Chapter 44 – Outrageous
Annette stretched and successfully shook the dangling stalactites of sleep from her body. Six am on the dot, she thought with curt satisfaction as she looked at her bedside clock. Her satisfaction faded when she saw that Robert's side of the bed was empty. Again. Unfortunately, it wasn't some new conquest keeping him away. It was that danged ADAM.
Robert now craved ADAM the way he used to lust after female flesh. Several times a week he disappeared into the bowels of Rapture's seediest alleys and crawl spaces, looking for more of the rare substance. It was hard to get his hands on, and Annette was beginning to suspect that he employed violence more often than not in attaining it due to the mysterious bruises that had been cropping up on his body as of late. At least he's no longer in a coma, that's what matters. So what if he had to bust a few heads? They shouldn't be getting in his way anyway, Robert was well within his rights to assert himself. And with his telekinetic abilities, it wasn't likely he'd be losing too many scrapes anyway.
After ordering her usual breakfast tray to be brought up, Annette quickly got dressed in a sleek dark green two-piece skirt and jacket. Since Robert was so preoccupied with his new ADAM obsession Annette was having to pick up the slack. It was nothing new, she had been taking care of business since he was in the coma. He'd grow bored of the ADAM in time, just as he tired of all his amusements, and until that time she'd keep the ledgers and invoices warm for him.
Annette eagerly tucked into her invigorating breakfast of oatmeal, poached eggs, and grapefruit. She scrutinized the morning newspapers while she ate. Carefully reading the news on a daily basis was one of the best weapons in her business arsenal. So many drunks in Fort Frolic, she reflected while reading the headline about another drunken brawl at a burlesque parlor. I should open up another bar. Sell some real rotgut all sugared up cheap. I'd make a mint.
The gossip column was surprisingly useful – even whole-cloth nonsense could be used if applied wisely. She scanned the page. Tristian Cole got caught with another dancer, did he? He's going to catch up with Robert. Her eyes fell upon a familiar name and she instinctively scowled, but after reading the blurb she smiled to herself.
'Our sources tell us that Mr. Richard Stone, the dashing protector of his artist lady's honor, is finally making an honest lady out of his pretty Picasso! One of our little birdies overheard him ask Miss Lupe Cervantes to marry him in the Waterfall Grotto. She said yes – what woman wouldn't? – and readers, you should have seen the ring!'
"Well, this should finally knock Dorothy out of her rut," Annette muttered to herself. Dorothy had been loitering about the hotel for the past four months, aimlessly shuffling around Rapture on the pittance that she still received from Richard. Dorothy found it entertaining to have her around, albeit in a very subdued way. She was a constant reminder of Annette's primacy over others. Not a jewel in her crown by any means, but certainly a treasured trinket on her charm bracelet.
Dorothy had almost forgotten that Annette had been pulling the strings. But she hadn't forgotten her conviction that Richard would come back to her. Several times a week she attempted to call her husband at his office, and almost every time she was rebuffed by his battleship of a secretary. On the rare time she did get through, Richard almost immediately hung up on her after threatening to stop making payments. Annette knew all this as she secretly recorded all of Dorothy's telephone calls, and Dorothy was so hard up for cash she couldn't even let a thin dime slip between the grates of a public telephone.
One of the more amusing things about having Dorothy dependent upon her for a roof over her head meant that she was at Annette's beck and call. Well, almost. Dorothy simply could not be roused before nine in the morning, Annette was close to bursting as she went about her usual morning routine – checking in with the night managers of The Luckier Duck in person and calling the night managers of The Lucky Duck, reading the daily sales report for the tobacco business, and conducting surprise inspections of rooms at random. Quality here, open up that rotgut place, low class, but I need to hide it behind another name. Can't get the Ducks floating on bathtub gin. She pulled out the small notebook she kept with her at all times and jotted down a few notes.
The few notes soon turned into a detailed business plan and by lunchtime Annette had a rudimentary business plan for the bar formed. The Ultra-Luxe, she thought while trying to brainstorm a name. No, that's a bit on the nose. How about… her thoughts trailed off as she noticed Dorothy make her way into the lobby.
Wherever does she go all day? She's dressed as if she's going to the theater, but she hasn't got enough money. If Dorothy were smart she'd be angling for another husband, but if Dorothy was smart she wouldn't have been so contemptuous of her last one. Annette had considered putting a tail on Dorothy for a few days if only to sate her own curiosity, but it was an unneeded expense. Necessary luxury, that's the name right there, she realized and quickly scribbled it down in her notebook.
"Dorothy, darling, do come here," Annette called to her and beckoned to the table she was sitting at.
Dorothy, realizing that she had no choice, trotted over to Annette and stood next to the table. "Can I help you with something?"
"No, no," she dismissed. "It's just, well, there's a bit of news that you may not like. I want you to hear it from me, a friend before some blabbermouth assails you with it." Annette handed her the newspaper. "Page seven, next to the photo of that obnoxious dancer."
Dorothy frowned and began to scan the newspaper. Her frown morphed into a scowl and her hands shook. "It isn't allowed," she spat. "They cannot allow it. A man cannot have two wives!"
"My dearest Dorothy, it isn't moral, nor fair to you, but it's almost certainly allowed," Annette replied pertly. It wasn't too difficult to keep a smile off her face. "Have you tried to speak to Richard about it lately? Surely, he'd at least hear you out?"
Dorothy threw the newspaper onto the table. "He's been… busy with his new company," she hissed through gritted teeth.
And busy with the other woman. "I hate to say it, but perhaps he's really and truly done with you," Annette sadly intoned, placing just the most subtle inflection on the words 'done with you.' Like one would be done with a particularly troublesome infestation of mice.
"He will come to his senses," Dorothy whispered to herself.
"Hopefully before he marries…oh, what is her name, it didn't say in the newspaper funnily enough," Annette goaded Dorothy on. "Laura, right? Something along those lines?"
"Richard will not marry the whore," Dorothy firmly said. "He cannot have two wives, he cannot, it's like asking a bird to swim, it's against the law of nature!"
Annette's eyes lingered on the signage featuring an anthropomorphized duck. "Are you going to call him?"
Dorothy didn't answer. She stormed out of the lobby, leaving Annette to sulk that she had missed out on the juiciest telephone call to date.
Would you kindly imagine a pagebreak here?
Dorothy strode past the blustering secretary at the front desk of Richard's company. She's got some gall to tell me I can't see my husband without an appointment, she angrily thought as she marched down the hall. But she didn't waste another thought on her, as she was preparing to unleash a barrage of strongly-worded chiding at her wayward husband.
"You have to leave this instant or I am calling the security station!" The empty threats of the secretary bounced off Dorothy's ears like dried corn off a hopper. What were the security agents going to do, tell her couldn't speak to her husband? Piff poff. She yanked open the door that had her current and legal husband's name painted on it (in white paint, not gold like his old office, she noted).
"Richard, you need to come out of your delusions and – " She stopped talking when she realized she was lecturing an empty office. She huffed indignantly and turned back into the hallway. What sort of businessman isn't even in his office during working hours? Probably longing about with that whore, laughing about…pretending to get married. Of course it's a ruse. A joke meant to upset me.
Dorothy heard voices from down the hall and followed them into a large workshop area. Three men with their backs to her were fiddling about a great big…pipe or pump or something unpleasantly plebeian. She never cared to learn about the grimy details. Why couldn't I have married a stockbroker? They don't get their hands dirty.
She recognized Richard in the middle. He was elbow deep into a mess of muck and involved in a conversation about oil viscosity. Dorothy rolled her eyes. Disgusting. I bet the whore's gaudy dresses are filthy with black grease.
"Are you ready to come home now?" Dorothy barked at her husband angrily.
Richard sighed heavily, exasperated even though the conversation hadn't yet begun. He turned around while wiping his hands on a towel. "Why not go grab some coffee, huh?" Richard addressed his companions, no doubt not wanting any witnesses to his shameful abandonment of his wife.
The two men left, both trying their best to not stare at Dorothy on their way out. Richard should count himself lucky that I have more dignity and poise than he does and I will not correct him in front of his own employees. Dorothy straightened her back and waited until she heard the door shut behind them.
"You're looking better since the last time I saw you," he cautiously said to her. "That's good to see. You're eating well? You have a place to stay?"
Dorothy dismissed his trite concern with a loud scoff. "Of course I have. I land on my feet. Unlike yourself. Still living in a pit, I assume?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes. Why are you here?"
"Don't act like you don't know!" Dorothy yelled at him, much louder than she meant. "You are done! You're done playing pretend with the whore! This ends now!"
Richard tossed the oil-strained towel onto the counter. "You're going to have to be more specific."
"You cannot have two wives! It is abnormal! It is outrageous! There are rules to life, Richard! You cannot ignore them!" Dorothy shrieked at him.
Richard smiled at this. "I'll do as I damn well please. My life is no longer your business. And neither is my business. Please leave. I do not want you here."
It was Dorothy's turn to smile. "Call the security agents. Tell them your wife is demanding that you come home. Tell them that and see what they do. They'll laugh at you and tell you to handle your own personal business."
"Maybe. I don't care if they laugh at me or not. But I'd wager that either you or one of your terrible friends read that I proposed to Lupe in a gossip column. Lord knows that it's physically impossible to find privacy down here, especially in a park, so I'm not shocked someone overheard. And I will see to it that someone will overhear that you showed up here and had a conniption over the gossip you read. Now how'd you like your 'friends' to read that?" Richard's threat was casual but had the hallmarks of his cold, calculating mind.
Dorothy was no longer shocked that he would resort to such low tactics. "You've really slipped into the gutter, haven't you? Threatening your wife with further public disgrace just so you can avoid your responsibility?"
"Get out," he curtly said. "Never come here again. Don't come to my home. Or Lupe's store. Or approach us. Or have anything to do with either of us. If you do I will absolutely let the gossip magazines know every single sordid detail of each cruel thing you did to Lupe. Because they like her, she's what every unfortunate woman in this city aims to be. Right now you should count yourself lucky no one thinks about you very much, because if they are given reason to think about you'll be pelted with rotten fish and all the filth that doesn't get pumped out."
"If you wish for me to disappear, you will not get your wish," she huffily told him. But perhaps it would be wise to call it a day. He's clearly unhinged. Who knows what he may do? He's got all those dangerous tools. "This is not the end of me, or of us! Not by any stretch of the imagination."
She turned to go, not because she was concerned about the minuscule chance that the security agents would side with Richard, but because if she continued with Richard she might begin to use foul language or lose her temper. Dorothy hastened past the boisterous secretary in her ridiculous hat and once in the street she just so happened to look the other way when a pair of uniformed security officers came by.
The radiation isn't killing the whore quickly enough, Dorothy thought angrily while lurking in a darkened corner and sulkily staring at nothing out the window. Maybe it takes years. I do wish I knew more about radiation. It isn't as though they taught it at finishing school.
Of course once the whore was dead Richard would be coming back. He'd snap out of it. The whore's hex on him would be broken. But for the first time Dorothy started to think she was going to have to hasten the process along. Which was also not something that was generally taught at finishing school.
As Richard had so inelegantly pointed out earlier, privacy was a rare commodity in Rapture. Even in her darkened corner, Dorothy had company – a scraggly man smoked a foul-smelling cigarette and a very thin woman was hunched over on a bench napping. Dorothy couldn't very well shoot her on her way to work, they'd be dozens of witnesses. And knowing Richard he had probably positioned many of his tinker toy turrets in their home. Although it would be satisfying to get both of them at once.
It was a shame she didn't have enough money to buy her way out of this problem. Doubtlessly she could hire some problem solvers down here to take care of Lupe if she had even a few spare hundred dollars, some real professionals, but she simply didn't have the cash. I could do it myself with one of those ice plasmids, just freeze her solid like a side of beef. But plasmids and the EVE to power them were financially off the table as well. And, the more she thought about it, hitting her with a plasmid also presented the same problems as using a gun, and a gun would be cheaper.
In any event, Dorothy would have to pluck up her courage sooner rather than later. There hadn't been a date set yet for the wedding, at least not according to the gossip article, but the whore was probably champing at the bit to get her claws firmly sunk into Richard's luscious money. Unless she acted quickly and decisively, Richard would be lost to her forever.