by Susan Isaacs
“I don’t know what to say,” Greg told me at last.
“Say you’re sorry,” Fancy Phil boomed from his side of the striped couch.
“Dad, you and I made a deal.”
“So don’t say you’re sorry.” Fancy Phil was dressed conservatively: only a flat, half-inch-wide gold chain and its matching bracelet. His shirt was Hawaiian style with a repeating pattern of Gauguin’s Tahitian Women on the Beach.
Greg, in khaki slacks, white cotton cable-knit sweater, and sailing moccasins, sat in the wing chair where he’d been the last time I was there. He looked even more worn than the month before. His tan had faded to parchment, perhaps because he could no longer find golf partners, perhaps because he was now spending all his free time with his children. “I am sorry about how I treated you,” he said.
“Listen, I was out of order, coming here the way I did,” I told him. “It was just that I felt I had a chance of finding out at least something in this case. It didn’t dawn on me that I’d be viewed as another in a long series of nuts intruding on your privacy. I should have been more sensitive.”
“I’m not only sorry, I’m grateful. I owe ... well, if not my life, then everything else to you.”
“I’m the one who went over to her house and talked her into doing it,” Fancy Phil announced.
“I’m glad you did, Phil,” I told him. “You’re a great father.”
Greg nodded his agreement. “How do you think she was able to get away Halloween night?” he asked. “That’s what I still can’t understand. The car was in the garage.”
“My guess?” I said. “She probably left the garage door open, backed out, and waved good-bye. She came back a little while later without her headlights on. It was dark by then. Sunset was before five that day.”
“So what the hell did she do? Walk to Sun Valley?” Fancy Phil demanded.
“No,” I said. “She’d rented a car in Manhattan a week or two before. On the Samantha R. Corby credit card. Maybe she had that car parked close by. A couple of blocks’ stroll and she was off. Not to Sun Valley right away. She spent some time in Miami—”
“Bitch!” Fancy Phil said. Before his son could say a word, he said: “Sorry, Gregory. I’ll leave it alone.” He turned to me. “Before you got here we was talking. About a lot of things. About what he should say to the kids now.” Then to Greg he said: “Whatever you tell them, kid, it’ll be as good as anybody can say it.”
“I’d have to check with Steffi Deissenburger,” I went on. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if the bye-bye Mommy game started in September.”
“Why?” Greg asked.
“So she could have an adult witness to her driving off. Then she went to Florida. My guess is she already had at least a bank account set up there and some kind of address or mail drop. She might have even made a trip down there earlier, setting up whatever needed setting up. We know she charged tickets to Miami. She could do that in one day, fly there and back, and be home by seven-thirty.”
“Do you think she had someone there?” Greg asked quietly. “A man?”
“I have no idea. I assume she went down there just to rest and establish a tan. Her story was she lived on Key Biscayne.”
“What about ... with Emily Chavarria? I mean, their relationship.”
“Most likely a case of hero worship by a lonely young woman that Courtney exploited. But instead of being a good role model, she turned out to be a Svengali.”
Greg nodded. Fancy Phil said: “A what ?”
“How long do you think ... How long a sentence will she get?” Greg asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” I told him. “Unfortunately, she can probably afford a good lawyer. Let’s hope she can’t charm a jury.”
“Do you think there’s a chance she could get off?” Greg went from looking pallid to looking ill.
“Gregory.” Fancy Phil leaned forward toward his son. “Don’t worry about a jury. Guilty, not guilty, she’s never gonna get off.”
On Long Island, roses are at their sumptuous best in the middle of June. At the end of the day I was out by the bushes clipping away when Nelson came by. I showed him a pale pink one with silvery outer petals. “I never remember the names of them,” I said, “but this is an antique rose—brought over from France in the early nineteenth century. You know, around the time the pirate Jean Lafitte stopped plundering ships. He took time off to fight for the United States. He helped defend New Orleans during the War of 1812.”
“Is that a history lesson or are you asking me to see the good side of Fancy Phil?”
“Both, I guess.”
“If it’s any comfort to you,” Nelson said, “that week when we were tailing him ... That particular time, we were actually after the guy he was supposed to meet.”
“But Fancy never met him, did he?” I tried not to sound overly triumphant.
“I don’t know. He was able to shake the tail. He’s made tail-shaking into an art form.”
I clipped another rose. Nelson took it from my hand and put it into the bucket of water with the others. “Are you ready to talk about us?”
“Today was a little on the stressful side, what with having to rip someone’s flesh and grab a bloody gun and then a finger.”
“I want to unstress you. Let’s go sit down and talk.”
I glanced toward the patio. “I want to stay outside, but I’m not in the mood for looking at Courtney Logan’s blood droplets.”
“Here’s okay, then,” Nelson said. “Look, I know you had more than your share today. I’ll make it quick. I’m going to get a divorce.”
“Listen, before you—”
“With you or without you, Judith, it was going to happen. It’s not only that we’re not happy. We’re not—how the hell can I put it? We’re not even good companions to each other. I married her because she was a decent person and pretty and I couldn’t take dating anymore. At the time I thought that was love.” He glanced away, then looked back. “I was kind of screwed up for a while.”
“So was I. Probably from the day we said good-bye.”
“Me, too,” he said quietly.
“Maybe even before.”
“Maybe me, too.”
“But listen, Nelson. We’ve only known each other in one way.”
“Which is ... ?”
“As adulterers.”
“God almighty! Do you think I’m a compulsive ... fucker-arounder?”
“Not at all. Do you think I am?”
“No,” he said. “Of course not.”
“All that I’m saying is, if at some point you do get free—”
“It’s a done deal.”
“—and that’s entirely between you and your wife, then you and I can see what it’s like truly being together. Leading real lives together. Legit.”
“Living together?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s probably what I want. Or to be more truthful, I love you more than you’ll ever know. I want you body and soul. But let’s see how it works in the real world. I may hate your taste in music. You might hate my friends or your friends might hate me. We might love or detest each other’s children.”
“So we’ll start out how?” He slipped his hands into his pockets, a casual pose, a way of looking cool at the start of a negotiation.
“We’ll go on a date. We’ll spend a weekend together. We’ll be single. Free. Legit. We’ll each go to work, we’ll call each other. If I remember correctly, we’ll talk more about the Mets than about politics because political discussions weren’t our finest hour as a couple. What I’m saying is, we’ll be—”
“Natural?”
“That’s good. Natural.”
“Judith, I want to marry you.”
“I want to marry you, too. But before we buy the rings and send out the invitations, we should go for a walk, go to the movies.”
“And then more,” he said softly.
&n
bsp; “Maybe.”
A Biography of Susan Isaacs
Susan Isaacs (b. 1943) is an award-winning author of mystery and literary fiction who holds the rare distinction of having had every one of her novels appear on the New York Times bestseller list.
Born in Brooklyn, New York, she attended Queens College, and upon graduation took an aptitude test for a position as a computer programmer. She failed the test, but when the interviewer saw that she had written for her college newspaper, she offered her a job at Seventeen magazine.
After several years writing advice columns, then political speeches, Isaacs tried her hand at a mystery novel, and Compromising Positions was published in 1978. The story of housewife-turned-detective was a runaway success. It has been translated into thirty languages and adapted into a film starring Susan Sarandon and Raul Julia, and Isaacs wrote the screenplay herself.
Isaacs’s experience in city politics informed her second novel, Close Relations. Like Compromising Positions, it became a critical and commercial success, and established her as an author of literary fiction. Her fourth book, the World War II drama Shining Through, was later made into a film starring Michael Douglas, Melanie Griffith, and Liam Neeson. Isaacs also found success as a screenwriter, penning 1987’s Hello Again, a comedy starring Shelley Long and Gabriel Byrne.
A former president of the Mystery Writers of America, she is a winner of the John Steinbeck Award, the Marymount Manhattan Writing Center Award, and the Writers for Writers Award. Isaacs is currently chairman of the board of the literary organization Poets & Writers. She has continued her involvement with politics, covering the 2000 election for the Long Island daily newspaper Newsday, an experience she has called “one of the greatest thrills of my life.”
Since 1968 she has been married to Elkan Abramowitz, a criminal defense lawyer with whom she has two children. Now a grandmother, she lives on Long Island.
Susan, the budding author, at about ten months of age. “Note the toothless smile,” Isaacs says. “Perhaps I’d not yet developed my ironic sensibility?”
Susan’s uncle, Herbert Isaacs Nova, a bomber pilot, named his B-26 for his niece in celebration of her birth, which was December 7, the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. This is one of the reasons she feels such a connection to World War II—and returns to it a few times in her novels.
“Cowgirl—such a practical ambition for a girl from Brooklyn!” says Isaacs.
Susan and Elkan Abramowitz on their wedding day. Susan says, “Marrying Elkan was the smartest decision of my life.”
Susan and Elkan’s son, Andy (now a lawyer), with the dog Susan calls “the noblest collie since Lassie.”
Susan with her daughter, Elizabeth (now a philosopher), in the early days.
Family vacation circa 1987. According to Susan, she is “98 percent sure we’re at Versailles.”
Susan (right) with Ethel Merman and Liz Smith at the launch of her second novel, Close Relations (1980).
The Compromising Positions film wrap party. From left to right: Susan Isaacs, Joe Mantegna, Frank Perry, Deborah Rush, Josh Mostel, and Anne De Salvo.
Susan and Elkan at the Tetons during one of their great vacations in Wyoming.
Susan’s mom and dad. She calls them “charming, bright, and warmhearted.”
Susan’s scene with Shelley Long in Hello Again. She wrote herself a role in the film—and actually got to play it!
Susan Isaacs signing books at the annual Book Expo. She is pictured with her publicist, Jane Beirn, and her late editor, Larry Ashmead.
Susan at home in New York during a New York Post photo shoot. (Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Lippman.)
Susan at the 2010 Poets & Writers bash with emcee Dave Barry. She has been chairman of the board of Poets & Writers (www.pw.org) for many years.
Susan’s family on her grandson Edmund’s first birthday. Edmund was born developmentally disabled and Susan’s daughter and son-in-law decided to celebrate his first birthday with a softball game/picnic/fundraiser for the 5 P Minus Society (www.fivepminus.org).
Acknowledgments
I sought advice and information from the people listed below. All of them gave it freely and cheerfully. I am grateful for their generosity and hope they will understand that on the occasions when their facts did not fit the needs of my fiction, I gave the facts the heave-ho: Michael Adler, Jennifer Stern Bernbaum, Paul Blackman, Kevin Caslin, Mona Castro, Gerard Catanese, Cesar Collier, Jr., Teena Deocales, Jonathan Dolger, Frank Guidice, Lawrence Iason, Robert M. Kaye, Robert W. Kenny, Erica Johanson, Edward M. Lane, Susan Lawton, Chris McCandless, Alice T. McGillion, Robert McGuire, Robert G. Morvillo, Marcia Riklis, John Royster, Cynthia Scott, Lisa Bochner Sims, Greg Suridis, William Wald, Roger Widmann, Jay Zises, and Susan Zises.
As always, I am grateful to the staff of the Port Washington (N.Y.) Public Library.
Owen Laster has represented me for more than fifteen years. He is a splendid agent and a great man.
My editor, Larry Ashmead, is a legend. He is revered for his instinct, admired for his ability, and adored for his humanity by everyone in publishing. What a guy! What a mensch!
The following people made generous contributions to charities. Their prize (I hope they will find it so) was to have a character in this novel named for them: Susan Viniar, Cecile Rabiea, Andrea Leeds, and Dana Friedman for her mother, Zelda Friedman. Beth Cope became a character because she was exuberant, goodhearted, and got me to the train on time.
Elizabeth J. Carroll’s research for this novel is a book in itself, and a well-written one at that. Liz is not only marvelously smart, she is creative, tenacious, and patient.
My assistant, Michelle E. Goldberg, is a blessing in my life. A list of laudatory adjectives to describe her would run pages, so let me briefly say that she is kind, intelligent, intuitive, cheerful, thorough, indefatigable, and diplomatic. She is also great fun.
My children and their spouses give me love, warmth, support, humor, and editorial advice. An infinity-infinity’s worth of gratitude to Leslie Stern and Andrew Abramowitz and Elizabeth and Robert Stoll. Thanks also to my grandson, Nathan Henry Abramowitz, for pure joy.
Lastly, my love and appreciation to my first reader and my one and only, Elkan Abramowitz. He is still the best person in the world.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 2001 by Susan Isaacs
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
978-1-4532-1968-3
This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media
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New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com