The scent of lavender hung heavy in the steamy air as I sank into the bathwater, my skin prickling against the heat. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft dripping of the faucet. My thoughts churned like the ripples in the water, tugging me between past and present.
Randall. His name still lingered in my mind like a specter. Grief should have weighed heavier, shouldn't it? Yet, as I sat there, alone and exposed, my thoughts veered toward Jack Slade. That man was unlike anyone I had met before—sharp, piercing, and impossibly handsome. The moment he gave me that paper, the moment he told me to come by, I'd felt a surge of something within me. Was it excitement? Hope? Fear? I couldn't tell.
I shifted in the water, a heat creeping up my body that had nothing to do with the bath. The image of Jack burned in my memory, his hard blue eyes, his chiseled features. What kind of man was he, to make a widow like me feel this way?
My hand traced the contours of my breasts, feeling their softness beneath my palm. My nipples were taut, the water's warmth teasing them. A soft sigh escaped my lips, and my thoughts strayed further. I imagined Jack's fingers brushing over my skin instead, his touch igniting a fire inside me. I realized my hand was between my legs. I pulled it away, shocked that I'd been touching myself. "No," I whispered to myself, my voice echoing softly against the tile walls. It was wrong to fantasize about another man. I sat up, trying to get control of myself. What was I thinking, pleasuring myself in the bathtub! With a groan of frustration, I stood, the water cascading down my skin as I reached for a towel. I couldn't let myself be distracted, there were too many unanswered questions about Randall's death.
Wrapped in only a towel, I went to my husband's study, a small, cluttered space that felt alien without him. Everything was in its place, the room undisturbed, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. I searched through the drawers of his desk, hoping to find some hint, some explanation.
It didn't take long. In one drawer, tucked away, was a business card for a place called The Blue Lagoon, the kind of club that respectable women didn't frequent. I stared at the name, my stomach churning. Vivian's face flashed in my mind, her fiery hair, her confident smile as she performed on stage under her ridiculous moniker, The Crimson Canary. Why would Randall have a business card for The Blue Lagoon? The idea that he may have gone there made me uneasy.
I set the card aside, reaching further into the drawer, and found a pawn ticket dated three months ago. I held my breath as I read the description: Ladies' platinum wedding band, inscription '1925.' My mother's ring. I knew it instantly. It had been Vivian's most prized possession, a keepsake of the woman who had given us everything. Why would she pawn it?
The address on the ticket was for a seedy part of town. Had Randall retrieved it? My eyes darted to the checkbook sitting nearby. Flipping through the stubs, I found one made out to "cash" for the exact amount listed on the pawn ticket. The date was three months ago. My stomach turned over.
I kept flipping through the stubs, another series of checks caught my eye, each payable to Bradley's Pharmacy. Regular payments, every week like clockwork. But Randall had never needed medication. I froze, the pieces clicking together. Vivian's migraines. Her constant need for medicine. I checked the dates, a sick feeling settling in my stomach. The last one was dated the morning of his death.
It felt like someone had doused me in cold water. I sat back in the chair, the discoveries coiling inside me like a snake. The business card, the pawn ticket, the pharmacy payments—it all pointed to a connection between Randall and Vivian. What was going on? Randall and Vivian? No, no, that couldn't be. Vivian would never betray me like that. Would she?
The shrill ring of the telephone broke the silence. I jumped, my heart hammering in my chest. Crossing the room, I hesitated before lifting the receiver.
"Hello?" My voice sounded too loud in the empty house.
"Evelyn," came a smooth, familiar voice. "I wanted to check on you. These past weeks have been difficult, I'm sure."
"Oh, yes, thank you." My heart rate slowed a little. "I appreciate that."
"Of course. But some wounds are best left to heal on their own," he continued, his tone soft, concerned. "Stirring the pot may only bring harm—to you and your family."
His words felt like a warning cloaked in concern, and they left me shaken. I tried to think of something to say, but he hung up before I could speak. The line went dead in my hand, I set the receiver down with a trembling hand and looked at my watch. It was getting late, I had to leave soon.
Except for the business card, I stuffed the items back in the desk drawer.
I walked to my bedroom and placed the card in the drawer of my nightstand. Jack didn't need to know everything, only enough for me to collect on Randall's life insurance. With the business card tucked away, I walked into the closet. As I stood before the rows of clothes, my eyes landed on a dress that was sleek, provocative, and the exact kind of thing I had never dared to wear in public. Not that Randall would have ever allowed me to wear it. A gift from Vivian, it hung there, untouched. It was made of satin, black, with a plunging neckline and a slit up the short skirt that would expose my thigh in a way that was far from proper. I felt a flutter in my chest. My gaze lingered on the dress, on its promises of a different kind of me, a woman who didn't follow rules.
I reached for the dress, feeling the soft, sleek fabric against my fingertips. This wasn't about being proper or respectable; it was about me, about asserting my right to wear whatever I damn well pleased. I pulled the dress off the hanger and slipped it on, the satin hugging my curves in ways that made me feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time.
As I stood in front of the mirror, my reflection looked back at me, different, bold. The woman staring back at me was no longer the Evelyn who lived for Randall and the children, who subsumed her own desires and dreams into her role as a housewife and mother. Instead, I saw a woman on the verge of something new, something dangerous, something that promised to shatter the comfortable world she had built for herself. I turned, admiring the dress in the mirror, the way it hugged my hips, the way it accentuated my thighs. And then I noticed the outline of my panties through the material. No, that wouldn't do.
After some consideration, I slipped them off, leaving them on the floor. The thought of wearing nothing under the dress sent a thrill down my spine. For a moment, I stood there, naked beneath the fabric, feeling the cool satin against my skin. I was aware of every curve, every line, and it felt scandalous, and exciting. Then, with a final glance in the mirror, I walked out of the house and into the evening, ready to take the next step into my new life.
The streetlights cast a pale glow over the road as I drove to the address Jack had given me. The city had a different feel to it at night, like a sleeping giant, quiet and still, but with an undercurrent of danger. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stepping into a world I knew nothing about, one filled with secrets and shadows. As the buildings blurred past, I tried to keep my mind on the task at hand, but my thoughts kept returning to the way my dress moved against my body, the feel of the cool night air on the bare skin between my legs. It was like a constant reminder of the changes I was going through, the transformation from the old Evelyn to this new, daring version of myself.
I arrived at the address he gave me, it was an apartment in Bunker Hill, a seedy, run-down part of the city filled with aging, once-grand apartment buildings now fallen into disrepair. I looked at the address again, this was it. Mr. Slade was living in a rundown apartment with peeling paint and cracked windows. I pulled into a parking space outside the building and sat for a moment.
My hands were shaking as I stepped out of the car. I walked up to the building, glancing around at the dilapidated apartment complex. My footsteps echoed through the dark as I made my way up to the door. A sense of foreboding hung in the air, a palpable weight pressing down on me. This wasn't the kind of place a lady should be visiting at night. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my composure. I had come this far; I wasn't going to back down now.
I hesitated before knocking on the door, a nervous energy coursing through me. This was uncharted territory for me, and I was acutely aware of the impropriety of the situation. A woman visiting a man's apartment, alone, at this hour. What would people think?
My resolve faltered for a moment. Maybe I should just go home. But then I remembered the life insurance policy, the money I desperately needed. My children were counting on me. I had to do this.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and knocked.