The Unicorn

I dropped what I was doing and flew up. I went straight from the airport to the studios. Mom met me at the gate and the security guard acted like he didn't want me inside. Mom got right in his face.

"If you value your job you'll get out of the way. His wife is Jen Foster, the star of the ads. There seems to be some concern for my future daughter-in-law's well-being. You have a choice, obstruct us and have the cops swarm the place, or get out of the way."

He moved aside. Mom turned back when we were almost out of sight to see him dialing. "You need to put that phone away, boy. If we find anything wrong and discover you warned someone, believe me when I tell you when Jaime is through with you you'll wish you'd been arrested."

Mom filled me in as we walked. "She's in the director's office with him and one of the associate producers. Jen has been pale and shaky for two days and I'm sensing something bad happened but she won't talk to us about it. When we showed up for the meeting they shoved me and Beth out the door and locked it. She's been in there 45 minutes."

I had a full head of steam when I walked into his office suite. A receptionist tried to stop me and I ignored her. Then his chief assistant decided it was his personal duty to make sure I didn't get through the door. He was still unconscious an hour later when the cops got there.

I kicked the door open just in time to see her in a corner, holding an office chair. Her blouse was ripped and she'd been crying. Jack was standing there grinning. "If you don't get out of those clothes right now, I'll make sure your husband sees the tape." He was waving a phone at her while the associate producer was grabbing at the chair.

Jack turned when the door exploded, just in time to see the fist connect with his jaw. I broke it and when he hit the floor I got a couple of short ribs and nailed him in the crotch. He was on the floor gagging when I turned to the other man.

"Wait just a minute! If you don't..."

I took out his kneecap, then gave him a knee to the face as he fell. Just on general principles I kicked him in the balls.

Jen screamed and collapsed, out cold. I was hugging her, kissing her face, when the cops got there.

It was a really good thing Jen was rich, because they tossed my ass in jail. I was charged with trespassing, aggravated assault (three counts, one for each asshole I put down), felony trespass, breaking and entering for kicking the door in, and a few more things I don't really remember. My bail was one-million, which Jen promptly posted.

The truth came out in the discovery process of the trial. Jen had been dosed with a date rape drug two days before the altercation at a cocktail party for the release of the commercials. They almost raped her, stripping her down to her panties, when Jen had a sudden flash of sobriety and nailed Bob in the balls. He let out a high pitch scream that had people pounding on the door. They managed to get Jen in bed before opening it, saying she'd had too much to drink and they were caring for her. Beth had also been dosed with sleeping pills and was also out. A couple of the women there were models with minor roles in the commercial and clustered around Jen, even though Bob threatened them.

Jen recovered but knew something had happened. She had gone to his office to confront him when I arrived on the scene. It had gotten ugly; to the point Jen was holding the chair and screaming for help. How did we know all this? I grabbed Bob's phone before the cops got there. He was using it to film Jen fighting back, taunting her. There was also footage of them in the bedroom stripping off her clothes and talk between the two assholes of what they were going to do with her. There was also footage of two more women who had been drugged and raped.

I gave it to the D.A., warning him I'd made copies and if justice wasn't served the footage would go viral. Even if he got away with it in court, the court of public opinion would sink his career. There was a big debate over whether the footage was legally obtained, but in the end the authorities hadn't taken the phone, I had, and I'd given it to them claiming there was evidence about Jen on it.

It was said Bob fainted when the cops hauled him in for questioning. They'd already gotten to the producer and he'd rolled instantly, trying to save his ass. Bob tried to get Jen to drop the charges, offering her a million. She laughed. "His lawyers will end up costing more than that. I consider it money well spent."

It never went to trial; Bob saw the writing on the wall and struck a deal. In exchange for a guilty plea on lesser charges, he got five years at a Camp Cupcake, eligible for parole in thirteen months. He also had to register as a sex-offender, a charge that effectively ended what was left of his career. The two women he had molested earlier were suing him in civil court and it was a pretty good bet he'd be broke by the time he got out.

I didn't plan or sanction it, but I heard he had a pretty interesting incarceration. He got beaten up a few times and found out what it was like to be the victim of an unwilling sexual encounter. It might have had a tennis court, but it was still a prison.

The producer wasn't so lucky, doing seven months in a regular minimum security prison. I don't know if he had a pleasant stay. I do know he got busted for fighting and had to do another four months.

The receptionist and assistant withdrew charges when they were told the D.A. was thinking of charging them with aiding and facilitating rape.

The owner of the perfume and the executive producer were beside themselves with anger, and regret for what Jen had to go through. They promised her the next shoot, unless she wanted out of the contract, would be in another location with a crew she had to approve of before shooting started. She thought about it and decided to finish the contract. Her next shoot was scheduled for Miami for the summer ad and Aspen for the winter one.

*****

I avoided jail time, but it was a close thing. When it went to court the lawyers portrayed me as a man willing to do anything to save his wife from rape, pretty easy to do because that's what happened. I was on probation in the state of New York for a year and they firmly suggested I spend my vacations elsewhere. Not a problem. They had to make an exception for the first probation visit, but managed to transfer it to my home state for the rest.

Jen recovered in time for the wedding. I was all for postponing it until she was more settled and she surprised me by how vehement she was in refusing.

"Not no, but hell no! I need this, honey. I want good memories, not to wake up with nightmares like I did for a while."

So it came to pass that an average man wed a millionaire supermodel in a small country church on a sunny June afternoon. The service was beautiful, even though we had to hire half the cops in our county and surrounding areas to keep the hordes of reporters away. A few of the more slimy ones were arrested, which they couldn't believe, and held in jail until the wedding was history. The rest took the hint and pretty much behaved.

Two hundred or more cameras clicked like mad when we exited the church. Jen's face was glowing and she was so happy she blew kisses at the reporters. The cops got a laugh out of the fact the reporters would not have another opportunity for pictures because we got into the small helicopter that we'd flown in two days before and hidden, lifting off and away before they could react.

We expected a few reporters initially because she was still rich and famous, but her attack and subsequent legal action pushed her right back into the limelight. It got so bad we had to fence our property and have security guards for a while. It developed into a game. The guards would tell us where they were hiding and I'd grab the shotguns and clay targets. We'd set the thrower so the targets would be well into the air but directly over their heads before we shot. Jen was really good at it, and she'd die laughing when they would break cover and run, pieces of clay raining down on them. A few tried to press charges, but the Sheriff just shrugged. "They have a legal right to discharge their firearms on their own property, as long as it's before eleven at night and after daylight in the mornings. Not much I can do about that. You shouldn't be dumb enough to be standing on a skeet range."

We vacationed in a warm climate on a small private island. On the third day I told her it was time to get on with the baby-making and she laughed, rubbing her tummy. "This isn't fat, baby. I'm ten weeks along."

*****

I rolled over, looking at the smooth back of the love of my life. Our thirtieth anniversary was in three weeks. We were going to spend it on the same little island as our honeymoon. Now, though, we owned the island. The original owner did not manage his money well, and when he had to sell it, Jen bought it without telling me. We'd owned it for ten years, and it was the preferred vacation spot for our family. J.J., Jen Junior, had chosen to follow my footsteps and went into furniture design. The only thing that disappointed me with her choice was she preferred to work in plastic and metals. She won awards, so I guess it was all right. She did insist that I make her rocker when she and her husband announced they were pregnant. Her daughter is eight, and Grandma Jen is her favorite babysitter. I think she likes me, too, but it could be the little figures I carve for her.

Our son Eric chose another path and became a lawyer. He married, then divorced two years later. She went for the money, only to discover he had none except for his salary. He was a little leery of women for a while. Then one day Jack showed up. He had stayed in touch over the years, and managed to make one weekend a summer to fish with us. His new wife was a little overwhelmed at first. She caught a nice bass and it was off to the races. Alison had bonded to her really well. She was eleven when they married, a time when a mother's guidance was welcome.

Bonnie had never had children but was soon as protective as a mother bear. I pitied the first boy who dared ask Alison out. She'd probably know everything about him going back four generations before he rang the doorbell.

We were at her maternity shower and she cried hard when we gave her the rocker. Jack wanted to buy it, but we insisted it be a gift. It was going to be a girl. Poor Jack didn't have a chance.

Fast forward twenty-six years. Jack came by with his family for our annual fishing expedition. By then our kids were grown, but they participated, both having learned to love the water. We had to have several boats, so we rented a couple of pontoons. The old people ended up together, and the younger ones paired off on the others.

J.J., her husband and three kids went with Alison and her second husband and their three kids collectively, one from his past marriage. That left Eric and Jack's youngest daughter Melanie. You could hear them arguing over the water a few times and we looked at each other and sighed. Eric was divorced and Mel had broken up with her long-time boyfriend two months before the wedding. He was pissed because he had to sign a prenup specifying he could never touch any inheritances she might receive, and took it out by screwing her best friend. I don't think he meant to get caught, but he did, and she had him out of HER apartment the next day.

Whatever they argued about, they must have resolved it by the time we got back to the landing. Everyone went back to the house to clean fish and prepare for the big dinner we always had, except Eric and Mel. They wanted to go on a sunset cruise. We just smiled and one thing led to another. They married fourteen months later, and they just announced their first pregnancy. Jack came to me later in the evening, wanting me to help him build a rocker. I was more than happy to help. They didn't have a prenup, insisting it was not necessary. Jack told me he never felt more confident in his life when he tore up the papers he'd prepared.

Jen made me retire at fifty, though I still occasionally made a rocker or bedroom suite for old friends.

I found myself thinking of her first husband every once in a while. Steve had everything he could ever want and was just too greedy, ambitious, driven? Pick a word. He just couldn't be happy with what he had, and he had it all. I regret his death and feel a bit guilty about my happiness occasionally, but I get over it pretty quickly. Deep down, I'm sure they would have divorced if Jen had found out about the vasectomy. I regret thinking negative thoughts about him, he was always a friend to me, but his priority should have been his wife and her happiness. If he couldn't give it to her, he should have told her and let her go. I don't think he would have ever done that, he was too proud of the perfect wife on his arms at dinners and events. I don't think he ever realized his fantasy wasn't real, that Jen, for all her beauty, was just a woman, a woman who needed love, respect, and attention from her mate. Seems pretty simple, doesn't it?

*****

I had a friend from my childhood whom I had lost touch with over the years. I did invite him to the wedding, surprised as heck when he showed up with a beautiful woman on his arm. After that, he was an infrequent visitor, always stopping by on his way to somewhere.

Lenny, to be kind, was not a handsome man. His force of personality made him rise above the pretty people around him so I could kind of understand the relationship. Despite his average looks and quiet dress, Lenny was famous. He wrote his first novel at twenty-nine, his first best seller at thirty-three, and had a string of very successful novels at fifty. Seven had been made into films. We didn't even know he knew how to spell.

I was reminded of him as I looked at Jen's flawless back. We were sitting at a table as the reception was winding down, talking. He always had an odd sense of humor, and he'd been laughing all night. Jen finally asked him what was so funny.

"You guys. Not in a ha-ha way, though. You're the stuff of myths; proof that unicorns exist."

Of course he had to explain it. "Most people don't know this, but I honed my craft when I was young by writing erotic stories on a couple of free sites. My editor suggested it, saying it would give me a fan base when my novels came out, and I came to enjoy it. I'm compulsive about research, so before I wrote the first word I studied the genres. There's a recurring theme that's laughed at, about a rich supermodel who falls for an average guy who'd had his heart broken by a faithless wife. Other than the faithless wife part, you guys are it. I'd write about it but no one would believe it."

Jen thought about that for a while, even looked up his old free stuff. That led to a few adventures in the bedroom and some pretty frank discussions. All good ones. One day Melody and the girls came by, laughing as they piled into Jen's SUV for an afternoon out.

That night I noticed a bandage on her shoulder. She assured me it was just a minor procedure she had done, something so simple she didn't want me to bother about. Three days later she came out of the shower with some medicine in her hand. "Honey, will you rub this on my shoulder. The man doing the procedure said it would help it heat quicker."

Like I was gonna say no. I just froze when she turned her back. The procedure turned out to be a tattoo, something she told me she'd always wanted but didn't get while she was modeling. She said she worked with girl that had tattoos and how much longer they had to stay in the makeup chairs to cover them for a shoot, so she held off.

The tattoo was of two unicorns, a male and a female, necks entwined while they nuzzled each other. The artist was the best she could find, and the colors were vibrant, the details painstaking. It was beautiful and I told her so, promising to kiss it when it healed more.

A year after J.J. was born the tattoo was modified, showing a little unicorn beside the couple. After Eric, another was added on the other side. The artist asked permission to show them in a magazine article about his work. It was the last time Jen modeled, looking over her shoulder with a smile, her bare back glowing while the tattoos looked like they were ready to trot off her shoulder. It became the cover photo for the issue. The artist was suddenly turning down work from all kinds of famous people because he was swamped. Some wanted the same tattoo but he refused. Part of the agreement of her letting him show the tattoo was that he never did another, and he honored his word.

I kissed the little unicorns, and lingered over the big one. Jen cooed and turned, pulling me into her. Sometimes, just sometimes, fairy tales come true.

*****

This is my event story. When I set the parameters to the writers who participated, it was to be about a wife who was far richer than their mates. I had a darker story started, but shelved it for later to do this. And like I said, this was about unicorns.

I hope you like it, and I want to thank all those who participated, especially Bebop 3. It would have never gotten off the ground without him. I also want to thank Randi for editing and the rest of my friends for their encouragement and support.

Q