There's a jogging track beside the river. Since we exercise every day, we might as well do it together.'
'Swell,' Tess said. 'So we jog, and I work off my attraction to you?'
'Exercise works wonders, my platonic friend.'
'Maybe for you.'
Joseph grinned with good nature. 'It's like a cold shower.'
'I have to warn you,' Tess said. 'I'll do my best to tempt you.'
'It won't do any good,' Joseph said. 'Really, I'm untemptable.'
'I consider that a challenge.'
FOUR
Even at ten a.m., the jogging track off the wooded park next to the East River was crowded. The absence of commuter traffic freed the air of smog and exposed an unfamiliar glorious sky. Senior citizens sat on benches, enjoying the weekend's peace. On the left, in a court past a waist-high wrought- iron fence, teenagers played basketball.
Sunbathers spread blankets on grass, enjoying the unusually intense June sun. People walked dogs through the trees. What a gift, Tess thought. What a beautiful day. How rare.
She'd worn a blue jogging suit that complemented the turquoise color of her eyes. Although loose, it managed to reveal her figure, her lean, lithe body and firm, upwardly tilted breasts. A red sweatband encircled her forehead, emphasizing her short blond hair. She leaned her taut hips against the railing that separated the jogging track from the river and studied the runners surging past, many of whom listened to earphones attached to miniature radios strapped to their waists. Her own preference was not to be distracted by music but instead to devote herself exclusively to the high she gained from prolonged exercise. The Zen-like pleasure on the runners' sweating faces made her eager to join them. Soon, she thought. Joseph will be here anytime.
As she waited, she continued to be amazed by her irresistible attraction to him. Certainly he was good-looking, but Tess had gone out with many good-looking men and had never felt so intense an identification with them. Most had been so aware of their looks that she couldn't bear their egos. She'd discovered that one had been seeing three other women while pretending that Tess was the only woman he cared about. Another had been an up-and-coming TV executive whose primary interest in Tess was having someone to tell him how great he was while he gained power.
For the past six months, she hadn't gone out with anyone. Maybe that explained her attraction to Joseph, Tess thought. A combination of overwork and loneliness. But the more she considered that explanation, the more she dismissed it. There was something - she couldn't find the proper words - different about him. A handsome man who wasn't in love with his handsomeness, who treated her with deference, who was easy to talk to, who related to her as a human being, not a potential sexual conquest. All of that certainly counted. Even so, she'd never before been this insistent and candid to a man about her interest in him. Why? There was something else about him. What was it? The unfamiliar sensation not only puzzled but disturbed her.
She didn't know which direction Joseph would come from, right or left, or straight ahead through the wooded park, so she turned her gaze often, watching for him. We should have chosen a specific spot to meet, she decided and continued to scan the crowd. Still, there's no one nearby on either side of me. Joseph shouldn't have any trouble noticing where I am.
Because she'd looked forward to spending time with him, Tess had arrived here early, at quarter to ten, but now as she glanced at her jogger's watch, she was troubled to see that it was quarter after ten.
Had they failed to see each other?
She studied the crowd more intensely. Then her watch showed half-past ten and with frustrating slowness eleven o'clock, and she told herself that something important must have delayed him.
But when her watch showed eleven-thirty, then noon, she angrily understood the explanation for his absence.
This had happened to her only once, in her junior year of college, her date having gotten so drunk at a Saturday afternoon frat party that he'd become too sick to take her to a movie that night and hadn't bothered to phone to explain he wasn't coming. That had been the end of that relationship.
And now Joseph, too, had stood her up. She couldn't believe it. Disappointment fought with fury. Fury won.
The son of a.! He'd seemed too good to be true, and that's exactly what he was. Tess, we can only be friends? Well, buddy, you blew it. We're not friends.
Seething, Tess joined the stream of joggers, too distraught to bother with the preliminary ritual of stretch-and-warm-up exercises, her anger so fueling her long urgent stride that she outdistanced the fastest runners.
Bastard.
FIVE
Sunday was dreary. A dismal rain reinforced Tess's depression. Bare-footed, wearing the shorts and rumpled T-shirt that she'd slept in, she sipped from a steaming cup of strong black coffee and scowled from a window of her loft in SoHo. Three floors down, across the street, a drenched pathetic cat found shelter under a seesaw in a small playground.
Behind her, the TV was on, a Cable News Network anchor-woman somberly reporting the latest environmental disaster. In Tennessee, a train pulling twenty cars of anhydrous ammonia, a toxic gas shipped in the form of pressurized liquid and used in the manufacture of fertilizer, had reached a rural section of ill-maintained tracks and toppled down an embankment. The tanks had burst, and the cargo had vaporized, spewing a massive poisonous cloud that so far had killed the entire train crew, sixteen members of families on local farms, dozens of livestock, hundreds of wild animals, and thousands of birds. A northeastern wind was directing the dense white cloud toward a nearby town of fifteen thousand people, all of whom were fleeing in panic. Emergency workers were powerless to stop the cloud and unprepared to organize so huge an evacuation. At last count, eight motorists had been killed and another sixteen critically injured in car accidents due to the chaos of the town's frantic attempt to escape. Eventually, the anchorwoman reported, the heavy gas would settle to the ground, but paradoxically, although anhydrous ammonia was used to make fertilizer, it wouldn't benefit the land. Not unless diluted. Instead its present, extremely concentrated nitrogen level (eighty-two percent) would sear hundreds of acres of woodland as well as destroy crops and become absorbed into streams, wells, ponds, and reservoirs, poisoning the town's water supply.
Tess drooped her shoulders, turned off the TV, and frowned up toward the monotonous unnerving gusts of rain on her skylight. She shuddered with the realization of how even more disastrous, almost unimaginably so, the accident would have been if it had happened near a major urban area. One day, though, that's exactly where it will happen, she knew. Because of carelessness, poor planning, badly maintained equipment, government lethargy, greed, stupidity, overpopulation, and. Tess shook her head. So many reasons. Too many. Piece by piece, the earth was dying, and there didn't seem any way to stop it.
A line from one of Yeats's poems occurred to her.
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.
She felt exhausted. Abandoning her plan to go to her health club this morning, she decided she needed a long hot bath. I've been pushing myself too hard. What I ought to do is curl up in bed and read the Sunday Times.
But the news would only depress her further, she knew.
Then watch some old movies, she told herself. Rent some Cary Grant screwball comedies.
But she doubted that she'd do much laughing. How could she laugh when.? Without minimizing the gravity of what had happened in Tennessee, she admitted, reluctantly, that part of her depression was the consequence of her bitterness that Joseph had failed to meet her yesterday.
Her anger still smoldered. Why would he-?
Joseph hadn't seemed the type to be rude. Okay, I admit, I came on awfully strong. I kept trying to get him to say that we could be more than friends. I overreacted. I probably scared him away.
In that case - her indignation flared - the least Joseph could have done was phone and explain that he had second thoughts and didn't plan to show up. He didn't need to keep me waiting.
<
br /> Phone you? Tess suddenly thought. Your number isn't listed! And even if it were, you never told him your last name! For all you know, he had a legitimate reason not to meet you, but he didn't have a way to get in touch and let you know.
Should I swallow my pride and call him?
Dummy, you don't know his last name any more than he knows yours.
SIX
Monday, self-conscious, Tess almost expected to see Joseph enter the lobby while she waited for the elevator, but this time, a coincidence didn't happen. In her office, she tried to concentrate on her article, glancing frequently from her computer toward the telephone.
Whenever it rang, she tensed, hoping it would be Joseph, disappointed when it wasn't. By eleven-thirty, frustration made her check the Yellow Pages for Truth Video's number. She picked up the phone, only to slam it down.
What's wrong with me? I'm the one who got stood up. Why should I call him! Have I lost my pride? Do I need to beg for an apology?
At two, when she went for lunch, she again wondered if she'd see him in the elevator, but the car passed Truth Video's floor without stopping. On impulse, she decided to eat at the deli across the street. No sign of Joseph.
Thinking of him, she ordered what both of them had eaten on Friday: a tomato, sprouts, and cucumber sandwich.
She didn't see him waiting back at the elevator, didn't receive a call from him in her office, and didn't cross paths with him when she left the building just after seven.
Screw him! He had his chance!
But Tuesday, when she still didn't see him and he still didn't phone, she banged down the gold Cross pen she'd been using to edit the printout of her manuscript and decided that an apology was exactly what she wanted.
In fact, she demanded it!
Not on the phone, though. No, by God. She wanted to see him squirm.
She wanted him to-
The son of a bitch had to apologize in person.
SEVEN
Truth Video had a narrow reception area separated from its offices by a thick glass wall and door. A secretary peered up from a desk and spoke to Tess through a slot in a window, her hand poised to press a button that would free the electronically controlled lock on the door. 'May I help you?'
Tess's determination wavered.
Don't be a fool! He'll think you're-!
Think I'm what?
Chasing him? He should be so damned lucky!
Taking a breath, Tess forced herself to look businesslike, not at all angry.
Inwardly, though, she smiled. When I see the creep, when the secretary hears what I tell him and the gossip gets around.
'By all means, yes. I'm looking for a man who works here. I don't know his last name, but his first name's Joseph.'
The receptionist nodded, although her eyes looked puzzled. There's only one Joseph who works here. You must mean Joseph Martin.'
'Martin?' Tess mentally repeated the name. 'Early thirties? Tall? Trim? Dark hair? Gray eyes?'
'Yeah, that's him, all right.'
'Well, if he hasn't gone to lunch, would you kindly tell him I'd like to speak with him?'
'Sorry.' The receptionist frowned. 'I don't know if he's having lunch, but he certainly isn't here.'
'Great. Then I'll try again later. Any idea when he'll be back?'
'Well, that's the question, isn't it?'
'I don't understand.'
'Joseph hasn't reported for work since he left the office on Friday.'
'What?'
'We haven't seen him yesterday or today,' the receptionist said. 'He didn't call in to tell us he was sick or had a family emergency or. He just never showed.'
Tess felt off-balance.
'The editing department's been frantic to meet a deadline without his help, and.'
Tess's anger no longer mattered. She pressed her fingertips against the window. 'Why didn't you phone him?'
That's another problem. If he's got a phone, he never put its number on his employment sheet.' The receptionist studied her. 'Are you a friend of his?'
'In a strange sort of.'
The receptionist shrugged. 'It figures. Joseph's strange enough. Look, if you run into him, why not give us a break and tell him to call? We can't find his notes for the project we're working on. The editing department's climbing the walls to find those notes and meet their deadline.'
'But didn't anyone go to Joseph's home?'
The receptionist strained to look patient. 'I told you we can't find his notes. But the messenger we sent over says that no one lives at the address Joseph gave us.'
'What's the address?'
'It doesn't matter,' the receptionist said. 'Believe me, it won't help.'
Tess again raised her voice. 'I asked you, what's the address?'
The receptionist tapped her pen against her chin. 'You're wasting your time, but if it means that much to you.'
'It does mean that much to me.'
'You sure must be a friend of his.' The receptionist exhaled, flipped through a Rolodex, and gave an address on Broadway.
Tess scribbled it down.
'I'm telling you, though,' the receptionist said. 'It's.'
'I know. A waste of time.'
EIGHT
But when Tess got out of the taxi to confront the blaring horns and noxious fumes of congested traffic on Broadway near Fiftieth Street, she began to wonder. Comparing the address on the dismal building before her to the numbers she'd written on her notepad, she understood - with belated apologies to the receptionist - why she'd been told she'd be wasting her time.
The building had a tourist-trap, overpriced-camera-and-electronics shop on the bottom floor. The second floor had a dusty window with a sign: SEXUAL EDUCATORS. The third-floor windows were all painted black. God alone knew what they hid, but Tess braced her shoulders, determined to find out. Because the address she'd been given had specified a number on the third floor.
She stepped around a drunk or more likely a junkie passed out on the sidewalk, entered a hallway that stank of urine, climbed equally foul-smelling stairs, mustered the confidence to ignore the oppressive absence of lights, and reached the gloomy third floor. The names of businesses on various doors reinforced her increasingly despondent certainty that this building was strictly commercial, that neither Joseph nor anyone else would have an apartment here.
But then why, she brooded, convinced that something was wrong, had Joseph told his employer that this was his address?
She found an open door with a number on its grimy frosted glass that matched the third-floor number on her notepad.
Inside, she studied a frizzy-haired woman with too much lipstick who sat behind a desk. The woman chewed gum while reading a paperback. On every wall, from floor to ceiling, there were eight-inch-square cubicles with closed metal hatches that had numbers and locks.
Tess haltingly approached the desk.
The woman kept reading.
'Excuse me,' Tess said.
The woman turned a page.
Tess cleared her throat. 'If you don't mind.'
The woman splayed her book on the desk and frowned upward.
'I'm looking for.' Tess shook her head. There isn't a sign on the door. What kind of business is this?'
The woman gnawed her gum. 'A mail service.'
'I don't.'
'Like a post-office box? The mailman brings it. I sort it. I put it in those slots. The customers pick it up.'
'Have you ever heard of.? I'm looking for a man named Joseph Martin.'
'Sorry. It doesn't ring any bells.'
'Maybe if I described him.'
'Honey' - the woman raised a chubby hand - 'before you get started, I'm just a temp. The regular gal got sick. Appendix or something. I don't know any Joseph Martin.'
'But he told his employer that this is where he lives.'
The woman chortled. 'Sure. Maybe he sneaks in at night and sets up a cot. Come on, I told you this is a mail service. What this Martin guy probably meant was this
is where he wanted his check sent.'
Tess's pulse quickened. 'If he's one of your customers.'
'Maybe yes. Maybe no. I just started this morning. No one named Joseph Martin came in.'
'But if he is a customer, could you find out if he picked up his mail on Saturday or Monday?'
The woman squinted. 'Nope.'
'Why not?'
'Because that information's confidential, honey. When I started this morning, the guy who hired me made sure I got two points. First, I have to get ID from customers before I let them unlock their box. And second, I'm not allowed to give out information about the clients. There's too many process servers.' The woman eyed Tess with suspicion.
David Morrell - Covenant Of The Flame Page 5
