up something like this up?

  “

  Norman could have stopped this. He could have said something, prevented Angela from entering the house, yelled out a warning to let Conrad know what was going on. He could have done almost ANYTHING and his brother would be alive. But no. He had sat there, hiding behind the door, watching. He enjoyed drama, had hoped something bad would happen. Norman fed on other people’s problems. Norman the voyeur. Man on the sidelines. Mr. Vicarious Thrill. Perv. It was the story of his entire life and this is what it led to.

  He watched as Angela attempted to wipe the blood and gristle from her tangled hair. Medusa. How could he have ever sympathized with this woman? Norman wanted to kill her now. The monster that took his brother and for what? He wanted to stand up and grab her and slit her throat, watch her die on the floor right next to Conrad. He wanted to make her pay. But as she wiped the gun clean of her fingerprints and grabbed the note and panties sitting there on the bed, Norman found he couldn’t move. She scanned the room for evidence and Norman sat very still. He was having trouble breathing. She grabbed her purse. Tears welled in his eyes. Why couldn’t he just stop her? Say something. She walked out of the bedroom but Norman didn’t move. The fucking bitch. He sat there, huddled behind the door and didn’t make a sound as she ran down the stairs and escaped.