The Never Never Sisters (29 page)

“She was clear on who he was. She said she’d talked to the partner before at some
sort of dinner, and that part of what made it so crazy was that he seemed like such
a nice guy. And he’s young and married. I went online—he looks like the youngest partner
by far in his group.”

“He is. Except for William, who’s single.”

“I’m pretty sure she saw Dave.”

“But growling and grabbing someone’s ass? Please. And what am I supposed to believe—Dave’s
an inside trader and a sexual harasser? Come on.”

“Even if he didn’t do it,” said Percy, “I’m pretty sure he was on the hook for it.
Annie said she didn’t say anything or do anything in the stairwell, but she ran right
to HR, and the guy was suspended the next day. But I didn’t get how far away she was
in the stairwell, and I couldn’t really press her without ruining my street cred as
just some random disinterested member of the book club.”

“And she didn’t say anything about a financial scandal?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, well, so this is a nonissue. He didn’t do it. They figured it out, and he’s
back at work. Back to reality, please—check whether there have been any arrests?”

Percy clicked Reload on his computer and then shook his head. “There’s one more thing
about this.”

“Okay.”

“So, Annie didn’t tell me the name of the associate in the stairwell, just that she
was a midlevel associate and kind of quiet and in their group. I assume her initials
are NS—as in ‘saw Dave Turner with NS.’”

“Okay.”

“So I checked, and there’s no associate in the New York office that fits that description
with those initials.”

“Okay.”

“Except, there’s a Penelope Standish who does, and in her bio, she’s referred to as
Nell.”

“Nell Standish?”

He nodded.

“Dave does work with a Nell. I’ve seen that name on e-mail.”

“Yeah. She’s in his practice group.” He typed in his computer and pulled up her profile
on the firm. “Just to check—does she look familiar?”

She had curly hair. She looked wholesome, young and innocent, trying so hard to be
professional under that sharply pointed collar doubled over her lapel.

“She looks so sweet,” I said, reading her bio, “and she went to Dave’s college. God,
you’d think she’d have helped out a little, cleared things up for a fellow alum.”
I looked at her again. There was something about her face that was familiar. The point
of her jaw. With her hair pulled back . . .

I heard myself gasp.

“You okay?” Percy’s hand clapped my back.

How did I not see it? How did I see anything but this?

“Now you know what I know.” His voice was apologetic, but not surprised. Of course
he knew. He’d probably known since we first met.

It was the most standard reason in the world why a husband would lie to his wife.
It was something I saw the ramifications of nearly every day. A garden-variety affair.
In this case, Dave and Nell, the deceptively prim-looking college girlfriend who,
perhaps not so long ago, had thanked him for loving her like that.

THERE IS NOTHING
slower than the speed of a news story in which you are personally invested. There
had been three arrests at Duane Covington, and the first was Herb. When I saw his
headshot flashed on-screen, I held my breath because this was how it was all supposed
to play out—Dave riding his mentor’s coattails straight into the sewers. But instead
of Dave’s, the next names were two partners from the real estate group, men I didn’t
even know.

They were, all three of them, accused of providing illegal tips on their corporate
clients—which company was taking over another, which company was receiving a serious
cash infusion—in exchange for cash from a more senior member of Rocher’s team at Mission
Fund. It wasn’t the Jellyfish himself, a local reporter told us when she came on at
four a.m., but it was the closest the feds had gotten. To me, of course, the Jellyfish
arrest was not the headline.

I had time to picture it unfurling like the plot of a bodice ripper: Dave and Nell
furtively glancing at each other across a conference table. Their initial, hesitant
kiss. The murmurs of
We shouldn’t
, the responding sighs, the being so overtaken by passion they were unable to help
themselves. The serious discussions about how to end it, the exclamations of how this
was all so wrong, so very wrong and yet felt so right. Then, two weeks ago, little
Annie Poleci, horrified at the spread starting to collect on her backside because
she sat in front of a computer for thirteen hours each day, resolved to take the stairs
more and misinterpreted their tryst.

O
f course
he knew the whole time why he was suspended.
Of course
the firm had figured out—probably rather quickly—that it wasn’t sexual harassment.
I was sure Nell had come forward about the affair like the Good Samaritan that she
was, but I was also sure there had been some minor smoothing over to be done—you know,
technically
, partners weren’t supposed to sleep with associates, especially ones on their team—the
whole botched power dynamic had probably garnered Dave a slap on the wrist—but everything
was eventually cleared up.
Of course
Dave hadn’t wanted me to tell anyone. One phone call from my dad—one of the firm’s
big clients—and everything could go up in smoke.

I hadn’t yet cried, partially out of shame—every accusation I could throw at Dave
he’d be justified in echoing to me: living in secrecy, selfishness, thoughts of infidelity—but
mostly out of shock. All summer, I’d been trying to seize the information first, to
guard against this very feeling of stupor.

I considered all sorts of grand gestures: stapling the picture of Nell to his pillow;
copying it and using it to line our entry hall; throwing all of his clothes out the
window. At four thirty in the morning, though, I realized how I was going to play
it. I was going to attack the facts, these astonishing facts, before he could make
it impossible. I changed into my running clothes, got my wallet and my phone and sat
down on the couch to wait.

When the door finally creaked open at five in the morning, and he saw me sitting there,
Dave, who looked as tired as I’d ever seen him, said, “Whoa. You’re up early. Going
for a run?”

“Yep. I want to beat the heat.” It felt good to lie to him; I would have lied about
anything at that point. “You sure did get stuck at work.”

He exhaled, making his lips vibrate as he did. “You have no idea.”

“What happened?” I walked out of the room and down the hall to the closet.

Dave followed me, leaning against the wall as I slid my toes into my running shoes
and wiggle-stepped the heels. “The fucking FBI raided our firm. They were seizing
computers and arresting people, and first we were all tied up in trying to do legal
defense with the litigation team, and then there was an impromptu partner meeting
about what we do—dissolve, rebrand. Jesus. It was the longest night.” He pulled his
work phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the small table in the hallway.

“Go change,” I said, yanking up my laces. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” he said, “starving.”

“Eggs?”

“Oh, that sounds perfect. That way you do with the cream cheese?”

“You got it.” I made a scurrying motion with my hand and as soon as he went into the
bedroom, I picked up the work phone.

Password?
it asked.

I typed in
N-E-L-L
, pressing each of the four letters down so hard that they made indents in the side
of my thumb. And then I was in; I got what I needed and left out the front door, but
not before grabbing the eggs from the refrigerator. The entire carton.
No fluffy eggs for you this morning, Dave
.

I tucked the plastic container under my arm and stepped in the elevator. And while
I really wanted to egg something of Dave’s—preferably Nell—what I did was give them,
with a sweet smile, to the first breakfast-cart guy I saw on Lexington. He was setting
up, rubbing grease on his grill, when I rapped on the metal. “Could you use these?”

He held out his hand. “Sure could, miss. Thanks.” He was as unsurprised as if I were
his regular delivery guy.

And as soon as they were out of my hands and in his, I ran the thirty blocks downtown
to the address I’d lifted from Dave’s phone.

I DIDN’T STOP
until I got to Nell’s building. As soon as I saw its redbrick facade, my certainty
faltered. I had no plan, just anger. I was so much madder than I’d been when Dave’s
crime had been bigger and more public.

I ordered an iced coffee at a café across the street, sat down on the bench outside
it and stewed, watching Nell’s front door as the city woke up.

Eight people exited her building between six and seven. Counting them, I tried to
pinpoint what upset me the most. How could I handle Dave’s transgressions when they
were against the American people but not against me alone? It wasn’t just the thought
of the two of them together. Or even the lies. It was also the shock, like jumping
into Antarctic bottom water. I’d never known that surprise could preserve someone
in a moment, but look at Sloane. As far as she had come, a piece of her remained there
on Sycamore Street, staring at my mom through the car’s fogged-up windows.

But, to be fair, not so long after Dave had been with Nell, I’d been dreaming about
Percy like a fool. If I worked with Percy during sixteen-hour days and through weekends
instead of in little bits and pieces, would I have been unable to resist him? Maybe
this was par for the course with marriage. You felt tempted; you acted or you didn’t;
you got over it. Had Dave gotten over it?

By eight thirty, First Avenue was crowded, people swarming to offices in suits that
looked far too hot for late July; dog walkers staring at their phones, moving slowly
as the dogs sniffed trash cans; parents pushing their children, all in solid color
camp T-shirts, onto yellow buses.

At eight forty-five, I tossed my coffee in the trash and waited until the traffic
ebbed enough for me to cross the street. Then, as Dave had probably done before, I
pressed the buzzer for apartment 5J.

“Cameron?” a voice floated over the intercom. “I’ll be right down.” It was sweet,
a little childish—not what I expected. Like Alpine Heidi inquiring whether Grandpapa
would like more cake. I wanted to hear it again. I left quickly, almost bumping into
a gray-haired man, and leaned against the doorway of the building next door, waiting
for her to emerge.

A few beats later, Nell did, standing on the landing a bit lost, swiveling her head,
wondering where Cameron was, but then she checked her watch and started walking south.
So I did too.

I tracked that narrow little back like a homing missile: messy ponytail, gray hoodie,
white Capri yoga pants through which I could see her (rather matronly) panty line.
By the time Nell turned into the grocery store at the end of her block, I was close
enough to catch her scent. I’d anticipated irresistibly floral. Instead, her bouquet
was lemony sweet, like a cheap cleaning product.

I hung back in front of the misted broccoli as Nell accidentally toppled the pyramid
of plums by reaching for one that was too deep in the bin. Two rolled down to the
floor, and she bent to pick them up with one hand, first brushing them off on her
pants and then, guiltily, putting both in her shopping basket. It was when she glanced
around, to see if anyone had caught the moment, that our eyes connected. I walked
toward her—got close enough to see her red-rimmed eyes. “Hi.”

She paused. “Hello.”

“I’m—”

“I know.” She smoothed the halo of frizz on the top of her head. “I haven’t talked
to him. It’s over.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not at the office. I mean, obviously. You should know that, actually.” Her voice
had an edge. “They found me a new job, and it starts on Monday.”

“Well.” I tucked a hair behind my ear. “That’s probably for the best, considering . . .
what’s going on there now. You know, with the FBI.” I stopped short of saying,
Who knew sleeping with your boss could be such a good business move?
Because the answer was
Plenty of people, since time immemorial, although usually it doesn’t go down quite
like this.
She gave me a funny look, so I just said, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes bulged—the whites prominent—making her look bovine and uneasy.
She was, like me, trying to figure out what exactly I wanted. “I’m not some bunny
boiler. I could’ve stayed at the firm and kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have, like,
chased him around the firm in my lingerie.”

I nodded. Based on the practical shape of her underpants beneath those white yoga
pants, I believed her. “Well . . .” I shrugged. “I’m sorry your affair with my husband
disrupted your work situation.”

“Oh my god.” She covered her mouth. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m in a bad place. I shouldn’t
even be . . . I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I know it was so wrong. Now that it’s over, it’s
all so cheap.” She opened her mouth to say something and then shut it. And then opened
it again. She looked like a fish. Fish-mouthed Nell Standish. It should have been
more satisfying than it was.

“What were you about to say?”

“Never mind. You don’t need to hear this.”

“Please.”

“I thought it would be worth the obstacles. You know, like five years from now, no
one would remember that he was even married when we got together. Because we’d have
a whole life together. And when I did think of you, I thought that you’d be better
off with someone else, your true someone, with whom you could have what he and I had.
But I was wrong. It didn’t mean that to him.”

“It didn’t?”

“It was just a . . . fling to him.” She spat out the word, as though it still hurt.

“How long were you guys—”

“Three months. He wasn’t counting, though. It meant nothing to him.”

“He said that?”

“Oh, trust me. He’s made it very clear that I’m never to contact him again. And I
won’t.” She bit her lip. “For him, there was never even a second of deliberation.
I, of course, idiot that I am, was all in. I never would’ve gotten involved if I understood
what it meant to him. Not that it makes it right, what we did. Of course.”

I wanted to know more. What had he been like in college? Why had they broken up? Had
she followed him here? What did she love about the Dave she thought she knew? Who
was the Dave she thought she knew?

I suppose it’s how a parent might feel when her kid bites someone else at the playground;
I didn’t want to, but somehow, I’d assumed blame. I felt like showing Nell some kindness,
offering her a tissue, touching her shoulder. Instead, I said good-bye.

“You got what you wanted?”

“Yeah.”

“You needed to make sure that it’s over?”

“Sort of.”

“Well”—she pretended to examine a peach to hide the tears pooling in her eyes—“you
have nothing to worry about.”