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The Blonde, the Brunette and the Vengeful Redhead
Robert Hewett
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The Blonde, the Brunette and the Vengeful Redhead
Robert Hewett
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An adulterous husband, a meddlesome neighbour and a dropped ice-cream cone are among the circumstances that combine to shatter the life of suburban housewife Rhonda Russell.Everyone has their own story to tell about the day that Rhonda went beserk in the shopping mall. And who's to know where the truth lies? With the best friend who might have egged her on? With the husband who denies responsibility? Or with the victim's family whose lives were changed forever? And then there's the story of the vengeful redhead herself, but she's probably the least likely to know what really happened.
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ACT ONE
Rhondaâs story
The mournful sound of a woman keening.
A door slams shut.
Rhonda Russell enters. Over forty, red hair, wearing a raincoat.
She frantically searches her pockets, but comes up empty-handed.
She searches her handbag and pulls out several items, before replacing them, not having found what sheâs looking for.
Rhonda What is happening?
You werenât going to say anything, Rhonda.
You werenât even going to go there!
Think, Rhonda, think.
Was it Lynetteâs idea?
Lynetteâs been the best neighbour a girl could want. Especially in times of crisis. A real âfriend indeedâ. So how⊠how?!
Rhonda addresses the audience.
You see, it was Lynette who saw them this afternoon. Down at North Course Plaza.
Outside McDonaldâs. I mean, Graham rarely eats McDonaldâs. The only time in living memory that I can remember Graham eating fast food was after weâd been to Bob and Gay Thornycroftâs reaffirmation of their wedding vows.
The food at Bob and Gayâs was so bloody awful, Graham made me pull over on the way home and he threw up out the car window.
Then he asked me to pull into a McDonaldâs so he could line his stomach before heading to footy practice.
Graham loves his footy. Heâs the oldest member of the team. Some weekends he spends more time on the bench than on the field.
But he usually gets a kick in the last ten minutes. Especially if theyâre losing by a big margin. No harm done then. And he does love it.
Anyway, my neighbour Lynette saw Graham, and this blonde, down at North Course Plaza this afternoon.
I mean, he moved out two months ago. Got a flat.
Graham wouldnât tell me where. Hardly said a word, really. When I sit down and think about it, which I do, often, well to be honest, I find no real reason for the breakdown of our marriage.
The whole episodeâs been a bit surreal. Thatâs how Iâd sum it up, anyway. No real screaming match. Nothing like that. Not really Grahamâs style. He just shuts up. You know, closes off.
When Grahamâs in a mood like that itâs like trying to have a conversation with a block of wood.
âHow was work today, Graham?â
âAll right.â
And thatâs all I get out of him for the next fifteen minutes.
Well, this night he walks in the door and I say, âHello, Grahamâ.
No verbal response, just a nod.
âYou want to go over to Lynette and Dennisâs tonight?â
âWhy?â
Thatâs all. Not hello, howâs your father, nothing but âwhy?â
And Grahamâs walking out the kitchen door, down the hall, out of sight into our bedroom.
Well, the phone rings, doesnât it?
Lynette, of course. On the phone quicker than Flash Gordon.
Sheâs seen Grahamâs car pull into the driveway and wants to know if weâre coming over after dinner.
And I lie, and say, âBe there straight after, donât go to any trouble though, Lynetteâ.
I hate lying to a friend like that.
Anyway, one morning I get this phone call from Graham.
Heâs at work, and he says heâs moved out.
Moved out?
I mean, when someone, when your husband, in this case Graham, my partner whoâs been living under the same roof for the past seventeen and half years, says something like that to you, well, you donât necessarily jump straight in with the right questions.
Well, not me anyway.
Am I stupid or something? I donât believe I am.
I was in IT before I met Graham.
On the ground floor in Research and Development.
Had quite a few colleagues in Silicone Valley.
Oh yes, I had those opportunities, but when you marry, you have to make choices.
And for me, having a family was utmost.
Our first and our second pregnancies⊠well, I lost both.
And then we had Damien.
Life-changing event. Wonderful.
Made everything worthwhile.
Once Damien was at school, I tried to get back in, but technology was so advanced⊠The dogs may still be barking, but the caravan had moved on. Well and truly.
Originally, I was very successful in IT, perhaps not so good at marriage.
You see, I thought Graham meant heâd moved out. You know, into another office at work.
Not moved out of our home.
That concept just didnât connect. Not in this head.
But that, in fact, is just what he was talking about.
Graham was talking about our home.
Our marriage. My life.
Him and me.
Graham Russell and Rhonda Russell.
And Graham Russell was telling Rhonda Russell, me, that heâd moved out of my life.
That is how my brain began to compute the information.
In blocks.
Until I finally put all the blocks together and the picture became clear.
âOut where, for Godâs sake?â
Graham didnât have anywhere to move out to.
You do need a little more than your briefcase and your lunch to move into a place by yourself.
But it was in that instant, the microchips were working a little faster now, that another thought occurred to me.
Perhaps, just perhaps, it might be that⊠that, Iâd almost successfully blocked the thought, but it was now oozingâwell gushing, reallyâthrough the cracks in the old brain.
Perhaps Graham wasnât moving into a place by himself.
Whoawh!
Hold your horses!
All right, Rhonda. Allow your grey matter time to compute.
Step back.
Acknowledge, but donât necessarily accept.
This is dangerous territory.
Wheels are already in motion.
Thatâs what this phone call is about.
Think, Rhonda, think!
Iâm flying blind in my own kitchen!
Think, brain! Help me, for Godâs sake!
Grahamâs leaving, or rather has left our home. And he isnât necessarily moving into a place by himself!
Right. This, of course, was hindsight.
I was still coming to terms with the first words heâd uttered.
âIâm moving out.â
Itâs not the sort of phone call Iâd ever had at nine-forty on a Wednesday morning. I was barely in the back door, from dropping Damien at school, picking up some dry-cleaning and getting some worming tablets for the cat. Thatâs where my head was at.
Whatâs more, I ducked into a No Parking spot outside the vetâs, because thereâs never a park, and got a bloody ticket!
Bastard.
So Iâve just walked in the doorâparking ticket, dry-cleaning and worming tabletsâand the phone rings and itâs Graham.
And my life has changed irrevocably.
Rhonda bends her head, covers her face with her hands. She fights back tears. She pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve, goes to wipe her nose, then sees that the handkerchief is covered in blood. She screws it up in her hand and conceals it in her pocket.
You know what I did after I hung up?
I moved about our house, almost as if I was not inside my body. I watched myself ever so calmly hang the dry-cleaning in the wardrobe.
Opened Grahamâs side to see, yes, there did seem to be odd bits and pieces missing. Could be in t...