Nothing More Beautiful (30 page)

I retrieved the yellow envelope, tore it
open, and pulled out a DVD. “
Maci—for your eyes only,”
was
scribbled across the bottom.

“There’s no return address on it,” Danielle
pointed out.

“Or our address,” I said, examining the
front. “It just says Maci. So the sender must’ve personally put it
in the mailbox.”

“Kinda creepy,” she said. “Are we going to
watch it?”

“
We?
It says for my eyes
only . . . what if it’s Vince doing
something . . . you know?”

She pretended curiosity wasn’t eating away
at her. “Fine, watch it by yourself. I’ll be in the shower.” She
strolled out of the kitchen as I snagged my laptop, heading to my
bedroom. Shutting the door and locking it so she wouldn’t barge in,
I inserted the disc. The DVD only had one file on it, so I opened
it. A movie began playing.

The camera was facing a bed. A familiar bed.
Vince’s bed. The camera was level with it. A fake-tanned blond
woman wearing short jean shorts and a hot-pink cami crawled onto
the bed. Vince, wearing his usual attire, walked into the shot,
facing the opposite wall. He took off his jacket as they began
kissing. She threw off his shirt, moaning. “Yeah, baby,” she said
loudly. “Are you gonna fuck me, fuck me real hard?”

Vince nodded, stripping off her shorts and
panties.

My mouth dropped as he slid off his pants
and boxers. The camera only caught him from behind. He started
ramming her, holding her legs up in the air. Grunts, moans, and
screams filled most of the tape.

“Yeah, fuck me, baby,” she screamed. “Fuck
me harder. Harder. Harder. Oh, fuck. I’m your little slut. That’s
right, baby, fuck me harder.”

He finished up, yelling incoherently in a
hoarse voice. She rolled off the bed and shut off the camera.

At first I just stared at the black screen.
Then rage flooded my body—rage like I had never known. Unaware of
what I was doing, I picked up my computer and chucked it at the
wall. Pieces broke off and the screen cracked as it split from the
keyboard.

A scream exploded out of me.

Seconds later, Danielle was jiggling the
doorknob, shouting, “Maci. Maci, are you all right? Open the door.
Maci, open the door.” I unlocked it and she rushed in. “What is it?
What happened?” She saw the destroyed computer. “What the hell
happened?”

“I was duped, played the fool again, just
like with Ryan.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying Vince
cheated on you?”

I nodded, rubbing my head. The wrath swelled
again. I kicked over the wastebasket full of old papers, and then
punched the wall, leaving a small dent. The landlords wouldn’t be
happy about it, but I didn’t care.

I was about to throw another strike when
Danielle surrounded me in a bear hug. “MACI!” She was screaming at
me to calm down, to catch my breath.

I couldn’t. “That fucking asshole!” I
yelled, struggling in her tight hold. “I can’t believe it!”

“What was on the DVD, Maci?”

“It was Vince fucking some blond bimbo!” I
roared. “He set it up and filmed it, the sick fuck!”

“Maci, listen to what you’re saying,” she
said in a soothing voice. “That doesn’t really sound like Vince.
Ryan, sure. But that doesn’t sound like Vince, does it?”

“It was all there, Danielle. I saw him. I
saw him fucking that bitch like a fucking bastard!” Releasing me,
Danielle scooped up the broken laptop, and popped open the DVD
tray. Somehow the disc had survived. I ran at her. “Let me smash
that fucking piece of shit!”

“Wait. Hold on, Maci. I want to see it for
myself,” she said.

“To rub in the humiliation? What the fuck,
Danielle?”

“To see if it’s really Vince,” she replied,
racing into the living room where her laptop was. “I just don’t
believe it. I have to see it with my own eyes.”

I chased after her, balling my fists. “Give
it back, Danielle, or I swear I’ll rip your goddamn hair out.”

“I’m not the one you’re mad at, remember?”
She straightened to her full intimidating height, towering over me.
“Just breathe for a second. You can smash it, burn it, and throw it
into the river for all I care—just hold on, all right?”

It felt like torrents were shooting through
my veins, and my vision blurred, tears welling in my eyes. I looked
at my fist, realizing I couldn’t actually hit her, and relaxed my
hands.

“I’ll watch in my room so you don’t have to
hear it, okay? Are you cool with that?”

I nodded slowly, unsure.

Danielle sidled past me and closed her door.
Time crept by and it seemed like she’d been in there for hours.
Was she watching it over and over? Did she find it
entertaining?
Was she getting off on it?
That didn’t
even make sense. My thoughts were running frantically, my temper
rising as the seconds passed.

When I was finally about to knock, the door
swung open, and Danielle stood there with a skeptical look on her
face.

“So?” I asked, the word coming out as a
hiss.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“What does that mean, you ‘don’t know’?”

“It means, you never see his face, never
hear him talk, never get a real clear shot that shows for certain
that it’s Vince. I mean, yeah, it looks like Vince a little, but it
also doesn’t. I don’t know though. I’ve never seen him naked. Did
you listen to it? Does it sound like Vince’s sex noises?”

“Of course I listened to it,” I barked.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I
mean
really
listened to it—not just having the audio
on.”

“You’re insane, Danielle. I fucking heard it
all. It’s him. It’s Vince’s bedroom for Christ’s sake!”

“I think you should confront him with the
tape before you destroy it,” she encouraged. “You’re a smart,
rational person, Maci. If you watch it again, I think you’d have
your doubts, too.”
Watch it again?
She was definitely crazy,
and there she was, telling me to be rational. She stepped back to
her bed and pressed the play button. I cringed as I stared at the
screen. “Close your eyes and listen to it.”

A horrible, sick feeling rose in my gut, but
I did as she advised, focusing on the sounds. The grunts were so
deep and guttural that doubt squeezed into my mind. And hope—hope
that it wasn’t Vince.

“So, does it sound like Vince?” she asked
when it finished.

I shook my head and collapsed onto her bed,
hiding in her pillows. “When we’re doing that stuff, most of the
time I kind of fall away, you know, into another place, and I can’t
really hear him until the last second. It’s hard to remember
exactly what he sounds like then.”

I heard her pop out the disc. “Come on,” she
said, shaking my leg. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“To Vince’s,” she answered. “This isn’t
something you take a day to think about. You need to talk to him
now. You’re too unstable and upset to drive, so I’ll take you.” She
placed the DVD in an old P!nk CD case. She tugged on my leg,
dragging half of me off the bed.

“Okay, okay!” I got to my feet. “Fine. I’ll
just grab the Santoku knife from the block.”

No smiles or laughs erupted from her. Dead
serious, she scowled at me. She herded me toward the stairs and
into her car. The trip went by in silence, my head plagued by the
graphic images. They made it hard to collect my thoughts. Danielle
wanted me to show Vince the DVD, but I didn’t know if I could
stomach that presentation.

If
it was him, and
if
he had
sent it to me as a cruel joke, then talking about it would do
nothing but make me wish I had the knife. On the other hand, it
seemed so out of character, as Danielle had pointed out. With Ryan,
you could see it coming—see it in his nature. Not with Vince
though, which was the one reason I entertained the idea that it
wasn’t him. But who was it then: his stunt double? His
doppelgänger? Someone to take his place on a high-risk mission? It
all sounded so incredibly unbelievable.

Danielle parked on the street below the
Envoy. “What do I say?” I asked, my stomach roiling, nausea coming
on.

“Try and keep a level head, for one,” she
said, “and then just show him the DVD. Be honest and open. If you
need me, I’ll be down here.”

Honest and open
, I repeated to
myself, opening the car door. I let out a huge exhale. “Okay,” I
sighed. “If I’m not back in 30, it means I’m covering up a murder
scene.”

She shot me an austere face and said, “Don’t
forget this.” She pointed at the CD case.

I nabbed it and headed for the stairs. I
figured the longer trip would allow me to come up with what to say
first. Only curses filled my head. I climbed all the stairs outside
and inside, and paused at the top before the elevator that gave
access to his condo. I thought about texting him to open the door
for my surprise visit, but the nerve never came, my hands shaking
over the screen.

Pressing the button for the penthouse, I
closed my eyes and tried to channel my anger into my breaths,
controlling them with deep inhales and long exhales. The elevator
shot up the single floor, and when it dinged and the light lit up,
I brought my clenched fist to the door. I could suddenly feel all
of my saliva evaporate in my mouth, leaving a sticky, sour
residue.

My phone unexpectedly came to life. I gazed
at the name and face. Vince. My thumb idled over the green accept
button. I hit it and raised the phone to my ear.

“Maci?” Vince said after a second.

“Hey, s-sorry.”

“You all right? You sound a little
weird.”

My mouth dried up even more. “Good. I’m
good. I’m actually in the elevator at your front door.”

“What? Really? Did you forget
something?”

I gulped, unsure of how to respond. My
stomach was about to launch the breakfast we had shared.

He opened the door, closing his phone when
he saw me. “Hey.” His voice cracked.

When I saw his face, all the anger and hurt
and confusion exploded out of me. I hurled the CD case at his face.
“You fucking cheating bastard!” I screamed, tears surging. I swung
a fist.

Recovering from the blow by the case, he
caught my wrist, wrapped his arms around me, and restrained me with
ease. His muscles bound me like thick ropes. “Whoa! What the hell
was that for? What are you talking about?”

“You cheated on me with that whore,” I spat.
I tried to bite his arm, but it was safely out of harm’s reach.

“Cheated on you? Have you lost your mind?”
He squeezed tighter as I squirmed to get free. “I’ve never cheated
on you. Is that a joke about Skye?”

“Skye? Is that who that blond whore was? Did
you tell me some fake sob story so that I’d feel sorry for you? You
make me sick. Fucking sick.”

“Maci.” He tightened his grip in a jerk.
“I’m going to let that one slide, and say that you’ve temporarily
gone fucking crazy. Now before you say anything more—” He jerked
again. “I want you to tell me what this is all about.”

“What’s this about? It’s about that homemade
movie you sent me.” I nodded at the floor and the open CD case, the
DVD a foot away.

“Homemade movie? Maci, I’m going to release
you now, but only on the condition that you calm down, all right?”
His voice was stern and level. “All right?” he said again when I
didn’t respond.

“Fine. Yes. I won’t hit you,” I agreed, his
strength subduing my will to injure him.

He let go of me. I turned and our eyes met,
mine blazing with fury, his confused and defensive. “I’m going to
pick that up, okay?” After a nod from me, he bent over and
retrieved the DVD, reading its title. He started laughing. “This
isn’t my handwriting.”

“Well, it’s certainly you on the video,” I
retorted, wiping my nose and eyes.

His laughter subsided. “Let’s take a look
then.” He left me behind, heading for his game room and the giant
TV. Afraid I’d unleash my wrath again, I followed at a distance,
reflecting on the detail he pointed out. I hadn’t compared the
handwriting on the DVD to his penmanship on our fantasy list, which
would have helped confirm my suspicion. He powered on one of the
game consoles and shoved the DVD inside, before navigating to the
“play” option.

When the man walked onto the scene and
stripped off his clothes, Vince’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not
me,” he snorted. “That’s Cory.”

I stepped closer to the screen. “Who?”

“Cory Michaels, he works for the private
security company I own, Three Rivers Security Services. He’s often
part of my security detail.”

“Security detail? What does that mean?”

“Sometimes I use more than just Terrance as
a bodyguard,” he replied. “Look”—he pointed at the man’s
hip—“that’s a little tattoo.” He raised his shirt and pulled his
gym shorts down a bit. “I don’t have a tattoo.”

I switched between the screen and his skin.
At the angle, there was definitely some color on the man’s hip, but
it was hard to make it out with any certainty. It looked more like
a smear than anything else, a visual defect of the camera.

“I will say that I did hire him in case I
ever needed a double, as we look remarkably similar,” he said, “but
enough for you to doubt my commitment, my loyalty, my trust? That’s
painful.”

I studied the detail over and over. Was it
really a hip tattoo? “Why would this Cory guy make the video and
send it to me? It’s on your bed, Vince.” I stamped off into his
room. The camera was still set up, with more equipment arranged
around the bed. Taken aback, the anger swelled once more. “You have
the goddamn camera right here.” My voice must have hinted that I
was about to kill him, because he backed away, making sure there
were a few feet between us.

“I just bought that for us,” he tried
justifying its presence. “It’s on our list, remember? To make a
home movie?”