We Will Always Have the Closet

by Natalina Reis

  Earlier in the day she had called Alina. Maybe if she talked it through with somebody, she would be clearer about doing this. The conversation skirted the real issue for most of the time, with Petra trying to veer it into Linden’s art dealings without actually doing it. Alina wouldn’t know anything about it, of course, but she may have an opinion, an outside impartial view of his character. Her old friend had also been a lover of great art, even though maybe in a more commercial way. She had worked as an art dealer for quite a few years after college. In fact, Petra was pretty sure she had had deals with Jonas in the past, selling or buying from him.

  “Have you been to Linden’s Galleria yet?” Petra asked her friend on the phone. “It is full of amazing art.”

  “I think I was there once,” Alina said. “I had sold a painting to Linden and I wanted to make sure it was getting the treatment it warranted. If I remember correctly, yes, it was a beautiful art galleria. He even had a Gauguin, correct?”

  “Yes, he still does,” Petra replied, biting a nail. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

  Petra heard her friend’s laughter on the other end of the line. “Weird is my specialty, you know that.”

  “Do you think Jonas is capable of committing a crime?” There. It was out, for better or worse. She could not take it back.

  “Crime?” Alina’s voice was surprised. “What do you mean? Stealing, murdering…?”

  It was Petra’s turn to laugh, albeit nervously. “No, no. I mean like art fraud.”

  There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Well, you know I don’t care much for your ex-husband,” she finally said, “but he seems so…in love with art, I don’t think he would be capable of fraud. It would be almost like betraying someone he loved.”

  Petra’s heart contracted a bit. Yes, he had no trouble betraying her because he really never did love her. “That’s what I think as well,” she managed to say.

  “Sorry, Petra,” her friend said. “That came out wrong. He was such an asshole to you, someone he also loved.” Her voice betrayed her. Petra could tell she didn’t think Jonas had loved her for a second. “What I mean is that he just loves art better than he loves anyone or anything in life. He wouldn’t betray it by committing fraud, I don’t think.” There was a pause. “Why do you ask?”

  Petra didn’t want to tell her about Sam’s investigation. “Oh, someone mentioned it once in conversation,” she lied. “I agree with you and I told them as much, but they seemed to be really suspicious, so I wanted a second opinion.”

  “You were lucky to get rid of him, that’s for sure,” her friend said, as if that made up for the betrayal and the searing pain that came from the knowledge of being unloved and unwanted. “He is an idiot that can’t keep it in his pants. You are so much better off without him.”

  They talked for a few more minutes and then Petra looked at her watch. “Crap!” she exclaimed. “I have to go, Alina.”

  “Where are you going?” the other woman asked.

  Petra told her she was going to Linden’s Galleria, omitting the fact that she would be snooping around his documents and art pieces. As far as her friend knew, she was only going to bask in the out-of-this-world art work that was displayed there—which was not entirely a lie. She said her goodbyes and hung up. Feeling a little more certain of herself, and assured in the fact that she was not the only one who couldn’t believe Jonas capable of such a devious act, she grabbed her purse and left.

  Surrounded by paintings and elegant sculptures, Petra soon lost her bearings and totally forgot the reason for her visit. Like a butterfly collecting nectar, she fluttered from one work to another, lovingly studying them—she could always find new details in well-viewed works of art—dreaming of one day being able to create something as exquisite. Around in circles she went, breathing in art and exhaling pure joy. In her endless roving, she came to stand by the staircase. It stood there, spiraling into the second floor—a tempting invitation, beckoning her, teasing her.

  Petra took a quick glance around her, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw Alina at the top of the stairs. She looked again; no one was near and no guards were up there either. Her mind was playing tricks on her now. Shaking her head a little, Petra looked up the staircase again. This could be a very easy, very quick inquiry—in and out, nobody would notice. Not allowing herself time to rethink it, Petra took to the stairs, and skipping steps, climbed all the way up before anyone could see her. The second floor was surprisingly empty, even though it was the middle of the work week. Jonas must have taken a few of his staff on this “retreat” of his, or maybe they were just all at lunch since the boss was away. Whatever the reason, she found herself all alone on the second floor, an opportunity she just couldn’t pass up.

  The door to Jonas’ office was ajar, so she squeezed herself through the gap. No soul haunted that space, much to her delight. Being very familiar with the layout, Petra didn’t waste any time. She went straight to the safe, a massive thing hidden inside the closet. Once inside, Petra felt herself drift away into daydreaming, thinking of the night when she had been hidden in that closet with Sam. The feeling of his hands on her back when they danced that night was still as vivid as if they were still entangled in the waltz. She shook a pleasant frisson down her neck and tried to focus on the job at hand. With nimble fingers, she pressed the numbers on the lock pad, and pretty much as she had expected, the door clicked open for her. Inside there was all the documentation Jonas had on the works of art now housed in the galleria and also the ones he had in his own home. Petra skimmed through all of them as quickly as she could and found no fault. As she had thought, those papers were all legal and the works authenticated properly. There was no wrongdoing here. Jonas Linden was the biggest two-timing idiot in the world, at least in her opinion, but he was committing no art crimes. In spite of herself, she was relieved. It was hard enough to have been married to an adulterer, but she did not want to add the title of felon to his résumé.

  Closing the safe, Petra left the closet and the office in the direction of the stairs. Luckily, there was still no one around and she started down the steps. About halfway down, her left heel slipped off the edge of the step, and without any warning, sent her tumbling down the staircase in a clumsy mass of legs, arms, and clothes. By the time she landed noisily on the ground floor, several visitors were running to her rescue. As darkness descended upon her, she heard voices yell, “Call 9-1-1” and “Oh my God, she’s bleeding.” She felt herself fade away, as if life itself was leaving her body through her pores. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling. There was a measure of satisfaction in the feeling of losing control of her senses, a certain sense of peace as her muscles weakened and relaxed into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Sam

  Sam had been calling her cell phone to no avail. Was she avoiding him? He knew they had bonded somehow, that they had connected in ways he had never experienced with anyone before, and he knew the feeling was mutual. So why wasn’t she answering the phone? Not ready to give up yet, he dialed the number again, crossing his fingers out of habit. A voice answered on the other side of the call, but it wasn’t Petra’s. “Who is this?” he asked, now worried. “Where’s Petra?”

  “Are you family?” the female voice at the other end asked. There was noise in the background—people talking and maybe an intercom.

  Sam felt a sense of panic rising in his chest. “Yes, I am her…husband,” he lied smoothly. “What happened to Petra?”

  “She was in an accident, sir,” the woman explained. “You should come to Mercy Hospital right away.”

  His heart jumped to his throat. An accident? What kind of accident? “Is she okay?” he asked, afraid of hearing the answer. “I’ll be right there. Which floor?”

  The woman on the phone told him where to go and Sam was running toward his car even before the phone call was over. He couldn’t lose her now. Even though they hadn’t known each other for very long, and, if tru
th be told, knew very little about each other, he felt an unexplainable pull toward her, a feeling he very much wanted to explore further.

  The drive to the hospital was longer than he would have liked as he navigated through rush hour traffic in the city. The hospital parking lot was full and he had to drive around in circles a few times before finding a spot to park his car. His long legs took flight down the hallways and corridors of the facility, avoiding the crowded, slow moving elevators and taking the back stairs instead. The nurse who had talked to him on the phone was waiting for him at the nurses’ station on the third floor.

  “Mr. Linden?” she asked. Damn, they must think he was Jonas. Petra had kept her married name after the divorce even though she rarely used it, preferring her maiden name instead. He nodded assent, figuring that if he didn’t actually say anything, it was not technically lying.

  “Come this way, sir,” the nurse said, guiding him down the corridor toward the ward. “She is sedated, but she’ll be all right. She broke her arm—just a hairline fracture—and has a concussion from hitting her head on the marble floor. Also, she had an ugly cut in her head that required quite a few stitches.” Sam was trying to process all that information while following the nurse at a fast pace. “Here’s her room. Call us if you need anything.” The nurse left Sam standing at the door of a private room. Through the open door he could see the prostrate form of Petra’s small body on the bed. She looked so fragile and small.

  From the doorway, he contemplated maybe leaving and never returning, but even the thought was painful. There was no denying it; he was intrinsically connected to this woman. So, he walked inside and sat on a chair beside her bed, close enough to touch her if he wanted, and God knew he so wanted to. His hand slid over the white bedding as he reached out for her tiny hand. It was cold and limp, so he held it tight in his until he felt some warmth come back to her skin. Without letting it go, Sam relaxed into the chair, swept his other hand over his face and sighed. “You are the most aggravating creature I have ever met,” he said in a gentle voice. “My life was so much simpler before you got into that closet with me and yet…” His voice dragged for a few seconds. “Yet I am having too much fun putting up with your antics.”

  Emerald eyes intent on her sleeping face, Sam pulled the chair closer to the bed so his elbows were now resting on the edge of it and he was able to caress the cool skin of her arm in a gentle massage. “I know so very little about you,” he continued. “You seem to be on some kind of mission, and to be totally honest, I’m not sure I want to know what it is, but I pity the man who is the target of your quest.” He chuckled under his breath, imagining the damage she was possibly causing her ex-husband. “And then, there is this chemistry between us.” His stomach tensed at the thought of her body against his. “Damn, woman, I am not a young man anymore, and I have met a lot of women, but,” he paused, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it, “you and I together are like fire and gasoline and probably just as dangerous for both of us.”

  Something stirred beneath his fingers. Petra was waking up. Sam stood up, and leaning over the bed, kissed her on the lips. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered over her mouth. She fluttered her eyes slowly open and stared at him with amazing chestnut eyes framed by thick dark lashes. “And here you are, princess,” he exclaimed with a smile.

  “You are not Prince Charming,” she protested in a hoarse voice that belied the twinkle in her eye. “I am so disappointed.”

  Sam laughed. He loved her sense of humor and quick sarcastic snappiness. She could dish it out as well as take it and that made her even more attractive. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said with a chuckle, sitting back down on the chair. “They were looking for your husband, but all they could find was me.”

  “They thought you were Jonas?” she exclaimed in surprise, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain through her forehead. “Ouch! What the hell happened to me?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” he confessed, his eyebrows arching up in a question. “They found you at the bottom of a staircase in the Linden Galleria.” His sharp eyes looked for a sign that would maybe clear some foggy details, but she was not biting. “What were you doing there?”

  “Enjoying a little art,” she replied, not an inkling of deceit in her voice as she smiled sweetly at him.

  “Right. And I’m Doctor Who,” he exclaimed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Come on, Petra, stop messing around. This could be dangerous.” An unsettling thought came to his mind. “Did you get pushed down those stairs?”

  Her laugh echoed in the small hospital room like crystal being stroked gently. “Yes, I was pushed by my twin sister, the klutz,” she said. Then she slapped him in the arm. “I am telling you, Jonas is no criminal. I don’t know what you think you have on him, but he’s clean.”

  Sam rubbed the spot with a mournful expression, pretending to be hurt. “How can you be so sure? You didn’t even know that yacht was his.”

  “It’s true,” she said, “I never got to know my ex-husband very well. The man I thought I knew was a complete fictional character I created with my own overactive imagination. But he is no criminal, I’m sure.”

  “We know for sure that stolen art is being spirited out of the country in his yacht,” Sam added.

  Petra gasped. “No way, there is absolutely no way Jonas would stoop that low even for the love of art. I don’t believe it,” she protested vehemently. “No way in hell.”

  It annoyed him to no end that Petra was so enthusiastically defending her ex. It was a feeling that started at the center of his chest and spread like wild fire throughout his whole body and mind in a very unpleasant wave. Sam could feel the anger rising in him and he realized with a jolt that he was jealous. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been jealous about anybody or anything. Yes, he had been in love in his youth and he had definitely had “feelings” for several women throughout the years, but he had never felt the flames of jealousy the way he felt them at that moment, gnawing at him around the edges like a wild creature with rabies. “Strange how you defend your lover so forcefully.” His voice had taken on a dangerously low tone as he tried to control the wrath he felt. “Are you sure you’re not still in love with this crook?”

  Petra tried to sit up, but the cut on her scalp prevented her. Instead, she waved her hands wildly in the air with a grimace. “Are you freaking out of your mind?” she yelled. “I was in love with who I thought he was, never with the real man, never. And I am definitely not in love with him now.” Breathing hard, she let out a loud growl.

  “Are you growling at me?” Sam yelled back, anger erasing any rational thought from his head.

  “Since I can’t beat you up right now, this is the best I can do,” she spat, her hand shooting up to cradle her forehead and her eyes. “Son of a bitch, this really hurts.” Petra glared at Sam. “How can you believe I could ever be in love with my two-timing ex-husband? If it wasn’t for this blinding headache I would slap the living daylights out of you.”

  She looked so pathetic, angry, in pain and obviously frustrated, that jealousy subsided in his heart and he reached out to her. “All right, all right, I believe you,” he said, pushing her gently down on the bed and fluffing the pillow behind her head. “But I still think he is a crook. What makes you think he isn’t?”

  Taking a few moments to catch her breath and calm herself, Petra licked her dry lips and touched the face that leaned over her, a worried expression in his eyes. “I went through his documents in his office,” she explained. “Everything is kosher, really. If there is something I know about, it’s art legalese, and these papers are the real thing. Jonas is an asshole, but he’s not a felon. He likes his luxuries way too much to put everything at risk that way. Besides, he has enough money to buy the Louvre if he wanted. Why bother with crime? Like he would say, it’s too pedestrian.”

  The expression on her face as she uttered those words made him burst into laughter. She stared at him, unbelievi
ng and confused. “You are a riot, girl,” he told her between laughs.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” she protested, her arms crossing in a sulk. But the corner of her lips betrayed a sign of amusement. “So what are you going to do about it, Mr. Private Eye?”

  The laughter subsiding, Sam hovered over her again and stared her straight in the eyes. “Well, Mrs. Linden,” he began. “As your lawful husband, I will have to take you home and make hot crazy love to you until you beg me for mercy.”

  “Good luck with that,” she said, chuckling under her breath. “With this concussion, you’ll be lucky if I can keep awake through it all. And don’t you ever call me that. My name is Galatas.”

  With a wicked smile on his lips and a suggestive twinkle in the eye, Sam lowered his face to hers. “Oh, Ms. Galatas, you don’t know me at all,” he said right before covering her lips with his in a long sensual kiss.

  ***

  Petra

  Somehow, Sam managed to convince all the nurses and doctors that he was indeed her husband and soon they were on their way home. Petra was very queasy and had to keep her eyes closed through the whole drive, but inside her heart was singing a joyful song. It had been a long time since she had someone by her side willing to care for her. She had forgotten what it was like to be mothered a bit. Her parents had died when she was still young and ever since then every relationship in her life had not ended well and showed no signs of true caring. Linden had been no different. At first, he had seemed so tender, so charming she had allowed herself to believe that this was the man who would cuddle her and love her into old age; that he would be the one who would stay up late waiting by the phone when she was traveling for her job or run her to the ER in the middle of the night because her ulcer was acting up. All those romantic ideas had been crushed to dust shortly after the wedding night, for he had refused to stay up or take her to the hospital when she found herself extremely sick from an allergic reaction to a medicine. Not only had he neglected her through that very long, heart-wrenching night, but he had moved to another room so he didn’t have to listen to her moans of pain. The next morning, obviously refreshed, he had finally graciously offered to take her to the doctor before making his way to work. Yes, it was nice to have someone take care of her for a change.