by Nancy Madore
Years had gone by like that, with neither of them wanting to confront the other. And then, quite out of the blue, Wayne just stopped one day. He stopped drinking and he stopped going out. And he made her stop too. He’d coaxed her from the bottle by replacing it with him. It was like he suddenly forgave her and, having managed that, he actually found himself able to—if not quite love her—then to at least become very fond of her. He was certainly interested in her. It seemed as if he suddenly wanted to know everything about her.
And he looked at her now—really looked at her. It sometimes felt as if he were looking into her soul. For the first time in her life, Beth felt important.
But the biggest change had been to their sex life. Beth puzzled over how she could have been satisfied with it before. That had just been sex. This was making love. Back then, Wayne had simply been making use of her body. Now, he was savoring every moment—and even drawing it out for as long as he could. An image of him flashed through her mind, and Beth closed her eyes to capture it more fully. It was an image she would never forget. It was desire, fierce and potent and real, burning brightly in his eyes—for her. His lovemaking took on an eagerness that startled, and even scared, her a little. But she adapted quickly. In fact, most mornings, before Wayne even got home from working the night shift, Beth was already stirring in her sleep, anticipating what was to come. She knew that his skin would be cold from the outdoors. He would be tired, but the feel of her, warm and inviting, would revive him. Before long, he would be trembling with desire. Then he would devour her.
It was like heaven to be ravished like that first thing in the morning.
But it was not all roses. Her own life had become so blissful that she couldn’t see his suffering. But she saw it now, in retrospect; the moodiness, the negativity sometimes. He’d been in a terrible mood the day she left to visit his aunt.
“Nothing lasts forever,” he’d told her. She thought he was worried about his aunt at the time. But now, looking back, it was almost as if he were warning her.
Maybe he never loved her. Maybe he just decided to give her a few good years before he left her to start a new life.
Beth swallowed the rest of the vodka in her glass and poured herself another.
It didn’t make sense. If Wayne had been leaving her for another woman, then where was the other woman? For that matter, when would he have had time? When he wasn’t working, he was always with Beth.
Except when he was in his secret room.
Beth’s head bobbed forward slightly and then fell back against the plush, leather chair. The glass slipped from her hand, tipping over and spilling vodka out over the magnificent cherry table. It just missed Wayne’s laptop as it dribbled over the edge and trickled onto the floor.
Beth didn’t even notice. She had passed out.
Chapter 4
Manhattan, New York
Georgia followed Nadia into her office. She was a pretty young woman with dark hair and enormous blue eyes that stared intently at a person when they were speaking. She was smart, as well as attractive, but a lack of confidence made her hesitant and unassertive. She had the charming habit of pausing to reflect on what was said before responding. She’d come to Nadia for a job immediately after dropping out of college, and Nadia had been enchanted by her sweet, unassuming manner. She decided to give her a chance and they had been together ever since.
“Okay, Georgia, who’s next?” Nadia asked.
“Benjamin Leeman,” said Georgia, reading from a list.
“No,” said Nadia. “He’s too important. I’ll have to deal with him myself.”
“I thought as much,” replied Georgia. “How about Paul Roullard?”
Nadia met her assistant’s steady gaze. “You can contact him,” she said. “If he gives you any trouble let me know.”
“Oh…and the network said they can’t do November fifth,” Georgia told her.
“What!” exclaimed Nadia. “Why not?”
“It’s too soon,” she replied. “They have scheduling issues.”
“Scheduling issues!” sputtered Nadia. “That’s ridiculous! All they’ve been airing are re-runs. You’d think they’d be trying to get this in earlier.” Nadia shook her head. There was no point in arguing the matter with Georgia. “Who’d you talk to?”
Georgia handed her the message sheet.
“I’ll take it from here,” she said, snatching the slip of paper from Georgia’s fingers.
“It might not hurt to have the extra time,” suggested Georgia. “He mentioned a Christmas special….”
“No,” said Nadia. “It has to be that first week in November. Christmas is too distracting. It will take away from the event. And anyway, by then, every network will be featuring something similar.”
Georgia nodded.
“Oh, and I put some notes on your desk about the engraved invitations I want you to order,” Nadia added. “Don’t do anything with those until I confirm the date with the network.” She smiled at Georgia, suddenly eager to tell her the latest. “I’ve decided it’s going to be a masquerade ball.”
Georgia’s eyes grew wide with interest. “A masquerade ball,” she repeated. “Like…with costumes?”
“That’s right,” said Nadia. “Of course, it’s not mandatory that they come in full costume—a decorative mask worn over the eyes will suffice—but I want to encourage our more daring guests to go all out by creating a little healthy rivalry between them. You know how competitive some of our wealthier donors can be.”
“I sure do,” said Georgia. “I’ve watched you finagle more money out of many a client with that strategy.”
“Only this time I want to finagle them into the most elaborate costumes they can come up with to depict their favorite movie characters,” said Nadia. “Many of them have more money to work with than the production crew that created the characters to begin with. Can you imagine what their costumes will look like?”
“The costumes alone will make the show!” exclaimed Georgia.
“Exactly,” said Nadia. “Nobody is going to want to miss this. And hopefully, the viewers at home will be so impressed by what they see that they’ll be inspired to call in donations. The income from the tickets will be small potatoes compared to what we can get in telethon pledges.”
“How much are we charging for the tickets?” asked Georgia.
Nadia smiled. “Fifty-thousand dollars.”
Georgia’s mouth dropped open and Nadia laughed.
“We only have to sell five hundred tickets,” Nadia told her. “That’s all they have room for at the Plaza.”
“Fifty-thousand dollars,” repeated Georgia in amazement. “Times five-hundred tickets, that’s…,” she paused to do the math in her head. “That’s twenty-five million dollars!”
“Plus what we get from the viewers at home,” Nadia reminded her. “This is going to air around the world!”
“Do you think you’ll be able to sell all those tickets?” asked Georgia.
“I’m certain that we will,” replied Nadia. “We’re just going to have to put in some overtime on this one.”
“Will we be offering them something to eat?” asked Georgia, who had never worked on a project of this magnitude before (neither had Nadia, for that matter).
“Yes. It’s going to be set up like a banquet. The guests will be seated around large tables where they’ll be served a sumptuous meal. And, of course, there will be the entertainment.”
There was a slight pause as Georgia appeared to consider this, and then her eyes lit up with a sudden thought. “Oh!” she said, turning back to her notes. “I almost forgot. Ess Shay’s agent called. She said he’s available, but he gets a million and a half for an appearance.” She looked up from her notes. “I take it that won’t be a problem at fifty-thousand dollars a head?”
“Call her back and tell her that we’ve decided to go with someone else,” said Nadia.
Georgia gasped. “I can’t say that!” she exclaimed.
/> “Sure you can,” said Nadia. “In fact, I think you should tell her that we found someone even better.”
This time Georgia laughed. “I definitely can’t say that!”
“Why not?” asked Nadia. “This event is very important to me. I’m not going to let it become one of those free-for-alls where all the money raised gets spent on the party.”
Georgia studied her employer thoughtfully. “But you said you wanted it to be big.”
“I do,” agreed Nadia. “But we don’t need the usual bells and whistles to get people involved in this one. This is a good cause. People should want to get involved—especially those in the entertainment business, like Ess Shay.” She shook her head. “I would think raising money to help rebuild California would be especially important to him.”
“I never liked Ess Shay all that much anyway,” said Georgia, changing course in mid stride—as she so often did.
“That one song of his isn’t all that bad,” replied Nadia absently. Her mind was already moving on to other things.
“Have you ever listened to the words?” asked Georgia.
“No,” admitted Nadia. “To be honest, I can’t understand a word he’s saying. I just meant that the tune was catchy.”
“Well…they say his songs are demeaning to women,” Georgia told her. “So maybe it’s good he won’t be coming.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” replied Nadia. “But just in case, I want you to find two or three other rappers in Ess Shay’s league. Contact their agents after…you know…after you find out they survived.”
Georgia’s expressive eyes met Nadia’s. They were so big sometimes that they made the rest of her face seem rather small by comparison. “It just feels…wrong, calling around to ask who is living and who is dead,” she confided in a shaky voice.
Nadia sighed wistfully. “I know,” she said. “Just remember why we’re doing it.”
Georgia nodded. She lingered a moment longer before going back to her office. Nadia could tell that she was in the mood for a chat, but she had too many things on her mind to accommodate her.
It felt good to have things on her mind—good to be back at work. Being occupied with the many details involved in planning an event like this kept Nadia from dwelling on the past. She’d learned a long time ago, after that terrible earthquake in India (which was her first large-scale disaster) that she couldn’t let herself get caught up in the tragedy itself. She had to focus her attention on bringing relief. In this case, it meant raising enormous amounts of money. That’s what the survivors needed most right now. Those negative little thoughts that kept trying to creep in and take hold—the ones that said she was the one to blame for what happened in California—helped no one. She had made mistakes, it was true, but she couldn’t let those mistakes cripple her. She had to keep trying.
She realized, suddenly, that that was what Will had been trying to tell her that day when all of their best efforts had culminated into the worst disaster the modern world had ever seen.
Will. Despite her somber mood, little butterflies fluttered restlessly in her stomach at the thought of him. A small smile came to her lips as she recalled their encounter the previous night. The intense joy she had felt upon seeing him again took her completely by surprise. With her first glimpse into those familiar blue eyes, she knew she had never really put him out of her mind at all. She had simply pushed him aside, into a deeper part of herself, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Once she actually saw him—with that very first look—he immediately returned to the forefront of her mind. Now he was all she could think about.
And Nadia could tell that Will was just as glad to see her as she was to see him. She could see it in his soulful blue eyes, sense it in his passionate kisses and feel it in his gentle touch. His desire, which was unmistakable, was tempered by his tender, considerate manner. Their lovemaking left her feeling protected and cherished—as well as satisfied. There was no doubt that he cared about her. Clive was right about that.
Clive. Here was another man with the ability to turn Nadia’s life upside down—albeit for different reasons. Nadia wondered how he and Gordon were doing at the hearing. Clive said he was going to steal Asmodeous’ ring afterwards. Would he really do it?
“Unlike some people, I have a conscience,” he’d said huffily.
Will, Clive—and Gordon; they were each so sure of themselves. And they were always ready to stand up for what they believed in. Why wasn’t she more like that? Why wasn’t she more sure?
“Nadia?”
Nadia was jerked from her thoughts by the sound of Georgia’s voice, calling out to her. She stared at her assistant in confusion.
“Where were you just then?” asked Georgia, her face full of concern. “You looked like you were miles away! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Nadia dismissively. “What was it that you wanted?”
Georgia’s face lit up. “That was Ess Shay on the phone,” she said. “The Ess Shay…in the flesh!” Nadia couldn’t help laughing at Georgia’s excitement. She had a feeling she knew what Georgia was about to tell her. “I had called his agent, like you said to, and told her that we decided to go with someone else, and minutes later, Ess Shay calls back himself to insist that we let him perform—free of charge!”
“I thought you didn’t like him,” teased Nadia.
Georgia blushed. “Well…since he’s being so nice,” she conceded, all smiles.
Georgia’s excitement was catching. “Okay,” announced Nadia, smiling too, now. “That makes one. And you know what that means….” Both women finished the thought in unison—
“We’ve got ourselves an event!”
Chapter 5
Delta Junction, Alaska
Beth came to with a jolt.
Where was the suitcase?
Her neck was hurting from hours spent scrunched up in Wayne’s leather chair (notwithstanding its state-of-the-art design) and her head was throbbing from the vodka, but her mind was surprisingly clear as she looked around the room. There was one thought that stood out from all the rest. If Wayne was really leaving here for good, he would’ve packed a suitcase.
Where was the suitcase?
Sweeping the room with her eyes, Beth spotted a black strip beneath the skirt of the couch. It appeared to be about the length of a suitcase. She rushed over, lifted the skirt and, sure enough, there it was. The heft of it as Beth pulled it out from beneath the couch confirmed that it was full.
She sat down on the floor and stared at it.
It was true. If Wayne hadn’t been killed, he would’ve gone to London. Either way, Wayne was leaving her that day.
The pain was almost too much to bear, which was strange, because Beth had thought Wayne’s death was the worst thing she would ever experience. She was wrong.
Numbly, almost involuntarily, she led the zipper around the perimeter of the suitcase and flipped open the top.
The clean, fresh scent of Wayne wafted over her as she took in the sight of all his favorite, most comfortable clothes folded in neat piles. She ran her hands over them uncertainly, as if she were afraid a part of him might still be inside them. Finally she moved his clothing aside, and discovered a small, wooden box (about the size of a large book), buried beneath them.
Beth pulled out the box and examined it. It looked like an antique, though it was nothing fancy; just a plain wooden box that was obviously very old. She found it odd that she hadn’t seen it before. It was the sort of box that only endured because it was left in someone’s attic, forgotten. But Wayne’s parents didn’t have an attic, and Beth doubted he would’ve taken anything from it, even if they did. He had wanted a completely different life from theirs, far away from Alaska. His ticket out was supposed to be a football scholarship, but when Beth got pregnant he had settled for the next best thing, which was to join the military. But even that hadn’t gotten him out of Alaska—though it did pay his passage into college.
Beth opened the box. On
the very top was a picture of her. Below that was a small pile of cash. Pausing to count it, she discovered that it comprised five sets of ten one-hundred dollar bills, for a total of five thousand dollars. Next, there were some black and white pictures of people she’d never seen before, a few letters and finally, a little golden credit card from UBS. She flipped the card over to verify that it was, indeed, that UBS, in Switzerland. A short laugh burst from her lips.
Wayne had a Swiss bank account? Beth couldn’t help laughing again.
Was this some kind of joke? She wondered if she could be hallucinating. She was in desperate need of an aspirin and a cup of coffee (not to mention that she had to get ready for work), but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away from this latest discovery.
She flipped through the letters until she found one from UBS. Unfolding it, she saw that it was a statement on what appeared to be some kind of investment account. She noticed that it wasn’t listed under Wayne’s name. It was one of those ‘numbered’ accounts that people use when they don’t want the money to be traced back to them. She frowned, wondering if it were possible that Wayne could’ve gotten involved in something illegal. Maybe this was the reason for his sudden sobriety—and the new house with the secret room!
Beth scanned the rest of the document—and gasped. She stared at the amount that was listed in the account for several seconds, checking the decimal point and the dollar symbol repeatedly before she was able to convince herself that she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing. The statement claimed that the value of the account was $8,703,365.94.
Almost nine million dollars!