by Sal Conte
“Until we hear from the judge there’s very little to do around here.”
She nodded. “How’s the nanny working out?”
A flash of uncertainty darkened his expression momentarily.
“Umm. She’s fine… I guess.”
“She’s quite beautiful.”
“Yep,” was his brief reply.
After an uneasy moment.
“Thank you for suggesting I take Emma on a date. It put a big smile on her face when I told her.” He’d changed the subject knowing he had to say something. He couldn’t let on how he felt about Kim... Shay… Whatever.
“Women like to be pampered, Peter. No matter how busy we get around here, it’s important to keep the romance alive. This from the girl who has no romance in her life at all,” Molly said and laughed her big laugh. “Unless you consider curling up with a legal brief romantic.”
Peter smiled, “I’m lucky to have both of you,” he said.
“And don’t you forget it.” Molly threw a knowing glance in his direction.
“How do you think The Daily Good found out about me?” Peter asked.
“A little birdie told them,” she replied in a guilty sing-song.
“Would the birdie be named Molly?”
“I am resourceful,” she replied, smiling. A few moments later she was gone.
Peter sighed, and sat back in his chair. His thoughts wandered to his troubles at home. Shay had been living under their roof for several weeks. Yes, he was calling her Shay now, trying to accept that it wasn’t Kim. He felt that if he could get past the idea that she just happened to be Kim’s dead-ringer, he could get used to her being there.
The problem was, he couldn’t. Every time he found her in the kitchen heating a bottle, or playing on the floor in Robbie’s room, butterflies danced in his stomach.
Am I still in love with her?
It was a question he could easily avoid until he looked at her.
I think I need a shrink.
But what would he say to him—that he’d fallen in love with a woman from his dream, a fantasy girl? And that someone who looked just like her was now living under his roof? No. He’d be too embarrassed to admit these things to anyone but himself.
The right thing to do was to make sure Emma knew how much he appreciated her and the family she’d given him. Since Kim’s arrival, their bond seemed to be growing stronger. The tension that had once engulfed their relationship had all but disappeared.
Work on the bond, ignore the nanny, he told himself.
Yet he knew as sure as the sunrise that their bond could never be as strong as it should be with the nanny in the house. The nanny is an obstacle to our future happiness.
When the thought materialized he knew it wasn’t him being crazy or selfish. It was the truth. Their relationship could never be as strong as it once had been as long as Shay was around.
Peter came to the decision. This had nothing to do with how he felt, or didn’t feel about Kim or Shay, or whatever the heck her name was. For the sake of their marriage, the nanny had to go.
Chapter Eight
“It’s gone!”
“What’s gone?”
“My dress. The dress you bought for my birthday last year. It was here just yesterday, and now it’s gone.”
Emma emerged from rummaging in back of the closet. Her hair was in tangles. The oversized sweatshirt was a Rorschach of spit-up stains. She looked a mess.
Peter had just gotten in from the office. He was tired—not from working, from stressing over the preparation of his argument to free Horace Booker. All he wanted to do was have dinner and a drink. The last thing his needed was drama.
“I was going to wear it on our surprise date on Saturday night,” she said, and he could see from the pout on her lips it was really troubling her.
“Umm, okay,” he said. “Maybe you put it in the dry cleaner.”
“Peter, it was right here. It just had a few wrinkles in it that I was going to steam out.” She was sounding annoyed.
“Okay. You say you saw it was yesterday?” he asked, trying to be supportive. “Let’s just do a little back tracking here. When did you last see it?”
Emma took a deep breath, trying to relax. “I was showing it to Robbie and Shay. I told her how excited I was when you surprised me with it for my birthday. Then I put it back in the closet.”
It was as if the perpetual smog that hovered over Los Angeles had lifted. His mind was clear, and he was suddenly wired. The perfect opportunity had presented itself.
“You’re telling me the last person who saw your birthday dress was Shay?”
“Yes. Why?”
*
Peter excused himself, hoping Emma didn’t notice he’d become agitated. He said he was going to grab a beer, and then he’d come back and they’d figure it out together.
He moved down the hall feeling his ears burning, and looked in the nursery. Dinah was sound asleep in her crib. Robbie was on the floor playing with his dinosaurs. He looked up.
“Hi, Daddy. I’m babysitting. Mommy said she’d give me a whole dollar.”
“That’s good, Trooper.”
“Wanna help? You can play with the T-Rex. It’s the bestest.”
“Not right now,” Peter said, “Say Trooper, where’s Shay?”
“In her room,” the child responded, and went back to playing.
Peter began moving down the hall. He was so puffed up with anger, he felt as if his head would explode. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to her. Perhaps he’d storm in, and demand she return the dress. Even if she hadn’t stolen it, she’d be so upset over the accusation, she’d quit.
No, that won’t work, Peter thought. If Shay quit, Emma would never forgive him for forcing her out, and they’d be right back in the fugue that had once swirled around their relationship.
He reached the bottom of the basement stairs. The basement area was dimly lit. Shay’s room lay a few feet in front of him. Her door was closed, but light was streaming from underneath. It was quiet, but she was in there.
Did I really come down here to accuse her, or did I just want to see her?
Peter’s mouth went suddenly dry at the revelation.
He took a step toward the door, and the soft fragrance came to him. Evening In Paris.
A chill whistled along the nape of his neck, as the hairs there snapped to frigid attention.
Impossible.
It was a fragrance he recognized very well, the fragrance from the dream—Kim’s perfume. The fragrance that had engulfed them the nights they’d steamed up the windows of the tiny upstairs room with their love making.
He took another step, and realized his legs were beginning to quiver. A base instinct—fight or flight—lodged deep in his mind told him to turn around and flee back up the stairs to the safety and sanctity of his wife’s arms. Yet something else, a baser instinct, a needing to know, pushed him forward.
On wobbly legs, that seemed to be moving on their own volition, he moved quietly toward the door. Arriving, he breathed in deeply. Evening In Paris.
“Impossible!” he muttered, as the fragrance overtook him.
His head began to spin as splintered memories of nights of passion fired through his mind. His thoughts drifted back to the dream.
He’s in the darkened café. He’s sitting downstairs having a drink because he knows if he goes upstairs to her his world will be changed forever.
“Come to bed,” she whispers.
He looks up, and she’s standing right behind him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Yes,” he replies weakly, realizing he’s lost all self-control. He is her puppet. Her wish is his command. He gets up, wipes the tears from her cheeks.
Clinging to one another, they start for the stairs.
“No,” Peter said softly, coming out of the trance. “No, no, no, no, no!”
He summoned up the strength to begin backing away.
She’s in there, he thought.
It’s not someone who looks like Kim—It’s Kim.
Impossible! His mind cried out. Yet, another part of him knew it wasn’t impossible. Man couldn’t fly, and then along came the Wright brothers. Moving images couldn’t travel around the world, and then along came television. Dreams couldn’t come to life, and then the Dream Escapes dream machine shattered that myth as well.
After Dinah’s birth, Peter had stopped visiting Dream Escapes. He stopped having the need to go to the dream. Now the dream had come to him.
‘I love you so. I’ll never let you go. You do know that, don’t you?’
“Is someone out there?” Kim called from the other side of the door.
Don’t open the door! his mind cried out. If she opened the door, he knew, knew, he’d go inside, and if he went inside, he’d be doomed.
‘Come to bed.’
‘Yes.’
Peter arrived at the staircase, turned, and with leaden legs, fled up the stairs.
*
“Peter. Are you okay? Are you having another dizzy spell?”
“Yeah,” he said, as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “I was in the kitchen, and uhh—”
“Just like last time,” Emma said, moving to him.
“Umm, yeah. Sort of,” he said. His head was clearing. The fog had lifted, leaving him with a mind pockmarked with questions.
She sat down next to him on the bed, took his hand in hers. “Your hand is ice cold.”
“I’m coming out of it now,” he said, pulling his hand away. He was embarrassed for her to touch him. He felt like a cheater again.
“Honey, you’re going have to see a doctor,” she said. “There’s something going on with you.”
Yeah, he thought. I had an affair with a dream.
“I’m just hungry is all. I skipped lunch again.”
“I’ll grab Robbie and go start dinner. Listen out for Dinah, okay?” She got up.
“Okay,” he replied. His mouth was dry as cotton.
Emma moved to the door, stopped and turned back. “I love you,” she said softly. “I need you.”
“Me, too,” he replied. He smiled weakly.
“You’re going to have to see a doctor, Peter. I’m serious. This is starting to scare me.”
Tell me about it.
“Yeah. I’ll see someone,” he replied.
When she left, he lay back on the bed, and closed his eyes. When he did, he saw her, waiting for him on the other side of the basement room door.
‘I love you so. I’ll never let you go. You do know that, don’t you?’
Peter’s eyes burst open. He sat bolt upright, and peered around the room he shared with his wife, feeling as though his mind was being torn to shreds.
“I have to get rid of her,” he muttered. “We’re not safe with her around.”
He heard the sound of laughter coming from down the hall, and knew she was in the kitchen charming his wife.
That’s when his thoughts turned deadly.
*
“I don’t believe you,” Peter said. “She’s living in my house. It’s not a coincidence, it’s not a dream. She’s real!”
He was once again sitting across from Mr. Smith in the well-appointed offices of Dream Escapes. Smith, wearing an expertly tailored double-breasted suit, was again looking down his nose at him. The jacket was open, revealing an hand tailored shirt, and an Hermes tie.
“I don’t know what to tell you, sir,” Smith said in a dismissive tone.
“Tell me how it happened. Tell me that you’ll fix this.”
“Mr. Hathaway. There’s nothing to fix,” said Smith. “Perhaps you need to see someone.”
“I’m not crazy!” Peter cried out.
“I’m not saying you’re crazy,” Smith replied. He struck a reasoning tone as he played with the top button on his jacket. “But sometimes people become obsessed with their Dream Escapes fantasies. I’ve seen it. We once had a woman who wanted to stop living her own life, and live in the fantasy.”
“But, don’t you see, that’s the thing. I don’t want to live in the fantasy. I want to get rid of it! I’d like to kill it, if I could.”
Smith stopped playing with the button. He stood, and buttoned the jacket all the way up. “Mr. Hathaway, you’re making me very nervous right now. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He started from around the desk.
“Send me back,” Peter said.
He didn’t know he was going to say it, but once the words had come, the solution to all his problems followed.
“Sir, that is the last thing I’m going to do,” Smith said with a dismissive chuckle.
Peter was on his feet as well. “You’ll do it because I’m a lawyer, and a good one. So I can afford to keep you in court until your company folds like a house of cards. Don’t doubt me.” Peter’s hands bunched to fists. He stared the man in the eye.
“Sir—”
“Send me back into the dream, just this once, and I’ll leave you alone,” He didn’t want to sound desperate, but he knew that he did.
“Sir.” Peter could tell from Smith’s tone that he was weakening. His desperation had chinked the man’s armor.
“Please! Send me back. Send me back now,” he pleaded.
*
A while later Peter found himself standing at his station in the Casablanca café. He was once again wearing the white dinner jacket that made him look and feel so debonair.
A uniformed German office walked in with a stunning brunette on his arm. “Peter,” he said, as if he’d seen Peter just yesterday.
“How are you, Captain Strasser?” Peter said, smiling.
This was the excitement of the fantasy, entertaining the German elite while French freedom fighters made Molotov cocktails in the basement below them.
Once Dinah was born, however, he realized there was true danger to his fantasy. He could be arrested and shot for eavesdropping on officer’s conversations, and passing the information along to the Underground.
Smith had warned that if you die in the fantasy, you die in the real world as well. Yet, Peter had enjoyed the adventure of it.
“Things would be better if we could get a handle on this ridiculous resistance,” Strasser replied. He stepped in closer. “Rumor has it that a man named Lazlo has been seen exiting your café. A member of the resistance. Do you know anything about that?” The captain’s eyes bore into him.
There was a time when moments like these made him feel alive. Now, his stomach was beginning to churn, his mouth was feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton. It was sinking in how foolish he’d been to indulge in such a risky fantasy.
“Not on my shift, Captain,” he said, rallying a smile. “As my mother used to say, I’m crazy, not stupid.” He laughed. It was a forced laugh, but the captain laughed with him, and he could feel the tension between them begin to drain away.
“Let me know if you do. We need to put an end to all this ridiculous martyrism.”
“Of course, Captain,” Peter replied as sweat pooled up in his armpits and rolled down his back.
He showed the captain to his table, and was returning to the front when he heard the music shift. The piano player began to play their song. The soft fragrance of Midnight In Paris was in the air. He breathed it in deeply as his skin began to tingle. The moment had arrived.
A knot formed in his stomach. He needed to put an end to his relationship with Kim. He’d come here to do it. One way or another, he was ending it tonight.
He looked toward the door. An elegantly dressed red head with gray eyes was standing by his station. She smiled at him.
Peter began looking around. It was as if his head were on a swivel. His eyes shifted around the bistro from person to person.
He’s playing our song. I smell her fragrance. Where is she?
His eyes moved back to the woman standing at his station, and he knew.
He moved quickly through the room, pushing his way to the front. “Hello,” he said, arr
iving at her side. He was nearly breathless.
“Peter, you look as though you were expecting someone else,” the elegant woman said, smiling.
“Kim?” he asked.
“No, silly. It’s me, Audrey. Who’s Kim?”
*
Jordan Smith was trying not be worried, but Peter Hathaway showing up twice to their offices with the same complaint was disturbing.
Now that they were able to advertise, Dream Escapes was starting to catch on. The last thing he needed was bad publicity. Every new business needs a chance to breathe, a chance to grow, and they were most definitely in the growth phase. However, a few choice words from the right person and their growth would stall.
Smith wondered if he should say anything, but decided against it. He’d covered her tracks. He was certain of it. There was no way Peter could link his Dream Escape to the woman living under his roof. It was just a coincidence.
Smith sat back, and tried to relax. He sipped his eighteen year-old Scotch whiskey. He loved the stuff, and realized if he was going to continue to live the good life, he needed to keep quiet about certain things, and let them play out. That meant Peter Hathaway needed to remain in the dark.
So be it.
Chapter Nine
They were laughing.
It was evenings like these when Peter was at the office working late that Emma knew hiring Shay had not been a mistake. In the past, on nights when Peter was working late, after the kids were put to bed, her doubts crept in, coming on like ringwraiths after dark, attacking her mood.
Sometimes there was more than doubt. On these occasions a jealousy would also arise, springing upon her like a rattlesnake in her gut. Peter was working late, doing something he really loved, and what was she doing? Nothing—wasting her life away.
Those evenings, sitting alone in the house, she could go quite dark, even hating Peter for taking her away from a promising career.
Yet, with Shay around, her mind didn’t wander to the dark place. They entertained one another. They were good for one another.
“So that’s my boring story of how I made an honest man out of Peter,” Emma said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in her as she told the story of how they married and had Robbie, putting an end to her career. She was content as she sipped her Riesling. “How about you? Was there ever a man in your life?”