Envy (27 page)

But this telephone call didn't have the tone of a come-on, and, much to his regret, Mary Catherine had never shown any romantic interest in him.

She'd treated him in a brotherly fashion, while she flirted shamelessly with Todd and had graced him with several sleepovers.

"Could you, Roark? Please? I'm here by myself and, well ... I need a favor."

His heart thumped with optimism. "Sure. Be right there."

"Don't mention it to Todd, okay?"

That dampened his enthusiasm somewhat, because he would enjoy ribbing Todd about getting a

middle-of-the-night call from one of his regular lays. Where women were concerned Todd was a cocksure bastard.

He pulled on a pair of shorts and a

T-shirt, pushed his feet into a pair of sandals, and let himself out without waking Todd. He hurdled the foul-smelling moat surrounding the apartment building and followed the now-familiar and well-worn path to the girls' building. He took the stairs two at a time, arriving at their door slightly out of breath. Mary Catherine opened the door before he could even knock.

"I was watching for you through the window."

He stepped inside, trying not to give away how crestfallen he was by her appearance.

###She didn't even resemble the stunner ##457

she was when she peeled away the vestiges of her nun's habit and stood in the spotlight gloriously naked, or even when she lay spread-eagled on the roof basting in suntan oil.

Her face was free of stage makeup. Her eyes and nose were red, as though she'd been crying.

Her long, curly hair had been gathered into a scraggly ponytail. Most disappointing of all, she wasn't dressed for seduction. She was wearing an unflattering, oversized Dolphins jersey and a baggy pair of plaid boxer shorts.

"I got you up, didn't I?"

"I was writing," he lied.

"Your lights were out."

"I was plotting inside my head."

"Oh." She twisted the hem of the jersey in her fist. "I hate to ask you to do this, Roark, but

..."

"Is something wrong?"

"I miscarried tonight."

He gaped stupidly and speechlessly.

"A baby." She flipped out her hand.

"Well, I guess it wasn't really a baby yet, just, you know ... Anyway, I need some things, and I'm not feeling too good, so I wondered if you'd run down to the twenty-four-hour market for me."

He swallowed what felt like a bowling ball, then reflexively wet his lips. "Uh, sure.

Be glad to."

"I'd really appreciate it."

"No problem, but are you okay? Should you call a doctor or something? Want me to take you to the hospital? Have, uh, things checked out?"

"No, I'm okay." Taking a deep but shaky breath, she said, "This isn't the first time."

He dragged his hand down over his mouth and chin.

"You didn't do anything crazy, did you? You didn't cause it? On purpose, I mean."

She shook her head and smiled weakly. "No.

Nothing that dramatic. It just happened, Roark.

An accident of nature. The first time, yeah, I went to a clinic and had it sucked out. But this time it came out on its own. I started feeling bad at work. Cramps, you know."

He nodded sympathetically, although she could have been talking about ice sculpting, for all he knew about it. In fact he probably knew more

#about ice sculpting. ##################459

"I was invited out with the other girls to a private party. But it had all the makings of an all-nighter, so I begged off, came home, went straight to bed. Woke up about an hour ago in a ... a mess." She raised her shoulders.

"No more baby."

He saw tears shining in her eyes, but she quickly turned away and reached for a small slip of paper and several folded bills. "I made a detailed list. Name brands and sizes. Figured you wouldn't know what to get if I didn't."

"You're right about that," he said, trying to sound goofily cheerful and failing miserably.

"This should cover it."

He took the list and money from her. "Anything else?"

"I think it's all on there. I'll leave the door unlocked so you can just come in when you get back." He nodded and turned to go, but she touched his arm and brought him back around. "Thanks, Roark. Really. Thanks."

He patted the small hand resting on his arm.

"Go lie down. I'll be back soon as I can."

When he returned, she was stretched out on the sofa, one arm across her eyes, the other hand resting on her abdomen. She lowered her arm and smiled wanly at him as he approached on tiptoe.

"Find everything?"

"I think so."

"Did I send enough money?"

"Don't worry about it. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Well, as I said, it's kind of a mess."

At the end of a short hallway one of the bedroom doors was standing ajar. He set the sack of purchases on the floor beside the sofa. "Here's your stuff." Then he started down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Roark, no," she protested weakly as she sat up.

"Take care of yourself, Mary Catherine.

I'll take care of this."

He did, but it wasn't pleasant.

For one thing, it was much more difficult to remain detached than he had imagined it would be. He couldn't get it out of his mind that the "mess"

represented a human life, which had started out

#exactly as every human life did. For ###461

reasons that would never be known, it had decided to give it up, cash in early, let go. It was said that miscarriages were blessings in disguise, that it was the natural way for a uterus to discard an imperfection. Nevertheless, knowing that a life had ended tonight was depressing as hell.

Also she must have been fairly far along, because there was more bloody substance than he'd expected.

As efficiently as possible, he stripped the linens, including the mattress pad, and crammed them into a plastic trash bag he found in a kitchen pantry. He sealed it tightly, then carried it out to the Dumpster behind the building.

On his way back through the apartment, he heard the shower running in the bathroom. He found fresh linens in a hall closet and remade the bed.

He was finishing up when she came into the bedroom, looking scrubbed and wearing another ensemble of loose T-shirt and baggy boxers.

He swept his arm wide to indicate the bed.

"Climb in." She did, sighing with relief as she lay down. "Everything all right?"

"Sure."

"Did you take some of the Tylenol?"

"Three. Figured they couldn't hurt."

"How about some tea?"

"You've done enough."

"How about some tea?"

She looked up at him. "You'd really make me tea?"

"Do you have a kettle?"

"I don't think so."

"A microwave?"

"Of course."

Five minutes later, he was back with a steaming cup of tea, packets of sweetener, and a spoon. "I didn't know if you took sugar or not."

"Two, please." As he stirred the sweetener into her tea, he glanced over at the TV. The sound was muted, but she was staring into the screen. "I love this movie," she told him. "I bought the video and m/'ve watched it a thousand times.

Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant."

"A winning combo. Careful, it's hot," he said, passing her the mug. She made room for him beside her on the bed, and he sat down, leaning back against the wall. "What's it about?"

"She's gorgeous and in trouble. He's handsome

#and comes to her rescue. She's scared. ####463

He's suave. They fall in love in the end."

They watched the video in silence until it played out, then she clicked off the TV and he took the empty cup from her. "Thanks, Roark, that helped. Nobody's ever made me tea before."

"My mom always made me tea when I was sick."

"Was she nice to you?"

"Real nice. I was lucky."

"Yeah, you were. My old lady kicked me out when I was fifteen."

"How come?"

"She caught her boyfriend waving his weenie at me."

"Why didn't she kick him out?"

She laughed as though that were funny, although Roark hadn't meant it to be. "You're a nice guy, Roark." When he grimaced, she added, "I meant it as a compliment."

"Well, thanks. Must say, though, I'd rather be thought of as dashing and dangerous."

Her smile faded. Her eyes lost their

sparkle and seemed to look inward into something that caused her unhappiness. "No, that's Todd."

Roark didn't know how to respond to that and reasoned that it was best to say nothing. He slapped his thighs and moved to get up. "Well, I should be--was

"Wait, Roark. You've been so sweet. I mean, really fuckin' great. I hate women who're clingy and needy, but I don't want to be alone tonight. Would you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

"Okay. Sure."

"Lie down."

Awkwardly, Roark stretched out beside her on the bed. She snuggled against him and rested her head on his shoulder. He placed an arm around her.

"Maybe tomorrow you should call a doctor," he suggested.

"Yeah. He'll likely want to do a D and C. Yuk."

Roark's thought exactly. He had a vague idea of what was involved in the procedure, and he preferred keeping the idea vague. "You weren't on the pill?"

"No. They make me fat," she explained.

"And he forgot to bring condoms. At least he told me he forgot them. Guess I was stupid

#not to insist." ########################465

"Damn straight. Pregnancy's not the worst that can happen."

"I know, but he's the type who'd be careful about disease and stuff."

"So this guy wasn't random? I mean, he's somebody you know well?"

"Roark, don't ask, okay?"

"Okay."

"Let's talk about something else."

But they didn't talk. Not for a while. They didn't even move, except for his fingers sifting through strands of her hair, which was fanned out over the pillow, drying from her shower.

"My name's not really Mary Catherine," she confessed softly.

"No?"

"It's Sheila."

"That's pretty."

"I just use Mary Catherine for the nun bit."

"I figured."

"I thought you might. You're smart. Me, I quit school when I left home, middle of tenth grade. I'm an idiot."

"I don't think so."

"I know so. Anyway, when the customers get tired of the nun act, I'll work up something else, and I'll probably change my name to fit the new act. I'm playing with an idea.

Want to hear it?"

"Love to."

"I thought I could maybe be a mermaid? You know, I'd have this tail that was all pearly and shimmery. I'd wear a long, flowing wig that came down to my ass. Maybe even to my knees."

"You'd be a knockout. You could call yourself Lorelei."

"Lorelei?"

"Like the siren. In mythology." She stared back at him with misapprehension. "She had a beautiful singing voice," he explained. "She used it to lure sailors into the rocks where they would shipwreck."

"No shit? I gotta remember that."

"I can write it down for you so you won't forget."

She propped herself up on her elbow and regarded him with patent admiration. "See?

You're so fuckin' smart."

###He laughed, and she laughed, and then ####467

they looked at one another seriously for a long moment, and then she said, "You can play with them if you want to."

Immediately his eyes dropped to her chest. She raised the hem of her T-shirt up over her breasts. The objects of his affection and fantasies, what he had admired from afar, were inches from his eyes, his fingertips, his lips. She was giving them to him. A gift.

But when he extended his hand, it was to lower her T-shirt back into place.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "I can't screw tonight, but I could blow you."

"That's not necessary."

"You think I'd be doing it just for you? Think again." She slid her hand down to his crotch and took his penis in her hand. "I've been wondering what you packed. Starlight's a lying bitch, but I can tell she was telling the truth about you." She squeezed him, and he caught his breath. Blood rushed to the pressure point made by each of her fingers.

But he moved her hand away from him. "I'd be taking advantage of the situation."

"So?"

"I wouldn't feel right about it, Sheila."

"Jesus, most guys would kill for an offer like this. Are you for real?"

"I'm real, all right. I'll be cursing myself in the morning."

"Well, you can jerk off in the shower while you watch us sunbathe." She giggled at his astonishment. "We're not _that ignorant, Roark. Why else would y'all take so many showers? And at the same time we're sunbathing?"

She smiled and lay back down, snuggling against him again. "Truth is, I couldn't have given you my best tonight. I really do feel like shit, you know?"

"Go to sleep, Sheila. When you wake up, this'll seem like a bad dream."

"You're sweet."

"So are you."

He stroked her back, and caressed her hair, and continued to hold her even after she had fallen asleep. When he returned to his apartment the following morning, Todd was already up and pecking away at his keyboard. "Where've you been?"

"Walking on the beach."

Todd squinted at him suspiciously.

###"Alone." #######################469

"Who is she?"

"Alone," Roark repeated testily.

"Huh." Todd went back to his typing, saying only one thing more. "Coffee's made, but I used the last of the milk."

CHAPTER 20

Noah decided to give Maris a week

to simmer down.

He concluded that a woman who catches her husband in adultery deserves a seven-day grace period in which to lick her wounds. It was more than an adequate amount of time for an ego to be restored. If the God of Genesis could create the cosmos in that length of time, surely a wife could come to terms with her husband's infidelity.

He also set the deadline to coincide with the one that Morris Blume had imposed on him. When next they met, Noah needed to report that everything was going smoothly and proceeding according to schedule. It would be nice and tidy if he patched things up with Maris before making that claim.

He was of value to Blume only as long as he was a member of the Matherly family. His pending deal with WorldView would be jeopardized by an estrangement from Maris and Daniel. Even a minor tiff with them might cause Blume to balk. Before that important meeting, he must reconcile with Maris.

If within a week's time she hadn't approached him, he planned to go to her hat in hand and beg her forgiveness. He would rather choke than be penitent, but the ultimate reward would be well worth a few minutes of contrition. In the meantime, he had a suite at the Plaza. He would give her space, give her plenty of time to stew ... and to contemplate the consequences of ordering him from her life.

__Like hell, Maris, my _dear. He hoped he had made himself clear on that point.

Unfortunately, he was forced to see Maris the morning following their nasty scene outside Nadia's apartment. Avoiding Howard

Bancroft's funeral was not an option. When he arrived, he saw Daniel standing alone on the steps of the synagogue and knew immediately that his father-in-law was unaware of what had transpired the night before. Daniel greeted him as though

#nothing untoward had happened. ###########471

As they somberly shook hands, Daniel asked him where Maris was.

"On her way, I'm sure. I had to leave ahead of her so I could make a quick stop at the office." The old man bought the lie. In any case, he let Noah lead him inside to get out of the drizzle that had begun to fall.

Maris arrived a few minutes later. She looked pale and wan in an unflattering black dress. It wasn't her best color. He'd never liked her in black. She spotted him standing with Daniel in the vestibule, wearing paper yarmulkes, waiting for her.

After a slight hesitation, she moved through the crowd toward them. She was too respectful of the situation to cause a scene. He had counted on her discretion, just as he had counted on her not telling Daniel about his extramarital affair with Nadia. Besides being proud to a fault, Maris was boringly predictable.

She hugged Daniel tenderly. "How are you this morning, Dad?"

"Sad for all of us, but especially for Howard's family. Shall we go in?"

They filed down the long aisle. Maris maneuvered it so that when they entered the pew Daniel was between them. She was the epitome of decorum, yet Noah knew she must be gnashing her teeth even to be in his presence. Imagining what an endurance test this was for her, he could barely contain his amusement.

Following the service, she consoled Daniel and, for his benefit, invented an excuse for having to take a separate taxi back to Midtown.

Noah didn't see her for the remainder of the day.

Nor did he seek her out for the next several days. During scheduled business meetings, she pretended that everything was normal. They had never been overtly affectionate at work, except occasionally behind the closed door of either his or her private office. Around staff members, they had always conducted themselves in a professional manner.

Consequently, no one at Matherly Press noticed the chill between them.

He went to their apartment when he knew she wouldn't be there to collect a few changes of clothing. He wasn't surprised to find that everything was exactly as he had left it. Maris had not sent for Maxine to pack up his belongings.

#She would never have entrusted the secret of ###473

their separation to her father's loyal housekeeper. The bad news would have gone straight from Maxine to Daniel, and Maris wanted to prevent Daniel from hearing of it. She would want to spare the old man from worrying about their marital problems and the damaging effect such problems would have on the publishing house.

Daniel, none the wiser, continued to take Noah's calls, and Noah continued to pay him brief visits in the late afternoons to discuss the events of the day. His relationship with his father-in-law remained solid. Maris was suffering in silence and alone, and she had only herself to blame. She should never have taken that haughty stance with him. She should have thought twice before issuing ultimatums that served only to make her look and sound ridiculous.

He relished the thought of her pacing, regretting her thoughtless outburst, and having absolutely no one in whom to confide. Each time he envisioned her wallowing in her lonely, self-inflicted torment, he smiled.

After a few days, however, Noah began to tire of the situation. He considered approaching Maris and putting an end to the silliness. But he stubbornly resolved to let her brood for the full seven days before approaching her.

She would weep and call him names and beg to know how he could have hurt her so terribly when she had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. He would give her the opportunity to vent. Once she had, she would grant him forgiveness. No doubt of that.

She would forgive him for the old man's sake.

Maris could always be counted on to spare Daniel any kind of unhappiness. She would forgive him also because women love to forgive and then to make the forgiven miserable every day thereafter for the rest of his postforgiven life. That wasn't going to be his future, of course, but he figured that's what Maris had planned for him. In light of his deal with WorldView, he would do nothing at this point to enlighten her. That would come later.

In the meantime, the temporary separation wasn't without its perks. While Maris wasn't speaking to him, he didn't have to listen to her harping.

Nadia was another matter entirely. She continually nagged him to divorce Maris. Her persistence had become tiresome and had created a tension between them that came to a head, ironically

#enough, on the final day of his ############475

self-imposed deadline.

They had scheduled a luncheon meeting in an outrageously expensive, trendy uptown restaurant. One of Matherly Press's

bestselling authors was joining them to be interviewed by Nadia for "Book Chat." The writer hadn't yet arrived when they ordered prelunch cocktails.

To other diners, which included a large number of publishing industry personnel, it appeared they were having a civil conversation about current market trends or perhaps the sci-fi phenomenon that had rocked the book world by securing the top spot on every bestseller list, when, in fact, they were arguing about their immediate future.

"She knows about us, so why wait? File for divorce now and get it over with."

"I can't leave the family until the deal with WorldView is cemented," he argued.

"What does one have to do with the other?"

"That is an incredibly stupid question, Nadia."

The insulting remark froze Nadia's smile into place. Had they been anyplace else, her temper might have erupted on the scale of Vesuvius. As it was, she took a languid sip of her martini, smoothed the starched linen napkin in her lap, and adjusted the triple strand of pearls around her neck--which he noticed was suffused with angry color. "Be careful, Noah," she said quietly. "You do not want me angry at you."

Like her, he kept his smile in place, but his voice had an edge. "Are you threatening me?"

"Being the cold, heartless bastard you are, I think you recognize a threat when you hear one."

"Isn't it because I'm a cold, heartless bastard that you can't resist me?"

Seeing that the awaited writer had arrived and was being escorted to their table by the maítre d', Nadia flashed him a brilliant smile and spoke for his ears alone. "Do yourself a favor, Noah, and remember that I could give you lessons on how to be heartless."

Following the tedious lunch, he escorted her out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. A chauffeured car was waiting for them, but Nadia politely declined his invitation of a lift back to her office.

###He took her hand in what he hoped ###477

looked like a friendly handshake between two professionals, but he addressed her with a confidential pitch he knew she would understand.

"If it seems like I'm dragging my feet on this divorce issue, it's because I don't want to make an error that could cost us this deal. I want it for us, Nadia. But in order to get it, we must be willing to make a few sacrifices.

I can't dissolve my marriage to Maris now.

It's out of the question. You understand that, don't you?"

To his immense relief, she smiled up at him and looked appropriately contrite. "Of course I understand. I'm just impatient to be with you."

"No more than I. In fact," he said, moving a half step nearer to her, "I want to be inside you right now."

She closed her eyes and swayed slightly toward him, then glanced around to make certain no one had noticed or could overhear. "Naughty you.

You've made me wet."

"Then six o'clock can't come soon enough."

He squeezed her hand quickly, then climbed into the backseat of the waiting car, smiling to himself.

The secret to keeping Nadia content was to keep her agitated between her legs. That was the mainspring of her self-worth. Her self-image revolved around it. If she was happy there, she was happy.

He disliked her constant nagging, but his argument with her had been stimulating and had geared him up for his showdown with Maris. __Call it a _rehearsal, he thought as he stepped off the elevator and pushed through the glass doors leading into the executive offices of Matherly Press.

He went into Maris's office straightaway, but she wasn't there. On his way out, he bumped into her assistant. "Can I help you, Mr.

Reed?"

"I'm looking for Maris."

Her eyes were magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses as she looked at him quizzically.

"She's not coming in today, Mr. Reed. Remember, she's going back to Georgia."

Going back to Georgia? Since when?

_Shit! This didn't fit into his timetable at all.

It required all his acting skills not to give his ignorance away to the secretary. "Right, right.

I know she's leaving today, but she said she was stopping

#here briefly before going to the airport." ###479

"She did? That's not what she told me."

"Hmm, I guess she changed her mind."

He forced a smile and hoped it looked more natural than it felt. "I'll catch her on her cell phone."

He called no less than a dozen times but kept getting Maris's voice mail. It was obvious that she did not want to be reached. He cursed her throughout the remainder of the workday. If she had suddenly appeared, he could well have killed her with his bare hands.

This was the worst possible time for her to play the betrayed wife and run away. Hadn't he made it plain to her that he wasn't going to stand for any crap from her, and that if he told her to roll over and play dead that's what she was to do? Her pouting could ruin this whole thing.

On second thought, fuck her.

He had the document that Howard Bancroft had drawn up for him. Unless he was given no other choice, he would rather not use it. From a legal standpoint, that document could make things sticky, and he would rather avoid any legal stickiness. But it was there in his safe-deposit box, an insurance policy, an emergency measure to be used if it became necessary.

Feeling confident and unconquerable again, he arrived at Nadia's Chelsea apartment shortly after six o'clock. He was in the mood for a cold drink and a cool shower, topped off by hot, aggressive sex.

He was whistling as he jogged up the staircase.

But when he let himself into the apartment, his whistling abruptly died.

A beefy young man dressed in a

tight-fitting black T-shirt and black slacks was emerging from the bedroom, strapping on his wristwatch. He then shouldered his gym bag and casually eased past Noah on his way out the door. His only acknowledgment of Noah was a negligent nod.

For minutes after the young man left, Noah remained on the threshold in a slow burn. A burn so hot that he was a combustion chamber, well decked out in Hugo Boss. He shot his

monogrammed cuffs, smoothed down his hair, wiped the perspiration from his upper lip. These were conscious gestures, activities for his hands so he wouldn't use them to rip, bash, or otherwise

#destroy something, animate or ##########481

otherwise, he wasn't particular at the moment.

When he was finally under moderate control, he moved toward the bedroom and gave the door a gentle push. It swung back on silent

hinges. Nadia was sprawled naked on the wide bed amid rumpled silk sheets. Her hair was damp and tangled. Her skin merely damp.

Seeing him, she stirred and smiled drowsily

"Noah, darling, is it six o'clock already? I lost all track of time."

The blood vessels in his temples were pounding to the point of pain, but his voice remained calm.

"Who was that man?"

"Oh, you met Frankie? He's a

personal trainer at my health club."

"What was he doing here?"

She levered herself up onto one elbow and looked at him with malice, mitigated only slightly by a sly smile. "That is an incredibly stupid question, Noah."

Daniel Matherly finished reading the last page of the manuscript. As he lined up the edges and stacked the pages, he said, "That's all you've got so far?"

Maris nodded. "I haven't received anything from him since I returned. I've called several times to give him a pep talk, but I've spoken only to Mike, his aide. According to him, P ...

the author isn't writing much these days."

"I wonder why."

"He's sulking."