Four Days of Fall

by Beck Jones

“And I see no point in wasting time trying to negotiate with Liz. Poor Liz, with her art history degree from Nobody State. She has no idea what you are, does she?”

  He snorted. “I would say from all appearances that she made a smarter bet on a husband than you did. I guess they didn’t teach you everything at Vassar.”

  “Russ, we could sit here and trade insults all day long. But let’s get down to business. I know about the deal with Sabine. It was in the works before Paul—” She looked up at the ceiling and scowled. “Before Paul left us. Left me high and dry, you’re right. But he left you in a pretty cushy position.”

  Russ sat back in his chair. She really had some nerve. “What? You think I owe you a pension because Paul and I worked together? Paul was a two-bit producer and I was a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist when we got together. Don’t try to tell me who made whom successful.”

  “Who made whom? Ha! Russ, this conversation is about who fucked whom when they were interns working for the show. Now I have the list, and while it’s a pretty short list, two of out the five are dead. That doesn’t look very good for you.”

  “A list is not proof of anything.”

  Anna Beth smiled. Such an evil smile. “Russ. Don’t kid yourself. It is easily within my power to make this deal with Sabine fall apart. All I want is a percentage. That’s it. And I can wait until the paperwork is complete. Look at it this way. Your agent gets a cut. Why shouldn’t I? Now do we have a deal or not?”

  “Sure,” he said. Anything to get this bitch out of his office.

  She stood up and leaned over his desk. “I don’t have to worry about trusting you. That’s the great thing about this whole me too bullshit. As Liz said to me, it’s like a tsunami. Just a little shove from me, and you’ll drown just like Paul.”

  Russ rose to his feet and put his face inches from hers. “But I’m not like Paul,” he said through gritted teeth. “I was never like Paul. And don’t you ever insult my wife again, you hag, or—”

  “Or what?” Anna Beth sneered.

  Russ could hear the door opening, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Or I swear I will punch you in your ugly face.”

  He looked past the hag to see Eleanor in the doorway. Nonplused. He looked back at Anna Beth, her hateful gaze still locked on him.

  “Oh, you are the perfect gentleman, aren’t you, Russ,” she said. She turned to Eleanor. “And you, you are nothing but an enabler. If anything, you’re more contemptible than they are.”

  Anna Beth swept past a silent, silenced, Eleanor, past a gaping Madison.

  After she had disappeared, Eleanor closed Russ’ door and eased into the chair Anna Beth had just vacated.

  “For some reason widowhood doesn’t seem to agree with Anna Beth,” she said drily. “Maybe she misses Paul.”

  “Forget Anna Beth,” he said. He certainly wanted to forget her. “Look, Eleanor, I know we’re going full-bore on Argofel, and we need to. But I just told Sabine, and anyway we really need to—we can’t leave this up to those thick-headed cops—”

  “Say, Russ? How about you make some sense?”

  “We need to look at what happened to Phoebe and Vanessa. It could be a little—” He paused, searching for the right word to say.

  Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “Awkward?”

  “Yes,” he said, heaving out the word, grateful that she understood.

  “And why would it be awkward, Russ? Tell me that.”

  Maybe she didn’t understand.

  “Tell me,” she repeated, in a tone that managed to be both cold and hot at the same time. “I want you to tell me, out loud, why it will be awkward for your news team to investigate the deaths of two young women who worked, albeit briefly, for this show. Our show, that we all work very hard on to make it a success. Tell me that, Russ.”

  He couldn’t back out now. He gazed at her levelly, but kept his voice low. God knows, Madison could have her ear pressed to the door. “Because I had affairs with them.”

  “Affairs,” Eleanor said, blandly, nodding in a way that was painfully reminiscent of the cops. “That’s what you call them. Affairs.”

  “Well, yes—”

  “Affairs like the one we had, Russ?”

  “No! Of course, not! What we had—I mean, you’re different, Eleanor—”

  “Older? Not as beautiful?”

  “That’s not what I meant. Please. God, Eleanor. I know I’ve been a complete jackass. All these years. I know what I did was stupid and wrong. But I didn’t do stuff like Paul—”

  “Oh, so Paul McGann is our benchmark now?”

  “No! That’s not—”

  “And really, how different were you from Paul? No, you didn’t harass women all over the building, all over the city, all over the country. Sioux City, Iowa for God’s sake—” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “But out of the interns we’ve had, always lovely, lovely girls, who did you choose? I’m sorry, whom did you choose to train your sights on, Russ? The girls who were the most vulnerable, the most needy, the ones who would be most likely to ignore how inappropriate, how awful the thing was you were doing to them. You were a vampire. Sucking up their youth and beauty.”

  He felt the tears well up in his eyes and tried his best to blink them back. “Oh, please, Eleanor, please forgive me.”

  “Why are you asking me for forgiveness? I was your equal when we had the affair. Or did you not believe that? And is an affair what we should call it? Or did you think it was just a fabulous bennie that I got to enjoy for a while with my paycheck?”

  He was blinking so hard he could barely see her. “I know I have no right to ask you to forgive me. You’ve been so wonderful, so wonderful, all these years. And Jesus, I never did a thing to deserve you.” The tears began to roll. “I can stand everything, but not, not you….”

  Her gaze softened, and he was relieved, even if it hadn’t been his intention.

  She sighed. “Well, the bad news is that management won’t see your ‘affairs’ as materially different from Paul’s harassment. But the good news is that they aren’t particularly eager for them to come to light, either. If the girls don’t make a fuss, the top floor won’t care. And sadly, we know two of girls won’t say anything.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “You think you’ve been so discreet, but you’re so obvious it’s painful to watch. The wanderings of your cock are an open secret. Still, I think most people around here are fine with keeping your secret the network’s secret and vice versa.”

  “Anna Beth says she has a list of the interns.” He hadn’t meant to say it at that moment, but now he was glad it was out.

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Russ, you idiot, are you not listening? Anybody could make that list.”

  “She says she wants money, or she’ll make a big fuss. She says she wants a percentage of the contract I sign with Sabine.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her yes. What the hell else could I say?”

  “Nothing, for now. And I think we can count on her keeping quiet for the money.” Eleanor smiled grimly. “We all want this deal to go through. It’s not in anyone’s interest to sabotage you.”

  How could she be so obtuse? “But somebody is! They found the fountain pen you gave me in Vanessa’s pocket.”

  “Really?” Eleanor frowned. “But we know you didn’t kill her.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Right?”

  “Of course, I didn’t kill her!”

  “And you have an alibi?”

  “I told the cops I was at home with Liz, and I think she’ll back me up.”

  “You think she’ll back you up? Have you talked to her?”

  “No, I just got back from the police station—”

  Eleanor looked incredulous. “And you didn’t think when you walked out of that police station, ‘Oh, I better alert my lovely wife Liz to help me with my alibi?’”

  She stood up. “I suggest you call her right now. Really, you just need to knock off for the day. Gabe and I will keep the tea
m on Argofel. You go home and spend some quality time with your wife to convince her it’s worth her while to lie for you.”

  Russ winced at the word lie. “But what about the murders?”

  “Let’s get your contract with Sabine signed. Get Argofel wrapped up. And then we can talk about those girls. Unless the cops are smarter than I think they are, or the killer is dumber, we’ve still got time to squeeze in a big story.” As she headed for the door, she added, “But the first thing we have to do is keep you out of jail. So go home. Spend the night with your wife. Take her flowers. Romance her.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Let her be on top.”

  Eleanor closed the door behind her, and he was left alone.

  He turned on his phone and looked through the texts he hadn’t answered. Four from Liz, the last one just minutes ago.

  Russ, I’m scared. The police were here. They came to the gallery. They said two girls had died.

  He replied to the last one. I need to meet you. Go home. Take the afternoon off.

  He waited for a response. The minutes ticked by. Generally she replied so quickly.

  Finally: I can’t. Too much to do here. I can meet for a few at the coffee shop around the corner. In half an hour.

  He left the building fuming. He was absenting himself from a major investigation of corporate malfeasance, leaving it in the hands of his subordinates, but she couldn’t take off from straightening pictures on the wall at some crap gallery. That was Liz’s trouble. She never saw the big picture. She focused on minutia, getting the right apartment, getting the right furniture, getting the kids in the right schools. She couldn’t see that it was his career that made all those right decisions possible. If she’d taken an interest in his work, maybe he wouldn’t have needed to stray all those years.

  Still, he softened when she plunked down at the table opposite him. She looked harassed. But God knows, she had held up better than Anna Beth McGann. Liz was a still an attractive woman, for her age. She clutched his hands in hers.

  “Russ. The police. They said two interns that worked for you—why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know about the second one until today. I can’t think why they wanted to talk to you about it.”

  Liz leaned over the table and whispered. “Russ, they wanted to know if you had a alibi for last night.”

  “They asked that?”

  “No, but I’m not stupid. They asked if you were home last night. Why else would they ask that question unless you were a suspect?”

  “I’m not a suspect.” Of course, he was a suspect, but it annoyed him for her to say it. “They’re just asking everybody at the show questions like that. What did you say?” he added casually.

  Liz glared at him. “I told them you were home all night. With me. What did you expect me to do? Tell them the truth? That you didn’t come in until two in the morning, that I don’t know where in the hell you were? Why do you always treat me like I’m so stupid? Just because I’m not interested in the things you’re interested in.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry the police came to the gallery. I hope it didn’t cause you any problems.”

  “The police aren’t the ones causing me problems,” she said pointedly, dropping his hands. “Russ, how much trouble are you in?”

  “I’m not in trouble!” I’m about to sign a deal that will make us richer than our wildest dreams, he wanted to say. But he could almost feel the contract slipping between his fingers. Yes, Liz was talking tough and stubborn now, but one trip to that room with the mirror in it and she would fold in a heap. “I’m going to North Carolina soon—”

  “Soon? You didn’t even tell me! Ever since the kids moved out, you seem to think you can just come and go as you please—”

  “Please, Liz. This is important. It’s a big story. The whole team is going for interviews. It’s what’s kept me late at the office. But when we get the story in the can, you and I can get away. Take a vacation. Just the two of us. The beach. Europe. Wherever you want to go.”

  He held out his hands, palms up, and when she gave him her hands, reluctantly, he squeezed them tightly. He spoke as softly and sincerely as he knew how. “You’ve been the best wife a man could ever have, Liz. And you’re a wonderful mother. You’ve made us a wonderful family, and you had to do so much of it by yourself because I was always so busy with my work. I know I’ve been a lousy husband. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” He added, “More than life itself.”

  She softened. He had her in the palm of his hand, literally. And that would keep her, for a while anyway. And when they got back from North Carolina he would find out what happened to those girls. He would make headlines with it, about how fucking incompetent the cops were, at the very least. He just needed Liz to stay calm in the interim.

  He leaned over the table and kissed her deeply, passionately. When she broke if off, blushing, he thought with grim satisfaction At least I haven’t lost that.

  As he left the coffee shop he considered how it might have gone with Eleanor if he could have kissed her. She was bitter, and rightly so. Liz had two wonderful children—he hadn’t been lying about that. But Eleanor had married the job, and he couldn’t say he hadn’t played a role in that. Yes, she could claim ownership in their many successes, but what must it be like for a single, middle-aged woman in Manhattan chockablock with beautiful stylish SYTs? Of course, she wanted Project X to go through as much as he did. And he needed to make sure he didn’t let her down. Even if she had said some pretty shitty things about Phoebe and Vanessa.

  They weren’t weak, they were fresh and vital with youth. Sure, they had lacked a bit of confidence, and yes, maybe that’s why he was drawn to them, because he knew he could give them something—an affair with an older, experienced lover—that none of those young hipsters they hung out with could give them. He gave them confidence to go on and do things with their lives. Phoebe was at a top p.r. firm, he’d found out yesterday, and Vanessa was following in Russ’ footsteps as a local reporter.

  Vanessa, with her throaty laugh and chocolate areolas perched atop the perfect swells of her breasts. A luscious backside a man could eat off.

  He never even asked the cops how she was killed. Why not? Aren’t you even curious? Yablonski said. And he wasn’t. Not really. Even now, he found it puzzling but only in an abstract way. Maybe he had to work too hard to think of it on a personal level when he couldn’t allow himself to access his real knowledge of them. The affairs had become too dangerous to acknowledge.

  It was ridiculous. The world had gone mad. In the days of Murrow and Shirer they weren’t worried about who was in bed with whom. Just because he was empathic enough to understand when a young woman could use a little loving tenderness—and he had always been tender and kind, always—that didn’t make him less good at his job.

  Hell, he had furthered the industry, helping these young professionals blossom. And they all had. Yes, Scarlett Sharpe had veered from journalism, but she as much as any of those young women had benefited from her experience with him. It was almost embarrassing how closely she modeled Northrup Gold on him. Different business, sure, but so much else about the guy was Russ Stockton. A man’s man who knew how to please a woman.

  Maybe he should ask Eleanor if she’d been in touch with Scarlett. Or maybe not. At this point, Eleanor was entirely too testy about the matter. But when Argofel was in the can, he would reconnect with Scarlett. She was the most beautiful intern they ever had. Soft and shy in all the right and beguiling ways.

  Maybe he ought to look her up today. Make sure she was all right. Yes, it might be coincidence that Vanessa and Phoebe were killed in the same week—in fact, who would be stupid enough to kill them in the same week—

  He jolted out of his reverie. Yes, two girls had been killed in the same week, and hell, yes, the police suspected him. He was the one in imminent danger. If Liz broke under questioning, he would need Amanda to vouch for him.

  THE
PRO

  Dammit.

  He’d been on this stupid trail for a half an hour, and now he was back where he started. Why had he taken a slug from that flask? If not for that he wouldn’t be here.

  If not for that, she wouldn’t either. Her body might be here, or at least out in the river somewhere. Weighted it down with rocks, and it would be keeping right now. And he would be back at Selena’s picking up the cash.

  If he tried to back out now, she would probably refuse to pay for the other job.

  But, Jesus, why would he even think that? What was the matter with him? A little pussy and his mojo shits the bed?

  Fuck that. Fuck her.

  Yeah, he would fuck her again. He would do her, and then he would do her.

  Do and die. So to speak.

  He spotted another trail that turned off to the right. No people, but the day was as crappy as the day before, more gray skies, just colder. He looked at his watch again. Why not take the trail, even if it was another circle jerk? She was probably still sacked out.

  Scarlett was probably still sacked out.

  Scarlett.

  She’d been up all night.

  Damn, the way she wrote.

  The way she fucked.

  She was bullshitting him about that stuff they did. He would sure as hell remember doing those things, even if his memory was a little foggy.

  She obviously had a good time, though.

  But that didn’t matter, except that they would do it again. And then he would do her.

  Hey, this was the right path, the way it moved upwards. He recognized it. Or at least his lungs recognized it.

  Up ahead, a couple of hikers. Looked like college kids. Bougee backpacks and hiking boots. High dollar haircuts.

  He pulled his cap a little lower and slowed, pretended to look at his phone.

  Hey, look at this, he heard one of dudes say. The guy held up something that flashed.

  The flask.

  Savage, the other one said.

  The guy with the flask sniffed at the open top.

  Dare you to drink it, the other one said.

  No way. The kid turned the flask upside down and emptied it before he pocketed it and the two of them kept going.