Best Enemies

by Jane Heller

  Oh, and then he really laid a winner on me, on Stuart and me. He was all worked up about how he’d fallen in love with Amy and asked her to marry him and how it was only after he proposed that she confided that she’d been engaged once before.

  “She fold me her fiancé dumped her for another woman right before the wedding. Can you believe it?” he said. “The guy must have been deluded to think he’d found someone better.”

  I was so mortified, I couldn’t even look at Stuart. And I sure as hell wasn’t making eye contact with good old Amy.

  Fortunately, the doorbell rang before Tony could continue his homage to his bride-to-be.

  “I’ll get it,” I said, eager to leave the room.

  “No, I’ll get it,” said Stuart, blocking my path. “It’s just Mandy with some papers for me to sign.”

  I stiffened but tried not to show it. Mandy was Stuart’s latest secretary/squeeze. Or so I assumed. She was always calling, always hovering. And now a home visit? I was not amused.

  “Why is she coming here?” I asked, willing myself to appear chipper.

  “Because our driveway’s blocked, remember?” said Stuart. “I can’t go to the office, so she’s delivering the papers to me here.” He apologized to our guests for having to ran, then ran—probably straight into Mandy’s exuberant breasts.

  I offered to make Amy and Tony breakfast, but they declined, preferring to go back to the guest house. Meanwhile, Mandy came and went. Stuart emerged from the library looking like a man in lust.

  “For God’s sake, at least try to act married,” I hissed. “Amy will notice if you don’t.”

  “What if she does notice?” he taunted. “She’s always been the understanding type.”

  “If you so much as whisper the truth about us, I’ll make sure Jimmy gets an earful about you and Mandy.”

  “A threat. How sweet. Well, I’d love to chat some more, but Walter’s coming over. Since he bores you to death, you might as well take off.”

  Walter was Lasher’s chief bookkeeper, or maybe he was their accountant—I could never remember which. “My, you have your whole entourage dropping by today.”

  “Hey, I’m the boss. If I can’t go to them, they come to me.”

  “I hate to break this to you yet again, Stuart sweetie, but you’re not the boss of Lasher’s. Your bro is. Bye-bye.”

  I left him to wait for Walter and occupied myself in the bedroom. About a half hour later, I discovered I’d left my cell phone downstairs and went to get it. As I passed by the library, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. Mildly curious to know if Walter had arrived or if “Walter” was really just another woman having a fling with my husband, I stopped to listen. When I heard men’s voices, I was satisfied that Stuart really was conducting business. Relieved that Amy and Tony wouldn’t stumble on him in a compromising position and find out our marriage was a joke, I turned to go.

  And then I caught something that kept me glued right where I stood.

  It was the other man’s voice—the man who was supposed to be Walter but couldn’t have been, I realized. I’d met Walter Stein two or three times, either when I was over at Lasher’s headquarters or attending some corporate function, and he had an unmistakable New York accent. The man in our library at that moment was no New Yorker. He sounded Slavic or Russian. Definitely foreign.

  I pressed my ear to the door.

  “I give you finest,” said the man. “You never gonna do better.”

  “Well, the price is certainly right,” said Stuart with a chuckle.

  There was a noise from in there. A zipper opening or closing? A suitcase being locked or unlocked? I couldn’t tell, despite straining to hear.

  “Pure gold,” said the man. “And I bring more whenever you need.”

  I tensed as I asked myself what could be going on? The finest? Pure gold? More whenever Stuart needed? What the hell were they talking about?

  As they moved toward the door and Stuart escorted the man outside, I peeked around the wall and got a glimpse of him. He had slicked-back brown hair, a roly-poly body and a mustache, and he was wearing jeans and a Mets baseball jersey. He looked harmless enough, but he was not Walter Stein, that was for sure.

  As Stuart came back inside, I scurried into the kitchen, where I tried to make sense of their snippets of conversation.

  The mention of gold made me wonder if Stuart was buying one of his girlfriends some jewelry from a wholesaler. He wasn’t buying the trinket as a surprise for me, I’ll tell you that, because he knew better. (For one thing, it wasn’t my birthday or our anniversary. For another, I didn’t wear jewelry unless it came from Tiffany or was a reasonable facsimile.)

  But then there was the word need that struck me as interesting. The man had promised he’d bring more of whatever it was whenever Stuart needed it. That implied drugs, didn’t it?

  Oh God, I thought. As if I don’t have enough to handle, my husband’s an addict, his craving so out of control that the tree in the driveway forced him to sneak his dealer in and out of his own house, right under my nose.

  And yet Stuart had never seemed stoned, high, or impaired. What’s more, while he loved to spend money (one of the few traits I enjoyed about him), he loved to spend it ostentatiously, overtly, so that his spending could be seen and appreciated by others. Drugs were a private, solitary affair, which didn’t suit Stuart at all. What good was buying them if they couldn’t be shown off in some glossy magazine?

  Still, what else could the two of them have been discussing? It was definitely a deal of some sort and it definitely involved Stuart’s surreptitious purchase of “the finest.” Yes, it had to be drugs. And if it had to be drugs, the public perception of my simply beautiful marriage was more imperiled than ever.

  I was about to confront Stuart, when Bobby, his personal trainer, rang the bell.

  “Don’t answer that,” I said as he went for the door. “We have to talk.”

  “Can’t,” said Stuart. “I called Bobby this morning and told him I needed stretching out. Now he’s here.”

  You need stretching out all right, I thought. On a rack.

  “Bobby can wait,” I said. “I want to know who was in the library with you before. I heard a man, and he didn’t sound like Walter.”

  He smiled. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop, hon. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

  “Look, Stuart. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but I’m not about to let you—”

  I was stopped in mid-sentence by the unfortunately timed appearance of our house guests. Yes, there they were, the lovebirds, Amy and her best-selling mystery writer, arm in arm, with big smiles on their faces, their cheeks flushed from what I assumed was their latest romp in my sack.

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Amy. “We were just wondering if there’s been any news from the tree people.”

  “But if there hasn’t,” said Tony, “we’ll just keep busying ourselves, won’t we, buttercup?” He planted a soulful wet one on her lips.

  “You’re not interrupting,” I said brightly. “Stuart and I were just going over some household matters. And now his trainer is here.”

  “Right,” said Stuart. “See you guys later.”

  Stuart went off with Bobby, leaving me to play the gracious hostess.

  “Well,” I said, “since my better half is in such demand today, I’m afraid it’s just the three of us now.”

  “Minus one,” said Tony. “I think I’ll go outside to check the car. All that falling debris might have caused some damage.”

  After he left, there was an awkward silence between Amy and me. And then, at precisely the same time, we both started talking about Simply Beautiful in a desperate attempt to fill the dead air, I guess.

  “Why don’t we sit down,” I said when I couldn’t listen to another word about my perfect life.

  “Sure.” She followed me into the sunroom, where we sat on opposite ends of the sofa. “Thanks for letting us stay
over, by the way,” she added. “Tony and I really appreciate it. Spending the night in your guest house has been like having a preview of our honeymoon.”

  “That’s nice. Look, Amy. I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “For not telling Tony the whole story about your broken engagement to Stuart. You kept our names out of it, and that was a classy thing to do.”

  “Oh, don’t think twice about it. I had no interest in poisoning him against either of you. Why should I? As you can see, I’ve moved on with my life.”

  “I can see, and I’m so impressed by everything you’ve accomplished. The power career. The power boyfriends. And now, of course, Tony.”

  She glanced down at her feet. “Yes, I finally have it all, just like you.”

  Just like me. Ha. If only she knew the truth, I thought. If only I could bring myself to tell her the truth. It would be so liberating not to have to pretend with someone. But how could I tell her, of all people, what a sad marriage I really had? Why would she show me an ounce of sympathy?

  No. I could never tell her, and the reality of how isolated I was and how much I needed a best friend brought tears to my eyes. I always seemed to cry around her, best friend or not.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Everything’s great with you and Stuart, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it’s great,” I said. “These are tears of joy, because I’m thrilled for you, for all your success.” I wiped my eyes, tried to regroup. “Sorry to lose it like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “What for?”

  She didn’t answer at first. She just stared at me, as if she were suddenly flashing back to her own memories. And from the way her brows furrowed, I assumed they weren’t pleasant ones.

  “Amy? You were going to apologize for something.”

  Silence.

  “Amy?”

  “Oh. Right. Just that I’m sorry Tony and I left the guest house in such a mess. I’d better go straighten up.”

  Before I could tell her to leave it for the housekeeper, she jumped up from her chair and rushed out of the room. Odd behavior, wasn’t it, but who was I to criticize?

  27

  For the next two and a half months, Stuart and I saw Amy and Tony socially. Or professionally. I couldn’t tell which. From my standpoint, it was professional. I needed to keep her excited about the book so that she’d do everything she could to promote it. She was the one who insisted on making every get-together a foursome. My hunch was that, while she’d certainly gotten over Stuart (and who wouldn’t have, given the choice between him and Tony Stiles), it gave her a kick to flaunt her new fiancé in front of her old one. As for Stuart, he’d rarely mentioned Amy until she reappeared in our lives. Now, he was constantly asking about her—when would we see her again, how was I getting along with her, did I really think she and Tony were well matched. It was pretty sickening, actually, because he’d had his chance with her and blown it, so why the sudden interest?

  “I like Amy,” he said when I posed the question one day. We were on a flight back to New York from Palm Beach. We’d been looking at houses with a real estate agent. Stuart thought we should have a second home in Florida, and I wasn’t about to object, but we hadn’t found anything we wanted to buy. “As a matter of fact, I’ve always liked Amy.”

  “Liked Amy? You were in love with her,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but I married you, hon,” he said.

  “You know, I’ve always wondered: If you’d married Amy instead of me, do you think you’d be cheating on her the way you’re cheating on me?”

  He patted my hand, then motioned for the flight attendant, asked for a Bloody Mary, and opened the newspaper. Clearly, he was not planning to answer me.

  After our trip, I noticed that Stuart seemed sort of distracted, preoccupied, even jumpy. I asked him about it, but he shrugged it off, told me I had too much time on my hands. In a way, I did. My radio show was on hiatus, and there was no real work to be done on the book until closer to publication. Still, Stuart’s twitchy behavior was hard to miss. When he was in his womanizing phase, at least he was sort of happy-go-lucky, but now he was anxious, somber.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who observed the change in him, because Jimmy Lasher took me aside at a family gathering.

  “Stuart’s been avoiding me,” he said. “He’s not showing up for meetings, doesn’t take my calls, won’t even give me two seconds tonight. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but something’s weighing on him. He hasn’t been himself since we got back from Florida.”

  “Which reminds me: I know my brother’s never met a dollar he couldn’t spend, but how does he get off affording a house in Florida? Tell me to butt out if you want, but did you make a killing on that book of yours?”

  I smiled. “Not a killing, just a really nice advance for a first-time author. Why do you ask? Obviously, Stuart can afford the house without help from me. Business at Lasher’s is booming.”

  Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “Is that what he’s been telling you?”

  “Well, not in so many words. It’s just that he’s always got plenty of money, so I assumed—”

  “See, here’s what’s bothering me, Tara. Business at Lasher’s isn’t booming. The economy’s in a slump, in case you haven’t been reading the papers. Sure, the high-end customers are still buying, and they’re our core customers, but we’ve had a drop-off in terms of the rest. We’re a gourmet foods retailer at a time when most of the country is shopping at Costco and the other discounters.”

  “I had no idea. I guess I should have been paying more attention. It’s just that Stuart always acts as if everything’s fine with the company. Better than fine. And, as I said, he’s got more money than ever.”

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed and his expression darkened. “Wonder where he’s getting it, then.”

  “Okay, this may be totally irrevelant and nothing to worry about, but a man came to our house to see Stuart a few weeks ago and it sounded like they were making a deal.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. It was the day after the big rainstorm. Our driveway was blocked and we had house guests, so I was too frazzled to pin Stuart down. I just remember that he told me he had a meeting with Walter Stein, but the man he met with instead was some character in a baseball jersey, and he barely spoke English.”

  “Weird. Anything else?”

  “I overheard them talking. The guy was definitely selling Stuart something at a bargain price and promised there was more where that came from. Oh, and he mentioned the word gold.”

  “So it was jewelry?”

  “I thought it might be drugs.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Stuart’s no angel, but he’s no druggie, either.”

  “Could he be selling drugs instead of using them, Jimmy? Is it possible that the money he’s been spending like water is drug money?”

  He put his head in his hands. “I hate this. I hate having to police my own brother. But I’ll have to confront him. Actually, I think we both should confront him. If we double-team him, maybe we can get answers.”

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  Jimmy and I waited until the family party broke up, then cornered Stuart in their parents’ front yard.

  “You two are totally out of line,” he said after we brought up the subject of drugs. He was indignant, defensive, told us we were crazy.

  “Then who was the man who came to the house, Stuart?” I said. “The one with the foreign accent.”

  He laughed. “Is that what all this is about? His name is Sergei and he’s a friend of mine—kind of a hanger-on, but a nice guy. He used to work at the Westport store.”

  “I don’t remember anybody named Sergei in the Westport store,” said Jimmy.

  “You’re much too important to notice every lowly employee, Jimmy. You’re the boss, running the show.
Isn’t that what everybody keeps telling me?”

  “Stop it, Stuart. Tara and I are concerned about you.”

  “Tara wouldn’t care if I dropped dead this minute, as long as her bills are paid.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. Well, not quite. “So let’s quit being melodramatic and get back to Sergei. He’s a friend?”

  “He’s a friend, yes. I’m allowed to have my own friends, aren’t I? Or have you both decided to regulate who I see and what I do and when I do it?”

  “If he’s a friend, then why did you pretend Walter Stein was coming to see you that day?” I asked. “Why didn’t you introduce me to this Sergei?”

  “I didn’t think he was your type, hon. Not dressed in the designer duds you like everybody to be wearing when they walk through our front door. And we had house guests, if you recall. What would Amy think if she found out your husband socializes with a man who used to run our produce department but is now peddling gold chains out of a suitcase?”

  “You mean he does sell jewelry?” I said.

  “Not your sort of jewelry, but some women wear it,” he replied. “Sergei’s got a wife and kids to support, so I help him out and buy a few things whenever he comes around. What’s the big deal?”

  I was dying to ask who the recipients of this magnificent jewelry were, but I didn’t want to inflame the situation by bringing up Mandy and the others.

  “By the way, when you mentioned Amy before, did you mean Amy Sherman?” asked Jimmy.

  “The very same,” said Stuart. “She’s handling the publicity for Tara’s book and we’ve been seeing a lot of her lately.”

  The conversation veered off at that point, so that Jimmy and Stuart could reminisce about how special Amy was. Nauseating.

  In the end, Jimmy and I were semi-satisfied that Stuart had really befriended some former Lasher’s employee named Sergei and that he wasn’t involved in anything illegal. As for where he was coming up with the money for a house in Florida, his answer for that was less reassuring.