The Grift

by Debra Ginsberg

  Cooper had figured out an excuse—an alibi—to cover himself if the shit ever hit the fan (how he hated that expression and its attendant visual): drug-induced psychosis. It was pretty simple, pretty well documented at this point and pretty much true. It was scary to think about, but there had definitely been some nights, even whole days, that Cooper didn’t remember with any kind of clarity. And then there were a couple that he just didn’t remember at all. One wouldn’t think it possible to do too much damage when one was as out of it as Cooper had been, but, unfortunately, it was. Look at what people did on Ambien, for crying out loud. It was supposed to just give you a peaceful night’s slumber, but people ended up sleep-eating entire refrigerators full of food. So, yes, if questioned, Cooper could recall most of what he had done and said. But by no means all of it.

  Not that concern for himself was what bothered Cooper the most. From the first time he’d met her, Cooper had thought of Marina as his friend. Yes, there was money involved and in a way that meant the relationship was bought and paid for. But the money was also a great leveler; both of them were getting what they needed, unlike most other relationships, where someone was always in emotional arrears. And unlike, say, a psychiatrist, Marina was unconcerned about Cooper correcting his character flaws or working on himself, or about transference. She knew him and his secrets and took it all in stride without judging or criticizing. Wasn’t that the definition of a friend, with or without the money?

  It was stupid—no, it was ridiculous to think that Marina was the woman Max had left him for, and as soon as he’d stopped to give it more than a moment’s thought he’d realized how wrongheaded he’d been. Unfortunately, that moment had come after he’d made a series of terrible errors in judgment. No, they were more like fatal errors, because he’d effectively destroyed his relationship with Marina. This was a shame because what he needed more than anything right now was a friend. He wondered if he should go see Marina. Or at least call her. That would be okay, wouldn’t it? Nobody would question a genuine concern over her wellbeing, right? Maybe he should take her some flowers. Would that look too guilty? No, what woman didn’t love flowers? He knew a place where he could get the most beautiful roses…

  But first there was Max. Cooper took the Del Mar Heights Road exit off the southbound I-5 and turned left. It would have been quicker to stay on the freeway for one more exit, but Cooper needed the extra time to prepare. He drove slowly through the beige and buff cookie-cutter condo land of Carmel Valley, checking his hair and teeth in the rearview mirror. A shadow of his former self, he was. A very fat shadow. His stomach was doing little flips and his adrenaline was pumping as he got closer. He couldn’t believe Max still had this kind of power over him. He thought about swallowing a couple of Xanax for his nerves, but overrode the impulse. Max could always tell when he was high and he didn’t want to jeopardize…He didn’t want to jeopardize the slim (but better than none) possibility that Max had called him here today to tell him that he wanted to give it another chance. Cooper exhaled, feeling dizzy just thinking about it.

  Maybe he was foolish to think it was even possible to come back after all the water that had passed under the bridge, but—and here he thought about Marina again—a big part of him still believed that he could change Max, that love could conquer all. Marina had always held fast to this motto, which, now that he thought about it, was kind of weird, since Marina didn’t seem like the most romantic woman in the world. Anyway, she’d always told Cooper that it was his loving nature that would ultimately bring Max around and, damn it, he believed it. Besides, he honestly didn’t think Max had a woman at all. Aside from his stupid assumption about Marina, Cooper hadn’t caught so much as a glimmer of anything womanlike anywhere near Max. Wouldn’t it be the perfect irony, Cooper thought, if all this time he’s been out cruising gay bars while I’ve been crying in my beer at home? But no, Max would rather die.

  He’d taken the long way, but Cooper had already arrived at Max’s office. It felt weird to be there legitimately after all that time skulking around in that ridiculous Focus. He’d really scraped the bottom of the barrel, hadn’t he? Well, that was it; Cooper was this very minute making a pact with God. Just give me Max back and I’ll do it all, Cooper thought. I’ll get cleaned up, I’ll give to charity, I’ll go see Marina, I’ll make amends. I promise. Just give me Max back. Cooper wiped his eyes, patted his gel-stiff hair and got out of the car.

  The first thing he noticed was the new girl at the reception desk. He remembered the first time he’d come in here, wet from that torrential rainstorm, and how the pretty fat woman with the long hair and nice skin had been so polite but so firm about not letting him go up to see Max. He’d given her that giant vase of sunflowers, he recalled. He wondered what she’d done with them. He’d thought then how great she’d look if she only lost fifty pounds. She could probably say the same about him now. At any rate, she wasn’t at the front desk, having been replaced by her polar opposite: an anorexic waif with thin blond hair who looked as if she was about twelve years old.

  Cooper gave the waif his name and asked for Max. She pushed a few buttons, breathed into her earpiece and told him to go to the fourth floor. Cooper broke into a full sweat once he was in the elevator. It was kind of stupid to put the shrinks on the top floor, wasn’t it? What if they had a jumper? He was starting to get a very uneasy feeling twisting at his gut. Jesus, it was like he was getting ready to go to the prom or something. With the quarterback. He was absolutely dying for a few goddamn Xanax.

  “I promise,” he whispered to himself (and God) as he stepped out of the elevator. “I promise.”

  Another receptionist guided Cooper into Max’s office, where the man himself stood—right next to the woman (it took Cooper only a split second to place her) who used to work in reception downstairs. She looked good, was glowing even, and she’d lost weight. Suddenly, it all felt like a massive setup to Cooper and he wanted to turn around and get the fuck out before the big reveal. But, of course, it was too late; the die was cast.

  “How are you, Cooper?”

  “Max?”

  “Cooper, this is Kiki.”

  “Kiki?”

  “Nice to meet you, Cooper. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Kiki extended her hand to shake. Cooper didn’t take it.

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t heard a lot about you. And we’ve met before.” Kiki looked very confused, theatrically knitting her dark, perfectly manicured eyebrows in perplexity.

  “Cooper, I wanted you to come here today because I—we—wanted to tell you something and I thought it would be better delivered in person.”

  “This is a joke, right, Max?”

  “Kiki knows about our history,” Max said, the words seeming to come out slow and distorted. “She and I do not have any secrets from each other. I want you to know that in case you decide to try to…get involved in our lives. It won’t work anymore, Cooper.”

  Cooper looked at Kiki, whose lips were curled in a small carmine-colored smile. “You’re okay with this?” Cooper asked her. “Really?”

  “I love him,” Kiki said flatly. “We are in love with each other.”

  “Oh, please, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Cooper said, almost laughing—the whole thing was so insane.

  “We’re getting married,” Max said, “and Kiki is expecting a baby. We’re having a baby.” And that’s when Cooper noticed the ring, a huge trillion-cut ruby set in gold, on Kiki’s left fourth finger. Of course, Max had found something utterly beautiful and totally unusual. It was so lovely it almost looked familiar to Cooper—as if Max had managed to conjure it up based on a design in Cooper’s own head. He thought he might throw up where he stood.

  “Oh my God, Max!”

  “Cooper—”

  “No, Max, no. I mean, do you really think that getting a fat girl pregnant makes you not gay? I mean, do you really?” Kiki’s mouth had dropped open at the word fat and her eyes were shooting sparks. She didn’t give a fuck that her f
iancé was gay, Cooper thought, just that he’d called her fat. “I cannot fucking believe you.”

  “I’d really hoped you’d be a little more mature, Cooper. It’s totally unnecessary to insult Kiki. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Kiki. Sorry for you,” Cooper said.

  “I also wanted to tell you that Kiki and I will be going to Andrew and Madeline’s party tomorrow night. I don’t know if you’re invi—if you’re planning to attend, but if you are, I want to ask you not to make a scene. Now that you know everything—and you can see that we”—he gestured to Kiki—“are united on this thing—it would only make you look bad, Cooper. It won’t serve any purpose.”

  “I hate you, Max.”

  “Cooper—”

  “No, I really mean it, Max. I fucking hate you.”

  Cooper turned around and ran out of the office. He couldn’t get to his car and his Xanax stash fast enough. Fuck God and fuck promises. He was in hell and there was no God here.

  Chapter 28

  Madeline speared a slice of mango from the beautifully arranged party platter in her kitchen and shoved it in her mouth. It was delicious, sweet and fresh, so she grabbed another and then one more. Now the symmetry of the platter was ruined and would have to be fixed anyway, so she attacked the strawberries and bananas in the center, shoveling them in, barely chewing as she went. Madeline was starving—truly hungry for the first time in forever—and wanted nothing more than to just eat until she was satisfied. Well, there was plenty of time before the party and there was plenty of food to go around. Besides, the event coordinator organizing this party needed to earn her ridiculously high fee. Fixing a slightly mutilated fruit platter was almost negligible in terms of work. In fact, Madeline thought, turning to the skewers of langostino and lobster, she might just dip into some of the other offerings.

  But no. Seafood, Madeline remembered, with all the mercury and whatever else, was dangerous for the baby. No matter how good she felt, she wasn’t taking any chances this time. It was so ironic, Madeline thought as she poked around the pineapple plate. All that money, time and anguish spent on fertility treatments had led to sickness, suffering and miscarriage. She hadn’t felt well for a single minute after her body had been forced to conceive Andrew’s offspring. But now, when she hadn’t even been trying, she’d gotten pregnant as easily and efficiently as a rabbit. And instead of feeling ill, she was full of energy. She didn’t even feel fat or bloated. Even though it was still very early, Madeline knew that there would be no complications with this pregnancy. There would be no hellish bed rest, bleeding or nausea. Not this time.

  Madeline scooped out a spoonful of poi from a brightly colored dish, rolled it around on her tongue and spit it out into a napkin. That wasn’t at all what she was looking for. The luau had been her idea, but now Madeline wished she’d picked a party theme with better food. She really wasn’t in the mood for Hawaiian. Still, it was going to be a very festive gathering. The event coordinator had set up a miniature beach in the backyard, complete with fire pit, shells, palm trees and hammocks. You wouldn’t know you weren’t on Maui, Madeline thought. With all the pikake flowers in the house, it even smelled like the islands here. It had been so long since Madeline had wanted to let go and have fun. This party was way overdue. “Summer is around the corner,” she’d written on the invitations, “so let’s have a luau!” She’d had to use the change of season as the official excuse to have a party, because there was the not-so-small matter of figuring out how she was going to convince Andrew she was pregnant with his baby before she could tell anyone the real reason she wanted to celebrate.

  Madeline wiped her sticky hands on a dish towel and decided it was time to leave the kitchen. She thought about tidying up her mess, but the caterers would be arriving soon and they could deal with it. She poured herself a tall glass of water and walked barefoot through her newly tropical living room and out to the backyard, enjoying the feel of the pristine sand under her toes. Madeline wondered for a moment if it was possible to make fake sand for events such as this one. Surely, these clean, sugary grains under her feet had never seen a real beach or ocean—they had to be synthetic. She took a sip from her water glass and set it down on the edge of the fire pit. She didn’t have time to worry about the sand—she had her own fakery to work out.

  The essential dilemma was that she and Andrew had not had sex for months, and her husband did not seem remotely interested in changing that situation. It had been so long that Madeline couldn’t even remember what his body looked or felt like under his clothes. It was as if sex with Andrew was something she’d read about long ago, but never actually experienced. At first, his excuse for not touching her was that it would be dangerous for her pregnancy. Then it was because she was healing from her traumatic miscarriage. But even weeks later, when she’d been given the all-clear by her doctor, Andrew wouldn’t come anywhere near her. He’d started staying up late, drinking and watching TV downstairs, then sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms. The latest excuse was that it was a very busy time at work. Royal Rings was debuting a new engagement ring with a unique design. He was going out on a limb with this thing; people tended to go with traditional rings, even though they claimed to want fresh designs. But if this ring caught on it would be a big deal—very big. He’d said something about Egypt and the power of triangles, but Madeline couldn’t remember it. The only thing she heard clearly was that he was busy and stressed and that she shouldn’t wait up for him. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for intimacy, although, until recently, Madeline hadn’t cared about the physical space between them.

  He’d been so angry at her after the miscarriage, Madeline knew, all that rage boiling just below the surface, but he wouldn’t allow himself to show it outwardly. He couldn’t. What kind of man would punish a woman who’d just lost his baby? But Madeline was sure that was when he’d started thinking about divorcing her. Later, she’d found the papers—preliminary proceedings—in his desk drawer. He’d wanted her to make that discovery, she knew. They certainly weren’t hidden. So he wanted her to be scared about her future without him. And Madeline didn’t need any reminding about their prenuptial agreement. It was funny, Madeline thought, how she hadn’t made any fuss about signing that thing. Who could have predicted it would come to something like this?

  Someone like Marina, that’s who.

  Madeline felt a sharp, uncomfortable jab in her brain at the thought of Marina, almost as if the woman were suddenly there inside her head. But this wasn’t the first time Madeline had experienced it. A few times since her last encounter with Marina at Darling’s, Madeline had gotten the distinct feeling that the psychic was watching her—from within. This was what happened when you imbued a person like Marina with any power. Marina knew too much about Madeline and Madeline was trying to keep too much hidden. Too many balls in the air, Madeline thought. How long before one of them fell? She’d established plenty of distance from Marina before the fire, but she still kept careful tabs on what the papers reported after it happened. It had been a hot story for about five minutes and then disappeared into the swirl of meaningless news blather. People cared more about whether or not their dogs would be allowed on local beaches than an office fire in Encinitas, even if someone had died as a result. That’s right—a dead body rated lower than the comfort of someone’s pet pooch. It was a homeless man, they said; the investigation was pending. And then, thank goodness, there was nothing more.

  Madeline felt a sharp tang of bitterness so strong it made her mouth water. That woman deserved everything she got, and anyone who knew her—really knew her the way Madeline did—would have to agree. Madeline wasn’t sorry about a damn thing when it came to Marina. She’d run her game too long and on the wrong person. She hoped Marina was every bit as miserable as she had been herself.

  Stop it—focus. Madeline unclenched her jaw. She had to concentrate. There was work to do. There was Andrew to think about.

  She’d been very careful to a
void pissing him off, especially after she started collecting afternoon delights in a series of sweaty motel rooms. Madeline was almost positive that Andrew would never suspect her of having an affair—or even care if she did—but that tiny seed of doubt was enough to make her extra cautious. But he didn’t seem to be angry anymore, and, in a way, that was even more disturbing than his bottled-up fury. He hadn’t balked at the cost of this party, for example. Nor had he even questioned her desire to have it. He’d become quiet and strange. His behavior had made her so paranoid that she quickly ditched Eddie (who had obviously served his purpose) and attempted to become, once again, the wife that Andrew wanted. Of course, Madeline thought with another wave of vitriol, it was never the wife Andrew wanted—it was the children. He wanted an heir, just like Henry the fucking Eighth. Well, Madeline had wants, too. She wanted the baby and she wanted the money. And Andrew could have what he desired if he’d just loosen up.

  As soon as she realized she was pregnant, Madeline had tried to get Andrew into bed, a delicate operation considering the emotional distance between them, but he’d been completely unresponsive. She’d been subtle at first, snuggling up to him as he drank his Johnnie Walker Blue neat in front of the flat screen. He’d looked at her, puzzled, as if he’d suddenly acquired some small pet requiring attention, and turned back to the television. She’d gotten a little bolder after that, parading around the house in La Perla lingerie, then sliding up behind him while he was shaving, running her hands up the length of his torso. He’d ignored her until he couldn’t any longer, and then he’d just said, “I don’t have time for this.” Madeline’s last attempt had been an appeal to romantic nostalgia. She’d re-created the scene of their greatest passion, where she’d dressed herself up as his personal gift basket and presented herself to him. Andrew stared at the ribbons wound around her breasts, the glitter shining on her perfectly waxed skin, and ran his hand lightly down her arm. “I’m sorry, Maddie,” he said. “I just can’t.”