1 To Catch a Bad Guy

by Marie Astor

  Unlike Lisa, Janet had a solid post-graduation plan: she was going to law school, albeit not to become a big-shot lawyer and make loads of money. Ever the altruist, Janet wanted to go into prosecution. Still, Janet’s plan gave Lisa an idea: college might have been a bust, but there were bound to be loads of single, rich guys in law school. So, just like they had in high school, Lisa and Janet crammed together for the LSAT’s. They applied to all the same schools: Harvard, Columbia, Yale, and New York Law School. Harvard was Janet’s top choice. As for Lisa, she did not really care one way or the other. Yale had just as nice a ring to it as Harvard. Neither one of them got into Yale; both got into New York Law; Janet got into Columbia, and, in a twisted fluke of fate, the day Janet got her rejection from Harvard Law, Lisa got her acceptance letter. For the first time in their friendship, Lisa felt guilty. A small part of her wondered if she had taken Janet’s spot, but there was nothing she could do about the matter now. She had gotten her ticket, and she was getting on that bus. Harvard Law was bound to be filled with eligible bachelors.

  Little did she know what a disappointment law school would turn out to be. If college was all about fun, law school was all about cutthroat competition. People backstabbed you without thinking twice, and all the men seemed only to be interested in a quickie, so that they could get back to their precious studies. There again Lisa had turned to Janet: she was close to dropping out in her first year of school when her friend convinced her to stay. Over long hours on the phone, they would discuss the theory behind their assigned cases and quiz each other on Latin legal terms, which were a major part of the curriculum during the first year. Gradually, Lisa started to get the hang of things. She had never been an industrious student, but she was blessed with stellar memory and what she did not comprehend, she took by memorization. When the first semester results were announced, Lisa was shocked. She got three As and one B.

  Still, Lisa managed to keep her nose above books just enough to play the field. She dated a few guys here and there until finally, there seemed to be a promising catch: Chris Doroth, III. His father was a managing director at Goldman Sachs, and his mother was on the board of several charities. Lisa dated Chris for the last year of law school, and just as she started to muse about whether she would hyphenate her maiden name to Foley-Doroth, or just keep it at succinct Doroth, Chris announced that he wanted to take a break. The blow was made that much harder to take by the fact that Lisa had not seen it coming. Meanwhile, she was over one hundred thousand dollars in debt, and the reality was mercilessly dawning on her: her offer of employment at the law firm of Berman Erling, which Lisa had obtained as a mere safety net, had become her only option. Yet she did not despair: if reruns of Ally McBeal and Boston Legal were anything to go by, there were bound to be loads of single, handsome men in a law firm, and the best part was that they would all be lawyers.

  If law school had been overwhelming, the work at Berman Erling was simply maddening. Assigned to who she later learned was one of the most cantankerous partners in the firm, Lisa found herself chained to the office until ten o’clock at night every night – and those were ‘normal’ days. When a project was due, she often stayed as late as eleven or twelve. And the worst part was that there seemed to be no escape. All the partners were not only over forty, but saddled with marriage and kids to boot, and the only kind of relationship they were interested in with first-year female associates was a quickie on a fax machine: a demeaning liaison that several of the girls who had been hired together with Lisa had fallen victim to. That left the partners out, and even though there were several male associates Lisa would have gladly considered, they were either too focused on their work to show any interest in an office romance or already engaged. And just when things could not seem to get any worse, Lisa met her deliverance in the face of Charles Wickman, Jr.

  Charles was a transfer from the Boston office to take over the partner spot that was suddenly freed up by the retirement of the partner Lisa had been slaving for. Charles was thirty-five, unmarried and stunning: blond and six feet two inches in height, he had Lisa enamored at first glance. Lisa had taken matters into her own hands by offering to be Charles’s guide in New York City, and Charles had responded immediately. No longer were the late hours at the office a torture, but a pleasure, literally speaking. Charles was one of the best lovers Lisa had ever had, and his office sofa was just ample enough for a tryst. And as if being with Charles were not wonderful enough in itself, Lisa had the extra benefit of seeing her salary increase with the addition of a handsome bonus. Six months passed, and Lisa started dropping subtle hints about meeting Charles’s family. Sure, the two of them were busy at work, but they could make time for a brief trip to Boston, and while they would be there, Charles could also introduce Lisa to his friends. Her shock was beyond words when Charles balked, retorting that he thought they had an understanding. An understanding? Lisa had wanted to sink her nails into his perfectly featured face and to yank out his coiffed hair, piece by piece. Charles calmly suggested that they keep their relationship on a professional level; a week later he announced his engagement to his girlfriend of five years who had remained in Boston, but was now transferring to a partnership spot with a prestigious New York law firm. To say that the atmosphere at the office became tense would be an understatement beyond words. Lisa wanted to cry, but short of quitting and moving back in with her parents, she had no escape plan, and her mother had calmly informed her that while Lisa was always welcome to come home, her parents simply did not have the means to support her financially. In a sweep of company layoffs, Lisa’s father had been downsized despite his long track record with the company, and he was having a hard time getting back into the market.

  Lisa wanted to scream. There seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel, but then she met Paul Bostoff. The circumstances of their meeting were most fortuitous. One night, tired from work, Lisa had dragged herself to Mindy Lawlor’s – Mindy Frank’s – birthday party. Lisa and Mindy had gone to Brown together, but that’s where their similarities ended. Mindy had been fortunate to land herself with a husband who provided for her splendidly: Josh Lawlor was in the investment banking division at JP Morgan. Not that Mindy had to worry about making a living – her parents had provided her with a sizeable trust fund. Lisa figured that the party would likely be a bust, filled with engaged and married couples, but it was still better than brooding alone in her apartment. For the first time in her life, Lisa had not even bothered to check her makeup, neglecting to dab concealer over those horrible dark circles under her eyes. She did not care how she looked; she just wanted a drink after a terrible day at the office. But suddenly, there was Paul Bostoff, Josh’s friend from summer camp. Sensing Paul’s keen gaze upon her, she rushed to the ladies’ room and hastily repaired her makeup. Ten minutes later, she looked as good as new. Well, at least in the dim lighting of the place, she could pass for looking as good as new. Paul’s attraction to her was undeniable. This time Lisa was determined to play her cards right. She took things slowly, alternating oozing sexuality with demure coyness, building up Paul’s anticipation, yet being careful not to overdo it. Men wanted challenge, and yet they did not want to be challenged too much. At the time, she was twenty-seven years old: three years away from thirty, and she had no time to lose. Paul’s lineage might not have been as glamorous as that of Lisa’s previous suitors, but it would have to do. His father owned a prestigious boutique brokerage firm, and even though Paul was not particularly business savvy or ambitious, his father was bound to find a warm spot for him in the company.

  Lisa heard Paul stir and smiled with the anticipation of many carefree years that stretched before her. She had secured her future at last: she was going to be Mrs. Paul Bostoff.

  “Good morning.” Paul smiled at her.

  “Hi, baby.” Lisa cuddled next to Paul, her foot reaching for his under the covers.

  “How did the future Mrs. Bostoff sleep?”

  “Perfectly fine, thank you.” Li
sa smiled, sliding her trim body over Paul’s. “And she can’t wait to make love to her future husband.”

  Later that morning, Lisa wiped the remaining drops of the maple syrup from her plate with the last bite of the pancake.

  “That good, huh?” Paul smiled as he watched her devouring the last of the pancakes.

  “Your lovemaking has made me ravenous.” Lisa batted her eyelashes.

  “Well, then, we’d better stock up on food.”

  We’d better not, thought Lisa. Already she felt guilty about this decadent feast, but it was Sunday, and she was simply in too good a mood for the usual gray option of oatmeal and half a grapefruit. Come Monday, she would be back on her strict eating plan. At her height of five two, even an ounce of extra weight would be instantly noticeable.

  “So, what do you want to do today?” asked Paul.

  “Anything you want.” Lisa smiled dreamily. She might have hooked the fish, but she had yet to haul her catch ashore, and until she became Mrs. Bostoff, Lisa’s last name was going to be Obedience. “We could take a stroll around town – check out the galleries or walk on the beach.”

  “I like the galleries idea.” Paul decided. “Perhaps we’ll find something interesting for our new place.”

  Lisa’s heart jumped. She had planned to delicately broach the subject of moving in together, but Paul had beaten her to it.

  “I hope I’m not rushing things.” Paul took her hand. “But I’m sure once we tell Dad, he’s going to want a big wedding, and I just can’t wait a year to wake up to you every morning.” Paul winked.

  “I can’t wait either.” Lisa squeezed Paul’s hand. She tried not to think about the year-long engagement. If it were up to her, she would board the plane to Vegas tomorrow. That way if things did not work out between them, she could at least get alimony. But family had to be contended with, and if Mr. Bostoff wanted a big wedding for his son, Lisa would sit back and bide her time.

  Chapter 10

  Candace maneuvered her Mercedes SUV down the convoluted neighborhood streets. Even after an entire summer at the new house, she was still getting used to the town layout. Part of it had to do with the fact that, deep down, Candace missed their old vacation house. Lakeville, Connecticut was not nearly as glamorous as Southampton, but it was the house that held memories of her kids as toddlers and of her and Jon as a newly married couple. It was the house where one did not think twice about dragging in beach sand in the summer or snow in the winter, with a neighborhood where social gatherings consisted of barbecues and football games rather than charity events and cocktail mixers. Candace would have been perfectly happy to keep Lakeville as the family’s vacation destination, but her husband was of a different opinion. Even though he had never voiced it openly, she could sense Jon’s dissatisfaction - even embarrassment - with their old vacation base, especially during the Covington family reunions.

  Every year Candace and her siblings were subjected to the family reunion. The family gathering took place at Candace’s father’s place in Martha’s Vineyard and included all the siblings, along with their spouses and children. The meticulously maintained shingle house on the waterfront had been expanded by generations of Covingtons to accommodate the growing clan, the most recent state being twenty bedrooms and ten bathrooms. But even with that amount of rooms, the house felt stifling with Candace’s sister and brother and their respective families, as well as numerous cousins, aunts and uncles gathered under one roof. Unlike Candace, her sister and brother had married within their own “set,” as had her cousins, and she could always sense that Jon was a figure of curiosity during the family gatherings, as he was constantly compared to and appraised against the “social class” that the Covingtons proclaimed themselves to belong to. As for Candace, she could not care less about the bogus standards purported by her family. Her older sister, Jackie, might have married an heir to a seven-figure inheritance, yet his wealth and social standing did not preclude him from alcohol abuse and routine infidelity. And even though Candace loved her younger brother, she was not so blinded by sisterly love as not to admit that her brother was far from being a perfect husband.

  On many occasions, Candace had hinted to Jon that she cared little for these yearly spectacles of family felicity, which were nothing more than masqueraded popularity contests with veiled jabs and snubs. But Jon had insisted on coming every year. Oh, how he tried to fit in, to be accepted as one of their own, making Candace’s heart heavy with guilt each time a member of the family snubbed him. Yet Jon seemed oblivious to the snubs, almost taking them as his due, while he roamed the stuffy halls of the Covington family house with a polite expression on his face, as though secretly seeking approval from the generations of Covingtons who had once inhabited its walls. This past summer, Jon had been especially excited about the Covington reunion, and when the date came, he proudly invited Candace’s family to visit their new Southampton house. There were curiously raised eyebrows along with polite nods, but the invitation was never acted upon. Candace’s parents begged the excuse of Martha’s Vineyard being too far off, and as for Candace’s brother and sister, they simply acted as though the invitation had never taken place. But while the only emotion her family snub had elicited in Candace was that of a light amusement, she could sense Jon’s hurt. That in itself might not have troubled Candace as much, but she intuited that her family antics were not the only matter weighing heavily on her husband’s mind these days.

  Candace parked her car in front of the wine store. There, she bought a case of beer and four bottles of wine; she ignored hard liquor. If Jon were to complain, she would simply say that it had slipped her mind. After the store clerk had loaded her purchases into the car trunk, Candace deliberated on what to do next. The reasonable thing to do was to drive back to the house. They would have to be heading back to the City around five o’clock. Jon had never been one to stay over on Mondays. He wanted to be fresh in the office in the morning, and he never made any exceptions. But her earlier good mood had been broken, and Candace did not feel like going back right away; besides, the longer she stayed away, the longer Jon would have to wait for that drink – a welcome justification for her desire to prolong her outing.

  Slowly, Candace started her walk up the street. She had always loved frequenting galleries and antique shops. When she was younger, she had even dreamed of owning one. She had never dared to bring this idea up to her parents, who would no doubt dismiss it as pedestrian. After Tyler was born, Candace had mentioned her aspirations to Jon. She had always had an eye for valuable things, and she had plenty of contacts who could help her get the business started. To her surprise, Jon had been almost offended at the suggestion, fervently assuring her that he would find a way to support his family without his wife’s becoming a shop keeper. Since then, Candace had never mentioned the idea again, but her love of antique shops remained unchanged. A glimpse of an Art Deco lamp caught her eye in the window, and Candace went inside the store.

  “Good afternoon.” The shop clerk, a girl in her late teens, smiled at Candace.

  “Hello.” Candace nodded as she made her way to survey the lamp; she recognized the manufacturer’s stamp, which had to be from around the 1930s. It was indeed a piece of outstanding quality. “What are you asking for the lamp?” Candace inquired.

  “It’s three fifty,” the girl answered, visibly tired of idle customers. “Just came in last week, and we put it up on consignment. We’ve got a pair of these: the other one is over there.” The girl waved her hand. “Byproduct of redecoration.”

  Candace’s heart jumped with the thrill of the bargain; she had seen similar lamps in catalogues. The price was at least a thousand dollars and could be even higher in a Madison Avenue store. Candace squinted at the lamp critically. It was in pristine condition, but she enjoyed a bargain when she could get one. “I’ll take both of them for three hundred each,” she said firmly.

  “I’ll have to call my manager; I only have authority for price reductions for up to t
wenty dollars.” The girl picked up the phone to relay Candace’s offer to her manager.

  Candace bit her lip in anticipation: it was silly, really, she did not even need the lamps, but she knew that her decorator, Josh, had been looking for pieces just like these for one of his projects.

  “All right.” The girl nodded. “My manager said yes; normally, he’s never this easy, but I guess this being the end of the season and all… Cash or charge?”

  “Charge,” said Candace, as she gave the clerk her personal credit card. She did not want Jon to know anything about her little bargain hunt.

  A few minutes later, Candace was walking back to her car, carrying the carefully packaged lamps. She had already called Josh and instructed him to stop by the house tomorrow to pick up the lamps from the basement, which was where she was going to leave them for him, and hopefully avoid Jon’s scrutiny in the process.