by Lara Reznik
I shake my head. “Do you know who told him?”
“Someone eavesdropped or maybe there’s a tape. No one else knew about the affair but you.”
I look her straight in her eyes. “Jesus, Darlene, I thought you knew me better. I swear to God.”
“I realize you have no motive,” she says. “Unless you want Bob E. for yourself.” She squints at me.
“Look. I’m happily married.” That isn’t exactly true anymore.
“I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but a loyal friend,” she says. “Besides, I’ve never shared that personal stuff with you.”
I bite my lip. “Ivy Foreman may have something to do with this.”
“How would you know that?” she asks.
“She came to my office one day and ordered me to make you to stop seeing him.”
Darlene grabs a Kleenex and dabs her eyes. “I’ve suspected she’s had a crush on Bob E. But why would he share such personal details with her?”
Because the man thinks with his dick.
Darlene crosses her arms. “You have to speak with him.”
“Me? He’s your ef’n lover.” The words could not be stuffed back in my mouth. “Sorry.”
She blows her nose in the tissue. “He won’t take my calls. I can’t exactly waltz into his office or appear at his doorstep.”
“Set up a business meeting through Geisha Girl,” I say.
“Tried that, too. She’s the ultimate protector. A human Doberman. Can you go there now? Tell Bob E. I must see him.”
I check my watch. “It’s after six. I’m sure he’s gone.”
She glances out the window. “His Beamer’s still in the parking lot.”
I think about Ed waiting for me up at the lake house. “I have to go home now.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “For crissakes, help me out here? After all I’ve done for you.”
“Okay, okay, just stop crying,” I say.
She gets up, stumbles around the desk, and hugs me. I feel the muscles in her tense body relax a little. “Tell him his sugarplum still loves him.”
In lust, I understand. In love with Bob E.? Is her battery not fully charged? I head for the door and down the hall to the elevator. Once inside I click on my iPhone and call Eduardo. His cell rings and rings then his voicemail. I try our landline. Still no answer. He’s probably puttering in the yard and left his phone in the house.
AS THE ELEVATOR GRINDS TO A STOP, I pray that Geisha Girl has gone home for the day. What can I say to Bob E? Uh, hello, sir. Can you tell me who would know private details of your sex life?
The reception area where Suzi Lin sits is empty. The screensaver on her monitor flashes the letters LBJ in red across the royal blue background. A pale light glows in Bob E.’s office. I take a deep breath then rap on the door.
“Come in.”
I enter the office and stand in front of Bob E.’s mahogany desk. In contrast to Darlene, Bob E. is flawlessly dressed in a starched white shirt, striped tie, and grey suit pants. Not a hair in his thick wavy mane is out of place as he sits typing at the keyboard of his laptop. It takes a minute before he glances up at me from reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. Blood creeps up his neck to his face. “Laila. What can I do for you? Have a seat.”
I park myself on a grey leather loveseat. The right words are difficult to find. “I, ah, am here for Darlene. She’s very upset.”
“I’m truly sorry if I hurt her.”
“Richard is forcing her to move out, and he’s taking the kids.”
He furrows his forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone shared every personal detail of your relationship with Darlene’s husband.”
“That can’t be,” he says.
“Does Ivy Foreman have something to do with this?” I ask.
He rubs his chin and stares out at the sun setting over Lake Austin. His pupils are flat as tacks.
I clutch the arm of the loveseat as we sit quietly for a few moments and watch the rust-colored sun dissolve in the blue water.
He breaks the silence. “Ivy threatened to tell my wife about the affair.”
“And tell Richard, too?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I beat her to the punch and told my wife myself. Oddly enough, Trudy was very calm. She wanted to know all the sordid details. Thought maybe she could be a better lover—”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
He continues despite my protest. “I begged her for forgiveness. Told her she was the one woman in the world I loved. I never thought she would betray me.”
“By telling Darlene’s husband everything you ‘fessed up to her,” I say.
“I assumed she’d forgiven me. That she wanted to continue in our marriage.”
She sure fooled you, asshole. “Darlene’s life is in ruins. Will you see her?”
“I promised Trudy I’d never speak to her again. I’m getting… professional help.”
“What about Darlene? Don’t you care about her?”
He clasps his hands together on his desk and half-smiles. “Tell her… she’ll always have a very special place in my heart. But it’s no longer possible, practical, for us to be together. I’d advise her to go home to Richard, beg forgiveness.”
“She wants to see you. You owe her that much.”
“It’s just not in the cards.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got to pick my kids up at soccer practice. I’m truly sorry.”
I glare at him in disbelief.
“Look. I’ll give her a quick call before I leave.”
“Okay. I-I guess.” I scramble to the door feeling desperately in need of fresh air.
Bob E. calls my name.
I turn back around to him. “Yes, sir.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a fine body?”
I feel the heat creep up my neck, knowing full well that he would have sex with me right then, right there in his office if I gave him any indication I’d agree. I turn back around and flee out the door.
Unsteadied by the encounter, I race directly to the parking lot determined on getting home as soon as possible. I call Ed’s cell, which goes straight to voicemail once again. Dialing our home phone results in the nasal sound of my own voice blaring on the Acura’s speakerphone.
I shift the Acura into gear and head up Bee Cave Road to the lake where I can only hope my husband is still waiting for me. Two miles down the road I think about Darlene sitting in her fancy office receiving Bob E.’s devastating call. She looked so childlike when I left her. I dial her cell but it goes directly to voicemail. Same with her office phone. The story of the twenty-first century. I have a weird feeling in my gut and make a U-turn. Back to LBJ. I can’t leave her this way.
Darlene’s white Suburban is still in the parking lot. I take the stairs up two flights expecting to spend a long evening consoling her. When I enter her office, she’s not at her desk. “Darlene.”
No answer. I figure she’s in the restroom licking her wounds and try Ed again, but the battery of my iPhone is dead. A marriage ended because of failed technology. I reach over Darlene’s desk to grab her office phone and notice open prescription bottles. Xanax, Vicodin, Valium.
Behind the desk Darlene’s slumped motionless in a fetal position. “Jesus, Darlene, what have you done?” My hand shakes as I call 911. “Hello. There’s a woman unconscious. I need an ambulance right away.”
“Is the woman breathing?”
I prop her up and see that yes, thank God, she is still breathing. “Should I do CPR? She’s taken pills.” I read her the name of the medications on Darlene’s desk.
“Just stay calm, honey. You don’t need to do CPR if she’s breathing. I’ve dispatched an ambulance. It’s already close.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Husbands
Austin, Texas, 2012
I meet the ambulance at Seton General Hospital and watch the staff whisk Darlene on a stretcher into the ER. Her highlighted blonde
hair is soaked with perspiration. I rush up to the stretcher and call out her name. She glares at me with limpid eyes as the techs wheel her through swinging doors. A bald guy in scrubs with black hair spraying from his ears turns to me. “Who are you?”
I explain I’m her employee and how I found her on the floor of her office.
“Sorry, ma’am. Only immediate family allowed in here.”
I nod and start back to the drab green couch in the waiting area, but it haunts me when I hear Darlene yelling my name as they wheel her away.
Shortly after, the bald guy with the hairy ears struts over and asks how he can get in touch with Darlene’s family.
I tell him Darlene’s husband’s name.
“Do you have a phone number?”
“Sorry, can’t help you there. I’ve never called the home number, just her cell.”
He walks back through the swinging doors and I sag down on the vinyl couch. I Google the White Pages on my iPhone, and scan through screens for a listing for Richard or Darlene McIntire. None show up. Duh. Most LBJ executives have private numbers to avoid unwarranted phone calls from disgruntled employees or dissatisfied electric customers.
I decide to drive over to their Tudor home in the ritzy Pemberton Heights. I’d been to a few of Darlene’s annual Christmas parties and even recall talking to Richard one time. The guy was nice enough, a tall attractive homebuilder who coached Little League and handled the kids’ carpools.
On the drive to their house, I plug my phone into the battery charger and dial Eduardo’s cell on the odd chance that he might pick up. He’s probably fuming at me for standing him up. His voicemail message blares from the Acura’s Bluetooth speaker. At the beep, I relay what happened to Darlene and beg forgiveness for not coming home.
THE STREET IS CLOAKED IN DARKNESS as I pull up to the curb of Darlene’s enormous home. I step out of the car, fearful I’ve blown the reconciliation with my husband, clueless of what I’m going to say to Darlene’s. Ah, Richard, hello. I’m Laila Levin. While your wife was pining over Bob E., she OD’ed in her office.
The manicured lawn is punctuated with rosebushes that exude an intoxicating smell. If there’s a heaven, this is what it smells like. I ring the doorbell chimes and within a few seconds the carved oak door swings open. Richard appears with disheveled brown hair in a sleeveless undershirt and khaki shorts. He gazes at me with no recognition.
I introduce myself and tell him what happened. Tears fill his eyes. Evidently they’d had a big fight and he told her to leave.
“I never dreamed she would do something like this,” he says shaking his head.
He’s so sweet, how could Darlene have done what she did? “Believe me, she regrets everything.”
“Let me see if the neighbor will watch the kids. Do you mind driving me to the hospital? I’m a bit shaky.”
Do I mind? My own marriage is hanging by a thread, sir.
I wait in the car while Richard takes the kids to a neighbor’s house. Checking my iPhone, I see that Ed hasn’t returned my call. I start to dial his number when Richard appears and straps himself into the passenger seat. I tell him I’ll drive him there, but he’ll need to get another ride home. The more I try and extricate myself from Darlene’s life, the deeper I get sucked in.
When we arrive at the hospital, he opens the car door and gets out. I plan to head to the lake. Hopefully, Ed is still waiting there.
I’m about to take off when I hear a tap on the window. Richard pleads with me to accompany him to see Darlene. “She may not talk to me alone. I want to tell her that we’ll work it out. People have affairs all the time, don’t they?”
Oy vey. “Sure they do.”
He wipes his brow. “I feel so guilty now. I shouldn’t have told her I was taking the kids.”
I touch his arm. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
We take the elevator to the fifth floor and step off into a sterile green room. The smell of disinfectant mingled with a fishy odor makes me want to gag. A couple of shrimp tacos sit on a paper plate next to an overweight nurse at the reception desk.
Richard tells who he is and she points in the direction of the room where his wife has been admitted.
Darlene appears asleep as Richard and I shuffle inside the room. He takes her hand. “It’s me, honey.”
Her eyes open but they appear glazed over. “Bob E.?”
Richard drops her hand like it’s a cockroach. “It’s your idiot of a husband.”
“Bob E., you do still love me? I’m so glad you came.”
The color of Richard’s face matches the vomit green walls of the hospital. He shakes his head then turns toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I touch Darlene’s hand. It’s ice-cold. “Can’t you see?” I say. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Oh, I see all right. She’s in love with that asshole and she’s nuts to boot. I’m out of here.”
“Give me a minute with her. I’ll meet you in the reception area.”
He rushes out the door and I squeeze Darlene’s hand. “It’s Laila, honey. Do you recognize me?”
She shuts her eyes. “Go away, Laila. I need to sleep.”
My iPhone vibrates on the ride down in the elevator. I glance at the display and smile when I see it’s finally Eduardo. I say, “Honey, did you get my message?”
“I didn’t get your messages and quite frankly I no longer care.”
“You don’t understand. My boss—”
“I could care less about your boss. I’m on my way back to Frontier Trail,” he says.
“If you’ll just let me explain.”
“Here’s my explanation. After lying in our bedroom for the last two hours with four-dozen roses in vases, we had a visitor at the front door. Jerk that I am, I opened the door dressed in my boxers thinking it was you.”
I swallow. “Who was it?”
“That’s why I called you. The guy flashed a badge and said he was with the FBI. He asked if you were home. I believe he’s still waiting out front in a black Chevy Impala.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Plaid Suitcase
New Mexico, 1970
Joey and I stopped for gas on the drive down to the Albuquerque airport. I veered the Mercedes off the road into a Texaco station. Joey staggered from the car and winced as he leaned on his crutches.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” He pointed at a phone booth adjacent to the gas station. “I’m gonna call Uncle Donnie to see about getting me a plane ticket. Pull the car over to the self-service area and I’ll fill up the tank after I speak with him.”
While Joey hobbled off to call his uncle, I eased the Mercedes to the pump area. They didn’t have self-service stations back east and I’d never pumped my own gas before. Snowflakes thickened and the wind kicked up. Damn. I thought we’d seen the worst of the storm up north. A white veil of snow covered the mountain range. We needed to get back on the road to Albuquerque or we’d miss the flight. Lord help me if that happened. Between Ben and Chris in Connecticut and psycho Angel in Taos, there was plenty of pressure to get that suitcase cross-country on time. I felt so relieved to have Joey with me. We’d do it together.
I paced over to the gas pump determined to fill the car with gas myself since every minute counted. When Joey returned, he shot me a thumbs-up. “Whatta chick.”
I cracked a smile feeling proud and independent. “What happened with Uncle Donnie?”
“He’s on the way to Newark airport. A ticket will be waiting for me at the TWA counter by the time we get to Albuquerque.”
“Did you ask him if he thought Angel will come after you?”
“He’s makin’ nice with some of Angel’s guinea relatives in Jersey.”
“That’s a racist expression,” I said.
Joey groaned. “I’m Italian. You get a pass when you call your own people a bad word. Puerto Ricans refer to themselves as spics. Black peo
ple use the N word all the time, right?” He climbed into the back seat, and lay down with his head propped on the ugly pink overnight bag. “I’m more worried about those townie friends of yours.”
I found an old sleeping bag in the trunk next to the plaid suitcase and handed it to him. “Trust me. Everybody should be copasetic when we arrive with that suitcase.”
Joey took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. “I don’t have good feelings about those dudes.”
“Go to sleep. It’s a long trip home.” I clicked on the ignition and shifted into gear. Joey cuddled up in the sleeping bag like a newborn baby in a receiving blanket. Every few minutes he’d let out a short whining sound. I suspected his ankle still hurt a lot. And those toes had gone from grey to black.
A blizzard of snow blew across the highway. The wipers barely kept the windshield clear enough for me to see the road. The Mercedes hit a patch of ice with a thud and the car spun completely out of control. My father had always told me not to brake in a skid, so I eased up on the gas and the car spun three-hundred-sixty degrees right back on the road. Joey remained asleep through the tailspin.
The windshield was so iced up I couldn’t see out. I fumbled with the unfamiliar heater controls to get the defrost working better. Within seconds the snow-ice melted enough for me to see the road. Miraculously, the Mercedes continued to drift down the snow-packed canyon roads without colliding into anything else. I took three deep breaths and slapped each of my cheeks with my palm to keep me from getting too sleepy.
I thought about the family. What would their reaction be once they learned Angel had played them and Joey was innocent? The replacement suitcase would settle their debt.
The Panasonic eight-track sound system had speakers in both the front and back of the car. There were numerous tapes in a leather bag to choose from. Traffic, Santana, Pink Floyd. I slipped a tape of Crosby Stills & Nash in the player as the Mercedes’ windshield wipers and superior defrost system battled endlessly against the snow’s continued descent in thick clumps. I squinted and wiped the fogged window with my wool glove while singing along to Judy Blue Eyes.