Read Between the Lies

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  “We got pretty lucky finding all those beer cans.”

  “God bless college students. No wonder so many flunk out of school. They’re too busy partying. Now, do you understand the plan?”

  “What’s there to understand? They leave, we go in and trash the place, making it look like they had the party of the century. I take pictures, you take video. How hard can it be?”

  “It’s not, that’s the beauty of it. This plan is so simple, it’s foolproof. Now, don’t forget to wear your gloves, and for God’s sake, don’t steal anything. If we want to screw up Gabzilla and Jackoff’s reputations, this thing can’t look like a robbery.”

  “I understand why you hate her, but why Jack?”

  “Let’s just say that a long time ago, Jack Hollis tried to fuck me. And the way I see it, one good fuck deserves another.”

  Howie left the house and headed for the chalet, while Stephanie made sure everything was packed, both for the party and their getaway. Once everything was captured on film, she and Howie planned to hightail it back to Manhattan. After loading the car, Stephanie cleaned up the house, taking great care to dust everything in order to eliminate any fingerprints. Once her task was completed, she sat down and began sorting out which juicy facts to save for “The Visa Lee Report” and which to share with her colleagues around the country. She decided to save the pregnancy as an exclusive for herself and release all but the best photos to her competitors.

  In less than an hour Howie called to inform her that Jack and Gabrielle were gone. After one last check Stephanie left the house, careful not to touch anything. Within minutes she was at the chalet. They quickly unpacked the car, and while Stephanie parked down the road and out of sight, Howie proceeded to break into the house.

  He tried to jimmy the lock, but it was equipped with an unseen dead bolt, preventing his credit card from slipping through. Not wanting to waste time, he pulled out his pocket knife and quickly unscrewed and pulled off the knob, retracting the lock mechanism with his gloved finger.

  “Hurry up!” Stephanie called out in a quiet shout. Howie replaced the doorknob, but in the interest of saving time didn’t bother to screw it back completely.

  Once in the house the two quickly went about their work. First they smeared the walls, doors, and furniture with cake, yogurt, raw eggs, and party dip. Howie drew a large heart across the sliding patio door and filled it with the words JACK AND GABRIELLE, FOREVER in red spray paint, while Stephanie sprayed the place with colorful liquid string. In a two-person parade, Stephanie walked around the house sprinkling bags of potato chips on the floor as Howie followed behind her, grinding them into the tile. They decided to wash down the chips with Jack’s favorite brandy and several vigorously shaken bottles of champagne. Howie and Stephanie opened the bottles, sending a shower of foam all over the room and a river of alcohol onto the floor, saturating the carpets.

  While Howie busied himself by spraying Cheez Whiz in the VCR, Stephanie was lighting up the Marlboros, taking a couple of drags and then putting the cigarettes out in the sofa cushions, leaving burn marks in the cotton upholstery.

  “It’s show time,” Howie announced, grabbing the broom. He put on a Van Halen CD and proceeded to entertain Stephanie with an exuberant performance on his makeshift guitar. As he jumped and danced around the house, Howie managed to knock pictures off the walls and break vases and other knickknacks, including several of the oil lamps, releasing their highly combustible fluid around the room. For an added touch, he yanked out the phone lines.

  After quickly littering the loft with trash and beer cans and defacing the kitchen with graffiti messages like JUST MARRIED, and TOGETHER FOREVER, Stephanie and Howie stopped to admire their work. The two exchanged high-fives, pleased by the results. They’d done a fine job. The chalet was an absolute mess.

  “All right, let’s take the pictures and get out of here,” Stephanie said. She retrieved the video camera from its carrying case and began taping the house from top to bottom, while Howie took still photos of the rubble.

  “I think we have enough,” Stephanie said.

  “I want to get some shots from upstairs,” Howie informed her while he reloaded his camera.

  “Make it quick,” Stephanie ordered. Just as the words left her mouth, Stephanie heard a car turn into the driveway. She peeked out of the window and saw Jack walking toward the house. “Get down here, now! He’s back.”

  Stephanie’s words sent Howie flying down the stairs. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she whispered frantically. “What are we going to do?”

  “Just shut up and don’t panic,” Howie said, taking charge. “We’ll just have to play this by ear.”

  They could hear Jack progressing down the gravel walkway toward the house as they ran over to the sliding door to escape. Howie removed the dowel, while Stephanie fumbled with the lock. It was stiff and would not budge. Hearing the key turn in the front door, the couple dashed into the kitchen to hide just as the door flew open.

  “What the hell happened here?” Jack said as he walked inside, closing the door behind him. Stepping carefully through the debris, he waded deeper into the chalet and surveyed the damage.

  As he continued to look around, his eye caught the message written in spray paint on the patio door. Obviously a group of jerks had found out that he and Gabrielle were here and decided to throw a wedding reception without them. Thank goodness his wife was in town at the spa for the next few hours. He’d have time to get this mess cleaned up before she got home.

  “Don’t touch anything until you call the police,” Jack said aloud, hoping to give anyone who might still be lurking the impression that he was not alone. He picked up the poker from the fireplace and took a quick tour of the house. As he walked toward the kitchen, Howie and Stephanie, crouched under the counter, stopped breathing, afraid of giving themselves away. Just as he was about to round the kitchen counter, the breeze stirred the wind chimes on the front porch, causing them to sing. The noise caught a jittery Jack’s attention, and he returned to the living room.

  “He’s calling the police,” Stephanie whispered to Howie. Panic was written clearly on her face. Howie held his index finger up to his lips, signaling her to remain quiet.

  “Shit,” they heard him say. “They ripped the fucking phone out of the wall.” He’d have to use the phone in the car.

  But first he needed to sit down. Satisfied that he was alone, Jack walked over to the sofa and found a dry spot. His hands were shaking as he reached over and picked up the half-smoked pack of cigarettes. He didn’t care if he had promised Gabrielle he’d stop smoking; this situation demanded a cigarette. Jack fired up the Marlboro and took a long, deep drag. He was much more disturbed than he’d realized. This incident had revealed to him the dark, dangerous side to celebrity life. What if Gabrielle had been here alone? What if this had taken place after the baby was born? Who knows what could have happened?

  Jack took another deep drag on his cigarette and thought about all he had to lose. He had everything he wanted—a successful business, a glamorous and famous wife, and now a baby on the way. Life was perfect. But to keep it that way, things were going to have to change. Bodyguards, alarms, watchdogs—he’d do or buy whatever it took to keep his family safe and the life he’d built intact.

  “What’s he doing?” Stephanie whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Howie answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “We have to get out of here,” she mouthed.

  Howie shook his head in agreement and listened hard. Hearing no movement or noise coming from the next room, Howie motioned for Stephanie to stay still as he quietly picked up the dowel.

  The two of them heard Jack stirring in the living room. Howie pointed to Stephanie and then to the door. Stephanie tiptoed over to the door and slowly slid it to the right, causing a low, rumbling sound.

  The sound of the door opening startled Jack. He took the half-smoked cigarette from between his lips, threw it down, and ground it into
the floor, not realizing that his foot had not touched the glowing butt. “Who’s there?” he called out, reaching for the poker. Jack stood up, inadvertently kicking the cigarette butt onto the edge of the cotton throw rug. He walked around the couch and took two steps toward the kitchen, when he felt the dowel connect with his forehead before he fell to the ground and passed out.

  “Howie, let’s go,” Stephanie screamed from the back door. The dowel still in his hand, Howie turned to run, not noticing the smoldering rug. He ran through the kitchen and out the door. Stephanie had already retrieved the car and was waiting for him. Howie jumped into the passenger seat, and they roared off the property and down the winding access road that would eventually connect them with the highway.

  “Whoopee!” she responded in glee. “Damn, that was exhilarating, but a little bit too close for comfort.”

  “We got some great shit!” Howie told her. “I can’t wait to see the headlines on this one.

  “You don’t think anyone saw us leaving, do you?” Stephanie asked.

  “Nah, in the two days I spent watching the place, I never saw one single person.”

  They drove on, passing a pair of attractive young women looking for a ride. “Don’t even think about it,” Stephanie warned him. Howie snuck a glance at the hitchhikers in his sideview mirror and noticed a taxicab pass them, heading in the direction they’d just left.

  “Shit. We have to go back,” Stephanie exclaimed, slowing down.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “I left the camera bag behind the couch in the living room,” Stephanie said.

  “Screw the bag, it’s not worth it.”

  “It is if you don’t want to get caught. There’s a tag on that bag with our fucking address on it,” Stephanie said as she quickly pulled off onto the shoulder, made a U-turn, and headed back toward the chalet.

  When Jack came to, the house was already engulfed in flames. He tried to get up, but his head hurt and he felt woozy. Smoke was everywhere, and Jack could barely see his own hand in front of him. Coughing and gasping for every breath, he slowly pulled himself across the floor, his progress impeded by the overwhelming smoke and debris. He made his way to the front door and tried turning the knob. Thanks to Howie’s burglar skills, the doorknob kept spinning in his hand, refusing to catch and release him from this burning hell.

  Overcome by smoke, Jack collapsed near the front door. He heard a voice he recognized screaming out Gabrielle’s name.

  “No Gab. Help me,” he pleaded, before breaking into a coughing fit.

  “Jack, is that you?” Beatrice asked. “Is Gabrielle with you?”

  “No Gab. Help,” he repeated, gasping for air and collapsing.

  Bea could see the flames dancing in the windows at the front of the house. She lightly touched the doorknob. It was very warm but still touchable. That meant that the fire was close but hadn’t made it all the way to the front door yet. She wrapped her hand in her shirttail and reached for the knob. She tried to turn it, but it wobbled around and then fell off in her hand. Beatrice tried, for what seemed like a lifetime, to replace doorknob.

  “Jack,” she called out. Bea got as close to the door as she comfortably could and listened. She could no longer hear Jack’s voice.

  “Jack?” she called. “Jack?” she called again, louder. Hearing nothing, Bea once again backed away from the house and headed toward the road. Beatrice saw a van approaching and attempted to flag it down. The van momentarily slowed up, long enough for Bea to notice that the license plates had been removed, and then kept on going.

  “That was Beatrice,” Stephanie shouted, ducking her head. “What the hell is she doing here?”

  “Screw Bea. Did you see the house? It looked like a fucking incinerator,” Howie said as his camera clicked away.

  “Fuck taking pictures. Do you think Jack got out?”

  “Damned if I know, but we definitely can’t stick around to find out.”

  “I hope he did, because if not, we’re in one hell of a lot of trouble,” Stephanie remarked as she raced down the road. At the first phone they encountered, she stopped and Howie called to report the fire. Once back in the car, they drove in silence the rest of the way home.

  Bea watched the car drive away, not believing that it hadn’t stopped. She hurried back toward the house, wondering if Jack was still alive. As she came up alongside the Range Rover, she heard the phone ringing. Bea opened the passenger-side door and picked up the phone. “Hello,” she said into the receiver.

  “Bea? Is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing in the car? Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s … in the house. Gabrielle … there’s been an accident.”

  “Is Jack all right? What happened?” Gabrielle asked, fear consuming her.

  “I’m not sure, honey, but there’s no time to explain. Just come quick.”

  Bea hung up and dialed 911, trying hard to forget that a few days before, she’d made a wish for Jack to disappear. Damn. Be careful what you wish for.

  47

  Gabrielle, Beatrice, and Fritz Henderson stood huddled together at the foot of the Chelsea Pier waiting for the sun to rise over the Hudson River. It was sadly ironic that the people standing with Gabrielle on this warm and somber August morning were the very same witnesses who had stood with her on her wedding day. Only this time they were together again to say good-bye to her husband.

  Gabrielle tightly grasped the small vial in her hand. Because Jack had no family and she wanted to avoid any further publicity, she’d decided to cremate his body and in a final tribute, sprinkle a small amount of his ashes off the pier where they’d had their first date.

  Looking across the river, Gabrielle found herself hoping that with the sunrise she would wake up from this horrible nightmare once again a wife instead of a widow. She and Jack had had so little time together, and already she was forced to say good-bye. His death was so senseless and unnecessary. Of all the emotions that were coursing through her at this moment—guilt, remorse, fear—it was the anger that Gabrielle tried to squelch before it welled up and took hold of her. She was angry at God for taking away yet another important person in her life, leaving her alone and forcing her to yet again rework the road map of her future. She was angry at Jack for going back to the chalet instead of joining her at the spa as she’d requested. But most of all Gabrielle was angry at herself for allowing Jack to die in that fire knowing that his wife and the mother of his unborn child was not in love with him.

  As the sun rose over the Hudson, Gabrielle began to sob. Beatrice handed her a fresh Kleenex and held her until she could collect herself. “Thank you both for being here with me. Is there anything you’d like to say before we—” Gabrielle asked, unable to continue without crying.

  “Jack, you were my best friend and business partner,” Fritz stepped in, his voice shaky. “I’ve known you since the third grade, and throughout the years we’ve been like brothers, always there for each other. And I know that this past year was one of your best. I’d never seen you happier or more positive about your future.

  “It won’t be the same without you around, buddy. Hell, I won’t be the same, but I am grateful for the time we did have. I love you, Jack, and don’t worry, I’ll be here for Gabrielle and the baby. And don’t worry about the company. I’ll make sure it grows into a business your kid will be proud to inherit.”

  “Jack, you and I didn’t know each other well, but we had one thing in common—we both loved Gabrielle very much,” Beatrice followed sadly. “Though your time together was brief, you made her very happy. For that I thank you. I’ll look after your wife and child the very best I can. May you rest in peace with the Lord.”

  “Jack, I promise to keep your spirit alive for our baby. I’ll make sure your child grows up knowing what a good and kind man you were. You’ll stay in both our hearts forever. Goodbye, love,” Gabrielle said simply, her heart too full of grief and guilt to say an
y more. With shaky hands, she uncapped the vial of Jack’s ashes and scattered them over the Hudson River. As the fine gray dust hung in the air before descending slowly into the water, the three recited the Lord’s Prayer. After several minutes of silent reflection, Gabrielle, flanked by both Bea and Fritz, walked back to the car, each lost in private and personal memories of the man to whom they’d said farewell.

  “Here’s your Motrin,” Gabrielle said, handing Beatrice the bottle of pills and a glass of water. Like all of Gabrielle’s medications, the bottle’s label was color-coded, identifying the contents. “I hope they help.”

  “Thank you, honey. They’ll do fine until I can get my prescription refilled.”

  “I’m sure all this stress is what’s making your back hurt.”

  “Honey, I’m fine. Now, stop fussing over me. You’re the one who’s nearly five months pregnant. I should be taking care of you. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’ll just be glad when the memorial service is over and all these people go home.”

  “You must be exhausted. You’ve been up since very early this morning. Why don’t you lie down awhile? Your guests will understand,” Beatrice suggested with concern. For a woman who’s belly was full of life, Gabrielle herself looked lifeless.

  “Do you know what the worst part of all this is?” Gabrielle asked, lost in her own thoughts and ignoring Bea’s advice. “Besides the fact that Jack will never see his baby?”

  “What’s that?” she asked softly.

  “I never told Jack that I loved him,” Gabrielle said, breaking into tears.

  “Oh, yes, you did, sweetheart. When you told him that you were carrying his child, you let him know. Jack knew you’d never go ahead with this pregnancy unless you did indeed love him.”

  “This is all my fault.”

  “That’s nonsense, Gabrielle Donovan,” Beatrice said sternly. “You had nothing to do with this. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”