Yvette thinks about it for a moment. “Overall I was not impressed.”
“But I’ve lost a lot of business to that outfit. They must be doing something right.”
Yvette stands, stretching her long body. “They’re a new outfit and they’ve undercut your prices. There are offices you can walk into, and yes, they are beautiful, this makes people feel more secure. They’re not sending payments to a PO box or meeting you at a restaurant. They can sit down with a live person and talk to them about their needs. These women are clever enough to serve tea, coffee and biscuits—That’s right Americans say cookies.” Yvette shakes her head. “But the owners aren’t sophisticated or polished, they’re just eager to please.”
“You’re suggesting we need offices, then. That’s a costly investment.”
“If you shared space with another business it shouldn’t be too bad. All you really need is one room.”
I like it that Yvette is full of ideas. I place the blade of the letter opener under the flap of an envelope and say, “I’ll have to investigate renting space. It may be a good idea, especially if we’re taking the business in another direction. Now to come up with a swanky address and cheap.”
“There are some new office buildings being constructed on Merrick,” Yvette offers. “What about them?”
“I doubt they are in my price range.”
“You might be surprised. From what I hear no one’s beating the doors down to get into them. We should check them out. I heard they were offering incentives.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like three months free rent, which would be perfect and would give us some time to get the money up.”
“Okay, I’m in,” I say excitedly.
I remove the letter from the envelope I’m holding and scan it quickly. A slew of hateful words rush out at me. I feel hot, flushed and bile rises in my throat.
You bitch. I warned you to leave my husband alone. He doesn’t want a dried-up old spinster like you. He only took you to Barbados with him because you were easy. Forget about long-term plans. He’s not free. I’ll never let him go.
The Wife!
If I had any doubt who she is referring to, I now know for sure. One mention of Barbados and that is it. As upset as I am, I still see the humor in it. The woman who is writing these letters is desperate and unsure. She clearly doesn’t know what a spinster is. Either that, or she’s making an assumption that I’ve never been married and in the same position as she. It’s kind of pathetic.
I am seeing Reed later this evening and this conversation is long overdue. I hadn’t wanted to ruin our vacation. But now I need to know what I am up against. I hope he is not married, and even if he’s separated, it makes me uneasy that he would be on an Internet dating site and reaching out to unsuspecting women. What kind of decent man does that?
“Is everything okay?” Yvette asked. “Can I get you some water?” She is standing there staring at me.
The room sways and then rights itself. My forehead is moist and my hands clammy.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, tucking the letter back into its envelope with shaking hands. “Some woman thinks I’m after her man. The hazards of dating, I suppose. Are you dating anyone?”
Yvette shakes her head. “Not much to date out there. The whole process is frustrating so I’m better off staying home. Men are such cowards and insensitive at times.”
“I hear you.” I leave it at that. Yvette does not need more specifics and since I don’t quite know what I am dealing with, why pull her in?
Now I’m anxious to see Reed. And frankly I am angry with him for withholding information and getting me involved in something this sordid. This person is over the top and as far as I am concerned a little bit off.
Yvette picks up on my desire to be alone.
“I’m going to take off unless you need me for something else?” she says. “Jessica is on a sleepover and I relish the few hours of peace and quiet.”
I thank her and send her on her way home. So far she is earning every dime of the pittance I am paying her.
I dress carefully and think about how I am going to handle this. What it may come down to is me getting into bitch mode. I’d prefer not to be confrontational. I need to be able to hear Reed’s side of the story if there is a side of the story.
Again I think why would Reed hook up with a loony toon? It makes me wonder if his relationship with me is all an act. Dysfunction after all tends to attract dysfunction.
I decide to drive into the city. I park my car in public parking, taking advantage of the overnight rates and walk the two long blocks to Reed’s place. It is cold and I huddle into my lined leather coat, playing out different ways to broach the conversation.
His doorman nods at me and doesn’t ask whom I’m visiting. This is a good sign, I think. He’s getting used to me. Reed and I have talked earlier and we both agreed that this is a stay-at-home night. We plan to cook together and try a new bottle of wine.
Since we are not yet at the stage where I have his key, I press the buzzer and wait.
The door is flung open and a delicious smell wafts its way out into the hallway. I am scooped up into Reed’s arms and given a passionate kiss.
“Something smells wonderful,” I say when I am able to talk.
“You smell wonderful.” He turns me this way and that. “New coat?”
“Old as the hills.”
“You’d never guess. Why are we standing out here in the hallway?”
I am whisked inside. I hand Reed my leather coat. He lets out a low wolf whistle. I am wearing butt-hugging jeans and a V-necked sweater that shows a hint of cleavage. I have on black ankle boots with three-inch heels.
I shake a warning finger at him. “You promised to feed me. We were supposed to cook together.”
“I am feeding you. Everything’s already started.”
I go into the kitchen and peer into his pots. He’s got a sauce with a tangy aroma going. He has shrimp almost the size of my fist on a low flame. There are mushrooms and tomatoes sautéing. The man’s a gourmet.
“What’s there left to do?” I ask.
“Pour wine and keep me company.” Reed gives me another heart-stopping kiss.
I refuse to be distracted. I came here with a purpose. Before we have dinner and end up in bed we need to have our talk.
I find the white wine in the refrigerator and pour us both a glass. On the kitchen counter are pâté, cheese and a loaf of crusty bread. Reed tastes his sauce and begins kissing the back of my neck.
“Uh-uh,” I say, stepping away. I walk toward the window and look down at the East River. I hear him come up behind me. His arms go around my waist and I feel the heat coming off his body.
“Something’s up, hon. What is it?”
Careful not to spill my glass of wine, I turn into him. I decide the only way to approach this is to be direct and gauge his reaction.
“Do you have a wife?” I ask.
“What?”
“The answer is either yes or no.”
“Not anymore.” A muscle jumps in his cheek.
I am directly in his face now. “What does not anymore mean?”
“I’m in the process of a divorce.”
“How long has this been going on and why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have made a difference?” he says, his voice low.
“Damn straight it would. I don’t get involved with married men.”
I am angry now. How dare he be so cavalier? He’s had ample time to mention this but never has. I’ve been sleeping with this man. I went away with him. I am steps away from falling in love with him and I am getting threatening e-mails and letters from his wife. A wife I have never heard of until now. This is the first he’s told me he’s in the process of getting divorced.
And he’s the one who initially contacted me. This woman, this lowlife with the foul mouth and screwed up thinking, blames me for ruining her marriage. How many other innocent women
has this man deceived?
My head is spinning from the news and I am still digesting it. I am involved with a married man; something I swore I never would do. I am wondering if there are more of us out there; unsuspecting women who think we’ve met the man of our dreams then later find out he’s not free.
Reed is a woman’s dream. He’s a professional black male with a condo on the Eastside. His manners are exemplary and he’s courteous and attentive. It figures he’s too good to be true.
“Roxi,” Reed says, “by now you must know I love you.”
I hear the words but rationalize them as coming from a man caught in a lie and desperate to make everything right. He’s never come right out and said he loved me before.
“How long since you and your wife have separated?” I get out in an unsteady voice. I will not cry.
“We made the decision to divorce almost a year ago.”
That still doesn’t answer my question. “How long since you haven’t lived together?” I ask. He hesitates for a moment and I get completely in his face. “How long, Reed?”
“A long time.”
“What’s a long time?”
“Long enough.”
I never could stand evasive behavior. It makes me crazy. I like people being straight with me and I am not into game playing. Despite what we shared I can no longer trust this man.
Needing to calm down, I start making circles around the room. Reed follows behind me.
“Roxi, as far as I’m concerned it’s done with. My divorce papers are filed.”
“That’s the problem, as far as you are concerned. What about me? It takes two to have a relationship. And you said nothing. This whole thing came at me as a surprise.”
I see a visible reaction. The muscles at the side of his jaw are jumping like crazy.
The acrid smell of smoke fills the air. Our food is on fire. Reed dashes toward the kitchen to turn off the burners.
He returns and grasps me by the shoulders. I step out of his reach.
“Your wife,” I say through clenched teeth, “is sending me vicious e-mails and letters.”
He blinks once, twice, and seems truly stunned.
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow she’s gotten hold of my e-mail address. How is that possible? How does she even know about me?”
Reed thinks about that. “There was a time I moved out of the apartment and left my laptop here. She may have had someone hack into it.”
I look at him, speechless. He has just incriminated himself. What that implies is that they were still very actively involved with each other up until recently.
“Then obviously she didn’t trust you,” I say.
I am furious now, my mind in a dozen different places at once. We are going around in circles and my illusions are already shattered. All I want to do now is get away from him. I storm off and begin pulling closet doors open.
“What are you looking for?”
“My coat.”
“Oh, come on, Roxi. You’re overreacting.” He sounds exasperated and that just makes me more furious. I find my leather coat and shove myself into it. At the same time Reed is trying to peel me out of it. I belt my coat and look around for my purse. It is on the kitchen counter where I left it. I grab the straps and head for the door.
“What about dinner?” Reed shouts, tugging on the straps of my purse.
“You eat it,” I say, and whisk myself out the door, slamming it in his face. I catch the elevator and quickly hop on. It is not until I cross the lobby and see the doorman’s expression that I realize tears are streaming down my face.
I am hurting big-time. I feel as if someone has stuck a knife in my chest and twisted it.
I will never ever trust another man again, I swear.
CHAPTER 21
“So what do you think?” Shirley, the real estate agent, an ageing blonde who’s been face-lifted a time or two, almost beyond recognition, asks.
Yvette and I exchange looks. The suite, although not especially large, faces Merrick Road. Glass doors lead out to a tiny balcony. If we want to lease we will receive three months free rent. All things considered it sounds like an awfully good deal to me.
“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I’m not sure it’s large enough.”
The blonde’s manicured fingers splay. “You need the space to make an impression?”
“No, we need an area where there’s a waiting room. Clients need to remain outside while we conduct our business inside.”
The agent taps her chin with her fingers. “You could get one of those lovely folded screens and separate the room.”
“That doesn’t take care of sound,” Yvette interjects.
“Well, there is one other suite that might work. It’s a bit more expensive,” she warns.
My cell phone is ringing like crazy. Reed again. I ignore it. I don’t want to speak to him. We have nothing to say to each other. Besides, it’s been days. I stab the mute button.
“Same deal? Same three free months rent?” Yvette is asking what I should be asking.
“Yes, and on a higher floor.”
I don’t care whether it is in the nosebleed area. Haggling with the agent has taken my mind off my troubles. For the past three days I’ve been dragging around with my lip on the floor. To add to my dismay, it is Alexandra who comes to pick up Bacci and not Carlo.
We follow the blonde up the elevator and into a suite with glass double doors. I envision all that smoked glass with WFH emblazed on it. There is a small waiting area and a larger inner room. There is a bathroom off to the side and there are French doors leading out to a larger balcony.
Yvette and I exchange looks. This is it. Exactly what we are looking for. But we don’t want to appear too anxious. And we still haven’t heard what the rent is.
“This might work,” I say. I start walking around though the space is empty. I make tsking little sounds as if unsure. “I wonder if this waiting area will take a couch, it’s kind of small.”
“And there’s barely enough room for two desks,” Yvette adds, picking up on where I’m going with this.
“I might be able to do something about the rent,” Shirley, the real estate agent, quickly adds. “Just let me make a few calls.”
She gets out a cell phone and though it is frigid goes out to the balcony.
Yvette and I both cross our fingers while waiting for her to come back.
“It’s a steal,” I hiss.
“That it is. And with the three months leeway, making the rent shouldn’t be difficult.”
My cell phone rings. I glance at the dial to see Margot’s number pop up. It’s been a few days since we last spoke, highly unusual for us. But given her situation, I didn’t want to burden her with my problems. She has her own.
“I’ve got to get this,” I say to Yvette. She nods and goes out into the waiting area.
“How long have we been friends?” Margot demands the minute I pick up.
I sigh exasperatedly. “Quite a few years. Why the attitude?”
“Because you’re dumping me for a new friend.”
Margot is sounding like a jilted lover.
“I’m in no mood for drama, Margot,” I say. “I’ve lived enough drama these last few days to last a lifetime.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story. What’s happening with you? What did you decide to do about Earl?”
She snorts. “I’ll come over and tell you in person.”
I explain that I am not home. Then I relent and agree to meet Margot at the gym later. She is, after all, my friend. We have been to hell and back together. After we work out we’ll go to dinner and talk.
Shirley comes back in from the outdoors bringing the frigid air with her. Yvette returns from wherever she’s wandered off to.
“I’ve just spoken to my boss,” Shirley says. “If we can come to some agreement today, he’ll knock another hundred dollars off the price.”
I would be stu
pid to turn down such a good deal. But I hem and haw, anyway.
“Look,” Shirley pleads, “we need to get these suites rented. You won’t pay a penny for your first four months. That’s about the best I can do.”
I catch Yvette’s eye. “We’ll take it,” I say. I have just gotten an extra month’s cushion. “When can we move in?”
“We go back to my office. You give me a check, and I hand you a key.”
And like that it is done. The entire transaction including credit check takes less than half an hour.
Outside, Yvette and I hug each other and scream.
“You did it!” she says.
“We did it!”
It’s the first time since my devastating discovery about Reed’s marital status that I feel elated about anything.
Without saying another word, Yvette and I head over to our new workspace.
Later, after a rigorous aerobic workout, Margot and I have a quick bite at a local eatery.
“You’ve been spacey and you’ve got this sad look in your eyes,” she says, picking up on me. “Something wrong?”
At least she’s not so wrapped up in her own woes that she doesn’t notice. She’s chain smoking again. I can smell it on her clothes. I take a bite of my tuna sandwich and set it back on my plate.
“I’m going to have to let Reed go,” I say.
She eyes me suspiciously. “Why?”
I explain about him being married and about the threats I am getting from the soon-to-be-ex who doesn’t want to let go.
“I don’t know if I’d be so quick to walk away,” Margot says. She’s always had a different perspective on these things than I have. Look at her relationship with her own ex-husband.
“He’s deceitful,” I say. “And weak. He can’t seem to control her. Makes me wonder what else I don’t know.”
“But there are lots of other things about him that you like.” Margot looks at me as if I’m losing it. She just doesn’t get it.
“True.”
“You said he is attentive, caring, makes you feel like a million bucks. He takes care of business in the sex department, is solvent, good-looking, what the heck more do you want?”
Hook, Line and Single Page 17
