The rain stopped during the night, thank God. So I went for an early-morning jog to clear my head before having to deal with Amy. And it was a good thing I did, because she and Tony were mighty hard to take all of a sudden. They must have decided to lift their veil of secrecy once they were alone together in my romantic little guest house. They came prancing into the kitchen like teenagers in heat, instead of pretending to be business colleagues, and it was revolting. He was calling her “buttercup” and she was fluttering her eyelashes at him, and they never stopped touching each other. Imagine how I felt. Yes, of course I was happy for her—especially since her happiness took the onus off of what Stuart and I had done to her—but my husband never called me “buttercup” or any other term of endearment except when we were putting on a show. And he never, ever looked at me with the kind of unadulterated affection that Tony obviously had for her.
But the absolute worst, in terms of my feeling envious of her and sorry for myself, was when Tony made his big speech about what a Wonder Woman she was.
“I’m dying to hear how you two became a couple,” I’d said innocently enough while the four of us hung around the kitchen, waiting for the tree people to come. Well, I was curious about them. Amy had her attributes, as I’ve admitted, but it was still a shocker that she’d hooked as big a fish as Tony Stiles.
“I was the one who pursued her,” he said. “And I had to get my courage up to do it.”
And then he went on and on about how intimidated he was by Amy. Yeah, Amy. The one who had always been intimidated by me. He said she was a legend in the book business. He said she was linked with lots of rich and powerful men. He said she was beautiful and suggested that it must have been difficult for me to grow up around the prettiest girl in town. What a nightmare, right? I mean, was I supposed to just sit there when he said that about her, knowing that it had been the other way around with us? Sit there and smile even though I’d been the prettiest girl in town?
Oh, and then he really laid a winner on me, on Stuart and me. He was all worked up about how he’d fallen in love with Amy and asked her to marry him and how it was only after he proposed that she confided that she’d been engaged once before.
“She fold me her fiancé dumped her for another woman right before the wedding. Can you believe it?” he said. “The guy must have been deluded to think he’d found someone better.”
I was so mortified, I couldn’t even look at Stuart. And I sure as hell wasn’t making eye contact with good old Amy.
Fortunately, the doorbell rang before Tony could continue his homage to his bride-to-be.
“I’ll get it,” I said, eager to leave the room.
“No, I’ll get it,” said Stuart, blocking my path. “It’s just Mandy with some papers for me to sign.”
I stiffened but tried not to show it. Mandy was Stuart’s latest secretary/squeeze. Or so I assumed. She was always calling, always hovering. And now a home visit? I was not amused.
“Why is she coming here?” I asked, willing myself to appear chipper.
“Because our driveway’s blocked, remember?” said Stuart. “I can’t go to the office, so she’s delivering the papers to me here.” He apologized to our guests for having to ran, then ran—probably straight into Mandy’s exuberant breasts.
I offered to make Amy and Tony breakfast, but they declined, preferring to go back to the guest house. Meanwhile, Mandy came and went. Stuart emerged from the library looking like a man in lust.
“For God’s sake, at least try to act married,” I hissed. “Amy will notice if you don’t.”
“What if she does notice?” he taunted. “She’s always been the understanding type.”
“If you so much as whisper the truth about us, I’ll make sure Jimmy gets an earful about you and Mandy.”
“A threat. How sweet. Well, I’d love to chat some more, but Walter’s coming over. Since he bores you to death, you might as well take off.”
Walter was Lasher’s chief bookkeeper, or maybe he was their accountant—I could never remember which. “My, you have your whole entourage dropping by today.”
“Hey, I’m the boss. If I can’t go to them, they come to me.”
“I hate to break this to you yet again, Stuart sweetie, but you’re not the boss of Lasher’s. Your bro is. Bye-bye.”
I left him to wait for Walter and occupied myself in the bedroom. About a half hour later, I discovered I’d left my cell phone downstairs and went to get it. As I passed by the library, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. Mildly curious to know if Walter had arrived or if “Walter” was really just another woman having a fling with my husband, I stopped to listen. When I heard men’s voices, I was satisfied that Stuart really was conducting business. Relieved that Amy and Tony wouldn’t stumble on him in a compromising position and find out our marriage was a joke, I turned to go.
And then I caught something that kept me glued right where I stood.
It was the other man’s voice—the man who was supposed to be Walter but couldn’t have been, I realized. I’d met Walter Stein two or three times, either when I was over at Lasher’s headquarters or attending some corporate function, and he had an unmistakable New York accent. The man in our library at that moment was no New Yorker. He sounded Slavic or Russian. Definitely foreign.
I pressed my ear to the door.
“I give you finest,” said the man. “You never gonna do better.”
“Well, the price is certainly right,” said Stuart with a chuckle.
There was a noise from in there. A zipper opening or closing? A suitcase being locked or unlocked? I couldn’t tell, despite straining to hear.
“Pure gold,” said the man. “And I bring more whenever you need.”
I tensed as I asked myself what could be going on? The finest? Pure gold? More whenever Stuart needed? What the hell were they talking about?
As they moved toward the door and Stuart escorted the man outside, I peeked around the wall and got a glimpse of him. He had slicked-back brown hair, a roly-poly body and a mustache, and he was wearing jeans and a Mets baseball jersey. He looked harmless enough, but he was not Walter Stein, that was for sure.
As Stuart came back inside, I scurried into the kitchen, where I tried to make sense of their snippets of conversation.
The mention of gold made me wonder if Stuart was buying one of his girlfriends some jewelry from a wholesaler. He wasn’t buying the trinket as a surprise for me, I’ll tell you that, because he knew better. (For one thing, it wasn’t my birthday or our anniversary. For another, I didn’t wear jewelry unless it came from Tiffany or was a reasonable facsimile.)
But then there was the word need that struck me as interesting. The man had promised he’d bring more of whatever it was whenever Stuart needed it. That implied drugs, didn’t it?
Oh God, I thought. As if I don’t have enough to handle, my husband’s an addict, his craving so out of control that the tree in the driveway forced him to sneak his dealer in and out of his own house, right under my nose.
And yet Stuart had never seemed stoned, high, or impaired. What’s more, while he loved to spend money (one of the few traits I enjoyed about him), he loved to spend it ostentatiously, overtly, so that his spending could be seen and appreciated by others. Drugs were a private, solitary affair, which didn’t suit Stuart at all. What good was buying them if they couldn’t be shown off in some glossy magazine?
Still, what else could the two of them have been discussing? It was definitely a deal of some sort and it definitely involved Stuart’s surreptitious purchase of “the finest.” Yes, it had to be drugs. And if it had to be drugs, the public perception of my simply beautiful marriage was more imperiled than ever.
I was about to confront Stuart, when Bobby, his personal trainer, rang the bell.
“Don’t answer that,” I said as he went for the door. “We have to talk.”
“Can’t,” said Stuart. “I called Bobby this morning and told him I needed stretching out. Now he’s here.”
You need stretching out all right, I thought. On a rack.
“Bobby can wait,” I said. “I want to know who was in the library with you before. I heard a man, and he didn’t sound like Walter.”
He smiled. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop, hon. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
“Look, Stuart. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but I’m not about to let you—”
I was stopped in mid-sentence by the unfortunately timed appearance of our house guests. Yes, there they were, the lovebirds, Amy and her best-selling mystery writer, arm in arm, with big smiles on their faces, their cheeks flushed from what I assumed was their latest romp in my sack.
“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Amy. “We were just wondering if there’s been any news from the tree people.”
“But if there hasn’t,” said Tony, “we’ll just keep busying ourselves, won’t we, buttercup?” He planted a soulful wet one on her lips.
“You’re not interrupting,” I said brightly. “Stuart and I were just going over some household matters. And now his trainer is here.”
“Right,” said Stuart. “See you guys later.”
Stuart went off with Bobby, leaving me to play the gracious hostess.
“Well,” I said, “since my better half is in such demand today, I’m afraid it’s just the three of us now.”
“Minus one,” said Tony. “I think I’ll go outside to check the car. All that falling debris might have caused some damage.”
After he left, there was an awkward silence between Amy and me. And then, at precisely the same time, we both started talking about Simply Beautiful in a desperate attempt to fill the dead air, I guess.
“Why don’t we sit down,” I said when I couldn’t listen to another word about my perfect life.
“Sure.” She followed me into the sunroom, where we sat on opposite ends of the sofa. “Thanks for letting us stay over, by the way,” she added. “Tony and I really appreciate it. Spending the night in your guest house has been like having a preview of our honeymoon.”
“That’s nice. Look, Amy. I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
“Me? Why?”
“For not telling Tony the whole story about your broken engagement to Stuart. You kept our names out of it, and that was a classy thing to do.”
“Oh, don’t think twice about it. I had no interest in poisoning him against either of you. Why should I? As you can see, I’ve moved on with my life.”
“I can see, and I’m so impressed by everything you’ve accomplished. The power career. The power boyfriends. And now, of course, Tony.”
She glanced down at her feet. “Yes, I finally have it all, just like you.”
Just like me. Ha. If only she knew the truth, I thought. If only I could bring myself to tell her the truth. It would be so liberating not to have to pretend with someone. But how could I tell her, of all people, what a sad marriage I really had? Why would she show me an ounce of sympathy?
No. I could never tell her, and the reality of how isolated I was and how much I needed a best friend brought tears to my eyes. I always seemed to cry around her, best friend or not.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Everything’s great with you and Stuart, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s great,” I said. “These are tears of joy, because I’m thrilled for you, for all your success.” I wiped my eyes, tried to regroup. “Sorry to lose it like that. I don’t know what came over me.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“What for?”
She didn’t answer at first. She just stared at me, as if she were suddenly flashing back to her own memories. And from the way her brows furrowed, I assumed they weren’t pleasant ones.
“Amy? You were going to apologize for something.”
Silence.
“Amy?”
“Oh. Right. Just that I’m sorry Tony and I left the guest house in such a mess. I’d better go straighten up.”
Before I could tell her to leave it for the housekeeper, she jumped up from her chair and rushed out of the room. Odd behavior, wasn’t it, but who was I to criticize?