Crossroads

by Belva Plain

  “Okay, maybe you don’t have one on him, but he sure has a thing for you. His tongue hangs out when he looks at you. And what’s more, you enjoy it.”

  “What!?”

  “You know how he feels, Gwen, and you like it. He’s Jewel’s husband and you’ve always been jealous of her.”

  “Jeff Henry is my friend—all right? I do like him. And what’s more I owe him.”

  “Because he gave your stupid husband a job? The kind of job people like you understand?”

  “ ‘People like me’?” She’d never been so furious. But she’d never seen Stan so furious, either. Obviously he’d been thinking this for a long time. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Snobs like you and your mother!”

  “I am not a snob and I am not anything like my mother.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  She wanted to slap him.

  “The first time you saw this apartment,” he went on scornfully, “I thought you were going to pass out. You thought if Jeff Henry gave me a job at JeffSon—and by the way, could anyone be more egocentric? Naming his damn company after himself?— you’d get back the lifestyle you deserve. That’s why he’s your dear good friend.”

  “He is my friend because he helped me! Not everything in my life revolves around you, speaking of being egocentric.” And then she told Stan, biting off the words in her anger, about the collection of glass animal figures Jeff had unearthed for her to see. “I wouldn’t have started writing if it hadn’t been for Jeff,” she finished breathlessly. And then she looked at Stan’s face. And if she could have, she would have taken it all back. Because Stan, who knew her so well, understood better than anyone what seeing those glass figures had meant to her. He knew what Jeff had done for her. Her husband, who had been so proud of her writing career, and so proud of his part in it, was deeply wounded. “Stan, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said quietly.

  “You called me a snob and you said I was jealous of Jewel. You said I was like my mother so I got angry . . .” She trailed off. Then she tried again. “You were the one who got the book published and—”

  But he didn’t let her finish. “Look, I don’t think I’ll go with you to Langham tomorrow night.” And he turned and walked away.

  She wanted to call after him, but she was starting to get angry again. This reading at the library was one of the most important things she’d ever do, and she had been counting on his support. Now he was abandoning her when she needed him because of a dumb fight. Suddenly she felt like a little girl again, knowing that if she did one thing wrong, made just one mistake, her mother wouldn’t want her. But she hadn’t done anything wrong—the fight hadn’t been her fault. He had started it. “Fine,” she called after him. “It probably would be better if you didn’t come tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Jeff ’s head was pounding; it had been ever since the little scene he’d staged yesterday when he’d pushed Stan Girard to quit. If the man hadn’t taken the bait, Jeff would have been forced to fire him, which would have looked far worse later on if Stan was in court testifying against the officers of JeffSon . . .and its owner. Not that there was going to be a court case. There weren’t going to be any investigations, either, and no one was going to be testifying against the officers of JeffSon, or Jeff Henry. None of that was going to happen. There was still a chance that JeffSon wouldn’t collapse, that a bailout would come from somewhere—Tokyo, or London, or Dubai. And if there wasn’t one, by the time all the smoke had settled, it would be too late for anyone to piece together what had gone on. As long as Jeff and Mark and the accountants had had enough time to take care of all the loose ends. That was what they needed now—time.

  Jeff closed his eyes. They were being careful; they were playing it exactly right. But of course there was always a paper trail. And if anyone were to start asking the wrong questions like Stan Girard had . . . but Stan Girard was out of the company, and out of the loop. The discrepancy in the figures that he’d discovered had been hidden again. And if he were to say anything to anyone, he had no credibility now. Still, Jeff remembered the day he’d hired the guy; he’d thought then that Gwen’s husband was savvier and tougher than he looked.

  And I never would have hired him, if it hadn’t been for Gwen. That was the irony of it.

  Jeff looked over his desk. Back in the days when he was proud of his business and his work, the glossy surface had always been cleared off before he went home at night. No matter how late he had to stay, he finished every last piece of business. Now, there was a small mountain of paper sitting in front of him, and just the thought of going through it made him tired. He stood up—the aching in his head seemed to have abated a little—grabbed the papers, and without reading them sent them through his shredder. That was one way to take care of the potential paper trail.

  Tonight he was going to play hooky. He had called the publicity department at Gwen’s publishing house and learned that this evening she would be giving her first reading at the library in Langham. He was going to be there. The hope of being with Gwen was the only thing he had to look forward to. She had to be made to realize that she was the only bright spot, that she made it all worthwhile. His headache was gone now. He’d already called Jewel earlier to tell her that he wouldn’t be coming home tonight because he had to go out of town. As he’d expected, she hadn’t bothered to ask where he was going or what he was doing, and he’d hung up with a sigh of relief. It could be a real plus to have a wife who didn’t care enough about you to know your whereabouts.

  * * *

  Jewel was packing her overnight bag. She’d called Jeff ’s secretary and learned that his mysterious business trip would be taking him to Langham, and she’d decided to drive over there, show up at his hotel—there was only one in the town, an old inn, which sounded romantic—and surprise him. A week ago she wouldn’t have thought about doing such a thing. It had been years since an infatuated Jeff had taken her on his trips so he could show her off, years since he’d wanted to have sexy little interludes with her sandwiched in between his business meetings.

  But three days ago, he’d put the house in her name. And he’d told her that there were other assets that had already been transferred to her. She wasn’t dumb enough to think that these were gifts; she knew there had to be some business reason for the transfers. But still, Jeff wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t trust her. And more important, he wouldn’t have done it if the divorce she often dreaded was looming. So why not drive up to Langham with her prettiest negligee and her brand-new perfume? Why not try to rekindle a few of those sparks that had once burned so brightly? Maybe the marriage wasn’t dead after all. She finished packing her suitcase and went downstairs to put it in the car.

  * * *

  Stan had waited all day for Gwen to say she wanted him to come to Langham after all. He had looked forward to seeing her stand in front of a spellbound audience to read from her book, and he’d been looking forward to the night that would follow. A dozen times he thought of telling her he was sorry for their fight. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t forget the vision he’d had of her standing next to Jeff Henry in the glassworks museum looking at the gift Jeff had given her. Because finding those figurines for her had been a gift. The kind a man gave when he was trying to please a woman—to win her. Jeff Henry didn’t want to be Gwen’s friend; he wanted a hell of a lot more.

  And what about Gwen? Stan had accused her of having a crush on Jeff Henry, one that was fueled by her jealousy of Jewel. But was it something more? She had refused to believe Stan when he’d told her that there was something wrong at JeffSon. She’d been adamant in her defense of Jeff Henry. That had shaken Stan more than he cared to admit. He’d been so sure of what he’d seen, so convinced that numbers never lie. But what if Jeff was right? What if Stan had discovered nothing more than a method of bookkeeping that he didn’t understand? And what if—and here was the big if—Stan h
ad been looking for something to be wrong because he was the jealous one? When he was fighting with Gwen, Stan had realized that he’d been envying Henry for months, maybe even for the past two years. So look at yourself, Stan; what if you’ve made all this trouble for nothing?

  Gwen was walking to the front door of the apartment, carrying her suitcase and the copy of her book that she had annotated for the reading. Stan started toward the door. I’ll drive you, he was going to say. I want to come.

  It seemed to him that her face brightened as if she knew what he was going to do. But then the words wouldn’t come. Instead there rose once again in his mind the vision of Gwen seeing her father’s glass figurines for the first time. And he couldn’t forget that she had never told him about it.

  “Drive safely,” he said.

  Her face fell. She nodded and walked out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The reading at the Langham library had been a success. The children and their parents had listened to Gwen with a hushed attention that was incredibly flattering. They had stayed after the reading to ask questions, nibble on the refreshments provided by the library, and line up so that Gwen could sign their copies of Abby. Everyone seemed to having such a good time, Gwen thought they might have stayed for hours if there hadn’t been several claps of thunder indicating that a storm was on its way. It was only after that, that people began bundling up their kids and rushing out to their cars before the rain started.

  “Didn’t you tell me you were staying overnight at the Langham Inn?” the librarian asked, as she walked Gwen to the front door. “It’s just around the corner in the historic district. If you’d like someone to show you the way, I can ask one of our volunteers.”

  “Thank you, but I think I can find it,” Gwen said. What she wanted wasn’t a volunteer to show her how to get to the inn; she wanted Stan there in Langham making a fuss over her.

  The reading at the library had taken a little more than two hours, and since it had started at five to accommodate the kids, Gwen now had the evening ahead of her. A very long evening which she would be spending alone in a hotel room in a town where she knew no one. It had sounded like fun when she’d booked her room at the Langham Inn, but she’d done that when she’d thought Stan was going to be with her. When she’d thought they would celebrate together with a dinner and maybe a glass or two of champagne. She wanted some champagne right now. She’d done well and there was no one to share the moment with her.

  Up to the last minute she’d hoped that Stan would show up, that she’d look out into the crowd at the library—and she’d drawn quite a big one, according to the librarian—and he’d be sitting there with that tender, proud grin waiting for her to start, waiting to applaud when she finished. But he hadn’t come.

  And she knew it was because she’d really hurt him. She hated herself for telling him about those glass figurines. It had been stupid and mean. But he had said things that hurt her, too . . .and then he had abandoned her.

  Gwen headed toward her car, which was parked in front of the library. Suddenly she felt weary—a letdown after the high of the night’s successful event. Maybe she should cancel her room at the Langham Inn and just drive home.

  “Gwen!” said a voice behind her. She turned to see Jeff coming toward her with an eager smile.

  Oh, God, she thought and didn’t know whether to be pleased or dismayed.

  “Brava! You were wonderful!” he said.

  “Jeff? What are you doing here?”

  * * *

  Jeff had planned to tell Gwen he’d come to Langham on business. He had planned to pretend that meeting her there was a delightful surprise. “This is my lucky day,” he’d say. “I can’t believe I’m running into you like this.” But when he saw Gwen he knew he had to be honest. The time had come for her to understand that she was the only bright spot, that now she was what made living worthwhile.

  “I came to see you do your reading,” he said. “Did you think I’d miss it?”

  “I never expected . . . I didn’t see you.”

  “I stood in the alcove on the side. I was afraid I’d distract you.” He looked around. “You’re alone?” But he knew she was. He’d checked her audience from his safe alcove and he’d seen that her husband hadn’t bothered to come. The guy might be smarter than Jeff had originally thought, but he was still a dolt when it came to women. Well, good. Let Gwen see who had cared enough to show up for her.

  “Yes, I’m alone,” she said.

  “Well, we can’t have that on your big night!” he sang out brightly. “Let me take you to dinner.”

  “I was thinking of going home . . . ,” she said tentatively. At that moment, the rain that had been threatening fell from the sky in a downpour.

  “You can’t drive back to Wrightstown in this,” he shouted over a peal of thunder. “You’re staying at the Langham Inn, aren’t you? I’ll meet you over there.”

  She hesitated, but only for a second because she was getting soaked. “Okay,” she said, and she dashed for her car. Jeff ran to the Lamborghini.

  * * *

  Jewel pulled into the parking lot in front of the Langham Inn.She’d meant to arrive earlier in the day so she could sneak into Jeff ’s room and surprise him, but she’d taken a wrong turn and gotten lost. Now she scanned the parking lot, looking for Jeff ’s car. The Lamborghini was nowhere to be seen. Good, he wasn’t checked in yet either. There was still time to surprise him. She parked her car and sat waiting for the storm to let up. She hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, and when you were trying to seduce your husband you didn’t want to look like a drowned rat.

  A few minutes later, she’d decided the rain would never stop and she was going to make a run for it, when she heard the familiar roar of a finely tuned Italian sports car and she saw Jeff pull the Lamborghini up to the front of the hotel. Now there was nothing to do but forget about surprising him, and let him know she was there. She watched her husband get out of his car.

  She was about to call out to him, but then she saw that he wasn’t rushing into the hotel. He was standing next to his car as the rain fell on him and it was clear that he was waiting for someone. Sure enough, a second car drove into the lot and he waved, indicating that it should park next to his. The driver pulled into the spot next to Jeff ’s. And in the light from the windows of the inn, Jewel watched as the car door opened and a woman whose hair frizzed around her in a rusty red cloud stepped out. Jewel watched her husband move to the woman, take off the jacket of his five-thousand-dollar custom-made suit, and hold it over her head as a makeshift protection from the rain. They ran into the hotel together.

  For a second, Jewel froze. Then her stomach began churning. There were two large bay windows at the front of the Langham Inn; through them, one could see everything that was going on in the lobby. Jewel got out of her car, ran to the inn, and fought her way through the boxwood hedge that surrounded the windows. There, in spite of all the demeaning clichéd scenes she’d watched in a hundred bad movies about jealous women and cheating men, she stood in the mud and spied on her husband.

  * * *

  Gwen’s mind was whirling. It was sweet of Jeff to have come to hear her read her book. But why did she feel so uncomfortable? He had led her into the hotel lobby to get her out of the rain, which was nothing more than any gentleman would do. And he wanted to take her to dinner. That was all.

  “This looks good!” he said, as he looked over the menu that was posted outside the inn’s dining room. He smiled enthusiastically. Maybe too enthusiastically? Maybe a little desperately? Or was she just imagining things because Stan had accused the man of having feelings for her? His tongue hangs out when he looks at you, Stan had said. And he’d said that Gwen knew it and she enjoyed it. And that was terribly, horribly unfair. Jeff had never done anything to suggest that he wanted to be more than friends. All he wanted to do now was celebrate her success—a success, mind you, that her husband hadn’t bothered to witness. It was all perfec
tly harmless. Or was it? Did a busy man drop everything and drive to another town to celebrate a woman’s success because he wanted to be her friend?

  “Jeff,” she said, “I’m very grateful to you for having come all the way up here, but given what happened between you and Stan, I’m afraid I feel a little awkward. . . .”

  For an answer he grabbed her hands. “Oh, don’t,” he pleaded.

  “The fight with Stan was really for the best. I don’t think he ever really wanted to work for JeffSon—it was always a bad fit.

  But you mustn’t let that get in the way of us.”

  He held her hands up to his mouth and he kissed each of them. And then he looked at her. And that was when she saw it in his eyes—there was no mistaking it now—she knew. Stan had been right about Jeff. Her mother had been right all those years ago. And she, Gwen, had been an idiot. She’d been flattered by Jeff ’s attention. And yes, like some careless competitive teenager she’d loved it that she was besting beautiful, charming Jewel. She’d been irresponsible and childish and unbearably insensitive. She tried, ever so gently, to pull her hands away, but Jeff held on to them.

  “What we have is something special, Gwen. I’ve never felt this . . . kind of friendship . . . with any other woman.” Then he paused. “Don’t let Stan come between us.” She couldn’t help shivering. “You’re cold,” he said softly.

  “It’s because of the rain. . . .” She stumbled. “I got wet . . . I should probably go upstairs and change.”

  “That’s a good idea. We both should.”

  And he let go of her hands to push the button for the elevator.

  “You’re on the sixth floor,” he said as the elevator doors opened.

  “So am I.”

  * * *

  Jewel’s face was scratched from the boxwood branches, her shoes were sinking into the muddy mulch that surrounded the hedge. For once in her life, she didn’t give a damn what she looked like. She had watched her husband take Gwen’s hands and kiss them. Had he ever looked at Jewel with that kind of tenderness? Even when they were first together, had he ever held her hands as if she was something breakable and oh so incredibly precious? He had gotten into the elevator with Gwen. The indicator arrow above the elevator registered that they were going to the same floor. You didn’t have to be a genius to know what was going on between Jewel’s husband and Gwen Wright. Gwen was the woman Jewel had been fearing all these months—the woman Jeff loved, for whom he would uproot his life and get a divorce. Gwen who had had everything handed to her on a silver platter and deserved none of it! Gwen who was the daughter of Cassie Wright’s womanizing husband and his whore . . . Jewel wanted to smash Gwen’s face into a wall; she wanted to tear at Gwen’s skin with her perfectly manicured nails until the blood ran; she wanted to hit and maim and hurt. . . . She scrambled away from the window of the inn and through the boxwood hedge and ran for her car.