Authors: Michele Martinez
“The date was nice,” Sophie said in a neutral tone.
“That could mean anything from ‘I hated him but I can’t say so because he’s your friend’ to ‘we’re engaged.’”
Sophie laughed. “In between. I understand why you fixed us up. We have a lot in common. Similar backgrounds and values. We met for coffee last Sunday and went for a stroll afterward. He was intelligent and polite. I’d go out with him again. I couldn’t tell whether he felt the same way. He said he would call, and he hasn’t yet. So there you have it.” She finished with a shrug.
The waitress arrived with Melanie’s fettuccine.
“Enough about my so-called love life,” Sophie said. “Let’s talk about yours. How are things with Dan?”
“Great, although sometimes I think I’m just…I don’t know, mixed up about him,” Melanie said, flashing on the intense sex they’d
had in her office.
Wow
. She felt her cheeks get hot, and wondered if Sophie noticed her blushing. She had to fight off a powerful urge to sneak outside and call Dan up to see if they could do it again. She twirled fettuccine around her fork and shoved it in her mouth.
In the depths of her handbag, Melanie’s cell phone rang, and she dug for it frantically. The display showed an incoming call from Julian Hay’s cell phone.
“Oops, sorry, work,” she said to Sophie as she flipped the phone open. “Hello?”
“Melanie, Julian. I only have a second. I need to know. You want I should go ahead and buy this dude, or what?”
“You mean Miles?”
“Who else, boss?”
“You’re in a position to buy from him already? I’m amazed!”
“Yeah. Turns out he’s moving crystal meth, and he’s like begging to sell me some.”
Now,
this
was the reason to have Julian Hay on a case. He might be a slacker when it came to matters that didn’t interest him, but there was no better narcotics undercover than Suave Pierre.
“Crystal meth? He’d be looking at real jail time,” Melanie said.
“Like the Big Bad Wolf says, the better to flip you with, my dear,” Julian said.
“If Ortiz flips on Welch, we’ll be cooking with gas. Pierre, you’re a genius.”
“One step at a time, sister. I’m calling only because I need a prosecutor’s authorization to requisition the buy money before I start negotiations. Give me the Benjamins and I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re authorized. Sign my name on the dotted line.”
“Now you’re talking, sister. My aim is to put your boy in bracelets in the next twenty-four. Fingers crossed,” he said, and hung up.
Melanie put her phone away and looked back at Sophie. “Where were we?”
“You were telling me that things are mixed up with you and Dan. I’ve been waiting for this.” Sophie shook her head sadly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’ve always thought this was a rebound relationship for you, Melanie. Not destined to last.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, come on. You got involved with Dan right after learning of Steve’s affair. You were distraught over your marriage, afraid of being alone, and an attractive man fell head over heels for you, so you rushed into a relationship. I’m not blaming you. But what do you two have in common for the long haul? He’s a very nice person, and great
looking,
but he’s not your equal intellectually or emotionally. You share no interests beyond work. He’s a blue-collar suburban guy. You’re an uptown girl. He—”
“Stop right now. Be quiet!”
Reading Melanie’s expression, Sophie looked startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought I was only saying things you already knew.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind. I’m madly in love with this guy.”
Sophie sipped her Diet Coke, looking chastened. “Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t question it.”
“I can’t. I don’t. I’m way too into him to question anything right now.”
“That’s not good.”
Melanie sighed. “Maybe not. But it’s the truth.”
“I would never say this if I didn’t love you and Maya so much, but is this really the right moment to be in such a passionate, all-consuming relationship? What about her?”
Melanie’s eyes lingered on Maya, who was busily feeding ravioli to her doll, chattering away in half English, half baby.
“I do worry about the time I spend on Dan,” Melanie said, “and
how much room he takes up in my heart. Sometimes I think I should focus on nothing but her, at least until she’s older. But am I not entitled to have a man in my life? Dan’s
it
for me, Soph. I don’t want anybody else, and I can’t imagine feeling this way again. Am I supposed to let him go because he came along too soon?”
“Do you ever think the strength of your feelings might come from the fact that you met him at such a vulnerable moment? In a crisis, we don’t always make the best decisions.”
“That sounds like something you read in a magazine. Smart women, stupid choices. I’m not a self-help stereotype.”
“Maybe you just don’t want to hear what I have to say,” Sophie said gently. “But fine, on a more practical level, then, does Dan accept Maya?”
“He adores her. You should see him down on the floor with her, playing with her dollies, rolling her around.”
“No, but…This is sensitive, but how does he feel about dating a woman with a child? Do you think he would marry you, or is this bound to be a temporary thing?”
“I just got divorced.”
“So he hasn’t asked?”
“Of course not,” Melanie snapped, her tone defensive. “It’s much too soon.”
Dan hadn’t introduced her to his family, either. It wasn’t too early for that, and Melanie was beginning to find the omission worrisome. But she had her pride, and she wouldn’t voice her fears to Sophie, given the tone of this conversation.
“But he loves you, right?”
“I think he does. He’ll say he’s crazy about me, or that he can’t live without me. He doesn’t actually say, ‘I love you,’ but that’s not his style.”
Sophie frowned. “He’s never told you he loves you?”
“Will you
stop
? I’m happy with Dan. More than happy, I’m be
sotted. I express one little iota of doubt, and suddenly you’re on this rampage of negativity. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I just worry that you’ll get hurt, Melanie. A man changes once the chase is over, once you’re under his thumb. He loses interest.”
“Fine, so I’m making a huge mistake,” Melanie said, exasperated. “It’s my life. Butt out.”
Not to mention that
you’re
hardly the queen of relationships,
she thought.
Melanie’s phone started ringing again. She was glad for the excuse to end the conversation, which was more troubling than she cared to admit. Dan had been difficult to reach over the past few days, and a nagging little voice in her head was starting to ask if something was going on. What if he was seeing somebody else? He wouldn’t do that, would he? What if he broke up with her? Steve had shattered her plans, but Dan could break her heart, and she knew it.
“Sorry about all the calls,” she said to Sophie as she flipped open her phone. “Work is crazy right now.”
Tony Mancuso from Target News security was on the phone.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I have some news I thought you’d want to hear immediately.”
“What is it?”
“I brought the box of dog shit to the FBI guys this afternoon, and they examined it right away. They don’t have the fingerprint analysis complete yet, but listen to this. The packing tape used to seal up the box?”
“Yes?”
“It matches the tape used to gag Suzanne. Matches exactly. Not just the same brand, but there’s a flaw in the weave that matches up so perfectly, they think it was contiguous pieces ripped off the roll. Melanie, the Butcher definitely sent this box.”
D
avid Harris was on the telephone
with his wife, and the call was not going well.
“But I didn’t have to tell you!” he said, exasperated, dropping his head into his hands. “Don’t you see, Robin, I could have just lied. You would never have found out. I told you the truth because I love you, honey, and I want to make things right.”
“You think I’m an idiot? Of course I would’ve found out, and I’m not the only one! You’ll be testifying about this abomination in open court. The whole world will know. My parents. All the moms from play group. The teachers at Jake’s school.” And she started to wail.
“Robin, I didn’t even do anything. I told you, nothing happened. It was just something I was thinking about. A fantasy.”
“Sex with a prostitute is your fantasy? How do you think that makes me feel?” she screamed.
Dave felt a migraine coming on, a bad one. In confessing to Robin, he’d left out the gay part, which was just too hard to explain. He kneaded his forehead with his fingertips and directed himself to remain calm.
“And you do it in the
park
?” Robin yelled. “You can’t even be discreet and call some high-class hooker so people don’t find out? That is
sick
.”
“I feel terrible that I hurt you, honey. I swear to you, nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll get to the bottom of this. It was the stress. You can’t imagine the pressure I’m under, with the partnership decision so close. We’ll come out better than ever, promise…Robin?”
But she was sobbing hysterically on the other end of the phone.
“I have an idea. Robin? Robin, are you listening? Sweetie? Listen to me.”
“Don’t call me sweetie!” she cried. “What am I supposed to do now? I have the kids. I haven’t worked in ten years! How am I supposed to support them?”
“I’ll support us, like I always have. Don’t talk that way, please. We can work this out. I know you’re upset about what people will think. How about this? We buy a house in Scarsdale. A big house with a backyard for the kids. We can even renovate if you want. New kitchen, baths, the works. You’ll make friends who’ve never heard about out troubles.”
“Scarsdale’s…not…far enough!” Robin said, sputtering through her sobs. “Everybody in Scarsdale knows people in the city. They’ll find out!”
“Bedford, then. We can get enough land for a pool.”
“Bedford?” She quieted, hiccuping and snuffling.
“Sure.”
“You always said you wouldn’t commute that far.”
“I’d make that sacrifice if it would help you get past this. I know you love it in the country. We’ll get a dog, have a separate laundry room instead of that stacking thing stuck in the closet. Live like human beings.”
Robin coughed and blew her nose loudly. “But, Dave, Bedford is expensive.”
“Doesn’t matter. With prices in the city what they are, we’ll clear a mint on the apartment. And I’m still gonna make partner. I can get old man Feinerman back in my camp if I just ace this Simpson litigation. I know I can. What do you say, Rob?”
She was silent.
“Robin? Are you there?”
“Are you
sure
nothing happened? I need to go over that part again.”
R
obin had eventually agreed to let him stay in the apartment that night if he slept on the couch in the den. Dave consulted his watch. It was about nine o’clock, on the early side to leave his desk. Putting in face time was critical to making partner at Feinerman, to the point that certain senior partners were known to call around late at night in the months leading up to the decision, professing to ask for research on some minor point when in fact they were checking whether you were still at your post. Dave was scrupulous about not getting caught out like that. But what the hell. He’d just witnessed a brutal murder and his marriage was on the rocks. He could knock off early for once.
Dave speed-dialed the internal extension that patched him through to Tri-State Limo.
“Tri-State Limousine Service. How may I help you, Mr. Harris?”
“Ready now at the office.”
“Destination?”
“Home.”
“Very good, sir. You want your regular driver?”
“Yes, I want Stanislaus. How long?”
“Let me check. Hold on please.”
Dave waited on hold. He drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently, studying the photograph that sat in a silver frame next to
his telephone. Dave, Robin, and the kids, taken by a professional photographer last summer in Westhampton. They were seated on an appropriately beachy rock, wearing matching outfits of khaki pants and white dress shirts, looking prosperous and content. Like a family should.
The dispatcher came back on the line.
“Good news, Mr. Harris. Stanislaus is actually downstairs outside your building. He just returned from his previous call.”
“Car 130 as usual?”
“That’s correct. He’ll display the number in the window.”
“Thank you.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Harris.”
Outside, it took a second before Dave spotted the town car with the big red number 130 in the window. Stanislaus hadn’t parked in his usual spot. Instead of idling directly in front of the building with all the other black sedans from Tri-State that awaited the departures of other lawyers from the Feinerman firm, Stanislaus had for some reason parked halfway down the block on the opposite side of the street. Dave waved at him testily, but getting no response, gave up with a sigh and trotted across the street, dodging traffic.
“What’s the idea, parking all the way over here?” he said as he slid into the roomy leather backseat and slammed the door with a thunk. The smoked-glass barrier between the front and back seats was raised. Apparently Stanislaus hadn’t heard Dave, because instead of responding, he pressed the button that locked all the doors and pulled out into the stream of traffic so fast that Dave rocked backward into the seat.
“Take it easy, Stan!” Even his driver was stressed out tonight.
The
Wall Street Journal
was folded neatly in the seat-back pocket in front of Dave, just as he liked. He turned on the small reading light above his door, took the newspaper out, and snapped it open, enjoying the smell of fresh newsprint. But as he scanned the bullet points in
the “What’s News” section, his head started to throb again. Wherever he turned, this nightmare dogged him.
David M. Harris, Esq., a litigation associate at Feinerman, Seidel, Brinkley and Tate, testified today…
the news brief began. He flung the paper aside furiously, his breath catching in his throat. This was not how he’d planned to make his first appearance on the front page of the
Journal.