Best Enemies

by Jane Heller

  “Really?” she said with a sneer. “Then why didn’t he tell you about me?”

  “Actually, he did tell me about you,” I said. “He told me there was a woman who’d lied to him and that he was finished with her.”

  “But he didn’t tell you that the woman was your own boss, did he?”

  “No.”

  “And he sure as hell didn’t tell you that he used your supposed engagement to make me believe he and I were over—not to help you with your friend and not to research his book. All that was bullshit. Got it now?”

  I couldn’t answer her. I was too busy trying to figure out how Tony had the nerve to keep his affair with Betsy a secret from me, how he could let me complain about having to work for her and never even hint that she was more than a business acquaintance to him. Was it because I meant nothing to him? Was I just another one of his conquests, someone to be toyed with and then dumped? Were all his middle-of-the-night declarations total crap?

  Oh God, I thought, suddenly picturing him ordering up another cozy room-service dinner with Tara. If he couldn’t be trusted to tell me about Betsy, how could he be trusted to spend even a minute alone with the prom queen? Especially in her currently oh-so-vulnerable condition?

  I had to get out of there.

  “Going to lick your wounds?” asked Betsy.

  “Actually, I’m going to find Tony.” I elbowed my way past her. “Just so you know, I’ll be away from the office for a few days.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” she said. “You’ve got Tara Messer’s party in less than two weeks. You’re staying right here and—”

  I silenced her with a finger in her face. “I said I’ll be away for a few days. If you so much as raise an eyebrow about it, I’ll tell everybody at the company that you committed adultery with our most important author.”

  Before she could respond, I walked out of her office. Without a word, I went back to my own, grabbed my purse and my briefcase, and marched over to Scott’s cubicle.

  “You’re so fired,” I said.

  “Good imitation of Betsy,” he said with a laugh.

  “You’re still fired,” I said.

  “Uh-oh. So we’re—what?—in a cranky mood?”

  “We aren’t anything. You’re clearing out your stuff and finding another job.”

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, Amy, but I—”

  “What’s going on is that Betsy told me you’ve been spreading little tales about me and Tony Stiles, the problem with that being that I need an assistant who can keep his mouth shut. So I’ll be asking Human Resources to start interviewing for your replacement. In the meantime, I’m leaving town for a few days and I’ll ask Connie Martino’s assistant to answer my phones until I get back. Any more questions?”

  Silence.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I left the building, hailed a taxi, went back to my apartment, and booked myself a plane ticket to Palm Beach. There was a late flight out of La Guardia and I would be on it. When I landed, I intended to head straight for the Breakers. It would be around bedtime then—the perfect opportunity to see for myself what my go-to guy was really up to.

  35

  When I arrived at the Breakers, I marched straight to Tony’s room and knocked on his door. No answer. I tried a couple of more times. Same deal.

  Assuming he must be with Tara, I stomped down the hall and banged on her door. No answer.

  Either they were out, haying a late supper, or they were in, having each other.

  I stood there in the hall, trying to decide what to do next. I was angry, hurt, and really, really hungry. The “meal” on the flight had consisted of a granola bar and an orange.

  I figured I might as well satisfy my appetite as well as summon my strength by going back downstairs, getting a table in the hotel’s main dining room, and eating something. I needed fortification for what was ahead.

  “Table for one,” I told the maître d’ as I surveyed the other diners. They were all decked out in designer resort wear, while I was still in my straight-from-the-office business suit. The least of my problems, right?

  As I was being led to my table, which was in the back, next to the kitchen (where they usually put women eating alone), guess who I spotted at a secluded table for two by the window, drinking champagne and canoodling? You got it. Tara was throwing back her head and laughing at something wonderfully witty Tony must have said, and he was leaning forward to take a bite of whatever goody she had on her plate. Sharing laughs? Sharing food? Was that not proof of their treachery?

  After telling the maître d’ that I’d be taking a detour, I stormed over to the happy couple.

  “Well, isn’t this an instant replay,” I said, my voice quivering but tinged with sarcasm.

  Tony and Tara looked up. I had caught them by complete surprise, obviously.

  “What I meant by that,” I went on before either of them could get a word in, “was that when you seduced Stuart, Tara, it was a night just like this one. I wasn’t around. You ordered champagne. One thing led to another. Well, you remember.”

  She started to speak—apparently, she’d had enough champagne to make her speech slur—but Tony stopped her. He got up from his chair and tried to hug me. I pulled away.

  “Okay. No hug. What’s wrong?” he asked. “Something must be, or you wouldn’t have come all the way to Florida.”

  “You’re sitting here with her, guzzling champagne, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?” I said. “But hey. I don’t want to intrude. You two are celebrating. How romantic. I guess my only question would be, When’s the wedding?”

  “Amy, what the hell are you talking about?” he said. “Yeah, Tara and I were celebrating, but not for any romantic reason.”

  “So you say.” I glanced from him to Tara and back again. I noticed that there was an almost empty bottle of Dom Pérignon in a nearby ice bucket and a gooey chocolate soufflé on a plate between them—with two spoons. Plus, she was decorated with a bright pink hibiscus in her shimmering blond hair. Wasn’t that festive?

  Now it was her turn to stand. She was wobbly, and she hung on to the table for support. “Amy, you’re making a mistake here. A big one.”

  “You’re telling me. I left you two alone, just like I left you and Stuart alone four years ago. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, you’re an incredible bitch.”

  “What did you just call me?”

  “The same thing I should have called you after I found out about you and Stu boy.”

  “But I didn’t do anything this time,” she said. “Look, why don’t we get the waiter to bring another chair and we can all sit and talk.”

  “No. Why don’t you take your slutty ass out of this dining room and let me sit and talk to Tony.”

  Her eyes blazed. “Watch it, honey. Someone got you all stirred up, but I’m not in the mood to be your scapegoat.”

  “No? Then what are you in the mood for, honey? A roll in the sack with your stud muffin here?”

  “Amy, keep your voice down,” said Tony. The other people in the restaurant were craning their necks to see what all the commotion was about, but I couldn’t have cared less.

  “I’ll get to you later, Tony. First, I want Tara to go back to her room and start packing.”

  She shook her head. “Quit ordering me around. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Why? Because you think Tony will commit to you? He doesn’t commit to anybody. He hits, then runs. Actually, now that I think about it, you two are a perfect match. You’re both sluts.”

  “That’s enough,” said Tara, although it came out more like “Thassnuff.”

  Before I could anticipate her next move, she grabbed her spoon, scooped up a decent-sized portion of their soufflé, and flung it at me as if she were wielding a slingshot. Her aim was excellent; the dessert landed smack in my right eye.

  I was so stunned that all I could think to do was retaliate in kind. After wiping my eye with my finger
and licking it—it tasted pretty damn good, I have to tell you—I reached down with my bare hand, picked up the rest of the soufflé, and dumped it on top of her golden head.

  “You maniac,” she shouted. “I just washed my hair.”

  “You’re the maniac,” I said. “A nymphomaniac.”

  “Excuse me, but you’re the one who barged in here acting crazy,” she said, bumping me this time.

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who started the food fight,” I retorted, bumping her back.

  “Maybe I should forget the food,” she said, and went for the champagne bottle.

  Tony held her arm before she could either sock me or soak me, while I hurled a few verbal shots at her. At some point, the maître d’ hurried over and demanded that all three of us leave the dining room immediately.

  “I’m not budging,” I said.

  “Neither am I,” said Tara.

  “Oh, we’re budging all right,” said Tony. “We have no choice, thanks to you two. Not the sort of publicity you want for your authors, is it, Amy?”

  “I guess not,” I admitted. “Let’s take this to your room.”

  “Good idea.” He steered Tara and me into the elevator and kept us apart as we rode up seven floors.

  “Now,” he said when we were safely inside his room. “Will everybody please behave, or should I call for reinforcements?”

  I didn’t answer. I was too exhausted. Tara didn’t answer, either. She was too preoccupied with the chocolate remnants that were stuck in her hair.

  “What provoked all this?” Tony asked me.

  “You mean, aside from her?” I nodded at Tara.

  “Yeah. Why are you in Palm Beach? You said you were fine with letting us try to find Stuart without you.”

  “I came because of Betsy,” I said.

  “Betsy?” he said.

  “Yeah. You know. Betsy Kirby, my boss. The one you slept with but failed to mention.”

  Tara stopped playing with her hair and glared at him. “You slept with Amy’s boss?”

  “That’s not all,” I said. “He tried to get rid of her by telling her we were engaged. What’s more, he never let me in on his little game.”

  “Can’t anyone in this room ever tell the truth?” asked Tara. “I mean, really. We’re all guilty.”

  “I’ll tell the truth right now,” Tony said to me. “I’m sorry about Betsy. I should have confided in you about her. But she was a miserable chapter in my life, and I wasn’t thrilled about reliving it.”

  “How miserable?” I asked.

  “She was married. I didn’t know. It was messy.”

  “Life is messy,” I said. “That’s no excuse for keeping me in the dark. I work for the woman, for God’s sake.”

  “Amy’s right,” said Tara. “If you love her, you have to be honest with her.”

  “If he loves me?” I said. “You’re drunker than I thought.”

  “He does love you,” she said. “Before you crashed our dinner, he was waxing poetic about it.”

  “Is that so?” I said, challenging him.

  “It is. I’ve loved you since the night you invited me to your apartment and made me cheese and crackers by candlelight.”

  “A likely story.”

  “A true story.”

  “Then what about Betsy?”

  “She was a fling. When I found out she was married, I ended it.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me about this so-called fling.”

  “I didn’t tell you because you already thought I was a womanizing creep. If you knew I’d been with her, would you ever have taken my feelings for you seriously? Would you ever have believed that I love you?”

  “If you love me, why were you celebrating with Tara tonight instead of trying to find Stuart?” I asked.

  “We did find Stuart,” he said. “That’s why we were celebrating.”

  “Or at least we think we found him,” said Tara. “We’ll know more tomorrow, hopefully.”

  I stared at them. “You’re not kidding?”

  “No,” said Tony. “We caught a break today. We figured it wouldn’t hurt to order a bottle of champagne to reward ourselves for a job well done.”

  “So you weren’t—”

  He shook his head.

  “And Tara wasn’t—”

  She shook her head.

  “So there was no reason at all for me to—”

  They both shook their heads.

  I lowered mine. I had acted like a huge jerk, and I was so ashamed. Yes, Tara and I had shared a tangled past. And yes, Betsy’s revelation about Tony had flipped me out. Maybe lots of people would have lost it under those circumstances, but I still felt awful.

  “Would anybody mind if I dug a hole and crawled in it?” I said.

  Tara sighed. “You and I have been going at each other for so long in one way or another. Don’t you think we should give it a rest? For real this time?”

  I nodded sheepishly.

  “And how about me?” asked Tony. “Can I get in on this goodwill?”

  I leapt up and threw my arms around his neck.

  “That’s better,” he said, then kissed me hard on the mouth.

  “Okay, you two,” said Tara. “I think I’ll slip out before things get steamy.”

  I pulled away from Tony. “Oh no you don’t,” I said to her. “You can’t leave until I’ve heard all about Stuart. Is he here in Palm Beach? Did you actually see him? Is he coming back to New York?”

  Tony smiled at Tara. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

  36

  Even after searching the local newspapers for listings of real estate closings and failing to find one for Stuart, Tony didn’t give up.

  “Instinct told me he cleaned out the bank account in Brooklyn, then came down here with the money and put it into a house,” he said as he and Tara began their chronicle of the day’s events. “So I decided to comb the papers again, since all transactions are printed up by law.”

  “And he means dozens and dozens of newspapers,” she added.

  “We spread them all out on the floor and took another look,” he said. “It was Tara who nailed him.”

  “Nailed Stuart? How?” I asked.

  “I found his house,” she said.

  “So it was listed in his name?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “It was listed in Mandy’s.”

  “Mandy? As in his secretary?”

  “That’s the girl. But I couldn’t remember her last name. So I called Human Resources at Lasher’s to make sure she was ‘our’ Mandy.”

  “They confirmed that her last name was the same as the one in the Palm Beach Post,” said Tony. “It’s Koplitz, by the way. Can’t be too many Mandy Koplitzes out there, right?”

  “This is amazing,” I said. “So Stuart’s using her as a front?”

  “Bingo,” said Tony. “The abandoned car with the blood on the seat was a decoy. He’s here and he’s camping out with her.”

  “Have you paid a visit to the lovebirds yet?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “We drove over to the address in the paper, but nobody was home. We figured we’d try again in the morning.”

  “Then I got here just in time,” I said. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Does Jimmy know?”

  Tara nodded. “He wants the whole mess kept quiet as much as I do. His poor parents are totally in the dark, and he’s worried about their health if they find out what Stuart’s done.”

  Tara went on to describe the house where her husband and his secretary were holed up—she dubbed it “a monstrosity,” which probably meant that it was even grander than their castle in Mamaroneck—and then Tony suggested we all call it a night.

  “We’ve got a big day ahead,” he said. “I think we should rest up.”

  “I agree. Get some sleep, you two,” Tara said on her way out the door, then added with a wink, “Or at least a little sleep.”

  When Tony and I w
ere alone, I reminded him that I’d reserved my own room at the hotel.

  “You won’t be needing it,” he said, enveloping me in his arms. “What you need is quality time with me.”

  “I do,” I said. “For starters, I have to apologize for that awful scene downstairs in the dining room. I jumped to conclusions, based on the past. I acted like a lunatic.”

  “You acted like a woman who’s been hurt before,” he said. “It can’t have been easy to find out about Betsy and me, especially at the same time that I was down here alone with Tara.”

  “I know, but I’m still sorry. I should have had more faith in you.”

  “Apology accepted. I should have told you about Betsy, and I’m sorry about that. But the truth is, it’s hard to talk about old relationships with the person you’re trying to win over. I didn’t want to turn you off or turn you away, or just plain piss you off. So I took the path of least resistance and kept quiet about her. Forgive me?”

  “I already have.”

  He smiled. “Then how about we move on?”

  “I’d like that, although I do have one little topic to revisit. In the restaurant before, somewhere between the cat fight with Tara and my tirade over Betsy, I seem to remember that you said you loved me. I’d like to hear more about that.”

  He smiled. “You want to hear about how I love you?” He brushed his lips across my cheek. “I love you with these.” Then he tightened his arms around me. “And I love you with these.” Then he took my hand and pressed it against his chest, over his heart. “But most of all, I love you with this.”

  “Do you?”

  “Without a doubt.” He kissed me. “Which is another way of saying that I’ll never run off with somebody else the way Stuart did, and history will not repeat itself. I’m yours, body and soul, if you want me.”

  “If I want you? I’ve wanted you for longer than I could admit to myself. I—”

  “What?”

  Damn. I was going to tell him. I had every intention of telling him. But when it came down to actually spitting out the “I love you,” I froze.

  He drew me to him. “There’s no need to say it,” he whispered. “Not until you’re ready. I know how you feel, and that’s good enough.”