She spotted Nina from a half block away, already seated at one of the restaurant’s patio tables, fresh and cool looking in peach-colored slacks and a white silk blouse under a fitted beige jacket. With the dark sunglasses she was wearing, the only imperfection in an otherwise tasteful ensemble, she looked like a celebrity trying to mingle incognito with her adoring public.
Jenny scrutinized her own attire and sighed. Wash-faded Levi’s, a baggy white T-shirt and a pair of Zellers grab-table thongs. A victim of fashion she would never be. Nina saw her and waved.
“I ordered us drinks,” she said as Jenny ducked under the parasol and sat down. “Virgin Caesar okay?”
“Perfect,” Jenny said. “Been waiting long?”
“Not at all.” She handed Jenny a menu. “This is a great spot. Have you eaten here before?”
Jenny shook her head. Nina’s sunglasses were annoying her. They were opaque and Jenny couldn’t see her eyes. It was like talking to a mechanical head.
She said, “Is the sun bothering your eyes?”
“Oh, these.” Nina touched the rim of one lens.
Jenny didn’t know why yet, but she was sorry she’d asked the question. And that same instinct told her she wasn’t going to like the answer.
Head bowed, Nina lowered the glasses. Her left eye was black, swollen almost shut. Her right eye glistened with tears. She pushed the glasses back into place.
“God, Nina, I’m sorry. I’m such a bigmouth. Did you fall?”
Nina shook her head and Jenny thought,
Way to go, Jen. Wanna try for three in a row?
“It was Will,” Nina said. “My husband did this to me.”
Jenny touched Nina’s arm. “Oh, no. Do you want to talk about it?”
A tear rolled out from beneath one dark lens and Nina cuffed it away. “I don’t know what I want. Sometimes I think I want things to be the way they were, you know? He’s been a good husband. A little possessive, maybe, but that can be so flattering when it doesn’t get out of hand. And the kids adore him. But now, with all the boozing and mistrust, I just don’t know anymore.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
“I think he’s afraid,” Nina said. “I think he’s always been afraid. I’ve got this chance now, with this fitness franchise, and he’s convinced I’m going to meet some young beefcake and leave him.”
A waitress came to the table to take their orders. Jenny told her they’d call her when they were ready.
“I went to a high school reunion a few years back,” Nina said when the waitress was gone. “Will was away at a convention and I thought, What the hell? Might be fun. I ran into a guy there I’d had my eye on before Will—he’s a computer analyst now, Jonathan Field, still completely delicious looking—and I asked him how come he never asked me out. He asked me if I was kidding. He said Will shoved him into the lockers one day and told him if he even looked at me the wrong way he’d be walking around with one less nut. He said Will intimidated every guy who might otherwise have asked me out.
“He wants me at home, Jen, where I can’t be seen. It’s the only thing I can figure, because until I mentioned this job, until I decided I wanted to be more than just a housewife, our lives were terrific.” Nina took a sip of her drink and said, “This is the first time he’s ever hit me. I was furious.” She smiled a little then. “I hit him back, you know. Really belted him.”
“God,” Jenny said. “Do you think it’ll ever happen again?”
“I don’t know. But one thing I can promise you: if it does, I’m out the door. Me and the twins. I’ll kill him before I let him punch me around.” Nina removed her glasses, her injured eye watering in the sunlight. Jenny studied it with grim fascination. “I’m not going to back down on this, Jen. It’s something I want and I’m going to have it. As far as I’m concerned, any woman who stands for abuse deserves what she gets.”
She put her sunglasses back on, the gesture closing the conversation. “So. Shall we eat?”
Jenny nodded, thinking,
deserves what she gets, deserves what she gets....
And over the course of their hour-long lunch, as the thought played over and over in her mind, the voice deepened and became Jack’s.
* * *
Jack finished his list of dentals at two-thirty. After admitting his last patient to the recovery room, he went down the hall to the neuro suite. He found Will hunched in his chair by the anesthetic machine, staring at his feet. A glance at the monitors told Jack the patient’s blood pressure was too low and his pulse was dangerously slow. The IV bag was empty and the Forane vaporizer, set a full percent higher than it should have been for a head case, was almost out of juice. Will was in the room, but he might as well have been sitting on the can at home. He didn’t even notice when Jack came in.
“Will,” Jack said, acknowledging a grateful nod from the surgeon.
The burly anesthetist flinched, saying, “Jack. What brings you to the coconut corner?” His eyes were puffy and red.
Jack leaned over him and whispered, “I want you in my office. Right now. We have to talk.”
“I’m in the middle of a case here, Jack. I know I owe you some poker money, but can’t it wait?”
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” Jack said, “but I’m prepared to.”
“Okay, Jack.” Will stood, glancing at his patient. “What about my patient?”
“I’ll have somebody cover you.”
Will said okay and trundled out of the room. When he was gone, Jack picked up the phone and called the lounge to find a replacement.
* * *
“So what is it, Will? What’s eating you?”
Jack had adjusted the blinds in his office to a soothing glow, but Will refused to be soothed. He squirmed and shifted in his chair, bottled fury working in his jaws.
“It’s that whoring wife of mine,” he said, springing to his feet with startling suddenness. “If I could just
catch
her at it...” He made a gesture with his fists, a man snapping a length of kindling in two. The fight seemed to run out of him then and he sat down again. “But she’s too clever. I’ve gone almost broke having her followed. I bet she’s blowing the detectives, too.”
“You know what I think?” Jack said. “I think you’re imagining things. But even if you’re not, even if she’s doing everything you imagine and more—you can’t bring this shit to work with you.”
Will nodded. He was on the verge of tears.
Jack said, “If you can’t stay focused, you’re going to kill somebody. It’s that simple.” He waited until Will looked up at him. “Shape up, chum. In a situation like this, friendship only goes so far.” He paused, then said, “Don’t force me to take action against you.”
“You’re right, Jack. Look, I’ll be fine.”
“You want to go home? John Barkham’s babysitting your case; why not let him finish it up for you.”
“No, I’ll do it. I’m on call tonight, anyway. Thanks, Jack. Thanks a lot.”
“Go home,” Jack said. “Talk to your wife. Settle this thing before it gets out of hand. I’ll look after your call tonight. I’m on Wednesday. If you’re feeling better by then, you can return the favor.”
A cornered anger flickered across the big man’s face, then dissolved into resignation. “I’m a good anesthetist, Jack.”
“I know you are. That’s why I’d hate to see you fuck it up.”
Jack let him walk to the door alone.
AT THREE O’CLOCK THAT AFTERNOON Jenny pushed her grocery cart through the automatic doors of the air-conditioned Billings Bridge Plaza into the damp, oppressive heat of the parking lot. She loaded the groceries into the trunk and climbed into the car, cursing her busted air conditioner and her suddenly reckless obstetrician, cursing the Lord on high. She belted herself in, started the car and buzzed open all the windows. Then she checked the lane behind her and started to back out.
The crash was surprisingly violent, considering she’d barely gotten the car rolling when it came. She’d glanced again in her rearview, caught a flash of dark metal and jammed on the brakes—an instant too late.
Jenny shifted into PARK and got out, noting with satisfaction that the vehicle she’d slammed into was a Porsche. A new one.
Good
, she thought.
Stupid bastard.
She marched to the driver’s door, jammed shut by her Chevy’s rear bumper, and tried to get a look inside. The windows were tinted and Jenny could make out only a motionless silhouette. She had a bad moment when she thought the driver was seriously injured...but at this speed? Then the window hummed partway open.
“Where in the hell did you come from?” Jenny said, fuming. “I checked before I backed out, Mister, so if you think I’m going to pay...”
What? Was the son of a bitch smiling? Sitting there smug and cool in his dented Porsche, gawking at her through a pair of night-black
Vuarnets
—and
smiling
?
Then it struck her. The familiarity. There was only one person in the world with a smile like that. Those milk white teeth, dimples you could sip champagne out of, a smile that brought an otherwise plain face alive in a way that had always made Jenny’s heart jog just a few beats faster.
“Richard? Richard Dickerson?”
The smile widened. The glasses came off. The blue eyes twinkled, a little impishly.
“The very one,” Richard said. “Good to see you again, Jenny.”
What followed was one of those moments which, in retrospect, seem to have spurned the imperative of time; it spun out with a kind of lightheaded constancy, and Jenny forgot about the heat, her pique with Craig Walsh and her upsetting session with Paul. She even forgot she was pregnant. She stood there under the beating sun, staring at the man whose nose she would have cheerfully bloodied only a heartbeat before, and grinned like a heat-struck clown.
“You okay, Trix?” It was a nickname he’d given her a long time ago.
“Sure,” Jenny said, “I’m fine. I’m just so surprised to
see
you. How long has it been? And look what I’ve done to your car.”
Still smiling, Richard climbed out the passenger side and strolled around the hood. He wore a strappy T-shirt with a spot of blue oil paint on the breast and wash-faded Lee jeans. Jenny couldn’t be sure, but she thought they might be the same pair he’d worn when they were dating, sixteen years ago.
Richard said, “So you admit you’re at fault.”
Jenny’s grin widened. “Not likely,” she said, and then just stood there, remembering. He’d had a beard back then, and “hair down to his asshole,” as her father had been fond of complaining. The beard was gone but he still wore his hair on the long side. If it hadn’t been for the dimples Jenny might not have recognized him.
They got their cars disentangled after that, Jenny pulling hers back into its slot, Richard parking his in an adjacent row. Sitting behind the wheel, Jenny had a brief urge to flee, but she resisted it in favor of another urge, one less well defined but infinitely sweeter. She switched off the engine and joined Richard in the heat.
“Got time for a coffee?” he said.
Say yes.
“No, sorry. I’ve only got a minute. My daughter will be home from school soon.”
Richard’s smile faltered. “You have a daughter?”
Jenny felt the reality of her life tugging her out of this warm fold in the fabric of time and a part of her resisted. In her heart, in this moment, she was just as startled by the fact of her daughter and her marriage and the dissolution of the past sixteen years as Richard seemed to be.
She said, “Yes. She’s fourteen. Her name is Kim.”
Richard’s smile was returning, and Jenny wanted so much to hold onto this moment that filled her with memories of young love and shining dreams that she damned herself for what came out of her mouth next.
“And I’m four months pregnant. I’m going to have a baby.”
Richard’s smile clung bravely to his face, but Jenny could feel the moment slipping away. It made the gap of years seem suddenly unbridgeable.
He said, “Hey, Jen, that’s great,” glanced at his car...and the moment was gone. “And look what you’ve done to
my
baby.”
Jenny accepted the escape hatch. “What do you care? It’s obviously stolen. Where does a hippy-for-life get the loot for a car like that?”
Richard drew a plain white card out of his hip pocket and handed it to Jenny, face down. Jenny flipped it over and examined it with widening eyes. It was an embossed invitation to an R. J. Kale gallery opening. She’d read someplace that this world renowned artist planned to open a gallery in the city, but hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
“Wow,” Jenny said. “Are you working for this guy?”
“You could say that.” Grinning, Richard reached into another pocket and produced a thin eel skin wallet. He opened it and began fingering through the compartments. “We have to exchange insurance information anyway.”
“Forget it,” Jenny said, only half joking now. She could feel the heat working on her nerves again. “I’m not...”
She trailed off. Richard handed her his driver’s license and Jenny examined it in disbelief.
“
You’re
R. J. Kale?” Richard affected a spry matador’s bow. “But, why...?”
“The name change? My agent’s idea. She thought it looked better in lights.”
“You’ve got a female agent?”
“Yeah,” Richard said, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “My mother. She always had a better head for business. Kale’s her maiden name.”
Jenny looked at the invitation again. “Wow. R. J. Kale.”
* * *
Jenny agreed to have coffee after all. A quick one. The nagging sense that she had to get away never quite left her, it was only blunted by the shock of Richard’s alter ego.
While he ordered coffee and biscuits, Jenny reflected that had she been paying more attention the few times she’d seen Kale’s work, she might have recognized Richard’s unique style: the big, apparently careless brush strokes that became living, breathing reality when you stepped just a few paces back; a quality of light that seemed to emanate from the very canvas.
That was one of the things that had so annoyed her about Richard when they were dating in high school: he had so much
talent
—the man was truly gifted—but all he wanted to do was lounge on the grass by the canal, smoke pot and talk philosophy. His lack of ambition drove her mad. It was the single, niggling thing that finally sent her searching for someone else. She’d met Jack that same year, her last as a senior, and Jenny had been easy prey. Jack had been all Richard could have been and more. Or so she’d believed at the time.