Best Enemies

by Jane Heller

  “That’s what banks are for,” he said. “They keep lending and I keep spending.”

  “Not very smart,” said Jimmy. “Eventually, those loans come back to bite you and you end up losing your shirt.”

  “Yeah, well, you may be the steady one, baby brother, but I’m the creative one,” said Stuart. “I have no intention of losing anything. Right, hon?”

  As he looked at me, I felt my stomach turn. Leave it to my lame husband to gamble with our money and risk not only our security but our image. Oh, go ahead and call me shallow. Maybe I am. But I had worked my ass off building my simply beautiful concept, and even Amy, the world’s greatest promoter, wouldn’t be able to salvage it if my house went into foreclosure.

  As Stuart stood there talking to Jimmy, I cursed myself for getting involved with him in the first place. He was such a loser. Why hadn’t I recognized that? What could I have been thinking when I got mixed up with him and stayed mixed up with him? And how was I going to untangle myself?

  During a night of tossing and turning, I came up with a plan. At about 4:00 a.m., I decided that as soon as the book was published, which would be another month or so, and I made it through the interviews and the store signings and all the other activities Amy scheduled for me, I would divorce Stuart. Yes, I would wait until Simply Beautiful’s sales were at their peak and then cut the guy loose. I knew I should have done it a long time ago, but it wasn’t too late. I was still young. I could find a new man, the way Amy had found Tony. I could salvage some measure of dignity.

  Yes, there were bound to be people who’d label me an impostor after the way I’d gushed over Stuart in the book, but they’d get over it. What’s more, I would help them get over it by launching the second phase of my plan: I would write another book.

  It would be a best-selling sequel about what happens when prom queens outgrow their crowns. It would be about ditching the image, about living for yourself instead of having to be other people’s Ideal, about trying to develop honest friendships with other women, as opposed to isolating yourself in a bubble of perfection. It would be about possibilities.

  So you see, despite Stuart’s infidelities, his debts, and his failures as both a husband and a man, I was feeling very upbeat the next morning. He had already left the house by the time I got up and dressed, so I didn’t even have to lay eyes on him. To celebrate my forthcoming freedom, I took a drive. I had no destination, no list of errands, no agenda. I just hit the road.

  The weather was warm and sunny, so I put the convertible’s top down and made my way up the Boston Post Road, heading into Connecticut. I stopped at the beach and took a long walk in the sand, then went to a hot dog stand and ate the kind of food I usually avoided. I stopped at a funky little store and bought myself a needlepoint pillow adorned with the words Of course you can do it. I felt free. I had a handle on things. I only had to get through the book’s publication; then I would leave Stuart before whatever hole he was digging for himself sucked me in, too.

  It was nearly 3:30 by the time I finally headed home. When I pulled into my driveway, I wasn’t expecting to find the police car, naturally, but there it was, parked right in front of my door—a bummer after an otherwise fantastic day.

  My first thought was that we’d been robbed, that maybe the burglar alarm had gone off and the police had come to check things out, the way they always did. But as I approached one of the officers and he said, “Mrs. Lasher, we’d like to talk to you,” I knew I was in for more serious business than stolen silverware.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He introduced himself as Detective Burnett. The other one’s name was Detective Vincent. “Why don’t we go inside first,” Detective Burnett suggested.

  I unlocked the door. We all went in. I offered them a beverage—ever the hostess.

  “It’s about your husband,” said Burnett once we were seated in the living room.

  Oh God, I thought. The fool has gotten himself arrested. Was he stickering non-organic melons again? Engaging in lewd acts with minors? Doing drugs, in spite of his denials to Jimmy and me? What?

  “Where is he?” I asked, feeling my body tense. I was not going to let him wreck my plan. I needed him to stay out of trouble just until the book was published; then he’d be on his own and could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” he said. “He isn’t home?”

  “No. At least I assume he isn’t. I just got home myself.”

  “Mind if we look around the house?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I took both of them on the tour. No Stuart.

  “And you haven’t heard from him?” asked Vincent when we were back in the living room.

  “No.”

  “And you have no idea where he might be?”

  “No! Now would you please tell me why you’re asking?”

  “Well, his car was in some kind of an accident,” said Burnett. “It was found in an alley in back of Lasher’s headquarters, and it was banged up pretty bad. The windshield was smashed and the seat was cut up.”

  I blinked. “Cut up?”

  “Like with a knife or some other sharp object. There was blood on the seat, too, Mrs. Lasher. We’d like to do a DNA test to determine if it’s Mr. Lasher’s.”

  Okay, I hated Stuart. We know that. But blood? His blood? How unpleasant.

  “We checked area hospitals, but your husband hasn’t been admitted anywhere,” said Vincent. “And we interviewed his coworkers at the office, but no one’s seen him since this morning. He seems to have disappeared.”

  I relaxed slightly. “He disappears all the time. Nothing earth-shattering about that.”

  “Maybe not. And we don’t want to jump to conclusions. Normally when we find an abandoned car, we have it towed and that’s that. But given the condition of your husband’s car and the possibility of foul play—”

  “Foul play?”

  “The blood on the seat, Mrs. Lasher.”

  “The only lead we have is this,” said Vincent, holding up the black leather date book I’d bought Stuart the week before. “It was on the floor of the car, under the driver’s seat.”

  Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit me, and I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. These cops weren’t kidding around, I realized. They thought something gruesome had happened to Stuart. It was all over their faces.

  “You think he’s dead, don’t you?” I said. “You think someone dragged him out of the car, killed him, and left him someplace.”

  “It does look suspicious,” said Burnett. “But we have no proof of a homicide. Until we find a body, we’re only speculating about—”

  “Right,” I said. “No body. No murder. Just a disappearance. Maybe Stuart had a problem with the car—engine trouble or a flat tire—and while he was off renting another one, some mischievous kids broke the windshield and slashed the seat. That kind of thing happens all the time, doesn’t it? As a matter of fact, I’ll bet he took the rental car. and drove straight to a business meeting and simply forgot to tell his secretary. He’s probably at the meeting as we speak.”

  Vincent flipped through the date book. “There’s no business meeting entered for this afternoon. Just his meeting at the Plaza Hotel at noon.”

  “There. You see?” I said. “Maybe the noon meeting ran long. Did you check with the hotel to see if he’s still there?”

  “Yeah. He’s not,” said Vincent.

  “How about the person he was meeting? Did you check with him?”

  Vincent cast Burnett a look.

  “What?” I said.

  “The person he was meeting at noon was a her,” he said. “Mr. Lasher, uh, reserved them a room.”

  I knew it. Stuart hadn’t been murdered. He’d been having sex, for God’s sake, and the cops were too polite just to come right out and tell me. I mean, how much humiliation was I supposed to take?

  “So which woman was he meeting?” I asked impatiently. “Man
dy something or other?”

  “No. Amy something or other,” he said. “The date book just mentions an Amy. Does the name ring a bell?”

  Amy? Poor sweet “I’m not your best friend anymore” Amy? Well, ding dong, I thought. Ding-fucking-dong.

  I sank back into the chair, heavy with this latest revelation. So she was having an affair with Stuart. Imagine that. And after all the years I’d spent feeling guilty over what I’d done to her. After all her declarations about how she’d moved on with her life! The woman was not only sleeping with her old flame but cheating on her new flame. At least when I slept with Stuart, back when he was hers, I was unattached!

  “Yes, the name Amy Sherman rings a bell,” I said. “If something happened to my husband, she should be your prime suspect.”

  “If you give us her address, we’ll pay her a visit this evening,” said Burnett. “But in the meantime, maybe you could tell us everything you know about her.”

  “With pleasure,” I said, practically licking my lips.

  Amy

  28

  “You were sleeping with Stuart Lasher?” Tony demanded as we stood in my kitchen. “Behind my back?”

  “Behind your back?” I said. “This may come as a news bulletin, buttercup, but you and I aren’t engaged. We’ve been faking it, remember?”

  “And doing a pretty good job of it, too,” he said. “That is, until you cheated on me.”

  “I didn’t cheat on you, Tony! Stop saying that!” Boy, I hadn’t expected this reaction when I’d called him in a panic and told him I’d been interrogated by the police. He’d come right over to my apartment that night, which I appreciated, but what I didn’t appreciate was all the badgering.

  “Hey. I’m teasing you about sleeping with the guy,” he said, his voice assuming its more customary wiseass tone. “I know you can’t stand him any more than I can.”

  “Oh, so that performance you just gave was only mock indignation?”

  “Not entirely. You’re still gonna have to explain to me why you were meeting him at the Plaza. Fiancé or no fiancé, I never figured you’d do something like that.”

  “Fine. I’ll explain. I went there to satisfy my curiosity. He called me out of the blue and said he wanted to be alone with me. I wondered why.”

  “Because you’re a beautiful woman and he was hot to get you into bed, that’s why.”

  “Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t. I couldn’t tell from his phone call. But I also wondered how I would feel about being alone with him after what happened four years ago. There was something tempting about being the one to reject him this time around.”

  “Okay. You were hurt by him once. I can understand that.”

  “And then there was the issue of his marriage to Tara. I wondered why he was calling me if the marriage was as rock solid as they made it out to be. I was dying to find out if there was a chink in her armor. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “That part I don’t understand. Your obsession with her is off-the-charts nuts.”

  “Was, Tony, was. That’s what I realized when Stuart didn’t show up at the Plaza today. I’m over my need to prove myself to her or pay her back. I’m done with all that. Finished. Cured.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “Buy it, because it’s true. After I sat there waiting in that hotel room for over two hours, I promised myself I’d never be humiliated by either of those two again. Of course, the cops at my door added a new wrinkle to the situation. She actually had the nerve to—”

  “Hang on. Before we get into serious police business, I need a drink. Do you have any red wine open?”

  “I think there’s some Cabernet in the refrigerator.”

  He looked at me as if I had six heads. “Cabernet in the refrigerator?”

  Damn. In the hubbub over Stuart, I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be a wine connoisseur, and wine connoisseurs don’t stick Cabernet in the fridge. I was caught. It just wasn’t my day, I guess.

  “I don’t know a thing about wine,” I said sheepishly. “I only pretended to, because I had to get you to like me enough to play my fiancé.”

  His eyes widened. “You mean your entertaining speeches about noble bouquets and velvety textures were—”

  “Bullshit. Yes. I don’t know anything about hockey, either. New York Rangers. Forest rangers. They’re all the same to me.”

  “I don’t believe this. I’m really shocked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I suppose your passion for Ferraris was part of the ruse, too? No real interest in the three fifty Spider with the twelve cylinders under the hood?”

  I lowered my eyes, too ashamed to meet his. “No real interest,” I said.

  “Good. Because there is no three fifty Spider with twelve cylinders,” he said. “The car has eight cylinders and they’re not under the hood. They’re mounted in the middle, behind the seats.”

  I picked my head up. “What?”

  “You heard me. I made that stuff up about the car—to test you. I had a feeling you were pulling something that night you invited me to your apartment for dinner, and I was right.”

  “Tony!”

  “Well? That’s what you get for playing games with a smart guy like me.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. So he’d known all along. And my games hadn’t deterred him from helping me, standing by me, being there at my apartment in my hour of need. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. It’s just that when Tara started raving about you, I thought I’d wage a campaign to win you over. Connie told me you were into—”

  “Connie was in on this?”

  “Only because I begged her. I told her I needed you to pose as my fiancé, and while she didn’t love the idea, she agreed to aid and abet.”

  “So you pretended to like the things I like in order to—what?—convince me that we had a lot in common?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then here’s the question: Is there anything at all about you that’s real?”

  “I—Of course there is.”

  “Name one.”

  “That’s easy. What’s real is how much I’ve enjoyed these past few months with you. I’ve become very fond of you, Tony.”

  “Fond of me?” He smirked.

  “Yes. We’re pals, aren’t we? Partners? You’ve been doing me a favor and I’ve been doing you a favor. That’s all it’s been for you, too, right? An arrangement that was practical for both of us?” Sure, I was fishing. What else was I supposed to do?

  “ ‘An arrangement’?” he repeated, his blue eyes drilling me.

  “Well, yes. You’ve been my fiancé and I’ve been your research project.”

  “Give me a break. You know it’s been more than that for me.”

  “Do I? If memory serves, you only decided to play my fiancé to get a better handle on what it felt like to be in a committed relationship, so you could flesh out Joe and Lucy’s marriage and make converts out of the reviewers who’ve been tough on you.”

  “That was a big factor at first.”

  “At first?”

  “Yeah. Once we started spending time together, I just wanted to be with you.”

  “Oh.” So there had been a change in direction. I had sensed it but couldn’t let myself believe it.

  “That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?” He moved closer to me.

  “I, well, what’s your point?” I said, feeling my face flush now that he was nose-to-nose with me.

  “My point is that I’ve been playing your fiancé not so that I could research Joe and Lucy’s marriage, but so that I could keep doing this.”

  He leaned over and kissed me. It was another one of those knockout kisses that made my insides melt, only there was no audience this time, no one to perform for, and the fact that Tara and Stuart weren’t around to observe it gave it an exquisite sense of intimacy.

  “So you haven’t just been using me as a writing aid?” I teased when I came up for air.

  He
smiled. “No, although I think the love scenes in my books are ripe for some tweaking.”

  He kissed me again, longer this time, and with his body pressing against mine. Whatever defenses I’d been putting up, whatever reservations I’d had about getting involved with him, whatever reasons I’d given myself for keeping my distance, all faded away in that moment. After the shock of Stuart’s disappearance and Tara’s accusations, life was suddenly too short not to let myself succumb to Tony Stiles’s considerable charms.

  “I, um, really do need to talk to you about what happened to Stuart when you have a chance,” I sputtered as he slid his lips down the side of my neck and his hands down the sides of my thighs. “Those detectives showed up at my door out of nowhere tonight. I don’t have any idea who’s coming next.”

  “I do,” said a very aroused Tony as he took my hand and led me into the bedroom.

  “So you really don’t like the Rangers,” he mused as we lay in each other’s arms on my bed, our faces rosy with the afterglow.

  “I don’t know the Rangers,” I said. “I could like them, I guess. I’m sure they’re nice people.”

  He laughed. “You’ll learn to like them, just the way you learned to like me. It wasn’t all that long ago that you couldn’t stand the sight of me, don’t forget.”

  I ran my bare foot along the inside of his leg. “The sight of you was never the problem, Tony, believe me.”

  “Then it must have been my personality you weren’t wild about.”

  “Well, you were pretty difficult to work with,” I said as he was tracing little circles around my belly button with the tip of his finger.

  “I wasn’t difficult. I was ‘my own man,’ as they say.”

  “No, you were difficult.”

  He laughed. “Well, I’ve mellowed. Now I just want to be your go-to guy.”

  “My go-to guy, huh? The one I can count on no matter what?”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “Then tell me what I’m supposed to do about this Stuart mess. Tara ratted me out to the cops.”

  “What did you expect? She thought you were screwing her husband. She must have been furious at you and felt like striking back, and I can’t say I blame her. Look, we don’t even know if he’s dead. We only know that he’s missing. Either way, you were probably at work when they found his car this morning. Chances are, you have an alibi. She can’t hurt you.”