Chapter 17

 

Juliette pressed her hands against her front door, chest heaving, eyes burning, her mind awhirl. The elevator bell dinged in the distance and she knew he was gone. Married? Children?

Where had the wife been all this time? Juliette had demanded details about her. The answer stung more than anything else—None of your business.

She sank to the floor, gripping handfuls of her hair with both fists. Her thoughts flew back to the times she’d been at his house—the initial tour, the Christmas party, New Year’s Eve. Their first lovemaking in his bedroom. And all this time he—no one—had thought to mention a wife! Where was the woman on all these occasions? Why had she seen no evidence of a female inhabitant or children? It wasn’t possible he had a family.

Here’s what happened, she decided. He’d been so surprised by the news of their baby and her impromptu proposal he just didn’t know what to say. Maybe he’d used the ‘wife’ excuse to get out of previous, unsatisfactory relationships. But this time was different—he would see, when she approached him calmly and rationally. Give him tonight to think about it, to begin making plans the way she had. He would come around.

She got to her feet and stared at the dining table. All her beautiful preparations, gone to waste. Ugly, wax drips ran down the sides of the candles. Fat had congealed on the untouched steaks and the butter on the baked potatoes formed awful yellow puddles. She blew out the candles and scraped the plates into the trash. Once the dishes were in the dishwasher, the table and countertops wiped clean, only then did the tears come. She found an old knitted afghan and pulled it over herself, bundling into the corner of the sofa feeling weak and bedraggled, unable to face going to the bedroom where she’d strewn rose petals over the bed and burned musk-scented candles. The romantic setting mocked her even more than the discarded special dinner had done. She dozed, waking when the sky outside began to turn peachy with the rising sun.

Her stomach lurched when she stood.

Well there’s proof, she thought. I really am going through this. Her insides rebelled at the scent of last night’s dinner in the trash, and she made her way to a cupboard where she found some plain crackers. A few of those and a swig of carbonated soda, and she felt a little better. She dragged herself to the bedroom where she erased all traces of the evening’s intentions, tossing everything including the red negligee into the waste basket. The shower, running long and hot, soothed her body and her mind.

At her closet door, she debated carefully. How she presented herself at work today could make or break everything. She would be very businesslike and offer to take Al to lunch. In a public place they could speak calmly and rationally. She would not succumb, as she did last night, to hysterics in order to keep him. And he would surely be calm enough to talk reasonably to her about the future. She chose her best suit and a plain white blouse, then pulled her hair back the way he’d often commented he liked it.

When she arrived at the office, his car was not in the lot. She parked and walked toward the front door, her spine straight, her head high.

Marion stood beside Sheila’s desk, the two conversing casually. For all Juliette’s intentions of first speaking with Al, she couldn’t help herself.

“Is Al married?” she blurted out.

Sheila was the first to look at her but Marion answered.

“He is.” The older woman’s expression held a trace of humor. “I take it he’s only recently mentioned it to you?”

Juliette looked toward Sheila. Why hadn’t she said anything?

Sheila shrugged. “I didn’t know. Honestly. You’ve seen him around here. He doesn’t confide things to me. It’s all business.”

“But you aren’t shocked.”

“Not especially.” Sheila stood and came around the side of the desk, placing an arm around Juliette’s shoulders. “Honey, guys like him do this all the time. It’s in their nature to play around.”

“Has his wife ever come here?”

Marion spoke up. “Al keeps business and personal things completely separate. I doubt she even knows exactly what he does.”

Juliette thought of the snippets of overheard conversation, the warnings from Elmer Reddick. She would bet the wife hadn’t a clue about anything Al did.

“But the Christmas party at his house … was she hiding somewhere upstairs while we were all there?”

Again, that smug little pinch around Marion’s mouth. “That mansion isn’t where his family lives. He’s got another house and he keeps them isolated in a country club setting and the kids in private schools.”

“Where?”

“I’m not telling you that, Juliette. He’s a private man and that’s one aspect of his life he lets no one touch, especially not the girlfriend.”

Sheila’s comment about men of Al’s type. “So I’m not the first girlfriend on the side, am I?”

Both women looked at her as if that were the stupidest question in the world. She lifted her chin and started toward her office.

“Don’t start anything with him,” Sheila called out. “It wouldn’t be smart to fight with him over this. Just accept him and take what you can get out of the deal.”

Marion was right behind Juliette in the hall. “Al’s business is complicated, sweetie. Don’t make another stupid mistake by asking too many questions.”

Juliette went into her office while Marion continued to the kitchen.

How dare the old bat! Calling her sweetie was salt in the wound. The woman cared nothing for Juliette; she was just rubbing her face in her situation. She closed her door and sat down, letting out a deep breath.

She would show Marion. Being involved with Al wasn’t a stupid mistake—he was her future, her baby’s father. She would continue with her plan.

When he walked into his office an hour later, Juliette kept her head high and finished the letter she was typing before acknowledging him. She carried the letter to his desk for a signature and gave a tentative smile.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “Can we have lunch today and talk things out?”

If he’d been prepared for a screaming match he was pleasantly surprised by her attitude. “Sure, babe. I probably shouldn’t have walked out on you.”

He signed the letter and she went back to her desk. See, Marion? We’re adults and we can rationally discuss anything at all.

They drove to the restaurant in his Porsche, reminding Juliette of the lavish lifestyle she had so quickly adapted to during the past months. He’d chosen her favorite place, which she took as a sign of his love and sentimental feelings for her. He held her chair, ordered wine while she placed the linen napkin in her lap. This was a good start.

During the drive she’d planned her words. Once the waiter left, she began.

“I have to admit to being completely surprised when you told me about your wife. Honey, why didn’t you say something earlier? We’re all adults. I’m sure we could have … I don’t know … worked out something.”

“You didn’t need to know. One thing you’ll learn about me is that my life is compartmentalized on a need-to-know basis. This was something you didn’t need to know.”

She took a slow breath. “I understand that they live in a different house, not the one you’ve taken me to?”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement as he buttered the tip of a breadstick.

“Which works out really well. Your current wife won’t even have to move. You can divorce her quietly and when we’re married I’ll move into the mansion with you.”

He pointed the breadstick at her. “Won’t happen, sweetheart.”

“You can move into the condo with me.” Her voice faltered only a little.

Al carefully set the breadstick on his plate, sending a look toward the waiter who’d started to approach. The young man veered away.

“You aren’t getting it, baby. There will be no divorce. I’m Catholic, married in the church, with six kids at home. My wife is a lovely woman and she’s a wonderful mother. I’m happy with that life.”

“But, I—”

“You’re my girlfriend. I’m happy with this part of my life too.” His nonchalant attitude brought her emotions near the surface.

She looked quickly at the surrounding tables but no one seemed to have overheard. “I’m pregnant. We are having a baby, you and I. I want that baby to have a home and a father who is there for him.”

He shook his head. “Huh-uh. Not this one. You’ll have to get rid of it.”

Her eyes widened. An abortion was something she could never, ever consider.

“Adoption, you mean?”

“Well, only if you want to ruin your body and not have me sleeping with you for a good long time.” The implication being that another girlfriend would come along to fill her spot.

She clamped her lips together as the waiter returned. Al ordered for both of them, her favorite salad and the sandwich he liked best. Forced to sit silently, her temper smoldered. The nerve! Saying her body would be ruined by having his child. What about the wife? She’d borne him six children and yet he stayed with her. She almost felt sorry for the woman, wishing she could hear what he’d said. Too bad Juliette didn’t have a way to record the conversation. Teach him a big lesson!

Al spotted someone he knew across the room and got up from the table to say hello. Juliette’s insides churned—partly from the fact that breakfast had been only four saltine crackers, partly from the emotional upheaval he’d just put her through. Using his religion as an excuse for no divorce but ignoring it when it came to suggesting an abortion. The man had no morals whatsoever! She stared toward the table where he was laughing and patting the business-suited man on the shoulder.

Maybe she would teach him a little something, call his wife and tell her the whole situation.

He returned when their food arrived and immediately picked up his sandwich, biting into it with gusto. She picked at her salad with her fork, shuffling the bits of chicken and oriental noodles.

“Come on, babe, you have to eat,” he mumbled with a mouthful.

If she’d brought her own car she would have upended the big plate of salad right into his lap, but she was at the disadvantage here. It would not be wise to play her hand too soon. She needed the veneer of calm to cover her thoughts and plans. Plus, he was right about her needing food. No dinner last night, no breakfast today—skipping meals couldn’t be good for her or for the baby. She speared a hunk of the chicken and forced it down her dry throat.

 

* * *

 

Back at the office she began a search for the phone number of his other home. It was something she had to do on the quiet. The other girls didn’t know yet about her pregnancy but being fooled by his lies hung over her like a neon sign advertising her profound embarrassment. Sheila sent pitying glances her way, while Marion had a smug little smile now. Juliette ignored them both and closed her door.

She started with the phone book but there was no listing. She tried directory assistance to no avail. Of course it would be an unlisted number. Rich people did not make themselves available for just anyone to find. Then she remembered his calls to Ernestina, supposedly to let the maid know she didn’t need to wait up for him. What a fool I’ve been, she thought. Those calls were to offer some excuse to the wife.

Al sat in his office all afternoon, doors closed, talking on the phone. At times his muffled tone was belligerent, other times quiet. Was it the rough man from New York? Juliette found she didn’t care if the man intimidated Al now. Let the rat be pushed around a bit. Let him see how it felt to be powerless.

She tried calling Carol Ann at work and was told Miss Dunbar had resigned on Friday as she was getting married soon. Her phone at home rang until the way-too-cute answering message came on. Juliette didn’t even know where to begin and couldn’t say a fraction of it to a tape machine. She ended up simply asking Carol Ann to call her at home tonight.

A tap sounded at her door and Sheila poked her head in.

“Be careful,” she whispered, one ear turned toward the connecting door to Al’s office. “I don’t know what you’re up to but just remember, he knows everything that goes on around here.”

Juliette flushed. Had she been so obvious?

Sheila backed out and returned to her own work. Juliette tapped her nails on her desk, her concentration shot and her stomach churning. She wondered how much longer she could go on working here. The photo of her mother smiled lovingly from the corner of her desk. If only she could go home to Mom now.

Juliette took a deep breath and picked up her purse. She slipped the picture of her mother into it and walked out the door, telling Sheila the salad at lunch must have disagreed with her and she was going home early.

Gravel spun under her tires as she pulled away from the office, a horn protesting her quick entry into traffic. She didn’t care. Al’s attitude and betrayal angered her. She wanted to push, to get back at him. He’d made one of those Ernestina calls only two nights ago.

She drove home and went straight to her condo. She was fairly certain she hadn’t used the phone since that night. She hit the redial button and the line began to ring. Now she would see who she reached. A woman answered: “Proletti residence.”

“Is this Ernestina?”

“No … we have no one by that name here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Mrs. Proletti.”

“She and the children are out for the afternoon. May I take a message?”

“I’ll just call back later.” She dropped the receiver to its cradle.

It was true, all of it. And she knew how to reach them. She paced the room, fury rising in her. She had to think about this. She went back down to where she’d left her car in a visitor space out front. Rather than putting it away in the garage, maybe she would take a drive to clear her head. Five minutes later she was headed toward the freeway,

She steered to the on-ramp and zipped across three lanes of traffic, daring anyone to object to her twenty-miles-over-the-limit attack. She drove south on Highway 1, screaming aloud as the wind whipped her hair across her face, railing against the whole damn mess. After twenty minutes or so, her anger had gelled into a hard knot of determination. She took an exit at random, circled and got back into the northbound lanes.

Al’s going down one of these days, hon, and you don’t want to be there. Deputy Reddick’s voice came back at her again. The other day at the market he’d mentioned two names, said to check them out. Two men who had crossed Al Proletti.

The names came to her, Ronnie Delvecchio and Sal Oberman. Reddick had advised her to check them out. Well, she would just do that.

She’d been to the newspaper office once, straightening out a billing snafu for Al. The upcoming exit to the airport reminded her, as the newspaper office was only a few blocks farther. She whipped her convertible off the freeway and found the brown block building easily enough.

A middle-aged woman worked the reception desk and Juliette explained that she was doing some research and wanted to find the circumstances of two men who had either disappeared or died.

“Well, if they died, obituaries will be the quickest place to find them. Disappearances … well, that’s more of a news story. When did this happen?”

What had Reddick told her? Her mind went momentarily blank but then she pulled out a date. “August, two years ago,” she said.

The woman took her to a small room with video equipment and rolls of microfiche. Juliette had no idea what to do, but the lady thumbed through some metal boxes and came up with what she needed, even threading it into the machine for her.

“Just turn this dial to scroll through the pages until you find what you want.” She left Juliette alone to figure it out.

It took awhile but eventually she came upon the story where a Ronnie Delvecchio’s body had been recovered by search and rescue five days after his wife reported him missing. They’d pulled the badly decomposed body from the swamp, most of its limbs missing due to alligators feeding on them. The details were too graphic for Juliette to handle. She skimmed enough to learn that the man was a minor drug runner with two prior convictions and short prison stints on his record. An abandoned Cessna had been found less than a mile from the body, crash-landed in the same swampy area, with traces of cocaine in the emptied fuselage.

So what, she thought. Everyone knew those things happened. It didn’t mean Al had anything to do with it. Reddick was probably just trying to scare her. He could have tossed out any name he knew had been in the news.

Out of curiosity, she paged to the end and found the obituary for Delvecchio. His surviving widow and children would be cared for by a cash contribution from the man’s employer, Pro-Builder Construction. Juliette felt the blood drain from her face.

Two days after that particular account, the newspaper posted a similar death notice for Sal Oberman, also an employee of Pro-Builder.

She knew she could never return if she did anything to antagonize Al. And then she knew—she’d already done it. By calling his home. He had once bragged that he had ways of tracing every call that came to the mansion. Surely, he would have the same at his other home and he would know the call came from her condo. He’d read her mind on so many occasions and she, stupid young girl, thought it meant they were soul mates. He would know exactly what she’d had in mind. How foolish could she be?

Gotta get out—now!

She stumbled over the chair legs in the newspaper archive room, staggered her way out the door and to her car, feeling as if there were eyes in the sky that could spot her. She stuck to the main streets, looking for answers. At the first used-car lot she spotted she pulled in, made a quick deal for the Camaro and took the cash. A two-block bus ride later, she bought a used Jeep Wagoneer and for the registration gave the first name that came to mind, her grandmother’s maiden name.

Dusk was coming on as she drove the strange vehicle away from the lot. Now what?

More than anything she was afraid to go back to the condo. Even if he suspected nothing, he might simply decide to drop by her place tonight anyway, out of habit. One look at her face and he would know.

She would head for Texas. He knew she came from there, but as long as she didn’t immediately go to her hometown maybe he would never track her down. The whole incident would eventually blow over.

But she couldn’t get to Texas without money and she only had the clothes on her back and less than a hundred dollars in cash. She could use her credit card. But what if Al’s reach included people within law enforcement? Reddick had hinted as much. They could probably trace her movements through credit card purchases. She had some cash at the condo, plus her checkbook. She could clean out the account first thing in the morning. And, she would take the bits of evidence she’d collected as insurance.

The few items were in what looked like a high school girl’s love-letter box with its flower-power green paper. She’d stashed it at the bottom of her clothes hamper but a real search of the condo would reveal it quickly. Every instinct made her want to race home to pack, but she forced herself to slow down and think clearly. Her life depended on it.