Mrs. Julia S. Windom relaxed in a vintage claw-foot bathtub. She savored the warm water and the sweet aroma of the bath oils. Sudsy bubbles modestly covered her nakedness. Several cream-colored, unscented candles of various heights and girths adorned the edge of the tub along the tiled wall. Each flame fluttered and undulated in a leisurely manner.
All this unnecessary anxiety is beginning to get unbearable, Julia thought as she lathered her hands and fingers with a bar of moisturizing soap. The sooner I can get some things out of the way and over with, the better. I just want to get to Belize as soon as possible.
“Iris!” she said. The bathroom door had been ajar and she heard her personal assistant/secretary skitter down the hall.
“Yes, Mrs. Windom?” Iris said as she stood outside the doorframe. She pushed open the door a little. Julia’s back was to the door. She wore a white terry-cloth towel neatly wrapped around her head in a twist and scrubbed her long treacherous-looking deep-red fingernails.
“Nails of death,” Julia’s husband, Jack Windom, once had called them. How she had hated it when he’d said that. Likewise when he’d snippily remarked about her middle initial S for “selfishness.”
“Have the reservations been made yet?” Julia asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Windom,” Iris said. “We report to the ticket counter first thing tomorrow morning at six o’clock. Our flight from Paris to Belize leaves Charles de Gaulle Airport at approximately eight o’clock our time. I have the necessary information down for you, flight number and all.”
“Good enough. Where is Jack, by the way?”
“He’s still at the meeting with Mr. Reginald. He said he’d be here some time later.”
“Be sure to let Peter and Dolph know. You may go now.” Julia dismissed Iris with a flippant wave of her hand.
It appeased Julia to know that this would be her final night in Paris. She told herself she would never return to Paris for any reason, whether it be business or pleasure.
Better yet, she thought, make that I shall never return to this wretched place again. That is a promise. Thank goodness for Belize . . . and Antigua. As for Jack, he is not worth the powder to blow him up. After all, I am worth more than my weight in gold. All in all, the bottom line is, it is going to be the end of him.
She picked up a white loofah and gently scrubbed her shoulder as she worked her way down to her forearm.
At the Paris branch of World Ecological Corporation, ten-foot-high windows along the length of the entire office took in the views of the city at night, which glittered and sparkled like gems. Black walls with shades of gray and streaks of silver defined the large conference room on the twentieth floor. Thin squiggly lines of white and gold accented the walls, which gave it a futuristic appearance. Voices of two businessmen who spoke in hushed tones under dim recessed lighting intermingled with the hum of the air conditioning.
“As CEO and financier for World Ecological Corporation,” Jack Windom said to Mr. Reginald, “I can see why the likes of my wife wallow in greed and strive for more material wealth. It’s very apparent why she married me all those years ago.” Jack paced quietly on the black-and-white lacquered marble floor.
“You’ve talked about this before, Jack,” Mr. Reginald said. “Why are you bringing this up again?” He sat comfortably in a black leather executive chair and leaned back from the buffed, glass-topped conference table. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands together.
“Well, I’m merely suggesting that I know what my wife may be up to this time,” Jack said. “She’s a grabby-assy, money-hungry, power mongrel who doesn’t know when to quit. I intend to put a stop to this nonsense before it goes any further, and I would need your help.”
“How do you propose, sir?”
Jack walked over to a wall with an ornate built-in bar, which had tempered glass shelves and overhead lighting. “Well, for one, you’ve got the law on your side,” he said as he pulled a bottle of cognac from the shelf and poured some into a brandy glass. “Being my corporate attorney and right-hand man, you know the loops, the ins and outs. I’m looking to create some business and financial setbacks for her.”
“You’re looking for a way out from under her.”
“Very perceptive, aren’t you?” Jack gulped the cognac and refilled the glass. “She knows a lot of people and then some. She has a little too much of everything: money, properties, stocks, bonds, hedge funds, CDs, an IRA, jewels, residuals from the films she’s made, and so forth. I’m afraid she’s become more affluent than me. All in all, I want what’s rightfully mine. I know a divorce won’t do. Somehow, I’ll figure out a way to make sure she’s completely out . . . of the picture.”
He poured himself another glass of cognac and downed it.
