by John Lutz
Her body jerked against the soft back and arm of the sofa as a key grated in the lock. Her mind had wandered; she’d been thinking about this morning, the woman in the park.
She set aside the New York Times she’d been reading when she’d lost concentration. The door opened and David came in. He dropped his blue duffle bag on the chair where he usually tossed his attache case.
“Hi, Mol.” He walked around behind her, leaned over the sofa, and kissed the top of her head, her hair. She stood up as he went to the closet by the door and hung his suit coat on a hanger. He removed his tie, the paisley one she’d given him last Christmas, and draped it over the back of the chair.
Molly had parted her lips to tell him about the woman in the park when he said, “I ran into Deirdre again. There was a man with her.”
She listened as he described his meeting with Deirdre and Craig Chumley.
“She’d left a note with her phone number in my coat pocket,” he said. “I told her I hadn’t found it, but I had. I didn’t bother calling her.”
“Apparently she wasn’t offended,” Molly said.
“More disappointed, it seemed. I do think she simply wants to exorcise some old demons, to be friends. Enough time’s passed that it’s possible, I suppose.”
“Who’s this Chumley?” Molly asked.
David shrugged. “Just a guy she met through her job, is the impression I got.” He walked into the kitchen. She heard water run in the sink. Silence. He returned to the living room holding a glass of water. His upper lip was wet and glistening. “They were on their way to the Rainbow Room for dinner. She invited us to join them.”
“Both of us?”
“That’s what she said. I doubt if Chumley was keen on it, though. He seemed relieved when I declined.” He walked over and kissed her lightly on the lips, looked down at her with an adoration so obvious that she feared it was feigned. “Listen, Mol. I think both of us have reacted a little extremely to Deirdre popping up here in New York.”
“Maybe,” Molly said, wondering where this was going.
“She’s not going to be in town that long,” David said, “and she’s tied to her job back in Saint Louis. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if she and this Chumley want to have dinner with us, maybe we should accept.”
“I’m not so sure, David…”
“I know how you feel, honey, and I don’t blame you. She’s my former wife and you don’t want her in the same orbit, even the same solar system, that our family’s in.”
“Try galaxy.”
“I feel the same way, and she really isn’t in the same galaxy, except she’s just a visitor-like in Star Trek. Couple of days and she’ll be beamed back to Saint Louis via TWA.”
Molly didn’t know quite what to make of what he’d just told her. Another chance meeting on the street, and this time Deirdre had a man in tow.
“I want to make sure we understand each other about Deirdre,” she said.
“And I want you to understand she doesn’t seem to harbor any sort of malice toward you or me.”
“Why is she so intent on seeing you?”
“She’s curious about me. About us.” He took another sip of water then swirled the liquid around in the glass for a moment, staring down at it. “Mol, after the divorce she met someone, got pregnant.” Half a lie, he thought. What difference did it make who had fathered the dead fetus? “He…well, he physically abused her and injured the baby. It had to be aborted. The incident still haunts her.”
“God, that’s terrible.”
“I think all she wants is to have a quiet dinner with us and Chumley, talk for a while, and lay the past to rest. Can you understand that?”
“I should be able to, I suppose.”
“Neither of us has anything to fear.”
“Neither of us?”
“That’s right. She and Chumley are in at least the early stages of a hot romantic relationship. They’re into French kissing in public.”
“How reassuring.”
David grinned. “Poor Chumley. Deirdre can be very moody. There’s no way for him to know what he’s getting into. Anyway, if they ask us to dinner again, how about it?”
“Is this some kind of test?” She waited for his reply.
Instead of answering, he said, “Have I mentioned Deirdre’s hair is red now? I guess she wants to jazz herself up, make herself look younger, but to tell you the truth she’s still kind of worn-down and ordinary.”
Twisting the truth to protect her; what had she to fear from this older woman? Molly couldn’t help smiling. She went to him. “David, David…” She kissed him then backed away a step and stared at him. “Okay,” she said, “if they invite us again, we’ll go. But I’m not sharing any dip with her.”
Molly watched him tilt back his head and finish his glass of water. She realized she’d been holding her breath, as if she’d been the one drinking. She moved closer to him and pressed her head into his shoulder. He hugged her, and she felt his hand gently patting her back. There was no reason to tell him about the woman in the park now, no point in pushing him on the subject. He might consider her paranoid about Deirdre, and he might be right. New York was undeniably well stocked with leggy women who jogged and wore baseball caps and sunglasses.
“Michael at Bernice’s again?” David asked.
She nodded, prodding his chest with her forehead.
“Let’s get him,” he said, “then the three of us can go out and have some supper. Sound okay?”
“Sounds fine.” She remembered the last time he’d suggested dinner under similar circumstances. It had been for just the two of them. She liked it better this way.
“Any preferences?” he asked.
“Anywhere but the Rainbow Room.”
They settled on hot dogs from the vendor down the street.
David had been so reasonable she knew she’d been unreasonable. He could do that to her; it was one of the few infuriating things about him.
But he was right, she knew. She’d become unsettled about a woman she’d never met, who might indeed have nothing to do with the jogger Molly had seen in the park. Probably had nothing to do with her.
Not that it mattered, since Deirdre would soon be leaving New York to return to her home.
The only thing remotely bothering Molly now was a persistent feeling that she’d shied away from a fear she should have faced. And maybe she should have had more faith in David.
More faith in herself and the two of them together.
10
Molly met Traci Mack the next afternoon in Egan’s, the lounge of the Darville Hotel on West Forty-fourth Street. Traci was the Link Publishing editor of the architectural manuscript. Molly had worked with her before, and the two women had become friends.
Traci merely glanced at the first half of the thick manuscript, Architects of Desire, with its yellow Post-it flags sticking out from between the pages. As the waiter brought their drinks-a glass of chardonnay for Molly, a martini for Traci-Traci stuffed the manuscript into her black leather attache case and leaned the case against the legs of her chair. She was a tiny, fortyish woman with graying hair and a droll expression that seldom changed. Her eyes were dark and always narrowed into slits as if she were myopic, and she had a round face, underslung jaw, and long upper lip that made her resemble a turtle. Molly had never seen the diminutive Traci in anything other than sacklike black dresses of the sort often worn by heavyset women to disguise bulk. Traci must have owned half a dozen similar outfits. Her idea of getting dressed up was to wear a sash or a belt.
Molly sipped her wine and looked around Egan’s. There were about a dozen other customers scattered about the lounge. It was upscale but functional in the way of hotel bars, with small, marble-topped tables and a long bar with a large-screen TV mounted above it. A soap opera was on the TV but fortunately there was no volume. Beyond the far end of the bar was an archway and a sign indicating that it led to the lobby. Molly and Traci were at one of the small marb
le tables near the window. It was cool in the lounge; bright and bustling Manhattan streamed past in the heat on the other side of the glass.
“Thanks for the first half of the manuscript, Mol.” Traci said in her rasping voice. “Gonna have the last half by the end of next week?”
“Guaranteed,” Molly said. A man in threadbare clothes walked past close to the window, glanced inside, and locked gazes with her, then moved faster as if ashamed of his misfortune. Something about him gave Molly a chill. They were separated by much more than a pane of glass, yet his world waited for the weak the way a lion waited and watched the herd for potential victims. That was how Molly was trying not to feel-like a victim.
Traci sat back, sighed, then smiled as she lifted her martini. “Enough of business. What’s going on in your life?”
Molly told her.
Traci leaned back in her chair and looked thoughtful. “I’ve got to tell you, Mol, I don’t think it’s ever a good idea for wives and ex-wives to get together unless it’s at hubby’s funeral.”
Molly laughed.
“I’m editing a mystery novel about that very situation,” Traci said, “and it doesn’t turn out well for the wife.”
“Are you warning me that life might imitate art?”
“Maybe.”
Molly had to ask. “So what happens to the wife in the novel?”
“The husband and the ex kill her then say she ran away. But she’s really in the freezer of a neighbor who’s on vacation. They dispose of her body little by little. What they can’t get the neighbor’s German Shepherd to eat, they get rid of with the trash compactor and the U.S. Mail.”
Molly winced and tried to ignore the knot in her stomach.
“Well, David and I have a strong marriage. If it can’t survive us sitting through dinner with a sad, lonely woman who’s only in town for a little while, I’ll be surprised. Besides, she happens to be eleven years older than I am. What do I have to fear from a woman fast-approaching menopause?”
“Hold on, there!” Traci said, grinning.
Molly was embarrassed. “Oh, sorry…”
“People live longer and stay young longer these days. And a thirty-eight-year-old can be quite a sexpot.” Traci used her tiny red plastic-sword swizzle stick to toy with the olive in her martini. “I thought you told me Deirdre was in love with some guy named Chalmers.”
“Chumley,” Molly corrected.
“Whatever. He’s a man. She doesn’t sound so sad and lonely to me.”
“Or like any kind of a threat,” Molly pointed out. “I admit I was hesitant at first, but now I’m looking forward to meeting both of them.”
Traci speared and ate her olive. “That’s amazing.”
“I don’t think so,” Molly said, “among reasonable people.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met a reasonable person,” Traci said. She raised her glass in a mock toast. “But anyway, I do commend you.”
Molly ignored the toast. “I guess I see it as a test for our marriage,” she admitted. “If it’s as strong as I say it is, simply acknowledging Deirdre exists should do no harm. It will only make us stronger. Maybe all of us.”
“I hope you’re right.” Traci finished her drink and placed her glass on its cork coaster. “Well, I’d better get back to Link. The author of Sane Sex for Singles is coming in to the office and I want to meet her.” She dropped some bills from a pocket of the black dress onto the table to cover her share of the check. “I’ll leave you to go home and finish the other half of our flying buttresses manuscript.” She bent down and picked up the leather attache case. “Good luck with your dinner Saturday night. Whatever Deirdre is, you’re a young and attractive woman with a nice figure. Wear something that’ll knock her and her boyfriend dead.”
“Deirdre told David we’re dressing casual,” Molly said. “I don’t think anybody wants this to be a big deal. In fact, that’s the whole idea, that it’s no big deal. Then everyone will be reassured.”
“Maybe,” Traci said. “But take my advice and wear something tight.”
11
Deirdre walked into Rico’s Restaurant wearing a tight black knit halter dress and black spike heels. Her hair was a vibrant, fiery red, and her makeup was as bold as her walk.
Rico’s was a modest restaurant done in dark woods and reds, with candle holders in the center of each table providing most of the illumination. It was intimate rather than fancy. Deirdre was the brightest thing in it. She was knock-dead gorgeous. Every male head in the restaurant turned to follow her progress as she made her way to the corner table where Molly and David waited.
Molly had gone light with her makeup and hadn’t done much with her hair, and she was wearing jeans and a white blouse. She’d noticed at the restaurant, too late, that Michael had drooled chocolate milk on the right shoulder of the blouse just before she and David had left to walk to Rico’s.
As Deirdre approached, smiling, Molly told herself not to feel inferior. She was younger than this woman-and she was the one who had David. It was a plan, Deirdre showing up here dressed like that. It was a goddamned plan and Molly was determined not to let it work.
But she was intimidated and couldn’t entirely deny it.
David stood up from the table, letting his napkin slide from his lap to the floor.
“Where’s Chumley?” he asked.
“He sends his regrets,” Deirdre said, looking directly at David. She hadn’t yet looked at Molly. “He had to work late tonight. He’s in the import-export business, you know. Maybe his ship came in.”
David seemed to come out of his daze. “Molly, this is Deirdre.” He stooped quickly and picked up his napkin.
A waiter seemed to spring from the floor and pulled a chair back for Deirdre, who sat down with a calculated show of leg and cleavage. “You’re as young and pretty as David said,” she told Molly. Then to the waiter, before Molly could acknowledge the compliment: “I’ll have a vodka martini on the rocks with a lime twist.”
The waiter nodded and retreated.
Deirdre smiled and looked from Molly to David, waiting for conversation but not at all ill at ease. Molly told herself again not to be intimidated by this woman.
David picked up the glass of beer he’d been drinking, then set it back down. He nervously wiped his damp fingers on his napkin. “You and Chumley seemed to be getting along well when I saw you yesterday,” he said to Deirdre.
“Craig’s a dear. I’m lucky to have found him.” She turned to Molly. “And you’re lucky to have found David. Unbelievably lucky. Oh, he’s not perfect-and believe me, I know all about him-but I think he’s turned into a real winner.”
The waiter returned with Deirdre’s drink. She hesitated until he was gone, then she raised her glass. “Well, here’s blood in your eye.”
“That’s-No, never mind,” David said.
They all sipped from their drinks while the silence at the table stretched to awkwardness.
“Deirdre’s in the shoe business,” David finally blurted out.
Molly stared dead-eyed at him.
“Well, not anymore,” Deirdre said. “That is, I won’t be for long if things work out right. Craig Chumley’s offered me a job as his assistant. Everything about it sounds wonderful. I haven’t said yes yet, but I’m considering it.”
It took Molly a few seconds to absorb what that might mean. She sat stunned for another few seconds before she could speak She glanced at David, who looked down at his lap. “But don’t you have friends, a home, obligations in Saint Louis?”
Deirdre seemed not to notice her discomfort. “Nothing I can’t walk away from,” she said. “Of course, the cost of living’s a lot higher here in New York than it is in the Midwest. I’ll just have to sit down and figure it all out. Run it up the flagpole and see if it salutes.”
Molly felt David’s hand come to rest on hers as he spoke. “I got the impression yesterday, Deirdre, that there was something…I mean, some affection between you and Chumley.�
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“Oh, there is. He’s a wonderful man. That’s certainly something else I’ll have to take into consideration.” She picked up a menu and studied it for a few seconds. “Is the cannelloni good here? One thing I don’t have to worry about is my figure. Not yet, anyway.”
“All the pasta’s good here,” David told her. He ran his forefinger around the rim of his glass. “Deirdre, this is kind of a bombshell.”
“You mean my figure?” She laughed. “No, you mean the cannelloni.”
Molly kicked the side of David’s leg, hard, under the table.
“What I mean,” David said, showing no sign of pain, “is that the kind of move you’re talking about is a major step for anyone to take. You seem to be doing it almost on a whim. New York can be a hard city to live in.”
Jewelry and bright red enamel flashed as Deirdre made a casual backhand motion of dismissal. “Don’t worry about me, you two. I always jump before I leap.”
“But you don’t know anything about the import-export business, do you?” Molly asked.
“What’s to learn?” Deirdre said. “Import, export. In and out, in and out…I’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Yep,” Molly said. She felt David’s foot nudge hers beneath the table.
“Let’s stop talking about me,” Deirdre said. “Tell me about Michael.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. More cleavage. “Does he look like David?”
“More like Molly, actually,” David said.
“He looks exactly like David,” Molly said.
Deirdre smiled directly at her. Great, even white teeth, Molly noticed. Though it was oddly carnivorous, it was a smile that dazzled. “He could do a lot worse,” Deirdre said. She beamed her full attention at David. “One thing I’m going to need is an apartment. Do either of you know of a good one that’s available? Is this a decent neighborhood?”