Chapter Thirteen --

 

“What the hell was that?” said a baffled voice to my right.

“Sounded like an M-80.” A firefighter shook his head, waiting to move in on the next wave of responders.

“What kind of idiot throws an explosive at fire accelerants?” Another man beside him wondered.

“The kind of idiot we’ve got,” the fire chief growled.

It took the police three minutes to take Ralph and Gloria into custody. On seeing so many uniformed officers pouring into Dynamic Productions, Ralph threw his hands up in the air. Gloria, however, went kicking and screaming, calling Ralph every vile name under the sun. It reminded me of Tatiana Stevanovich’s behavior, and when I mentioned it to one of the detectives, he made a point of checking out Gloria’s identification. Like daughter, like mother. It turned out Gloria’s real name was Galina Stevanovich and she was working in concert with her daughter and son-in-law. They had extensive ties to an organized crime money-laundering service based in Brighton Beach, also called Little Odessa by the Ukrainian immigrants who came by the droves in the nineties. Suddenly, it made sense that Ralph spent his time at casinos and racetracks with his lady love.

It turned out that Ralph left a surly wife for an even surlier mistress. Gloria got a deal when she rolled over on Ralph, Tati, and Gregory Wink, whose real name was actually Yury Petrovich, hence the alias of George Peterson. The United States Attorney decided Galina was a whole lot more important than a washed-up old philanderer like Ralph, since she had the ability to give up names of people in the business of cleaning cash and transferring it back to the old country, where it was influencing politics and organized crime.

It turned out that Ralph was using our money to keep the company afloat and he couldn’t afford to give it back. He never had any intention of buying our shares. It was all part of the set-up. He hadn’t just intended to burn down Dynamic Productions. There was also a Thermos of coffee with a healthy dollop of Ketamine in Ralph’s van. The plan was to set fire to Bosco’s apartment, killing him in the process, and take me captive. Once I was disoriented and confused, Ralph would drop me at the side of the road, far from the scene of the murderous fire, after planting evidence on me. He would kill two birds with one stone, getting rid of Bosco as a forensic investigator and getting rid of me as a junior partner and investor. He thought he would be rich once Gloria’s friends bought into the company. It turned out they planned to kill Ralph, once Gloria married him. Ralph, it seems, had been separated from his wife for the better part of a year, and he was just months away from receiving his final divorce decree. The scope of betrayal all around was numbing.

Once Bosco and his colleagues at Honshield Walker put together an in-depth report on the financial state of the production company, right down to the fraudulent bills and the misuse of investor funds, Ralph agreed to release the full amount of the money owed us. His lawyers realized just how much evidence we had gathered and encouraged him to make us whole, financially, because they wanted Ralph to take a plea deal as the result of diminished capacity. His lawyers claimed that Ralph’s mental state was affected by the drugs he was taking to maintain his lifestyle with his mistress. The Viagra supposedly caused Ralph to experience transient global amnesia, anxiety, and depression, which his defense team claimed resulted in his bad behavior. The need for Ralph to appear remorseful outweighed the lawyers’ need to be paid, so they encouraged him to liquidate assets, including the boat and the condo. The stolen Dynamic Productions equipment showed up at a resale shop in New York, and we took it back. The insurance company wasn’t responsible for the damage caused by the fire when Galina ignited the blaze with her firecracker, so we lost the facility and everything that was damaged by smoke or water. Still, we got most of our money back from Ralph, and Stan, our insurance agent, was more than thrilled to present us with a check, once the police investigation ended.

We chose to put much of the money towards a new home. There was talk of rebuilding on the old lot, but in the end, we chose to give our marriage a fresh start. We sold the land where we raised our son. Bosco still had almost six months to go on his lease, so we decided we would take our time before we started looking for a new place. It would be part of the process of rediscovering ourselves. In the meantime, we would live in Bosco’s apartment. I was growing fond of that cozy space.

Two weeks after Ralph, Galina, and the others were arrested, Bosco and I got to work pushing for a settlement in Kevin’s death. We presented the many cards and letters from friends and relatives of the drunk driver who killed our son to the insurance company, as evidence of negligence and reckless endangerment. Bosco had taken the letters with him when he moved out, keeping them in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet of the second bedroom. We informed the insurance company that we planned to share our story publicly, including giving reporters the opportunity to interview those who expressed regrets. We finally agreed to a settlement out of court. It was a compromise, but it still felt a little like some small sense of justice for Kevin. It was acknowledgment that people could have and should have prevented the driver from getting behind the wheel.

I was officially out of work, as were my colleagues, thanks to Ralph and the fraudulent Gloria. We regrouped, rented space, and bought more equipment, determined to serve our clients. Most were very supportive, having heard the lurid tales in the media. Dom, Tony, and Kendall were happy to be employed again, and once again, Bosco and I invested in the new company. We were a smaller production house, with a lot less overhead, but a lot more creativity. Within a month, we were producing decent commercials, even without all the fancy bells and whistles of the Dynamic Productions facilities.

On the third Sunday after the fire, I came back from the apartment pool in the late afternoon, wearing a caftan and carrying my towel and my paperback, only to find my overnight case packed and waiting by the front door.

“Bosco?” I called him, but there was no answer. I was confused. Was he kicking me out? I went into the bedroom, only to find my closet empty. The rest of my clothes were in plastic bins, also packed and ready to go. What was going on?

“Hey, babe,” Bosco greeted me, coming through the front door. “How was the pool?”

“Great,” I managed to say as calmly as I could. “What’s up with the suitcase? Are you kicking me out?”

“Hell, no. The owner of the complex showed up last week, asking me if we would mind switching apartments, and he offered us a great price break, since we only have a little more than five months left on the lease. It turns out there’s a plan to renovate each of the units as condos. He needs this one for the new model, since it’s on the ground floor. We’re heading upstairs to the corner unit. We’re penthouse people now, Dori. Wait till you see the place. It’s fantastic.” I gazed around the living room, realizing the walls were bare and some of the furniture was missing.

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?” I stood watching him, hands on my hips, feeling relieved and yet annoyed.

“Nope. I wanted it to be a surprise. If I told you, it wouldn’t be one.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not like the place, Bosco?”

“Only one way to find out. Come take a look.” He picked up my overnight case and a lamp. We took the elevator up to the fourth floor. A short jaunt down the hallway led us to 4C. Inserting the key into the lock, Bosco gave the knob a turn and opened the door to a large, sunny unit, nearly twice the size of the one downstairs. The large kitchen was open to the dining area and living room, sporting new quartz counters and stainless steel appliances. Off the living room I could see the roof deck, with a distant city view. Bosco and I had talked about how lovely it must be to live on the top floor, with such a great outdoor space.

Bosco was pleased to show me around, leading me down the hallway to a larger second bedroom he said would make a good home office and guest room. A full bath was located next to it, along with a laundry closet. We went through to the master bedroom, with its ensuite bathroom, newly tiled, and large walk-in closet. The sliding glass doors faced the roof deck. Bosco took my hand, leading me outside. A small patio table was flanked by two matching chairs along the deck railing. A white tablecloth fluttered in the wind, topped by a small vase with a single red rose and a bottle of Champagne sitting in an ice bucket, accompanied by a pair of wine flutes. Through the air, I could hear the sound of Stan Getz on the saxophone.

“What do you think?” he asked. I could hear the hope in his voice.

“Well, it’s very nice, but don’t you think we should have discussed it first?”

“No. We have something much more important to discuss.”

“We do?” I glanced at him as he popped the cork.

“Champagne?”

“Do we have something to celebrate?” I inquired. A slight smile played on Bosco’s face, and I knew he was up to something.

“That depends.” He took an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table. I saw the airline logo and my heart started to beat a little faster. Flipping open the flap, I removed the pair of tickets to Rio de Janeiro. As I stared down, I caught sight of the date.

“Why did you pick this date?” My heart was pounding inside my chest and I found it almost impossible to catch my breath.

“You know why,” he smiled at me. There was a trembling, an electrical charge that jumped the distance between us and fused us together as our fingers met. Bosco was excited. “We can explore. We can listen to good jazz and dance. We can get married again....”

“In Brazil?”

“Why not? Just the two of us.”

“But shouldn’t we do it in front of family and friends?”

“We did that the first time around. This time, it’s just us. We’ll find a couple of witnesses, people we don’t know, and we’ll pledge to never to squander our love for each other.”

“How long have you been planning this?” I wanted to know.

“Is that a yes?”

“Just answer the question,” I laughed.

“Since the day I signed the divorce papers. I drove after you, you know. I wanted to catch you. But you didn’t go home. I know, because I waited for four hours outside the house. I was convinced you had gone off to celebrate.”

“No,” I shook my head in response. “I went to my parents’ house and bawled my eyes out. I was miserable that you actually let me go.”

“Well,” he replied, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips, “I intend to make it up to you.”

“You do?” I gave him a bright smile, thinking how much more I loved him, now that I understood him better. “How do you plan to start?”

“Like this,” he told me, lifting me to my feet. With one hand firmly on my back and the other holding my hand, he pressed his cheek to mine and whirled me around. And as our bodies melted together, moving as one across the roof deck, Frank Sinatra crooned “Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars”. My heart lifted as my feet flew across the deck, held tightly in the arms I loved best. This really was the place I wanted to be, until the final flicker of life’s ember, with Bosco.

 

Foxtrot with a Furtive Fox

 

Do we really know the men in our lives? Do we really see them for what they are? Kim thinks she knows her boyhood friend, Mac, and her ex-boyfriend, Tom. Boy, is she in for a rude awakening! Some men are worthy of trust and some aren’t, but women should always go into relationships with their eyes wide open....