Joe Rendace's Downfall - Allison's View/Chapter 1

Meet Allision Vincent.
She  just wants to be happy. Not too much to ask. 
Unless everyone either wants to sleep with you or kill you. Or both. In any order.

Get a glimpse into what makes her tick, and the ticking time bomb she will ultimately need to defuse or destroy to save her life and marriage.


Genre: Thriller

Downfall, a novel by Joe Rendace, details a tense three week period in the marriage of Joe and Allison Vincent, where dying means never having to say you're sorry. 

Www.JoeRendace.com
Check out the novel and screenplay.

Transcript

CHAPTER 1


ALLISON’S VIEW


Day 2

Thursday December 11, 1999
4:00 p.m.


Beauty is a curse.
I knew women scoffed at such a cliché. I heard the saying so many times that the darn thing stuck in my head. I was living proof of it. There was not much I could do about it. If I wore pretty clothes, I looked like a whore. If I wore sweatpants and my hair in a ponytail, some men found me to be a “natural beauty” that looked even sexier because I was not trying to be. Never a pimple in my life, I was the target of jealousy from the sufferers. As if it was my fault. I made them break out. I made myself avoid blemishes. How ridiculous. How completely and utterly ridiculous. As if that was not enough, any girl over 5’ 8” made sure to periodically lambaste me for being a petite 5’ 4”. Apparently, guys only liked shorter women. When you heard that for long enough, you started to believe it. They made you believe it.
So, by blossoming early in my teenage years, I was not only subjected to the whispers of the lesser endowed, but the boys that pursued me fell into one of two categories: shy or sex starved. The shy, nice boys were self-conscious and thought I was too pretty, so I couldn’t even get a harmless kiss out of a few dates. The perverts just thought I must be cheap and wanted a piece of my pie. Either way, I lost. By the time I met Joe, I was starved for attention from someone interested in me from my neck up. All things related back to childhood fears. Mine were no different. To some extent, I was probably guilty of some of the criticism. Although, to finish with one more cliché, “If you got it, flaunt it” wasn’t exactly the reason I dressed “questionably” at times. A low-cut blouse was not meant to say, “look at my breasts.” It was a testing device to see if a man had any interest besides the obvious. Joe was one of the few who passed the test with flying colors. He would stare into my “beautiful brown eyes,” as he called them, and never once gaze south. It was enough to make me fall in love with him. Although lately, I started to believe that Joe was just a great actor.
After all, his profession was sales and people could not hide their emotions forever. Joe was no exception. To the best of my knowledge, and when I could get him to let me in his head, work had been going pretty well. His boss Marcus was rude, but he had given Joe larger accounts to manage. Maybe that caused the mood swings. I tried to consider those points, sometimes trying too hard to make excuses for him. But I made a vow to God at the altar.
He was my husband, for better or worse.
In a way, he wasn’t much different than Victor. Joe has accused me of mothering my little brother, but I had no choice. Our mom died when we were young. My father, my poor father, never recovered from her passing. I knew I had to step in. To save my family, I had to “step up,” as Joe said often in his silly sports lingo way. But it was true. Victor took Mom’s death harder than I did. The five-year difference allowed me a little better perspective. Because I was more of a “daddy’s little girl” and Victor was closer to Mom, it hit him from all sides. At times, I felt like he was more my son than brother. Either way, he was family. I made a vow to God standing at my mother’s funeral. Victor would always have me by his side.
He was my brother, for better or worse.
It made me sad that Joe didn’t have any brother or sisters. If he did, he may have understood siblings a little better. But, once I met his mother, it wasn’t a massive surprise. Agnes was melodramatic. Her idea of motherly love was smothering in an overly possessive way. I doubt she could have handled more than one child. I tried my best to be the good daughter-in-law; shopping for her, taking her to the cemetery to visit her husband’s grave. You name it. I even went as far as to give her a sorely needed makeover just before Thanksgiving. What did I get?
The turkey was dry.
Not a word about the effort I put into cooking or trying to make her feel better about herself. Instead, all I got was a slight look in my direction as she mumbled under her breath about how beauty is no substitute for brains.
Beauty is a curse.
“Beauty?”
The sound of the man’s words snapped my trance. I turned to put a face to the voice, smiling at the gentleman behind me.
“Excuse me?”
“Beauty.”
I was still baffled and grew peeved at his little game, squinting and shaking my head before returning to my position in line. The supermarket express line moved too slowly for my benefit.
“Is that Beauty, miss? Your perfume? I think that’s what my wife wears but I’m so bad with smells and names.”
Thankfully, my head was still turned away from him. Embarrassed, I turned around, armed with a smile.
“I’m sorry. Yes, it is Beauty.”
His white teeth flashed a victorious grin. And yes, I understood the hypocrisy of my feelings on beauty while wearing a fragrance of the same name. My husband bought it for me. The least I could do was wear it if it made him happy.
“Wow! She will be proud I finally noticed the scent!  Well, maybe not.”
As he laughed, I gave him a polite smile. He was a rather attractive man for 40-something years old. Nice salt and pepper grey hair and just enough age in his face to signify wisdom.
“Well, tell her the lady at the fragrance counter was wearing it.”
I turned back to keep the line moving but he trumped the silence before my polite banter could have been considered over.
“Are those Cheese Doodles on sale? I know our church choir singer loves them.”
Church choir? I wouldn’t have taken him for the type. Stepping forward to keep the line moving, I turned back in his direction.
“Which church?”
“Saint Ascension on Mulberry St. Haven’t I seen you there?”
Though I didn’t belong to that parish, my mother-in-law did. Agnes somehow guilted me into taking her every now and then, especially when Joe was away on business trips. My last time there had to be eight months back.
“Umm, no. I think you are confusing me with someone else.”
“Hmmm. Maybe. Although if I’m right, the lavender flowered sun dress you wore was quite unmistakable.”
My gaping mouth gave me away. I knew the dress he meant. It was not a good guess. Knowing he had me, his smile grew from ear to ear. Thankfully, there was nothing sexual in his approach.
“Wow, two for two! I can’t even beat my kids at any of their memory games!”
He admitted to kids. Shocking. I didn’t think every man wanted me, but like his so-called percentage, I had the miserable luck of batting close to 1.000 when it came to being hit on. I was mildly surprised at his banter; he was open, honest and respectful. Joe could have learned a thing or two from him. I placed my groceries on the belt before giving him his due.
“Your kids would be proud. I think you…” shoud tell them that they are great 
That’s one.
“…should tell your kids and choir and wife how lucky they are to have…”
That’s two.
“…such a devoted father, dedicated parishioner…”
Strike three.
“…and faithful husband.”
In reality, I never paused in my sentence. In the course of my reply, I had opened the top buttons of my winter coat to reach the interior pocket for my change purse. His initial glance at my cleavage was done quickly. That was fine. They were all allowed one look. After all, they were men. When I looked down to pull out the money, I raised my head quick enough to catch his second viewing. The glance had graduated into a look. Though only an instant, I had been through this enough to be able to turn my conversation on a dime.
By the time I received my change from the cashier and turned back to finish my sentence, he was in a full, gawking stare, lost for a smile. After an awkward moment of silence, he snapped out of his trance and re-established eye contact. Aware he was caught, his endeavor at a smile was too late. The smirk across my face, said it all.
“A respectful, faithful husband.”
I grabbed my bag off the belt, leaving his embarrassment in the surrounding snickers of the cashier and customers. Frustrated by the lack of respect I had to deal with all around, I entered my car and headed home. My husband would be home shortly, and I had cleaning to do.