Abner’s arms flapped in the air. “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand, all right. More than you know. I’m the one who has been running interference so you could revel in your own misery. I know everything that happened, thanks to my friends, who thought I should know. I’m sick and tired of lying for you. You need to own your own misery. I will not forsake my friends while we all sit around, waiting for you to get over your snit. When was the last time you picked up the mail or took out the trash? Two months! When was the last time you left this loft? Two months! I’m telling you this, so you don’t have to tax your brain. You’re all but brain-dead. The only thing you aren’t doing yet is drooling. Good-bye, Abner.”
Abner heard the door close. He moved his head slightly to see if the bag by the door was gone. It was. His wife was gone. He needed to think about that. She’d told him to do something. What was it? Then it came to him. Isabelle had said he should look in the mirror. Maybe she’d left him a message scrawled in lipstick on the mirror. He frowned. Isabelle doesn’t do things like that. She’d said he smelled. And something about the mail. She was also sick and tired of waiting for him to drool. Shit! He wished now he’d paid more attention to what his wife had said.
Isabelle was gone. The bag by the door was gone. Ergo, his wife had left him because she was sick and tired of waiting for him to drool. How goddamn stupid was that? Abner thought as he shuffled toward the bathroom so he could look in the mirror.
It was a pretty bathroom, big enough for two people on a busy morning. Isabelle had decorated it. It wasn’t girly girly, nor was it manly. It was just plain old pretty, with misty green towels, luscious ferns on pedestals. Abner looked around and finally looked in the mirror. Then he looked around again to see who had followed him into the bathroom. He looked back at the mirror and realized he was looking at himself. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he was looking at. Nothing.
Son of a bitch! No wonder Isabelle had left him. How in the hell did he get like this?
Abner moved like a whirlwind as he reached for his razor and went at it. The moment he could see his actual skin, he rooted around in one of the vanity drawers till he found a pair of scissors. He started to whack at his stringy hair. He’d always cut his own hair, because no one could cut it the way he wanted it cut. Abner leaned forward to peer at his reflection. He saw himself and was pleased.
Abner spent thirty long minutes under his seventy-two pulsating jets as he rubbed and scrubbed to get the stink off him. He lost count of the times he washed his newly shorn head. He then turned the master knob from fiery hot to icy cold, then back again and again, until he thought he would black out.
He stood dripping wet on the bath mat as he contemplated his next move. Dry off. Dress. Mail. He had to get the mail. He didn’t give a good fiddler’s fart about the mail, but obviously, his wife did. Therefore, he had to get the mail. Then what? Drooling. He swung around and brushed his teeth for ten long minutes. Then he flossed. After that, he used up a half bottle of Listerine. The minty kind. He splashed on some woodsy, citrusy aftershave that Isabelle had said drove her nuts. He suddenly realized he felt pretty good. He got dressed in jeans, sneakers. He rummaged around in his drawer and finally settled on a deep purple Izod shirt, another gift from his wife. Purple was her favorite color.
Abner walked out to the kitchen. He felt better than good; he felt like a million bucks. He made a fresh pot of coffee. While he waited for it to drip into the pot, he decided to get the mail, which was so important to Isabelle.
Outside, Abner looked around at the colorful pots of flowers that seemed to be everywhere. He did some mental calculations. It had to be the end of June, close to July. According to Isabelle, he’d been in a stupor for two whole months. Sixty-one days! How was that possible?
At the mailbox, he noticed a fussy-looking little man walking toward him.
“Mr. Tookus?”
“Yes.”
“You are one hard man to get in touch with. I’ve been out here every day for the past two months, hoping to see you. No one answered that bell thing you have going on by the garage door. You didn’t answer any of my letters, e-mails, or texts. I had no phone number to reach you. Nelson Carter,” the fussy little man said, holding out a fragile, bony-looking hand. Abner was careful not to squeeze it too hard.
“Is there someplace we can talk?” the fussy little man asked.
“About what? Why have you been coming out here every day for two months? Who are you?”
Carter withdrew a slim wallet from his jacket pocket and held it up for Abner to see his picture and the letters CIA. “I work for the Central Intelligence Agency, out at Langley. Can we go inside now? I don’t much care to discuss business outdoors, and I really could use a cup of coffee, if you’d care to offer me one.”
“Yeah, sure,” Abner said, totally forgetting to pick up the mail as he led the man through the garage to the elevator that would take them to the loft.
Once they were seated at the kitchen counter on bar stools, coffee cups in hand, Abner waited for whatever was about to happen.
“I’m going to get right to the point, Mr. Tookus. You came to me highly recommended, so highly, in fact, that I have a hard time believing you are as good as the person who recommended you said you are. That person also said there was no one else in the universe who could fill his shoes but you.”
Abner started to laugh. The sound was rusty. Obviously, he hadn’t laughed much lately. “Do we mention names here? Or do we just go with ‘I think I know who you are talking about,’ or however you want to put it. You spooks are a whole other breed. I get that.”
Carter allowed himself a small smile. “Let’s just say my . . . uh . . . spook decided to leave the agency on rather short notice. He recommended you as his replacement. He . . . actually insisted. I took that to mean . . .”
“Your agency would feel his full wrath or something like that if you didn’t do what he said.” Abner chuckled.
“Exactly. The powers that be insist you come to work for us. Name your price. It’s not an office, nine-to-five kind of job, as I’m sure you know. However, you will have to join us out at Langley for ten days or so. That’s because we need to brief you. We will also schedule a video conference with your . . . uh, predecessor. So, Mr. Tookus, what do you say?”
Abner drained the coffee in his cup. He didn’t know what to say. Yes? No? I have to talk to my wife, but she left me. I need to talk to the boys, but they are no longer talking to me. Yes? No?
“Sure. Why not? I’m at loose ends here. When do you want me to start?”
Carter didn’t miss a beat. “Tomorrow morning, six a.m. Don’t be late.”
Abner walked Nelson Carter out to his car, a nondescript black Nissan sedan. They shook hands.
Abner didn’t know if he should laugh, cry, dance a jig, or howl at the blazing sun. Instead, he ran like hell back to the garage and the elevator and the special phone Phil had given him. The problem was, he couldn’t remember where he had put it. Not a problem, he realized when he heard it ringing inside the bread box, where he must have thrown it. He was laughing so hard, he could barely talk. So he listened.
“You take the job?”
“Yeah,” Abner gasped. “I start tomorrow. Should I say thanks?”
“Not necessary. What are friends for? Listen, kid, I have something to tell you. Mary Alice and I are getting married. The day after Thanksgiving. We want you to come to the wedding.”
“Now, why am I not surprised? I’m happy for you, Phil. What kind of present can I possibly give you? Man, you have the whole world.”
“You want to give me a present? If I tell you what I want, will you promise to give it to me?”
“Absolutely. If I can.”
“I want you to be my best man. Is that too much to ask?”
Abner was so choked up, he could barely speak. “No, no, it’s not too much to ask, and I accept. I’m honored that you asked me. And f
lattered. Just tell me where and when.”
“Day after Thanksgiving. Las Vegas. The Elvis Presley Chapel.”
“Return to the scene of the crime, eh?”
Phil laughed. “One more thing. Don’t wait too long before you mend all those fences you pounded into the ground. See ya, kid.”
“Yeah, see ya, Phil. Hey, give Mary Alice a hug for me. I’m happy for you, Phil.”
What a day, and it is only nine thirty in the morning. First, my wife leaves me, and then I’m offered a top gun job at the CIA, and then I’m asked to be best man at the wedding of one of the richest men, not to mention the smartest man, in the world. Yep, a hell of a day so far.
He hoped the day would stay as good as it was when he made his entrance at the BOLO Building to mend his fences.
But before he did another thing, he had to call his wife.
The moment he heard her voice, he laughed. “Thanks for the kick in the tail. I needed that. Please tell me you didn’t buy a ticket to Outer Mongolia.”
“They were sold out.” Isabelle giggled. “Want me to come home early?”
“Oh, yeahhh.”
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It was early. Just barely past seven in the morning, when Alexis Thorne carried her cup of steaming coffee, the first of the many she would consume on this blustery early-October day, over to the huge, plate-glass window and stared down at the nearly empty parking lot. Her BMW was the only car in the lot so far that day. She sipped at the hot coffee just as another vehicle, Nikki’s bright red Jeep Cherokee, swerved off the street and into the parking lot and came to rest next to hers. She smiled to herself. As was always the case, she and Nikki were the first ones into the office, beating each other out by a bare minute or two. She laughed out loud when she saw Nikki look up at the window and snap off a salute. Alexis did the same, unsure if Nikki could actually see her past the glare of the bright, early-morning sun on the window.
Alexis continued to watch her boss as Nikki sprinted across the lot like a gazelle. Alexis was holding out a matching mug of coffee when Nikki blew into the firm’s kitchen. “Beat you by seven minutes, boss.”
“Traffic was a bear this morning. Bumper-to-bumper two lights back, and I even left ten minutes early this morning. Hmmm, this is good.”
“New coffeepot,” Alexis said, giggling. “What’s on the agenda today? Anything earth-shattering?”
“Not on my part. I have a ten o’clock appointment this morning. I don’t even know what it’s about. Mitzi said the woman refused, yes, absolutely refused to discuss with her why she wanted the appointment. Very mysterious. My new girl is due at eight-thirty to finalize her divorce. I plan to leave at noon if nothing else comes up.
“Listen, Alexis, we need to talk here. I really want to make you a partner in the firm. Why do you keep fighting me?”
“Because you have already done enough for me. You pay me way more than I’m worth, and we both know it. I’m happy with the health benefits. This is your firm, Nik. Yours and yours alone. I know what you had to do to get to this point, and I’m not going to take any of that away from you. If the day ever comes when I think I deserve a partnership, I’ll let you know. Another thing—I really, really do not want to be perceived as the firm’s token black partner. I know full well that you and the other associates don’t look at it that way, but there are lots of other people who will.”
“If anyone ever deserved to be a partner, Alexis, it’s certainly you. Without you at my side, we never could have handled those two class-action suits. You did more than I did, and you know it. You need to be rewarded for all your hard work. Because of those two big wins, we suddenly became the go-to firm for class-action suits. That’s the reason I’m hiring this new girl. And I have two more I’m considering.”
“One more time, Nik. You did reward me with that super-duper end-of-the-year bonus that made my eyeballs pop out of my head and let me buy that monster sitting in the parking lot. I don’t need or want anything more. Can we stop talking about this now?”
“Sure. For now. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying, though. By the way, you are coming out to the farm tonight, right? With all the guys in New York on some secret gig, you can leave your car here, hitch a ride with me, and come in with me in the morning. Does that work for you?”
“Absolutely. A hen party and not a rooster in sight. My kind of party. Did you call everyone?”
“Everyone other than Maggie, since this meeting is about her. Don’t look at me like that, Alexis. You know as well as I do that we all need to talk this through. The others agree.”
“It’s not that I disagree, Nik. It’s more like . . . oh, I don’t know . . . maybe I’m feeling disloyal or something. Uh-oh, you better check this out. There’s some drama going on down there in the parking lot. I think it’s your new associate. And is that her husband? The one she’s divorcing? She’s got a lip-lock on him like you wouldn’t believe. Or . . . is that guy someone she had waiting in the wings?”
Nikki ran over to the window to look down at the parking lot. “That’s the soon-to-be–ex-husband. I have to say, this is, without a doubt, the strangest case of divorce I’ve ever handled. You know who he is, right?”
“No, actually, I have no idea. Should I?”
“He’s Jeffrey Lambert, son of the current Speaker of the House, Wilson ‘Buzz’ Lambert. Jeffrey Lambert started up that software company called Lobo, the one that just went on the stock exchange at the beginning of the year. If you believe the hype and the media, the guy has money blowing out his ears.
“He wants to give Amy half, and she won’t take it. She settled for a set of assorted bedding, some dishes, a Crock-Pot, and a few other odds and ends. It got a little contentious at our last meeting. She doesn’t want anything. It’s weird. They actually love each other, but they are not in love. They’re both agreeable to the divorce and want to remain friends. Will that work? Who knows? If I had to guess, I’d say probably, but only because he will be on the West Coast and she’ll be in the D.C. area.
“Actually, Myra said she could stay in our safe house. You remember, the one that belonged to Marie Llewellyn, the woman who got the Sisterhood off the ground in the first place when we defended her. We keep it up and use it when needed. Amy is all set. She’s going to be a great addition to the firm. I can feel it in my gut.”
Alexis nodded. “Looks to me like they’re both crying. I’m not getting this.”
“Me either. This is how Amy explained it to me. She said they were like an old comfortable shoe and a warm sock. They found each other in college, at a time when they each needed someone. She said the
re was never any passion, just contentment. She wanted more, and so did he, but for five years, neither one wanted to rock the boat. Once Amy passed the bar exam, and Jeffrey got his company off the ground, they became a little more vocal about their needs, wants, and expectations, and, for better or worse, this is the outcome.”
Alexis nodded. “I think they’re coming in now, and they’re holding hands. Why is he even here?”
“Because he has to sign off on the divorce. He absolutely insisted on setting up a trust fund for Amy. Margie is handling all of that. He needs to sign off on that, too. Amy balked, but he shut her down and said he wouldn’t agree to the divorce unless she agreed to the trust. He finally wore her down.”
“Is there a lot of money involved?” Alexis asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Nikki drawled. “The number of zeros is enough to make you dizzy. Amy no more needs to work than Annie does. Not that she is likely to touch any of the money in that trust. That guy is right up there, nipping at Mark Zuckerberg’s heels. You know, the Facebook guy.”
“Just when I thought nothing else could surprise me, I hear something like this. You better get moving. By the way, I just realized that since you’re leaving at noon, I’ll have to drive myself out to the farm. I have two late-afternoon appointments back-to-back. And the more I think about it, I might even be late, depending on traffic. Don’t start without me.”
“No problem. You want to meet the new associate?”
“It can wait. I need another cup of coffee before I’m ready to face strangers. Good luck with the Bobbsey Twins.”
Nikki found herself giggling all the way back to her office. Before she did anything else, she turned on the gas fireplace in the casual seating area, which she preferred to use rather than dealing with clients, at least the ones she cared about, over her massive, shiny, cold desk. She knew that Mitzi Doyle, her office manager and notary public, would have a pot of coffee on the coffee table before her clients made their way to the office. Before that thought could leave her mind, Mitzi, a motherly gray-haired woman, appeared, tray in hand. “Anything else, Nikki?”
Fast and Loose Page 26
