Five O’Clock Shadow

by Susan Slater

  “May I?” Sosimo leaned forward and, slipping the bracelet from the box, encircled her wrist, struggling a moment with the clasp. The diamonds danced in the firelight, shimmering along her bare skin. And then she saw the note in the top of the velvet case, a holiday card with embossed gold foil bells in one corner, the kind that might accompany a gift. “Merry Christmas, darling. When you look at this, think of me and I’ll be with you.” It was signed simply, “Randy.”

  She felt her hands grow cold and shake just enough to wiggle the case. What irony. Like someone telling you to try not to stare at the left eye of the camel…of course she would think of him each and every time. She didn’t need, didn’t want reminders. So would she keep the bracelet? But how could she turn it down without raising suspicion? Without saying that even though it looked like Randy’s handwriting, he would never call her “darling”—or, at least, never had.

  But what if it were true? What if he had planned ahead, planned some incredible gift to sweep her off her feet when he wasn’t there? A gift of apology, a gift he’d planned to give her two months into their young marriage because he was going to be off somewhere on business? There was a time when she would have believed that. But now? She didn’t know what to believe. It was like a giant hand pushing up from the grave to clutch at her throat, suffocating her with memories and anger sparked by unforgivable lies. Who was it who had said that there was a thin line between love and hate?

  “It’s perfect for you.” Sosimo gently turned her arm so that the firelight caught in the band and exploded into hundreds of tiny winking golden sparkles.

  Say something appropriate, Pauly told herself, then get out of there.

  “How did you know I love the color yellow in stones? I have an old topaz ring that I’ve practically worn out.”

  “Randy had an eye for detail, he took note of things. I’m only guessing that he may not have always been able to express himself, but Pauly—you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. He said that to me, over and over. He wanted this bracelet to be uniquely yours. I had explicit instructions as to what to look for, right down to the yellow diamonds.”

  Could it be true? Randy used to tease her about the topaz ring, made her toss it in a drawer when the band wore through. Who else could have known that she would have picked this very bracelet for herself? Purchased it, that is, if she had had an extra fifteen or twenty thousand in her pocket.

  It was uncanny. But only because she’d buried any happy memories of Randy, not allowed herself to think that he might have cared for her. Not after what she’d discovered. And now? How did this bracelet change things? Because it did. And she couldn’t help it. Suddenly the spirit of the man she’d spent two months learning to hate filled the room, hovered over her, beamed back at her from a couple dozen twinkling diamonds.

  “Did I do the right thing? Perhaps, I should have waited.” Sosimo was leaning towards her. He must have read the confusion in her face. Instinctively Pauly masked her feelings. Then, appearing to struggle for emotional control, she simply nodded, pressed fingers to the corners of her eyes to keep imaginary tears from falling, and swallowed hard. She squeezed his hand and was pleased with her performance when she felt him relax.

  “Yes, you did the right thing. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Randy would have been thrilled. I’m thrilled by your choice. But this is all so…overwhelming.” Pauly rose, picked up the case but left the bracelet on her wrist. “Thank you.” Sosimo didn’t follow her as she walked to the door.

  She let herself out and sought the first bathroom along the hall on the way back to the ballroom. Just in case she was being watched. It would make sense to collect herself, and maybe that wasn’t a lie. She felt lightheaded, a little buzz of lingering shock. She glanced at the bracelet. It was the last thing she would have associated with Sosimo. But what was his relationship with Randy? She was already having to remind herself about the pictures, about Sosimo’s sexual tastes, and maybe Randy’s preferences as well.

  She barely acknowledged her surroundings, more pink marble, walls, sink tops, sinks, and floor as she pushed open the restroom door and sank onto a settee. Automatically she started to unfasten the bracelet, then stopped. What if Sosimo saw her again before they left? How could she be so overcome with emotion and then race down the hall to take it off? She checked her makeup instead and tried to ignore the fiery blasts of color that bounced back at her from the mirror.

  Tom looked anxious as she approached the table and slipped into a chair beside him.

  “How’d it go?”

  Instead of answering she simply held her arm up.

  “What? If that’s what I think it might be—”

  “It isn’t a bribe. But it’s a long story.” Suddenly Pauly realized how tired she was, fatigued, mentally and physically. “Could we leave?” It would feel good to get out of there.

  “How about a cup of coffee somewhere?” Tom followed her across the dance floor. There was no Sosimo at the door and they got a valet’s attention and were in the car without anyone saying good-by.

  The “somewhere” turned out to be a posh little bistro on Central in the Nob Hill area, one of those quiet, white-tableclothed restaurants that stayed open until two a.m. and served fabulous dessert coffees. A jolt of espresso might be just what she needed.

  They hadn’t talked on the half-hour drive back into town. Pauly was thankful for that, but she didn’t miss Tom’s tight jaw when she glanced his way. Let him think what he wanted. She was still trying to collect her own thoughts, decide how she really felt and how much she wanted to share with him. All the time the diamonds lay coolly against her wrist, moving when she moved, catching in the plush of her jacket, a reminder of so much.

  She waited until the waitress had shown them to a table in the loft. Then she drew the jewelry case out of her purse, snapped it open and handed it to Tom. She watched him read the note in the top. They both waited until the waitress had taken their order, then Tom said, “From Randy? I don’t understand.”

  She explained. Told Tom exactly what had happened in Sosimo’s study, no more, no less, pointedly leaving out her mixture of feelings. How she was becoming comfortable with Randy’s deceit, how it had erased any feelings of love and certainly truncated the period of mourning. And now this.

  “It’s got to be tough on you. I’m sorry. This is like coming back from the dead.” Tom reached over and took her hand, the one without the bracelet dangling from her wrist. “You must be wondering when it all will end. You’ve got to be reminded of Randy every day at the office. Now the bracelet.” He went through combing motions with his fingers, trying to keep a lock of salt and pepper hair off his forehead, a nervous gesture done automatically.

  “What are you going to do, Pauly? I don’t think anyone can expect you to continue to be the martyr, try to carry on in Randy’s place. It’s got to be painful.”

  She was saved an answer by the waitress bringing their coffees, and Pauly took the time to run a twist of lemon peel around the rim of her cup. She was so tempted to share with him, just spill everything out on the table and for once have help in sorting the pieces. But how could she even consider such a thing? There was every possibility that Tom was into the child porn thing the same as Archer seemed to be. She couldn’t take a chance. Instead she watched him wipe the froth of cappuccino off his upper lip.

  “It’s not the way I saw my life. That I’ll admit.”

  “How did you see your life?”

  “Babies. A big house. Lots of PTA and scouts. Junior League. Maybe another degree someday.”

  “Is that what Randy promised?”

  She nodded. She couldn’t read the look on his face. Did he know that that promise was a sham? He started to say something but instead bent his head over his coffee, this time removing the remaining foam with a spoon.

  “I’m going to El Paso in the morning. I’ll meet with the firm we’re teaming with, see what they need, map out how we’ll coordinate the
reports.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.” Tom put his spoon down and took both of her hands in his. “I see this as torture. Why are you subjecting yourself to this, forcing yourself to be reminded of Randy…putting yourself in danger, if my guess is correct about Sosimo? This is a tough project. I don’t want you hurt.”

  Pauly mentally felt her heels dig in. She had such a difficult time with people telling her what to do, and she had to go to El Paso. Now more than ever. The Amistad agency might hold the answers. She prayed that it did. Who was the man who had ordered the canary yellow diamonds? Lover-husband? Manipulator? Sicko? She had a right to know.

  “How can I assure you that I know what I’m doing, that it’s important to me to be involved? I’ll be careful.”

  Tom didn’t look convinced, but he dropped the subject. They finished their coffees with nothing more than small talk. On the drive back to the house he tried one more time, almost begged her to become active in the company in some other way, said he had a couple of other projects in mind that could use her touch. Window-dressing, inconsequential tasks probably, something he’d consider a woman good at, Pauly thought. Their parting kiss lacked conviction. His heart wasn’t in it. But neither was hers. The bracelet rattled around her arm as a reminder of other things, sort of a chastity belt worn on the wrist. It certainly put a damper on any romantic thoughts. He left without saying anything else about the trip to El Paso.

  The house was dark except for a couple of strategically placed nightlights in the hall. She locked the front door before walking back towards the kitchen. Was she surprised to find Steve sitting on a stool at the butcher-block island nursing a cup of coffee and obviously waiting on her? Not really. She knew there would be an apology. And he looked awful; suffering didn’t become him.

  “Good party?” He sounded sober and looked unbelievably handsome slouched over the tabletop, a navy, loose-fitting cable knit sweater over a chambray shirt. The soft light coming from the hood over the stove muted his features and the ever-present art work. This was certainly her night for good-looking men. And it was almost easy to believe that this one really liked her. Didn’t the boyish outburst earlier in the evening prove that?

  “So-so.” Pauly unbuckled her shoes, slipped them off, rubbed her right instep before pulling up a stool. She wasn’t sure why it felt good to have a little company, but it did. It kept her from rehashing the evening, turning it over yet again in her mind—Randy, Sosimo, Tom’s adamant stance about her quitting the project. She watched Steve’s eyes rest a second on the bracelet but he didn’t comment.

  “Beer? Coffee?” he asked.

  “I’ve probably had enough of both.”

  She got up and got a glass of water, padding past him to the sink on stockinged feet, and felt his eyes follow. The saltillo tiles were warmed from underneath, circulating hot water in pipes buried in the floor; it felt incredibly good on feet that had been pushed to their limits by fashion.

  “I was really out of line earlier,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything as she scooted her stool closer to the table.

  “I was a jackass,” he added, all the time watching her.

  He waited to make eye contact, then held it. “The last thing I want to do is drive you away. And that’s all I seem to be good at.”

  She heard the frustration in his voice and thought of the ski mask. She suddenly realized how much she wanted him to be innocent. But still, it made her wary.…

  “Any chance I might be forgiven?”

  It was difficult to resist him; there was no way that she could stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She reached across and took his hand and checked a tiny shiver of pleasure that shot up her arm and registered almost painfully somewhere in the pit of her stomach, but not before his eyes had given away the effect touching had had on him. Even knowing what she did, this man could still jolt her senses, weaken her knees, make her think of—damn…she needed to get out of here.

  “Early day tomorrow.” She took a sip of water, then pulled back and slipped off the stool, bending to retrieve her shoes. He followed her along the dark hall, the stairway to her bedroom being just beyond the back door.

  “Thanks for listening. I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he said. She let him pull her around to face him, the narrow walkway making touching inevitable.

  “Don’t misinterpret forgiveness for an invitation.” She was curt. But she must not have sounded too convincing because he laughed and brought her chin up so that he was looking in her eyes. Then he lightly kissed her forehead, waiting that split-second, letting his finger trace her jaw line before he kissed her on the mouth, hands suddenly pressing into her back, pushing her into him hard, his hunger raw and real, and she responding. Then he pulled away, both of them breathless, and forced himself to kiss her again on the forehead and just hold her.

  “I don’t know where all this is going to lead,” he whispered with his mouth tickling her ear. “But we’re not going to get there too quickly this time.” He pulled back and grinned. “I’m impressing you with my remarkable restraint, right?”

  She laughed. But she wasn’t exactly feeling relief. She watched him put on his jacket and move to the door, open it and disappear into the darkness.

  “Thanks a lot,” she said, more or less in the general direction of the bracelet.

  ***

  She felt exhilarated; she’d slept longer than she had meant to. So much for the plan to head out at the crack of dawn. It was more like the crack of ten thirty before she gassed up the pickup and headed south on I-25 out of Albuquerque. With a couple of stops and depending on whether she saw a lot of patrolmen, the trip to El Paso would take about five hours.

  But today was the day for solving puzzles. She felt it. The Amistad adoption agency would cough up some answers, and she’d be asking the questions. The red short-bed Chevy truck was a good choice of vehicle, but she was taking it mostly out of guilt for not having even started it in two months. If she was going to sell it, she needed to know something about it other than its color. Then again, she might take the time to go out to the project site or detour along Elephant Butte and check water levels; then she’d need its maneuverability. Whatever she decided, it felt great to have a day ahead of her with so much promise.

  She’d slipped on a pair of Levi’s, no hose or heels. She’d had it with dressing up, especially the heels part; her arches still ached from last night. But she fastened the bracelet around her wrist. How truly Santa Fean, a study in scruffiness, until the diamonds peeked out from under the cuff of her flannel shirt. Outdoor chic. She checked in the mirror, shaking her wrist to make the bracelet dance in the light, and thought she’d captured the look exactly, then laughed.

  To save time she wrapped a couple of warm flour tortillas in foil, breakfast on the run, but it would do until she decided to stop for lunch. She’d try to get as far down the road as she could before her stomach started growling.

  Socorro whizzed by after fifty minutes on the road and the landscape looked its bleakest. Of course, she reminded herself, it was late December, when the starkness of the flat browns became monotones until Elephant Butte Lake broke up the view.

  She stopped for coffee in nearby Truth or Consequences. Strange how the town’s one claim to fame was a TV show that few people now remembered. She chose a diner that inevitably reeked of cigarette smoke. She guessed it would be difficult to find a smoke-free place here. This was a retirement town for duffers. Duffers having coffee, reading the newspaper, arguing politics, poking fun at other duffers. This was real lakeside geezerville. She decided to get the coffee to go, then ordered a cheeseburger and sat down at the counter.

  It had been a good idea to take a break. She felt invigorated once back on the road and welcomed the sight of the Organ Mountains outside Las Cruces. She kept on the by-pass and missed any college traffic from New Mexico State. The four and a half hour trip was just beginning to get tiring when the I-25 signs announced only
thirty more miles to El Paso. She’d planned to stay the night, find the adoption agency as soon as she could check into a motel and shower, take whatever time was needed to find out what they knew about Randy and Jorge. Dinner might be someplace in Juarez, and then in the morning, she’d appear on the doorstep of the teaming firm bright and early.

  A decent motel was easy to find. The one she decided on boasted cable, a hot tub, and a phone in every room. She pulled in more than a little pleased to see security guards walking the parking area along an eight-foot-high chain-link fence that defined the back and sides of the property. She wasn’t worried for her own safety, but El Paso was notorious for offering an open invitation to car thieves. Living on the border had its drawbacks. And a brand-new red Chevy truck was pretty tempting.

  Her room was on the back, ground-level, the usual shag carpet and swag lamps in greens and orange. But the shower felt good. It was early, only four o’clock, but already beginning to get dark when she pulled on a white shirt, tucked in the tail, and adjusted the silver concho belt over the broomstick-pleated red bandanna skirt. Black mock-cowboy boots, a red and black blanket-vest, and she was ready. Now she looked more than a little Santa Fean, but nice. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. She checked the hem; the skirt hung straight. She wanted to look good, but not necessarily bowl them over with anything too dressy or too casual. She tucked the bracelet out of sight under a cuff.

  She hadn’t decided whether to just show up or call for an appointment. There were pluses and minuses to each approach. Calling finally won out. She decided she could fake it, sound like someone desperate for their services, in need of a consultation. She was glad she’d called the other agency in Albuquerque and wondered vaguely if this agency demanded a scrapbook. Probably not.