the end of me, but unable to care.
“What’d that phone ever do to you?” July asked.
I turned to look at her, slowly coming out of my trance. Realizing I still clutched the receiver in my hand, I gently replaced it in the cradle.
“Huh?”
“Someone to see you,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“A guy,” she said. “Kinda handsome.”
“Send him in.”
She did.
Cliff Walton, Harry Lewis’s head of security, walked in and sat down across from me.
Without preamble, he withdrew an envelope from his inside coat pocket and handed it to me. I took it. It felt heavy, like corruption. I handed it back to him.
“Mr. Lewis is very pleased with your work on the safe return of his wife,” he said. “He wishes to thank you.”
“Tell him he’s welcome,” I said.
“He wishes to pay you.”
“Just give me a little information and we’ll call it squared.”
He put the envelope back in his pocket, probably planning to keep it for himself. “Information concerning what exactly?”
“The whole thing,” I said. “Mrs. Lewis, the election, everything.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“I wish to know what the hell is going on,” I said.
“I don’t follow.”
“Start with Mrs. Lewis,” I said. “What’s she mixed up in?”
“You know more about it than I do,” he said.
“If you weren’t gonna tell me anything you should have just said so.”
“I don’t know anything to tell.”
“Okay,” I said. “Play it that way, but there’s a string of dead bodies lined up after the lady, and I ain’t takin’ the fall for them.”
“Are you sure they’re lined up after the lady?” he said. “I understood from the police that they were left behind everywhere you’d been.”
Chapter 24
I was sitting at a table near the front trying not to look up too anxiously every time the door opened. Hoping to arrive after her, I had come a full ten minutes late, something that took restraint, but I had still managed to arrive well ahead of her.
I could feel myself beginning to break apart inside. I did okay when I was with her for the most part, but when we weren’t together I felt weak with wanting her, my mind unable to fight off the taunts and questions, the accusations, the depression.
I glanced around the room, attempting to settle myself, but everywhere I looked I was reminded of her, of our many times together here. We would often meet here for lunch, say our public goodbyes, then walk separately to my room.
Who was she doing that with now? And where? How many other men had there been since me? How many of them thought of her as theirs ? How many of them had a regular meeting place and cooks and waiters and maids who unwittingly became co-conspirators in their duplicity?
Business men, tourists, and men on leave kept the door opening, my head bobbing. They came in small groups, usually no more than four, but never alone.
I thought about how many meals I ate alone—not because I had to, but because if I couldn’t be with her it really didn’t matter.
I could feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders tensing as anger rose from the pit of me up through them, and then . . .
The scent of Paris and the gentle touch of an elegant hand on my arm.
I turned to see her standing there behind me in a short, straight black dress and mules, the burns on her bare arms and legs more visible than I had ever seen them in public.
I stood.
Unable to avert my eyes from her body, unsuccessful at suppressing my attraction in spite of my best efforts—after all she had left me, lied to me repeatedly, put me and my friends in danger—desire gripped me like fear. I was drunk with it. It mixed with my rage and resentment and I felt clumsy and sluggish as I stumbled self-consciously to pull out her chair.
“I’ve missed this,” she said when we were seated across from one another at the table. “I didn’t realize just how much until now.”
I nodded, looking around the room and then out the
“What’d that phone ever do to you?” July asked.
I turned to look at her, slowly coming out of my trance. Realizing I still clutched the receiver in my hand, I gently replaced it in the cradle.
“Huh?”
“Someone to see you,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“A guy,” she said. “Kinda handsome.”
“Send him in.”
She did.
Cliff Walton, Harry Lewis’s head of security, walked in and sat down across from me.
Without preamble, he withdrew an envelope from his inside coat pocket and handed it to me. I took it. It felt heavy, like corruption. I handed it back to him.
“Mr. Lewis is very pleased with your work on the safe return of his wife,” he said. “He wishes to thank you.”
“Tell him he’s welcome,” I said.
“He wishes to pay you.”
“Just give me a little information and we’ll call it squared.”
He put the envelope back in his pocket, probably planning to keep it for himself. “Information concerning what exactly?”
“The whole thing,” I said. “Mrs. Lewis, the election, everything.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“I wish to know what the hell is going on,” I said.
“I don’t follow.”
“Start with Mrs. Lewis,” I said. “What’s she mixed up in?”
“You know more about it than I do,” he said.
“If you weren’t gonna tell me anything you should have just said so.”
“I don’t know anything to tell.”
“Okay,” I said. “Play it that way, but there’s a string of dead bodies lined up after the lady, and I ain’t takin’ the fall for them.”
“Are you sure they’re lined up after the lady?” he said. “I understood from the police that they were left behind everywhere you’d been.”
Chapter 24
I was sitting at a table near the front trying not to look up too anxiously every time the door opened. Hoping to arrive after her, I had come a full ten minutes late, something that took restraint, but I had still managed to arrive well ahead of her.
I could feel myself beginning to break apart inside. I did okay when I was with her for the most part, but when we weren’t together I felt weak with wanting her, my mind unable to fight off the taunts and questions, the accusations, the depression.
I glanced around the room, attempting to settle myself, but everywhere I looked I was reminded of her, of our many times together here. We would often meet here for lunch, say our public goodbyes, then walk separately to my room.
Who was she doing that with now? And where? How many other men had there been since me? How many of them thought of her as theirs ? How many of them had a regular meeting place and cooks and waiters and maids who unwittingly became co-conspirators in their duplicity?
Business men, tourists, and men on leave kept the door opening, my head bobbing. They came in small groups, usually no more than four, but never alone.
I thought about how many meals I ate alone—not because I had to, but because if I couldn’t be with her it really didn’t matter.
I could feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders tensing as anger rose from the pit of me up through them, and then . . .
The scent of Paris and the gentle touch of an elegant hand on my arm.
I turned to see her standing there behind me in a short, straight black dress and mules, the burns on her bare arms and legs more visible than I had ever seen them in public.
I stood.
Unable to avert my eyes from her body, unsuccessful at suppressing my attraction in spite of my best efforts—after all she had left me, lied to me repeatedly, put me and my friends in danger—desire gripped me like fear. I was drunk with it. It mixed with my rage and resentment and I felt clumsy and sluggish as I stumbled self-consciously to pull out her chair.
“I’ve missed this,” she said when we were seated across from one another at the table. “I didn’t realize just how much until now.”
I nodded, looking around the room and then out the
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