Trick of the Mind
J. S. Chapman
Trick of the Mind
J. S. Chapman
Copyright © 2013 by J. S. Chapman
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Author Website: jschapman.com
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This digital book is licensed for your personal reading enjoyment and may not be resold or given away to others. Reproduction in whole or part of this book without the express written consent of the author and/or publisher is strictly prohibited and protected by copyright law. Short excerpts used for the purposes of critical reviews is permitted. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
From the Author
Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.
«»
Proverbs 31:10, King James translation
Chapter 1
CLUTCHING A SHOULDER purse smack against her side, Kendra Swain hurried through the downtown throngs. Since she was late for a dinner engagement, her mind swirled with accusations. At her boss for making last-minute changes. At her job, for taking up the bulk of her time. And at her husband for not answering his phone.
Gusts of wind whistled off Lake Michigan, barreled through the downtown canyons of Chicago, surged downriver on the draft, and whisked back to the source, cracking the air like a bullwhip. Despite October’s biting winds, crowds choked the Loop, so named for the elevated tracks circling the city’s financial district. This was evening rush hour, when office workers poured out of tall buildings and the darkness of night waited just around the corner, ready to pounce like a cat.
With the many rings on her fingers dancing in the fading evening light, Kendra again tried to reach Joel on his cell phone but heard only the flat tones of his recorded greeting. Fighting the biting cold and persistent winds, she pushed her head down and forged on. Just a block to go, she argued with herself. They’d be together soon enough. It wasn’t as if he’d start without her. They had a date. A very romantic date. At their favorite restaurant. For a special occasion.
Drizzle joined the wind. She opened her umbrella and pushed forward.
Hearing her mental clock ticking ever louder, Kendra jostled past tourists, plowed through window shoppers, and cut paths around office workers. Women were annoyed by her aggressiveness. But men ... ah, those silly men who didn’t have a chance in hell ... they were intrigued more often than not, and frequently stopped to glance back at her with admiration.
Kendra possessed enough self-awareness to know she wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense. Her dark-brown hair was curly and unmanageable. Her longish nose didn’t measure up to the ideal. And her olive complexion reflected the Celtic legacy of her father’s distant ancestors. Yet she carried with her an indefinable something most men craved, or so she was told by girlfriends who didn’t have an axe to grind. Her strong points, she eventually decided, lay in a long-legged athletic build, an air of snobbishness that actually came from insecurity and, as her best friend once told her, full-throttle femininity. All she knew was that married or single, little boys between eight and eighty-two usually gave her a second glance, and sometimes a third.
The attraction Kendra generated without even trying had presented her with a lifelong challenge. Knowing that at any moment she could appeal to the decent, the unscrupulous, or the downright dangerous, she had become a cautious woman. Overly cautious, some would say. Should anyone engage her with a threatening glance or inappropriate overture, she affected a faraway gaze. The trick was seeing everything and nothing at all. She learned the tactic at a young age, having been taught by dirty old men who considered sweet young things perfect targets for their depravities. She could almost recall a time when she was still naïve. But true innocence lay far behind her, not even a distant memory that could be turned over in her hands like a treasured souvenir.
Two doors away from her rendezvous with Joel, Kendra spotted a panderer lingering near the curb. Butted up against a lamppost, he assumed a feral stance, eyes on the lookout for unsuspecting prey. Different from the usual beggars who occupied nearly every street corner, he appeared vulnerable, new at the game, shy about his intentions, but determined to stick it out. When she came abreast of him, he glanced at her as if she were the one, indeed the only, woman in the entire city he’d been waiting for. His eyes shifted slyly and focused downward. She saw what he meant her to see.
The item he hawked wasn’t common but not unheard of in a city crowded with indifferent people. He gripped a cell phone in one hand and his cock in the other, one pressed jealously to his ear and the other offered as a consolation prize. A lyrical smile played across his face, making him the happiest man in town.
With a rush of adrenalin but without a beat of hesitation, Kendra veered away from his gift, freely handed out, and turned into the restaurant. The simple act of pushing through the revolving door swept him away like an illusion. She would never give him another thought, not until weeks later, when it was too late to do anything about it.
Inside the Italian restaurant, steamy air mixed with appetizing cooking odors. The vestibule was dark and clammy. After checking her coat and umbrella, Kendra climbed to the upper dining room. At the landing, she made room for a mismatched couple. He was upper crust and debonair though in his dotage. She was blonde and bodacious, exposing bare flesh in all the right places. Though ill-suited for a lasting relationship, they were made for each other: two hustlers relying on the insufficiencies of the other to get through each day. By themselves incomplete, together they made a complete human being.
The black-suited maître d’ greeted Kendra at the upstairs hallway. His slick hair and soapy eyes matched a frayed tuxedo that seemed out of place in a casual decade where formality was just a word.
Reservations for Swain.” She gazed into the restaurant bar, located just beyond a domed alcove, but didn’t see Joel. “My husband’s probably been seated already.”
The maître d’ paused for a moment. She repeated the name. He nodded with comprehension and bent his head over a leather-bound book of names, numbers, and tick marks. Bluish veins and pinkish arteries set off his chalky throat. He clucked. She craned forward. He peered up, first taking in Kendra and then directing his attention toward a brunette. A heady whiff of perfume trailed in her wake as she sidestepped the hos
t station and descended the staircase. Kendra saw only the back of her trench coat and the bounce of her stylish hair.
“My husband called it in.”
He cleared his throat and ran his finger down the ruled rows a second time.
“For six-thirty.”
He dog-eared the left-hand page and flipped it back. “Ah yes, of course, here we are.” As he gathered up two menus, he became distracted by raucous laughter coming from a distant table. He snapped his fingers toward one of the busboys before swinging his eyesight back around. Tilting his head, he stared at her as if trying to remember something. Kendra blinded-sided him with a disarming smile. He lapped it up like warm milk and escorted her into the dining room.
Arranged like honeycombs and decorated with twinkling Italian lights, the booths provided the impression of privacy in a crowded room. As she had guessed, Joel was already seated. By his slack posture and the way he made himself at home, he’d been there for a while. Kendra greeted him with a peck, the kind wives pass out to husbands like Swiss chocolates. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Late?” As he stood to greet her, his admiring eyes washed over her face and eventually settled on her cashmere dress. She picked it out especially for him. The plunging neckline accentuated the grace of her throat and revealed just enough cleavage to tease. Admiration turned into hunger as his appraisal stroked her skin like the tongue of an alley cat.
Heat brushed across her cheeks, followed by a cool breeze. Joel could still make her temperature rise. “Those changes Rob wanted. It was a bigger project than he thought. Well, hell, it’s always a bigger project than he thinks.”
“Changes?” He was pumping out one-word questions mildly enough, but beneath his calm exterior lurked tension. Perhaps reproach. More likely worry. He was also tired, evident in the drained color of his face and his half-closed eyelids. Brushing off his initial concerns, he smiled and rubbed her arms, an affectionate gesture that said he was glad to see her. His eyes flitted around the dining room. He was searching for privacy in an extremely public place. Angling his head, he leaned close. From the mischievous look in his eyes, he wanted to give her a proper kiss. Chivalry won, and he brushed her lips with his, no more, and backed away, his grin shy and almost apologetic. “Missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” Meeting up with Joel Swain for a dinner date was like going out with him for the very first time. After three years of marriage, the thrill never left. They were still on their honeymoon and would likely stay that way for a very long time.
They separated. She occupied the broad bench opposite him. The booth isolated them in a romantic setting for two. From the warm setting to the dim lighting and flickering hurricane candles, this was the perfect spot to unwind and get away from it all.
“What changes?” he asked again. Joel wasn’t really interested in her job at Largesse. Or her demanding boss. Or the client review they were putting together for one of the biggest food manufacturers in the country. For him—and for Kendra, too—it was just small talk.
“For the Standard Foods presentation next week. Since everybody left early, I could concentrate and get everything done without having to think about it over the weekend.” She shrugged it off. “Largesse will probably lose the account, anyway.”
“How do you know?” He was more than tired. Exhaustion deepened the stress lines across his brow.
“You remember my friend Linda, don’t you? She’s head of business development at Ogilvy. She gave me the heads-up.” Kendra couldn’t help rambling, as if lighthearted gossip and lively hand gestures could dispel the strain she sensed with their hello kiss. Joel’s demeanor said it had been a long day, but something more was bothering him. “The agency review is just for show. Everything we’ve been going through all these months—brainstorming, midnight sessions, research—all a waste.”
“You should say something.”
The table hadn’t been cleared from the previous diners. Leftover salmon piccata seasoned with a hint of tarragon and lemon covered one place setting. The remnants of shrimp scampi and angel hair pasta were evident on the other. One of two drained wine glasses was smudged with burgundy lipstick prints. Scattered breadcrumbs and drops of red wine spattered the white tablecloth. Coffee cups had been recently filled, their oil slick surfaces still steaming.
“Who? Me?” She shook her head. “Let someone else take the heat. Anyway ... hope you weren’t worried.”
“Worried?” His gaze traveled from her face back down to her chest.
He had a way of making her feel like an artist’s model. Naked. Exposed. She had come to rely on his flirtations like the bitterness of chocolate following the initial rush of creamy sweetness. Though he proclaimed passion in every glance and gesture, she never quite trusted it. Did Joel love her? Or did he merely want her? And was there a difference between the two? After five years of being with him, she hadn’t found the answer. In the recesses of her mind lurked the nagging doubt that she wasn’t worthy of his love. The insecurities stemmed from her childhood and the realization at the age of three or four that she took after her father’s Irish ruggedness instead of her mother’s Nordic beauty.
“I tried calling,” she said.
“I thought you were ...”
“Didn’t you get my message?”
He sank into the backrest. “Message?” He had taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and tugged loose his tie. The scruffier Joel Swain looked, the sexier he became.
“Cell phone signal must be weak.” She glanced at her surroundings. The diners across the way were eating, laughing, and shrugging off the workday. Her eyes circled back to their table and Joel’s penetrating glare. “Are you angry I’m late?”
He didn’t look at her when he shook his head. Instead, he focused on the decorative candleholder at the table’s center, studying it as if it were a priceless artifact. The flickering candlelight ignited his eyes. He angled his head. His forehead tensed and just as quickly relaxed. He pushed aside the soiled dishes and reached across the table. “I just want this to be a perfect night. Our night.” He took her hands into his and stroked them tenderly, his thumbs sliding across her knuckles.
She caught sight of his wristwatch. The digital face indicated six-forty-seven. “Wait long? Of course, you waited long. I was supposed to be here at ...”
“Not long.” He continued to fondle her hands.
“We should order. You must be hungry. I know I am.”
He gave her a strange look, parted his lips as if to speak, and searched her face. For what? A sign? An explanation? Instead of asking what was bothering him, she hunted for the nearest waiter. When she clicked her fingers, he swept by without a backward glance and disappeared into the kitchen. She looked at Joel again. He was brooding. And holding back. “What’s bothering you?”
“Me? Nothing.”
Interrupting the strain between husband and wife, the waiter reappeared. Like all the staff members, he wore a white shirt and checkered tie. His curly red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Kendra stared at Joel but said to the waiter, “Can you clear away this mess? And ... oh, the menus seem to have walked off ...” She charmed him with her broadest smile. “Also, a carafe of your house merlot.”
“The wine doesn’t suit?” He nodded toward the half-empty decanter.
Joel had withdrawn his hands. He poured cream into one of the coffee cups and stirred. “Please bring the lady whatever she wants.” He set the spoon down on the white linen, leaving another stain on the cloth.
The waiter hesitated for a moment before signaling a busboy. Brisk and efficient, they set to work. While the setting was made fresh, Kendra leaned forward. “That coffee must be cold by now. Besides ...”
“Still warm.” He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped.
She spoke over the clatter of dishes being taken away. “What’s going on? Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
His eyes didn’t leave her. “I was waiting for you to tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Where you’ve been.”
The waiter returned with a butter knife and scraped away the crumbs but left behind the stained linens.
“I told you.” When they were alone again, she said, “What the hell’s the matter?”
Joel avoided answering by removing his wire-rimmed glasses and buffing the lenses with the tip of his tie.
“Does that mean nothing’s the matter? Or you don’t want to say?”
The waiter reappeared and presented a menu. Kendra glanced at the cover. “Not the dessert menu.” With a sigh, he plucked it away and vanished. She tore her eyes away from his departing back. “Do you think the staff’s on strike?”
“The idea was to get me away from work. Not bring it to me.”
“Well, excuse me, Counselor.” His head jerked up. His stare was pointed. She didn’t know what to say. The waiter returned and handed her a dinner menu. She mumbled her thanks without glancing up, and he sped away. “Is something going on at work? Has your father been getting on your back? Or maybe the Santana case ....”
He shrugged. Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t want to talk about it.
“You’re tired. So am I.” She glanced at her menu and noticed he didn’t have one. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Not hungry.”
“You went out with Jordan,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the menu. “To talk shop. You stopped off at the club before coming here. Should’ve said something. He’s your father. Why should I mind?”
“I didn’t stop off at the club. Or have dinner with Dad.”
The waiter returned and cleared his throat. Kendra asked about the specials. He reeled off a rehearsed list.
“What the previous diners ate looked good. Was that the salmon piccata?” She smiled in Joel’s direction. “Except with angel hair pasta. And marinara sauce on the side.”
“You wish to order the salmon?”
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