“Interesting how an ugly dress can be considered avant-garde if you price it high enough. Perspective can be bought.”
--Dying To Laugh
Anatoly sat across from me at the dining table, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The bottom of his shoes undoubtedly still damp from traipsing around our property in the misty night looking for signs of our intruder. He had found none. His shoulders were slumped like a man who was on the verge of falling asleep (which he probably was), his head bent as he read and re-read the card that was sitting before him. Be Careful, Sophie.
I fidgeted in my seat. I had told him about the man in the black baseball cap, the second trip to London’s apartment, the trip to Nolan-Volz, everything. Now that someone was coming to our home I could no longer deny his right to know.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, quietly.
Anatoly used his finger to slowly rotate the card, looking at the words from every angle as if there was a clue hiding in the specific slant of the B, the careless curves of the S. “This,” he said, tapping the stiff, white piece of stationary against the table, “is serious.”
I exhaled as I was hit with an unexpected wave of relief. He finally understood London’s death was not as simple as it first appeared.
Again Anatoly rotated the card. Ms. Dogz was sleeping under the table and I ran the sole of my barefoot across her back.
“The person who left this for you,” Anatoly said, finally looking up at me with eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, “it’s unlikely he or she has anything to do with Aaron London.”
My mouth dropped open. Had I heard him correctly?
“Have you had arguments or conflicts with anyone recently? Any that you haven’t told me about?”
“Are you kidding me?” I finally managed to sputter. Mr. Katz, who had been sleeping in the corner, briefly lifted his head then quickly settled back down for more sleep.
Anatoly’s shoulders straightened, stiffening. “Sophie--”
“How much evidence can you ignore? This started happening right after London died! Of course they’re connected!”
“This,” Anatoly said, lifting the card and gently waving it in the air, “didn’t start happening. It’s one incident. It happened.”
“It’s one incident out of many!” I protested. “It’s probably the guy in the black baseball cap!”
“That’s a strong possibility,” he admitted, putting the card down again. “But you need to remember, there are a lot of men who wear baseball caps. You don’t even know if it was the same man.”
“What?”
“The man you saw outside the salon may be different than the man you saw at Sutro Heights.”
“I just told you, I saw him looking up into your office too! I’ve seen him three times!”
“No one can look into my office from a standing position on the street. At best they can see a small section of the ceiling from that vantage point,” Anatoly leaned back in his chair, fixing me with those tired eyes. “I know that because I checked before I leased the space. I needed to ensure my clients would have all the anonymity they desired. If people could see into my office from the street, I would have the drapes drawn at all times. But they can’t.”
That threw me for a second. “I hadn’t noticed that.” I linked my fingers together, resting my forearms on the table. “Your office has drapes? Not blinds, but drapes?”
“Yes,” he said, cautiously.
“That’s so cute!” I allowed myself the small spark of satisfaction that came from the sight of his jaw setting. “Listen to me, Anatoly,” I continued, making my tone serious again, “the man I saw at Sutro Heights, he was spying on me and he got spooked when he realized he had been spotted. I tried to approach and he just took off.”
“From your description of events,” Anatoly said evenly, “you ran after him. Generally speaking, when a stranger starts to chase you, you run.”
“If a woman ran in your direction you’d run away?” I asked, dryly.
“No,” he admitted, “not if she looked like you.”
The compliment fell flat. It was after four in the morning and I had come this close to accidentally shooting my boyfriend. Flirting was not in the cards. “I’m certain it was the same man wearing the same cap all three times,” I insisted. “I’m certain that Gundrun Volz is hiding something from me. I’m certain Anita is not exactly who she wants me to think she is. I’m certain London had reason to be afraid. And most of all,” I paused to take a deep breath, “I’m certain that the note left on our doorstep tonight was directly tied to all of that. It’s a threat. Someone is threatening me because I’m going around the city asking questions about Aaron London.”
Anatoly shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “That scenario would seem more plausible if the questions you’ve been asking were any good.”
I felt Ms. Dogz stir beneath my foot. She was undoubtedly as insulted as I was.
“What have you discovered, exactly?” Anatoly challenged. “A bunch of blog posts London saw fit to print out and pin to his wall while in a manic state? That he was bitter after being fired from his last job? That his first marriage was on the rocks? That he didn’t make good use of his medicine cabinet? You think someone took a three am trip to leave you a written warning for that?” He tapped his fingers against the card, hard this time. “This appears to be a real threat. It’s directed at you. That’s what we have to deal with, not some John Grisham fantasy in which corporations try to assassinate their detractors. This is real.”
“It’s not a fantasy,” I said, stubbornly.
“Right now, we have to focus on keeping you safe,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”
“I’m meeting up with Mary Ann, why?”
He nodded his approval. For some reason, the gesture irked me. “So you won’t be alone. Good. Try to stay in public, high traffic places. Keep your cell phone ready and your mace. The person who left you this,” he lifted the note again, “may be someone from your past with a grudge to bear. God knows you’ve pissed off enough people.”
“The person who left me this is pissed because he thinks I’m getting closer to figuring out who and what killed Aaron London!” I slammed my fist on the table, startling Ms. Dogz. “God, why can’t you see that! What is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with you?” he countered, raising his voice for the first time. There was virulence in his tone. It almost made me gasp.
“Anatoly,” I whispered.
He grimaced and got out of his chair. Without another word he walked out of the dining room and into the kitchen. If he had stormed out, I would have known how to react. But his calm silence threw me. After a moment I withdrew my foot from Ms. Dogz’s back and followed him. I found him at the sink, pouring himself a glass of water. “If you hadn’t found the note tonight,” he said, turning around to face me once more, “would you have told me about any of this?”
“I…” I hesitated and bit down on my lip. “I should have,” I finally admitted. “It’s just…you were so against this whole thing.”
“And why do you think that is?” he asked, with just the slightest trace of derision. “I took pains to make sure you were in good standing with the property manager of London’s apartment building. The more you go back, the more you use that key that you have no right to have, the harder it will be to protect you from the illegality of your own foolishness.”
“I wasn’t being foolish,” I snapped.
“You knew I wouldn’t want you to go back there,” he continued. “Even more than the whole meeting with Gundrun Volz, you must have known that going back into Aaron London’s apartment was one thing I absolutely would not have agreed to.”
“I don’t have to ask your permission for…well, for anything,” I said, coolly. Mr. Katz strode into the room and took his place by my side, making it clear which parent he stood with.
“No, you don’t,” Anatoly admitted. “What bothers me is not that you’re not deferring to me. It’s that you seem intent on antagonizing me. Knowing I don’t want you to take these risks not only doesn’t bother you, it pleases you. You’re looking for a fight.” He took a sip of his water and put it down on the counter. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.
I blanched and looked away. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But that was one lie I couldn’t pull off. And the truth that he had just called me out on, was sort of awful.
“I’m not…looking for a fight,” I attempted. “Not exactly. But Anatoly,” I turned back to him, confused, almost pleading, “when have you and I ever gone out of our way to avoid conflict? We have never been peacemakers. I thought we both understood that. I thought that was why we fit.”
“It’s one thing not to avoid it, it’s another thing to covet it.” He stepped forward, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, staring straight into my eyes with an intensity that made me feel both vulnerable and teary. “What’s going on with you, Sophie?” Ms. Dogz rushed to his side, but for once, he ignored her. “What is it about your life, our life that has left you unsatisfied? What hole are you trying to patch up with far-fetched theories and dead-end investigations?”
I stilled my trembling hand by crossing my arms in front of my chest. “First, let me say that I don’t think my theories are far fetched or that my investigation is a dead-end. That note on the door…the only way anyone could come to the conclusion that it isn’t connected to what’s going on is if they’re in severe denial.”
Anatoly muttered something in Russian. I decided not to ask for the translation.
“But you are right about one thing,” I continued. “I am trying to patch something up. Maybe I’m going about it the wrong way. Maybe I’m not being as communicative as I should be. But Anatoly, I think you know that things have been different with us lately. And I think…I hope, you’ve noticed that I haven’t been fully myself in quite some time. I hope you can see that despite our arguments and disagreements, the last few days I’ve been more…more me. And we’ve been more us. You do see, that, right? You do like that, don’t you?” Was I about to cry? God, how pathetic. I self-consciously swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. “Conflict, fights, passionate lovemaking, is that not what you want anymore? And if it’s not…” my voice faded off.
If not what’s left of us? Where do we go from here? But those were questions I didn’t ask aloud. I simply didn’t have the emotional courage or the fortitude.
Anatoly looked stricken. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then shook his head and looked down at Ms. Dogz who responded by looking up at him with a heartbreakingly forlorn stare. For a long time, we remained silent. From outside I could hear the faint sound of birds chirping, trying to beat the sun to the day. The only window here looked out into my tiny backyard. I couldn’t see the street at all. But I imagined it being filled with Zipcars.
“You should go back to bed,” he said, quietly. “You must be exhausted.”
“And you’re not?” I asked with a humorless laugh.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “I’m going to search the property again.”
“No one’s out there,” I protested, wiping away another tear. “He dropped a note and took off.”
“Go to bed, Sophie.”
“Or what?” I snapped as Ms. Dogz’s ears perked up.
Anatoly finally looked up to meet my eyes and the look on his face…oh he was riled up again. We were going to have a real fight now. I rolled my shoulders back and tilted up my chin, my hands clenched into fists by my side.
He studied me for what felt like a five-minute stretch but was probably mere seconds. And then he just shook his head and looked to the back door. “Go to bed,” he repeated, his voice softer this time, less a command than a surrender.
And that surrender, somehow that hurt more than being hit with harsh or biting accusations and insults. It felt like he was surrendering on us. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, not immediately sure of what to do. But when he didn’t say more, I found myself also surrendering, stepping away from him, turning my back, heading up the stairs, Ms. Dogz at my heels, Mr. Katz staying exactly where he was. As I reached the top, I heard the front door open and close as Anatoly went out to search for a stalker that was no longer there.