by Marie Astor
Dean’s eyes lingered on Janet’s as though evaluating the sincerity of her answer. “Good.” He nodded. “I’m glad.”
“How do you like it?” Janet asked.
“Oh, you know, aside from hating my boss and my work, everything is peachy. I’m just kidding,” Dean added. “It’s a job – it pays bills.”
“Yep. That’s the important part.” Janet finished the last of her martini. She decided to abstain from eating the olives in front of Dean.
“Aren’t you going to eat the olives? That’s the best part.”
“That’s my favorite part too,” Janet confided, picking up the toothpick with the olives skewered on it. “Would you like one?”
“Sure.” Dean nodded. Then he did something Janet did not expect him to. He took her hand into his and directed it to his mouth, leaning in to scoop an olive off the toothpick.
Janet blinked. This was certainly forward of him.
“Aren’t you going to eat your olive?” Dean asked, as though nothing was the matter.
Why the heck not? Janet thought. She did like the guy, and for all she knew, she might not be employed by Bostoff that much longer anyway, which made the issue of Dean being her coworker irrelevant.
Chapter 19
“May I walk you home?” Dean asked.
They were standing outside the bar. It was a beautiful, romantic night.
“Sure.” Janet was flattered by Dean’s old-fashioned remark. This guy was full of surprises. “I’m on Ninetieth and Second Avenue.”
“I’ll get us a cab.” Dean moved to the curb.
Us, Janet felt an involuntary jolt of pleasure at Dean’s choice of words.
After several off-duty cabs had passed them by, Janet offered, “Let’s take the bus instead.”
They walked to Madison Avenue for the uptown bus. Just as they got to the bus stop, they spotted a bus that was about to depart. They raced after it and, laughing hysterically, jumped through the bus doors.
Her heart pounding, Janet threw her head back. “We made it.”
“Yes, we did.” Dean paid the bus fare for both of them.
They sat by the window. “There’s something special about riding the bus at night, isn’t there?” Janet said.
“I like riding the bus at night too. I think it has to do with having a space that’s normally so crowded all to yourself.” Dean eyed a sleeping passenger in the far corner. “Well, almost all to yourself.” He grinned. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak into my school building at night. There was just something special about seeing the space that was bursting with people during the day all peaceful and quiet at night. It was my sanctuary when I needed a quiet place to think.”
“Sometimes, when I’m riding the bus at night, I like to pretend that I’m lost at sea and that the bus is a lifeboat that’s been sent to save passengers from a shipwreck. Somehow, it always makes me feel better.” Janet halted, unsettled by her own candidness. She barely knew the guy, and here she was, opening up to him for no particular reason other than the fact that they were riding the bus together after having had a few drinks.
“I know what you mean.” Dean nodded. “Sometimes I think that life itself is like being lost at sea, paddling your way to the shore.”
Janet looked away. She did not know Dean well enough to reveal any more of herself to him.
There it was: an uncomfortable silence. But when Janet looked back at Dean, she saw him smile back, letting her know that it was completely all right not to have to say a thing.
Janet’s stop was coming up, and she signaled for the driver to stop.
The bus came to a halt, and Dean held out his hand to help her out of the bus. His grip was firm and warm, and Janet felt both flustered and excited as her fingers touched Dean’s.
“Well, thanks for the bus ride. I’m all the way on Second Avenue,” Janet added, giving Dean a way out to say goodnight.
“What kind of a guy do you think I am? I said I’d see you home, Janet. Besides, it’s a wonderful evening for a walk.”
Janet felt a surge of flattering warmth run through her: this was turning out to be a surprisingly exciting Monday night. She was about to thank Dean for his gallantry when she had a feeling of things being amiss. She checked her watch. It was a quarter after ten. Suddenly, she remembered that she had forgotten about picking up Baxter from her neighbor, who had agreed to dog sit for her. Janet felt her face flush with guilt. There she was flirting with Dean while Baxter was waiting for her.
“Is everything all right?” Dean asked.
“I have to pick up my dog from my neighbor and I’m late.”
“Well, then, we’d better walk fast.”
Fifteen minutes later, Janet rang her neighbor’s door.
There was a sound of clicking heels from behind the door, after which the front door opened, and Mrs. Chapman appeared on the doorstep. Mrs. Chapman was a widow. She was in her seventies, but maintained that age was just a number and insisted on acting accordingly. True to her usual self, she was wearing a patchwork-patterned tunic and leggings, complete with pompom adorned pink kitten mules. Her bright red hair framed her face in taut ringlets – it was a new hairstyle.
While trying not to look too shocked by the fiery red of Mrs. Chapman’s extravagant tresses, Janet was about to introduce Dean to her neighbor, but was interrupted by Baxter, who pushed through the door crack and started pawing at Janet’s legs.
“Good evening Mrs. Chapman,” Janet managed to say as she tried to keep Baxter from ruining her tights.
“Hi, there, Janet. Baxter is sure glad to see you.” Mrs. Chapman chuckled, patting her hair.
“New hairstyle,” Janet remarked obligingly. “It’s very much you.”
“Why, thank you, dear. At first I thought it was a bit much, but it’s starting to grow on me now.” Mrs. Chapman changed her hair at least once a month, saying that at her age she was lucky enough to have hair left on her head and she might as well have fun with it. “I don’t know about Baxter, though – I don’t think he likes it.”
As if in confirmation, Baxter sat up on his hind paws and barked.
“Baxter!” Janet pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, but Baxter’s attention had already drifted elsewhere, as he began to warily sniff Dean’s trousers.
“And who is your friend? I didn’t realize we were in male company.” Mrs. Chapman adjusted her hair again, peering at Dean curiously.
“Dean, Dean Snider,” Dean beat Janet to the introduction. “We work together,” he added, anticipating Mrs. Chapman’s next question.
“Well, Janet, I dare say your new job must be fun.” Mrs. Chapman winked. “But look at the time… I’ve got to run; it’s getting late, and I want to be up bright and early tomorrow to start working on the aria from Madame Butterfly. Goodnight, you two. Oh, and Janet,” Mrs. Chapman added, throwing a side glance at Dean, “I didn’t get around to Baxter’s evening walk, so you’ll have to take him. Sorry about that. Toodles.”
“Madame Butterfly?” Dean raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“Mrs. Chapman used to be an opera singer.”
Dean whistled. “I didn’t know you had celebrity neighbors.”
Janet shook her head. “Mrs. Chapman sang small opera parts, but mostly she worked as a librarian until she got married. She loves opera – it’s a big part of her life.”
As if to confirm Janet’s words, there was a sound of singing notes coming from behind Mrs. Chapman’s door.
“It sounds like you don’t have any lack of entertainment.” Dean glanced at Mrs. Chapman’s door, which was adjacent to Janet’s apartment door.
“It has its pluses and minuses.” Janet grinned. Baxter tugged at his leash, reminding Janet of his presence. “Well, I’ve got to walk Baxter; thanks for seeing me home.”
“You mean to tell me that after rushing like crazy to pick up the little fella, I don’t get to come along for the fun part?”
As if siding with Dean, Baxter barke
d, waving his tail. Dean reached down and rubbed Baxter behind his ear, in response to which Baxter licked Dean’s hand.
“I think he likes you.” Janet grinned. “He usually doesn’t like guys.” This was true – ever since Janet and Alex had broken up, Baxter had taken a dislike to all members of the male sex, as if blaming the entire male gender for Alex’s abominable behavior.
“Dogs usually like me.” Dean smiled at Baxter. “And I like them.”
“In that case, Baxter and I would be delighted if you joined us for Baxter’s evening walk.”
Dean held the lobby door open for Janet as they exited onto the street. Baxter pulled at his leash anxiously, eager to explore the street. Janet smiled to herself, her initial suspicion confirmed: Mrs. Chapman had set the entire thing up. If Baxter had not been walked, he would have been preoccupied with matters of greater importance. Janet peeked at Dean’s handsome profile and mouthed a silent thank you to her neighbor.
They headed for Carl Schurz Park. It was an ideal night, with the moon hanging low in the inky sky and a breeze coming in from the water. The perfect setting for a kiss, Janet mused. Not that she was going to act on her thought, but a girl could dream. Baxter, however, seemed to be unfazed by the romantic atmosphere, as he tugged at his leash, heading in the direction of the dog playground.
“He sure knows what he wants out of life.” Dean grinned at Baxter’s determination.
“Do you mind if we stop by the dog playground?” Janet asked.
“Not at all.”
Janet usually brought Baxter’s toys along with her, but tonight she had left them at her apartment. Baxter looked up expectantly at her, waiting for the usual ball toss.
“Sorry, Bax – not today.” Janet shrugged. “I left your toys at home.”
“I think we can figure something out.” Dean picked up a stick from the ground.
Baxter’s hind legs twitched with anticipation, his tongue hanging from the side of his opened mouth.
“Here you go, boy, fetch!” Dean threw the stick to the other side of the playground, and Baxter stormed after it.
“Do you have a dog?” Janet asked. She knew next to nothing about Dean, and yet there they were, walking Baxter together.
“No.” Dean shook his head. “But I used to walk a dog for someone when I was a kid.”
Janet felt a warm tingling in her chest. How could a girl resist a guy who loved dogs?
By now Baxter had returned and placed the stick at Dean’s feet, breathing heavily with expectation. Dean threw the stick again, and Baxter stormed after it.
“Dean?”
“Yes?”
“How long have you been at Bostoff Securities?”
“Not that long,” Dean answered slowly. “Just a few weeks longer than you.”
“Do you find anything odd about the place?” Janet asked before she could stop herself. There was something about Dean’s demeanor that made her want to trust him, almost uncannily so.
Dean shrugged. “Every place has its own quirks. Why, what have you noticed?”
Janet hesitated. She was the one who had started the conversation, but until she got to know Dean better, she was not going to say a thing more.
“Oh, there were a few outliers I found while preparing for the audit, but nothing completely out of the ordinary. I just meant that it’s kind of odd that the whole family is involved in the business – Bostoff Senior and his two sons, and now my boss, Lisa, is engaged to Paul Bostoff…”
“These things can get tricky,” Dean cut her off, and she thought she saw a shadow of disappointment on his face. “Well, it’s getting late. I’d better get going. I’m all the way down in Soho.”
Janet felt the air grow rigid between them. She had a ridiculous sensation that Dean guessed exactly what it was that bothered her about Bostoff.
“I wish it weren’t Monday night,” Dean added quickly. “I’ll walk up to Second Avenue with you and catch a cab there. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.” Janet felt her ease returning to her. She had imagined the entire thing. Dean was just tired.
Back in his apartment, Dennis draped his jacket over the hanger and loosened his tie. It was almost midnight, and he had to be at Bostoff at seven thirty a.m. tomorrow – the same time he was always required to come in, lest some dimwitted trader need help to turn on his computer. Judging by the quality of traders that Bostoff hired, it was no wonder that the company had to cater to corrupt hedge funds. The kind of dullards Bostoff hired were no doubt cheap, but they were also incapable of generating any respectable business. But then, Jon Bostoff was not interested in respectable business, so he hired the kind of people who would not bat an eyelash at the slimy schemes Dennis suspected Bostoff Securities was engaged in. If only Hank Bostoff knew about the sort of outfit Bostoff Securities was turning into under his son’s stewardship…
By now, Dennis knew enough about Bostoff’s business to understand that the corrupt direction in which the firm was heading was all Jon Bostoff’s doing. While still nominally in charge of the company, Hank Bostoff had little idea about his son’s business methods, and Paul Bostoff had no business in the world of finance. This realization saddened Dennis. He could only imagine the disappointment Hank would endure once the investigation would commence – the same kind of disappointment Dennis had, albeit unwittingly, caused his own mentor in what now felt like a different life, many years ago.
Dennis turned on the shower and stood under the pulsating stream of water, willing his brain to go blank, but failing. Bostoff Securities investigation was proving to be much more difficult than he had expected. Since he had started working for the Feds and then the Treasury, Dennis had relentlessly plowed away with the assignments put in front of him. An investigation was just that – an investigation. It was Dennis’s duty to bring the culprits to justice in order to make up for his own mistakes – mistakes that continued to haunt him, no matter how many crooks he caught and how many schemes he exposed. Dennis closed his eyes and turned his face under the water stream. Janet’s face hovered before his eyes, reminding him just how hopelessly naïve he had been. An investigation – any investigation – involved people, and Janet Maple was among the people who would get hurt once Bostoff’s corrupt operations were exposed.
Dennis wanted to protect her, but the only way for him to do that was for Janet to become his ally. By now, Janet Maple had to be on to Bostoff; Dennis was sure of it. He had sensed that she had wanted to share her suspicions with him tonight, but had changed her mind at the last minute. She did not trust him enough yet. He needed to build his trust with Janet slowly, something that was easier said than done because of the deadline that his boss had given him – three weeks before the Feds would take over the case. Take it easy, Dennis thought. How difficult could it be to become Janet Maple’s confidant? It was obvious that she liked him. The only problem was that he liked her too.
Chapter 20
Paul Bostoff rose from his chair and adjusted his tie. The prospect of a lunch meeting with his brother made him nervous. Jon and Paul were not the kind of siblings who shared boyhood memories: the nine-year age difference between them was partly to blame for that, but mainly it was the difference in their characters and temperaments. His whole life, Paul remembered Jon treating him with veiled disregard: Paul was always too slow, too weak, too young to warrant Jon’s interest. And even now, as adults, they were anything but close: a situation that proved to be all the more problematic since they were working for a family business. Paul could understand Jon’s reasons for not taking him seriously. After all, Paul had not exactly been a paragon of business astuteness; he had majored in acting at Vassar, selecting marketing as a second major to appease his father. After graduating, Paul ran with the actor crowd for a while, landing small parts in off Broadway theaters – the kind of theaters that had folding chairs for the audience to sit on and nothing but the bare floor as stage decorations. But Paul did not mind; in fact, he thought of thos
e years as the happiest in his life. Unlike Jon, he had never hungered for money or prestige. Granted, both brothers had grown up in a well-to-do household, but Jon seemed to have been born with insatiable ambition. Even in his boyhood years, Paul had noticed a look of vague dissatisfaction on his elder brother’s face. No amount of money would ever be enough for him and no social position sufficiently high enough. Paul, however, was the complete opposite of his brother. As much as he would have liked to please his father by showing some of Jon’s business rigor, he came up flat. Business did not interest him, which was a difficulty that could be easily overcome by perseverance, but Paul’s predicament ran much deeper than lack of effort. He had no acumen for the world of finance. Numbers held no allure for him, leaving his head heavy with headache and confusion. He was an artist, not a number cruncher like his father or brother.
But while Paul longed to see his name heralded in film and stage credits, he learned that the entertainment business was anything but easy to break into. There, again, ambition prevailed, and he lacked the killer instinct that had propelled his more tenacious friends into stardom. When Paul’s acting aspirations failed to blossom, he had been content to channel himself into marketing. At least, there was some aspect of creativity to it. He had wanted to strike out on his own. In fact, he had had an offer to join the marketing department of a reputable magazine, but his father had insisted that Paul join Bostoff Securities as Chief Marketing Officer. Embarrassed by the pompous, nepotism-procured title, Paul worked hard. He wanted to prove to everyone, and most of all to himself, that he was more than just his father’s son. He had succeeded: his advertising campaigns for Bostoff Securities were original and innovative. His father was pleased, and so were his colleagues, with the exception of his brother who considered marketing to be a sham of a profession. No matter; Paul was too old to need his brother’s approval. He had been perfectly happy with his newly-found niche in marketing when his father insisted on transferring him into the business side of things and making him chief operating officer or COO at Bostoff Securities.
