1.2 Vivienne

It took all of her strength not to claw the eyes out of his smug, stupid little face. A little more pressure, and the acrylic tips of her manicured nails would have snapped clean off in her fists. “I’m not going to whore myself out for a movie, Liam!” Vivienne snarled. “No matter how much money it makes at the box office. I’m not some goddamn toy, asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The slap came so quick and so sudden that Vivienne didn’t even register that the impact had happened until the pain came a few seconds later. “You do not raise your voice at me,” Liam hissed in a low, dangerous voice. “This is my office. Bought with the money that I made. I made you who you are. Without me you’d be nothing more than a starving, working-class tramp scraping by on minimum wage to pay the bills. So, unless you want bad things to start happening, I suggest you apologize right fucking now.”

Vivienne wanted to scream. Wanted to yell that things were already bad, and how much worse could they get? But deep down she knew the answer to that question.

Lowering her head, she swallowed her saliva and pride in the same motion. “I’m sorry.”

“Good girl.” A heavy hand landed on top of her head. Two pats. Perfunctory, like she was a badly behaving dog that needed to be soothed. Humiliation and bile welled hot in the back of Vivienne’s throat, even more astringent than before. “Now, how about I treat you to a nice lunch, huh? Get some food in you so you can think straight. Something with plenty of chocolate.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and Liam clicked his tongue harshly. “Fix yourself up and go see who’s at the door, won’t you? I’ve gotta clean up in here.”

No one had knocked on the door, but a body was visible through the frosted glass pane embedded in it. Vivienne glanced at her reflection in the mirror off to the side, knowing that she needn’t bother. Liam’s attacks never left bruises. He knew how to direct the force of his blows so that there was never any visible sign of assault. The only proof present was a subtle reddening on the right side of her face. Nothing definitive. The kind of thing his employees could guiltlessly avert their gazes from if they didn’t want to lose their jobs here.

Plausible deniability was the name of the game.

Liam’s secretary stood on the other side of the door, her eyes pointed somewhere to the left of Vivienne’s temple. “Ah, Mrs. Hardison. You look lovely as ever,” Alice (or was it Alexa? Elena? No, Elena had been fired two months ago) smiled politely as she stepped in. “The mail just arrived for Mr. Hardison.”

“Ah, wonderful. You can put it on my desk Allison.” Though he said that, he followed the woman over to the table, standing a little closer than was necessary. Vivienne couldn’t help feeling a little superfluous, as though she were the one intruding. She loathed the sting of tears behind her eyes. She was almost grateful that Liam had hit her. The ache in her jaw made it easier to be furious than despairing. “Let me just go through these and we’ll talk properly over a meal, alright honey?”

Talk? She scoffed under her breath. You wish. As if empty words would placate her at this stage. It had been years now, and Vivienne was over being sweet-talked into submission. He always did this. Revealed the monster hiding beneath layers of tailored Armani, then played the part of the doting husband when it suited him. A brave face was hard when every day was an exercise in walking on eggshells, never quite sure which version of her husband she would be confronted with.

There was only one reason that she hadn’t put her foot down and left, but maybe enough was enough. Vivienne had done her research. The statistics were clear about what happened to women like her, and that her only hope was to get out fast. All she had to do first was tell him right then and there.

Liam, it’s over.

Liam, you’re a piece of shit. You ruined my life, and I’m leaving you.

Liam, I want a divorce.

The sound of rustling papers suddenly paused, and Vivienne lifted her head to see what the reason was. At the table, Liam was holding an unmarked, unlabeled brown envelope. There was no address, nor were there any postage stamps on it. There wasn’t even a name written on the front. Heartbeat coming so fast that she could feel the blood in her face, Vivienne parted her lips to speak. “Liam, I–”

“Shut up,” he interrupted sharply, and something about his tone caught Vivienne’s attention. She had never heard him sound so worked up. He sounded almost…afraid? What could be so frightening about a single letter?

Perhaps they were overdue bills? From where she sat, Vivienne noted that the paper looked awfully plain for a government document, but she knew her husband. Or at least she knew his spending habits. Liam spilled money like it was going out of style. Melanie often joked that the man’s overblown ego wrote checks his ass could never hope to cash in, both metaphorically and literally.

Liam’s eyes suddenly went wide, and he shot to his feet. “Change of plans,” he barked. “You’re going home now.”

“What?” Vivienne sat up. “Why? Did something happen?”

“I don’t have time to deal with your questions! Just do as I say, woman.” Liam was sprinting all over the room, yanking open drawers and cupboards. Files and folders clattered to the ground, sending the contents flying all over the ground. To Vivienne’s bemusement and shock, her husband began shoving several into the shredder. “Get out!”

“No!” She stood her ground. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on?”

The man whirled around to snarl at her, sweat pouring down his forehead in spite of the air conditioner being on full blast. “Vivienne, I swear if you don’t leave, I’ll–”

“You’ll what?” Vivienne rolled her eyes, doing her best impression of someone confident despite the way her heart fluttered like a terrified bird in her chest. “You’ll hit me again?”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Liam let her know it with a daggerlike stare. “Go home, Vivienne,” he spoke slowly. “And if I don’t find you in the house when I get back, you won’t like what happens next.”

Terror gripped her chest, and Vivienne quickly scrambled out the door. No eyes followed, but she kept her head down and eyes on her feet as they rushed her from the office building and out into the warm May afternoon. The fresh air helped clear her head, but unfortunately brought no other relief. No ideas, no respite, nothing. She had nowhere to go. Liam controlled her finances, so she couldn’t hope to get a hotel room or rent an apartment. Even if she dipped into her safety funds, those wouldn’t last forever, and the punishment when he found her might be a thousand times worse than if she simply obeyed.

Maybe should just go home, but when Vivienne tried to drag her feet over to the side of the road to hail a taxi she found that she could not get her body to move. Her feet remained planted on the ground, and her fingers gripped her purse hard enough to puncture the delicate leather. She wanted to call Melanie, but the bright red BUSY next to her display icon put a damper on that idea. Her best friend had told her that she was working on a project and would be in a meeting with the commissioners all day.

I’m on my own, Vivienne sighed softly and lifted her head to stare up at the late spring sky as though it held all the answers. From the heat, anyone would be forgiven for thinking that summer had come early, but the sky overhead was shrouded in greying clouds. A single droplet of water splattered on her forehead, then another. Instinctually, she reached for her purse, only to stop when she remembered that she had left her compact umbrella at the restaurant while escaping the creepy producer. There was an umbrella stand in Liam’s office, but Vivienne would rather walk blindfolded into oncoming traffic in the middle of rush hour than go back in there.

Bracing herself, Vivienne managed to sprint beneath the teal-blue awning of a nearby shop seconds before the sky parted, pelting the streets in a torrent of heavy rainfall. While she caught her breath, the woman watched other people hurrying to get out of the rain. Jacket hoods went up and umbrellas popped open, mostly monochrome shades interspersed with fun patterns. Cars sped past, careless of the wet asphalt and the pedestrians who might be splashed.

Vivienne took a careful step back and inhaled just as the door of the shop behind her chimed open and a stressed-looking businesswoman barged out, bringing with her the smell of coffee beans and sugar. Turning around, Vivienne realized that the window looked into a small coffeeshop. The name Havana Summer Point curved across the glass, flanked by the silhouette of palm trees and a stylized sun.  

It was unlikely that a cup of coffee would fix her problems, but there was no harm in trying. Moreover, Vivienne winced at the clap of thunder, I clearly won’t be going home in this weather. Perhaps the delay caused by the rain would convince Liam to be more lenient.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee combined with the warmth of the café almost sent the woman to her knees. Quickly getting a grip on herself, Vivienne let the door swing shut behind her back and took in the interior with interested eyes.

It was smaller than she’d expected, and nearly empty. Without the earlier businesswoman, there were only two other people seated in the retro-style room. Running a hand through the damp curls of her hair, Vivienne lifted her eyes to the menu on the wall. It was one of those artisanal places, she noted with some amusement. It was the sort of place that put a lot of time and energy into the coffee beans, and their preparation. It was too bad that Vivienne didn’t know the difference between a doppio and a cortado, let alone what blends to ask for.

Whatever. Coffee was coffee. As long as it was hot, sweet, and kept her out of the maelstrom going on outside, that was good enough for her.