by Andrew Kane
“Why else would I start seeing that fellow every week? I do have other things to do with my time.”
“Perhaps to placate me.”
“Please, my dear, I know you are not stupid.”
She was silent for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“I have always regarded you as the smartest person I’ve ever met, you know that.”
Something inside her told her that she had pushed as far as she could, at least for now. He was in good hands with Dr. Rosen, so she’d heard from several sources, and she would just have to trust in that. She looked at him, regarding the warmth in his eyes. He was a good man, she believed, loving and selfless in every respect. He was right, he could never do anything to hurt her. Yet, what had happened to him, as impulsive, irrational and uncharacteristic as it may have been, left her uncertain about the future.
Jacques continued. “I spoke with the doctor about your talking with him. He says it’s fine and that you should call.”
She forced a smile.
He stood up from his chair, walked over to her and ran his hands through her hair. “Everything is going to be all right, my dear, I promise,” he said softly.
It amazed her how easily he could make her feel the same way she had the first time he ever touched her. This was the man she had fallen in love with, the man who had always been able to arouse her lust, the man who had inspired cravings she’d never imagined herself capable of. And even now, years later, he affected her so.
She grasped his hand and rose to meet him face-to-face. They hadn’t stood this close to each other for some time, several weeks before his suicide attempt by her count. It felt good, as if he were finally returning to her. She brought her hand slowly to his face, gently touching his cheek as she leaned into him and kissed his lips. It was a tender kiss, but one which vibrated through her entire body.
“I love you,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
“And I love you,” he responded as he drew her into another kiss, deeper and harder.
Enveloped in his hold, she wanted nothing more than to have all of him. Releasing herself, she took his hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“But what of dinner?” he asked, grinning mischievously.
“It will have to wait.”
chapter 9
The village of Lake Success was aptly named, in light of its grand homes and winding, impeccably groomed streets. It was not a place Martin and Katherine could have afforded, were it not for the financial assistance of Katherine’s parents. Martin had initially been opposed to the idea – there were plenty of fine neighborhoods within their price range – but Katherine’s father, a prominent Peoria surgeon with whom Martin had developed a most amicable relationship, had convinced his new son-in-law to at least take the money as a “non-interest loan.” Katherine fell in love with the neighborhood, saw it as a wonderful place for children, and Martin couldn’t bear to disappoint her. He promised himself, and Katherine, that he would pay her father back in full, though the man had never expected or even desired to see the money. Martin’s first two royalty checks on his book took care of the first and last installments, and his only regret was that Katherine hadn’t lived to see the house become theirs. He believed, however, that somehow she knew.
The house was a four-bedroom, center-hall colonial on Bridle Path Lane, a street that had once, years before the development of the area, served the very function for which it was named. Set back nicely from the road, on about half an acre of property, it boasted all white hand-split cedar shakes, with old-world crystalline windows and traditional drapery adding as much to its exterior as to the rooms within. Its simplicity, which lent it a storybook complexion one might find somewhere in Middle America rather than here among its more imposing neighbors, had clinched it for Katherine. It had reminded her of home.
For Martin, it had all been a big surprise. He had never imagined himself taking pride in something so mundane as a house. But as Katherine slowly added her touch, the more he came to appreciate it, and her. It became, in every sense, a reflection of their lives: pure and warm. And within its confines, he would always feel her presence.
“Daddy’s home!” Martin heard as he entered the house.
Elizabeth came running from the den and jumped into his arms, yelling, “Daddy!”
He hoisted her up and held her tight, relishing every squeeze and kiss, though his bones and muscles were telling him that she was getting too heavy, and he too old. A wave of sadness passed through him. “How’s my girl?” he asked.
“Good, Daddy, really good.”
He put her down, trying to conceal the strain.
“Come see what we were doing!” she commanded as she led him back to the den.
Jamilla was sitting on the den floor, pondering the pieces of an almost completed puzzle. As usual, she was dressed simply: fitted blue jeans and a black T-shirt bearing a faded image of Celine Dion. She was a small-framed woman in her early 20s, with long, straight black hair, dark skin, brown eyes, and what Martin had always regarded as sweet facial features. She looked up at him with the same smile that had so impressed him the first time he’d met her, the smile that had told him that she would be the perfect caregiver for his daughter. “Ah, Dr. Rosen, how are you tonight?”
Martin had grown accustomed to her accent though, when he hired her two years earlier, he was worried that it might hinder Elizabeth’s language skills. He had since learned quite the opposite, that nothing could impede his daughter. He looked down at the progress Elizabeth had made on the “7 years and older” dinosaur puzzle, confirming his sense, once again, that the girl had inherited her mother’s brains.
“Pretty well,” Martin answered, dismissing the fact that he was actually spent. He never wanted Elizabeth to see him as anything less than enthusiastic after an entire day of being away from her. “A bit hungry though.”
The nanny jumped up. “Of course. Dinner will be ready in a jiffy.”
Martin smiled. “A jiffy works for me.”
Jamilla chuckled as she went to the kitchen.
“See what I did, Daddy? I almost finished the whole puzzle by myself. Jamilla helped, but I did most of it. Right, Jamilla?”
“Right!” the nanny yelled from the kitchen.
Elizabeth got on her knees and pointed to one of the completed dinosaurs. “This one’s a stegosaurus.”
“That’s correct,” Martin said, beaming.
“And this one’s a triceratops.”
“That’s right also.”
Elizabeth got up and stood beside her father, admiring her work. “Isn’t it cool, Daddy?”
“Very cool, princess.” He looked into her bright blue eyes. “As cool as it gets.”
“Dinner’s ready!” Jamilla called.
“Come, let’s eat,” Martin said. He took Elizabeth’s hand and started toward the kitchen.
“Daddy, do you think Aunt Esther will come to my birthday party?”
Martin smiled sadly; Elizabeth’s birthday was a good six months away, and was probably the next time he would see his older sister, Esther. Through all his choices, and the estrangement from his parents, his relationship with Esther had always endured. She was his only sibling and, while she maintained the traditional lifestyle of their parents, married a staunchly Orthodox man and had five children, neither she nor he could ever disavow themselves of the closeness they had shared as children. She remained, in effect, his only link to his past.
“Of course she will. Doesn’t she always?” he said.
“What about Michali and Devorah?” Elizabeth asked, referring to her cousins whom she had barely met two years earlier, when Esther had visited a few days after the funeral of Katherine and Ethan. It was the only time Esther had brought any of her children, and she had chosen the girls, who were also her youngest, so they could play with Elizabeth
while she spent time with Martin.
Martin was always dumbfounded when Elizabeth brought this up, wondering if she truly remembered her cousins, or if simply knowing of their existence made her mention them from time to time. “We’ll see,” he answered, hoping she’d drop the subject.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” she responded, squeezing his hand.
He wasn’t sure whether she was parroting him, or if she was truly wise in ways he didn’t comprehend. He opted for the latter because it warmed his heart, which was exactly what he needed at the moment.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, princess?”
“How come I only have one grandma and one grandpa? Cindy and Andrea both have two grandmas and two grandpas.”
Another bombshell. Boy, she’s on a roll tonight, he thought.
In truth, this was the second time Elizabeth had drawn this comparison with her two best friends, the first having been a few weeks earlier. What went on in a 4-year-old’s head amazed Martin, and he was certain she would repeat the question until he provided a sufficient answer. He turned to her, squatted down to her level, and said, “Honey, remember I told you that you also have four grandparents, just like Cindy and Andrea?”
She nodded. “But how come I don’t see your mommy and daddy?”
“That’s a good question,” he uttered, more to himself than to her, realizing that this wouldn’t get him anywhere.
“Because they’re far away?” she probed, recalling the explanation he’d given her in the past.
Martin cringed. When he’d said that, it had been the first and only time he’d lied to her. He hadn’t known what to say and realized that it had been a dumb lie to begin with, considering that Katherine’s parents, who lived a thousand miles away in Illinois, spoke with their granddaughter weekly and visited several times a year. He should have guessed this wouldn’t silence her.
“Well honey,” he said, “being ‘far away’ can mean many things. It can mean that they actually live far away, like Grandpa Joe and Grandma Evelyn, or it can mean that we’re just not close with them, that we don’t talk to them or see them because we’re not…” he searched his mind for the right term, and all he could muster was, “friends.”
“Why not?”
“That, my love, is a very long story.”
“Is it a sad story?”
“Yes, I’d say it is.”
“Will you tell it to me?”
“One day, when you’re older.”
She looked into his eyes, and somehow understood that it was time to leave this alone. She took his hand, and said, “Boy, I’m really hungry!”
He stood up, looked down at her, and marveled. He couldn’t get over the way she was growing up. It was one of those rare moments that he entertained the thought that maybe there was a God after all.
chapter 10
Dan Gifford grabbed the phone after barely half a ring. He knew who it was; no one else would figure him to be in the office at 11 in the evening. “Gifford,” he answered anxiously.
“It’s Marcus, getting back to you on that license plate.” Bobby Marcus was one of two NYPD detectives assigned to Gifford’s bureau, and a close friend and confidant of the chief assistant DA. “Sorry it took so long, Dan, the computers downtown were on the fritz all day.”
“Sounds just like the DA’s office,” Gifford gibed. “What do you have?”
“Something really strange.”
Gifford perked up. “Yeah?”
“As you suspected, it ended up being a dead end. The license plate came up a blank.”
“A blank?”
“As in classified. Computer won’t give us a name and address without a special request from the captain, and even he would have to go through channels. If I take this any further, a lot of people are gonna know. You want me to?”
“Not quite yet.”
“You got a plan?”
“Yeah,” Gifford responded pensively. “At least my suspicions are confirmed. Something funny’s going on.”
“Sure, but what?”
Gifford had no answer.
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“No, you did fine. In any case, it doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with the Colombians,” Gifford said.
“Maybe. You never know. You say there were two men in the car. Are you sure they were watching you?” Marcus asked with hesitation.
“All I can say is that they gave me a bad feeling. They were definitely watching someone. I assumed it was me because of Alvarez.”
“Maybe you’re getting paranoid in your old age. Better see that shrink of yours more often.”
“Very funny.” Gifford wasn’t embarrassed about his relationship with Martin Rosen, not among friends, all of whom knew about his drinking problem.
“You want me to stay on this thing, look deeper?”
“How?”
“I don’t know, maybe tell some friends to keep a lookout for that car. Spread the word informally that if anyone sees it to get in touch.”
“Might as well. Can’t hurt.”
“We’ve already got someone watching your wife and Dan Jr. You want me to post someone on the shrink too?”
“The department’s going to holler.”
“Hey, you suddenly workin’ for the budget office? Don’t worry, a couple of guys owe me. They’re giving it their own time.”
Gifford contemplated for a moment. If it was anyone else, he would have said thanks, but it wasn’t that way between him and Marcus. They just did things for each other; “thanks” never entered into the equation. “Yeah, okay, might as well put someone on the shrink. But discretely, I don’t want to spook him.”
“Just like with Stephanie, the shrink won’t have a clue. Anything else?”
“No, that’s about it,” Gifford said.
“Feel like you could use a stiff drink about now?”
“Exactly. But I’ll just have to settle for a hot bath and a bed.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“It’ll do.”
“Later then.”
“Later.”
Dan Gifford hung up the phone, swiveled around in his chair, and looked out the window at the night. The advantage of working in Queens was that there weren’t many tall buildings, and his window gave him an unobstructed view of the downtown Manhattan skyline. On a clear night like this, it was something to see.
He took in the view, wondering. At least he hadn’t been imagining things, hadn’t lost his touch. He thought about Dr. Rosen and about Stephanie, asking himself if he should share any of this with them. He figured Stephanie, accustomed as she was to the pitfalls of his work, would sooner or later notice that she was being watched. It would upset her, but he would deal with that. Rosen was smart too, but not particularly schooled in these matters.
He considered the consequences of keeping this from Rosen. He hadn’t held anything back yet from the shrink, regardless how embarrassing or scary. While he understood that therapy required complete, unadulterated disclosure, his honesty was more motivated by the person of Martin Rosen. There was simply something about Rosen that made Gifford comfortable. It was that very something that had helped him this past year, that very something that he feared he might jeopardize if he started keeping secrets.
As he stared out the window, Gifford also thought about the man he’d seen in Rosen’s waiting room. He wasn’t sure why that came to mind at this time. Most likely because it was just another thing gnawing at his psyche.
Tired, baffled and ready to call it a day, Gifford was acutely certain of only one thing: all this was definitely making him thirsty. He swiveled around to his desk, gathered his stuff, and focused his mind on the hot bath and bed that awaited. The rest he would deal with tomorrow.
chapter 11
Martin Rosen sat on his bed and looked at the phone on the night table. The clock beside the phone told him it was 10:30, but he felt like it was much later. He reached for his wallet and removed the card with Cheryl Manning’s phone number, picked up the receiver, dialed, listened to five rings, then hung up.
He eyed the phone again for a few seconds, lifted the receiver, and dialed a different number. There were two rings, and a woman’s voice answered, “Hello.”
“Hi, Esther,” he said.
“Marty!” she responded. “How are you?”
He heard the clanging of dishes in the background and assumed she was in the kitchen, putting things away. Usually at this time of night the kids were asleep, her husband, Zev, was out at the local yeshiva, studying Talmud with his buddies, and she was tidying up. “Good,” he answered, trying to sound upbeat. “What about you and yours?”
“We’re all fine. Is everything okay?”
The question brought a smile to his face; his sister was always able to see through him. “Everything’s all right.”
“And what’s with my favorite niece?”
“Your only niece is, what can I say, wonderful. She asks about you guys all the time.”
“The girls ask for her too.”
A silent moment; a reminder of how seldom they saw each other.
“So, how was Chicago?” she asked.
He knew she would do this. That’s why he had avoided calling her since he’d returned. “It was okay, I suppose.”
“It was hard,” she said, more as a question than a statement.
“I survived.” Translation: Let’s not get into it.
“So, what’s up?”
“Same old, same old. Practice is busy, book’s been keeping me busy.”
“Having any fun?” Translation: Any women?
Martin hesitated. This was the one person in the world from whom he rarely kept anything. “Some,” he answered tentatively.
“Some? There’s a noncommittal response.”
“Okay, so I met someone. It’s really nothing. We haven’t even gone out yet.”