Overseas

by Beatriz Williams

  Historic. My spine felt cold. “Okay.” I cleared my throat. “I have all my stuff here. Should we bail?”

  Charlie looked over at me. “What’s that? Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, picking up the remote and switching off the TV. “Where are we going?”

  “I guess we’ll just head over to Julian’s house, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. I’m just the bodyguard. Can I, like, take your bag?”

  We walked down Lexington, weaving through the swarm of sidewalk traffic, until we reached Seventy-fourth Street and Julian’s townhouse. I reached into my bag for the key and couldn’t find it. “Hold on,” I said, taking the bag from Charlie and setting it down on the stoop. “It’s here somewhere. Probably at the bottom.” I began to rummage, looking for the envelope he’d given me all those months ago.

  “Hey, dude,” Charlie said quietly, “I hate to, like, feed the paranoia or anything, but there is a guy hanging out at the corner over there. He just kind of looked over here.”

  “What?” I exclaimed, straightening.

  “See? Corner of Park.”

  I glanced over in time to see a male figure disappear around the corner of the apartment building at the end of the block. “Are you sure, Charlie? He just left.”

  “Dude, he was standing there watching us, I swear it.”

  “Well, he’s gone now.”

  “Do you want me to go check?”

  “You’re taking this bodyguard stuff pretty seriously, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want the big guy coming after me if you get ’napped. He’d fucking kill me, right?”

  “Look, the man took off, so don’t worry about it. Here’s the key. I’ve got the alarm code.”

  We went inside, to the warm woodsy-plaster smell of an old house left empty all summer. I looked down the hall. It was all exactly as I remembered it. I’d stood right here last Christmas, when Julian had asked to see more of me, and stroked his finger along my jaw. I covered the skin with my hand.

  “Nice place,” Charlie said. “Good work, Wilson.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I went to the living room to look out the window at the street corner.

  A man stood there, leaning against the apartment building, talking intently on his cell phone and staring at Julian’s front door.

  20.

  I holed up obediently with Charlie all day, except for one brief trip for some basic groceries, watching CNBC on the computer and trying to figure out what was happening. No new information was coming out of the meeting, so the screen was full of endless replays of Julian walking into the Sterling Bates building and various market insiders speculating on what might be taking place inside.

  As dinnertime approached, I sent Julian a message. Are you coming home tonight? What’s going on? Your picture’s been on CNBC all day today.

  He fired back quickly. Won’t make dinner tonight. Will certainly be home for a few hours’ sleep. Don’t wait up.

  I looked up at Charlie. “I think he’s tired. And maybe cranky.”

  “Your problem,” he yawned, “not mine. Dude, is this okay for Per Se?’

  I looked at him. He was wearing a respectable button-down shirt and khakis, but no tie. “Don’t know. Never been there. Maybe you could borrow a tie from upstairs.”

  He frowned. “Would that be okay?”

  “If he’s mad, it’s on me, okay?” I got up and went upstairs, taking my overnight bag with me. I knew Julian’s bedroom must be in the rear, because I’d already visited the piano room at the front. Remembering, I felt the color rise in my cheeks.

  I thumped my bag down the hall and opened the door. I was right. This was definitely his room. Dark spare furniture, white bedding. I stuck my bag in the corner and looked for Julian’s closet. Only one door, other than the entry: I opened it, and saw it led down a short hall, lined on both sides with paneled wardrobe doors, to the bathroom. He wouldn’t mind, would he? I wasn’t going to snoop. Just find a tie.

  Of course he wouldn’t mind. He’d want me to. I could hear his voice in my head, impatient: Kate, for goodness’ sake, it’s your home now.

  I opened one door and saw, to my surprise, it was completely empty. I frowned and tried the one next to it: also empty. Another one, fitted with drawers this time. Empty. The whole side, nothing but hanger rails and drawers and empty space, smelling of paint and sawn wood, never used.

  I turned around and opened a door on the other side of the hall to find a row of dark suits, neatly organized. I touched one, ran my hand along the sloping shoulder, felt the smooth tight weave under my fingertips. A faint scent of cedar drifted past my nose. I bent my lips down to the navy wool for just an instant and pressed the door shut.

  The next section was fitted with drawers, no ties in sight; but in the third closet Julian’s dress shirts and a tie caddy dangled from a pair of gleaming stainless-steel rails. Thank God. I selected a tie at random and shut the door quickly and stared for a long moment at the opposite wall, the wall of empty closets.

  Waiting for an occupant.

  THE CAR ARRIVED at seven forty-five on the nose, a discreet black sedan just like the one in which we’d gone home after the benefit, just like all the black cars I’d taken home from Sterling Bates at three o’clock in the morning for the past three years.

  “Laurence party,” I said to the maitre d’ when we arrived.

  “Yes, of course, Miss Wilson,” he said. “If you’ll follow me.”

  We went past all the tables and through a doorway to a private room. There, gathered around the table, sat my father and mother, my brother and Michelle.

  I stopped, stunned. “Oh my God! What are you doing here?”

  They were all around me in a second, laughing and hugging and explaining.

  “That sweet young man of yours,” Mom said in my ear, surrounding me with the familiar scent of Joy perfume. “He flew us out in his private plane this afternoon!”

  “What? What private plane? The NetJets share? Oh, he didn’t. Oh no.”

  “Oh my God, Kate, it was so cool!” burst out the normally unflappable Michelle, grabbing my arm. “Champagne and everything. So awesome.”

  “But when did he… when did he plan this?” I asked, bewildered, as we began sitting down at the table.

  “He called us all this morning,” my mother said, “asking if we could come out to New York today and stay with you, because he was going to be tied up in meetings and didn’t want you to get bored.” Her eyes glowed.

  “I’m like, jeez, Kate,” Michelle whispered in my ear. “What did you do to this guy? Where did you, like, find him?”

  “Did he ask Samantha, too?”

  “Yeah, but she couldn’t come. Work. I guess Julian offered to speak to her boss, but she was too embarrassed.”

  I put my head in my hands. “Could you guys excuse me for just a second?” I got up and stood outside the door for a moment, trying to bring myself under control before I took out my BlackBerry to call Julian.

  His phone rang several times, and then he came on. “Darling? Sorry, I had to duck out before I could answer.”

  “Julian, you… you… I can’t even talk. This is just so over the top. Oh my God.”

  “Hush. Did everyone make it?”

  “You didn’t need to do this.”

  “Yes, I did. There’s plenty of spare bedrooms upstairs, and I want them all safely filled until we head back to Connecticut.”

  I sniffed. “This is about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  “Darling, I haven’t even begun.” He chuckled.

  “So how are things going?”

  “You’d not believe your ears. I can’t say more. Darling, I’ve got to go. Enjoy yourself tonight. I’ll try not to wake you when I get home.”

  “If you don’t wake me,” I said, “I’ll never forgive you.”

  He laughed and hung up.

  “ALL RIGHT, MISSY,” said Michelle, closing the door behind us two days later, “it’s
time to spill.”

  “Spill what?” I tripped down the steps to the sidewalk and turned right toward Park Avenue.

  “You know. I’ve finally got you to myself. No eavesdropping parents. So talk.”

  I made a defeated little grunt. It was eleven o’clock at night, and my parents had gone to bed in one of the spare rooms upstairs; my brother had met up with a college buddy of his somewhere downtown. Julian was still in meetings, and had been all day. So rather than sit restlessly around the living room, waiting for him to return, Michelle and I had decided to skip out for a quick coffee.

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to know where to start.” We started crossing Park Avenue, heading toward the nearest Starbucks on Lexington and Seventy-eighth.

  “Because it was kind of surreal for us, back home. Oh, Kate’s seeing this hedge fund guy, she’s on Gawker, she’s moved with him to Connecticut, she’s, like, engaged. I mean, you’ve known him for maybe a few months.”

  “Since December, actually.”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t get me wrong, he seems great. Flying us out here was so, just, amazing. But, honey…” Her voice trailed off. Michelle was deeply practical, always the voice of reason in our trio. She’d been the one to negotiate the lease when we went off-campus our senior year. She’d always remembered to bring the map when we went out at night in some new European city during our summer abroad. And she’d been the one to pick up the pieces and force me to move on after my college heartbreaks.

  “I know how it looks,” I said, turning left onto Lexington. “And it’s true, I’m dizzy in love with him. My toes still curl when he walks into the room.”

  “Good in bed, huh?” She was not one for beating around the bush.

  “Oh, jeez, Michelle.”

  “Awesome. So he’s fantastic in the sack. He’s got the romantic gesture thing down. He’s rich as hell. You’re dizzy in love.” She shook her head. “Kate, will you put your fucking head on, please?”

  “What? Isn’t that all good?”

  “Come on, Kate. I know you. You’re not vixen enough for a guy like that.”

  “Julian is nothing like the other men I’ve dated,” I said. “You have no idea, Michelle.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Look at the guy. You’ll be in his shadow all your life. Women will be flinging themselves at him. He’s human. Do the math.”

  “You don’t think I can hold him? You don’t think he could resist?”

  She hesitated. “I’m just saying…”

  “Look, could you do me the favor of meeting him first? I wish I could tell you…” I took a deep breath. “Just trust me, okay? Here we are.”

  We walked in. The store bustled with people, despite the late hour; luckily the line was in ebb mode rather than flow.

  “And what about the money thing?” she pointed out, in a hushed voice.

  “What about it?” I muttered back. The man behind us in line was standing just a little too close, as if he were trying to listen in on our conversation. Or was I letting Julian’s paranoia get to me?

  We stepped up to the counter before she had a chance to answer. “What’re you having?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Vanilla latte, I guess. Grande.”

  “I’ll have the same,” I told the barista, and then something fluttered at the back of my head. “Um, decaf,” I added.

  “Since when do you order decaf?” she asked.

  “It’s late, Michelle. I’d be up all night.”

  “I thought that was the point.”

  “With my luck he won’t be back until three in the morning again.” I handed the cashier a ten-dollar bill and put the change in the tip box. I turned to the pickup counter and nearly ran into the man behind me, who was even closer than I thought. Blood rushed to my cheeks. How much had he heard?

  I pulled Michelle with me, squinting at the man as he ordered his coffee. He had an unmistakable weird-guy aura around him, not that it was all that uncommon in a city like New York. He was dressed more or less normally for the Upper East Side, with a navy blue polo shirt over dark khakis and a baseball cap pulled down low on his forehead, but there was something about the way he stood, the way he ducked his head. Lonely furtive movements, like a closet child-porn freak. I couldn’t see his face well, but the hair wisped dark and curling from under his baseball cap.

  The lattes came up; we grabbed them and found a table that had just been vacated. I pulled out my BlackBerry and set it on the surface next to my coffee before shooting a glance back at the weirdo. He was getting his coffee from the counter; he didn’t even look in our direction. My gut began to unclench, surprising me: I hadn’t realized I’d become so tense.

  “I’m sorry for being such a downer,” Michelle was saying, watching me with that creased expression she wore when her mind was full of reservations.

  “Well, stop worrying, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

  “Kate, it’s in his genes, okay? He’s the top dog. Leader of the pack. Men like that don’t stay with one woman, not unless she has more fucking balls than he does. It’s the only language they understand. Control.”

  “You don’t have to be morally deficient to be successful, for God’s sake.”

  “But he’s a strong man, isn’t he? Likes to have things his own way?”

  “Strong and selfish are not the same thing.”

  She shot me a pointed look. “You can’t have one without the other, can you?”

  I set my latte down with a thump. “You never give me credit, do you? Just because I’m not an ass-kicker, like ass-kicking is some kind of virtue. Like everything reduces to power games. Like we’re not grown-ups here.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean…”

  “Do you have any idea how many doors I had to crash to get into Sterling Bates from a state school? What I’ve been through since? So don’t sit there and tell me I can’t stick up for myself.”

  “Whoa. Slow down. I’m not saying you’re timid, sweetie. I’m just, like, suggesting you take a break from the alpha males. Find yourself a nice poet somewhere. Try to… what, you’re laughing now?”

  “Nothing. Just… poetry.”

  “Whatever. I realize in your eyes he’s Mr. Perfect. I’m just saying, that’s all.”

  My BlackBerry buzzed. “He’s not perfect,” I told her, picking up the phone.

  Finished up at last. In your arms in ten minutes. XX

  I slipped the phone into my handbag. “They’re finally done. Can we finish these on the way back?”

  “Sure.” She stood up.

  We went to the door with lattes in hand and walked back out into the mild September night. The lights had just changed, and a raft of taxis streamed down Lexington, looking for fares back downtown. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Weirdo Man emerge from the Starbucks and turn down Lexington after us.

  “So tell me more about his faults,” Michelle was saying. “Is he, like, flatulent? A nose picker? Does he sit there tickling his balls while he watches TV?”

  I tried to laugh. “Michelle, stop! Okay, first of all, he doesn’t watch TV.”

  “No TV? No Sunday HBO? Are you freaking serious?”

  “We find other stuff to do.” We paused on the corner, checking for traffic. I used the opportunity to look casually backward again, but there were several other people on the sidewalk and I couldn’t pick him out.

  “Well, what about the rest of it?” she prodded. “Because this is a whole different world for you. Won’t you have responsibilities? Charity stuff? Ladies who lunch? Tweed Chanel suits? You know that’s not for you.”

  “He’d never push me into that.”

  “Seriously, though. What happens when you get married and have a baby or two and wake up one day to find you’re just Mrs. Julian Laurence, the billionaire’s wife? Where’s Kate going to be? Can you honestly say that’s all you want from life?”

  I opened my mouth to answer her and found I had nothing to say.

&nbs
p; I mean, what could I tell her? Julian’s a great guy, but I’m worried his trench warfare experience left some scars he just won’t show me? Of course not. I couldn’t tell her any of that, just as I hadn’t been able to tell my mother. I couldn’t even tell her the good things, like how this precious secret of ours had bonded me with Julian so closely it felt, at times, as if we shared the same mind, even if parts of it were frustratingly closed off to me; that it had braided us together in a way that made laughable the very idea of his disloyalty, or mine.

  And that realization stopped me cold. I’d always been able to tell my girlfriends nearly everything, far more than I’d ever told my mother. But now that barrier had thudded down again, thick and impenetrable. I couldn’t talk to anyone. This secret, which had drawn me so close to Julian, had simultaneously distanced me from everyone else in my life.

  So when Michelle made a perfectly valid point, that Mrs. Julian Laurence might well sink Kate Wilson into total oblivion, I couldn’t really reply. For one thing, I was deeply afraid she was right.

  And equally afraid there wasn’t much I could do about it.

  I frowned and glanced behind me.

  “What’s that?” asked Michelle.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just a guy. He was kind of hovering in the Starbucks line, and I think he’s behind us now. Don’t look!”

  Her head stopped in mid-swivel. “You think we’re being followed?”

  “No, no. I’m just being stupid. Julian gets worried, you know, because he’s a bit of a target.”

  “A target! Like the Mafia or something?” she asked eagerly.

  “No,” I laughed, “just, you know, because of the money thing. He thinks someone might kidnap me or whatever.”

  “Jesus. I never even thought of that.” We stopped on the corner of Park, and she made a casual look backward, like she was just checking out one of the grand apartment buildings. “There is a guy there,” she said. “Don’t know if he’s following us or whatever, but I think he’s watching.”