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BJ read the note Frank had scribbled on the scrap of paper attached to the refrigerator with a plastic banana magnet, one of several worthless gifts her mother-in-law had foisted on her. The same mother-in-law who introduced BJ to people as “Frank’s old standby”. Thank goodness she lived in another state. She’d hate it if she had to see the bitch on a regular basis.
She read the note again.
Gone two weeks. Miami. Will call.
She balled up the paper, threw it in the trash. He couldn’t wait around until she got home from work? Of course not. He’d have seen the look of suspicion in her eyes.
A quick inspection of the contents in the refrigerator, she settled for leftovers of yesterday’s home-cooked dinner. Covered the dish with a plastic cloche, and set it in the microwave.
“I have got to work on the new novel.”
The spaghetti already forgotten, BJ poured coffee in her writers mug, a tall black and red cup depicting a silver chalk outline of a dead body.
Facing the computer in the shuttered room, she re-read the last few lines she’d written the day before. Unable to think up a clever cliffhanger to finish the chapter, she typed random and meaningless sentences, hoping to find inspiration.
The quick brown fox did the lazy dog.
The cow ate the moon.
Little boy blue tied his shoe.
Come diddle my fiddle.
Frank.
BJ sat back in her chair, had a small drink of coffee. Cooking was the only skill she’d gleaned from her mama, who tried hard to prep her for a life of servitude.
She met Franklin Donovan when she was a cook-in-training and a waitress at a restaurant serving Italian cuisine. The same restaurant she now owned.
One week later, Frank asked her out. Eager to try the hottest new restaurant in town, at someone else’s expense, she accepted his invitation.
Their first year together was nothing worth talking about. Near the end of the second year, Frank participated in some sort of fraudulent scheme, which ultimately led to his arrest and conviction. He was sentenced to three years. The year he got out of prison she got pregnant. Lost the baby soon after. Lacking any and all maternal instincts it was easy for her not to feel any remorse. She couldn’t give what she never had.
Two years later, Frank obtained an adequate amount of financial backing to function as a database administrator in his own company. Word on the street was, his old boss had fronted the new business as payment for Frank taking the fall on the fraudulent scheme.
Frank Donovan had visions of grandeur. He worked an eighteen-hour day, every day, while also traveling extensively, in order to add new names to a growing list of clientele.
Making money was his prime objective in life. Spending money on something big and flashy was his secondary goal. He was also consumed with the desire to make enough money to retire at an early age.
Frank wanted a bigger house, too, just not the big family to fill it. The house was a phallic symbol, he told her, something to shove up the collective asses of the many naysayers in his life. Whenever they were out and about in the car and he spied the kind of house he wanted, he’d always say “This is what I’m getting when I get rich. Who knows? Maybe I’ll win the lottery.”
But it was taking longer than he planned.
And he wasn’t getting any younger.
As time went by, Frank mistreated her worse than ever.
He took his frustrations out on her when things went wrong at work. And, somehow, it was her fault he’d never been able to have his big fancy mansion or boat or private jet or some other toy his little boy heart desired.
Eventually, he neglected her more and more. BJ spent many nights alone in the house with nothing but her imagination to keep her company.
He never lost the need to possess and control her, though. He’d grown adept at manipulation. He knew how to blackmail her emotionally to make her live her life his way. He constantly told her how to think and what to accept as true. The main reason, she believed, for why she stayed with him while he was in prison. He needed her to hang on to what he had.
To his way of thinking, Frank had bought himself a little marionette. She was quite sure the little speech he had given her about cheating on him was nothing more than a psychological defense mechanism of projection to avoid being held accountable for his own shit.
BJ scoffed at him behind his back. He didn’t want her, but he didn’t want anyone else to have her. Got it. Making money and becoming independent of him was her main objective. Writing books assured her of an income in the event her restaurant went belly up. Or vice versa. She refused to believe both businesses might end in failure.
Frank told her more than once, “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever known.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just different from other women,” had always been her go-to response, even though her thoughts were all over the place. There were too many thoughts going through her mind... too many. BJ agonized over every decision until there was none to make.
Has Frank succeeded in making me crazy?
Roger and Jacob came unbidden to her thoughts.
And there it was.
“Inspiration, found.”
She typed the chapter ending surprisingly fast. Saved the text, shut off the computer and the lamp. “I’m ravenous.”