by R. G. Belsky
“ ‘I’ve always loved blondes,’ I tell her at one point as the alcohol starts to get to me.
“ ‘Most men do,’ she says.
“Her face keeps changing in the dreams. Sometimes she looks like Houston. Sometimes she looks like Sherry DeConde or other women I went out with in the past. But most of the time her face is the same—Claudia Borrell.
“Then she kisses me. I kiss her back. And all I can think of is getting her into bed. Just the way Hammacher, Houston’s husband, and all the rest of her victims might have felt. And I realize at that moment I’m just like them. I didn’t survive her because I was better or smarter or better keeping it in my pants than them. I was just lucky. Lucky that she wanted me—needed me—to use as something other than just another victim. But she played me too. Just like she played all men. And that’s when I wake up. . . .”
Landis had been taking notes while I talked about the dream. It used to annoy me when she took notes. Not anymore. We’d made a lot of progress together, Dr. Barbara Landis and I.
“This story really got to me,” I told her. “In a way that none of the other big stories I worked on ever did. Seeing those victims that I knew or had some connection with this time—Tim Hammacher, Houston’s husband, and then Wylie in his apartment at the end—all seemed too real. And I keep thinking about how it could have been me. Maybe the next time it will be me. Maybe I’m pushing my luck too much. I’m nearly forty now, and I think about stuff like that when I didn’t before. The rest of my life and what I want to do with it. There’s not a lot of old reporters running around the streets, it’s really a young person’s game. Is all of this really worth it—the danger, the stress, the upheaval of the rest of my life—just for another goddamned front page story? This story has made me consider all of that.”
I looked over at Landis now. She had stopped taking notes and was listening intently.
“So what do you think?” I asked.
“Well, the first part is easy,” Landis said. “The dream clearly illustrates your anxiety and insecurity and fears about all the things that have happened—and are happening now—in your life. Your obsession with Claudia Borrell, your identification with the men she killed, your guilt over being unfaithful to Susan in the past, and your concern that you could be tempted to be unfaithful again if a woman like Claudia Borrell provided the opportunity. But beyond that . . . well, I’m impressed, Mr. Malloy. Impressed that you’re finally confronting some of these issues in your life. And openly admitting to me the impact that Claudia Borrell and this story have had on you. In the past, you would have covered those emotions up with some jokes or other devices to hide your true feelings from me. But instead you’ve opened up to me about Claudia Borrell and all the rest. Like I said, Mr. Malloy, I’m very impressed with your emotional growth since we started these sessions.”
“I’m more mature now,” I smiled.
Landis smiled back. She smiled a lot more during our sessions these days. I took that as a personal victory since she had been such a stone face when we started, my jokes and witty repartee having no impact on her. But clearly there was only so long she could remain impervious to the Malloy charm. Okay, so this was only a smile. But that was just a short step away from a chuckle or even a guffaw.
CHAPTER 55
STACY called me into her office not long ago.
“Did you know Victoria Issacs was promoting a lingerie line and doing a reality TV show on Houston?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, remembering the last conversation I had with her at the Sutton Place townhouse. “She told me about that.”
“Did she tell you that you were going to be a part of the reality show?”
Stacy handed me a printout from her computer. It was a Page Six item that had just gone up on the New York Post website. Page Six had gotten an exclusive sneak peek at plans for the reality show—and she would be revealing shocking new things about her life as Houston. Including “never-before-told details about her relationship with controversial New York Daily News reporter Gil Malloy.”
“Is there more about Houston that you haven’t told us?” Stacy asked.
It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on here. Victoria Issacs needed to make news—get publicity—for the Houston reality show and lingerie brand. What better way than to reveal secrets about her and Gil Malloy? Would one of those secrets be how I tracked her down as Mrs. Walter Issacs a long time earlier, but never told anyone about it? I wouldn’t know until the reality show aired.
I suppose I should be angry at the possibility that Houston might betray me like that, but—even if she does—I will sort of understand.
I know now that I somehow romanticized Houston into more than she really was—a woman from the streets who would do anything to survive. Even if some people got hurt along the way. Like me—a reporter who had tried to do the right thing by her to make up for doing the wrong thing once, but just wound up making everything worse.
Stacy didn’t question me any more that day. But I know she won’t protect me if it all falls apart, like Marilyn once did. I am still useful to Stacy now because of all the publicity I’ve gotten from the Blonde Ice story. Still, no matter how hot a commodity I am, that could all disappear overnight if people find out I didn’t really tell the whole truth about Houston. Just like last time.
I thought I’d finally gotten rid of Houston in my life, but I haven’t. She is still there—and always will be for me. Like Sisyphus, I fear I am destined to keep pushing that rock up the hill in an eternal, fruitless quest for some sort of salvation.
I opened up a Pandora’s Box when I wrote that first Houston story that damaged my career, my marriage, and my life.
And now somehow Houston is still turning my life upside down all over again—a curse from my past that will never leave me alone.
* * *
I spend a lot of time these days following new murder cases around the country. Murders of men. Men who might have been cheating on their wives with other women. Blonde women. I keep telling myself that there is no possibility Claudia Borrell is still out there playing her deadly game, but I check the new murder cases obsessively.
I suppose I’ll never know the truth for sure.
It used to be that a big story was all I needed to be happy. A big story made me forget about all the problems in my life. A big story was the ultimate answer for me. A big story always made everything better.
But now, looking around the newsroom—this place that has been my home and my life for so many years—I see unfamiliar faces everywhere. Stacy is in charge now, and she’s surrounded herself with young new people who talk and think like her. And I wonder how long I’ll still be a reporter here; I wonder how long before I will be considered too old by Stacy; I wonder if Houston really will reveal the secret that could destroy my career as a reporter; and I wonder what might happen to me then.
It’s a scary thought.
Even scarier than the possibility that Claudia Borrell is still out there somewhere.
And I remember Marilyn talking in the bar about the nightly newsroom ritual she and I always had when I left at the end of the day. “Even after you broke a big story, you always had an answer for me when I asked my favorite question,” Marilyn had said. “ ‘So what have you got for tomorrow?’ You never let me down.”
So what have you got for tomorrow, Gil Malloy?
For the first time, I’m not sure of my answer.
* * *
But I guess I buried the lead here. The biggest news I have is about Susan and me. We’re back together again. Sort of.
It happened after the dramatic scene that played out with Claudia Borrell. When it was over, Susan ran to me and grabbed me and hugged me tightly, telling me how worried she’d been something might have happened to me. And then we went back to her place and had sex together for the first time since we were married.
“This might just work out between us after all,” Susan said as we lay in bed aft
erward.
“You think?”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“Maybe we should practice some more,” I said, starting to kiss her again.
“Not the sex. You’ve got the sex part down fine.”
“I aim to please.”
“I’m talking about outside the bedroom. That’s where we’ve had our problems.”
“So we never leave the bedroom. We order in, we’ve got like a thousand channels on cable TV and we’ve got each other. What more do we need?”
She laughed. I loved the way I could always make Susan laugh.
“Let’s get married again now,” I said.
“I’m not sure marriage is the right thing for us.”
“Well, we did it once.”
“Remember how that turned out?”
“Fair point. But I love you, Susan. I don’t want to be with anyone else but you anymore.”
“Same here.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to marry you, Gil.”
“Ever?”
“Right now. Marriage didn’t work for us last time. But you and I work together. We always have. I don’t understand that and neither do you. So why not just go with that for now. You and me. Together. Without marriage. We’ll still be in love, but with our own arrangement.”
“Does this arrangement include frequent sex?”
“I would hope so.”
“Always a plus.”
“What do you think?”
“About the frequent sex?”
“About everything.”
“I just want to be with you, Susan.”
Then I kissed her again to confirm the deal.
Enjoy more Gil Malloy mysteries
Gil Malloy picks up a lead a fellow reporter kept secret which may have led to her murder.
The Midnight Hour
* * *
Gil Malloy finds out there's more to the long-ago murder of movie starlet Laura Marlowe
Shooting for the Stars
* * *
Gil Malloy breaks the story of the link between seemingly unconnected murders where a Kennedy half dollar coin was found at each of the crime scenes.
The Kennedy Connection
* * *
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JOHN MAKELY
R. G. BELSKY, a journalist and author based in New York City, is a contributing editor for The Big Thrill, an online publication for international thriller writers. He is the former managing editor of news for NBCNews.com. Prior to joining NBC in 2008, he was the managing editor for the New York Daily News, the news editor for Star Magazine, and the metropolitan editor of the New York Post. He is the author of the Gil Malloy mystery series, which began with The Kennedy Connection.
Learn more about R. G. Belsky at www.rgbelsky.com
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OTHER GIL MALLOY MYSTERIES
The Kennedy Connection
The Midnight Hour: A Gil Malloy Novella
Shooting for the Stars
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by R. G. Belsky
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ISBN 978-1-5011-2978-0
ISBN 978-1-5011-2979-7 (ebook)
