A Brilliant Ride

A Brilliant Ride

Lisa J. Mitchell

A Brilliant Ride

Copyright 2012 by Lisa J. Mitchell

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

The scanning, copying, uploading, and distribution of this book without written permission from the author is illegal and punishable by law. Kindly purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials.

DEDICATION

To J, D and S – the, now and forever, loves of my life.

And to my Dad, whose love is ever present.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 – Take a Deep Breath

Chapter 2 - There’s No Place like Home

Chapter 3 - The Pot's Boiling Over

Chapter 4 – Can You Feel It?

Chapter 5 – The Beginning of the End

Chapter 6 – Be Careful What You Ask For

Chapter 7 - Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 8 - A Strange Wind Blowing

Chapter 9 - A Brilliant Encounter

Chapter 10 - Peek-A-Boo, I See You

Chapter 11 - If the Shoe Fits

Chapter 12 - Feel the Love

Chapter 13 - You'll Need More Than Ruby Slippers

Chapter 14 - The Eagle Has Landed

Chapter 15 - Karma Can Be Tricky

Chapter 16 - You Hold the Power

Chapter 17 - I Spy With My Little Eye

Chapter 18 - Don't Lose Your Head, Marie Antoinette

Chapter 19 - Ring-A-Ding, Ding

Chapter 20 - Very Revealing

Chapter 21 - Welcome Back

Acknowledgements

Cover by Judy Ballard

Special thank you to the delightful Amanda Thompson.

Special thank you to my dear friend, Ellen, whose faith never wavers.

Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.

~Voltaire~

TAKE A DEEP BREATH

It’s a crisp autumn day and I’m sitting with my three closest girlfriends at the Regal Rock Bath and Tennis. And I’m learning a lot. Evidently Pinot Grigio is a very potent truth serum.

Jackie, please…pull yourself together, I pushed another tissue into her shaky hand. Come on, it’s ludicrous. Ted doesn't have the guts to change the part in his hair. He would never venture into The Bucket.

That’s the hottest club in New York, very Rock ‘n Roll A-list, Claudia added while surveying the Regal’s extensive menu.

I’m locked in a nightmare, Jackie whimpered, her sharp chin quivering like jelly.

Just stop. You’re being paranoid. Honestly, for the past two years you’ve done nothing but complain about how boring the man is. Just yesterday, you said you’d rather watch butter melt than spend another minute with the ‘Milky Drip. I suppressed a giggle.

That’s true, Jackie. You did say that, said Phyllis.

Like a pin to the eye, a vision of Ted burning up the dance floor hit me, and I winced. "Surely you’re mistaken…" I patted her jumpy hand.

The last time I saw Ted he was wearing thick tortoise rimmed glasses, chinos pulled up to his breast bone (cinched in with a narrow canvas belt embroidered with tiny pink crustaceans), and strappy rubber sandals…with socks. Need I say more?

Please tell me you’re kidding.

I’m not, she sniffled, her puffy green eyes brimming with tears.

Jackie, a gorgeous redhead with piercing green eyes, was this week’s excuse for a pow-wow. She put out the 911 to discuss an earth shaking disaster, her husband Ted…better known as the heel. And trust me, when Jackie calls, people jump. She’s a force - like a Twister- and always, and I mean always, gets whatever she sets her sights on. The fact that she walks all over people to achieve her desired result is something I personally overlook…I try not to be under foot.

Jackie is a knockout. She’s super-duper glamorous, wisecracking, and colorful - her mannerisms expertly exaggerated, her speech purposely drawn out and magnificently affected. In short…she looks like money. Even her walk screams trust fund.

We met years ago at a splashy New Year’s Eve party on the Upper East Side. Back then, she was considered the new it girl within that tightly woven set known as New York Society. Coming from the well-known Stacker family, a line of oil magnates who made their way to New York after the Big Crash (a welcome installment with their bags and bags of Texas cash), Jackie had that particular kind of refined flirty sexiness that comes from southern stock, combined with the slick polish of Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

After a lengthy (boozy) stint on NYC’s party circuit, Jackie spent a year in Paris pursuing her dream - creating a big name for herself in the art world. During this time, she enjoyed a brief marriage to a wealthy older gentleman who lavished her with the finery of France and allowed her to dabble in various art forms, which in Jackie’s mind included getting her hands dirty…sculpting a number of male models. The marriage was not successful and promptly ended when Monsieur Chantel, sufficiently embarrassed by Jackie’s artistic ventures, wrote a sizeable check to ensure her removal from his chateau and his life. She was successful, however, in making a name for herself…not one I can repeat.

So, Jacqueline Stacker Chantel promptly returned to New York, opened her own gallery, filled it with her own abstract works, and enjoyed the artistic side of the swinging city (where anything goes). I vividly remember her first exhibit. She dominated the floor resplendent in a shimmering gold halter dress, her flaming mane rippling down her back, as paparazzi snapped away feverishly trying to capture the sought after Socialite in all her fiery glory. The collection, entitled Amour Darling, was startling as well…ten massive canvasses streaked with red and black, a psychedelic orgy of irreverent strokes.

That two-timer! Jackie’s voice echoed, causing the cream of the crop to turn and stare.

Mrs. Nugent Lillygrass shot us her very best look of disdain, and Claudia retaliated by flashing her dazzling emerald cut in her direction. Take that! she mouthed and smoothed her sleek blonde bob with a purr. It seemed to put the old dowager in place.

Teddy has been living a double life, Jackie wailed. It’s true, I’m telling you. I’ve been finding things…you know…evidence.

My eyes widened in amazement as Jackie ticked off her list of clues.

Credit card statements, phone numbers, hotel bills, gift receipts, and a set of keys which - SURPRISE - don’t fit my lock! She drained her Pinot.

To top that off, last night I found a pack of…condoms.

No! Claudia gasped in a theatrical manner and held her heart.

It’s true, cried Jackie. And after my recent procedure…there’s no need for that kind of thing.

We’re going to need more wine…

Please. I must have been delirious; I never should have left The Upper East Side. I should have known better…what was I thinking…moving to the sticks? My life has become a stagnating waste, she moaned and threw her perfectly manicured hands up in the air. We should all be back in New York. Culture to these hillbillies (Jackie looked around at the blank faced, blasé women enjoying the Regal’s particular ambiance and sneered) is band night in front of the public high school, or a poetry reading at the Garden Club by that dinosaur, Audrey Freehope. What are we doing here? What the hell were we thinking?

Darling, we do not live in the sticks; for crying out loud, Jackie.

Hardly, Claudia said, trying to convince herself.

Well, this suburban hell hole is getting on my nerves, so damn boring. No wonder; even boring Teddy thinks it’s boring. My life is in the toilet, she groaned.

Oh, daaaaaarling, we’re in shock…utter shock. We had no idea.

It’s been agony; total misery!

You’re a saint…Mother Theresa.

He doesn’t deserve me; I’m too good for him.

Are you jumping…?

What?

Er, I mean to conclusions. I shifted in my seat.

Yes, darling, I mean, you married him because he was safe, remember…not like the others? Claudia and I exchanged a knowing glance.

Safe in Jackie’s book meant a man she could leash and dominate into puppy dog submission (spending every dime the helpless slob had), whilst convincing him he was without a doubt the luckiest man on the face of the earth to be in her company, not to mention her bed.

Oh, who would want him? my words tumbled out. "Er…I mean, you’re always saying he’s…lackluster."

He is! He was! Oh, you never know, do you?

No red flags? I asked, twisting my wedding band.

Here’s a red flag for you. Sources tell me he’s been to every nightclub in town - with a tween! Imagine that. He must be some kind of professional con artist or something.

Sources..?

Yes, sources, she wailed and snapped her bread stick in half.

"We are Splitsville."

I don’t believe it, Claudia replied, slipping her small gold compact out of her handbag. She surveyed herself with a smile and traced her upper lip with her pinky, ensuring her shimmery nude lipstick was perfectly placed. She then took another moment to admire the enormous diamond studs drooping from her lobes. Happy with her pristine reflection, she purred and clicked the compact closed, then tossed it back into her monogrammed satchel. It’s just a blip, she said plainly.

Oh yes, Claudia’s right, it’s just a passing thing, said Phyllis, her eyes locked on a waiter with a large silver tray. Yums, has anyone tried the artichoke tart? she queried and licked her puffy glossed lips. I’m absolutely famished.

Jackie wasn’t having any of it and let out a long, exaggerated sigh followed by another swig of wine.

Hey, I know, Phyllis squealed, maybe the two of you should sign up for that Tantric weekend?

Oh yes…it’s all the rage, said Claudia brightly.

You’ve been?

No, but I hear it’s very liberating...

Oh, Jackie, it’s the answer. It’ll teach Teddy a little self-control…if you know what I mean. Phyllis winked.

Please, I’m nauseous. Jackie held her stomach and moaned. My colitis is starting up. A faint gurgling sound emanated from her direction.

Tantra sounds like the spiritual version of S&M. I think it’s dangerous.

Oh loosen up, even Frank’s gotten into it, replied Phyllis in that surreal matter-of-fact way she uses when discussing something totally off the wall.

Frank? Ha, ha, ha…that’s hysterical. You’re, kidding, right?

She wasn’t. Phyllis is what you would call progressive. Free from inhibitions, she’s colorful to say the least. A middle-aged, old money, debutante turned hippie, she’s perpetually outfitted in pricey, theatrical ensembles purchased at the finest boutiques on Madison Avenue. Trust me; these costumes have a sort of exotic chic not many can pull off…sort of Vogue meets Tofu Daily. She’s gutsy (or delusional, I’m not quite sure). She thinks nothing of popping out to the grocery in a chartreuse sari, feathered headband, and a pair of 6-inch platform heels, bravely combating the raised eyebrows of conservatives by rubbing her third eye and whispering an affirmation.

I should point out that money - a lot of money, especially old money - allows for a broad array of quirky and irrational behaviors. This could explain Phyllis’ carte blanche attitude when it comes to self-expression...and wardrobe.

Aside from her diverse attire, Phyllis is really quite pretty. She’s petite - sort of waif-like - with very long, dark, stick-straight hair, large brown eyes that always seem to be open too wide, and a smile that turns up ever so slightly at the ends, giving the hint of a delicious secret- sort of Mona Lisa gone psychedelic.

Phyllis has been married to Frank Triola for the past four years. Jackie says he’s a character (gangster) straight out of the Goombah Chronicles. I think he’s a big softy. Frank’s in Oil, as in Olive, and made an absolute killing when everyone got on that Mediterranean kick. He’s a large, gregarious man and a little rough around the edges. That said, he’s only tolerated at the ultra-snobby Regal Rock because he’s married to Phyllis, who, as everyone knows, is one of the Cowl heirs…as in Cowl Necks …billions there.

He’s a BOOB, Jackie’s voice sounded out like a bugle, snapping me back with a jolt.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Mrs. Carrington Johnson put one arthritic finger up to her pursed blue lips and raised her eyebrow high, while her cronies loudly cleared their crinkly, bejeweled throats. Do you mind, she creaked.

In response, Claudia narrowed her eyes like a mosquito zeroing in for a sting.

Those old bags should be on treadmills instead of sitting here throwing canapés down their turkey necks; their triglycerides must be sky high. Raising her glass up, she toasted the sour looking group, Bottoms up.

Oh, but Claudia, my darling, not everyone has your kind of self-discipline, Phyllis sang and placed her hands together, slowly bowing to Mrs. Johnson’s table. Namaste, she whispered.

Please. That battle-axe, Johnson, gives me a pain. She thinks she’s all that after she got her band.

Eternity..?

No, Lap...how else do you think she dropped all that weight?

Oh, Claudia, you’re a hoot!

Grinning broadly, Claudia leaned forward and adjusted her gazillion dollar tourmaline enhancer, pointing it directly at Mrs. Carrington Johnson for added leverage. Her eyes flashed as the geriatric group turned away, humbled by the imposing piece of bling. That should shut them up for a while, she growled.

Claudia uses her astounding arsenal of baubles like weapons of mass destruction. And trust me; she has a ton of it - amazing jewels in every shape and color from the most famous design houses in the world. Half of her immense collection was handed down from the generations of grand women in her iconic family…the rest is from Paul, who spoils her senseless. She has a special temperature controlled room with glass showcases and elaborate alarm systems just to store all the bling - totally state of the art.

Aside from her love of gems, Claudia is very passionate about staying in shape. Thus, she is the self-proclaimed jock of our coterie. I mean, she’s a total fitness fanatic, obsessed with being in the best physical condition a person could possibly be in, spending hours perfecting her body and her circulatory system. As a matter of fact, she was the first person in our township to acquire her own private, personal fitness trainer. Of course everyone has one now, but back then it was quite sensational. We would all drive by to sneak a peek when three times a week he rolled up on his Hog in front of her large French Normandy with the swirling twin turrets, wearing black leather chaps over his athletic wear…very motivating.

In contrast to Phyllis’ Mona Lisa in sari look and Jackie’s Technicolor beauty, Claudia is icy. She has a trendy beige appearance - hair, face and eyes representing different shades of pale; the perfect canvas for showcasing her rock collection. She’s married to a very successful plastic surgeon, Paul Peterson - the nip and tuck man to the Stars. Jackie says he can make anyone look twenty years younger, and she should know…

Oh, damn! Jackie’s false eyelash fell into her Pinot Grigio, and she fished it out with her dessert spoon. She looked at the damp thing, which resembled a drowned spider, and started to cry again. The whole thing looked so pitiful; I closed my gaping mouth and reached out for her hand. Like Claudia, she too was bejeweled, adorned with a massive, intricately carved gold ring with a large blue stone set in the center. It was new; at least I had never seen it before…a bit gaudy for Jackie’s taste, I thought.

Her outfit, on the other hand, was killer. She was tightly wrapped - leaving little to the imagination - in an exquisitely cut black cashmere dress. I tried to calculate the time and expense involved in Jackie’s total look. Not only was she draped in luscious cashmere, but her perfect size six feet were adorned with gorgeous black suede pumps featuring four-inch Lucite heels. A hefty silver cuff hung from her small wrist, and a matching - very large - organic shaped brooch was pinned high on her right shoulder. Mental note to me: search for Lucite heels.

As I took it all in, I could feel envy quickly casting its spell on me, dragging me deeper and deeper, until…

Beauty lies within…beauty lies within, a voice rang through my head.