The Flanagans of Fairfield County, Connecticut - Chapter 1
Ellen Flanagan of Darien, Connecticut hadn’t wanted for anything in over twenty years. She had married her husband Terry, now a very successful hedge fund manager at the ripe age of 27, and he had etched out a comfortable life for the two of them in this quiet bedroom community on the gold coast of the state.
They had spent nearly twenty three years in the same house together, raising one daughter who had only just recently enrolled at UCONN, and the couple enjoyed the things that one would imagine a hedge fund manager and his wife to enjoy.
Ellen and Terry belonged to the Noroton Yacht Club which was just a few blocks from their house, as well as the prestigious Roton Point Association in nearby Norwalk, where they were known for their competitive play as doubles partners on the tennis court.
Neither of them were very good golfers, but Terry paid full membership dues at Roton anyways because he would often bring prospective clients there to impress them.
Ellen had a hard time adjusting to the empty nest after her daughter went off to college. The five o’clock glass of chardonnay that Ellen liked to have every evening as she prepared dinner now came at two or three in the afternoon, partly out of boredom but also to numb the aching pain that comes along with an only child flying the coop.
She volunteered at Saint Luke’s Parish fifteen hours per week, and when she wasn’t there she tended to her garden in the backyard of her sprawling home. Ellen also hung around at Roton Point, practicing her forehand and sipping cucumber waters with other wealthy housewives of the area.
She gossiped on the patio at the club over wedge salads, deviled eggs, and bloody marys. They could go on for hours about recently divorced members of the club and while outwardly she would express sorrow for the broken up families, inside she reveled in the misfortune of others.
Back before her life began to unravel, she would snicker at women behind their backs who were victims of adultery or irreconcilable differences. Why she did that she wasn’t totally sure. To her peers at Roton Point and Noroton, her marriage was perfectly healthy. She would come home after a few drinks at the club and eagerly await Terry’s return home from the office in Manhattan on Friday evenings.
Terry spent most weeknights crashing at a highrise apartment on the Upper East Side alone. His office in midtown Manhattan was simply too far of a drive from Darien to justify driving back every single night, and if he was being totally honest with himself he enjoyed the solitude that the muli-million dollar two bedroom spot afforded him.
It’s not that he didn’t love Ellen, but they had stopped having sex almost entirely a few years ago and the spark just wasn’t there like it was when they were in their 30’s. Oftentimes Terry would use an escort service in the city to satisfy his desires, Ellen being none the wiser to any of it.
The escorts were always expensive though, and oftentimes in lieu of a busty brunette or petite blonde, Terry would arrange for a car service to bring Rosie Schwartz, one of Ellen’s dear friends at Roton Point, to the UES apartment to have sex, yes, but also just to talk. Rosie was better at talking than Ellen was. She listened to Terry in a way that Ellen never did, and the arrangement worked for the both of them so long as Ellen never caught on to the ruse.
This routine that Terry and Ellen had was monotonous, but such is life for a married couple of thirty years. On one particularly dreary Thursday afternoon, while Ellen poured herself her first glass of chardonnay for the day, she rang up Rosie to see what she had planned for the day.
In the coming days, it would become all too apparent what Rosie and Terry were up to, she just hoped that when the time came, no one - friends, family, investigators, or otherwise - would suspect that she had anything to do with it.