CHAPTER 8
STATELY SILVER BUILDINGS, glowing in the last light of the setting sun, filled the tiny airplane window. Beman wasn’t pleased about my personal emergency, but I had assured him that I could work remotely. His annoyance was tempered by the news that David had agreed to be in the issue. Leaving the apartment was an overreaction, I was sure, but the idea of getting out of town for a few days had won me over. And Bill had pointed out that I hadn’t taken a break in over a year.
I’d bought myself a ticket, thrown some things in a suitcase, my laptop in my carry-on and hopped in a cab to the airport. It had all happened so suddenly, that I hadn’t had a chance to sort out much more than that.
I thought back to Bill’s and my conversation earlier in the day. The Alvarez brothers were dangerous. Bill had known instantly why I was being threatened, but had no idea how Lou’s brother Mark had found me.
When Bill had worked as an assistant state’s attorney, his final case had been trying Lou Alvarez for drug possession with intent to sell. He and Mark had been arrested together. Bill had successfully proven that Lou’s crimes were gang-related, and it had added almost a decade to his sentence. But Mark’s prosecutor couldn’t make that same link. He was only sentenced to two years but Bill had heard he’d been released for good behavior after thirteen months. He assured me that it was the empty threat of a druggie, but we agreed that it was best to play it safe.
Now in New York, the yellow cab dropped me in front of Bill’s hotel. I stopped at the front desk, where I found a key and a note with a time and address for dinner.
“Is this far?” I asked the concierge, handing him the paper.
“26th Street? Not at all,” he said and explained the route. I hadn’t been to New York in years and was looking forward to wandering anonymously among the crowds until dinner. I thanked him, and after a quick refresh, left the hotel.
Boutiques had lowered their gates for the night, shielding exquisite works of art parading as clothing. As I headed down a side street, bass thumped from behind opaque glass. Two young women, models I guessed, laughed casually, cigarette smoke wafting from between their fingers. Between their exposed belly buttons, long slinky hair and black studded booties, it was obvious that they were regulars of New York nightlife.
I huddled into my coat. I hadn’t fixed my hair or make-up before leaving the hotel, and I felt suddenly underwhelming. Though I was nearly as tall as them, I wasn’t sure I possessed the graceful movements that painted them as gazelle-like. These were the sorts of women that belonged to handsome, wealthy, charming men. Men like David, I thought before I could stop myself.
I was hundreds of miles away, yet I couldn’t seem to break the pattern that was beginning to form. The rate at which my heart skipped had proliferated since we’d first made eye contact. I shook my head and rewrapped my scarf around my neck, as though doing so might shield me from the direction of my thoughts. I pushed the women and everything they represented from my mind.
At the restaurant, I was pleased to find that Bill was also early and waiting at the bar. I sneaked up behind him easily since his eyes were transfixed on a television that sat behind stacked bottles of liquor.
“Come here often?” I grinned, tucking a piece of loose hair behind his ear.
He jumped at my touch. “Hi.” He glanced at his watch and then back at me. “Huh, I didn’t realize the time,” he said. “I missed you.” He snaked an arm around my waist and planted a peck on my cheek. I nestled in against the barstool awkwardly. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he added, giving me a squeeze.
“Shall we eat?”
The hostess showed us to a cozy table under dim lighting and handed us our menus. After I had decided, I looked up to find him watching me.
“I’ve been worried,” he said.
“I know,” I replied, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
“What were you even doing out that late by yourself?” My mind flitted back to our phone conversation, where I had skillfully avoided the question. He wouldn’t let me get away with it again. Knowing that Lucy would be a hard sell on a Sunday night, I went for Gretchen. How I would get her to lie for me, I didn’t know, but I knew she would.
“Gretch and I went out for a couple drinks, nothing too crazy.” With my right hand, I spun my wedding ring around my finger under the table. “We walk around Lincoln Park at night all the time,” I proffered.
“Together, yes.”
“I’ve done it alone,” I countered.
“Whatever, Livs. I’m just glad your safe, and I’ll have to give Gretchen a talking to about this.”
“Ah,” I gasped, “please don’t. She feels just awful and blames herself even though it was entirely, one-hund-red per-cent my fault. Please don’t bring it up with her.”
He studied me warily until defeat crossed his face. “Yeah, we’ll see,” he said, but I knew I’d won; he didn’t typically challenge me when I was adamant about something. “You’ve been drinking with them too much,” he added, crossing his arms on the table.
“Can we drop it?” I pleaded, inching the chair out from the table. “Order me the crab cakes, I’m going to the restroom.”
~
The next morning, Bill left me at first light with his credit card and for the first time since we’d been married, instructions to go shopping. When the door clicked shut, I climbed back into bed, thinking about his reaction the night before, and his pained expression as he kissed the marks. His mooning had irked me more than anything.
In bed, I flipped over to the window and then back again. After twenty minutes of staring at the wall, I decided to get some work done.
Outlook popped up on my laptop, and the program pinged steadily while it updated. As the e-mails filtered in, I saw David’s name flash by and forced my heart steady as it threatened to leap. I started from the bottom, meticulously reading through each e-mail until I could no longer concentrate and skipped ahead.