Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3

by Suzanne Jenkins

“Were you a client of his?” The young woman looked like she was in a position of authority in the company; her office alone said important and was not one that your average secretary would occupy. Surely she would know who was a client and who wasn’t. I was not going to lie.

  “No, not a client.” I felt silly after that, what did I hope to accomplish? Why did I bring a purse full of jewelry with me? Was I hoping to extort money from his business? What power did I have? So what if he screwed me. Millions of men did the same thing every day and never suffered a consequence. I guess I simply wanted some acknowledgment that I existed, that what I had with him was worth something. But what? I didn’t have anything of value with him. I could have gone on and had another relationship that meant something and it wouldn’t have mattered to him at all. I suddenly knew that I had loved him. I kept hoping each time we were together that he would love me. But it wasn’t possible. He may not have been capable of loving if he could use someone like he used me. A free whore. I started to stand up to leave.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I don’t really know why I came here after all, but I am sorry he is dead,” I said. She spoke up finally.

  “No, don’t go. I can see that Jack meant something to you. Do you want to talk about it?” She started to walk around her desk again. She had a look of concern on her face, but there was something about her eyes that alarmed me. They were cold and hard. She had to have been involved with him too, in some manner. A casual business associated wouldn’t have been so intrigued, would she have? “Let’s go get a cup of coffee. I’m ready to get out in the air for a little walk. How about you?”

  “Okay. I apologize for interrupting your day. I need to call my office first though. I shouldn’t have gone to work today. I’m going to tell them I’m ill.” She leaned forward and pulled her desk phone toward me.

  “Go ahead and use my phone. The number is blocked; they won’t know where you are calling from. We don’t always get great cell phone reception on this side of the building.” She walked to the door and unlocked it, letting herself out and giving me privacy. I called and explained that I had gotten ill while out for lunch and would not be back for the rest of the day. Of course, that meant sneaking around. She came back in to retrieve her purse.

  “Is everything alright?” She asked. I said it was. “We can take a cab north and you won’t have to worry about anyone seeing you. There is a little coffee shop right by the bridge that I like. Is that okay?” Sandra was being so kind; I had forgotten that she might be a competitor for the affections of Jack Smith. But that wasn’t possible now, was it? He was dead.

  We walked side by side along the corridor and stepped into the elevator. We didn’t speak. Once outside, I left the rush of air leave my lungs; I had been holding my breath. What was I waiting for? This woman, a colleague of Jack’s, someone possibly in love with him, was interested in me because of him. Was she operating out of curiosity? What would make a work associate interested enough to take time away from her job to cross exam me? My women’s intuition was boiling over. I thought that I would allow her to continue being the dominate female and do the questioning. I would listen carefully for anything that might shed some light on her relationship with Jack. I watched her step off the curb and raise her arm for a cab. One came right away. She was dressed in a summer weight suit that didn’t look high end, with a silk blouse underneath it, and very expensive shoes. She saw me looking at her feet and laughed.

  “No matter what, all women love shoes,” she said. “They weren’t as expensive as you’d think.” She turned to me. “I got them on ebay!”

  “No way!” I exclaimed stupidly. “How did you know they were real?”

  “I’ve dealt with the seller before.” She turned her foot so I could see the sides and back.

  “Stunning!” I exclaimed. I never bought shoes anywhere but Marshall’s in Newport Center. My salary precluded designer shoes. “It might be dangerous for someone with my budget to start looking on ebay for a bargain.” She looked at me curiously.

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a secretary at the Exchange. I have a degree in math, but couldn’t find a job and didn’t want to teach. My family is disgusted. I have already been there for nine years and in twenty I can retire. I think I’ll stay. If I don’t get fired, first.” Why did I say that? After the first few months of escaping every day for a forty-five minute rendezvous with Jack, I never gave it another thought and no one chastised me for taking long lunches. It occurred to me just then that maybe he had a hand in it. Maybe he knew someone at the Exchange. ‘Let Cindy take longer lunches so I can have sex with her.’ I wondered if that was why I was still employed.

  “There is a lot of energy in that place!” She said. “It must be fun!”

  “Not really,” I replied. “I’m in the pool. I don’t work for one individual, so there isn’t any camaraderie at all. Maybe that’s why I am still there. No gossip, no dynamics between people. Very rarely there is a romance and then boy oh boy! You should see the magpies hopping around, trying to spread the gossip or get another story. Fortunately, I am usually too busy to take note of what’s going on. And I am always the last to know. Always.” I wondered why that was. No one was interested in me and I really wasn’t interested in anyone. Maybe that was why I was alone. I didn’t care about anyone that I worked with. I didn’t care about anyone, period. Jack had been the first man to capture my attention in a long time. How shallow was I that I would suffer the shame and humiliation of being used by someone, just because he was gorgeous?

  We arrived at the coffee shop. I got out of the cab first and then waited on the sidewalk while Sandra paid the driver. It was her idea, after all. I didn’t have the money to be taking cabs all over town. She led the way and I followed her. We sat at a table in front of a grimy window. The Brooklyn Bridge was right over us. I could sit there for hours and watch the cars file up the ramp. It was cool and dark in the coffee shop, an old diner car that had lasted through several neighborhood gentrifications. It was on the decline at the present time.

  “So, what shall we talk about?” I asked Sandra. And then without prompting, forgetting my previous decision to allow her to lead, I went full steam ahead. “I didn’t know Jack that well. I certainly didn’t know he owned the company. Let’s see if I can repeat this correctly. He told me that his boss was a tyrant, a religious fanatic.” I stopped myself in the nick of time, but she was wise to me. I almost let it slip that he lied so he’d have an excuse not to be seen in public with me. She was looking at me uncertainly; I could tell I had confused her. I had to keep the upper hand now and maybe confusion was a good way.

  “What circumstances led to him lying to you?” She asked. Oh no, you don’t, I thought to myself.

  “I would rather not say,” I said. She could dig a little more if she wanted information from me. “What capacity do you work there at Jack’s place? If I may ask.”

  “I’m a partner,” she replied. She looked uncomfortable. Good, I thought. Tit for tat. It figured she was a partner, although she seemed a little young. I didn’t inquire further because I didn’t really care. I wanted to know why she was so interested in me and asked her.

  “Why do you care so much about what I have to say? It’s not like it will affect anything Jack had or did.” I had an interior giggle at that; it was just enough of an allusion to make her think otherwise. She looked out the window. I was still having a difficult time getting a read on her. But something told me that she had been in his bed, and not just as a screw. Then I thought I would take a chance. She could just say no, or mind your own business, or fuck off. “You are his girlfriend.”

  “Was his girlfriend. Remember, he’s dead.” She looked me right in the eye. “I have my reasons to want his reputation to stay intact. That and the fact that his widow and I are good friends now.” I don’t know why I found that difficult to believe. Would she invite me into the fold? I remembered the wife’s name; Pamela. Pamela, Sandra and Cy
nthia….the three women of Jack Smith.

  “Trust me; I am not going to expose him in any way. I can promise you that. Although truthfully, he doesn’t deserve it. He deserves my wrath. But I guess that I am to blame for all of it because I allowed it.” I had said it. I had allowed it. It was the most difficult admission I had made. Jack used me because he could. He never forced me. I came willingly, eagerly. “Wow, I think I just had a breakthrough. Thirty-one isn’t too late to save oneself from being an asshole, is it?” I asked her. Surprisingly, Sandra Benson laughed.

  “No, no it isn’t. I hope I can do it by that age! Anyway, I don’t think you are an asshole at all. If what you just did is make an admission of guilt, then let me reassure you. You are not alone.” She didn’t say anymore, but my feeling was that perhaps Jack had more than one victim. We drank our coffee in silence. She hadn’t said much, but Sandra Benson had given me the validation I sought. If I were able, I would keep going. One foot in front of the other. If my life were so empty that a silly sexual relationship with a married man was the only thing I had to look forward to, then I had better make some changes, maybe even look for a new job. It wasn’t too late, I thought at the time. But it was. It was too late for me.

  *

  Sandra Benson left the young woman at the coffee shop and went back to her office. She looked out the dirty windows of the cab, wondering how her day could have gotten worse when just a few hours before, she was sure it was as bad as was possible. She’d have to do some serious thinking before she made one more move.

  Chapter 2

  Organic Bonanza in Babylon was packed with women doing their grocery shopping. Many were in tennis or golf attire, some with gym wear, and a few wearing bathing suit cover-ups. Usually it was the tourists who wore bathing suits in public; it was an unspoken rule that locals dressed appropriately in town except for a few younger wives who had the body for bathing suits and were therefore forgiven, and teenagers who could wear whatever they wanted.

  Pam Smith loved the grocery store. When Jack was alive, she could be seen there at least four times a week. Now that he was gone, she was in there usually twice, once to pick up food for her and her mother, and the next time to get food for her weekend guests. Always pleasant with a smile on her face, the clerks loved seeing her, and made sure all of her grocery needs were meant. The guy in the meat department especially butchered steaks for her back when Jack was alive, and when Jack started to watch his weight, he trimmed them extra lean without her having to ask more than once. Almost every employee was there to serve the public and in spite of the prices being astronomical, and there being a big chain store just two blocks inland, the women in town patronized Bonanza because they didn’t want it to go out of business.

  She pushed the grocery cart up and down the aisles, wandering over to the deli counter and looked over the case, thinking about what she would fix for lunches for the next couple of days. She wasn’t making a big deal about food the way she did when Jack was alive. There were no other customers at the counter, but she took a number anyway, the two young women whispering to each other and ignoring Pam. When the click of the number dispenser didn’t alert the girls that a customer was waiting, Pam decided rather than disturbing their conversation, to forgo cold cuts and find something else to eat for lunch. She moved away from the counter. One of the women looked out of the corner of her eye to see Pam leave.

  “She’s gone,” Marion whispered to her coworker, Jean. “Thank God I didn’t have to look her in the eye. I’m telling you, it creeps me out big time, just her being in the store.” They turned around to look out on the expanse of the store.

  “Keep your voice down! I should have never told you about it. If she finds out, my sister is going to kill me. You have to promise not to say a thing to anyone. She had to take some kind of oath to work in the hospital that she wouldn’t squeal about anyone’s personal business. She shouldn’t have told me, either.” Jean was worried now; why’d she ever say anything about Mrs. Smith to big mouthed Marion?

  “Why did your sister say anything to you if it is such a big secret? Shit that goes on in the hospital isn’t supposed to be dinner time conversation, you know.” Marion hated Jean’s sister; jealous that she got into nursing school in the first place, and now making decent money while Marion was stuck at Organic Bonanza on minimum wage. “Anyway, I hated Mr. Smith ever since I was in girl’s T-Ball,” Marion said. “He would drool all over Alice Mackenzie; remember her? She was a skinny assed blond even when she was eight. His precious angel of a daughter got the attention of the other coach. The big girls like me were ignored or yelled at or both. He never let me play once we got up to Little League.” Memories of the way she was treated as a child boiled over into her present thinking of Pam Smith. “I’m not surprised that haughty bitch has AIDS. She probably got it from that prick of a husband of hers.” Jean gasped.

  “Keep your voice down!” She repeated. Their boss, the head of the deli came up to them and told them to get busy; there was a complaint that the deli department wasn’t manned. What had they been doing all morning?

  Pam went through check-out and took her groceries to the car. She was getting her hair done in twenty minutes, so she had just enough time to unload the bags and ask her mother to put the cold stuff in the refrigerator. She’d do the rest if Nelda wasn’t up to it. But her mother was there, dressed in her heels and stockings, ready to go into the city for the weekend. Pam’s mother-in-law, Bernice Smith, loved having Pam and Nelda stay with her at her brownstone mansion in the heart of the Upper West Side of Manhattan. At first, she resisted the idea of the two of them ‘infringing on her privacy’. After the second day of a trial visit, she loved it. Having other women in the house with her was like having a big slumber party twenty four hours a day. And since Pam was paying the upkeep of the house, it was only fair that she and her mother be welcomed there. When winter arrived in a few months, Pam would travel back and forth between the beach and the city. Nelda could do whatever she liked. At seventy-seven, both Nelda and Bernice were capable of taking care of themselves. But having someone around to assist them if necessary was becoming more than just a luxury. Pam made a deal with the staff to stay on full time, but she had to hire an additional person to be Bernice’s assistant. She was a combination of companion and nurse’s aide. Bernice had to be reminded on a daily basis that Candy was not her personal maid.

  While she was at the store, Pam’s sister Marie called the house. Marie was Nelda’s youngest daughter. She wasn’t going to be coming to the beach for the weekend after all because didn’t feel well enough to make the trip, or at least that was what she was telling her mother.

  “I’m going into the city to stay with Bernice. I’ll come downtown and look after you,” Nelda said. There was no way in hell, Marie thought. If she needed her mother, the woman would make every excuse under the sun not to come. What was with her?

  “No Mom, that’s not necessary. I just need some rest. Having you here, I would feel like I needed to entertain you. Stay uptown.” Nelda gave in. She didn’t really want to go take care of her daughter anyway. At forty-five she was old enough to take care of herself. After they said good bye, Marie curled up next to the body of her sleeping lover and closed her eyes.

  As soon as Pam walked through the door, her mother told her about Marie. Pam didn’t say anything. She was a little concerned, but didn’t voice it. The last thing they needed was their mother second guessing why Marie wasn’t coming.

  “I wonder if Sandra is on her way. Maybe I should stay and wait,” Pam wondered. “I’ll call her,” she decided. If no one was coming this weekend, she would be free to spend it with her children and their friends. Sandra picked up on the first ring.

  “I’ve been sitting on this damn train for over an hour; someone jumped on the tracks supposedly. Sorry I can’t give you an exact time.” They chatted a little more and then Sandra had to go; they were putting everyone on a train going back into the city, so she wouldn�
�t be coming to the beach. It would be a peaceful weekend, after all.

  Chapter 3

  Delores Frank was an intake coordinator at the New York State Department of Health, Manhattan Office. For the past twenty years, she monitored AIDS cases in the city for the state of New York. Every case that crossed her desk was cross referenced with cases throughout the city. On Monday, she had received a file that made her blood boil. She read through it once, and then called an emergency meeting with her boss, Ron Peterson, and two interviewers. She arranged for lunch to be brought in at her expense. She wanted her colleagues to be relaxed while she talked to them, not looking at their watches, or feeling their stomachs growling. The four of them arrived right on time and crowded around the sandwich tray, fixing plates of food.

  “I am starving! Thank you for getting lunch, Dee,” Maggie Daniel said as she piled veggies on her plate.

  “I am too,” Betty James said, adding, “I didn’t think I would have any time to eat today, we have been so busy. Did everyone in Manhattan just suddenly decide to contract HIV? I hate to think of what the rest of the week is going to bring.” Dee Frank hated to add fuel to the fire.

  “It did just get worse,” she said. “I feel badly about what I am going to dump on the all of you. Let’s sit down and I’ll fill you in.”

  “I knew I should have called out sick today,” Ron Peterson said. “I’m going to jail if I don’t get some of those files that are already on my desk closed.” He pulled out a chair in the middle of the bevy of his favorite women. “So dump away, Dee Frank.” He bit into his gigantic sandwich and moaned with his eyes closed. “Better than sex.” The women groaned.

  “Oh yuck. Thanks for ruining lunch for me, Ron,” Betty scolded. “Get it over with, Dee.”

  “Well, to start with, evidently someone dropped the ball over at Saint Vincent. They had a fellow, a man named Jack Smith, come through the Trauma Department at the end of May. He had a heart attack on the train, and the ER tech drew blood and sent it off according to protocol. The problem is that no one followed up when he died the same night up in the CCU.