Saving Alice

by David Lewis

  He’d thought of everything. Larry extended his hand. He looked me squarely in the eye, and I felt as if I was shaking with a stranger. After all these years, I suddenly marveled at how little I knew my own business partner.

  Larry cleared his throat. “Sometimes, you’ve got to take care of yourself. I wish you all the best, Stephen. I’m sorry it came down to this. But we won, you know.”

  He strolled out the door, left me with the meal tab for twenty- seven dollars and ninety-three cents and the number for an account containing nearly two and a half million dollars. I sat there dazed.

  “We won,” he’d said.

  I paid the bill, left a generous tip, and wandered out into sunshine. I walked the two miles back to the office, my mind racing. The idea of keeping or not keeping the money hadn’t yet entered into the equation.

  Slow down, I finally told myself. Start over.

  I started with the fundamental question: What if I did keep it?

  I’d have to leave town. My reputation couldn’t survive another hit, not like this. The newspapers would have a field day. Stephen Whitaker has done it again!

  I could give Donna a decent share, and I could help Alycia through college, but they’d have to leave town as well.

  I pondered this all the way back. When I got to our building, I climbed the stairs slowly, lost in thought. Walking through our reception area, I went to Larry’s office, peeked in and discovered a nearempty room. The filing cabinet was bare, and the CPU unit to his computer had been opened. Obviously, as a precaution, he’d removed the hard drive.

  I closed the door to his office and paused in the middle of the reception area. If everything he’d told me was true, the only point to returning here would be to close the books and send our clients on their way.

  After taking another look around, I turned out the lights. The answering machine would handle the calls. For now.

  I left the office, locked the door again, and flipped the sign—gone until … —to read: gone until … tomorrow—and began walking aimlessly along Main Street. By Monday, at least, he’d told me.

  We haven’t personally defrauded anyone, I told myself. And we certainly hadn’t defrauded anyone locally.

  I never knew would be my standard reply. Larry kept me in the dark.

  How is that possible? They would ask me. He was your partner.

  I recalled Larry’s countless overseas trips. Sure, it had crossed my mind to wonder what he must have been doing, but I’d dismissed the suspicion. Straight-arrow Larry didn’t engage in illegal activities. I provided the cover, I thought. My distraction provided the means.

  “Thirty thousand a pop,” he’d said. I added it up in my head, and it came out to a mere one hundred sixty clients. One hundred sixty wealthy clients tired of paying exorbitant taxes and willing to take risks they did not fully understand.

  In an effort to determine my degree of complicity, the IRS agents would ask me a series of questions, leading to the obvious: Where did he go? That would be easy. I don’t know.

  Where is the money? Just imagining the question caused me to break out in a cold sweat. What money? I practiced.

  From this moment forward, everything I did would be backtracked and analyzed. My phone records would be dissected. Everyone I knew would be interviewed. And yet, even now, I had no direct evidence of a crime, only Larry’s word for it. There was no aiding and abetting. No complicity. For all I knew, Larry had made it all up. I didn’t even know for sure if the Cayman account existed.

  When did you know? the police would ask.

  I never knew for sure, I could honestly answer. Not until you showed up.

  So what did you do after he told you he was leaving?

  I waited, I would tell them.

  I made my way back to my car. I stood for a moment at its open door, looking up at the now-dark office windows. I shook my head, sighed, and climbed into the car. The piece of paper in my shirt pocket seemed to come alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE

  With Paul and Susan gone, I couldn’t bear to spend another minute in Joe’s dingy establishment. Instead, I wandered to a corner greasy spoon and ordered a ginger ale. I sat there for hours, trying the money on for size, playing different scenarios over and over in my mind. Two point four, I repeated over and over. I could begin again. Again.

  Long about ten-thirty, I slipped out of my chair and headed home. I discovered three messages from Alycia, one at seven: Dad, are you coming? One at seven-thirty: Dad, I’m waiting, how could you forget? And a tearful one at ten: Call me, Dad.

  I kicked myself mentally and sighed into the darkness of the living room. No excuse, I whispered. I put my hand on the phone, but after some mental debate decided against it. By now Alycia would be in bed.

  Tomorrow, I told myself. First thing.

  I sat on the couch and took another mental swipe at the money.

  Two point four.

  Sleep was out of the question. I began walking through the house, mentally organizing it, planning for the near future—what to take, what to toss.

  Two point four echoed in my brain.

  Eventually, I rolled up my sleeves and began sorting through the house, putting odds and ends into the few boxes Donna had left behind. Starting with the kitchen, I worked my way through the living room.

  In the bedroom, I opened the closet and spied the box of photo albums on the shelf. I remembered Alycia’s gleeful pronouncement: I figured it out, Dad!

  I smiled. She’d thought she had solved the mystery of the ages. Reaching for the box, I pulled it down and set it on the floor. The last of Donna’s things. Mom left it at the house … she wants it back … she all but admitted it.

  So was the secret contained in this box? Was it a photo? A letter? Fitting with Alycia’s modus operandi, her mother’s “admitting it” could have been nothing more than, “Honey, stop asking so many questions!”

  Kneeling, I pushed the large albums from one side to another, examining the contents. Nestled on one section of the box were some of Donna’s college memories, her graduation tassel, a childhood music box that played “Moon River,” a beige leather diary, a firstplace award plaque she’d received for a short story she’d written. Ironically, it was after writing that story that she’d decided she didn’t like writing. She preferred to read literature, not try to emulate it.

  Mashed between everything else were several stuffed animals scented with Charlie perfume, smaller picture frames, a couple of necklaces, and a few other knickknacks.

  Even Sherlock was wrong once in a while. I was placing the box back on the shelf when something struck me. I brought the box down again, placed it on the floor, and retrieved one of the framed photos.

  A shiver shot down my spine. I’d forgotten this one. In the photo, the Three Musketeers were standing in front of the clock tower in the middle of campus, close to dusk. I’d arranged to have white rose corsages professionally dyed blue for the occasion. I was on the left, smiling like a puppy dog, wearing a tuxedo. Donna was on the far right side, her own blue rose corsage pinned to an elegant powder blue gown and Alice, photogenic and charismatic, was in the middle, holding her miniature blue rose corsage against her white gown.

  The blue rose—a botanical impossibility—had become our metaphor, a symbol of our goals, especially since the three of us had aspirations that seemed unreachable. Alice’s goal was, of course, to star on Broadway. Mine was to trade on Wall Street, and Donna’s goal was to teach American literature at the college level.

  I turned the frame over and removed the backing. There it was in Alice’s handwriting: Remember our favorite song?

  A melody slipped across my memory: … sun is shining in the sky, there’s not a cloud in sight…

  I smiled wistfully and traced her handwriting with my finger. How could I forget? “Mr. Blue Sky,” by Electric Light Orchestra. If the blue rose was a symbol of our dreams, “Mr. Blue Sky” was our anthem.

  I carried the photo downstairs
and scrambled through my old CDs until I found it. I placed it in my stereo, pressed Play, and sat down on the couch.

  A static-charged radio signal, out of range, followed by the sounds of a repeated piano chord, rhythmic clapping, and a staccato drum rhythm filled the silence. I hadn’t heard this song in over a decade.

  As the music played, I gazed at the picture. Donna smiled back at me, still full of hope. And Alice … dear Alice remained locked in time, forever beautiful, forever witty, and forever young.

  For a moment it seemed as if I had gone back in time. The song finally transcended into a chorus, and then after ending on a final note, another reprise … a full-blown symphonic ending, with a final electronic utterance, barely perceptible.

  I expelled a breath, physically spent, suddenly weak and tired. Overwhelmed with a strange sleepiness, I huddled into the couch and began giving in to the pull of unconsciousness.

  I closed my eyes, thinking not about the money. Instead, for the first time in over a decade I let myself fully remember Alice, lost to me forever—somewhere in time.

  When I fell asleep, I…

  … I was back in my dorm room, staring into the mirror, frantically tying my tie. Chris Marino, my roommate, came wandering in.

  “What time is it?” I asked him.

  He laughed. “You’re late, lover boy.”

  After starting over three times, I finally achieved the tie’s proper length.

  Chris lounged on his bed, flipping through a magazine. “How do you rate?”

  I stared at the mirror, checking my teeth. “Say what?”

  “Two beautiful women. Lavish banquet. What’s the occasion again?”

  I didn’t remember. Instead of answering, I searched for my phone.

  “What are you looking for?”

  I told him, and Chris looked at me incredulously. “What phone?”

  Oh yeah. We didn’t have phones in our dorm rooms—certainly no cell phones. There was one phone per floor, located at the end of the hall.

  That’s when I knew I was dreaming.

  Chris looked at his watch again. “It’s five, partner.”

  I hesitated. “Where did I tell you again?’

  Chris laughed and shook his head. “At the Clock Tower?”

  I suddenly realized what I was about to do, and it didn’t seem like just a dream anymore.

  It seemed … real.

  I muttered good-bye, left the room, and began running down the hall, navigating my way to the first floor. I raced through the lobby, out the double glass doors, and began sprinting across the campus.

  At the Clock Tower, a one-hundred-foot three-legged cast-iron structure, I slowed down, sweating profusely in the tux. Where are they?

  Emerging from the girls’ dorm, Donna’s blond hair caught me by surprise. And then Alice followed, as if stepping out of the shadows.

  Approaching me, both women broke into smiles.

  “At last,” Alice said, smiling. “Our date has arrived.”

  I lost my ability to speak. Alice? She was standing in front of me, as physically real as the day I’d lost her, and I couldn’t help myself— I couldn’t stop staring at her. She hasn’t aged, I thought.

  Of course not! She’s as young as the day I lost her. Then I realized that in this dream world we were all the same age.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, struggling with the emotions that welled up within me.

  Donna broke my reverie. “Where are the corsages?”

  The corsages?

  “Oh…” I stammered and slapped my shirt pockets, as if I might have found them in there. “I guess … uh … I forgot them.”

  “Where?” Alice asked.

  I didn’t know.

  Donna put her hand to her mouth and giggled. “Flower store maybe? Petal Pushin’ ?”

  I nodded, but the name didn’t ring a bell. I felt like an idiot. I hadn’t seen Alice in fourteen years, and her first impression of me was … that I was forgetful.

  It’s a dream, I reminded myself. It isn’t real. You’re making this whole thing up from your memory.

  But it seemed painfully real.

  “You’re such a goof,” Alice replied. “We’ve got time. We’ll get them on the way.”

  Alice spun around, modeling her outfit. “Do you like?”

  “Very … nice.”

  Alice frowned good-naturedly. “Nice?”

  “I mean…”

  “Look at the boy,” Donna grinned. “He’s speechless.”

  “Was it too dazzling for you?” Alice said. She winked at Donna.

  Both girls laughed. In melodramatic fashion, Donna grabbed my left arm, and Alice slipped hers through my right.

  “Hey, Stephen,” someone yelled from behind us. It was Chris. Smiling, and out of breath, he ran up to us, holding out his hand. Instinctively, I accepted what he was offering: car keys.

  “You forgot these, ol’ sport.”

  Donna chuckled with his usage of her Gatsby appellation. Alice touched my chin, lifting it gently before nodding with satisfaction. “The head is still attached, folks.”

  “Good thing,” Donna said, catching my arm again. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

  I turned to see Chris waving good-bye, then giving me the thumbs-up.

  “Do you know where the car is parked?” Alice giggled.

  “I remember,” Donna replied. “Even if he doesn’t.”

  I responded to her lead, and somehow we found the light blue Volkswagen. Donna crawled into the backseat, and Alice sat in the front with me. As I started the car, I began thinking furiously. Where is Petal Pushin’?

  It came to me. Forty-eighth, just down the street. I turned left at the next intersection, heading south. Two blocks away, I double parked and told the girls to wait. I burst in the door, startling the young lady in a green smock behind the counter. “I need two corsages. Under Whitaker.”

  The lady searched a notebook and shook her head. “Are you sure you ordered them?”

  Oh no. This wasn’t the place.

  “You’re in luck, partner. We’ve got extra.”

  She disappeared into the back and returned holding two white boxes, each covered with clear cellophane. She rang them up. “That’ll be twelve-forty.”

  Twelve-forty?

  I was confused with the price. “Did you ring ’em both?”

  She nodded, and then I remembered. Things were cheaper back then … now … whatever.

  Instinctively, I reached for my back pocket, then slapped my shirt pockets again. Nothing. My heart dropped. I’d forgotten my wallet. Someone touched me from behind, and I heard a whisper in my ear. “I thought you might have forgotten.” It was Donna.

  “Here,” she said, offering the woman a credit card. She winked at me. “Our little secret.”

  Embarrassed, I muttered, “Thanks.”

  Back in the car, I gingerly pinned the corsages on my dates—first Donna, then Alice. My eyes glistened as I manipulated my girlfriend’s dress, the feel of silk reminiscent of the day she died.

  “Beautiful,” Alice replied. “You have good taste, Mr. Man.”

  I leaned back, stared at Alice’s corsage and shuddered.

  What have I done?

  “What?” Alice frowned. “Crooked?”

  I looked over at Donna’s corsage.

  They were white.

  “We’re running late,” Donna announced. “I don’t want to miss the opening remarks.”

  This was Donna’s evening, I remembered. We were her “entourage” attending the lecture of a famous author, whose name I couldn’t recall. In the car, on the way north—heading somewhere I couldn’t recall—I remember hearing the song “Blue Sky.”

  “Our theme song,” Alice announced.

  “Turn it up,” Donna said, leaning forward.

  Alice did so, and the moment she did, time seemed to speed up, then slow down. My peripheral vision wavered. Like many dreams, one minute we were sitting down in a lar
ge auditorium, the next we were standing up, clapping. Then suddenly back in the car. Later, after we’d arrived on campus, Alice grabbed an innocent passerby. He snapped a picture of the three of us in front of the Clock Tower.

  I remember thinking through my pasted-on smile: You can’t take this picture! The corsages aren’t blue!

  More vague images followed as the dream shifted in and out of clarity. I remember hugging Donna briefly in front of the dorm, watching her enter the building, leaving me alone with Alice, then kissing her good night. I remember walking back to my dorm room, then reciting the evening for Chris’s benefit. The “wavering” of my vision increased until I sensed a kind of flickering light as if a light bulb was about to go out.

  Everything finally went black, and when I awakened I was lying on the couch in my house. I looked at the clock. It was seven forty- five in the morning. The next morning.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I pondered the strange quality to last night’s dream—so real and vivid, as if I’d actually lived it.

  I stumbled to the phone and dialed Sally’s number. Donna answered and I asked for Alycia.

  “She’s off to school,” Donna said.

  I glanced at the clock. Of course. I inquired of Alycia’s mental state, and Donna sighed. “Blacker than I’ve ever seen. I almost didn’t let her go.”

  Donna asked about my mother again, and I told her what little I knew. Encircled by close friends, Mom was doing as well as could be expected.

  “How are you holding up?” Donna asked.

  I gave her the usual assurances, then hesitated, wondering how much to say. Eventually she would know everything about Larry and probably ask me why I hadn’t been up front. The authorities would likely question her and wonder the same thing.

  Our conversation turned back to Alycia. We discussed other options, such as counseling and medication, and Donna agreed to make an appointment with a local psychiatrist and I agreed to pay for it.

  “In the meantime,” Donna replied, “call Sara’s cell phone.”

  “Sara?”

  “Her best friend,” Donna said. “Sara lets Alycia use it during school. They have nearly every class together.”