Chloe After Dark

Chapter 19

The tension and hostility filling the room were overwhelming. The three of them looked at each other in silence, all with very different emotions. Angela was full of anger and hate, shaking uncontrollably. Caspar seemed positively afraid, which looked ridiculous given his usual macho manner. And Chloe felt sick, putting on one of the fluffy robes from behind the door to cover her nakedness. She'd given this man her hopes for the future as well as her body, and they'd all come crashing down in an instant. It felt as if the ground had disappeared from beneath her feet and she was in total free-fall.
Angela broke the silence, speaking in a low voice to Caspar. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What the fuck do you think I mean, Caspar? You! Here with...with... her!" She spat the last word out as if Chloe was something from the gutter, but Chloe didn't respond. She knew, if she said anything, this scorned woman would turn all her fury on her.
"I'm sorry, darling, it just happened. It won't happen again, I promise," Caspar almost whispered.
His wife gave a loud, sarcastic laugh. "How many times have I heard that?" She marched over and smacked his face so hard it made Chloe wince.
He stood his ground, physical punishment meaning nothing to him, but it was clear he couldn't cope with the emotion. Tears filled his eyes, and he hunched his shoulders submissively. "I mean it. Truly. Never again."
Chloe could see Angela wanted to believe him but couldn't. She turned her back on him and walked toward the door, as if about to leave, but then turned and looked him straight in the eye. "You fucking liar!" she hissed. "You can't keep your dick in your pants for more than ten minutes. How many have there been so far? Ten? Twenty?"
​"Stop being so overdramatic!"
​"Don't you fucking talk to me. I've been keeping count. You think you're the clever detective, keeping tabs on everybody, but I've been watching your every move since we got married, and you've had twelve affairs since you made your vow to forsake all others, which is pretty good, considering we've only been married just over five years."
​"They've all meant nothing to me."
​"You're probably right, but that doesn't make it okay, you lying, cheating bastard." She nodded at Chloe. "But what about this one? Did you pick her up from the local brothel?"
​"No. She means nothing."
Chloe could not believe her ears. Anger swelled up in her stomach. "You promised to look after me, keep me safe-"
​"Shut the fuck up!" Angela roared, glaring at Chloe. "This is between me and my husband. Keep out of it, you dirty little whore."
​"You've no right to speak to me like that."
Angela walked slowly toward Chloe, stopping when they were face to face.
​"I have every right to speak to you how I choose," she said menacingly. "I've just found you in bed with my husband, stinking of sex, and you expect me to be civil? Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel, whore?"
Chloe was silenced, regretting getting drawn into the conversation when she'd decided to stay out. She turned aside and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor.
​"Right, where were we?" Angela continued, turning to Caspar again. "So, how do things stand with your little superstar slut? Is she just another notch on your bedpost or is there something else going on here?"
​"I told you..."
​"I know what you told me, darling, but I'm asking for the truth. How do you really feel about poor little Chloe Milano, a.k.a. Scarlett from Red Light Confessions? Victim of a stalker and the client who needs a good screw for protection whenever the opportunity arises?"
​"Don't talk about her like that."
​"Ah, so there is a spark?" Angela suddenly changed her tone and became deadly serious. "Listen, Caspar, I didn't come here just to spoil your fun-although I can't say I haven't enjoyed doing that. I'm here to save our marriage. We can't go on like this. Either you stay with me and be faithful, or we part company. We've reached the point of no return. And may I remind you of what you're set to lose if you choose option two. You'll kiss goodbye to our home in York-Mills Windfield, which is worth about twenty million dollars, I believe, not to mention that big black Mercedes you're so fond of, your speedboat, Poppy and Trish-"
​"You've got kids?" Chloe could not stop herself from butting in.
​"Dogs, dear. Great big St. Bernards. Devoted to me because they only see their master once in a blue moon." Angela paused, head tilted to one side and a questioning expression on her face. When he failed to answer, she grew impatient. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
​"Not again, Caspar!" Angela looked on the verge of violence. "Stop playing dumb, you asshole. Do you...or do you not...wish to remain married to me? This is your moment of decision. Me or her-or whoever you move onto next."
Chloe held her breath. This is ridiculous! It's like the Award Ceremony just before they open the envelope. Except one really matters, and the other doesn't...and I don't know anymore which is which. She desperately wanted not to lose Caspar, but at the same time, did he offer the security she craved, given what she knew about him now? Another long silence followed, during which nobody moved. Then Caspar announced his decision by dressing himself with slow deliberation and walking toward Angela still holding his bowtie. As he passed Chloe, he stopped, looking like he was about to apologize, but she couldn't bear to hear it. "Just go," she said quietly, fighting back the tears.
​With a last look around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, Angela took Caspar's arm, and they left together in silence, leaving the door open. Chloe continued to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling stunned, until the realization of what had just happened hit her and she crawled under the covers like a wounded animal seeking refuge. No tears came-she was beyond them, at this moment-she just lay there, staring at the wall in a state of catatonic shock. She knew the hurt would come later, but for now, it was good to feel numb. It was half-past three in the morning, and she remained in exactly the same position until reception called to remind her breakfast was served in the restaurant between eight and ten. She had paid for it as part of her deal, and maple-bacon doughnuts were the specialty on this morning's menu.

​​​​​ ***
​
The days afterward came and went in a blur, as if Chloe were in some sort of trance-like state. Everywhere she went, people congratulated her on her success, and she was forced to smile and thank the well-wishers for their kindness. Inside, she felt she could scream, desperate to tell everybody what had really happened, how she'd been betrayed and abandoned by another self-serving man, how alone she felt once again. Must stay professional. Must keep it together. If I go to pieces, I'll lose everything. So, she said nothing, either in public or in private, and nobody was the wiser-except Blaire and Stephanie. They knew her well enough to read her thoughts and feelings without being told a word about them. But they kept their distance, realizing something must have happened with Caspar and knowing she would tell them about it when she was good and ready. To ask her would be to pry and make her think they were pleased she'd parted company with him, so they were now in with a chance. Nothing could have been further from the truth. They knew their friend was in genuine distress and needed to be treated with respect. It wasn't long ago they'd been sitting in the bar together, picking up the pieces from her breakup with Daniel. She needed time, silence, and friendly smiles to recover a second time. So, for the next few days, everything carried on as normal, Chloe spending most of each day in bed and getting up like a robot every night to do her show. Her legions of adoring fans were none the wiser. Scarlett was as saucy as ever, reacting with enthusiasm to every call received and discussing all manner of outrageous and ridiculous fantasies with light-hearted approval. Her professional star continued to rise, as her personal life plummeted to depths it had not reached before.
​On Thursday morning, about eleven thirty, her alarm clock rang. The loud, jangling noise woke her with a start. She had drunk a lot of vodka the night before to get herself to sleep, and its effects had not fully worn off. She felt sluggish and confused, hitting the stop button like she wanted to smash the clock to pieces. What the hell's going on? Why did I put that thing on? I don't have to be-oh shit! The memory hit her like a punch in the stomach. Keith, her fashion client looking for help with his work wardrobe, had rescheduled earlier in the week, and this time she was due to meet him in the Men's Section of Nordstrom Department Store at one o'clock. She barely had time to get ready and catch a cab!
​Throwing herself into the shower and then almost swallowing a bagel whole, she raced around the apartment in a flurry. When she returned to the bedroom, she searched through her wardrobe, conscious of the fact she couldn't merely wear a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She needed to look like she knew what she was doing with clothes. Casual was right out. She settled for a pair of black slacks and black, flat boots. A turquoise blouse finished off the outfit, and she tied her hair back, showing off her slender neck and sharp features. Subtle makeup finished the look, and she felt confident someone wouldn't feel too bad about giving her money to tell them how to dress.
​Her cab arrived with just enough time to get her to the store, and she fretted all the way there. If anything held her up, she'd be late, and the last thing she wanted on her first fashion job in months was to give a poor first impression. No messages appeared on her phone, so she assumed everything was still on. Though I don't even know what this guy looks like. Lord, I haven't done this for a while, or I would have done more preparation. Chloe arrived with eight minutes to get through the mall and into the store. Charging into the men's department, she paused to catch her breath and proceeded with some more decorum, pacing steadily past the racks of shirts, pants, jeans, and jackets. Near the dressing room, a man sat with his legs crossed, staring at his phone. The guy had to be her client, especially since the place was dead at that time of day. She checked her phone and ensured she was still on time before approaching. "Excuse me," she spoke softly. "Hello, I'm Chloe Milano...I believe we have an appointment?"
​He looked up and smiled at her, offering his hand without standing. "That's right," he replied. "I'm Keith. Really nice to meet you."
Something about his voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. The way people sounded seemed all the same to her now, especially since she spoke to so many people on the radio. She'd never been good at putting names to faces, or the way someone sounded to what they looked like, but this guy could have been a caller at one time or another. Or he just sounded like one of them. Either way, it didn't matter.
​"You too," Chloe replied. "So, the rate for this is fifty an hour, with a minimum of two hours. Is that okay? I'm assuming you saw that on the site when you contacted me."
​"I sure did." Keith stood up and gave her a handful of cash. "I think that'll cover three hours...just in case, huh?"
​Chloe didn't bother counting the money and decided to hope he was honest. She stuffed it into her bag, blushing. Normally, her clients paid online. "Thanks. So, shall we get started? Maybe you can come over to one of their mirrors and we can talk about what looks good on you and what you like."
​"That sounds great." Keith walked with her to one of the big wall mirrors beside the dressing room. He was tall, at least six-foot-two, with brown hair and a slender frame. His features were striking, a blade of a nose jutting out between high cheek bones and startling blue-grey eyes. Clean-shaven and handsome, with a sort of military air about him, he probably had plenty of luck with women.
​"What's your favorite color?" Chloe asked.
​"Would it be cliché to say black?"
Chloe chuckled. "A lot of men worry about that, but no, it's not cliché. Black's a great color for clothes because so many other colors go with it. On-the-go men use it a lot to supplement their wardrobes. A black shirt goes with khakis easily enough, and black pants look good with just about everything as well. Every guy should have at least one or two pairs of black pants."
​"Cool." Keith nodded. "What about the ladies? What do they think of a man wearing dark colors?"
​"They tend to consider them mysterious," Chloe answered. "You know how that goes. Hollywood paints men who wear darker tones to be dangerous...people who play by their own rules."
​"Definitely!" Keith turned to look at her straight in the eye. "Do you play by your own rules, Chloe?"
She smiled, unsure exactly what he meant. "I...don't understand."
​"I mean, are you a woman who considers herself dangerous?"
​"God, no!" Chloe waved the comment away. "I'm about as safe as it gets. Look at these shoes. I hate wearing heels. I'm more about comfort, myself."
​"Hmm, that won't do."
Chloe frowned. "Um...what won't?"
​"No heels. Women should wear heels."
​"I do when the occasion calls for it." Chloe took a step back because she was picking up a weird vibe. Her mind started to race. This can't possibly be Theo, can it? Dear God, why didn't I think of this as a possibility? If I had the idea he could follow me to my mom's house, then why wouldn't he be able to find out about my other job? I'm such an idiot!
​"What about during sex, Chloe?" Keith asked. "Do you wear heels then?"
​"I...er...think we might be here for different reasons." Chloe realized she'd taken the man's money and needed to return it. She fished in her handbag but couldn't find it right away. Panic hit her. "I should probably go. Just...let me give you your money back."
​"But I need a consultation," Keith said. "How can you leave before we've finished that? I thought you were a professional."
​"I didn't come here to talk to you about sex." Chloe still couldn't find the cash. "I came to help you pick out some clothes for your new job."
​"You shouldn't be so sensitive, Chloe." Keith grabbed her by the arm, squeezing it until she winced. "Or should I just call you Scarlett? That is your alter ego name, isn't it? You should have worn heels here today, like you do when you're on the radio. No one even sees you then, and you dress like a fucking slut. You come here to impress me in...what? This grandma shit? I'm offended!"
​"Let me go," Chloe said, her voice trembling. "Let me go, or I swear to God, I'll start screaming."
​"You're going to scream all right," Keith said. "When you're bent over a chair, your hands bound up and your legs spread...you're going to scream a whole lot then. After the way you've been today, especially. I'm going to punish your ass with a whip for this and fuck you until you pass out. That's what dirty girls get for not being themselves."
​Chloe wriggled frantically, trying to free herself. She looked around but didn't see any other employees or customers. Keith put his hand over her mouth just as she was about to shout for help. He smiled as she stared up at him through terror-filled eyes, and as he leaned close, she could smell his cheap deodorant and a hint of aftershave.
​"Put your hand on my dick, Scarlett. Feel what you do to me when you're afraid...when you tremble. It turns me on so fucking much, I feel like taking you right here. Just...shove you against the wall, tear your pants down, and slide in dry. I don't even care if we get caught. I'd probably spurt immediately-fill that filthy pussy of yours with my cum."
​Instinct kicked in then, and Chloe slammed her fist into his groin with all the force she could muster. He stifled a scream, his grip loosening enough for her to escape. She ran away, heading toward the elevator and sweet freedom.
​"Help!" Chloe shouted. "Please, someone help me!"
One of the shop assistants grabbed her, and she hit him twice before realizing it wasn't her stalker.
​"Whoa, whoa, lady! What happened? I'm trying to help you, just calm down! What's going on?"
Chloe looked around frantically, desperate to spot her attacker, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. She looked in the young man's eyes and relaxed, letting him know she'd been assaulted by someone. He took her to the staffroom and offered to call the police. She pulled out her mobile and dialed Caspar instead.
​"I have a detective working on this case for me," Chloe said, looking up at the anxious assistant. "I'll just...ring him first. Thank you. Thank you so much!"
​"Don't mention it." He looked concerned. "I'm going to get security over here anyway...just in case."
​"Great idea!" Chloe nodded emphatically. "Glorious idea, thank you. God, thank you..."
​Chloe had speed-dialed Caspar's mobile and expected him to pick up immediately. The dialing tone changed pitch a couple of times, and she found herself talking to Geraldine, his secretary, instead. "Hi, Chloe. I've got a message here from Caspar if you rang. He says he's very sorry, but he can no longer handle your case."
​"What?" Chloe almost screamed. "This isn't right! I'm in danger here, Geraldine, real fucking danger! He can't just drop me like this. Besides, Blaire must still be playing him shitloads of money."
​"I'm sorry, Chloe. He hasn't told me what's going on, and I can only tell you what's written down here. I'm just the messaging service, remember..."
Chloe hit the end-call button. She knew it was rude and in no way Geraldine's fault, but she just could not believe Caspar had left her in the lurch, totally at the mercy of a madman. She turned to the female security officer, who had just arrived to see her. "Thank you for coming."
​"I'm Mona Mills. Dustin here told me what happened," the woman said. "I've called the police. They're on their way now."
​"Thank you again," Chloe said, giving a weak smile. Her voice sounded a million miles away.
​"Are you okay? Would you like a glass of water?"
​"Oh, yes, please..." That was the last Chloe remembered. Her head swam, and she slid gently sideways off her chair onto the floor.