I continue to follow Stephen and Penley. They’re not arm in arm or holding hands, and to the passerby they could just as easily be friends as lovers.
That is, until they reach another “Don’t Walk” sign. It’s as if something comes over them, or, more specifically, over Stephen. As they stand waiting at the corner, he can’t take his hands — or lips — off her.
Penley doesn’t stop him, but I can tell she’s aware they’re out in public. She has a lot of friends in the city, and though they’re mixed in with about eight million strangers, one can’t be too careful. There’s no telling when someone she knows might see her.
Like me.
The “Walk” sign flashes, and the make-out session gives way to their continuing stroll. I fall right in step while confronting my next emotion. Fear.
There’s no way Penley and Stephen only started seeing each other in the past couple of days, and that can mean only one thing.
She knows.
Something, at least. If Penley doesn’t know for sure about Michael and me, she at least suspects. What else could explain Stephen’s dinner talk about being involved with someone married? Was he trying to help her get a confession from me or was it all about screwing with my mind?
Either way, Penley’s “setting me up” with Stephen was truly a setup! And I didn’t see it.
This changes everything.
The two of them come to a stop at the next corner, and Stephen picks up where he left off with more tonsil hockey and some pretty serious groping. Penley’s going at it now too. They really ought to get a room.
I stand on the sidewalk a half block behind them and miles away from being able to collect all my thoughts and emotions about this new development. There’s so much to think about; there are so many angles to consider.
That’s when I realize what I should be doing.
Don’t think, just shoot.
I reach for my camera. If I’m quick enough, I’ll get them tongue kissing before the light changes.
Only I don’t feel anything where I’m reaching.
No camera. No shoulder bag. I forgot to grab it when I bolted out of the Comfort Diner.
Shit fire and save matches! I think.
And I remember who used to say that — my dead father.
Chapter 77
“WHAT?” SAYS MICHAEL.
I start to repeat myself, but he heard me the first time. He just can’t believe it. Or is it me he can’t believe?
We’re standing before floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room of the Wall Street apartment his company provides for out-of-town VIPs. Apparently there are a lot of them, because we’ve only been able to meet here a few times. Those were romantic interludes, however, and something tells me there’ll be a lot less sex tonight.
“Are you sure it was Penley?” Michael asks. “This isn’t just a fantasy you’re having?”
“I’m positive. I saw it with my own eyes.”
I’m trying to put myself in his shoes. Less than forty-eight hours ago he was rescuing me from a Brooklyn hospital before they could check me into a padded room.
Now this bombshell.
Maybe I’d be a little skeptical too. Especially when I tell Michael that I didn’t have my camera with me. He knows I practically sleep with it.
So with no pictures — no proof — all I’ve got is my word and his trust in me.
“And you’re sure it was the same guy she set you up with?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, it was that ‘cute guy,’ Stephen.”
“That would mean . . .”
“Exactly,” I say.
“But how could she know? We’ve been careful.”
I shoot him a dubious look. “I distinctly recall the Maytag club, among other things.”
“Still, I’d know if she knew. Penley would be trying to kill me, not playing games.” He begins to pace, thinking out loud. His neck and face are getting very red. “She sent this guy out to dinner with you on a reconnaissance mission? I mean, the woman has balls, but we’re talking King Kong cojones here.”
“It doesn’t seem so crazy if she only suspected we were involved.”
“Trust me,” he says. “What you’re telling me is crazy no matter how you slice it.”
The word seems to hang in the air — right above my head. Crazy. Does he think that’s what I am? Also, he’s starting to get very pissed. Maybe even at me. I do not need one of your meltdowns here, Michael.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I say.
Michael abruptly stops pacing. He comes over and takes me in his arms. “Of course I believe you,” he says. He tacks on a loving squeeze lest there be any doubt.
But there is doubt. I can hear it in his voice. I see it in his eyes. He’s not really sure what to think.
Of all the ways I thought he might react to the news, uncertainty wasn’t in the mix. I could understand his anger, and even resentment. I could tolerate a twinge of jealousy. No man likes to share a woman, regardless of whether he loves her.
Nonetheless, when the emotional dust settled, what I hoped for from Michael was that he’d see this the same way I now do — as an opportunity. No longer the only adulterer in his marriage, he won’t have to worry about being raked over the coals in a divorce settlement. Once and for all, he can do what I’ve always wanted him to do.
Dump Penley.
“So now what?” I ask.
“I want to sleep on it,” he says. He stares at me for a moment. “You’re absolutely sure it was her, though, right, Kris? You’re certain.”
“Yes,” I answer. “I saw them.”
I’m sure of it.
At least I think I am.
Chapter 78
ALL NIGHT I TOSS and turn, thinking about Penley and Stephen, and whether Michael believes me. Or for that matter whether I believe me.
The only silver lining is that I’m spared again from the dream when morning arrives. If only I could figure out how to live the rest of my life without sleep, I’d be all set.
When I arrive for work, Penley does a double take. “You forgot what day it is, didn’t you?” she says.
I smack my forehead. “You’re right, I did.”
Once every two weeks, Penley steps in for me and walks Dakota and Sean to school. I get the morning off.
Michael calls it her “guilt trip,” but I don’t think guilt has anything to do with it. If it did, it would mean she’s aware of what a bad mother she is. And about that she’s definitely clueless. Rather, in her oh-so-twisted mind, Penley probably sees subbing for me as a required sacrifice. Community service, with her children.
“Well, since you’re here,” says Penley, “the chaise cushions for the patio need to be brought out for the summer. Make sure you thoroughly clean the furniture first, okay?”
“No problem,” I say.
“And the cushions, of course.”
“Sure thing.”
She folds her arms across her Chanel gym outfit, which cost more than a month of my salary. “After I drop off the kids, I’m going for a workout. I should be home by lunch, though.”
“That reminds me,” I say, “how was your charity luncheon out in Greenwich yesterday?”
I watch her carefully, hoping Penley flinches or blinks or stammers — something that gives her away.
Instead, she’s seamless. “Oh, you know how those things are. You’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all.”
I bet.
Penley heads for her bedroom to continue getting ready, and I check on Dakota and Sean in the kitchen, where they’re finishing up their breakfast. Their mother microwaves a mean bowl of instant oatmeal.
“Hi, Miss Kristin!” they giddily say in unison. They’re surprised to see me. And happy!
“What are you doing here?” asks Sean.
“Yeah, I thought it was Mommy’s day to take us to school,” says Dakota.
“It is, honey. Silly me, I forgot.”
“But you never forget,” she
says.
“Never ever,” adds Sean.
I look at them both and smile. Kids are so smart.
They’re right. I didn’t forget.
Not by a long shot.
With a zoom lens.
Chapter 79
TEN MINUTES LATER, I follow Penley and the kids to school, hopefully at a safe distance. If any of them spots me, I’m dead. Let me change that to toast.
For maybe the tenth time I check to see that my camera is tucked safely in my shoulder bag and that the bag is actually by my side.
Up ahead, Penley, Dakota, and Sean are just past halfway to Preston Academy. It truly is a perfect opportunity for a mother to spend some quality time with her kids. Too bad Penley’s gabbing away on her cell phone, paying no attention whatsoever to Sean and Dakota.
Not that I mind. It keeps her distracted. It keeps her from looking over her shoulder.
With each step in their shadows, I can’t help thinking how strange this feels, almost like an out-of-body experience. Most every morning, that’s me up there with Dakota and Sean.
To see someone else in my place makes me realize even more how important those kids are to me. I always want to be there for them. I also know it would be selfish and wrong of me to want this if Penley was any kind of a decent mom.
We cover another block heading south and, yet again, I check to make sure I’ve got my camera.
Minutes later, I duck into a phone kiosk and watch Penley in front of the school’s gates as she practically shoos Dakota and Sean away. Amazingly, she’s still on her cell.
Is she talking to Stephen?
Is he meeting her at the gym?
“Excuse me, are you using that phone?” I hear.
The man’s voice startles me. Does it sound familiar? Actually, yes.
I turn around to see a guy in baggy jeans and a Gap T-shirt. Damn it, I know him! I haven’t seen this guy since we were in high school together. I have no idea what happened to him after school, but here he is, wandering into my nightmare.
I point at the phone. “I don’t think anyone’s using it,” I say. “You’re Harvey, right? From Concord?”
He stares at the frayed wire jutting from the receiver like a rat’s tail. “There’s a call coming for you, Kristin,” he says. Matter-of-fact, just like that.
Then the phone rings, and I literally jump. But I sure don’t answer it.
“Yeah. I’m Harvey,” he says, then he shuffles off.
“And let me guess,” I say to him. “You’re dead, right?” But Harvey doesn’t bother to answer.
I immediately turn back to Penley standing in front of the school. Only she’s not there. Oh, great.
My head turns like one of those automatic sprinklers. Not until my second three sixty do I spot her humping down Madison. Her walk gives her away. “I’m better than you,” it says with each stride. “So get out of my way!”
I hurry across the street, falling in behind her again. Now that the kids are gone, she’s off the phone. I’m shielded by the crowded sidewalk — the morning rush hour traffic — but I’m careful not to get too close.
We head south a few more blocks, and I try to remember what gym she belongs to. Is it Reebok? Equinox? Did she ever even tell me?
Anyway, I’ll find out soon enough. If I know Penley, it can’t be too much farther. Otherwise, she would’ve cabbed it, for sure.
My eyes remain trained on her while my mind looks ahead. One kiss, that’s all I need. A suggestive embrace would do the job, but a kiss, that would be the money shot.
That’s assuming Stephen’s even there.
She told me the gym is where they met. Then again, she also said he and I would make a nice couple. Ha!
Maybe this is nothing more than a wild goose chase and maybe it isn’t. I don’t care. I’m determined to get the proof I need — that Michael needs — if it’s there to get.
Then why am I starting to feel so uneasy about this?
There’s a hollow forming in my stomach, and with each step it grows. It’s not nerves or nausea, it’s something different. And this isn’t the first time I’ve felt it.
Streets, time, everything seems a blur to me. I’m so pre-occupied with the feeling, I almost miss Penley’s arrival at her gym.
I focus my eyes and watch her walk in. At that exact moment, the feeling takes over, consuming me. I know what it is. Dread.
And I know when I felt it last too.
Here.
Right outside Penley’s “gym.”
Otherwise known as the Fálcon Hotel.
Chapter 80
I WANT TO RUN, but I can’t decide which way to go.
I’m desperate to get the hell out of here, and yet I absolutely have to keep following Penley and see where this is going. I take a step forward, then back. I’m a human yo-yo.
Finally, I run.
To the hotel.
I push back the fear — the dread — and sprint up the front steps beneath the Fálcon’s red awning, slowing down only as I enter the lobby. Which I remember — from my time here after I moved from Boston. Block it out, Kris. Not relevant now.
Here comes the first tricky part — seeing which room Penley’s heading to while still not being seen.
Where is she?
Nowhere. I scan the swank lobby with its minimalist decor. They’ve redecorated, I see. The furniture is all black, as is most of the clothing. It’s like a Prada convention. There are thin people everywhere, but not one of them is Penley.
I rush to the two elevators on the wall to the left of reception. The first is open and waiting, the second heading upward. A digital panel on the wall tells me where. I watch and wait until it stops on the fourth floor.
Off I go, taking the empty elevator. When the doors open, I peek out, hoping to see Penley from behind, moving toward a room.
Instead, the hallway’s empty. I feel like one of those characters in a scary movie, with the audience shouting, “Get out of there, Kristin. Run! Get away!”
I won’t do that. I worry that I’ve missed Penley or that she’s not even on this floor.
Then comes a woman’s laugh from a few rooms down. Or is it a cackle? Either way, I know it instantly. It’s the Pencil.
I get close and listen, my ear maybe an inch from the door. When they’re not laughing, they’re talking, and though I can’t quite make out the conversation, I recognize the other voice in the room. It’s him.
Stephen.
I listen for a minute to their frolicking. They almost sound like kids in there, albeit very naughty ones. Is this really the woman who has me alphabetize her cans of soup?
I feel for my camera again. No problem this time — it’s there. At the ready.
I spot the door to the stairwell at the end of the hallway. There’s a small cut-out window at eye level. Looks like a perfect place to set up shop.
I figure if Penley and Stephen arrive separately, they probably leave separately. Not that it really makes a difference. Solo shots of them slinking out of the same hotel room will more than do the trick. Michael will be able to fill in the blanks.
I back away from the door, the mix of their giggling and God-knows-what now like nails on a blackboard to me. If I’m going to commit to a stakeout, I can only hope that Stephen isn’t into tantric sex, like Sting. I’ll be waiting forever!
I start walking toward the stairwell. Halfway there, I stop as if I’ve hit a wall. The feeling of dread rushes over me again as I turn and face a room on the opposite side of the hallway. I feel dizzy; I’m shivering.
All because of what I hear.
Chapter 81
IT’S THE MUSIC!
This time it’s not between my ears, it’s behind the door. The same song that accompanies the dream — about this hotel! — is coming from inside this other room. It must be on the radio. How convenient. Or how sadistic of someone. But who?
I lean in and listen, my ears straining. It’s faint, and I still can’t make out the damn lyrics.
The name of the song remains stuck on the tip of my tongue.
Not for long, though.
I knock softly on the door. I hate to bother you, folks, but it’s time to play Name That Tune!
No one answers.
So I knock a little louder.
C’mon, answer already!
Are you in the shower?
Asleep? With the radio on? I guess it could happen.
I drop to my knees, peering in at what little I can see beneath the door. It’s definitely dark in there.
This is so frustrating! Whatever it takes, I need to get into that room right now.
I stand and begin banging furiously, my fist bruising right before my eyes. If no one’s in there, I’ll knock down the damn door myself!
I hear a lock snapping open.
Behind me!
It’s Penley and Stephen’s room.
RUN!
I sprint for all I’m worth toward the stairwell. From behind me, I can hear the door opening and Stephen’s voice echoing in the hallway.
“I don’t know; I’ll check,” he’s saying to Penley. “I heard it too. I’m checking.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid! I was too loud!
I reach the stairwell entrance, frantically pushing through the door. Did he see me? Would he recognize me from behind? Or from the front, for that matter?
I’m about to race down the stairs when my gut steers me in the opposite direction. Up! Go up!
Dashing up the steps, I reach the landing halfway to the next floor and throw myself against the cold concrete wall, out of view, I hope. I hold my breath, listening for Stephen.
Sure enough, he was right behind me. He’s running down the stairs. My gut was right.
I tiptoe to the railing and steal a quick glance. A couple of flights below, I can see the top of Stephen’s head. Also on display are his bare shoulders. He’s wearing nothing but a towel.
He continues downward, probably thinking I’m headed for the lobby.
That’s when I hear it. The voice I love to hate.
“Honey?” Penley calls out. “Where are you?”
On a dime, he stops. Penley must have him wrapped around her bony little finger.
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