The S.O.B.

By Xlibris US

Wendy marries the man of her dreamshandsome, educated, ambitious Eric. Too late, she discovers that he is abusive. Ashamed to admit this to her parents, she learns to live with his constant mental and physical abuse.

After he attempts to kill her, she goes into hiding. Eric moves in with his mistress, Jasmine. However, Jasmine also discovers he is not the man she once loved and orders him out of her home.

Eric does not search for Wendy, but her parents report her disappearance to the police. When Jasmine vanishes, the police swing into action.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503527485

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Jo-Anne Southern.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/18/2014

Xlibris

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter-Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter One

May 1996

Tears came to her eyes. She had finished her book, a book that had taken her four years and many secret hours of research.

Now she felt exhilarated to see the end of such a large project. Then just as suddenly, felt deflated, as if something were missing. It occurred to her that it was the urge to write, to continue with the story, to pit her mind against the trials and tribulations of her heroine. ‘Silly’, she chided herself, ‘stop thinking in purple prose.’

It gave her a great deal of satisfaction to look at the completed first draft. She was well aware that the hard work started now: the editing and revision. Wendy had no misconceptions about the book being ready for publication. Writing magazines and books listed the many phases of readying a manuscript for a professional reading, and she was not yet at that stage.

She heard the slam of a door. Eric was home, back from badminton. Quickly she backed up her work, switched off the computer, shoved the pages of manuscript into a drawer and left the office.

Her husband, Eric, liked her to be waiting eagerly, liked her to sit listening admiringly as he related his latest conquests on the badminton court. Passing the mirror in the hall, she glanced at her reflection, smoothing back her hair.

He was a good husband, she knew and appreciated it, but for a long time she suspected he was not the man for her. Of course Eric was a young man on an upward spiral in the company and, as such, was a workaholic. The least she could do, he told her, was to support him and pamper him.

This was not easy. Eric had fixed ideas as to her role in their marriage. He pointed out that as the breadwinner, he did not need her meager contribution. He ordered her to quit work to stay home to look after him and the house. Wendy was not an equal partner by any means, as, although he gave her more than enough money for the housekeeping, it irked that he no longer permitted her to work, even as a volunteer. This meant her days were long and boring. Even her friends had learned better than to take her away from the house during the day because Eric liked to make telephone calls at unexpected times. He demanded her undivided attention.

For an attractive, and some considered beautiful, young woman, this inactivity enervated her. Wendy wanted to be among people, liked them and their dreams, was happy when in conversation with someone whose interests varied greatly from her own. For five years now she had molded herself into Eric's idea of the perfect wife, holding dinner parties with flair, dressing with care and wearing discreet makeup. He professed to be proud of her and continually told her what people had said about her, wanting to make her feel loved and appreciated. Unfortunately he spoke so his words always held a hint of a reprimand.

It was his mother’s fault, she often reasoned. His mother was a snob, a pain in the butt with her pretensions of grandeur. She doted on Eric so much that she hated Wendy for taking him away from her, and Eric, being an only child, was her world and only interest. When his father died in a car crash before his tenth birthday, she devoted herself making him into her idea of a perfect person. This resulted in his thinking the world still revolved around him: that other people were not as smart, not as good looking. Wendy, stars in her eyes when he asked her to marry him, had some misgivings, but reasoned she could change him once she had him to herself. That had not happened.

In reality, she quickly realized he did not appreciate her, no matter how she tried to please him. If she needed the car during the day, she must run him to work. Since Eric, an early riser, refused to travel during rush hour, they were ready to hit the road at seven-thirty a.m., an hour when she was barely awake. Then he worked to all hours of the night and called her to come get him. Surely he could afford a taxi on those nights, she had asked?

If my wife has my car and she is not doing anything but sitting around watching television, I consider it her duty to drive me home. That had rankled.

Never had he ever said ‘thank you,’ not for the driving, not for the cooking and catering, not the special care she gave to his clothes, not even for the fetching and carrying of cleaning, shoe repairs, library books, or even attending boring dinner parties given by other company executives where everyone talked business. Not that she wanted him to actually say the words ‘thank you’ but he could have shown his appreciation in so many other ways.

She smiled brightly as she entered the kitchen. Eric slumped in a chair at the table, sat drinking a glass of water. He looked moody. Probably because she had not been waiting for him.

Kissing the top of his head, she asked, Have a good game tonight?

His mouth turned down. Not bad. Played two sets with Arthur Bradley, the Personnel Manager. He's not up to much, though I couldn't tell him. His glasses need changing. I muddled through until Gerry was free and we had a good game.

She put on the coffee and took a coffee cake out of the freezer, popping it into the microwave to defrost. Hungry?

Not particularly. We had a salad before we left the club. Anyway, you know me. Exercise dulls my appetite. Only coffee for me… although maybe a sliver of pecan cake.

She moved around setting out the china mugs, the sugar and cream, plates and forks for the cake.

Eric watched her. She knew he liked watching her and moved with a minimum of motion, moved gracefully. Already she sensed his displeasure that the snack was not waiting when he arrived. He detested what he called her 'rushing around'.

Sit, tell me about your day, he said, pulling out a chair.

She sat, recognizing his annoyance. This mood was not good at this time of night. Once Eric lost his temper, she often paid dearly for whatever sin she had committed - and who knew with him, it could simply be the way she wore her hair.

I walked to the library, and later I bought you two new Clive Cussler books.

Good. He nodded. She wished he didn’t stare at her as she talked. If he looked interested, she didn’t mind, but she found his intent staring unnerving.

I took in the cleaning, bought fresh vegetables, then met Eunice and Angie for lunch. We stopped in at the book store and browsed the new releases.

Buy anything?

Not a thing for me, only your books. I dropped in for tea at the tea rooms and met with Joanne, Brenda and Anne. Then we had a meeting of the ladies of the company. She smiled.

Every week six of them met for tea at Granny's Cottage Tea Rooms. They could vent their spleen against their husbands’ company, talked about the rotten rules and regulations inherent when making a medical claim on the company policy. Talked about the bosses, the president, the way their men had to conform without rancor, no matter how much their feelings were hurt. It was cathartic and gave the women strength to continue for yet another week.

The men knew nothing about the activities of the wives' club, did not know the reason for its existence, contented in thinking it agreeable their women got along so well together.

What's the latest gossip?

Eric always thought she might tell him something not already broadcast on the company grapevine. The things she heard she never repeated; friendship meant more to her than gossip.

Not a thing. Nobody had any news.

Did you stay home for supper?

She nodded. Yes, I had the casserole left over from Monday and a salad.

Good, good, you must eat properly if you are to maintain your girlish figure. He caressed the back of her neck with a warm hand. He smiled at her and she relaxed. Turning to kiss his wrist, she rose and fetched the coffee pot to the table.

Talk from then on was about him, about his game, about what Gerry had told him, what Arthur had let slip. He talked about a new project, about his chances for promotion.

Wendy's face was attentive, her eyes keen as he talked. That was the way he liked her to look when he talked. Yet she heard none of it, because her mind was back on her book. Already in her mind she had started editing. She smiled. If he ever discovered she spent all her free time writing, he would become enraged. Eric thought she should use her time in furthering his career by entertaining the right people, talking to those who could help him by gaining entrance to their circle through their wives. She was not rash enough to mention her writing.

Chapter Two

May 1997

Wendy looked around the newly decorated living room. Since Eric's promotion to Vice President, they did even more entertaining for the company. Because of this, the company paid half the cost of renovating the dining room and living room. Eric, never one to do things by half measures, had fetched in an interior decorator and told Wendy not to interfere.

The new furniture was plush and comfortable, the area rugs on the newly finished bleached oak floor were the best quality, the drapes matched the cushion covers. Wendy personally thought it was like something out of Architectural Digest, much too lovely to ruin by having people in to make it look untidy.

The dining room walls were resplendent in a layer of pale green watered silk. The decorator had refurbished the Queen Anne table and chairs. It was lovely. Everything was lovely.

Tears came to her eyes, tears of frustration. None of this was for them. It was all for the company, the blasted company had taken her husband away and substituted an unfeeling, arrogant bastard, a stranger.

Her mind drifted back to when they were dating.

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1990 August

He's not very outgoing, is he? Ernie Watson said at the breakfast table. Wendy, eating her corn flakes, looked at him with surprise.

He's not comfortable with you right now, Dad. He doesn't know you.

I think he's a nice young man, Wendy, Mary said stoutly, looking at her husband, a warning in her glance. She's right you know, Ernie, you can't expect him to open up to you right away. Why, when I first met you, I was speechless.

You were? Ernie laughed, Why would that be? Because of my good looks and winning ways?

Oh, Ernie, Mary laughed, You were so sure of yourself, so much in charge, and the way you ordered those other guys around made me think you were bossy. I didn't like you at all. She patted Wendy on the shoulder. Your father frightens most people, me especially. I've been cowering and scared since the day I said I do." She laughed, and Ernie and Wendy joined her. Ernie was a real sweetheart, never hurt anyone. He was giving and open with everyone.

Well, what I mean is, the lad hardly spoke to me, Ernie said, It was like pulling hens’ teeth to get him to talk. Only said yes or no. Whew! I was trying to make him feel at home, but he wasn't having any of it.

Eric's bound to be shy on meeting you for the first time, Dad, Wendy said, He wants to make a good impression.

He'd better start opening his mouth, then, Ernie said, I'm not an ogre.

Next time, Dad, next time he'll talk to you. Give him a chance. Don't scare him off.

Ernie looked flabbergasted. Honest to God, when have I ever scare off a lad? Tell me that.

Wendy laughed. Well, what about Patrick, remember him?

Ernie pointed at her. Oh, that idiot. I can’t fathom what you ever saw in him. He was a cretin and you weren't serious about him, anyway. You told me that a long time afterwards.

"Still, I might have been, Wendy said petulantly. Then Mark. He took off like a scared rabbit after you talked to him for ten minutes. He never told me why he dumped me."

Yet your father was right about him, Mary said, smiling. Spending a long holiday at Her Majesty's Kingston hotel now, isn't he?

Wendy shrugged. Yes, well, but I didn't know he was a crook, now did I? Anyway, then what about Stephen…

All right, all right, enough with the names, Ernie said testily, rising and folding the paper to take with him to the office. I promise I won't scare this one. All right? It that what you want to hear?

Wendy nodded Yes, please, Dad. I really, really like him and I don't want you messing things up. I shan't bring him here again if you start anything.

Ernie left whistling cheerfully.

Don't worry about your father, Wendy. I'll talk to him. He worries about you a lot and it wouldn't matter whom you brought home, he'd find something wrong with him. Nobody is good enough for his little girl. She kissed the top of Wendy's head. He doesn't worry about the boys like he worries about you.

She bustled around, setting the breakfast dishes in the sink. They say a girl is her mother's child, so the bond will never be broken, whereas a son is his own man and will only come to his parents to beg and brag. Your brothers don't help matters much. Look at the females they've brought home over the years, and yet neither of them ever gives a thought to marriage. Having a good time is all that concerns them.

I've got to go, Mum, or I'll miss my bus. Wendy grabbed her purse from the counter along with her lunch bag.

Take care, dear, Mary said to an empty house as she heard Wendy slam the front door in her usual fashion.

As she walked to the bus stop, Wendy mused over her parent’s reaction to Eric. Eric was a snob, everyone saw him as such, so she knew he could never unwind enough to talk man-to-man with her father. Dad was a bus driver promoted to the office and this menial position went against him. Eric only conversed with those who had a college education or held a top echelon position with a company of note.

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Mary had a quiet cup of coffee before she started her day. Earlier she had put in a load of washing, ready now for the dryer. Her Mondays were always the same, washing and ironing, clearing the house of the weekend clutter, shopping for milk and bread, watching a soap opera while she ate her lunch and then the day was hers until time to make supper. Sometimes the day flew past so quickly that she did not have enough time for everything.

She was happy. Mary Watson, a content homemaker, loved her life and her family. They lived in a comparatively luxurious home in a good part of town. She had her own car. Ernie was a good husband and her children were well mannered and obedient. No, she did not see where she could have done better than she had.

Mary had realized Wendy was serious about Eric about two months earlier, intuitively sensing this was the young man her daughter would marry. When Wendy admitted she loved him, wedding bells were definitely in the picture. Wendy and Eric had such a lot in common, Mary thought, although enough differences of opinion to make a good match. To her, Eric was much too snooty, too full of himself, but then she did not know him like Wendy did. From mother-daughter talks about this new boy friend, it transpired that, although Wendy held strong views on many things, she and Eric debated the points as adults. Even when they agreed to disagree, they honored each other's right to have their own opinion. Wendy could do much worse then marry Eric, so Mary considered him a catch for her daughter. His snobby attitude rubbed her the wrong way, but if Wendy loved him, that was good enough for her.

Eric Armstrong was a comer. With his feet firmly planted on the corporate ladder, he expected a promotion into upper management within the next two years. An accredited electronics engineer, he also held an MBA, PhD, and a BSc. He was intelligent and personable, with a charming smile. The world was at his feet and, if he continued to mature in the business world, she could well see him being CEO of the company, or even of his own company. Mary considered Wendy lucky.

As she folded the dried towels and sheets she thought about the wedding, for she was sure they would marry, no matter what Ernie thought. For years she had put money away, money taken from the housekeeping. She had enough now for a lavish affair. A wedding people would remember and she knew Ernie wanted to splash out on his only daughter.

If only the wedding was not so close, if only Wendy was not leaving them so soon.

Chapter Three

June 1997

Eric sat doodling on his pad as the meeting plodded along. Soon it would be his time to speak and he knew exactly what he was going to say. His superior, Edward Roth, presently waffling on about sales, kept nervously clearing his throat before every sentence. Then he noticed how people were beginning to squirm and yawn because he was a lousy speaker.

. . . and so I hand you over to Eric Armstrong, Edward said collapsing into his chair, clearly glad he had finished his report.

Good morning, gentlemen, Eric started, beaming on them. He knew he looked good. Yesterday he'd had his hair styled. Today he was wearing a new navy blue suit with a white-on-white shirt worn with an understated and expensive tie.

He smiled around the table, acknowledging the meeting's participants. Eric knew his smile was one of his most useful assets. Strong white teeth. A mouth full of cosmetic dentistry had cost his mother thousands, but oh how the investment paid off. This smile, added to his handsome features and dark blond hair, gave him a look of someone you knew, someone connected with the movie set or the jet set, and Eric used his looks to his advantage.

Today, he said in his carefully modulated voice, I would like to talk about the direction the company is taking. It is imperative we consolidate, restructure, and improve our bottom line. No longer can we afford to carry employees, who while having worked for us for years, seem satisfied with the status quo. It is time to move on, time to cut out the dead wood and bring our company into the world of today. The fast moving electronic world, a world of vision, a world of change.

Eric talked smoothly, his voice low but full of expression. He believed every word and held their attention, though not many of his associates liked Eric. He was too crafty, too fond of back stabbing for their liking.

This year we must consolidate a plan for our future, he continued. It is critical to our future success, and while I believe downsizing some departments will undoubtedly improve our efficiency, we must not cut needlessly. Cutting for the sake of cutting, is futile. All culling will achieve is a good bottom line at the year end, but bring disaster the following year. We must be cautious, we must be circumspect, and above all, be fair to those we deem expendable. He looked around the table and nodded.

Many companies have drastically downsized and are now suffering. Take Brook and Welland, for example. They trimmed their staff to the minimum and almost had to close their doors because of immoderate pruning. Later realizing their mistake, they tried to hire a people back and most who were approached laughed in their faces. Those employees who opted to return did so at a far higher salary. No, better we think about this carefully, weigh all the consequences of our actions.

Eric looked around, noticing even Edward was alert. Any questions? he asked.

One raised hand. "Surely the President should take this decision? Why are you talking about it at this low level meeting?" asked Gil Stevens, the Accounting Manager.

A good point, Eric said, I’m talking about it because it is inevitable. I’m talking about it because it concerns each and every one of us. It could well be they’ll give half of us a golden handshake, so it’s up to us to be aware of what is happening in today's business world.

"All well and good, but what can we do about it? Al White snapped. I mean, the Board is going to decide. It doesn't matter what we in middle management have to say."

Eric smiled. Ah, but it does matter what we say. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say. We can make or break this company when the downsizing starts and it is up to you, the actual hands-on management to sway the board away from immoderate slashing. You need to have facts and figures at your fingertips, be aware of every up to the minute rationale for each job under your command.

Yes, but are they going to listen to us? Gil asked.

Eric smiled. How stupid these men were. Why could they not see what he saw? They will see the minutes of this meeting for a start. They will know we have talked about it and are making preparations for their directives. If we sit back and ignore the problem, give it no thought, most of us will probably find a pink slip in our hands. We surely don't want that to happen, and neither do we want to lose valuable staff. I suggest we carefully analyse our departments, sort the wheat from the chaff, have a game plan ready.

Edward stood. Time to stop the discussion before it ran into real time. Thank you, Eric. Today Frank is going to talk about cafeteria problems… Frank?

Eric sat, miffed his boss had cut him off, even as he smiled and looked attentively at Frank who was busy sorting out a pile of paperwork pertinent to his dialogue. He sighed quietly. Frank was always on the bandwagon with cafeteria complaints, bad food, bad service, lack of variety, high prices. They had all heard it a million times before. Edward, slumping back in his chair, looked as though he might doze off any second.

When he got back to his office, Eric listed the department employees and their positions, knowing it was inevitable they fire half of them. It was always the same with publicity and advertising. The board always deemed them expendable and they were usually the first to go. The bigwigs looked on creative positions as time wasting. Well, he’d be well prepared for anything the upper echelon threw at him.

As for himself, he had no doubt at all of a transfer into an executive position elsewhere in the company if they chopped the advertising area. The VP Administration had already advised him.

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May 1991

Wendy sang as she set her hair. Tonight she and Eric were going to a supper club where the company was honouring a departing manager leaving after thirty years contribution.

While earlier she had looked on it as a celebration, she came to realize it marked the end of a dedicated man's business life. It irked her when Eric laughed, saying they were putting out the man to pasture, and not a day too soon. Over the past few months she had learned little things about Eric that bothered her.

A large diamond flashed on her finger. They had been engaged now for nearly six months, and in a month they would be married. Already Eric had bought them a house, a custom built three-bedroom split level in the suburbs situated on a cul-de-sac of expensive custom homes. Each weekend they were looking at furniture so by the time they