And lazy sure explained a few easy little habits he had. Yet did he need to step outside all the easy? Was there a real point, beyond it stroking his ego, for exiting the simplicity of his life when lazy worked just fine?
He switched off the TV, took off his glasses, and shoved them on the top of the couch. He pulled at the mohair blanket draped over the back of the sofa, unfolding it with one hand, spreading it so it covered Caroline. A moment later, his hand settled onto her head and he floated off to dream.
He raced his bike in the Isle of Man TT. He won the MotoGP, beating Jorge Lorenzo leaving Valentino Rossi in the dust, squeaking by Dani Pedrosa. He rode Route 66 with Caroline, all the way from Chicago to Santa Fe, New Mexico.
They stopped on the side of the road, under the silver-green leaves of a shady cottonwood tree, and he held her in his arms. Her hair blew into his face, tickling his nose, and when he pushed it away to smooth it behind her ears he saw Alex.
Caroline became the tree. Dark red hair wrapped around her trunk, and Alex peered through leaves that grew fatter and brighter green until each leaf was swollen with poison. With a knife, Alex began to carve his name in the bark of the tree. Caroline screamed and screamed, and the poison leaves exploded, the caustic wash coating Will, burning slowly.
Blistering, prickly anger moved through him, spider-like. Fine hairs of animosity and rage irritated his rationality, leaving a streaky rash in his mind, and Will woke with a start, beside Caroline, itching.
He didn’t need Jungian analysis to tell him his nightmare and the lingering inflammation that made him scratch his arms was the result of failing to come to her aid the first time he’d seen Alex abuse her.
Will had to put a stop to living a lazy life. He had to do more than simply leave domestic violence information in her mailbox. He had to do more than hope she’d realize exactly was happening with her estranged husband. Whether it was physical, mental abuse, or both, it was a complicated situation, one Will knew Caroline was aware of. Except that her being aware and leaving Alex didn’t seem to be enough.
Gently, Will slipped from the sofa, adjusted the blanket over her, and stretched. Her eyes opened and then closed again. She made a small sound he would have sworn was a laugh. He watched for a little while.
How long had she’d stayed with Alex before she finally tried to escape? What explanation could she have for why she insisted on clinging to him? Will didn’t imagine that she loved Alex, but love was the only reason that made any sense.
As he stood, his gaze fixed on Caroline, Batman moved from his cozy spot on the Turkish rug. He set his tiny paws against the cushioned edge of the couch, and he watched too. Then the dog glanced up at Will as if to say, how come you didn’t do something before what happened yesterday?
Scratching his whisker-stubbly neck, Will looked down at the dog and resolved to act with more moral fiber, to leave lazy and any thought of his ego behind. He let Caroline sleep and took Batman home to feed him. After he let the dog out to pee, Will carried on with his normal morning routine. He went to get his newspaper. When he’d returned with the Tribune, she’d gone home. He tossed the paper on the empty couch, crossed the landing, opened the door, and poked his head inside, calling out, ‘Squirt?’
He found her in the living room, in a half downward dog pose, her face tight with a grimace. ‘Hi,’ she said, straightening. ‘Thanks for letting Batman out.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. His grin felt lopsided. ‘You’re not planning on running this morning with a bum knee?’
‘No, I’m just doing a bit of yoga to keep it from stiffening up on me.’
‘Well, don’t fall over and give your butt another crack.’ He put a hand in his pocket. ‘Wanted to let you know I’m going to have to skip this morning’s coffee. I’ve got something to take care of before eight-thirty.’
***
‘I hm-hm,’ Will had a sip of Pumpkin Spice latte, ‘in love this hm-hm.’ He hummed the rest of the song and watched out the window of the Walgreens across the street from Webb & Fairchild, waiting for the number 22 bus.
‘All men hm …’ he paused, drank more coffee, and sweet cinnamon and nutmeg rolled over his tongue, ‘… hmm someone …’ He’d begun to sing the old Monkees’ tune ‘You Just May be the One’ under his breath when Alex exited the vehicle a few moments after Caroline.
Jumping to conclusions and coincidence be damned, William Murphy, Private Investigator, was on the job. He knew he was being juvenile, he knew was getting carried away, thinking of himself again as a PI in an old black and white movie, but he had to know, had to be sure, had to allay his own concern. When Alex crossed the street, Will left the drug store and followed the man.
As before, Alex kept a discreet distance while Caroline made her way to work. When she went through Webb & Fairchild’s State Street front entrance, Alex paused to tie his shoe before he continued south, and took a left on Washington.
Unlike before, rather than crossing the street and heading toward Michigan Avenue and the coffee shop he’d gone into the last time, Alex turned left, and went in through Webb & Fairchild’s Wabash entrance.
So did Will.
It became apparent Alex had a well-established routine for his surveillance. He stopped in men’s accessories on the ground floor, placed a briefcase on top of a table display of handkerchiefs, opened it, and took off his tweed blazer. He pulled a rumpled green jacket from the case, unrolled a blue ball cap from his pocket, and stuffed his ponytail into it. A moment later, blazer packed in the briefcase, he traveled to men’s fragrances, sprayed himself with the new Ralph Lauren cologne, then rode the central atrium escalator to the second floor.
The word vindicated came to Will’s mind. He felt vindicated and a few other words like seething, vicious, and alarmed.
He moved quickly, jogging to the escalator near Tailored Men’s Clothing, taking the moving staircase two steps at a time. Methodically, he covered the second floor near Personal Shopping, strode into Designer Wear, crossed through Dress Shirts and Ties, and wound up in Sportswear—where Alex pretended to look at socks and underwear.
Will passed back through Shoes and Designer Clothes to Personal Shopping. Rather than Caroline, Stuart sat behind the desk. ‘Hello Stuart.’
‘Mr. Murphy,’ Stuart nodded pleasantly. ‘It’s been a little while. How nice to see you again, sir.’
‘I thought you worked in Designer Menswear.’
‘I fill in for the personal shopper as well.’
‘Does that mean the lovely Caroline is unavailable?’
‘She is lovely, isn’t she? She’s proven to be quite popular in personal shopping. We’re lucky to have her back. You’re the second gentleman asking after her this morning. I can assist you with anything you need, but she’ll be up here again after lunch. If you’d prefer to speak with her directly, she’s on level three in Women’s Personal Shopping this morning.’
‘Thank you. Take care, Stuart.’
‘You too, sir.’
Hostility mushroomed in Will’s heart. He hurried up the escalator to Women’s Wear on the third level. Unfamiliar with the layout of this floor, he asked a sales clerk for directions. He took his time moving through the area. It would be easy to spot a man amid petite and maternity clothing, especially a scruffy-looking one like Alex. If he had to, Will would hang out up here all morning and play private eye.
When he passed through Career Women’s Fashions, Caroline swished by in a green blouse, a multicolored striped skirt, and dark stockings that concealed the bandage on her knee. She carried several dresses on hangers, holding them high so as not to let the longest gown touch the carpeted floor.
She saw him, smiled, and hung the clothes on a brass rack that was a little too high for her to reach comfortably. ‘Hey there, Frosty.’
‘Hiya, Squirt.’
‘Let me guess. Today is the first day you’ve seriously thought about cross-dressing and you’ve come to me for professional assistance? I can see
you in this pink chiffon dress.’ She fluffed out a flowing long gown on the clothes rack. ‘Pink will suit you nicely. But be careful when you try it on. Ms. Hellman’s inside the change room.’
He narrowed an eye. ‘I thought you said purple was my color.’
‘You could do pink. I have a powder pink Tom Ford suit upstairs that would look great on you. I know you like Tom Ford. He fits you and James Bond so well.’
‘No thanks.’ Will waggled a finger, glancing around for Alex. ‘I’ll pass, but I still need a new raincoat. Can you show me some, preferably one that isn’t pink?’
‘I’m with a client now, but Stuart can show you. I’ll call down to let him know you’re coming.’
Will shook his head. ‘I’d rather wait for you. To be honest, I came in this morning to get a gift for Bea, my secretary. You’ve spoken with her a few times. I know she can come across severe, especially on the phone, but she looks after me, and ol’ Bea’s all heart. Who am I calling old? She’s the same age as me. Anyway, I just thought I’d drop by to say hi before I get her a nice box of chocolates.’
‘Is this supposed to fit this way, Caroline?’ A statuesque woman with a mass of long, golden curls stepped from the changing room, adjusting the collar of the blue and pink paisley blouse. She fiddled with the sales tags on the sleeve, and when she looked up she glowered at the two of them. ‘Do you mind, Caroline?’
‘Uh-oh, now you’re in trouble,’ he said under his breath.
‘M-hm,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m coming, Ms. Hellman. I’m just finishing with Mr. Murphy.’
‘You can finish with him later. This is my time, and I’m waiting, Caroline!’
‘I guess I’ll see you later.’ Without thinking, Will dropped a kiss on her mouth and turned towards the central atrium escalators. He left, the blonde with the curly hair-do bitching about being kept waiting.
As he looked back at the woman rebuking his friend, he caught a flash of Alex rushing by a rack of pantsuits. The man moved toward the escalators. Will let him gain a bit of distance, and rode down the escalator, peering over the edge of the black handrail to keep an eye on the blue ball cap as it circled to the next flight the floor below. By the time Will got to the street level, Alex crossed through jewelry and headed out the west entrance. The redhead paused to let traffic pass, and hurried across the street. He darted into a bakery-café, bought a cup of coffee, and went to the bus stop where his surveillance had started. When the bus arrived, he climbed on board.
Fifteen seconds after the number 22 bus pulled away from the stop, William Murphy went back to his office and told his secretary he was taking the rest of the day off. He changed back into his leathers, sent his shirt and suit to the cleaners. After he took the elevator to the executive parking area, he rode his motorcycle home and waited for Alex to show himself.
Four hours later, Caroline looked at him, and laughed. ‘What?’ Will said.
‘Are you sure you want to drive? ‘
‘I’m fine,’ he said, despite the fact the steering wheel was in his lap, there wasn’t any legroom, and his knees banged against the dashboard of her little sports car. ‘I’ve ridden a Triumph motorcycle, now I want to drive Triumph sports car. Besides, the seat’s comfortable.’
‘Let’s see if you say the same thing in ten minutes. You look like a well-dressed pretzel.’
His laugh boomed in the small space. ‘Oh, the things I do for junk food,’ he said, accelerating a little too quickly up the street, taking the corner a little faster than necessary.
Caroline put a hand on the dash, steadying herself. ‘Whoa! Yes, going to get ice cream and groceries is exciting. I see you’re channeling your big kid and inner Steve McQueen, but this is an English sports car, not an American muscle ca—are you double clutching?’
‘Yep,’ he said, overtaking a Cadillac, passing a pickup truck, and weaving in and out of traffic.
‘What’s next, a handbrake turn?’
Will glanced at her quickly. ‘I’m so sorry. Am I frightening you?’
‘No.’ she laughed. ‘I’m having fun. You’re so sedate when you drive your Volkswagen, but now …’
‘But now?’
‘Now, The Dukes of Hazard comes to mind.’
‘Yeeee-ha!’
***
Alex spun the key ring on his finger, around and around as he stood beside the beat-up baby-shit-yellow van. He’d set his bag of ‘groceries’ on the ground and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as he peered around the van’s front end. In a few minutes, she’d walk through the supermarket’s automatic doors, and push a shopping cart to the old Triumph Spitfire that had been her grandpa’s.
He’d waited for her all day today. His stomach hurt a bit from all the waiting. He’d had four slices of pie as he waited, as he sat lost in memories and fantasies until the number 22 bus she took home passed by the plate glass window of the diner where he’d eaten all the pie.
He’d spent most of the afternoon at the diner, drinking coffee and eating pie and the cinnamon twists he’d made, until her bus went by. When he left the café, he drove to the street adjacent to hers and parked close to the alley spot near her place. Settled in position across the street, he’d kept an eye on her for the rest of the evening. He’d watched her walk her stupid rat-on-a-string dog, watched her stand outside and chat with the same-sex couple in her building, watched her go inside, and watched the lights glow in her apartment.
It was getting cold; Indian summer was ending. The chill made the urge to piss more urgent, as did all the coffee he’d dunk. Close to seven, his overburdened, coffee-laden bladder decided to exert another urgent need. He’d gone to piss beside the dumpster in the alley and nearly missed her Spitfire pulling from the laneway alongside her building.
Frantic, he’d sprinted to his Mustang and drove the direction he’d seen her go. He’d been about to give up and circle back to park up the street from her place, to camp out there until her lights went off, but he spotted her car in the brightly lit parking lot of a Dominick’s supermarket.
Chilly, he leaned against the baby-shit-yellow van in that parking lot, he wondered if he’d be able to get into her car and wait for her there, where it would be a little bit warmer out of the evening breeze. It was an old car; the cloth roof would be easy to lift. It would be simple to jimmy the lock and slip into the passenger seat, except Alex knew that was creepy. He didn’t want to frighten her. He just wanted to talk.
Mostly.
Shivering, he had to piss again. He left the paper grocery bag that he’d filled with fast food refuse from his car at the side of the van, and moved to the back. He whizzed against the rear tire.
A better, more civilized idea would be to offer to help put things inside her little Spitfire. He could follow her back to her place, and then offer to carry her groceries upstairs, but for some reason he liked the thought of meeting her as she pulled into her garage. Once she’d pulled into her garage he could help her take the bags from the trunk, and then maybe … he could fuck her on top of the car like he had once before.
Jesus, she had liked that.
She’d pulled him down on top of the car. She’d liked how he pushed up her dress and moved the elastic of her panties aside. His jeans bunched around his knees, and she’d liked wrapping her legs around his weight as the little car bounced and their flesh slapped …
‘Just what is it you’re doing, exactly?’
Cock in his hand, Alex lost the lurid memory. He stuffed himself back into his jeans and zipped up, turning, saying sheepishly to the man who’d spoken, ‘Oh, I’m so embarrassed. I’m really sorry. I’ve had too much coffee and I wasn’t going to make it insi …’ His eyes level beneath the paper white chin of a well-dressed man who stood with his legs slightly apart, hands behind his back. Lit up by the nighttime orange lights of the parking area, hard eyes stared down from a broad white face.
Caroline’s big boyfriend leaned forward. He spoke quietly, calmly. Alex found himself leanin
g in to listen above the sounds of the cars moving in the lot.
The man said, ‘I’ve been watching you watching her. I’m surprised you don’t have a pair of binoculars. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what your history is. I don’t care if you still think you have a relationship with her. If I see you hanging around again, if you come anywhere near her, near her apartment or where she works, if you try to touch her, you will eat your fingers one by one. Do you understand?’
‘Go to hell, you ghoul,’ Alex croaked.
A big palm flashed forward to settle against the van just beside his right ear. Alex jerked back to avoid it, his head clunked against the rear window.
‘Tell me you understand.’ It was murmured with quiet coolness.
‘Fuck you, Casper.’
‘That’s not very original. Try, fuck you, Mister Casper.’
There was another rush of movement. Alex found himself nose to nose with a large face, his head framed between two big arms. He wrenched sideways, turning his cheek into the van’s metal exterior. ‘Let me know when you grasp my meaning.’ The man whispered into his ear.
Alex heard himself splutter hoarsely, ‘Jesus Christ. Okay. Okay. I get it!’
‘How very fortunate for you.’
Will grasped the back of Alex’s jacket collar, lifting him, leading him like a wayward schoolboy towards his Mustang, his toes barely on the ground.
‘Take out your keys, get in your car, and go home, Alex.’
Alex got in the Mustang, and turned over the ignition.
Will shut the door and the car peeled off across the lot, shooting into southbound traffic. He watched until the old Mustang disappeared in the night.
He didn’t like what he’d just done. He’d taken a leap out of the box of his easy life and it was oddly satisfying, weirdly revitalizing. For a moment he thought it made him feel younger, but more than anything he felt awake when he hadn’t even realized he’d been sleepwalking through life. The sensation fueled his limbs better than a jolt of morning caffeine.
Next To You Page 16
