Sleeping with the Frenemy Read online

  From now on Genevieve would no longer consume her every waking thought. Deborah would live for herself and no one else.

  * * * *

  When she stepped off the train at the Woodberry Creek train station three days later, it was like she'd come home. She hadn't been to the town since her parents had moved to the West Coast before she was born. But hearing her mother's stories of growing up in the small town straight out of the movie The Music Man, she felt as if she'd lived there as well.

  No one came to meet her, unlike the other passengers sharing greetings from family and friends who put their luggage into the trunks of their cars and drove away to their respective homes. After staying in the air-conditioned train for so long, Deborah's head ached and her eyes and inside of her nose were dry. The air here was thicker and she felt rank and worn out since she hadn't showered or barely slept. She was still too nervous, or perhaps it was the thrill of being on her own that made her jittery.

  A soft summer breeze brushed over her face, that felt like it was going to crack into a thousand pieces. Her makeup had begun to flake off and her fingers were disgusting, with her nails bitten down to the quick. She needed to find a place to spend a few nights, take a nice long shower, and sleep undisturbed before she decided on her next move.

  Deborah walked down the stairs where at the bottom the bathrooms awaited her. She glanced around, noticing no one around, and poked her head inside the women's room. The room was empty, with three stalls and two sinks. She went into the first stall and quickly changed. Gone was her masculine wear, replaced with a pair of black capris and a short-sleeved yellow T-shirt. When she exited the stall, she used one of the hotel towels she'd snatched back at the hotel, and used soap to wash away the grime from her face and hands. The water turned murky brown as her makeup fell off her face and down the drain. She rubbed her face almost raw and even went so far as to stick her head under the water to cool off.

  Afterward, she took out her contacts and viewed herself in the mirror. Splotches of red covered her face and throat, but for the most part, she hadn't done any permanent damage. The only lasting marks were the scars she had on the right side of her head and a fading black-and-blue near the corner of her mouth, opposite her birthmark. Her lip wasn't swollen any longer and when she poked her stomach, it didn't sting.

  “Aren't you one sexy bi-otch, Sharon?” Deborah announced, testing her new name and softly laughed as she pushed out her chest, her nipples poking through as they tended to do at any moment ever since she hit puberty.

  The door swung open and a woman walked in holding a toddler. Deborah quickly left with her suitcase.

  * * * *

  From the bulletin board covered in fliers, Deborah found an advertisement for a small motel within walking distance. Other than a few cars driving by, no one was on the street and the majority of the businesses were closed. But then again, this wasn't a complete surprise since it was close to midnight.

  She came upon the quaint one-story ranch-style motel and walked across the gravel parking lot, her eyes drooping and her jaw cracking from a yawn as she noticed the vacant sign hanging over the front door. She walked inside and a bell rang overhead. An older man with a big bushy white beard and a polo shirt with the motel's name over his right breastbone sat behind the front desk.

  “Well, hello there, little lady. How may I help you?”

  Deborah covered her mouth as she yawned again. “Sorry. I've been on a train for a few days and just got off. Would you have a room available for me?”

  The man didn't even look at the computer to see if he had a vacant room. “For you, I have the perfect room. How many nights will you be staying?”

  “A week, at least,” Deborah specified.

  “Here on vacation?” the man asked as he typed on the computer keyboard.

  “I'm visiting friends.” Deborah replied and pulled out a brown leather wallet. “And if it wouldn't be too much of a hassle, I'd like to pay in cash.”

  The man's eyebrows matching his beard rose in surprise. Deborah braced herself for the questions at her odd request.

  “It's been a while since someone has wanted to pay with cash, but I don't see it being a problem. I'll need to see identification and a credit card for a deposit in case you do charge anything. But don't worry, we won't charge the room to the card,” he added quickly.

  Deborah took out her new license and credit card, the only one she had connected to her back account. She shifted from one leg to the other as the man took both cards and entered the information into the computer. After what felt like an hour, he handed back both cards, as well as the hotel card key.

  “Your room is 118, right smack in the middle, facing the parking lot. We have a continental breakfast in the morning from seven to ten and the pool is around back. When you finally leave us, you can pay your bill. Do you need help with your luggage?”

  “No, thanks. I got it covered. Have a good night,” Deborah said and waved as she left.

  She could feel the man's eyes on her back as she walked out but she didn't turn back around. When she got into her room, she glanced over her shoulder, making certain no one watched her. She locked the door and pulled the wooden table near the window, placing it in front of the door. She closed the drapes without bothering to turn on the light.

  The bed looked inviting and the slight scent of roses filled the room as she pulled off her sneakers and capris and unhooked her bra. Wearing only her white cotton briefs and T-shirt, she pulled down the covers, sliding under them. The minute she closed her eyes, she fell asleep.

  * * * *

  There was no reason for Deborah to get out of bed. Her body wouldn't move, even though she needed to pee badly. She wanted to remain huddled under the covers, so cozy, as the air in the room was perfect enough for her to be comfortable. She'd always loved that feeling of being covered in a sheet or blankets with the air on, even during the hottest days of summer. Gen never let her sleep in.

  Rolling on her back, she wiped her eyes, trying to erase her wife, or rather her former wife, from her head. She'd been doing so well not thinking of her, but thoughts of Gen would sneak up on her. Her thighs clenched as she thought back to the last time she'd been with Gen in bed. Not only did her head feel like a balloon and her eyes gritty from too much sleep, but she was horny. She'd been depriving her body the release she needed for days. Going from having sex every day, sometimes twice a day, to none at all was wreaking havoc on her, physically and mentally.

  Gen, I miss you so much… No! I can't go there…wanting her. She's poison.

  Loud banging and muted conversation outside her room made her sit up. The room spun for a moment as Deborah brought it into focus. The light from the slit in the drapes and underneath the door allowed her to see. At least she had the presence of mind to put the Do Not Disturb sign outside her door.

  As much as she wanted to stay in her room and sleep, she needed to get up. First a shower, then she'd find something to eat on her way to check her balance in her bank account. Then—she had no clue. Maybe she'd investigate the town, and if she didn't freak herself out with her paranoia, she'd see if there were any apartments or houses she could rent.

  A home. Her own to furnish the way she wanted and laze around in all day if she longed to, even naked, with no worry of someone telling her no, or expecting her to act a certain way in the eyes of the help.

  Pushing aside the covers, she stretched her arms high above her head, cracking her neck from side to side. Today was her day to do whatever she'd like. Today stood for freedom.

  * * * *

  Deborah's—or now, Sharon's—official first day of independence had started out well, with a nice hot shower where she masturbated until she came loudly. That helped her relax immensely. But by the time she fixed her flat hair that really needed some sort of mousse or gel, and dressed in another boring plain T-shirt-and-capris ensemble, the headache lurking in back of her head came on full force. Her hunger pains also turned to cramps.
All these signs predicted her period. Unfortunately she'd didn't have anything she needed, no pills for her discomfort or tampons to stop the flow that would come in the next few hours, judging by the spotting she found in her underwear.

  Upon opening her door, the bright sun blinded her, making her headache even worse than it already was. At least she had her sunglasses to block the light. She needed pills to numb the pain, tampons, caffeine, and some sort of sustenance before she started gnawing on her nails again.

  The sight of Woodberry Creek in the daylight was very different from when she'd first arrived. The street in front of her bustled with cars and people. The stores were open and the smell of baked pastries called out to her. Maybe she would go up to the front desk and ask for a map or advice on where to go.

  Aha! She spotted a drugstore called Meede's on the corner to her right. She patted down her pockets where her wallet and hotel room key were, and started walking that way.

  The walk took her less than ten minutes and when she opened the door, a bell rang. What's with this town and bells? Shaking her head, she glanced up at the signs above the aisles to find what she wanted. First she grabbed a bottle of Midol, then went in search of her favorite brand of tampons.

  Seeing she was all alone, she opened the Midol bottle, and quickly swallowed three of the blue pills without water. Yellow-black dots had appeared in front of her eyes, warning a migraine was imminent unless she took the pills. She'd also buy a hot water bottle while she was there, just in case her cramps became too much.

  There were too many brands of tampons to count—all except the ones she wanted. “How can they not have the tampons I like?” Deborah muttered irritably, and as she leaned down to pick up a box of tampons on sale, a breezy female voice spoke beside her.

  “You know, you shouldn't bend over like that. You might pull your back. I also recommend Meede's tampons over the ones you're picking. The ones you're about to choose can be too bulky, if you catch my meaning.”

  Deborah stood up too fast, wincing as a pain shot down her spine. She arched her back for a moment, holding the box she was going to buy along with the bottle of pills that fell out of her hand and dropped to the ground. The blue tablets puddled over the floor.

  “Great.” Deborah rubbed her palm over her face and started to kneel down when a hand landed on her arm. She sprang away from the touch.

  “Sorry about that. I didn't mean to intrude on your personal space. Stay where you are. I'll clean this up.”

  The woman sat down on her heels and picked up the pills. Deborah couldn't see her, face and only the top of her head encircled in different shades of blinding red curls.

  She almost started to walk away, but then the woman, who came a few inches past her chin, smiled ruefully and held out the bottle. Deborah quickly scanned the petite, close-to-plump woman wearing a short denim skirt and a sleeveless white button-down shirt with matching white sandals displaying her magenta-colored toes.

  “Um, thanks,” Deborah said hesitantly, trying her best not to touch the woman as she took back the bottle. The woman with the bright red hair gave her a big smile, her lips too wide for her face. Deborah wouldn't say she was attractive—perhaps passingly pretty at the most, with very noticeable curves in all the right places.

  “Don't worry about the spill. Timmy won't chase you away for making a mess.”

  “Timmy?” Deborah asked carefully.

  “Timmy's the owner. He just took over the business since his father just retired. Meede's been here since the beginnings of the town back in the late nineteenth century,” the chatterbox broadcasted with great enthusiasm.

  “Are you an employee here?” All Deborah wanted to do was buy her medicine and her tampons and leave.

  The annoyingly cheery woman laughed loudly and shook her head. “I haven't worked here since high school. I'm a teacher at the elementary school.” The woman held out her hand. “I'm Bridgette Woodberry.”

  Deborah didn't talk the hand offered to her and held the tampon box against her chest. “Your last name is the same as the town's.”

  “Yes, it is. My family founded Woodberry Creek.”

  “That's nice. Anyway, I have to buy this.” Deborah waved the box. When Bridgette took a step closer, Deborah backed away. “B-bye,” she said quickly and walked as fast she could to the register.

  What a freak! What type of person advises strange women on what type of tampons they should buy? Thankfully she didn't have to stand in line and as she paid, she expected the strange, bubbly woman to come up behind her and start talking to her. She never did, and when Deborah took her purchases, she looked over her shoulder to see if she was being followed.

  Bridgette's hands moved animatedly as she talked with a man behind the counter of the pharmacy. When the redhead shifted to the side and rested her hip against the counter, half facing the front of the store, Deborah jolted out the door, almost bumping into a group of teenagers, and ran back to her hotel room as fast as she could.

  Later on she'd blame her reaction on her headache and cramping. And not because she'd been helped by a woman who had the sweetest smile and the kindest eyes she ever seen.

  Chapter Nine

  The interaction with the overly friendly redhead shook Deborah so much that she stayed in her room for the remainder of the day. She flipped through the phone book and ordered a pizza. It had been so long since she'd eaten pizza that when it finally came she ate more than half of it, vegging out on the bed and watching television, going as far as ordering a few movies until she fell asleep.

  The next time she woke up, her cramps had lessened considerably and she actually felt rested and not as anxious as the day before. She took another shower, trying her best to style her hair, wishing she bought styling gel when she'd gone to the drugstore. Maybe after she talked to a real-estate agent, she'd go back to Meede's.

  But what if the redhead was there again?

  Pushing her thoughts away from the strange woman with the soothing eyes and outgoing smile, Deborah left her room to face the world again.

  It was another sunny day and the street she walked down was busy with activity again. She tried to hide her discomfort and acted carefree, much like most of the people who called out greetings to her. She was so used to people rushing by without a glance that the friendly residents in Woodberry Creek freaked her out.

  When she found a café with sign in the front window offering Internet access, she went in. She bought herself a large coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, purposely ignoring the yogurt and fruit plate on display, and sat down in front of a computer where she bought a half hour of online time.

  She brought up the Las Vegas Sun newspaper and went back into the archives from the past week to see if she could locate any information about her death.

  It took her most of the half hour to find anything. On the third page in the early-morning Sunday edition, there was a short article about a possible drowning in the river. A black Mercedes Coupe was found five miles down the river, and the unnamed woman driving the car hadn't been found yet. The police believed the woman might have been unstable when she took off without her driver, who reported the woman and the car missing. Upon further investigation, a suicide note was left for the woman's wife. The case was still open as authorities searched the river for a body. There was no mention of Genevieve anywhere in the article. But then again, Genevieve knew people in positions of power and could pay them off to keep her name out of the paper.

  When the time began to blink at the bottom of the screen, she walked away. Since she only had a few dollars left in her pocket and didn't want to use her bank card without stopping at the bank first, she left to happy farewells from the café staff. She was becoming accustomed to the cheerful townspeople, she thought, as she went the short distance to the bank.

  The same type of welcome waited for her there even though she was only using the ATM. Brushing aside the help of one of the representatives, she went over to a vacant ATM and slid her car
d into the slot. When her balance came up, her eyes went wide, still in disbelief at how much was in her account. She took out one lump sum to carry her over for the next few weeks.

  With her cash in tow, she mentally checked off the next item on her list: finding a place to stay. She asked one of the bank tellers for a reputable real-estate agent in town. The assistant manager was more than willing to advise her to go to Woodberry Reality, run by the mayor's sister. Deborah couldn't help but wonder if Woodberry Creek was so small that everyone was related to one another.

  As she walked toward the three-story brick building around the corner, she suddenly felt very lonely, wishing her mother could be here with her. Her mom would have gotten a kick out of looking at homes with her.

  By the time Deborah reached the building with the Woodberry Realty sign in big gold lettering above the door, she'd lost all her excitement and wanted to go back to bed for the rest of the day. Before she could do just that, a woman wearing a striking white suit and matching heels, holding a binder and a cell phone up to her ear, got out of a silver Lexus she parked in front of the building.

  “Thanks, Todd, I see her now.” She finished the call and smiled brightly at her. “Why, hello! You must be the young lady interested in buying something in the area. I can help you with that.”

  “Actually, rent,” Deborah replied automatically and hugged herself, confused that this professional-looking woman knew about her situation. “How did you know I was on my way over here?”

  “You were just at First National asking about real-estate agents in the area, correct? The manager you talked to is one of my cousins.”

  “Are you all related to one another here?” Deborah asked, not caring if she sounded rude or not.

  The woman didn't seem to notice, or care, as she nodded. “All it takes is to bump into one of the natives here and they'll tell you they're so-and-so's brother, cousin, uncle, and so forth.”

  “How…nice,” Deborah replied with a weak smile and did her best not to be taken aback by the woman's loud, almost obnoxious laugh.