Authors: Devon Scott
Obsessed (8 page)
Chapter 17
The rest of the day is trying for both of them.
Michael finishes out the day attempting to work from home but gets very little done.
Kennedy can do nothing but worry. She sees her entire career imploding before her face. She has no one to call—Kennedy has plenty of friends, coworkers whom she confides in and, of course, family members, but none of them can know what has happened. How do you tell your best friend or your mother that nude photos of you and another woman are making the rounds?
Michael suggests she lie down for a few hours. But Kennedy, being the motivated, high-metabolism woman she is, can’t stomach taking a nap in the middle of the day. She tries to work, but her mind won’t concentrate on anything.
Why on earth would someone do what they had done to her, humiliate her, practically ruin what was, up until today, a stellar career?
She can’t fathom it.
As she sits on the couch in the family room, the stereo set on low to a smooth-jazz station, she reflects on the woman in the photo.
What transpired between them occurred almost four years ago. She and Michael had gone down to Belize for a winter vacation. Zack had stayed with Kennedy’s parents in Atlanta. They had hooked up with this woman—whose name escapes her now. They had met at the resort, shared lunch and a good number of drinks, then frolicked in the pool together before retiring to their hotel room later on that evening. The encounter had been a wonderful one. Unrushed, plenty of foreplay, and enough interaction and attention to satisfy both Michael and Kennedy. The next day they had gone back for seconds and thirds, as Kennedy recalls without the usual grin. What had happened to the woman? They had exchanged contact info, as they sometimes do with partners, but had never heard from the woman again. Not too surprising given their circumstances.
What happens in Belize stays in Belize....
Could these photos have been sent from the woman?
Not likely.
They never shared the pics with her or anyone else, for that matter. As far as Kennedy knows, the photos have been on their external drive all this time.... Only Michael would know for sure, but he doesn’t share the intimate details of their sex life with anyone without her permission. Those are the rules, and up to this point, she’s never had any reason to think Michael could be up to something behind her back.
More likely, someone had gotten into the computer. But how? And more importantly, why?
Those questions would keep her up tonight, sleepless and frenetic, craving answers....
Michael offers to pick up Zack and grab some dinner. Kennedy is grateful for the quiet. Her husband has been really wonderful, attending to her every need this afternoon, but his actions are beginning to grate on her nerves. She hasn’t been able to do much—and talking about it just makes her angrier than she already is.
They return around seven o’clock. Zack runs in, backpack clad and full of energy, with Michael behind him, pizza and breadsticks in tow.
To Kennedy’s surprise (and that of Michael), she actually dozed off while Michael was gone. She had been on the couch with her laptop when she fell asleep. Michael notes that she still looks depressed, but at least she’s putting on a happy face for their son.
They eat their pizza while hearing about Zack’s day. Afterward, he retires to the family room and the Xbox 360. While cleaning up, Michael notices the message light on their cordless phone blinking. He reaches for it to retrieve the message.
It’s from a woman. No one he recognizes.
“Hey, you. I just wanted to say that I’m running late, but I’m on my way. I can’t wait to see you. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Thinking about the wonderful things you always do to me when we’re alone. Well, guess what? I can’t wait to be alone with you tonight. I’m wet just thinking about it and of you. See you soon . . . Ciao bella.”
Michael stares at the phone. He hits a key to replay the message. Listening to it, he eyes Kennedy curiously. She catches his gaze and raises an eyebrow. Finally she asks, “What is it?”
Michael hands the phone to her. “A voice mail from some woman—no name.”
Kennedy puts the receiver to her ear and listens. Her eyebrows crinkle. She presses a button and frowns.
“From an unknown number,” she says, checking her watch, “left about a half hour ago.”
“You didn’t hear the phone ring?” Michael asks.
Kennedy shakes her head.
“Nope. I told you, I dozed off. I’m surprised I didn’t hear it, though.” Kennedy saves the message and hangs up. Her brow is still furrowed. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Wrong number?” he offers, knowing it sounds lame.
“After everything that’s happened? I don’t think so.” Kennedy struggles to keep her voice even, with Zack in the next room.
“I disagree. It probably comes down to nothing more than a wrong number. The message isn’t threatening—it doesn’t reference you or me by name. It contains nothing that points to us or to something we’ve done. I think it’s simply someone misdialing and not realizing it.”
“Okay. But to be safe, I’m thinking we should call Joe.”
It takes a few seconds for Michael to process what his wife has just said. He turns and faces her, his cheeks suddenly flushed.
“Absolutely not!” Michael does nothing to hide his anger.
“Keep your voice down!” Kennedy grabs his arm and leads him into the den, out of the earshot of their seven-year-old.
Voice low, her stare locked onto his, she says, “Joe is a police officer and—”
“And your ex-husband. No fucking way I’m getting him involved in this. I don’t want him seeing naked pictures of my wife with another woman.”
“Michael—I don’t want that, either. But things are happening that neither of us can explain. First that hateful e-mail on AOL. Then compromising pictures of me with a woman e-mailed to my job. Now some chick leaving messages on our answering machine. It may not affect you that much, but this shit has blown me away. And I’m not about to sit back and let nature take its course. We need to do something.”
“Yeah. We do. But Joe isn’t an option. End of story.”
Michael glares at his wife before marching away.
Chapter 18
Ten-eighteen
PM
.
PM
.
Michael presses the button on the remote, powering down the wall-mounted plasma. They’re in bed, a king-sized espresso-stained oak bed of minimalist design. Matching nightstands against a soothing blue wall, blue/purple/black bedspread, and blue and black pillows create a calming setting. It is what is needed right about now. He glances over at Kennedy, who is struggling to get comfortable under the weight of the covers.
“You okay?” he asks carefully.
Kennedy settles toward the edge, away from him.
“I guess.”
“Heard from Jackson yet?”
“Nope.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, with a trace of sarcasm.
Michael nods to himself. “I’m sure you will. It’s a bit premature for him to call you without any facts.”
“You sound just like a lawyer.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I just wish he had called. It’s driving me crazy, not knowing if I have a job to come back to.”
“Ken—you’re the general counsel to the association. They have no grounds for firing you.”
“Of course they do. Whether or not I had anything to do with willfully sending those photos, my conduct outside of work does not bode well for me.”
Michael knows this to be true but stays silent on the issue.
“You need to stay positive. There are a number of likely outcomes. Don’t focus on the negative ones.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Michael is quiet for a moment.
“Have you tried calling Daniel?”
Kennedy glares at him.
“And say what?”
“Sweetheart, you and he are close. He doesn’t bullshit you, and he won’t now.”
“I’m his boss.”
“So what? Who else in that office can you really trust? He’s the one. So call him—if for no other reason than to check in and see what’s going on.”
Kennedy plays with her hair for a moment, twisting the ends around her finger. Michael watches her closely.
“Maybe.”
“It’ll make you feel better.”
“Okay.”
Kennedy slips out of bed and reaches for her BlackBerry. Michael watches her speed-dial her assistant as she crosses the room toward the window. She parts the curtain, glancing down to the deck and small backyard that abuts a narrow alleyway. A six-foot-high wooden fence separates their backyard from the alley.
Daniel comes on the line after several rings.
“It’s Kennedy.”
“I know,” he says, voice animated. “How
are
you?”
are
you?”
“I’m okay. Actually, that’s a lie. I’m frustrated, angry, and scared. Other than that, I’m fine.” She tries to smile, but it comes out flat.
“I am
so
sorry, Kennedy. Is there anything I can do to help?”
so
sorry, Kennedy. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Kennedy is appreciative of his concern.
“What’s the word around the watercooler?” she asks.
“People aren’t saying much. They know what happened, but Jackson did a good job of squelching further dialogue.”
She asks, “How so?”
Daniel snorts. “You know Jackson. He pulled us all together as soon as you walked out the door. Told us to not discuss this situation with anyone and to immediately delete the e-mail. He said in no uncertain words that anyone found to have forwarded the photos to anyone, either internally or externally, would be summarily fired, no questions asked.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I think he’s been personally calling anyone outside the association who may have been on the distribution list.”
“Okay. I’m glad to see that he went to general quarters on this.” Kennedy looks encouragingly at Michael. He nods imperceptibly. “Does Jackson know the extent of the . . .” Kennedy searches for the right word. “Extent of the e-mail distribution?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it. I do know that Reggie came in a little after lunch and began working on the problem from the technical end. He went around to each one of our machines and did some techie stuff—I assume he made sure we deleted the message and didn’t forward it on. He checked your computer, too.”
“Okay.” Kennedy’s mind is racing.
Daniel pauses, anxious to ask the question that burns in his mind.
“So, do you know who sent the e-mail?” he asks.
“No, I don’t. Either someone gained access to my home computer, or . . .” Kennedy stops; she decides Daniel does not have a need to know anything further. “Anyway, I would appreciate it if you’d keep me informed. Call my cell anytime, if you hear anything. . . .”
“I will, Kennedy. Anything else you need for me to do in the meantime?”
Kennedy slides back into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. “No, that’s all for now. I need to speak with Jackson and find out what his next steps are. Thank you, Daniel.”
She ends the call, places the BlackBerry on the nightstand, and lies flat. Michael extinguishes the light, and their room plunges into darkness.
“Sounds like that went well,” he says.
“It did.” Kennedy fills him in on the details.
“I’m glad Jackson acted promptly. Now your office mates can’t sit around gossiping about you. They’ll forget about this incident very quickly. Something else will take its place shortly. Life will go back to normal.”
Kennedy doesn’t respond. She turns onto her side, facing Michael. He can’t see her but faces her nonetheless.
“What was her name?” she whispers.
Michael moves closer.
“Who?”
“The woman we slept with in Belize.”
Michael thinks for a moment.
“Ana.”
“That’s right. I had forgotten.”
“Really? I thought she was quite memorable.”
Kennedy smiles for perhaps the first time this evening.
“Yes, she was. I meant her name, not what we
did.
”
did.
”
Michael places his hand on Kennedy’s shoulder and strokes it softly.
“We never heard from her after our trip.”
“No, we didn’t. She didn’t give us her information. As I recall, you gave her our e-mail.”
“Yes, but she never wrote to us.”
“Right.”
“And you never sent the photos to anyone else.” Kennedy hasn’t phrased this as a question, but Michael knows it is.
“No, sweetie, I didn’t.”
Kennedy processes that.
“I’m scared,” she says after a momentary pause.
Michael moves closer, until their bodies are touching.
“I know you are. But we’ll get through this, I promise.”
“It doesn’t make sense. It feels like someone is trying to get back at me or at us for something. But what? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I know. It doesn’t add up.”
“And yet, those pictures are definitely of me. And of her.”
Now it’s Michael’s turn to process her words. Husband and wife are silent, alone with their thoughts for a moment more. Kennedy breaks the hush first.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asks.
“You know you can.”
“Is there someone on the side?”
“Where did that come from? Of course not.”
“Someone is angry with me. With us. This feels to me like the actions of some scorned lover.”
“No, Kennedy, there has never been anyone on the side. I think you know that.”
“Then how do you explain what is happening?”
“I can’t, Ken. I’ve been pondering that very question ever since you first called me this morning. We haven’t fucked anyone over. We haven’t messed with anyone’s spouse or partner—”
“As far as we know,” Kennedy interjects.
“I guess anything’s possible. But we’ve been upfront with those we’ve hooked up with. We’ve been careful about providing too much personal information. We don’t do this close to home, so that we aren’t running into folks we know. So I’m not sure what it could be.”
“And yet, today my entire job found out that I’m bisexual.”
Michael pulls Kennedy to him, wrapping his arm around her. Her head goes to his chest.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re a damn good person, Kennedy. You’re a loving wife, a devoted mother, and an excellent attorney. You work hard, juggle your family responsibilities like a pro, and yes, you play hard, too. That’s not a crime.”
Michael feels the tears on his chest. He strokes his wife’s hair.
“Then why, Michael, do I feel like a criminal?”
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