by Lynn Steward
Dana was going to follow Irwin’s advice and continue her relationship with Mark. Her mother would be calling any day now, and she was resigned to having her very forceful mother challenge her in a much stronger way than Johnny had. She wished that Father Macaulay was stationed in a parish somewhere in Manhattan. He could listen without offering judgment.
Chapter Thirty
Brett and Janice were going over case files from San Francisco on Tuesday morning when Brett’s secretary announced that Wade Forrester was waiting in the outer office.
“Show him in,” Brett said, glancing at Janice. “This ought to be quite enlightening,” he told his partner, with whom he’d shared all he learned from Johnny.
“Good morning, Mr. McGarry,” Forrester said stoically, eyeing Janice cautiously.
“It’s okay, Wade. I want her present for your briefing.”
“Very well,” Forrester said, sitting in a chair, opening his briefcase, and producing several files. “I learned a great deal about Mr. Senger and his activities with Mrs. McGarry.”
Brett leaned forward in his desk chair, Janice standing casually in the corner behind him. She folded her arms, leaned against the wall, and fixed her gaze on the private investigator. The news from Johnny had been more than she could have hoped for. Perhaps now she could definitively protect her romantic and financial interests at the expense of Little Miss Priss.
“I think you’re familiar with the overview,” Forrester began. “Senger is forty-two and president of Senger Display. He lives alone in a very expensive co-op on the Upper West Side and is occasionally visited by his daughter Amanda, who attends Cornell in the veterinary medicine program. His net worth is several million dollars, although at present that’s merely an approximation. I should have details in another week. He’s well educated and has a penchant for the finer things in life—food, the arts, travel, and the like. One of my men is running down the paperwork at City Hall to find out the details and timing of his divorce. The records are accessible to the public, but in a city of this size, there’s a waiting list to get them unless you grease a few palms. We’re working on it. But there’s a wealth of information we were able to garner through simple tailing and observation.”
Janice moved forward and stood at Brett’s side. She took a deep breath in anticipation of what Forrester had found out. Hopefully, it would reveal Dana’s feet of clay.
“Let’s have it,” Brett said.
“Mrs. McGarry is in a serious relationship with Mr. Senger and has been spending the night at his apartment frequently, according to direct surveillance. He recently treated your wife to an expensive riding wardrobe purchased from Miller’s. The clothing is estimated to have cost two thousand dollars.”
“Riding outfit?” Janice said.
“Yes, ma’am. Senger is paying for lessons for Mrs. McGarry at Claremont Riding Academy. He’s given the stables $500 towards the lessons.”
“Interesting,” Brett said. “Any lavish gifts?”
“None that we’ve detected. We have pictures of her in her riding clothes, and a consultant of mine was able to trace them to Miller’s. I dispatched someone to the store, where he asked a few innocent questions, the answers to which indicated that Senger and your wife indeed visited Miller’s recently.”
“Tell us more about these lessons,” Janice said, glancing down at Brett.
“They went to Claremont on Saturday, where Mrs. McGarry had her first lesson. After that, they went for a walk on one of the bridle paths in Central Park. This is where it gets interesting—and perhaps a bit painful,” Forrester said, producing photographs from one of his folders.
“Don’t hold back anything,” Brett instructed. “It’s why I hired you. I already have a pretty good idea where you’re going with this.”
Forrester nodded and proceeded to give his report in a straightforward manner. He handed Brett the pictures, which showed Mark and Dana walking closely together, embracing, and kissing at several stops along the path.
“It was fairly easy to get these shots since so many photographers are in the park and on the trails almost every day. My men didn’t arouse the slightest bit of suspicion.”
“Were you able to hear what they were talking about?” Brett asked.
“Absolutely. My main photographer had a great deal of equipment, but mixed in with his cameras were highly sensitive microphones and recording equipment. I also had an extra man—a retired New York City police detective who does freelance work—posing as a naturalist taking notes on birds. Between the two sources, I have a transcript of most of their conversation.”
Forrester handed Brett a copy of the document before resuming.
“As you can see,” Forrester continued, “they talked about a show jumping contest called the Hampton Classic, which is an upcoming event for Amanda. There’s also mention of France, although there’s no context for the comment. I would theorize that someone is making travel plans. As you’ll see, there’s also talk about a boutique and a company called Bauer & Sons Clothiers, which manufactures menswear in Brooklyn. Mrs. McGarry visited Bauer’s factory late yesterday evening, carrying a suitcase she took from her apartment overlooking Sniffen Court.”
Janice shot Brett a puzzled look.
“Probably samples for Bauer to copy,” Brett surmised. “Based on Johnny’s information, this is part of her idea to sell a private line of clothes at B. Altman.”
“Irwin Bauer is a longtime friend of Senger,” Forrester said. “He’s also wealthy and his business, while suffering a downturn recently, has generally been quite lucrative. Based on conversation we overheard when Senger and your wife went for a walk on Sunday afternoon, Senger seems to be the guiding hand in implementing Mrs. McGarry’s business ideas.”
“It all makes sense,” Brett said. “I listened to fashion talk for ten years. If Dana wants a private label for Altman, the store would need a manufacturer. From what Johnny Cirone tells me, Dana’s boss isn’t cooperating, so she and Mark are obviously doing this on their own.”
“And she’s got the House of Cirone to fall back on if the deal falls through,” Janice said.
Brett nodded.
“Do Dana and Senger have any plans to marry?” Janice asked.
“Not as far as I can tell. As the transcript reveals, however, they’re quite taken with each other, and the talk is explicitly romantic. And oh, there’s one more thing. Dana and Mark share the same divorce attorney, a man named Alan Rudnick. He’s a high-priced attorney known for making spouses bleed green.” Forrester returned the files to his briefcase. “That’s all I have for now.”
“I found out that last detail firsthand,” Brett said, rolling his eyes. “Excellent work as usual, Wade. Get back to me when you have those public records and more on Senger’s assets.”
“Shall I keep following them?”
“Yes,” Janice said.
Forrester glanced at Brett, who was smiling.
“Yes, Wade. Get me whatever you can and spare no expense.”
“Yes, sir.”
Forrester left, and Janice moved to the front of the desk, sat and crossed her legs.
“This is absolutely incredible!” Janice exclaimed. “What in the hell does Dana need your generous settlement for? She’s going to make a bundle of cash on her own regardless of where she ends up working, plus she’s got a wealthy older man on the hook. Are you going to let her get away with this? What she’s doing is outrageous. In fact … “
“Go ahead,” Brett said. “You can’t say anything that would make me angrier.”
“How do we know Dana wasn’t involved with Senger last year?”
Brett shook his head. “She was talking about starting a family and buying a home in the country.”
“What difference does that make? Was she understanding about your desire to make partner?”
“Yes, but she was growing impatient towards the end of the year. I was feeling a lot of pressure from her about my hours here at the firm.
She was quite irritable by December over ridiculous stuff, like the choice of a Christmas tree.”
“My point exactly. Plenty of people begin flirting or start relationships when they’re discontent, but if their spouses suddenly walk the straight and narrow, they abandon their extracurricular activities and begin nesting. Maybe she was testing the waters with this guy.”
Brett was clearly agitated. “You know, she ended the marriage so quickly, calling an attorney before I even returned from San Francisco. That’s not Dana’s style at all.”
“And Rudnick is Senger’s attorney too. Come on, Brett. Two and two make four. Dana is the type to at least hear you out, think about matters, and probably even go to marriage counseling. Her personality isn’t even close to shooting from the hip. She gets a call from her brother, however, and suddenly she has an instant appointment with a shark who handles family law. I’m sorry, but this whole thing stinks. It’s five months later and she’s getting handouts from this rich old man, staying at his apartment, and positioning herself for megabucks and more European travel—maybe even a partnership with the House of Cirone as she steps up to fashion director. Sounds premeditated, if you ask me.”
Brett looked at Janice, unsure of what to say.
“Sounds like Dana may not have been the demure, patient wife you thought you were married to. And you’re going to give her alimony and half of your joint assets? For God’s sake, fight back!”
Brett stood and sighed. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I agreed to terms, but in New York State, the initial agreement doesn’t roll over into a divorce decree until a couple is separated for a full year. Trust me, I’m going to call my attorney today. Dana is childless and, as we’ve learned, very employable. I’m going to request that the court evaluate her earning potential.”
Janice stood, approached Brett, and put her arms around him. “Aren’t you glad I came back to New York? You’re doing the right thing.”
Brett and Janice kissed tenderly.
“I don’t hate Dana,” Brett said, “but I’m not going to be played for a fool.”
“That’s the Brett I love,” Janice said, winking. “Keep your edge and don’t give away the store.”
Janice left the office, delighted at what she’d heard from Wade Forrester. And she was glad that she’d made the decision to keep a closer eye on Brett. After all, somebody had to keep the poor baby on course.
Chapter Thirty-One
Andrew Ricci was at his desk on Tuesday morning. He was well dressed as always and looked alert and upbeat. As far as his coworkers were concerned, he’d been sick. He exhibited no sign that he’d been drinking heavily for the past two nights.
“Hey,” Dana said, poking her head into Andrew’s office. “Feeling better?”
Andrew looked up and grinned. “I’m over my bug, kiddo. Doing fine. What about you?”
“I took some clothing to Irwin on Monday, and I can’t wait to see what he does with the samples. He had amazing fabrics.”
“Even though Jones New York is getting the space where your boutique was going?”
“You know about that?”
“I was sick, not dead! Of course I know. And my bet’s on you. No fool’s errand to Brooklyn for Dana McGarry. Hey, are you and Mark still going full steam ahead?”
“And why wouldn’t we be!”
“Oh, you’ve got it worse than I thought, Dana. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course. You look happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. If you’re happy, then I’m all for what you’re doing—with Mark, the boutique, whatever.”
Dana raised her hands in the air as she spoke. “Yes! Why can’t everyone else be happy for me? Johnny’s driving me crazy.”
“What about Virginia? She’s not one to remain silent.”
“She’s coming over for dinner tomorrow night, which means she and Johnny have been discussing my future again. Mom said my father is busy, which is another way of saying she wants to speak to me alone. She knows Dad allows me to live life the way I want.”
“Give me a report,” Andrew said, pointing his finger at Dana as he stood. “Every word. Gotta run to the kids’ floor. They’re installing the carousel. Later!”
Andrew’s smile dissolved into a vacant stare for the few moments he rode down in the elevator. He was still tired and had been recovering from a hangover the day before. His sense of responsibility had propelled him to work that morning even though he was severely depressed, unable to think of anyone or anything but Jack. Were he and Patti patching things up? Was Jack at Hartlen Response, carrying on business as usual? Andrew didn’t know, for he’d had no contact at all with Jack. He was trying his best to focus on work, but he was merely going through the motions.
At lunch, he left the store and walked aimlessly along the streets, not concentrating on where he was going. He didn’t know if he’d walked ten blocks or thirty, but he eventually found himself back at the Fifth Avenue entrance. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside reluctantly to tackle an afternoon of schematics and meetings.
“Good afternoon, Helen!” he said cheerily as he walked across the main floor, once again reclaiming the face of Andrew Ricci that everyone was familiar with.
“Would you stop by my office later?” she asked. “I want to go over a few design plans. And welcome back!”
Andrew winked. “I’ll be there within the hour,” he said as he resumed walking briskly to the elevators.
The day dragged on, and Andrew thought that he couldn’t possibly muster one more smile. He glanced at his watch several times each hour until, at last, he finished his work for the day. It was five twenty-two.
Andrew grabbed his coat and rode the subway to Greenwich Village, where he headed straight for a gay bar called Out of Bounds. It was a silly name, he thought, but it fit perfectly with the iconoclastic nature of the Village, with an extra pun on the fact that his lifestyle wasn’t sanctioned by mainstream culture. He entered the dim upscale establishment and sat at the end of the mahogany bar, staring past hundreds of liquor bottles into the long mirror on the wall opposite his seat. A morose face stared back at him—his own. He ordered a gin and tonic and sat silently, looking at his features, which, after a long day of work, looked tired and drawn.
An hour passed, and he was on his third gin and tonic when a stranger sat beside him. The man, in his thirties and dressed in a blue three-piece pinstripe business suit, ordered scotch neat.
“It’s been a long day,” the tall, wiry stranger said after five minutes.
Andrew turned his head, surprised by the unprompted conversation.
The stranger lowered his head and grinned. “Sorry. That was a pretty lame introduction. I’m Chad Collins,” he said, extending his hand.
Andrew was taken aback by the man’s use of his surname. Even in trendier bars, last names were not used at an initial meeting.
“Andrew Ricci. Nice to meet you.”
“I haven’t seen you here before. I stop in most evenings after work. I’m an investment banker with Dobbs and Haskell.” Collins had short blond hair and blue eyes.
“Just passing by and thought I’d stop in,” Andrew said. “I work at B. Altman. Display director.”
“Interesting! I shop there frequently. But it’s off the beaten path for the Out of Bounds bar. Are you sure you were just passing by?”
Andrew nodded at the mild challenge. “Guilty as charged. Wanted to get away from work and my apartment.”
“Sorry again. Is my babbling bothering you?” asked Collins. “I’ll find a table if you want to be alone.”
Andrew paused before speaking as Collins started to slide off the seat. “No. By all means stay. No use staring at that mirror all night.”
“All night, eh? From the little you’ve told me, you just lost a partner. Well, I did, too. Walked out on me after two years. Getting through the day is pretty hard. At least here I don’t have to pretend that everything in my life is fine.”
Andrew raised his glass
. “I know the feeling too well. When did your partner leave you?”
“Six months ago. A shrink told me that my grieving process should be over, but that hasn’t proven to be the case. What do they know, huh? What about you?”
“Jack—that’s his name—and I split three days ago. We weren’t living together because … well, just because.”
“Because he has a wife.”
“How did you know?”
“Just a guess. I’ve known people who’ve dealt with the same situation. For what it’s worth, that kind of triangle never has a happy ending, at least not that I’ve observed. The pull of family is pretty strong. Did he have kids?”
“No, just a wife and a large Texas oil family that owns two major companies.”
“Ouch. Tough odds to beat. My story is more straightforward. Ron left me for a photographer here in the Village, but here’s the worst part. The other guy used to be a ski instructor in Aspen before coming to New York. Tall fella with Nordic good looks. Rugged, handsome—the whole nine yards. Does it get any more stereotypical?”
The two men chuckled at the remark, and Andrew realized that he hadn’t laughed for days, at least not with sincerity.
“If you’re still hurting after six months,” Andrew said, “it looks like I have a long way to go. Right now it doesn’t feel as if I’ll ever get past this.”
“We’ll both turn the corner one day,” Collins asserted. “I’ve been dumped before. It gets better eventually, but right now? If you didn’t feel lousy, you wouldn’t be human.”
“Jack says he wants time to straighten his life out and explain things to his wife.”
“I’m sure he’s sincere, but it’s always a long shot. Say, you want to grab a table where we can relax a bit more?”
“Sure. Why not?”
They talked for two hours—Andrew speaking of how he’d helped Jack deal with his conflicted sexual identity—before deciding to get dinner and continue their conversation. Afterwards, Andrew went home with Collins and stayed the night. He called Collins after work the next day but got no answer. Leaving the store, he returned to Out of Bounds, but Collins wasn’t there. He once again sat alone at the bar, drinking gin and tonic. He contemplated calling Dobbs and Haskell the next day before realizing that it was a futile gesture. The man didn’t want to be found.
