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Double Trouble |
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On Tuesday, she appeared again just at the peripheral to his left - a quick flick of fin and she was in the main current. The crowd was thick and looking back would have been awkward but his radar picked up the unique click of her heels on the marble concourse. Was it just his imagination or did she speed up and slow down in time with him? She seemed to be honing in on an invisible chum trail that led directly to him. She stayed with him across Lexington, up Madison, the click of her heels somewhat subdued but still on track behind him. For fun, he sped up and when he reached 41st, he rounded the corner and ducked quickly into the back entrance of his office building where he had just recently taken office space. He took the stairs – two at a time – to the third floor, fumbled with the key, then raced back to the one window behind his desk and opened it to the street below. There she was – directly below him - doing a Mary Tyler Moore twirl, her hair spinning into a platinum parasol in a light rain that had begun. She appeared to be surveying the street up and down searching for something or someone before continuing up Madison. The mystery of her left a small but vivid spot within him that lingered much of the morning; after all, it was spring in Manhattan, a time when anything seemed possible. Wednesday was nearly the same scenario: she tracked him from about twenty yards behind, and, again, lost her when he ducked around to the back entrance of his office. It had become a sort of game for him. He raced to the his window just in time to see her round the corner out of sight. On Thursday morning he decided to vary his routine just to satisfy his curiosity about her, taking the train from Westport a full two hours later. It was mid-morning when he arrived in Grand Central. The sun was shining brightly through the palladium windows onto the main concourse as he walked toward the Lexington Avenue ramp. He was past the central information booth, his lips pursed into a tentative whistle, when – wait! – there she was again, off to his far right, swimming with a maddening nonchalance on an oblique but closing angle. Impossible! Outwardly, he decided to ignore her; inwardly, his radar was, once again, fine-tuned to the rapid click of her heels behind him. But this time was different: this time he distinctly felt a small, electric charge that raised the small hairs at the back of his neck – was he being followed? He led her up again right to the corner where he had ditched her the last two days, but, instead of ducking out of sight this time, he turned right, leading her on a slow safari past the first stone lion that guarded the entrance to the New York Public Library. When he reached the wide stairs that led up to the library, he took a seat by the first lion, striving for the casual look, just enjoying the morning. What would she do now? Continue on? Retreat? Neither. She walked past him and took a seat at a protective post by the other lion just opposite. Mother and cub – cute. She was still wearing the shiny red raincoat although the sun was peeking out now; a brown manila envelope stuck out of her big red handbag. He watched her out of the corner of his eye; she now seemed passive, self-contained. Could it be that this was all sheer coincidence after all? He turned away from her, holding his face up to the sun and reviewed his situation. He was just another accountant in the city who was suddenly enjoying this exotic little departure from his usual, drab routine; it certainly passed the double whiff test of danger and intrigue. But what to do now? And then, it came to him: this little safari would terminate at his watering hole. Tony’s was a small Italian restaurant just off 42nd and was rumored to be a local hang-out for mafia types, a haven in which to bring their mistresses. It was this initial ambiance that had appealed to his spirit of intrigue. Most of the regulars were older and invariably accompanied by women half their age. At first, he was looked at by some with open suspicion whenever he popped in for a quick drink – a possible mole in this loose confederation of cads – but soon he was accepted as everyone’s peculiar, out-of-place son who just happened to work around the corner. Tony’s was ordinary from the outside: a simple three-step walk-down under a corny, red neon sign featuring a caricature of Tony himself, smiling broadly under his thin, trademark mustache and holding out a steaming plate of spaghetti. Inside, there was a polished mahogany bar to the right, cozy booths with red-checked tablecloths to the left. To his immediate right, Tony stood guard to the opening of a spacious, more formal, dining area. The tables were dressed with white linen tablecloths, good cutlery and sparkling glasses. It was wonderfully dim in here and the hostile cachonony of street noise was immediately reduced to a pleasant murmur. He had brought various dates here. The constant activity at Tony’s helped him to overcome any initial awkwardness, helped to loosen his tongue as he speculated over many of the regulars, their current girlfriends, who was in, who was on the outs. It also helped establish him as another regular who brought in different women. He had never harbored any illusions regarding his looks or social stature. Overall, he rated himself a solid six out of ten, possibly even a seven, if he really primped. He had resigned himself early to the reality that most women pursued the Harvey Wallbangers of this world while he would always be just Mr. Average, straight-up, with a wry twist. In many ways, however, he liked the anonymity. He purposely stuck to standard Brooks Brothers, rep ties, and martinis -Manhattan fixtures that would always blend into any upscale bar crowd leaving him free to unobtrusively observe the world around him. Okay - it was now time for confrontation time with the mystery lady. When he reached the outside entrance to Tony’s, he stopped, abruptly turned, making sure he caught her full attention. He then hoisted an imaginary glass to his lips with his left hand while, simultaneously, jerking his right thumb toward the door. He didn’t wait for a response. He went in, found Tony at his post and, a bit of breath, said: “Tony, you’re not going to believe this but there’s a beautiful blonde following me – she’s just outside. Maybe she’ll come in, maybe she won’t. How about that table for two by the window in the dining room?” Tony’s training came to the fore at just such moments. He whisked out two menus and led him quickly through the main dining room to the table by the small bay window that overlooked the entrance. “Show her in Tony - if she comes in. And, in the meantime…” “A martini, straight-up for the gentleman with a double twist.” Tony finished with a small flourish; he was flushed in full approval: the green kid was on his way to breaking his social cherry. He looked out the window. She was still out front but he could only see her from the knees down: trim ankles in red high heels that hesitated only briefly before turning quickly toward the door. Tony returned with his drink. He grabbed it and drained a third of its contents; the icy liquid soon turned into that oh so endurable fire in his gut. He felt much better now, ready for whatever came next; he even took the time to nod at a few acquaintances at some of the other tables. In a minute, Tony rounded the corner again followed by the familiar clicking of her heels. She quickly disengaged the big, red hand bag and slung it over her chair; the shiny, red raincoat came off next followed by a faint swish of tailored gray skirt as Tony held out her chair. “And for the lady?” Tony asked. “Manhattan, straight-up with two cherries please.” One of Tony’s eyebrows arched significantly: here was truly uncommon commonality. One could sense an aura of magic in the air. For some moments, each stumbled over the paraphernalia of posturing: she checking a thin gold watch on her left wrist, taking furtive glances around the room, fidgeting with a clunky gold charm bracelet on her right wrist - he pinching an ear lobe, checking his own watch, shaking a leg under the table, pursing his lips. She wore a cream, silk blouse with ruffles at the cuffs and collar which gave her a girlish look. There were small gold hoops on each ear, a thin gold wedding band on the middle finger of her right hand. Every article gold, simple, tasteful. By contrast the huge charm bracelet that dominated her right wrist – as ponderous as Jacob Marley’s chain he thought – finally collapsed on the table with a heavy crunch. She toyed with some individual charms: a house (complete with a tiny picket fence); a gold tennis racquet; a gold pony; a gold graduation cap complete with tassel. Her fingertips seemed to lightly assess each one in a practiced manner – her personal rosary – as she surveyed the room again. There was no reason now to delay the inevitable and they looked at one another fully. It was evident she was waiting for him to speak. He decided on an airy confidence that he didn’t quite feel. “We can’t go on meeting like this.” She didn’t respond; his opening seemed unsuitable. “You’ve been following me,” he began again. “How come?” She looked at him head on. He was surprised that she wasn’t beautiful. Striking - of course - but somehow missing the mark. The rather sharp nose divided the face just off-center and the eyes were a bit too close together putting her slightly out of focus. Her hair had been swept forward (he now guessed) to conceal a somewhat weak chin. As if sensing his analysis (he guessed again), she employed what seemed to be an old magician’s trick of diverting his eye with a brief shake of her bracelet; illusion was her bread-and-butter. “Yes, I have,” she said. “I also lost you a couple of times.” She jerked a fin toward the general direction of his office building. “Around the corner there.” “Pretty good, huh?” He took a sip. “I’m faster than I look.” She studied him for a moment. “Yes, pretty good.” “From my old Navy days.” She cocked her head in feigned interest. “Navy days?” She took a deep swallow from her drink and then delicately pinched a cherry stem out of her glass, twirling it in her fingers.. “Tell me - did you get to see the world?” He took another deep swallow of his own, easing his glass back down. “Actually, I did. But somehow they forgot to mention that it would only be through a porthole.” Again, no response. His “A” material and nothing. He leaned across the table and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “That was a joke.” She merely studied him again over the rim of her glass teasing the bright, red cherry between perfect white teeth. “Yes, I know.” She seemed to be acquiring a running resume on him but had not yet come to any significant conclusions. She fingered another charm – a birthday cake with three little candles on it and then – as if she had come to some sort of decision – took out the brown manila envelope from her purse and slid it over to him. “This will explain a lot,” she said. “Go ahead – take a look.” He was taken aback; things were going too fast. He held out a hand to her, a mock gesture. “By the way, my name is –“ “No names, please. Just go ahead and take a look.” He undid the clasp and rummaged a hand inside and came out with a packet of photos. He glanced up at her as if awaiting further instructions. “Go ahead,” she encouraged, “take a good long look.” Inside the packet were perhaps a half-dozen black and white pictures of her in various states of undress that looked as if they had been taken with a long-range lens. With her – performing the acts of undressing her – was a guy with short, curly brown hair, a long crooked nose, a five o’clock shadow around a jutting chin, wide eyes with uniquely straight brows, ears that - No, it couldn’t be! But there it was: he was looking at himself. “My God,” he said. “Who is this?” “You have a double,” she said by way of explanation. Tony appeared from nowhere, hovering, looking slightly distressed that they were not at least holding hands yet. “Another?” She nodded and he held up two fingers for Tony. “Tony always has impeccable timing,” he said. “I noticed.” He picked up the packet again and absently rifled through the pictures; the two people snapped to life in jerky animation. “So, who is he?” “My boyfriend.” “Ah… and the person who took the-“ “My husband – from another building across the way.” “So… you were together with your boyfriend in the bedroom of your husband’s apartment.” “You’re a quick study. Penthouse actually.” Tony re-appeared with fresh drinks. “Perhaps you’d like something to eat?” She suddenly took over. “Not today,” she said without looking at him. Tony slid quietly away. “You say your husband took these from another building across the way? “My husband builds office buildings. This particular one he’s currently building is just to the east of ours. He sits in a vacant, unfinished office and – from time to time – spies on me.” “From time to time?” “Only those times when Robert is visiting me.” “I thought we weren’t going to use names?” She shrugged. “That just slipped out – sorry. No more.” “How do you know your husband spies on you?” “I have my ways,” she said I’ll bet, he thought. He looked closely at her; there was an unmistakable bruise rising up on her right cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. Aware that he had discovered it she gave her charm bracelet another quick shake as if to evaporate the mirage. “How does he know when Robert is coming over?” “Oh, he knows. He always knows. My husband has tapped our phone and Robert always calls before coming over. I found out one of my husband’s men is always listening.” “One of his men?” “My husband is very rich.” There seemed to be no need for further explanation - this was how her world worked. “And how do I fit into all of this?” She shifted imperceptibly in her chair and glanced at the people passing by outside. “I want you to do something for me.” “And that would be what?” “I want you to pose as Robert in front of the windows of our penthouse while my husband is watching.” He looked at the pictures again, then at her. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I want you to act out a little scenario with me: you make advances toward me and I refuse them – then I’ll order you out of the apartment. I want him to see me reject Robert – it’s the only thing that will convince him that I’ve broken it off with him. That’s all there is to it.” “How do you know he’ll be watching?” “Because Robert called last night and said he’d be over today at three o’clock. Believe me – he’ll be watching.” So why won’t Robert be over at three o’clock as well?” “I called him later from a pay phone booth and told him not to come.” “Did you tell him why?” “Of course. I told him that our phone had been tapped.” “Let me guess. You have your ways.” A hint of a smile crossed her face, a small forerunner of a smile that he thought he might like under different circumstances. “As I said, Robert now knows and he has no intention of ever coming over again. He’s fully aware of what my husband can do… what he’s capable of.” “Scared?” “Oh yes.” “And exactly what is your husband capable of?” “Like eliminate him for instance,” she said matter-of-factly. He took a deep swallow of his drink. “What do you hope to accomplish by all this?” “Simple. To get my husband off Robert’s back – our backs – once and for all. When I called Robert back on the pay phone I told him to call me back later on the regular line in at the penthouse. He did and it was then that I told him that I’d given the situation a lot of thought and that I wanted to break it off with him, that I wanted to stay with my husband.” “But you’re not really going back to your husband.” “As I said, you’re a quick study.” “So you and Robert set up the second call in which Robert insisted he was coming over anyway. At three o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “In forty five minutes. Today. He pursed his lips giving her a direct look. Tell me -when were you finally going to approach me?” “I was just about to come over to you… at the library, when you suddenly got up and started walking away again. Of course, I followed you again and was just about to approach you when you just happened to invite me in here for a drink.” “How convenient for you.” “Yes. I guess Tony and I have something in common.” “How’s that?” “Impeccable timing.” “Ah, yes… So Robert knows about me then?” “Right again.” He took another deep drink. “I have to ask the obvious: Why don’t you just get Robert to do it. After all, he’s certainly had more practice at this sort of thing then I have.” “I told you. Robert’s afraid of my husband now that I’ve told him everything. My husband – as I mentioned – has a rather ruthless reputation. But, at the same time, Robert still wants to be with me.” “So I’m to be a sort of stunt man for Robert as your husband throws me out the window.” The thought prompted another long swallow. “And how about you – are you planning to ever leave your husband?” “Can’t… Won’t. My husband has me locked up in a gilded cage.” “Which you’re not that unhappy in,” he suggested. Dark shadows had begun to swim lazily around the great lagoons of her eyes. “I love Robert madly.” She toyed with her second cherry in her classic film-noir style before it vanished right before his eyes. And then she shrugged. “But I love money more. What can I say?” “So Robert is going to find the two of you a new, secret place in which to meet.” “That’s right.” Then you’ll be a double-kept woman, he thought. “Tell me, who put that bruise on your face?” Abruptly, she turned toward the window trying to shield the right half of her face. “You’ve been pretty honest up to now. Why not tell me the rest of the story?” “Robert put that there.” She shrugged again. “Sometimes Robert abuses me –usually for good reason. I’m difficult to live with sometimes.” “And what about your husband? Are there going to be any repercussions from him.” “Never. He’s a lot older and he knows he’s lucky to have me. He just wants Robert out of the way, that’s all.” “One way or the other,” I reminded her. “Tell me, what makes you think I’ll do this. The whole thing sounds pretty dangerous to me. In fact, this could be the very day that your husband decides to remove the competition. I don’t think I’m quite that ready to be eliminated just yet.” She nodded toward the envelope. “There’s another packet in there. Why don’t you see what’s in it.” He rummaged his hand down once again and – sure enough - came up with a smaller but thicker unmarked envelope that was stuffed with one-hundred dollar bills. He quickly thumbed his way through them. “Ten thousand dollars,” she said. “For about ten minutes work” she added. “A lot of money” he admitted. He raised his head in mock concentration and counted fingers. “That’s a thousand dollars per minute. Know how I know that?” She merely studied him again, this time with a brief roll of the lovely green eyes. “I’m a certified accountant, that’s how.” “I’m very impressed… will you do it?” He pursed his lips, shaking one leg under the table with a rapid rhythm. Quick math was his forte and he mentally accessed his internal Ben Franklin sheet of pros and cons. Even though the cons were edging out in front, the prospect of easy money gnawed at him. True, it was hardly the most honest way to stake a claim for his future but, then again, money was money – right? “Let’s go,” he said, rising up off his chair. He pulled out what was left of most of his cash and dropped it on the table. It was she who led the way back to the front entrance and, when they got close to the end of the bar, she reached back and grabbed his tie, leading him past Tony as if on a leash. “Say goodbye Tony,” she instructed. “Goodbye Tony,” he said obediently. Tony was openly beaming - his prize student was graduating with honors. He opened the door for them giving them both a most approving wink. Still holding him by his tie, she hailed a cab with her other hand - he was on her time now. Once seated inside, she gave the cabby their destination – no need for an address. “Vista Towers,” she said. “No hurry.” Almost immediately, two of her fingers slowly scaled the ladder of his zipper until they found the silver flag at the summit. Once there, she yanked it down, freed him, and then began various oral administrations on him that he had never even imagined. Her hand – the one with all the charms – came next, singing like a tambourine now as she made him ready. The cabby – a grim looking Pakastani with bad complexion – immediately began to gesture wildly with his hands. “No! No! Please stop! Not in my cab – no sex in my cab! It makes mess – you cannot do. No!” The cabby’s repeated protestations came to him muffled as his head was being currently pressed between her breats. When he came up for air, he still could not resist one last, sad stab at wry humor. “I had you pegged for a comparative shopper.” But, again, it was as if he had never uttered a word; instead, she hiked up the gray, tailored skirt (revealing nothing underneath) and straddled him face to face. Those ominous, dark flecks which he had seen earlier in the bright, green lagoons of her eyes seemed to have picked up their pace with a menacing purpose. Sharks within a shark, he thought – but only briefly – as all thought was now being rapidly vaporized by her warm breathe on his face. “Please no – you musn’t. Please stop!” the cabby went on, more insistent now. She fumbled in the big, red purse, found a bill that he couldn’t quite make out, and handed it back to the still gesticulating cabby. “Here,” she said. “Now shut the fuck up.” At once, the cabby was silenced. There seemed to be a symphony of discordant car horns around then, urging her on in the slow moving traffic as she moved up and down on him with ruthless abandon. He was but a prop in the immediacy of her play; the fact that she cried out “Robert!” close to the end did little to boost his self-esteem. The only thing he was conscious of in the aftermath of this unexpected frenzy was the cabby’s wink directed at him via the rear-view mirror – apparently everyone was now happy. Whatever bill she had handed the cabby, it was enough for him to get out of his cab and open the door for her. She smoothed out her skirt, got out, and gave him further instructions. “Remember – wait fifteen minutes before you come up. Use the private elevator to your right. Once inside, you’ll stay close to the big windows in the living room so he can see you clearly. Is that clear?” Somewhat. For the moment he was conscious only of a wonderful quiet around the them; he puzzled over the incongruity of a beautiful, young tree that seemingly grew right out of the concrete beside them. She walked away with the ease and grace that he had so recently admired. The cabby closed the door, got in on his side, checked his watch. He watched the tree for some time, his mind pleasantly entangled in its branches that were popping out with new, green buds, full of promise. A gentle breeze ruffled its branches and stirred childhood memories for him; he was struck by what seemed to be an unbridgeable gap between remembered innocence and his current path in life. Suddenly, he felt very tired - worn out from all his pretensions, and deceptions, and petty aspirations. He sought only peace, surrender. “Take me to Grand Central,” he told the cabby. Automatically he fished out his wallet and checked his available cash: four dollars. He remembered spilling most of his money on the table at Tony’s, a stupid gesture to show her – what? That he was her equal? “Tell me,” he said to the cabby. “How much did she give you back there?” The cabby fished out the bill from his shirt pocket, snapped it, and then showed it to him proudly: a one-hundred dollar bill. She probably had a pile of them at all times in that red bag to smooth over all those little inconveniences of the city. The cabby was watching him closely in the rear-view mirror. “You have enough, Robert, for the fare?” he asked in a slightly mocking tone. “No – but surely that one hundred dollars will buy me a trip back.” The cabby was shaking his head. “Sorry, Robert but no can do.” “My name isn’t Robert and that one-hundred dollars surely has to be enough for a return trip.” The cabby raised his right arm on the back of the seat and twisted around to look at him squarely; his other hand moved up and down in an obscene gesture. “You know what I think, Robert? I think that now you have to go fuck yourself.” What was the use? He got out and started walking west. What would she think when he didn’t show? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He felt like a walking cliché: just another nameless nobody that the big city had chewed up and spit out. His self-image as a wily old sailor had been destroyed. He had just been consumed by a man-eating white shark, was now marooned on the Isle of Manhattan, his only ship slipping away, his dignity in tatters; he was a mere remnant of the person he once thought he was. It took him a good twenty minutes at a brisk pace to get to Grand Central. He passed Tony’s without even so much as a glance through the front window, grabbed a Times at a newsstand, and just managed to catch the next train to Westport. He managed to find a window seat. The whole episode was hitting him now – a delayed reaction. He quickly opened his paper to discourage small talk from anyone who would surely sit in the seat beside him. It was only minutes before a fellow commuter did. The stranger was about to say something to him in greeting but, instinctively, stopped as the other man’s hands were trembling, his face buried deep in the fold of his paper. From time to time, he would peek out behind his paper as the train leaned into a curve to watch the silver rails turning to gold in the setting sun. It prompted speculation concerning the shark’s gold charm bracelet: incontrovertible links to a past that she still secretly desired despite of who she had become? There was a girl in Westport – an assistant librarian – that he had recently struck up an acquaintance with but whom he had never formally asked out yet. On impulse, he gave her a call when he got back to ask her out for dinner. She said yes, she’d love to. It was like a new beginning. He liked her simplicity, her lack of pretension, her unfailing decency. And he was feeling – well – old-fashioned. While driving his old Honda over to her apartment that night he spotted an old woman selling flowers by a roadside stand and stopped to buy her some flowers for their first date. White roses.
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