At nine thirty exactly, dinner was served. All eyes were on the top table. Surrounded by their inner circle of Quorum courtiers, Lenny and Grace Brookstein sat in regal splendor, with eyes only for each other. Other, lesser hosts might have chosen to seat the most glamorous, famous guests at their table. Prince Albert of Monaco was there. So were Brad and Angelina, and Bono and his wife, Ali. But the Brooksteins pointedly kept close to their family and close friends: John and Caroline Merrivale, the vice president and second lady of Quorum; Andrew Preston, another senior Quorum exec, and his voluptuous wife, Maria; Senator Warner and his wife, Grace Brookstein’s sister Honor; and the eldest of the Knowles sisters, Constance, with her husband, Michael.
Lenny Brookstein proposed a toast.
“To Quorum! And all who sail in her!”
“To Quorum!”
Andrew Preston, a handsome, well-built man in his midforties with kind eyes and a gentle, self-deprecating smile, watched his wife stand up, champagne glass in hand, and thought: Another new dress. How am I supposed to pay for that?
Not that she didn’t look wonderful in it. Maria always looked wonderful. A former actress and opera star, Maria Preston was a force of nature. Her mane of chestnut hair and gravity-defying, creamy white breasts made her beautiful. But it was her manner, the sparkle in her eye, the deep, throaty vibration of her laugh, the flirtatious swing of her hips, that made men fall at her feet. No one could understand what had possessed a live wire like Maria Carmine to marry an ordinary, standard-issue businessman like Andrew Preston. Andrew himself understood it least of all.
She could have had anyone. A movie star. Or a billionaire like Lenny. Perhaps it would have been better if she had.
Andrew Preston loved his wife unreservedly. It was because of his love, and his deep sense of unworthiness, that he forgave her so much. The affairs. The lies. The uncontrollable spending. Andrew earned good money at Quorum. A small fortune by most people’s standards. But the more he earned, the more Maria spent. It was a disease with her, an addiction. Month after month, she charged hundreds of thousands of dollars to their Amex card. Clothes, cars, flowers, diamonds, eight-thousand-dollar-a night hotel suites where she spent the night with God knows who…it didn’t matter. Maria spent for the thrill of spending.
“You want me to look like a pauper, Andy? You want me to sit next to that smug little bitch Grace Brookstein in some off-the-rack monstrosity?”
Maria was jealous of Grace. Then again, she was jealous of every woman. It was part of her fiery Italian nature, part of what Andrew Preston loved about her. He tried to reassure her.
“Darling, you’re twice the woman Grace is. You could wear a sack and you would still outshine her.”
“You want me to wear a sack now?”
“No, no, of course not. But, Maria, our mortgage payments…Perhaps one of your other dresses, darling? Just this year. You have so many…”
It was the wrong thing to say, of course. Now Maria had punished him by not only buying a new dress, but buying the most expensive dress she could find, a jewel-encrusted riot of feathers and lace. Looking at it, Andrew felt his heart tighten. Their debts were getting serious.
I’ll have to talk to Lenny again. But the old man has already been so generous. How much further can I push him before he snaps?
Andrew Preston reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. When no one was looking, he slipped three Xanax into his mouth, washing them down with a slug of champagne.
You always knew Maria would be hard to hold on to. Find a way, Andrew. Find a way.
“Are you all right, Andrew?” Caroline Merrivale, John Merrivale’s wife, noticed Andrew Preston’s ashen face. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“Ha ha! Not at all.” Andrew forced a smile. “You look ravishing tonight, Caro, as always.”
“Thank you. John and I both made an effort to be low-key. You know, given the current economic circumstances.”
It was a deliberate dig at Maria. Andrew let it pass, but thought again how much he loathed Caroline Merrivale. Poor John, being pussy-whipped through life by that harridan. No wonder he always looked so downtrodden.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that the Merrivale marriage was an unhappy one. Anyone, that is, other than Lenny and Grace Brookstein. Those two were so nauseatingly in love, they seemed to assume that everybody else had what they had. Easy to keep the love alive when you have billions of dollars to throw at it. But perhaps Andrew was being unfair? The young Mrs. Brookstein was no gold digger. She was naive, that was all, and clearly believed that Caroline Merrivale was her friend. Grace never saw the envy that blazed in the older woman’s eyes whenever her back was turned. But Andrew Preston saw it. Caroline Merrivale was a bitch.
Caroline had always bitterly resented Grace’s position as first lady of Quorum. She, Caroline Merrivale, would have been so much better suited to the role. Handsome rather than beautiful, with strong, intelligent features and a sharply cut bob of black hair, Caroline had once had a flourishing career as a trial lawyer. Of course, that was years ago now. Thanks to Lenny Brookstein, her husband, John, had become an immensely wealthy and successful man. Caroline’s working days were over. But her ambition was far from extinguished.
John Merrivale, by contrast, had never been ambitious. He worked hard at Quorum, accepted whatever Lenny chose to give him, and was grateful. Caroline would taunt him: “You’re like a puppy, John. Curled up at your master’s feet, loyally wagging your tail. No wonder Lenny doesn’t respect you.”
“Lenny d-d-does respect me. It’s you who d-d-doesn’t.”
“No, and why would I? I want a man, John, not a lapdog. You should demand more equity. Stand up and be counted.”
Andrew Preston glanced across the table at John Merrivale now. Lenny was in the middle of an anecdote, with John hanging on his every word. Andrew thought: He’s brilliant. But he’s weak. There was only room for one king at Quorum. Caroline Merrivale might wish it weren’t so, but she could keep on wishing. They were all hanging off of Lenny Brookstein’s coattails. And they were the lucky ones. Poor old Michael Gray was sitting on Maria’s right, also listening to Lenny’s story. The Grays were like a walking cautionary tale. One minute they were partying up a storm all over Manhattan, living it up in their Greenwich Village brownstone, summering in the South of France and wintering at their newly remodeled chalet in Aspen. The next minute—poof—it was all gone. Word was that every cent Mike Gray had had been leveraged against Lehman stock. Their kids, Cade and Cooper, were still in their private schools only because Grace Brookstein, Connie Gray’s sister, had insisted on covering the tuition.
Maria whispered in Andrew’s ear: “The auction starts in a few minutes, Andy. I’ve got my eye on the vintage Cartier watch. Will you bid for it, or shall I?”
GRACE BROOKSTEIN SMILED AND CLAPPED THROUGHOUT the bidding, but she was secretly relieved when the auction ended and it was time for dancing.
“I hate these things,” she whispered in Lenny’s ear as he whisked her around the floor. “All those fragile male egos trying to outspend each other. It’s chest beating.”
“I know.” Lenny’s hand caressed her lower back. “But those chest beaters just raised fifteen million for our foundation. In this economy, that’s pretty good going.”
“Do you mind if I cut in? I’ve barely spoken to my favorite brother-in-law all night.”
Connie, Grace’s eldest sister, slipped her arm around Lenny’s waist. Lenny and Grace both smiled.
“Favorite brother-in-law, eh?” Grace teased. “Don’t let Jack hear you say that.”
“Oh, Jack.” Connie waved her hand dismissively. “He’s been in such a funk all evening. I thought being a senator was supposed to be fun. Anyone would think he was the one who’d just lost his house. And job. And life savings. Come on, Lenny! Cheer a girl up, would you?”
Grace watched her husband dance with her sister, holding Conn
ie close so he could offer words of comfort. I love them both so much, she thought. And I admire them both so much. The way Connie can make jokes and laugh at herself when she and Mike are going through hell. And Lenny’s incredible, inexhaustible compassion. People were always talking about how “lucky” Grace was to be married to Lenny. Grace agreed. But it wasn’t Lenny’s money that made her blessed. It was his kindness.
Of course, there was a downside to being married to the nicest man in the world. So many people loved Lenny, and relied on him, that Grace almost never got him all to herself. Next week they were flying to Nantucket, Grace’s favorite place in the world, for a two-week vacation. But of course, being the gracious host that he was, Lenny had invited everyone at the table tonight to join them.
“Promise me we’ll get at least one night alone,” Grace begged, when they finally crawled into bed that night. The ball had been fun, but exhausting. The thought of even more socializing filled Grace with dread.
“Don’t worry. They won’t all come. And even if they do, we’ll get more than one night alone, I promise. The house is big enough for us to sneak away.”
Grace thought, That’s true. The house is enormous. Almost as big as your heart, my darling.
TWO
IT WAS THE MORNING AFTER THE Quorum Ball, a Saturday. John Merrivale was in bed with his wife.
“Please, C-C-Caroline. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t care what you want, you pathetic little worm. Do it!”
John Merrivale closed his eyes and moved down beneath the sheets till he was eye level with his wife’s neatly trimmed black bush.
Caroline taunted him. “If you weren’t such a limp dick, I wouldn’t need you to do it. But since you’ve failed to get it up yet again, it’s the least you can do.”
John Merrivale began to do what was asked of him. He hated oral sex. It felt disgusting and wrong. But the days had long passed when he was allowed to follow his own desires. His sex life had become a series of nightly humiliations. Weekends were the worst. Caroline expected a morning performance on Saturdays, and sometimes even a Sunday matinee. It was incredible to John how a woman who so patently despised him could still have such a rampant sex drive. But Caroline seemed to get off on degrading him, bending him to her whim.
Feeling her writhe with pleasure against his tongue, John fought the urge to gag. Sometimes he fantasized about escape. I could go to the office one day and never come home. I could drug her, then strangle her in her sleep. But he knew he would never have the balls to do it. That was the worst part of his miserable marriage. His wife was right about him: He was weak. He was a coward.
In the beginning, when they first met, John had hoped that he might draw strength from Caroline’s dominant personality. That her confidence and ambition would compensate for his shyness. For a few blissful months, they had. But it wasn’t long before his wife’s true nature emerged. Caroline’s ambition was not a positive force, like Lenny Brookstein’s. It was a black hole, an envy-fueled vortex that sucked the life out of any human being who came near it. By the time John Merrivale realized what a monster he’d married, it was too late. If he divorced her, she would expose him to the world as a sexual cripple. That would be more humiliation than even John could bear.
Thankfully it took only a couple minutes for Caroline to reach orgasm. As soon as she had her pleasure, she got up and marched into the shower, leaving John to strip the bed and put on fresh sheets. There was no need for him to perform such a menial task. The Merrivales had a small army of maids and housekeepers on permanent call at their palatial town home. But Caroline insisted he do it. Once, when she considered his hospital corners to be less than perfect, she’d smashed a glass perfume bottle into his face. John had needed sixteen stitches, and still bore the scar on his left cheek. He told Lenny he’d been mugged, which as he saw it, was not far from the truth.
If it hadn’t been for Lenny Brookstein, John Merrivale would have killed himself years ago. Lenny’s friendship, his warm, easy manner, his readiness with a joke, even when business was going badly, was the most important, treasured thing in John Merrivale’s life. He lived for the office and his work at Quorum, not because of the money or the power, but because he wanted to make Lenny proud. Lenny Brookstein was the one and only person who had ever believed in John Merrivale. Awkward and physically unattractive, with red hair and pale, gangly limbs, John had never been popular at school. He had no brothers and sisters growing up with whom to share his troubles, or toast his modest successes. Even his parents were disappointed in him. They never said anything, of course. They didn’t have to. John could feel it just by walking into a room.
At his wedding to Caroline, he overheard his mother talking to one of his aunts. “Of course, Fred and I are absolutely delighted. We never thought that John would marry such a bright, attractive girl. To be perfectly honest, we’d rather given up hope of his marrying at all. I mean, let’s face it, he’s a sweet boy but he’s hardly Cary Grant!”
The fact that his own wife despised him hurt John, but it did not surprise him. People had despised him all his life. It was Lenny Brookstein’s friendship, the huge trust Lenny had placed in John, that was the great surprise of John’s life. He owed Lenny Brookstein everything.
Of course, Caroline didn’t see it that way. Her envy of Lenny and Grace Brookstein had grown over the years to the point where she now struggled to conceal it in public. In private, John had grown used to hearing her refer to Lenny disparagingly as “the old man,” and to Grace as “that bitch.” But recently Caroline had taken to wearing her loathing on her face. For John, this made events like last night’s Quorum Ball a terrifying experience. His love for Lenny Brookstein was immense. But his fear of his wife was even greater. And Caroline Merrivale knew it.
AT BREAKFAST, JOHN TRIED TO MAKE small talk.
“We made a r-r-respectable total last night, I thought, all things considered.”
Caroline sipped her coffee and said nothing.
“I know L-Lenny was pleased.”
“Fifteen million?” Caroline laughed scornfully. “That’s nothing to the old man. He might as well just write a check himself and be done with it. But of course, that would mean missing out on all the adulation. All the great and the good telling him what a terrific, philanthropic guy he is. And we couldn’t have his darling Gracie go without getting her picture taken six thousand times, could we? Heaven forbid!”
John spread a thin layer of butter on his toast, avoiding his wife’s eye. He knew from experience that Caroline’s anger could turn on a dime. One wrong move and it would be directed at him. Once again he cursed himself for his cowardice. Why am I so afraid of her?
Hoping to get back into her good graces, he mumbled, “Lenny invited us to Nantucket next week, by the way. Don’t worry. I said no.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“I…well, I…I assumed you…”
“You assumed?” Caroline’s eyes bulged with rage. “How dare you assume anything!” For a moment John wondered if she was going to hit him. To his great shame, he heard his coffee cup rattle against its saucer. “Who else is invited?”
“Everybody, I th-th-think. The Prestons. Grace’s s-sisters. I’m not sure.”
“And you want to let Andrew Preston spend a week sucking up to Lenny, pushing himself ahead of you at Quorum while you sit by and do nothing? Good God, John. How stupid are you?”
John opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. The business didn’t work like that. Andrew Preston could never hope to usurp John’s position and he wouldn’t try. He wouldn’t dare. But there was no point trying to reason with Caroline.
“So you want to go, then?”
“I don’t want to go, John. Frankly I can’t think of anything worse than being cooped up with Lenny Brookstein’s inane child bride on some godforsaken island for seven days. But I will go. And so will you.” She swept imperiously out of the room.
Once she’d g
one, John Merrivale allowed himself a small smile.
I did it. We’re going. We’re actually going!
The reverse psychology had worked like a charm. All it took was a little courage. Perhaps I’ll try it more often?
THREE
SENATOR JACK WARNER WOKE UP ON Saturday morning with a crushing hangover. Honor had left early for her yoga class. Downstairs, in the playroom of their idyllic Westchester County farmhouse, Jack Warner could hear his daughters, Bobby and Rose, screaming blue murder at each other.
What the fuck is Ilse doing?
The family’s new Dutch au pair gave an excellent blow job, but her nannying skills left much to be desired. So far Jack had resisted Honor’s requests to be allowed to fire Ilse. But this morning, he changed his mind. An uninterrupted Saturday morning in bed was worth much more than a good blow job. In Senator Jack Warner’s world, good blow jobs were easy to come by. Peace and quiet, on the other hand, were priceless.
Jack Warner first knew he wanted to become president of the United States when he was three years old. It was August 1974. His parents were watching Richard Nixon’s resignation on television.
“What’s that man doing?” little Jack asked his mother. It was his father who answered.
“He’s leaving the best job in the world, son. He’s a liar and a fool.”
Jack thought about this for a minute.
“If he’s a fool, how did he get the best job in the world?”
His father laughed. “That’s a good question!”
“Who’s going to do his job now?”
“Why d’you ask, Jacko?” Jack’s father pulled him up onto his lap and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Do you want it?”
Yes, thought Jack. If it’s the best job in the world, I rather think I do.
So far, Jack Warner’s path to the White House had been straight as an arrow. First in his class at Andover? Check. Steady record of volunteer work and public service? Check. Yale undergrad, Harvard Law, partnership in a prestigious New York law firm? Check, check, check. After two brief internships working on senatorial campaigns, Jack Warner ran for Congress, winning the 20th Congressional District seat by a landslide at the astonishingly young age of twenty-nine. Jack Warner never made a friend, took a job, attended a party, or got laid without first thinking, How will this look on my record? On the rare occasions when he slept with a less-than-suitable girl, he made sure that the event took place well away from the prying eyes of any potential voters. But such slipups were rare. Jack made it his business to be in the right place at the right time with the right people. He knew that his appeal lay in his all-American good looks, the air of confidence and down-home goodness that he seemed to project so effortlessly.
Sidney Sheldon's After the Darkness Page 3
