by Steve Richer
She was inside again! She couldn’t keep away, now she was so close.
She looked around the gloomy interior as her eyes adjusted. She was right. A definite fixer-upper.
The place was almost institutionally dull. Too suburban. It wasn’t that it lacked character, but that the character was theirs. The figurines Tom collected. The photos of the two of them on the walls. The color scheme of autumn browns and bronzes and all things beige.
You could do so much with a space like this.
When they were gone.
Libbie had never seen herself as anything but a big city girl, but for a moment she allowed herself the fantasy, rearranging and replacing the furniture in her head, changing the colors, the carpets.
Indulging herself, she strolled from room to room, trailing her hand over the surfaces, pausing every so often to redesign the place in her head. In the den she found a laptop, and for a moment thought it was Tom’s. She flipped it open. Maybe there would be something interesting in his internet history.
It was Alice’s. Oh well…
A short time later, she went upstairs. She knew the layout by heart. Had done so even before that night she’d let herself in and come to stand in the bedroom doorway to watch them sleeping.
She went to the bedroom now, stood where she’d stood that night. The bed was neatly made, the surfaces uncluttered. Another nauseating picture of the two of them up on the wall. Who would ever want to stare at themselves in every room of a house?
She sat on the edge of the bed, bounced a little. She swung her legs around and lay back. She was on Alice’s side. She imagined rolling onto her side to face him, their faces up close.
So sweet an image!
She hadn’t yet decided which of them should be the first to die. Alice or Tom? She’d want them to suffer first. She’d want them to know what they’d lost.
To understand.
She got up and went back downstairs, careful to leave everything as it had been.
At the door, she paused for a final look around.
She’d keep Tom’s figurines, if this place were ever hers. Something to remember them by. That and their mummified bodies preserved in that miserable basement apartment.
And when she finally stepped back out into the sunlight, you’d never have been able to tell she’d been there at all.
Chapter 11
Alice hadn’t meant to work most of the weekend, but she’d gotten caught up in developing her pitch for the Mapleview account. She’d been right not to leave the graphics elements until later, too, despite the logic of Tom’s argument. Visualizing all those figures gave her a whole new perspective on trends—and possible crunch-points—through the life of the project.
Tom didn’t seem to mind, either. This was how it was going to be, after all, if this went well. Weekends and evenings lost their conventional meaning in a life shaped by work.
But now… Sunday evening… This was good. A temporary reprieve. A retreat into domesticity. Time to just kick back and simply stop for a time.
It felt good to be in baggy sweatpants, a string-strapped top and big fluffy carpet socks. Good to have scrubbed away the layers of make-up she felt the need to wear in the office, even on a Sunday when not even Walter was there. Good to settle back on the couch, her legs stretched out across Tom’s lap as he massaged her feet through those ridiculous socks. They’d had dinner, they had wine, they had a cheesy old film on the flatscreen they’d seen a hundred times before.
Right now, life didn’t get much better than this.
“What is it, sweetie?” Tom had noticed her mood, maybe seen that she was studying the lines of his face and smiling.
“I love you, Tom Granger.”
“Well that sure is a convenient thing,” he said, and then he gave that big wink of his and she pressed the backs of her legs just a little harder down against him, and—
Someone at the door.
Alice bit down on her frustration. She wanted to be selfish for once, to cling onto this moment. To make it last a while longer.
She pressed her calves down against Tom again and for a moment thought maybe he was going to let himself ignore the door. But no. Tom was a completer-finisher, steady and reliable, and it wasn’t in his nature to leave anything incomplete or ignored.
He smiled apologetically, as if he could read her thoughts, then extricated himself to go get the door.
From the tone of his voice it must be an old friend, but she couldn’t work out who that might be. She climbed to her feet, still resenting the intrusion.
When she joined Tom she saw that it was Libbie.
For an instant, that resentment blossomed. Was this how it was going to be? Having a neighbor so close? It almost felt like having someone in the actual house itself.
Then she saw the nervous smile on the girl’s face—that eagerness to please and to impress. And the giant, cream-topped cheesecake she held out before her. Now she felt guilty for reacting in that way.
“I was just saying,” Tom said, turning to his wife, “how kind, but totally unnecessary this is.”
“And I was saying I just wanted to be sure you two sweet people understand just how appreciative I am of you letting me into your home like this. Well, the basement, at any rate.” She thrust the cheesecake at Tom and he took it automatically. “And I saw the look on your face when you opened the door and saw this cheesecake: you’re not going to say no, are you?”
He laughed, stepped back from the door, and said, “But only if you’ll join us.”
“I really don’t want to intrude.”
“We insist!”
“We really do,” confirmed Alice. “This is so kind of you. And correct me if I’m wrong but that looks home-baked. Is there no end to your talents?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Libbie stepped inside, and added, “I always wanted to bake. And I had some free time recently to learn. I’m glad you think it looks okay.”
“More than okay!” said Tom. He loved desserts, and baked chocolate cheesecake was his favorite—Alice was sure he couldn’t believe his luck at Libbie’s choice.
And they didn’t often have desserts when it was just them, for obvious reasons.
It was as if Libbie had the exact same thought at that moment. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide and she put a hand to her mouth and then, melodramatically, slapped the palm of her hand against her forehead.
“Oh, how embarrassing!” she said. “How very, very dumb of me! Can you even have any of this? You know, if you have an injection or something? Sorry, I don’t really know how it works. Can you do that? Dose yourself up so you can eat cake?”
“It’s fine, really.”
“Oh, I feel such a fool. I should have thought.”
“We have a deal,” Tom said, with that winning smile of his. “In this type of predicament, I just eat for both of us. Win-win.”
Alice smiled, and after a moment Libbie did too. Tom had a way of rescuing situations like this with a wisecrack.
“Come on through while Tom gets plates,” she said. “Tell me all about how you’re settling into the neighborhood.”
In short order they were seated in the den. Tom and Libbie had the couch, Tom sitting with one leg drawn up so he could twist to face their guest. Alice sat across from them in the big easy chair.
“You had some callers earlier,” Libbie told them. “Just political canvassers. They seemed very pleasant. I told them you were out.”
“Thank you,” said Tom. “But you really don’t have to get our door.”
“Oh, it was nothing. Really. Unless I’m being too much? I really don’t want to be that kind of neighbor. You know, the ones you wish you never had in the first place.”
“Oh no,” Tom assured her around another mouthful of cheesecake. “We really appreciate it. We were just saying how happy we are to have you here, weren’t we, sweetie?”
“Oh, you two! You really are too kind.”
“It’s true, though,” Alice assu
red her. “You should have seen some of the other applicants! You’re a real find. We like having you here, and we like that you’re so friendly. We don’t exactly socialize much these days—it’s nice to have a friend nearby who feels free to call by.”
“So tell us,” Tom began, “is everything okay down there? Do you need anything?”
“It’s perfect,” said Libbie. “Really it is. I simply love the décor. You guys have done such a tasteful job—down there and up here, too. I was thinking that only earlier, I truly was.”
“Oh, it’s hardly planned. Just colors and furniture we like, you know.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Alice smiled. Despite her claims, she really had put a lot of effort into getting this place how she and Tom liked.
Just then, she heard the familiar two-tone ringtone of her cellphone. “Sorry,” she said, standing. “I should get that.”
She took the call out in the kitchen and came back through a minute later. “Work,” she said. “Sorry. That was Michael Tuckett. He’s asking for the interim report from last week. I have a copy here I can mail him. It shouldn’t take me a minute.” Already she was reaching for her laptop.
“On a Sunday evening?” asked Libbie. “They sure do work you hard at that place.”
“It’s nothing,” said Alice.
And it shouldn’t have been, if she could only find the file.
She’d been looking at it on this laptop only yesterday—it was right there, listed in her recent files. But when she clicked on it she got an error message saying Resource unavailable. She checked all her usual folders, but nothing. In fact, even some of those folders appeared to be missing…
In theory, she should be able to log onto the Pierson Newport extranet from here and find a copy of the report there, but in practice the connection was never reliable enough from off-site. That was why Michael hadn’t simply done so himself!
“Everything okay, sweetie?”
“Yes,” she grunted. Then: “No. I’m not sure. I can’t seem to find anything, that’s all.”
“Have you checked your recent files?”
She bit back a response. Telling her to do exactly what she’d done first of all wasn’t exactly helping right now.
She was aware of a look exchanged between Tom and Libbie and tried to dismiss it. They could clearly tell she was frustrated and were silently agreeing to humor her.
“I’ll get it in a minute.” She tried not to hit the keys any harder than normal. What she needed right now was a Walter: in the office he was far quicker and friendlier than the company’s official IT support. And better.
Still nothing.
“At the risk of being a pain,” said Libbie, “I was in the Interactive Media and Technology program at NYU before I moved into photography. I even worked on the IT Help Desk to help me stay afloat. I couldn’t make any promises, but…?”
Alice glanced across at her eager expression. Perhaps if not a Walter, then a Libbie might be worth a shot.
Hell, anything right now had to be worth a try. Michael Tuckett was one of the big guys at Pierson Newport, one level down from the top. If Alice couldn’t even mail him a lousy file on a Sunday evening, that was sure to go down as a black mark in her record.
Grateful, she passed the laptop across to Libbie. “The file’s called interim-dash-september dot xlsx, all lower-case. I keep it in a folder called Pierson Newport home files in the documents area, and it should be in my recents because I was looking at it only last night. Thank you so much.”
“I’m impressed you even knew that much,” said Libbie. “I don’t mean to be patronizing, but some of the things we came across on the IT help desk… Geez!”
Alice watched as Libbie ran her slender fingers over the laptop’s touchpad and then tapped at the keys.
Every second was like watching a TV drama. Every narrowing of the eyes or sucking in of that lower lip a hint that disaster had struck the temperamental machine. Every glimmer of a smile offered release.
“Just one file, or a whole folder?”
“I think the entire folder it was in has vanished. Is it bad?”
A long pause, and then, finally, Libbie grinned. “Not bad, just a little embarrassing for you: you must have accidentally dragged that folder into the Trash and hit Empty.”
“Is everything lost?”
Libbie was still smiling. “I know a few tricks,” she said. “I’ve just undeleted that folder and put it back where it belongs.”
And with that she handed the laptop back to the disbelieving Alice.
“You mean… It’s all there now?” Her mind was racing. She didn’t recall deleting anything, but she must have done it. You could do all kinds of dumb things when you worked late nights right through the weekend.
“Thank you so much,” Alice said. “Yet another reason to be grateful we have you.”
“Hell yeah,” said Tom. “That was impressive work. You really are a godsend, Libbie.”
And just for a moment Alice felt a twinge of disquiet. Jealousy, even. The way he looked at her. The way he said those words. The body language of how he sat, twisted toward Libbie and almost imperceptibly away from Alice.
“I’ll just mail this file,” she mumbled, fixing her eyes on the screen.
She knew it was stupid to react like that. Seeing things that weren’t there. Tom wasn’t like that.
He was just making the extra effort to show their joint appreciation. Perhaps over-compensating for something. It was nothing.
By the time she’d dispatched the file to Michael Tuckett, the moment had passed. Tom was polishing off the rest of his mammoth portion of cheesecake and Libbie was doing something on her phone.
“Thanks again,” said Alice. “And my apologies for that. Too much stress for a Sunday evening!”
“You need to look after yourself more,” said Libbie. “Working so hard. All that responsibility. You need some you time.”
Alice laughed. “That’s going to have to wait until after I’ve landed Mapleview!”
“I mean it,” said Libbie. “You need to chill. Hey! What are you doing lunchtime tomorrow? Working through, I guess? I have yoga class at twelve-thirty. How about you join me? I could pick you up at Pierson Newport on my way to the yoga studio. I really got into yoga this year. It keeps you so centered.”
She was right about lunchtimes, of course. Alice worked through most days. She couldn’t imagine anything much worse than forcing yourself into yoga pants and pretzeling yourself for an hour in the middle of the day.
But the girl was so keen and she’d been so helpful just now. Alice reminded herself that Libbie was new in town, had no friends here, and it was the least she could do to help her find her feet.
“That sounds great,” she said, ignoring the incredulity on Tom’s face.
She met his look and said, “If I’m doing that, I won’t have time to get to the bank to sort out paperwork for paying the construction crew. You’ll have to do that. Can you manage it?”
Her words were perhaps a little sharper than she intended, hinting at old frustrations she’d thought suppressed.
He hesitated, and in that moment Alice was aware of Libbie watching them closely. He said, “Yeah, sweetie, sure. I’ll take care of that. Whatever you want.”
And then he reached for his plate again and scraped up the last remnants of the cheesecake.
Chapter 12
Alice looked in her element as she emerged through the double glass doors of Pierson Newport’s head office. Energized by her work, perhaps, and by an even temporary escape from her dull suburban existence with Tom.
She wore her hair pinned up at the back of her head, a few strands drifting stylishly free across the temple and forehead. Makeup on point but not excessive. Smart gray pantsuit and modest heels. Every inch the aspiring modern executive. Every inch—
And who was that?
A tall guy was at her shoulder, skinny and slightly stooped, with unkempt hair an indet
erminate shade of mid-brown that would blend right in with Alice’s mundane interior decorating preferences.
He was looking at her with blatantly obvious puppy-dog eyes.
Libbie raised the camera from her lap, zoomed in close on the two, and let off a rapid series of shots.
If she’d been a sensitive, caring kind of a person she’d wait in the car for Alice to find her and avoid the risk of embarrassing her in front of her worshipful friend.
Instead, she climbed out of the car, gave a cheery wave across the wide paved area in front of the building and called out, “Hi there, Alice! Over here.”
The two came over and Libbie stepped forward easily to air-kiss either side of Alice’s face. Stepping back, she said, “So who’s your good-looking friend?”
The guy actually stepped back. She’d embarrassed him. Such an easy game.
Alice grinned and turned to indicate the man. “This is Walter, a colleague of mine. An old friend. Walter, this is Libbie. She’s our—”
“Perfect tenant!” they finished in unison.
“Oh, too sweet!” said Libbie. “You even finish each other’s sentences. Are you sure you two are just colleagues?”
Alice laughed again. She seemed to be in a good mood today. It was funny seeing her in such a different setting. Did Alice even realize how much Tom seemed to oppress her?
And this guy… well, he clearly didn’t have the same effect.
“Walter’s just a friend,” she insisted. “He’s a gamer. He doesn’t have room in his life for anything beyond that, and I certainly don’t have room in mine for more than one geek!”
She was referring to Tom’s figurine collection. Libbie liked that they’d reached the stage of shared in-jokes. It meant she’d got inside the barriers.
It was so much easier to destroy from within.
“So, Walter, are you working on the Mapleview account, too?”
He shook his head, clearly relieved to be on safer ground again. “Oh no,” he said. “I’m just a back-room kind of a guy. Alice here is the high-flying superstar.”
“Oh, Walter.”
The look between them, the connection, the easy exchange of praise and false modesty. How amusing!