Chapter 10 Anna—Naughty cats and Ponzi schemes
Anna’s phone buzzed as she left work on Saturday.
Mason. She’d had brief messages from him over the past few days, but nothing revealing.
It was becoming more and more difficult to respond in a cheerful tone.
She’d begun leaving kisses off the end of her messages, but if he realized, he didn’t say anything.
Mason had tried to call her the night before, but she’d been busy eating chocolate mousse and doing anything that didn’t involve speaking to him, so didn’t answer.
Mason: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Special night in? Dinner and *eggplant emoji*?
Anna: Ugh, no eggplant please. Real meat for me thanks.
Mason: You know what I mean *winking emoji*
She sure did. And her response still stood. He could keep his weak-ass eggplant breakfast sausage.
Anna: Maybe. Btw, am getting rid of the sofa. It smells like pussy.
No response. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Appeared, then disappeared. Anna began to panic. She couldn’t confront him now. She hadn’t warned Shane, or had any fun yet. She hastily typed out another message.
Anna: I know, I know. You told me to keep Barnabus off it, but he loves sleeping on that sofa. Now all I can smell is that cheeky pussy cat! Please don’t hit me with ‘I told you so’ *sad eyes emoji*
His response was instant. She could picture his relief. What a dick.
Mason: Ha ha! Yes, that fat-ass cat loves the sofa. We’ll choose a new one soon. See you soon Princess.
Princess? Fucking Princess? Why the pet name now?
She didn’t want to be Princess all those years ago and she didn’t now.
She was Lady Fucking Anna. Or Tinkerbell, she thought with a flush.
She hadn’t missed Shane’s glances at her.
His intense stare when he thought she was looking elsewhere.
It was flattering to have a man’s attention when her self-esteem was in the gutter.
The phone buzzed again. Ugh, give it up Mason.
Reading his texts was worse than having an itchy groin.
Shane: FYI. *image attached*
Shane had sent several screenshots of a text conversation between April and Mason, presumably sent during the actual real conference when they were apart.
April: I can’t believe you got me the Hermes bag! I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
Bitch, you’re no girl. You’re a whole-ass woman and a homewrecking cow.
Mason: Of course, babe. You know I love you. I wish I could spoil you more, but I can’t draw too much attention. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your husband.
April: Fuck him. You can take care of me! I don’t need him. I love how down-to-earth you are. You don’t seem like a trust fund baby, and I sooo respect you for that. Let’s just do it. Anna’s free ride is over.
Mason: Give me a bit more time babe. I want to let her down gently. We need to do more research on apartments.
Yeah, Anna thought bitterly. I bet he needs about another four months. Trust fund baby? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Where was he getting the money?
Fucking hell! The banking app. She fired off a text to Shane.
Anna: Wtf? He’s no trust fund baby. That’s my trust fund. Or it will be in four months. That asshole is planning to take my money.
Shane: This is fucking hilarious. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is perfect. April will lose her shit.
Despite her anger, Anna found herself smiling. It was perfect, in several ways. First, he was infuriating her so much that her sorrow and heartbreak were turning into righteous fury. The pain wasn’t as sharp anymore. With each new betrayal, she hardened her heart and became stronger.
She scrolled through her phone and selected Mason’s mom’s number.
“Anna, darling, how are you?” Marla chimed. She was a sweet woman. Kind, giving, and warm. Anna felt a sharp pang. She would lose Marla. Marla would lose her.
“Hey Marla, I just wanted to check in with you. How’s that hip?”
“I’m getting there. I won’t be doing the polka any time soon, but I’m walking well and exercising every day,” Marla answered.
“Um, I just wanted to tell you that I know it’s been hard for you, and we haven’t been in a position to help you beyond a few hundred a week, but we’ll be able to pitch in more soon,” Anna stammered.
Silence.
“Honey, what do you mean? I’m fully covered by insurance. Do you mean the Uber meals you sent me? Please tell me you didn’t pay hundreds for some quiche and curries?”
Proof. More proof. That was how he was funding his affair.
But a Hermes bag? And presumably more. That was more than a few hundred a week.
That asshole had to have taken out a personal loan with Hudson’s.
The ‘mom rehab’ money had to be a repayment.
How much had he fucking borrowed to have to pay that back each week? When had it started?
She rushed through her conversation with Marla, keen to end the call and pass on her intel to Shane.
Anna: Hey GI Joe (yes, if you give me a nickname, I give you one). I think he’s borrowed money. Better not have used my name or forged anything.
Shane: He’s gonna regret that investment. He’ll have to sell April, and she’ll get way below market value. Don’t stress about loan. He’ll be in legal trouble if he’s used your name. Thanks for Snickers cupcakes btw.
Anna: My pleasure, Joe. Baking helps me with the anxiety that having a cheating asshole of a fiancé tends to bring.
That was mostly true. But really, she’d baked because he mentioned he loved Snickers bars, and she had inexplicably wanted to make him smile.
Wanted to give him something, anything, for making her feel grounded and safe, like she had someone in her corner.
He could be grumpy at times, but he was softening.
She felt like they were becoming friends.
She had her girls of course, but having someone equally as affected by the cheating felt like being in the world’s smallest support group, just the two of them.
She had one night left before Mason’s return, and she planned to use every second letting her inner petty out. It only took a few hours to sign his number up for every Ponzi scheme, sales offer, multi-level marketing scheme, and time-share pitch she could find.
Why yes, Children of Eden, I would like more information about your cult, I mean “your community” she thought, typing Mason’s name and number in the information field. Scientology? Of course I want more information.
Oh, yes, I definitely need an information pack on herpes emailed to me, Anna smirked as she typed in Mason’s details.
You and Erectile Dysfunction: It’s Not the End. Yes, he also needs that information, Anna mused. I am so thoughtful. Oh, and yeah, he definitely needed the free e-brochure on how to safely navigate the BDSM scene as a male sub. Bless the internet. The world’s information at her angry fingertips.
The sexual health clinic a town over thankfully had a “contact us” page where you could select a callback option.
Hi, I think I have pubic lice and chlamydia, and my testicles have pimples. How do I book in for testing. Please send all the information you have on testicular health. Mason Quinn.
She typed in his number and email. Okay, what now?
That felt good at the time, but it was done now.
Time to plan for the reunion. She couldn’t do too much to him in person without tipping him off and she definitely wasn’t going to take one for the team and fuck him when he returned.
Would he even shower off his mistress before coming to her with his sad eggplant?
Time to plan for her loving fiancé’s much-awaited return.