by Leslie Wolfe
“I’m, um, Ellis MacPherson,” he said, his voice strangled by emotions she didn’t understand.
“Crystal,” she replied, offering her hand while her cowardly girlfriends vanished. “I’m really sorry about what I said—”
“No, please don’t apologize,” he replied, his eyes still fixed onto hers. “Can I take you to dinner and plead my case?”
That’s how it all started, her affair with a married man, with her soul mate.
The night of their first dinner she’d worn black boots and a see-through sheer dress on top of a skin-colored camisole, turning many heads on the Scala’s floor. She smiled at the memory she held dear in her heart and chose to make him relive it on this occasion. She picked a Self-Portrait navy, off the shoulder, guipure lace, mini-cocktail dress, and paired it with over-the-knee stiletto sock boots. As such, if she was tired when her shift started, she could keep the boots on; they were gentle on her ankles, offering support while she danced, and making it easier for her to endure the long hours on her feet.
She added extensions to her hair, and braided it in a loose fishtail, leaving a few strands free to float on her shoulders and around her face in wispy waves. She put on evening makeup but elegant, not loud like she wore on stage, and grabbed a black, Saint Laurent clutch purse in embossed leather, one of her recent extravagances she felt guilty about. She would’ve preferred to give more of her money to her family, but if she did that, they’d have questions she couldn’t answer. After all, they knew she waited on tables at the Scala and went to college on a financial aid program. But soon, when she graduated, she could leave the world of lies and deceit behind her and start building a life for herself she wouldn’t be ashamed of anymore.
She drove to the Scala, barely making it in time for the helicopter pickup. She rushed through the lobby, took the elevator all the way up, and climbed the last flight of stairs in a rush to get outside.
The security guard stopped her before she got to the door leading to the helipad. He knew her; at first, the guards had been mean to her, throwing insulting words in barely intelligible comments behind her back or double entendre phrases they believed she wouldn’t understand. But that soon came to an end after Ellis heard them talking about her like that. She didn’t know what he’d done, but since then they’d been polite and respectful.
“He’s not here yet,” the security guard said, but she decided to step outside on the heliport nevertheless. She loved the cold, windy air swirling above the Strip and she loved looking at the night sky, waiting for the helicopter’s strobes to appear in the distance.
Soon it was there, and she climbed in, a little disappointed to see only the pilot had come to pick her up.
“Hey, Mack,” she said as soon as she put her headset on.
“Hello, Miss Crystal, how’s it going?”
She didn’t reply for a while; she tried to stay positive and understanding, but sometimes it was difficult for her to deal with all that. The fact that Ellis was not only married, but an easily recognizable public figure. His wealth and her poverty. His prestige and her demeaning job.
“Where are we going?” she eventually asked, a few minutes after takeoff. Mack was already losing altitude, preparing to land somewhere she didn’t recognize.
“I was told to bring you over to the house,” he replied after a brief hesitation.
An alarm bell rang loudly in her head. “At the house? Are you sure? We never—I mean, I’ve never been there before. I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Miss Crystal; you were invited.”
Mack touched down the helicopter on the helipad behind a stone mansion, lit with yellowish lights in a postcard-beautiful layout. Hesitant, she waited for him to power down the rotors and walk her to the house, afraid she’d do the wrong thing, or run into the wrong people.
Mack was understanding; he smiled and offered his arm, and walked her to the patio entrance, then to a study overlooking the pool with massive windows behind thick sheers.
“I have Miss Crystal for you,” he announced, and he quickly disappeared, closing the door behind him.
“Come in, my dear,” she heard a woman’s voice. Her blood froze, while sheer panic gripped her galloping heart. Where was Ellis?
The woman stood from the armchair by the fireplace and approached her with a wide smile. Suddenly, her idea to dress provocatively for Ellis that night didn’t seem like such a good one; she wished she would’ve worn a burlap sack instead.
“I’m Ellis’s wife,” she explained, still smiling kindly at her. But Crystal couldn’t think of a word to say. “Come, let’s sit outside, by the pool. I had them start a nice fire for us.”
She stood there, frozen, panic holding her throat in a tight grip. She couldn’t move, although she wanted desperately to unglue her feet from the marble floor and run the hell out of there, wherever she could go.
Ellis’s wife sized her up from head to toe, but her smile didn’t disappear, nor did it get tainted with hatred or jealousy.
“Why don’t you take off those boots and put on some fuzzy slippers to keep your feet warm and comfy? I’ll ask for a blanket for you; we don’t want you catching a cold.”
A maid materialized without being called, holding a soft blanket and a pair of pink faux-fur slippers, and remained standing by her side, waiting. As if hypnotized, Crystal took off her boots, and the maid took them and placed them by the entrance, in a small closet. Crystal put on the slippers, feeling like a child, and followed Celeste to the large patio, where she took a seat next to a burning firepit, wrapping herself in the soft blanket. She was shivering, struggling to keep her teeth from clattering, but she wasn’t sure it was the cold air to blame.
Another maid brought wine in tall glasses, set them on the stone table, then vanished.
“I thought we’d have dinner together,” she said, but all Crystal could do was nod. “You do speak, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she managed to whisper, feeling her throat parched dry, but not touching the wine.
“Cheers,” Celeste said, raising her glass in the air, but Crystal didn’t touch hers.
“Could I have some water, please?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Celeste nodded, her eyes focused on something behind Crystal, most likely on one of her maids. “Why not a hot cup of tea, my dear? You’re shivering.”
Crystal nodded again, keeping her eyes lowered. She wanted to get out of there… she wanted to cry, to scream. She wanted Ellis to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.
“It was reckless of me to offer you wine, and I apologize,” Celeste said. “In your condition, you shouldn’t touch any alcohol.”
A new wave of fear froze her blood. Ellis had told his wife about their baby? Why? What kind of screwed-up marriage did those two have?
She didn’t say anything; she couldn’t think of an appropriate thing to articulate.
The maid set the table with impeccable efficiency, setting a platter of king crab legs between the two women, a small bowl of remoulade, and a plate with several slices of fresh toast.
Celeste took a bite of toast, then used her utensils with elegance to get a piece of crab meat on her fork and into her mouth.
“This is delicious,” she said, as if they were best friends with nothing to do but enjoy gourmet food. “Here, try some,” she said, offering her a piece of crabmeat.
Too ashamed to refuse, she took it, dipped it in remoulade, and forced herself to swallow it, together with a tiny piece of toast.
Celeste gestured with her hand and soon the king crab was gone, replaced by veal with rice, served directly on their plates. The smell was delicious, but Crystal couldn’t bring herself to unclench her jaws. Her stomach had turned into a stone, and she felt like throwing up.
Unwilling to insult her host, she nibbled at the fantastic-tasting veal and ate a little bit of the rice. She just wanted the entire thing to be over and done with, she wanted Mack to tak
e her back to the Scala, where she could climb on the stage and lose herself in the music.
Where was Ellis? How could he leave her to go through this alone?
The question sent a new wave of anxiety throughout her body. She listened to Celeste making small talk with elegant mannerisms, first discussing the weather, then the new layout of her patio furniture, and asking Crystal about her plans for the holidays.
“No plans,” she managed to say. “Work and study; nothing much.”
The maid collected the barely touched plates and replaced them with tiny cups of raspberry foam and champagne wafers, then brought two champagne flutes, half filled.
“This barely has any alcohol in it,” Celeste said, raising the glass.
Crystal hesitated, thinking of her baby, but she raised her glass making the briefest of eye contact with the woman, and took a sip.
Warmth started spreading through her body and she welcomed it. Soon her trembling dissipated, leaving her exhausted, yet the adrenaline kept her anxious, alert.
What did the woman want?
“Why am I here?” she finally summoned the courage to ask.
“I wanted to meet you in person and offer you a life few can only dream of.”
Crystal frowned; she could sense a trap opening in front of her, but she didn’t know where.
“I don’t understand,” she replied, looking at Celeste with a slight frown on her forehead.
“I’m saying you could leave here a rich woman, richer than you’d ever have the chance of becoming by yourself.”
“And all I have to do is…?” Crystal asked, her voice loaded with sarcasm. She’d realized what was going on. Celeste Bennett was trying to make her disappear.
“Stop seeing my husband, nothing else.” The kindness in Celeste’s voice had vanished, as if a velvet curtain had been pulled to expose the wrought iron behind it.
A sad smile stretched Crystal’s lips. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”
“You haven’t heard the amount, my dear,” Celeste replied. “You get to name it.”
Crystal stood, feeling ridiculous wrapped in a blanket and wearing fuzzy slippers. “Stop calling me ‘my dear’.”
“All right, my apologies,” Celeste agreed, her voice back to being kind and warm.
It was all a façade, phonier than Crystal’s blonde extensions and her stained mascara.
“I think I should leave,” Crystal said.
“Please, take a seat,” Celeste invited her. “Have another sip of champagne and let us talk, woman to woman.”
She sat, realizing she wasn’t going to run barefooted through the yard to get out of there. She needed Mack to take her back, or at least someone to call her a cab. She also had her pride, and she wanted so badly not to embarrass Ellis, to behave like a sophisticated woman, the kind he was used to.
In the study, from behind the heavy curtains, the old Mrs. Bennett listened, her frown deepening with every word she heard.
Crystal took another tiny sip of champagne and smiled coldly. “I’m sorry, but what Ellis and I have is not for sale.”
“Twenty-five million dollars,” Celeste blurted.
“No.”
“More?” she asked, in an incredulous and sarcastic tone of voice, as if she thought Crystal was nothing but a scammer.
“Absolutely nothing,” Crystal said. “I’ve never asked for, nor accepted anything from Ellis. I don’t want your money, Celeste, and I don’t want your wine. As you know, I’m pregnant, and that could hurt my baby.” She ended her statement by throwing the remaining wine in the fire. She locked eyes with Celeste and, for once, didn’t back down under the woman’s loaded gaze.
In the studio, Patricia Bennett gasped when she heard the word, “pregnant.” She hesitated for a minute, then rushed to her bedroom upstairs, careful not to make any noise. Moments later she came back downstairs, hiding her gloved hands and a small bottle inside the pockets of an oversized cardigan.
She looked around briefly and rushed to the closet by the entrance. She opened the door, looked around one more time, and slipped inside, pulling the door behind her. Under the dim light of a small flashlight, she found the girl’s boots. Using the eyedropper, she was careful not to spill a droplet of poison on anything else. She dripped a few globules of the clear liquid inside the boots, on the lining of the calves and on the cushioned insoles. She left everything exactly as she’d found it and vanished, unseen and unheard by any of the housemaids or by Celeste and her unwilling guest.
Outside, on the patio by the fire, the two women still stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
“I’d like to leave now,” Crystal eventually said.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Celeste said with a long, bitter sigh, doing a poor job at hiding her tears.
“I won’t,” Crystal replied, standing. “Not now, not ever.”
Celeste beckoned a maid who listened to instructions and disappeared, probably to get Mack.
Crystal realized she was looking at a woman who was afraid she’d lose her husband to another, a woman who was trying to fix something in her life that was badly broken. She felt a wave of sympathy for her, despite Celeste’s offer to buy her off.
“Listen,” Crystal said, “Ellis and I never discussed marriage, or divorce, or anything. It’s not like that. I’m just happy to see him every now and then, and I understand there are limitations to what he can offer me.”
Celeste stared at her in disbelief, which Crystal misinterpreted and continued. “I know Ellis loves you and would never do anything to hurt you. That’s why I’m surprised we’re doing… this,” she added, gesturing toward the table, where dishes were being cleaned away quickly and quietly by the help.
Mack appeared and looked at Celeste, who nodded discreetly. He rushed toward the helicopter, not waiting for Crystal.
Back in the foyer, Crystal put on her boots and shivered. They seemed cold and damp. It would feel good to keep them on the entire evening, to warm her up after that dreadful dinner. Before heading out toward the helipad, she turned to Celeste and extended her hand.
“I’m really sorry for the hurt we must’ve caused.”
She walked away, holding her head up high, bracing the cold without that blanket and painfully aware of how inappropriately she’d dressed for the unexpected occasion.
Once the helicopter took off, a smile bloomed on her lips, thinking of the real meaning of what had just happened. If Celeste was that worried about her marriage, that meant Ellis really loved her. And soon she’d be in his arms, where she belonged.
48
Takeoff
Holt and I rushed out of Celeste Bennett’s office and ran up a flight of stairs behind a door marked, “Heliport.” Holt climbed two steps at a time, and I wasn’t far behind. As we approached, the vibrations coming from the helicopter’s rotors intensified. We entered the neatly furnished departure lounge that overlooked the heliport, and I breathed, seeing the aircraft still there.
Holt opened the door and stepped on the helipad, while I was quick to catch up. We both struggled to close the door against the strong gusts coming from the main rotor blades. The noise was unbearable; the EC145 had two jet engines and they were already revved up, ready for takeoff.
We approached the helo as close as we dared, keeping our heads down, and, when the pilot looked at us, I made a clear, imperative gesture running my fingers across my throat a few times, the universal request to kill the engines. Holt made wide gestures with his hands, palms facing down, demanding the same thing.
Yet Mack Eggers didn’t obey the request; instead, he turned and looked at old Mrs. Bennett, installed comfortably on the rear seat. I saw her gesticulating, talking agitatedly; although I couldn’t hear what she was saying, I believed it safe to assume she was pressing him to take off.
“Hey,” I yelled against all reason, as my voice couldn’t possibly be heard over the sound of the helicopter’s jet engines. I repeated my hand
gesture over and over again, squinting to discern what the pilot was doing in there, why he wasn’t cutting the engines.
He seemed to argue with Mrs. Bennett, keeping his head turned away from us and toward her. But, after a long moment, he looked straight at us, seemingly regretting what he was about to do. That’s when I knew he was going to take off after all.
“No,” I yelled, as I pulled out my gun. I didn’t want to risk injuring him or Mrs. Bennett, so I stepped toward the side of the helo, followed closely by Holt, who’d also pulled his weapon, holding Mack in his sights.
I took aim at the axle of the tail rotor and squeezed the trigger, the shot barely audible under the loud engine noise. I was about to fire a second shot when the rotor started to wobble and it flew off its damaged axle, coming straight at us.
“Down,” I shouted, as I grabbed Holt’s arm, throwing him to the ground under my weight.
The spinning rotor missed us by a few inches and, after ricocheting against the helipad’s surface, became lodged into the departure lounge wall. The pilot cut the engine and soon silence ensued, although the high winds kept roaring.
We picked ourselves up from the ground, grunting and cursing, while I felt uncomfortable under Holt’s frowning scrutiny. Holding my gun in one hand and my loose hair off my face with the other, I gestured to the occupants of the helicopter to climb down. Mack Eggers was the first one to obey. I cuffed him and read him his rights, while Holt opened the door for Mrs. Bennett.
But, instead of dragging her out of the helo, as if he’d remembered something, Holt came toward me and asked, “How did you know to shoot the stabilizing rotor?”
“It’s a helicopter’s most vulnerable spot, right?” I asked, panting, unable to breathe in the strong winds.
