Warren Lane

by Andrew Diamond

Susan interpreted this statement in the best possible light, as a sign of Will’s desire to spread friendship and make peace. Looking back now, after many years of marriage, she was able to interpret the words more accurately. “An opportunity to bring someone over to my side” said a lot about Will, the opportunist who divided the world into his side and the other side.

  At the end of the evening of their first date, on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, she stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. When she stepped back, he looked disappointed.

  Oh, I didn’t do that right, she thought. He wanted a real kiss. She looked down at the pavement, and then back up at him, thinking, Please don’t give up on me. It takes me a long time to warm up to someone. But I’m worth it. I swear I am.

  Watching her eyes as these thoughts passed through her, Will thought she looked like a stray dog in search of a home. “Can I see you again?” he asked.

  Her whole face blossomed into the magical smile he had seen that day in the restaurant two years earlier.

  “Yes.”

  The first time they slept together, his passion was clear, and the experience she had feared might be awkward was deeply moving instead. It shook her out of her depression and re-awakened her to life.

  That was thirteen years ago. They married within nine months, and for a while she travelled with him everywhere as his business grew. Throughout those early years, his devotion to her was unwavering. She could see in his eyes and feel in his touch that no woman was as beautiful or as interesting to him as she was. At the parties and fundraisers they attended, he made sure she had everything she wanted. When she was stuck in conversation with some bore, he moved in to relieve her. He could see before anyone else when the introvert began to tire under the strain of socializing, and he took her home.

  She enjoyed watching him interact with other men. He had an instinctive sense of people’s spatial boundaries. He knew exactly where the line was between friendly and uncomfortable. In business interactions, he would slowly maneuver himself into position just an inch inside that boundary. Then he would put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, gripping it just a little too tightly while he continued to speak cheerfully. The ambiguity of his touch was calculated to make people confused about whether they should feel reassured or threatened. He was at once their friend and capable of hurting them.

  Will could tell a great deal about a person from their reaction to this treatment. The trusting, naive and unsuspecting showed insufficient alarm at these minor trespasses. The fearful shrank back almost imperceptibly. The strong pushed back. The ones in whom he inspired passion and trust leaned into him. From these reactions, he could gauge whether a person would be motivated more by threats or by generosity, whether he should appeal to their loyalty or their self-interest, and how far he might be able to push them.

  Each of these interactions was, in its own way, a reenactment of that first scene Susan had witnessed in front of the coffee shop—Will was slowly and subtly taking control of the situation. And though he was tall, physically strong and imposing, he ruled by confidence and charm instead of force. His employees respected and admired him, and Susan admired him too.

  So long as the food and sex were good, he was an easy man to please. The predictable rhythms of his appetites, along with his confidence, money, and easy manner, gradually transformed her perception of the world from a place of terrifying uncertainty to one of safety and stability. As the foundation of their marriage solidified, her confidence returned.

  With friends and acquaintances, she spoke more freely. Her once placid and unexpressive face began to show more clearly the warmth of her character and the liveliness of her mind.

  By the sixth year of their marriage, she was outgrowing her husband. She had tired of the ports of Asia, and of playing the wife of the wealthy importer to an audience of businessmen who appreciated her in broken English. She travelled with him less and less, and spent more time at home in Los Angeles, raising money for the arts and charities with the wives of other wealthy men.

  After nine years, she stopped travelling with him entirely, except for vacations. She convinced him to buy a house in Santa Barbara, where she could have a quieter life, in fresher air, away from the traffic and the egos of the city. Will’s business was running smoothly then, with the day-to-day operations in the hands of a few trusted managers.

  Susan expected him to work less after the move. Instead, he travelled more, scheduling six days away to conduct three days of business. And something in him changed in the past two years. She had a sense of what it was, but she didn’t want to admit it to herself until just recently, when news from the doctor forced her to confront what she had been avoiding.

  She looked again at the wedding photo with sorrow and regret. If only I had been a year older when I met you, she thought. If only I had been year wiser. A year further removed from that awful time. I might have known better.

  The phone rang as she put the photo back on the dresser.

  “Hello?”

  “Susan?”

  “Hi Leila,” Susan said as she walked into the closet and began to browse through the hanging dresses.

  “Are you coming to book group tomorrow?”

  “No,” said Susan. “I don’t even know what book you’re reading.”

  “Victory,” said Leila, “by Joseph Conrad.”

  “That’s not really a book group book.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “It’s so slow. Is it even worth finishing?”

  “Of course,” said Susan. “All of his books are. You have to be patient with Conrad, but if you’re willing to slow down, he rewards you.”

  “Well I’m choosing next month’s book,” Leila said. “The Echo Maker, by Richard Powers.”

  “Ugh. That’s an awful book.” Susan walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, examining with disapproval the flesh that bulged around her bra straps.

  “He won a prize for that!” Leila protested.

  “He should have been punished.”

  “I hear an echo. Are you in the bathroom?”

  “Yes, just looking in the mirror.”

  “Well I hope you’re dressed,” Leila said.

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, Susan, don’t stand in front of the mirror without clothes. No good can come of that.”

  “I didn’t used to be so... soft.”

  “You didn’t used to be forty. Seriously, Susan, don’t stand there looking at yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t do the same thing,” Susan said.

  “I hung a curtain over my mirror.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” said Leila, “but I should. Every time I get out of the shower, I catch a glimpse of myself and think, ‘Put some clothes on, you cow. You can’t walk around my house like that.’ Of course, I’ve had four kids, so I’m a bit worse for wear. How’s Will?”

  Susan took a deep breath.

  “Oh,” said Leila. “Bad subject?”

  “Bad subject,” Susan said. “I don’t know how Will is. He’s probably fine.” She leaned toward the mirror and examined the little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

  “Are you two going through a rough patch?”

  “I guess you could call it that,” Susan sighed.

  “Eddie and I have been through some tough times, but they pass. You can get past this.”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Susan said.

  “Have you considered counseling?”

  “There’s no point,” Susan said. “He’s seeing someone else.”

  “Oh. Oh... I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, Susan. I’m so sorry. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Susan said.

  “Oh, that’s terrible. How long have you known about thi
s?”

  “I don’t know. In my heart? At least a year.”

  “Oh, Susan. I never would have guessed. That has to weigh on you, but you never show it.”

  “If I seem composed,” Susan said, “it’s because I work really hard at it.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, Leila. But thank you. I have an appointment this morning.”

  “With who?”

  “Someone who will help me out of this mess.”

  “Well I hope it does you some good. Call me if you want to talk. I miss you. We should talk more often.”

  “I know,” Susan said. “I’m out of touch with everyone these days.”

  “Well don’t be. Call me.”

  “I will. Bye, Leila.”

  Susan walked to the closet and chose a simple black dress that suppressed her curves. She brushed her hair until every strand was in line, then filed one polished, manicured fingernail. The others passed inspection.

  In the kitchen, she placed several items into a large envelope: two photos of her husband, a photo of his silver Mercedes that showed the license plate, a page printed from Google maps that pinpointed his office, and some papers with his name and age and a description of his furniture business.

  Her composure was slipping, but her resolve was not. As she walked to the front door, the tapping of her heels on the stone floor echoed through the empty house, and she refused to release the tears from her reddening eyes.

  Chapter 4

  “Come on, buddy. Today’s the day.”

  Mark Ready opened his bleary, red-rimmed eyes to see his boss, Gary, standing above him in the small cabin of the boat. Above deck, the halyards clanged against the mast in the gentle waves of the marina.

  “What day is it?” Ready asked.

  “The day you say goodbye to this boat,” Gary said. “Come on. I told you, you had to be out today. Go back up to the house. Is your hangover bad?”

  “Just the usual,” said Ready, sitting up slowly.

  “I have a couple of bags to bring down from the car. Rebecca will be here in a minute. Have you two met?”

  “No.”

  “Well put some clothes on.”

  Gary climbed out of the cabin, and Ready heard him say something to Rebecca out on the dock. A minute later, Rebecca entered the cabin, where Ready sat on the edge of the berth in his underwear.

  “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know anyone was down here. Are you Mark?”

  “Yes,” Ready said.

  “Gary told me about you, but I always imagined the guy who took care of the boat was...” She looked him up and down. “…older.”

  Ready was, in fact, twenty-seven years old and six feet tall. The features of his face were sculpted in perfect symmetry, and his eyes were almost as dark as his nearly black hair.

  “I was about to get dressed,” Ready said.

  “So you watch the house when Gary’s out sailing?” Rebecca asked, showing no sign she intended to go on deck.

  “Yeah.” Ready rubbed his eyes while Rebecca looked around the cabin. “Have you been on the boat before?”

  “Twice. But I never saw you before.”

  “Yeah, I know. Um, I was about to get dressed,” he said again in a tone suggesting he would like some privacy.

  “Go ahead,” Rebecca said.

  Ready stood up and she watched him pull on his pants.

  “Do you mind?” Ready said. “You’re kind of staring at me.”

  “Sorry. I just didn’t realize Gary’s sailboat guy... looked like... you.”

  Ready put his shirt on and grabbed his shoes and bag, then climbed out of the cabin just in time to see Gary, bags in hand, step from the dock onto the boat.

  “Did you meet Rebecca?” he asked.

  “Yeah, we met.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t like her.”

  Gary laughed. “You have the keys to the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be back in four weeks. Maybe more, maybe less. We’ll see how things go.”

  “All right,” Ready said, shaking his hand. “Have fun out there.”

  “I left some beer in the fridge for you.”

  “Thanks,” Ready said. He made his way along the dock toward the parking lot.

  Gary descended into the cabin with the bags.

  “Did he say he didn’t like me?” Rebecca asked.

  “Were you staring at him?” asked Gary.

  “A little.”

  “He thinks you’re attractive,” Gary said. He tossed one bag toward the berth at the front of the cabin and dropped the other on the bench by his side.

  “I heard him say he didn’t like me.”

  “He gets a lot of attention from the ladies.”

  “So I’d imagine,” Rebecca said. “He’s very...”

  “Handsome?”

  “A little more than handsome,” Rebecca said.

  “He doesn’t like being looked at,” Gary said as he unzipped the bag on the bench. “It makes him nervous. He once told me that the worst thing is when an attractive woman stares at him when she’s with her boyfriend or her husband. It fills him with conflicting feelings.” Gary laughed. “So you were looking at him?”

  Rebecca nodded her head with some embarrassment.

  “Well, you don’t have to be shy about it. People look at attractive people. No shame in that. Hollywood built a whole industry around it.”

  “How long has he been working for you?” Rebecca asked.

  “A couple of years.”

  “What else does he do?”

  “Drinks beer. Smokes pot.”

  “He doesn’t have any other job?”

  “Nope. Dropped out of college. The guy has no ambition, but he’s trustworthy, and he’d do anything to help a friend.”

  “Is he a little...” Rebecca pointed to her head. “Slow?”

  “No,” said Gary. “He comes off that way when he’s drunk and when he’s hung over.”

  “How often is he drunk or hung over?”

  “Most of the time. To tell you the truth, I think he’s a little lost.”

  “I thought that just looking at him,” Rebecca said. “Half of me wants to mother him.”

  “And the other half?” Gary asked with a laugh as he pulled some shirts from the bag. “What does the other half of you want to do with him?”

  Seeing Rebecca’s embarrassment, he added, “Oh, come on. What do you think goes through a man’s mind? Are women really so different?”

  “Aha.” He pulled a jacket from the bag and tossed it to Rebecca. “The breeze will be cold once we leave the marina.”

  On Shoreline Drive, Ready’s little blue Toyota made its way up the road toward the heart of Santa Barbara.

  Chapter 5

  Warren Lane stood at the entrance to the restaurant scanning the breakfast crowd. Trim and upright in his finely tailored Italian suit, his body composed a single straight line. His shirt was custom made and neatly pressed. The old-fashioned cuffs were held together by a set of platinum cuff links. His skin was smooth and deeply tanned from the Southern California sun, and his long nose turned down at the tip. His close-set green eyes were watchful. These features, combined with the thinning hair he combed straight back from his forehead, gave him the appearance of an eagle.

  He spotted his prey across the room: Benjamin Schwartz, a tired-looking man sitting alone and staring into the distance. His brown suit hung from his slouching frame like the slack riggings of a neglected ship. Lane walked directly to his table, his pace easy but purposeful. At Lane’s appearance, Schwartz snapped out of his reverie.

  “Mister Lane?” Schwartz said, standing and offering his hand. “I hope the drive from Santa Barbara wasn’t too ba
d.”

  Ignoring the outstretched hand, Lane dropped an envelope onto the table and sat in the chair next to Schwartz’s.

  “Take a look at that,” he said.

  Schwartz sat down and withdrew the contents of the envelope—photos of him in his business suit, standing next to men he didn’t care to remember. He scanned the photos and the stack of printed emails and bank statements for only a few seconds before raising his weary eyes to Lane.

  “What do you want?” Schwartz asked.

  “You put that deal together, didn’t you, Mr. Schwartz? After all those years of honest work, why would you associate with people like that? Hmm?” Lane smiled. “Were you in some kind of trouble? Or did you just need some quick cash?”

  “I needed the cash,” Schwartz sighed. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have to.”

  “Money laundering is a very serious offense.”

  “What do you want from me?” Schwartz asked again.

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  Schwartz shook his head woefully. “I haven’t got it.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve got three hundred thousand in your retirement account.”

  Schwartz shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have nothing in there now. My wife’s been ill.”

  “Boo-hoo,” Lane mocked.

  “Do you have any idea how much insurance doesn’t cover when a person has cancer? We’ve drained all our accounts. And my wife…” Schwartz choked up. “My wife!”

  Provoked by Schwartz’s weakness, Lane said coldly, “Sounds like you bought the wrong insurance. Or married the wrong woman.” Then he added with contempt, “You’re throwing your money into a sinking ship.”

  Shocked, Schwartz stared angrily at Lane. “Why were you even investigating me?” Schwartz asked. “I’ve been above board my whole life. At least, until that.” He gestured toward the envelope.

  “I wasn’t investigating you,” Lane said. “I was investigating him.” He pointed to one of the men in the photo. “His wife hired me to find out who he’s fucking. I just happened to come across you in the course of my investigation.”

  Lane leaned back with a little smile. “It’s one of the benefits in my line of work. You start turning over rocks, you start discovering a lot of things.”