Raphael seized the moment. "Yeah, dude, I can't believe Hannah made you come back early. That's not cool. Especially after what I heard about her case."
"What do you mean?"
"That vanishing premium case, right? I heard Stu got an extension to produce the docs you're reviewing." He sat down in a chair facing the kid. "I can't believe she made you come back to do her dirty work when it wasn't even an emergency."
"Are you serious?" Micah studied Raphael. "What a witch. I wish I'd just told her no. I would've spent New Year's with Ashley and . . . the whole thing just pisses me off."
"So then why don't you give her a little computer virus? Or hack in so I can fuck with her billables? Deep down you hate her as much as I do. Admit it." Raphael lowered his voice, imitating Darth Vader, "Luke, come to the Dark Side of the Force."
Micah cracked a smile.
"Look, Mikey, I never told anyone this." Raphael sighed. "When we broke up, she didn't even tell me face-to-face. She sent me a friggin' email, dude. And now she's transformed into a ruthless fembot trying to take my spot as partner. Come on, dude, please."
"I can't, Raph. I've done enough shit I already regret."
"I can't believe you're fucking chickening out on me."
"No, I'm saving your ass and your chances of making partner, Raph. I've been feeling guilty about a lot of things, things you wouldn't believe, and I don't need this shit right now."
19 Thursday
* * *
He got his briefcase from the backseat of the Porsche in the S & A parking garage and carried it with the Bloomingdale's bag containing the scotch bottle. Sarah grudgingly walked with him to where her Taurus was, a Midtown parking lot run by an oily little valet. The valet pulled out the Taurus for him, stuck out an empty palm, waiting for a tip that wasn't coming. Gabe held the passenger door open for Sarah, making sure that he was physically between her and the trunk. That was important now. Shielding his daughter from the body.
When they started driving, he wasn't sure if something smelled odd in the Taurus or if it was just his mind playing Three Card Monty with his guilt. He imagined that the body wasn't doing very well in the trunk of the car, not with all the heat and humidity. He wanted to gag when he thought of the gaping hole in its chest. He wondered what it was going to smell like when he opened the lid.
What if she smells something?
Gabe glanced at her profile. She wasn't speaking to him as usual. But when he turned the air conditioning up as far as it would go and rolled down all four windows, Sarah stared cockeyed at him like he was the main event at a carnival sideshow.
"What are you doing?"
"It's hot, Sarah. I'm uncomfortable." Sweat rushed from his forehead to his chin, clinging to his beard stubble like drops of mercury. "What are you looking at me like that for?"
"You're so weird." Sarah stared out her window.
Gabe gunned the car west to the Hudson, forgetting that Sarah's Ford didn't handle like the Porsche. Cabs honked at him, pedestrians gave him the finger, tourists shrieked and darted. Fuck every single one of them, he thought. He just wanted to get his daughter home and take care of everything. He knew what he was going to do now. What he had to do. He wiped his forehead with the hem of his Fordham Law t-shirt, and this drew Sarah's attention.
"That's gross, Dad. You need a shower."
He sighed, tried to think of a way through the glacial barrier around his daughter.
"So ... listen … how are things going, Sarah?"
"What do you mean?" She took one of her all-natural American Spirits out of her purse, pushed in the car's cigarette lighter. "What are you talking about?"
"You smoke in the car?"
"Yes, it's my car. I can do what I want in it. It's only Nazi Republicans that want to restrict everyone's personal freedom."
He shook his head. The trunk. The heat. His daughter's hostility. They were pushing him closer to the brink.
She touched the orange flame from a lighter to her cigarette, blew a gray coil in his face.
He squinted through the acrid smoke. "I mean, what's going on? What's up?"
"Not much." She flicked ashes out the window. "Since when did you take an interest?"
"I'm serious, Sarah. Talk to me."
"I'm so pissed at you right now, I don't want to play daddy's little girl. Okay?"
They were stuck in traffic clogging up the Lincoln Tunnel. Gabe smacked the steering wheel, taking out his aggression on something inanimate. Why did she always push him like this? "What do you want from me, Sarah?"
"Nothing." She blew smoke through her nose. "Nothing at all."
He looked at her, then at himself in the rear view mirror. He wanted to understand her, or, at least, feel some sense of closeness. But they might as well have been two strangers on a crowded subway train, forced to cram next to each other, resenting every irritating second of it.
"You know, Sarah, sometimes you gotta make sacrifices. Things aren't always what we want them to be, but we do what we have to. To get by."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Sarah glanced over at him. Her eyes darted away from his, and she inhaled her American Spirit, letting the ashes grow longer. The traffic moved sluggishly again into the tunnel.
When they came out in New Jersey, he sighed and mumbled thoughts to his daughter.
"I have a folder in my office. It's got all the documents for you, for your nest egg. I just want you to know that I'm taking care of you, honey. You and your children will never have to worry about anything."
"My children? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, when you have children, goddamn it. What's the matter with you?"
"Maybe because I don't want children. Did you ever think of that?"
"Why are you being like this, Sarah?" He rolled up the windows to keep out the exhaust from the column of cars, but she was still smoking. He was smoldering, too, just trying to breathe, to stay calm. "When I just want to help-"
"Don't do me any favors. I don't want your money for some 'nest egg.' You've never been there before, so don't try and start now with money. Okay?"
"I've never been there for you?" He could feel his skin burning, the sweat soaking through his t-shirt. "Everything I've done was for you."
"Whatever."
"Sarah, I gave you everything I never had as a kid. I sent you to a nursery that's harder than a fucking Ivy League school to get into. I paid a hundred grand to send you to private schools. When you were sixteen, we gave you a coming out party with the Junior League and a new car. You know what I got when I was sixteen? My father bought me a pair of shoes because my toes were crooked from the old ones." Gabe glanced at her implacable frown.
His daughter's eyes tightened, smoke curling from her mouth.
"And how about college? You wanted to go to community college with your friends, but I got you into N.Y.U.-"
"That's because you wanted all that. You wanted to go to N.Y.U., not me. You wanted me close to home so you could keep tabs on me." She threw her cigarette out the window, embers blowing back against the glass. "That's control, not love."
"I wanted better for you than some goddamn community college. What's the difference anyway? You quit school. You gave up on me. Just like your mother."
She pointed a new cigarette at his right eye. "Fuck you. I dropped out because I didn't like it. And I'd rather be like Mom than you. At least she's not a completely self-absorbed, money-hungry asshole."
Gabe stomped on the brakes, swerved the Taurus onto the shoulder of the road. Cars whizzed by, horns wailing and fading into the polluted blur.
"Goddamn it, Sarah." He pounded his steering wheel. "I know you hate me, but I love you. From the moment you came into my world, from the first time you breathed air and cried and opened your eyes. You looked at me. Nine pounds and four ounces of my new love. I even remember the time: 9:47 p.m. I've loved you more than anything ever since that moment."
She slung ope
n the car door, bolted.
He hopped out and stalked around the car.
She turned her back to him, but he grabbed her stiff shoulders and wouldn't let go.
"Sarah, I'm sorry. Please."
"Leave me alone." She tried to jerk away from his grip. "Don't touch me."
"Sarah, please."
"Let go of me, you psycho." Her trembling hands lit a cigarette. The smoke was another mask between them. "Get your hands off me."
He let go of her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and wished she would let him hold her. A minivan rolled onto the shoulder behind the Taurus. A fat man squeezed out from behind the wheel and waddled over to Sarah's car. Gabe walked over to him, looked down at the bumper of the Taurus. A slow trickle of fluid was dripping onto the asphalt. Tap, tap, tap like a sickening metronome. It wouldn't go away.
Gabe started thinking, Is that … or is it water from the air conditioner?
Humidity shimmered off the blacktop, making it hard to tell.
"Is everything okay?" the fat man asked with squinty eyes. "I saw you two on the side of the road, and I thought you might be broken down."
"Everything's fine," Gabe said. "My daughter and I were just talking."
"Oh." The fat man teetered sideways, looked past Gabe. "Is she okay? You sure everything's all right?"
"Hey, what the hell did I just say?"
"All right, all right. You don't have to be rude about it."
"Mind your own business." Gabe squared his shoulders, stood directly between the man and the trunk of Sarah's car.
"Some people have no decency," the fat man mumbled, waddling backwards. "Ya … jerk. Jerk!"
Gabe heard one of the Taurus doors slam. Sarah was sitting in the passenger seat again, arms clenched tightly over her stomach, eyes floating through cigarette smoke and a daydream. Gabe got back behind the wheel and started driving again.
"Sarah-"
"Please leave me alone."
$ $ $
The Ford Taurus screeched to a stop in the driveway. Rachel's black BMW was in its normal spot, next to the walkway of flagstones leading to the front door. The garage door rumbled open, and the Taurus revved inside. As soon as he threw it into park, Sarah bolted from the car and into the kitchen. The car was still running as the garage door closed.
He turned off the car and got out to check the trunk. His clammy hands were slippery, fumbling with the lock on the trunk. He finally opened it, but only slightly. He glanced again at the door to the house to be sure before he looked at it. The body was in rigor mortis now, fluids collecting under the gray skin in crimson and yellow patches on the underside. Gravity had pulled the last bit of life downward.
Gabe covered his mouth, slammed the trunk shut.
"What are you doing?" Sarah stood at the front of the car.
"Jesus Christ, Sarah! You scared the shit out of me."
"I want my car keys back. What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"You're so weird." She inched closer to him, placed her hand on the trunk. "Why are you going through my trunk?"
"I'm not … what are you talking about?"
"I saw you looking inside my trunk. Is something in there?"
She reached to turn the key that was still in the lock, but he caught her hand.
"Stop, Sarah. It's nothing."
She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let go. They struggled with each other, almost as if they were playing. It reminded him of when she was waist-high, tickling and wrestling him on the living room floor.
"Let go of me!" she yelled, angry and giggling at the same time. "It's my car! Stop, Dad! I mean it, quit it!"
"Don't! Give me the key, Sarah!"
Her thin wrists slipped through his sweaty hands, and she twisted the key in the lock. He heard the click. The trunk popped open an inch before he slammed it shut and slapped her face.
She took a step backward, held the pink of her cheek. "You're fucking crazy."
She turned and stormed inside the house.
He yanked the key from the lock and hammered his fists onto the trunk, denting the metal. He opened the car door and looked under the driver's seat for the Bloomingdale's bag from his office. He found the bottle inside and took a long swig of scotch. He wanted to make things right with Sarah, before he spoke to Rachel, but he had ruined it. He took another drink to prepare himself before he confronted Rachel and showed her what he had found.
He took the briefcase from the backseat and walked inside. On a bar stool in the kitchen, Rachel was in sweats and running shoes. There was a thin sheen of sweat still on her face. She must have just finished her class, yoga or spinning or whatever it was this week. Gabe watched her from behind while she chatted on the phone and ate frozen yogurt straight from the carton.
He walked over to the bar stool, clenching the briefcase, waiting for her to acknowledge him. The scotch was making him light-headed.
"Uh-huh." She rotated herself on the bar stool, covered the phone. "Gabe, what did you say to Sarah for God's sake?"
"Is there another set of keys?" She stared blankly at his question. "Keys to Sarah's car?"
"Hold on." Rachel uncovered the phone, spoke into the receiver, "I have to call you back. Gabe's home. Ciao."
"Keys?" he said, fingers strangling the handle of the briefcase.
"No, I don't have keys to her car. You have the other set. Why are you so obsessed with her car keys? And you look awful. Did you go to work like that?"
Her fingertips reached up to touch his face. He pulled away and put his briefcase on the counter, directly in front of her.
"What's the matter with you, Gabriel? You're acting so strange." She licked a gob of yogurt from her spoon. "And why are you home already?"
He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of an explanation. She owed him one instead. So he stared silently at her.
She put the frozen yogurt away and washed the spoon.
He stood motionless, silently brooding.
"Did you remember to have your tux dry-cleaned?" she asked. She knew exactly how to frustrate him with mundane bullshit. "I still don't know what I'm going to wear for the Firm's party. I don't like buying a dress and wearing it only once. I'm still going through my closet."
He glared at her while she dried the spoon.
"Well, it's Thursday. Since you're home for once, maybe you want to help me with the Study Group? I bought some nice pastries from that French place, and you can help me set up the card table. Did you wanna play with us?"
Gabe shook his head. Thursday night, Rachel had her friends from the temple over. Committee chairpersons and other politickers and gadflies. The social chair, the cantor's wife, the singles chair, the Hebrew teacher, the fundraiser. Rachel herself was the chair of the charity committee, but she was really the official Life of the Party. People always seemed to gravitate to her, and these ones were no different. They just didn't want everyone to know that all they did was play poker and stuff their faces and gossip every Thursday night. So they called it, "the Torah Study Group" for the hell of it. He was always at work, so he never gave a shit about their Thursday socials. Maybe he was jealous that everyone seemed drawn to his wife.
"I hate when you do this silent treatment. Really, Gabriel. You and your temper, it gets worse the older you get. You're always bitter." She put the spoon away, pulled a sharp knife from the drawer. She pointed the blade at him. "By the way, you put this in the dairy drawer last night. Can you at least remember to keep our kitchen kosher?"
He shook his head. If she only knew.
She frowned, tossed the knife on the counter. "And you smeared something on the floor here last night. Pasta sauce, I don't know? Hello? Gabe?" She threw her hands up. "All right, what? What are you looking at me like that for?"
"Have I been a good husband to you?"
"It's a little late for a mid-life crisis, don't you think?"
"Have I been good to you?"
She laughed nervously bu
t quickly turned serious. "You're a good provider."
"Have I ever abused you?" He took a deep breath. "Have I ever been unfaithful?"
She shook her head. "You've always been good to me. Why are you asking?"
He picked up the knife. The one from the night before. "Rachel … have you? Are you keeping any secrets from me?"
"Why would you ask me such a thing? Really." She smiled, and she'd never looked as beautiful as when she lied. "Never. I can't believe you, honestly."
"I can't believe you either."
Knife in hand, he opened his briefcase, displayed it for her. Inside was the men's underwear he had found under their bed. He tossed the underwear on the counter and looked up at her for an answer.
20 (7 months ago)
* * *
"Take that, you dirty little minx. That's it, take it."
Raphael's baggy pants were at his ankles. A paralegal was bent over the desk in front of him, sliding back and forth across memoranda of law and affidavits.
"Oh yeah, fuck me, counselor." She hiked her skirt up higher. "Harder, daddy."
He had half a grin on his face, thinking about her dirty little mouth. If he thought about it too much, he'd lose his concentration and finish too soon. He imagined Adrienne was actually Lenore, the spinster Recruiting Director at the Firm, and this kept him from getting too excited.
He'd met Adrienne Lutsky when she was assigned to one of his cases. Raphael later saw her out at Webster Hall, dancing with a group of girls ten years younger than he was, tripping out on some designer drug he wished he had. It didn't matter to him that they were in kindergarten the year he lost his virginity. Or that one of her friends, Sarah, happened to be Gabe Weiss's daughter. His libido drew him to the Bridge and Tunnel clubs where he had enough money to buy their cosmopolitans and enough swagger and charm to make them giggle. That's all it took.
Raphael slapped the white from Adrienne's cheek and marveled at the pink appearing on her tight muscle. He stared at the perfection of young skin, listened to her moaning, and bit his tongue hard to keep from going over the edge. For a few seconds, there was only faint labored breathing and the rhythmic slapping of bodies until someone knocked on the door.
PLUMMET: A Novel Page 15
