A Note from an Old Acquaintance

by Bill Walker

  The older man laughed and Brian joined in.

  “So, you going with anybody?” the older man asked.

  “Mom put you up to that?”

  His father laughed again. “So what else is new?”

  “Actually, I’ve met someone pretty special, but I don’t know if I want to talk about it.”

  “Afraid of jinxing it, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “You forget I used to be young once, too. What’s her name?”

  “Joanna.”

  “That’s a beautiful name. Means ‘Gift from God’.”

  “You surprise me, Dad,” Brian said, grinning.

  “I shouldn’t. Who always won all those Trivial Pursuit games? Is she nice?”

  Brian described her and how they met, and the older man’s mood changed. “You be careful, Son. I won’t tell you not to do what you’re doing, because Lord knows I sowed a few wild oats in my own time, but you never know what a man will do when it comes to his woman.”

  “I love her, Dad. Never thought I’d hear myself say that after Julie, but it’s there, it’s real and I think she feels the same way.”

  “I’m happy for you, Brian. Just be careful, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not going to tell your mother about this, she’ll have a cow, but anytime you want to talk, I’m here.”

  “Thanks, Dad, I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Take care of yourself. And get yourself down here one of these days, we miss you.”

  “Miss you, too.”

  They hung up a few minutes later and Brian realized that he should have asked his dad more about the people interested in the store. He’d gotten caught up in talking about Joanna. He’d try and call him in a day, or so.

  Let’s hope you didn’t jinx this one, after all, Weller.

  He shook his head, laughing to himself. It was a silly superstition, and one with which his father had also been intimately familiar. What was the old saying? Nothing new under the sun? It was all too true.

  Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, he checked his schedule and saw that he had an 8:00 AM edit session. He decided to turn in early and save the writing for tomorrow. The problem was, he couldn’t get Joanna out of his mind. Lying in his bed later, he kept replaying the evening over and over in his mind, savoring every moment.

  He was in big, big trouble...and he wouldn’t trade places with a living soul.

  15

  JOANNA WATCHED HER FIANCÉ stare at the two words carved into the side of her car and saw the blood rising in his cheeks.

  RICH BICH!

  In the stark fluorescent lighting inside their three-car garage, those childish letters seemed to glow with malicious glee. She’d fretted all the way home, wondering how Erik would take the news, and the sight of those awful words. Sometimes he could be so cool, the anger simmering under the surface for hours, before dissipating. At other times, especially when a deal turned sour, he would explode with rage, cursing God in his Heaven and the incompetency of fools. Fortunately, that anger was never directed at her, not like that, but it always disturbed her when he showed this side of himself.

  Ruby’s lips curled in contempt. “Those little low-life cretins couldn’t even spell the word correctly.” He turned his dark eyes to her. “So tell me again; what happened? Did you see anyone near the car?”

  She sighed. “No, I didn’t. When I left the studio, the words were already there. They could’ve been there for hours. I’m sorry.”

  Ruby sneered. “Not as sorry as I am.”

  “What do you mean?” she said, not liking the sound of that at all.

  “Because it’s my own damned fault,” he snapped. He shook his head, his brow creased in annoyance. “And why is it, Joanna, when you have such a beautiful home, a home the majority of women would kill to live in, you feel the need to escape from it to that...” he waved his hand in a dismissive flick. “...bohemian retreat of yours? I’m beginning to think you’d rather be there than here with me.”

  The petulant tone in his voice angered Joanna, killing the stab of guilt his words engendered. “That’s not true, and you know it. And I hardly see you when you’re working on one of your deals.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Really? How is it different?”

  “That’s what pays for all of this.”

  “So my work has no value?”

  “Of course it does, but that’s not the point. Your safety is. It was a mistake to put your studio in such an isolated place. That much is crystal clear. I should have sold that building a long time ago. Now it’s time. You belong here with me...where you’ll be safe.”

  “I’m not a china doll, Erik.”

  Her fiancé stared back at her with an implacable gaze, his mind made up. Joanna did her best to remain calm, but in spite of her outward tranquility, panic raced through her. She’d grown to love that funky space with its creaky old elevator and the freedom and independence it offered. It freed her creative spirit, too, allowing her ideas to flow without stricture or boundary. Even her meditations were deeper and more calming there. And then there was Brian and the love they’d shared only that evening. It was more than a sanctuary now.

  “Please, don’t,” she said, hating the pleading tone in her voice. “I need that studio. Just as much as you need your office.”

  “Joanna, those punks could easily have waited around for you to leave. Did you even stop to think about that? What’s more important, your art or your life?”

  “They’re both important...to me. And it’s not as if anyone’s stalking me. It’s just some silly vandalism.”

  “Yes, of course, but surely you see my point, don’t you?”

  “Where will I do my work? There’s no room at the school, and all your other properties are full.”

  Ruby’s expression turned thoughtful. “There’s enough room on the land, here. We’ll build a new wing onto the house and put your studio in there. It’ll be your space, just like Melcher Street.”

  “But that will take months. I can’t just stop working!”

  “Can we go into the house, now? It’s cold out here.”

  Ruby turned and strode into the kitchen. Joanna followed, her heels clacking on the granite tile. She caught up with him in his study. “And what about my show, Erik? If I close my studio, I’ll have no way to complete the pieces I need for it.”

  Ruby sat at his desk, and regarded her with a quizzical look. “What about it? You don’t want my help—you said as much. Seems to me there is no show.”

  Joanna’s jaw set. “What I said is that I didn’t want you greasing some gallery owner’s palms to buy me a show. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have one at my studio.”

  Ruby opened his mouth as if to offer a rebuke, his expression turning to one of amazement. “That’s a very good idea....”

  Joanna went to him and sat in his lap, encircling his neck with her arms. “So I actually do have a brain in my pretty little head?” she asked, batting her eyelids.

  “One that’s more than a match for mine,” Ruby said, laughing. “But I’m still worried about you.”

  “Well, can’t you just hire a security guard to watch over me?”

  Ruby shook his head, his smile widening. “I can see you’re going to have an answer for everything this evening, aren’t you?”

  “Hmmm, maybe.” Joanna grinned.

  “All right, I’ll hold off on selling the building until after your show, and I’ll look into hiring a guard.”

  “Promise?”

  Ruby crossed his heart and held up his hand. “Promise.”

  Joanna kissed him on the nose, slipped off his lap, and headed for the door.

  “Should I tell Nick to go ahead with the mailer?” he asked.

  Joanna paused at the door, fighting a war inside her heart. She’d hated playing the manipulative little female, as she’d done just now. It was so against everything she believed. But she’d kno
wn it would work—and it had. And maybe that’s why it felt so...sordid. On the other hand, her art and her ability to create it had been at stake, so perhaps this small misstep had been for the greater good. What about Brian...?

  “Honey?” Ruby asked, breaking into her thoughts. “What about Nick?”

  She sighed inwardly and decided to take the gamble. “I’ve asked Nick’s friend, Brian Weller, to help me rewrite the mailer. He can work on it with Nick.”

  “Why him?”

  “He’s a writer,” she said, her voice growing soft. “And he understands....”

  She turned and left the room; and never saw the smile slip from her fiancé’s face.

  16

  “MR. RUBY, YOU OKAY?”

  Ruby turned from the view atop his latest project and spotted his construction foreman staring at him, his ruddy face clouded with concern. Ruby nodded. “I’m fine, Tommy.”

  “Well, just the same, sir, you wanna be careful about daydreamin’ around here. There’s only those cables for railings, and it’s a long way down.”

  Indeed it was. Forty floors. And he knew better. A hard hat did little good if one walked off the end of a girder. The problem was he couldn’t get this Weller character out of his head. It was silly, he knew it, but Joanna had knocked him for a loop when she’d dropped his name like a bomb last night. Her little flirtation at Nick’s party was one thing, but why was she having anything to do with the guy, now? Could Nick have referred him? It stood to reason. After all, Nick’s graphic design was great, but his writing was dull. Joanna’s mailer deserved better. But was Weller the ticket? Maybe.... According to Nick, the guy was a “kick-ass writer,” so perhaps it was only business for Joanna. Once Weller did his job and the show was over that would be that.

  Except, he couldn’t make himself believe that. He couldn’t, because of those six seemingly innocent words Joanna uttered before leaving the room: “He’s a writer, and he understands....”

  She said them the way a lover would, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, the suspicions remained entrenched in his heart...festering.

  Ruby turned to his foreman, who stood near the elevator going over the blueprints with a couple of his senior workers. “Hey, Tommy?”

  The foreman looked up, his thick eyebrows arching. “Yes, sir?”

  Ruby motioned for him to approach. The two other workers nodded and moved off. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ruby?” the foreman said, rolling the blueprints into a tight tube.

  Ruby looked out over the Boston skyline, putting his thoughts in order. “You’re the kind of guy that keeps his eyes and ears open, Tommy. You don’t miss anything, and I like that.”

  “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that.”

  “I need a recommendation. You know anyone who does any private eye work? Someone good?”

  The foreman frowned. “Yeah, matter of fact, I do. The guy’s young and hungry, but he knows what he’s doin’. You got a problem, Mr. Ruby?”

  “Just a trifle, but I need someone discreet.”

  Tommy reached into his leather jacket, took out his wallet and extracted a gray-colored business card, which he handed to his boss. Ruby glanced at the card then slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  “Cary’s as discreet as they come. Did a great job with my cousin’s divorce. He’ll make your problem go away.”

  “That’s comforting,” Ruby said.

  After finishing his inspection of the building site, Ruby drove his Jag back to Newbury Street. At his desk, he pulled out the card Tommy had given him and stared at it.

  Mosley Investigations

  Cary Mosley

  617-555-2525

  Did he really want to take this step? Did he really believe something more was going on than Joanna was letting on? He glanced toward her photo on the wall, his emotions welling.

  “Damn it! This is NOT happening!” he shouted, pounding his fist onto his desk. The force of the blow knocked over a container of paper clips near the edge. He watched them patter to the floor, his mind grasping at straws.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching her—possessing her. Yet not knowing would be far worse. If she were sleeping with this Weller guy, he could deal with it. Just how, he didn’t know, but given time he’d figure it out. He always did.

  With Carolyn, his erstwhile girlfriend, the solution was easy. He gave her what she really wanted all along: a big payoff. He smiled even now, recalling her mad spending sprees, the cars, the clothes, the gambling losses, the drugs, and the quick descent into the mire of irreversible debt. She tried to get her act together, tried to snag another sugar daddy, but by then the word was out: she was damaged goods. Last he heard his little lost debutante was hooking for a greasy pimp who liked to use his fists.

  The thought of anything like that happening to Joanna made him shiver. Carolyn was a shark, trolling for rich meat, and his father was too blind or too vain to see it. Joanna was far better than that, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a woman. That didn’t mean she was immune to temptation, not that Weller was a particularly tempting dish. He was just an average-looking guy. So, maybe he was just paranoid, maybe he was imagining all of it.

  “But I’m not, am I, Joanna....” he said, staring again at her photo.

  With a heavy sigh, Erik Ruby reached for the phone and dialed.

  17

  THE NEXT THREE DAYS passed in a schizophrenic jumble in Brian’s mind, the time simultaneously racing and creeping by. When he had to concentrate on a client and a job, he’d check the clock and realize—with a shock—that three hours had passed. When his mind turned to Joanna, and this happened more often than not, seconds dragged on like minutes, minutes like hours. Fortunately, the edit suite was busy during that time, which meant he could lose himself in the tasks at hand.

  By late Thursday afternoon, he was more than ready for the weekend...and for Joanna. Not only had she haunted his every waking moment, she’d invaded his dreams, as well, leading him on phantasmagoric journeys both spiritual and erotic. He awoke from them all awash in tears of joy and with a palpable longing for her that sustained and inspired him throughout the remainder of his day.

  After his last client left it took every ounce of will and determination to go through the tedious routine of cleaning the suite and updating his logs when all he wanted to do was pick up the phone and call her. When he finally did, the studio line rang ten times before he gave up. He tried her car phone next and got the recording telling him the subscriber was not available. That was odd. Should he head home and call her from there, or try again? He opted to give it another shot. The studio line was answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. I tried you a couple of minutes ago and you didn’t answer.”

  “Sorry,” she said, sounding out of breath. “I was in my shop and the power tool I was using kept me from hearing it.”

  “Playing Rosie the Riveter again?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And you’d better be nice to me or I’ll drill you a new one.” She burst out laughing and Brian joined her, enjoying the sound of her laughter even more than the silly image her words evoked.

  “How are you?” she said, after calming down. “I’ve really missed you, you know.”

  “And I’ve missed you. The last three days felt like three weeks.”

  “Me, too....”

  “I’m just finishing up here, then I’m going to head home and jump in the shower.”

  “Why don’t you wait for me?” she asked.

  Brian grinned. “Only if you insist.”

  “Oh, I do, I do,” she said, giggling.

  “Well, I’ll warn you, my ancient tub is a challenge.”

  “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  They lay in each other’s arms amid the tangle of his bedclothes, the afterglow of their marathon of lovemaking only now fading. Joannashifted her weight, nuzzling his neck, a sigh escaping from her parted lips. Sh
e reached for his hand entwining it with hers.

  “You have such wonderful hands, Brian, so strong yet so gentle.”

  He kissed her, caressing her jaw line. “I’m glad you appreciate them.”

  “I’d like to sketch them. May I?”

  “Now? I thought we were going to look at your mailer.”

  She propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him. “We can do that in a little bit. Come on, pretty please?”

  She gave him a mock pout and he laughed. “All right, I know when I’m beaten.”

  Joanna smiled and climbed off the bed, going for the sketchbook and drawing pencils lying on the breakfast table next to her handbag. At least now he knew why she’d brought them.

  Sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, she flipped to a blank page and then considered him for a moment. “Okay, now hold up your right hand, as if you’re reaching for something.”

  “But that’s the hand with the broken knuckle.”

  “I love that knuckle, it’s so macho.” She laughed at Brian’s look of exasperation then turned serious. “Please, I really think it makes your hand unique.”

  Brian sighed and lifted his hand and Joanna began to draw, the only sound the scratching of her pencil against the paper. He loved the way she frowned in concentration, her lips pursing. He ached to kiss them.

  After a few minutes, his arm began to tingle and throb.

  “Can I move, now?”

  “Not yet,” she said, her pencil moving faster. “Okay, now turn it slightly to the left. That’s it. Hold it there.”

  The sound of the pencil moving against the page grew more frenzied.

  “Can I at least put on some clothes?”

  “No, I like you just the way you are,” she said, giving him a sly grin. “Now turn your hand a little to the right.”

  Brian sighed and did as he was told. After another few minutes she stopped drawing and smiled. “Okay, you can put your arm down.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding and shook his arm to bring some of the feeling back into it. “Can I see?”