The Idea of Him

by Holly Peterson

  “And Wade, how did he figure in exactly?”

  “Max would throw him a few chips on Atlantic City trips, and he saved a few for me. It was like a couple of times with him, but he got hooked. That’s when I stopped and said he’s all yours.”

  “You sure you’re not doing any sex for cash anymore?”

  “Yes, I’m done. The house down payment is made, and Mom and I can earn the rest with ‘normal’ jobs, as you say.” She threw her dirty paper napkin on the table. “Do you understand my motives better now? And, more important, how did you leave it with Tommy?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Tommy.”

  She touched my arm. “Allie, whether you like it or not, we’re in this together now. Tell me what happened with him.”

  “Nothing. No big deal.” And then two nanoseconds later, “He left after class without talking to me!”

  “That’s called a man’s baby routine. He just wants some attention—if you want to give it to him, he’s back eating out of your hands.”

  “He’s not interested in even having a friendship with me,” I said, throwing a ten-dollar bill on top of her money on the check and sweeping the casino chips back into my bag.

  “Well, maybe yes, he’s hurt because he didn’t know you were married to the great Wade Crawford, but he’ll get over being pissed at you if you just give him a little female attention.”

  “I will tell you I have to fight an intense urge to text him, but it’s just not a good time to start with him. I do know that. And, honestly, I don’t think he wants me back. Now, forget Tommy and me for a minute. What else do you or the authorities know about Wade? Do you know where he is at the moment on all this? Let’s start there, now that I have the whole picture, which”—I paused—“which I’m choosing to believe.” I broke into a wry little smile.

  “Well, good thing and good timing. Wade did technically fall for me, but he’s licking his wounds now with others. That’s something I just found out with help from the people who are following him. I learned about it last night and now you need to know.”

  “Others?”

  She pulled out a room key. “Go to the Willingham Hotel right now. Penthouse 1602. It’s where all the guys from the Tudor Room go for the utmost discretion. They’re so weird, they all are competitive over who gets this one room with automatic shades that go up to enhance their viewing pleasure during whatever other pleasure they are experiencing in the groin area. Go find your husband and ask him yourself.”

  She gave me the key. Now I figured I owed her. And, this being the entry into Act III, I might as well just get to some tipping point in this madness. And so, in the depths of a filthy, cluttered side pocket of my purse, I stuck my finger through a little hole that had ripped in the lining and dexterously pulled out a little flash drive and set it on the table.

  Jackie closed her eyes and placed her palms in prayer position, resting her head on the tips of her fingers like she’d just witnessed the Second Coming.

  She then calmly took out her laptop, slipped in the flash drive, waited two minutes while the information downloaded, and said, “Thank you, Allie. This is exactly what we needed.” She bit her bottom lip as she nodded up and down, up and down, as she carefully perused the columns of project Red, Green, and Blue. “Wade’ll get full immunity. Don’t worry.”

  I tried to look over the top of her computer. “What is it?”

  “Give me twenty-four hours.”

  I grabbed the key from the table. “You want me to go to the Willingham Hotel now?” I asked.

  “I can’t say I really want you to go there, but I do want you to believe two things: one, I have never lied to you, not once, ever. And two, I want you to trust me always, because the feds don’t care about Wade and he’s cooperating now anyway for immunity. And I’m sure of where the bodies are buried and I’m so very close to finding them.”

  She picked up the check to take it to the front counter and added, “Oh, yeah, one more thing to remember when you get to the Willingham Hotel: your husband’s the whore, not me.”

  36

  Afternoon Feast

  The taxi driver slowly inched up Sixth Avenue, all the corporate headquarters with their imposing gray glass façades on either side. He then took me through the park at Fifty-Ninth Street and up to the more residential and tree-lined Sixty-Third Street and Madison where the intimate and chic Willingham Hotel awaited.

  The hotel key in my shaking hands featured a thick, blood-colored silk tassel with a heavy gold metal Roman-style coin, with the number 1602 embossed on it. Was I really going to walk in on Svetlana, the supermodel who was pretending she could act, or maybe Delsie Arceneaux, or some other siren, and my husband? I wasn’t sure which woman I’d find, but I did know approximately four minutes from now, I’d creep into an ornate penthouse hotel room and discover something unsavory.

  I paid the taxi driver, wondering what exact sex position I’d encounter. Delsie’s thick thighs V-shaped in the air as Wade serviced her every desire? Naw. More likely Svetlana’s bony ass in the air servicing Wade and welcoming me.

  A white glove opened my taxi door, while another reached out for my hand. “Checking in, Madame? Do you have luggage I can help with?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I felt like a cat burglar about to break and enter. My hands were shaking. Actually, everything was shaking: my breath, my fingers, my knees, even the flab on the back of my hips.

  “A reservation in the café perhaps?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Past the revolving doors, another white-gloved doorman with a cap asked if he could be of assistance. “The café is on the right.”

  I shook my key at him.

  “Ah yes, he’s upstairs waiting for you.” He escorted me to the elevator and reached inside to turn a security lock to allow me access to the penthouse. The Willingham Hotel had an old-world feeling and a nineteenth-century decor to match: the lobby had high ceilings with ornate plaster moldings, slightly worn Oriental rugs, and high, dark brown leather wingtip chairs in each corner.

  Why did the doorman already know he was waiting for me? I strode in and hesitantly pushed the button for the sixteenth floor. Was the whole plan ruined? Had I gotten here too early? Was Wade waiting for his midday hooker, or his paramour, and I’d beaten her to the punch?

  I panicked and pushed fourteen, then practically leaped out of the elevator to catch my breath and figure out my next step. Nothing else to do but text Jackie.

  ME: The porter downstairs says Wade’s expecting me. What the hell is going on? Did I get here before whatever woman got here?

  It took about four seconds before she responded.

  JACKIE: Nope. You’re fine. Go ahead.

  ME: Are you setting me up for some weird situation?

  JACKIE: I can’t promise it won’t be weird, but he’s 100% not expecting you.

  Jackie was right about that one, too.

  I got my behind back in that elevator and used the small security card on the key chain to once again get access to the sixteenth floor. The ping announcing the elevator’s arrival startled me so much, I jumped.

  Weaving the silken tassels between my fingers, I walked down a hallway with walls covered in oil paintings of horse races and portraits of British war heroes from God knows which war a hundred years ago, to room 1602, which stood in its own vestibule at the end of a long hallway. It took me a second or two to untangle my fingers from the key’s tassels. Listening at the door and hearing nothing, I slid the key into the lock very slowly and turned it ever so slightly until it clicked open. The noise was loud enough that someone inside might turn his head, but soft enough that if he was preoccupied with something, he wouldn’t notice.

  I put my nose through the door of the hotel suite. The living room seemed pristine enough. No champagne, no bra hanging off the chandelier, no trail of just-ripped-off clothing leading to the bedroom. My breath quickened, as I stood like a statue in the front alcove, unable to move.
Before me, a carved marble fireplace mantel, dark wood floors, and two yellow chintz sofas facing each other. Huge maroon drapes festooned with silk tiebacks framed the oversized windows. To my left, another room.

  Oh God, just do it. Biting my lip, I tiptoed in the direction of a distant grunt and made it all the way to the slightly ajar door of the bedroom. Another sound. This time, a woman, saying “yes, yes” in a muffled voice under the sheets. For the briefest second, I thought I recognized that raspy, energetic voice. Couldn’t be. But if it was, I had to find out.

  I pushed the door and it swung open silently about twelve inches, enough to give me a full view of what was taking place on the crumpled sheets. Wade was bent over on his knees, his slightly hairy ass before me, head down low to the bed and body before him, obviously enjoying some kind of delectable treat below.

  Since Wade was clearly preoccupied, I decided to get his attention by taking in a loud breath through my nose. It worked. He turned around like a cheetah on all fours, his face ashen, and threw the sheets over his paramour.

  “Shit, Allie. I didn’t . . . it’s not . . . how did you get in . . .”

  I just crossed my arms and pressed my lips tightly together. It took every ounce of restraint not to cry.

  Wade scrambled off the bed, ran over to his boxers, and hopped on one foot as he tried to jam a leg through them.

  “I’ve seen you naked before,” I told him.

  He threw the entire king-size comforter on the bed over the woman’s body and then sat on the corner with his head in his hands.

  After about forty-five painful seconds, the body under the sheets still frozen in the spread-eagle position I’d walked in on, Wade looked up. “Look, you got me. I think it would be easier on us if you could meet me downstairs in the bar.”

  “Nope,” I answered.

  “If you could just let me get dressed, let me handle the situation here with as much grace as possible, I’ll be down there in ten minutes and you can have whatever you want.”

  “Nope.”

  “If you would just do that for me, Allie, you can have—”

  “Where is our money, Wade? That’s what I really came to ask. It’s not the girl at this point. It’s our money, my future, our kids’ future. Tell me where it is. Is it overseas in an account? You tell me and I’ll leave the room because I don’t give a damn who you’ve got under the sheets at this point.” That was not exactly the truth, but crying was thankfully now out of the question as my anger took hold and I found my voice.

  I felt like it wasn’t even me standing there on this bizarre hotel stage. Since I’d just at that very moment in my mind finally jettisoned Wade 100 percent out of our marriage, I had to hold it together for myself more than anything else. Everything was clear, right before me: a future on my own, a future of my own. A husband whom I could never trust, who would never grow up, who would never put me or the kids first. A man I had to leave.

  “I’ve got a handle on everything, Allie.” He attempted to smooth down his scarecrow hairdo as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall. “You don’t need to worry about—”

  “Oh, I’m worried all right. All our money is gone. Two answers and I leave the room—one: how did our money get out of our accounts? Two: where is it?”

  “Allie. This is private. Please.”

  “Okay, you know what, Wade? Fine. You’re right. I’ll sit on the couch in the living room. Put your pants on and answer those two questions outside.”

  “In the lobby?” he asked, looking hopeful.

  I shook my head, my voice still resolute, as I walked out of the bedroom. “I was very clear the first time: in the living room of this very suite.”

  He appeared ninety seconds later.

  “I want a divorce,” I said calmly. I didn’t necessarily feel calm, but I did feel resigned to say what I needed to say and resigned to do what I needed to do for the kids and me. “And half the value of the apartment and half of our cash. Where is it?”

  “It’s in an account overseas for safekeeping. You see, I lost a lot of it with something that—”

  “With something you ‘fuhuhcked up’ as Max so delicately put it?”

  “Yes, that thing, but I made some of it back now, and if you can give me some time, it’ll be more than we had before, but you have to help me keep up appearances here.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I said to my soon-to-be ex-husband. “You want me to help you keep up appearances, because you’re working so hard to keep up appearances by screwing another hooker at eleven in the morning?”

  “It’s not what you think,” he answered.

  “You weren’t screwing her?” I asked.

  “I mean, the girl, it’s not what you think; you know, Allie, we haven’t been getting along so well; it’s just a little . . .”

  “I’m calling my lawyer once you give me those answers.”

  “Don’t do that, Allie, please. There are too many tentacles now to get a lawyer in on this. Please, I beg you, let me just clean up the mess I have made.”

  I shifted back into the couch and my back hit something hard. I pulled the pillow away. Wade lunged to try to hide it, but it was too late.

  I spied a pink computer case, like one I’d given as a gift to Caitlin. Wade straightened out his shoulders and looked straight at me. “I care about her, Allie.”

  A deep laugh brewed in my midsection as it all came into focus. I stormed toward the bedroom and flung open the door so hard it chipped a piece of the bureau along the wall.

  “Allie, please don’t . . .” Wade mumbled like the pathetic coward he was.

  There she was: Brutus with a short bob hairstyle on the bed, in the form of a tight little gymnast zipping up her boots.

  37

  Girls Can Hurt More Than Boys

  I ran sixteen flights down the exit stairway of the Willingham Hotel and bolted into the bright day outside on East Sixty-Third Street. It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the harsh light. “Allie! Allie!” I heard someone calling my name through the bleating of horns, but I ran down the block, farther and farther away from that voice, not wanting to hear a lame defense from Caitlin. I kept on going and the voice kept trailing me, but as I looked back, I didn’t see anyone on the sidewalk whom I knew.

  Finally, a black car screeched alongside the curb next to me. Jackie stuck her gorgeous head out the window, looking like a young Sharon Stone. “Would you stop ignoring me? I wanted to be here for you when you came out and you don’t even know my voice at this point?”

  “I didn’t know the voice was yours. I thought it was Caitlin, apologizing.”

  “She’s going to need more time to gear up for an apology, that one.” She shook her head and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Allie, I may be ruthless, but I wouldn’t betray a friend like that. Come on in.”

  I groped around inside my bag for my sunglasses to hide my tears. Jackie softened her voice at the sight of my shaking hands trying to open the case. I felt like Wade had punched me in the stomach and then Caitlin had kicked me to the ground. “Listen, a girlfriend betraying you can strike harder than a guy. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I felt you should know, and since you didn’t seem to believe me, it seemed the best way for you to find out.”

  “Well, I did find them right in the act,” I answered.

  “Caitlin is lost on so many fronts. She doesn’t even realize that’s the hotel room all the Tudor Room men go to for their high-class fuckfests. Wade probably tells her he cares so much about her up there. I’ve been in that suite myself, so I know how it’s used and how the doormen are the most discreet in town.”

  “I think he may have some feelings for her.”

  “You know what, Allie? Your husband is out for himself. When you’re fucking a girl, you tell her you have feelings for her. You start to believe that. Wade is just groping around at anything because he feels desperate. He’s getting older and his thick, glossy, expensive-to-produce magazine
doesn’t matter to anyone who owns an iPad.” She put her hand firmly on my arm. “And I also gave you the key so that you could know to believe me. One thing to remember: if you leave him, you’re going to be just fine on your own.”

  I could barely hear her kind advice now that so many images of Caitlin and Wade were spinning in my head—and not in slide show form, but in hazy movie scenes that linked together to form a clear narrative plotline. I remembered how she always giggled like a schoolgirl at his jokes, how concerned she was to know about other dalliances. Was I stupid not to see it? Or was it all so nuts that I never could have known? I could barely concentrate on what Jackie was telling me, but I had to gird myself to hear her out. “I don’t understand how you know about Wade’s every movement.” I had no one to trust but her right now.

  “The authorities tell me,” she whispered in my ear. “The situation is getting more tense by the hour. That’s why I gave you the key. I wanted you to be armed with that information when you’re asked some questions.”

  I sat up straight from my slumped position. “Who is going to ask me questions? What the hell do I know besides what you’ve told me?”

  She looked down and whispered very, very softly, “Well, there are some things you don’t fully know. I wasn’t allowed to tell you.”

  “Please tell me now; I mean, I’m so raw, you might as well.” This woman before me felt like all I had in the world just then. While I had no choice but to forge out on my own now, that alone fear still throbbed inside me.

  “Driver, could you pull over by that park bench for a minute? We need some fresh air.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the car. “Wade’s being followed by the authorities twenty-four-seven now. And the feds are driving me around until the investigation is done. That’s why I wasn’t concerned about the SUV following me around. I knew exactly who it was. I was helping them figure out some of the final pieces to the puzzle. But that’s finished now that we have the flash drive.”