Chapter One
REINVENTING RULE ONE: Don't be the wheel! Observe, take stock of your life. Then DECIDE that you must change it.
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A storm was brewing. The air had smelled of rain all day. The sky was pitch black at a time when dregs of daylight should have still been present. That meant the rain would come any minute.
That morning, Camille had opened the dining room windows because the carpet was somewhat old and made the room musty. Fresh air hadn't helped. The day had been too stifling. But now a steady breeze whipped through the screen of the long window, swelling the heavy rose drapes and rocking the vinyl vertical blinds like wind chimes. Outside, tree leaves rustled in the wind, and there was thunder.
Inside, the lights were low, the table was set with fine china and a good dinner. A Barry White CD played. It should have been a perfect evening. But there was spilled chardonnay on the table, flowing out of an overturned crystal wine glass that had chipped at the rim when it hit the table. Evan was angry.
"I asked you a question, woman," he said. "Why the hell were you gone so long?"
His perfect teeth were clenched, and Camille cringed, saying nothing. It wasn't a question, but an accusation. The keen nostrils of his blunt, straight nose were violently flared. He stroked his neat, dark goatee thoughtfully as he leaned across the table to look at Camille up close, ignoring the spilled wine. Then he moved away. Camille audibly sighed. She watched him begin to pace, stalking the room. Evan was a big man, six feet three inches, but lean and knobby, giving his movements a kind of sleek glide. He had a generous forehead and abundant black brows shadowing bronze eyes that were cold and clear. Despite his clean-cut appearance -- a close cut, clean shave, and natty clothes from the men's shop where he worked in sales -- those eyes were dangerous.
She knew what this was really about: Evan's promotion at work hadn't come through. It always began like this. Out of nowhere. One moment he was calm and laughing. In the next minute he would be furious, flexing his hands as if he wanted to tear something apart. Shaking his head as if he was locked in a battle with his own thoughts. Nothing could reach him when things got that far.
Camille stared at her food, her whole body drawn into a single knot, and whispered, "Evan, please." Tears fell into her plate. She had held onto so much hope lately. Four months had gone by since the last incident -- enough time to make her think that things would work out finally. That she wouldn't have to leave Evan.
"Please. That all you got to say for yourself? I know you been creeping! Out with some punk!" A vein in Evan's neck stood out like barbed wire.
Camille measured out her words. "I went across town," she said. It was so hard to force the words out that she had to clear her throat and sip some wine. Her hand shook, and some wine slid down the side of the glass onto her palm.
"I went to that bakery you like so much. It was rush hour. Traffic was bad." She remembered to be careful with her tone.
"Is he better than me, Camille? Is that it? Some high-on-the-hog dude from work, I bet! Wearing expensive suits. Pushing a Benz. You like that kind of shit, don't you? 'Cause he can afford you and your expensive ass taste! Limoges, my ass!"
She watched in shock as the new dishes crashed against the wall and broke apart. Fettucini mingled with flakes of leftover caesar salad and a wedge of uneaten garlic bread, and dribbled down the wall.
"Evan, please don't do this. Please." Lightheaded with fear, she slid her chair out from the table.
A sharp line of lightning etched the sky, and the lights flickered. Camille thought about her purse near the front door where she always left it, just in case. Thankfully her keys were in her left pocket. She'd put them there when she had struggled with the shopping bags out of the car.
"Tell me his name, Camille. What he look like?" Evan's face was contorted. His brilliant brown eyes were narrowed to slits. Brow furrowed. Mouth tight. Chest heaving. He was ready to lash out.
Camille did the only thing she knew how to do. She tried to reason with him. Reassure him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. When it didn't she ended up bloody and once in the emergency room lying about how her nose had been broken.
"Evan, you know how much I love you. I swear, I would never -- "
In a swift moment she was blinded with a vicious slap and wrenched by the wrist from her chair. Her glasses struck the floor and a lens cracked. The room blurred somewhat. If she could get to her car, she could get her extra pair of eyeglasses and get away, but right now Evan was gripping her and yelling.
A flash of lightning whipped across the sky, snuffing out the electricity. The lights and music went dead. A blast of thunder followed. Evan was surprised enough to loosen his hold. Camille was quick enough to dash away from him. Her shoes were slippery from the pasta she'd stepped over in the dining room. She tripped by the coffee table in the living room and found herself flat on her stomach on the hardwood floor. For a second she was panicked and disoriented. The fall hurt. It almost knocked the wind out of her, but she forced herself to move and shimmied like a rabbit beneath the long sofa while she caught her breath and held her stomach in anguish.
No one who knew her would ever guess that this happenedto her. But it was as if when he beat her, she became someone else. It was almost as if she could channel a different Camille. Out of fear, she scaled down to the lowest denominator of a human, a kind of weak prey whose only thought was movement and whose single instinct was survival. She never fought back. She didn't dare. She struggled. She cried out. She pleaded. She protected her breasts, her neck, her face. Or she hid. Like now.
The house was completely dark, though intermittent streaks of lightning threw spools of brightness through the living room window. It wasn't raining yet, but it was on the verge. The tree leaves still rustled furiously in the wind, and thunder grumbled low.
"Woman, bring your ass out here! Now!"
Camille cringed. A splinter of wood from the floor poked through her sweater. The side of her face and mouth stung where he'd slapped her. She could taste blood in her mouth and from the throbbing in her cheek and eye, knew that her face would swell. Her wrist hurt terribly, and she thought it might be sprained. It was hard not to cry out. She was scared, sure that he would eventually smell her hiding place as he had before. But she'd never thought of the sofa before.
Camille wished she could see, but there was no light anywhere. She concentrated on trying to determine where Evan was. His footsteps resounded on the hardwood floor.
"I mean it, Camille," he said.
The calmness of his voice was a warning. The last time he sounded like this he'd rushed the locked bathroom door to get to her and had broken her nose. If she could just get enough time to slide out from her hiding place and get to the door, she could probably make it to her car. A loud crash almost brought her out from beneath the sofa.
Jesus, make this stop, she prayed silently.
"Shit." He had probably hurt himself somehow.
Things were being thrown.
"When I get my hands on you, girl..."
The rain started. It was hard, angry. Camille felt the bulge of her car keys in her pocket pressing uncomfortably against her thigh. Sweat caused her scalp to tingle. If she was careful, she could get to the front door now. With the rain, he wouldn't be able to distinguish the sound of her movements, especially since the windows were open. She inched. Evan was pounding toward the bedroom, raging.
With one hand, Camille pulled herself, sliding across the wa
