Underwater

by McDermott, Julia

  Adele was quietly playing in her bedroom this morning with some Barbies that Dawn had bought her, and Monty was at work. Apparently his Dutch employers didn’t observe the American holiday; Monty said that they couldn’t afford to take a day off as they raced with the clock to launch their product.

  Helen still hadn’t seen any pay stubs, but she had gotten tired of asking Monty for them and of wondering about his job. Her husband went somewhere every day, looked tired at night, and deposited over nineteen hundred dollars in their checking account every Friday. He still paid the bills, but Helen checked the account online and could see where the money went. He also did the grocery shopping on the weekends.

  She was grateful that he did. She was sick of the stares she got when she went out in public. People frequently commented that she looked as if she were about to go into labor at any moment. More than once, she’d wished she was wearing a sign that read “Having Twins.” Whenever she did tell someone that she was carrying two babies, they often told a twin story of their own: they either had twins, were related to twins, or they were a twin.

  After she finished dressing, she went into the living room, sat on the sofa, and dialed her sister’s number.

  “Helen,” said Dawn. “I’m glad you called.”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you up on your day off. What are you and Frank doing today?”

  “Getting together with some friends. The weather’s going to be nice and warm. How about down there?”

  “Hot,” said Helen. “I’m staying in the air conditioning.”

  “Good. Hey, did I tell you that Frank has to go to New York next week?”

  “No. For how long?”

  “Just a few days. But he’ll be there the same time Candace is going to be at Fashion Week. I read that they’re moving it to Lincoln Center this year, from Bryant Park.”

  “You’re so up on everything, Dawn.”

  Dawn laughed. “I don’t get into it that much, but reading about the celebs who’re going to be there is a lot more fun than talking to my clients.”

  “Who’s going to be there?”

  “You know, the usual. Actresses, models, people famous for being famous. I read that Candace is going to be showing a whole new line of swimsuits.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, too,” said Helen. “I was surprised it was already out in the media ahead of time. I guess that’s the way they do things.”

  “I don’t know. Seems unusual. I thought they put out press releases on stuff like that during and after Fashion Week, not before. Anyway, how are you feeling?”

  “Huge, and getting huger. I don’t know how I’m going to make it all the way to Thanksgiving.”

  “Do you want me to come down? Like, in October? Or even sooner? I could take some time off and help you.”

  “Aren’t you going to come down when the babies are born? That’s when I’m going to need you.”

  “I can do both. You tell me. What would be best?”

  Helen shifted on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. It was impossible. “I wish you could be with me from here on out. But maybe in a month or so? That way, if they come early, you’ll already be here.”

  “Do you really think they’ll come early?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind if they did. Even though I’m supposed to do everything I can to make it to the due date. Dawn! I just don’t know how I’m going to manage.”

  “I have Columbus Day off. That’s in about a month. I can come down then and stay a few days—”

  “That’s the weekend Candace is getting married up in New York.”

  “You’re not going, though, are you? Or is Monty going?”

  “He’s not planning to. It would be pretty awkward.”

  “How are things?” asked Dawn. “I mean—”

  “They’re okay. She’s called me a couple of times since that day a few weeks ago when she called to correct me, after I sent her the thank-you email about giving us the house.”

  Dawn paused. “What about? I mean, since Monty’s working now, you’re pretty much out of the house deal, right?”

  “Right. Everything is doable. She’s been asking what I know about his job.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Nothing. Except that he’s getting paid, and making more money than I used to.”

  “Well, that’s good, I guess. But don’t you think you need to know more about it?”

  “Yes. But at this point, well, I just—Dawn, I just don’t want to deal with it, quite frankly.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset. Really.”

  “Let’s just plan on me coming down that weekend in October, okay? I’ll get a hotel room somewhere close by. I’ll do things with Adele, and you’ll be able to get some rest.”

  “Good. That’ll be great,” said Helen. Adele came toddling in the room and climbed up on the sofa next to her mother. “Hey, Boo,” Helen said while pulling her daughter close. “I guess I’d better hang up now, Dawn.”

  “Okay. Take it easy, all right? And let me know if you want me to come down there sooner.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  That morning, Candace woke up next to Rob in the Hamptons. She scooted closer to him, turned on her side, and rested a hand on his chest. Raising up on her other elbow, she looked steadily into his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

  He ran a finger up her arm and over her shoulder, then let it trail down in front. “Not long. How are you, darling?” He turned toward her and reached over her with his other arm, putting his hand on her lower back.

  “Stay here.” Candace pulled away and rose. “I’ll be right back.” Two minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom, still naked, and rejoined him in bed. He pulled her body to his and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers.

  Several minutes later, his mouth ventured lower. She pulled his head in toward her. “This weekend has been wonderful,” she whispered. His hands moved down her body and she felt an electric sense of desire. Whenever he touched her, she felt sexy and sought-after, never used or taken for granted, like she had felt years ago with Ted.

  Almost an hour later, he lay beside her, his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder. “I’m happy, Rob.”

  He smiled. “I am too, love. Would you like to join me in the shower?”

  Candace turned and looked into his eyes. “I’ll stay here for a few more minutes. You go ahead.” She smiled and let out a deep breath.

  Later, she stepped into the kitchen wearing nothing but a light cotton white robe, her hair wet. Rob had made coffee for the two of them in the French press. She poured a cup and added low-fat creamer, then joined him on the terrace. The midmorning sun shone on the sand and on the waves breaking in front of them. Candace breathed in the warm, salty air and closed her eyes.

  “I’m so glad you talked me into coming out here this weekend,” she said. “The next three days are going to be so busy. I’m excited about next week, but I’m also a bit anxious.”

  “Why, love? You’re a veteran at Fashion Week. I’m sure everything will go as planned.”

  “That’s just it. You know how much I don’t like surprises. I’m still unnerved by the leak last month.”

  “Oh, pshaw. Your staff handled it very well and used it to your advantage. Everyone thinks you did the deed on purpose, even. Didn’t you?” His eyes danced as he raised his eyebrows.

  “Rob. You know me.”

  He laughed. “Like no one else. At least, that’s what you’ve led me to believe.”

  She smiled and turned to look at the ocean. “Whatever people think, the deed was done, and I’m no closer to finding out who did it. Which does worry me. At least the actual designs didn’t get leaked.”

  “Let it go, darling. You’ve some exciting mom
ents ahead in the next ten days. Your new line will make quite a splash, pun intended.” He grinned. “And afterward—”

  “Stop. I can’t think that far ahead right now.”

  “I can.” He leaned back in his chair, eying her. “September will fly, then you have a wedding to attend. As the bride, no less.”

  “Are we really doing this?” she teased, smiling. “I mean, we could have just continued on—”

  “Ah, but that’s just it, mon amour.” He reached his hand over the table and grabbed hers. “You know that we couldn’t continue on that way. We need to be together. You’re the love of my life.”

  “Rob, you’re too romantic. No, you’re just romantic enough. You’re perfect.” She picked up her coffee cup. “One more tasse, then I’m going for a run on the beach.” She rose and stepped back in the kitchen, and then rejoined him with a fresh cup of coffee.

  “So, since you brought up the wedding—” he started.

  “You brought it up.”

  “Yes, well, since I brought it up, did I tell you that Julia found the ideal spot for us in Fiji for the honeymoon?”

  “No, I don’t think so. If you did, I was distracted.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s private, luxurious, and incredible. The only downside is that it’s not easy to get to.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to get over that part. But I’m glad we decided to bag the Caribbean, close as it is.”

  “Right. There’s just too much risk of a hurricane there. We can always hop over to Bermuda from the city when it’s not hurricane season.”

  “Agreed,” said Candace. “So what’s the weather like in Fiji in October? And how difficult is it to get there?”

  “Seventies. Ideal weather. Much like what we have here today. Let’s look at the flights in a positive light: it will give us a chance to adjust to the time change. It’s tomorrow there, you know.”

  “Flights? How many?”

  “New York to LA. Then we go across the Pacific to Auckland, then just a jaunt over from there to our destination.”

  “My goodness. I suppose a private jet is out, then?”

  “Not totally, but it’s a lot more difficult to do than Europe. And if we’re going to travel with a group anyway, first-class commercial will suit us, don’t you think?”

  She gave him another smile. “Whatever you say. Just take me there, and make me happy.”

  “I will.” He smiled and rose to refill his coffee. “Now, how about a light breakfast on the terrace before you get ready to run?”

  The next few weeks did fly by, and at the end of them, Monty put his plan in motion.

  Fashion Week had come and gone without a hitch. But in the weeks preceding it, SlimZ had issued hastily written press releases about their new swimsuit line, thanks to him—actually, thanks to Jess. Candace had probably been in super-high gear worrying about whether more clues about the line would surface. But right about now, as orders began to come in from retail store buyers, she was probably feeling like everything was well under control. Which was exactly what he wanted her to feel.

  This time she would regret having underestimated him. The damage that he was about to do to her precious company would get her attention, and then she would come around. If she didn’t, he could do still more to hurt her, and do it quickly.

  He sat down at the square kitchen table in the crumbling house—he called it the crap-house—and closed his laptop. It was eleven thirty on Friday night, September twenty-fourth, and his wife and daughter were asleep in bed. He had arrived here about forty minutes earlier after an evening spent with Rachel. He picked up his glass of vodka and drained it.

  During the last few weeks, he had learned everything he needed to know about SlimZ. He’d accessed the IT system using basic SQL injection, something he learned back when he built up his coding knowledge, before pitching his personal assistant website idea. After just a few tries, he had guessed Candace’s username—unimaginatively, she had selected her maiden name. Discovering her password took some time, even though he had the benefit of Jess’s hint. When he finally figured it out, he’d been furious: it was their mother’s name spelled backward, plus the number 2.

  When he saw the swimsuit designs in the system, he’d chosen not to leak them. Instead, he’d decided to do something else, something that would cause his sister not only embarrassment, but money.

  The person at SlimZ tasked with production of the swimsuits was a bitch named Phoebe, and the one in charge of “fulfillment” and distribution was named Holly. Both of them reported to Ginger, the COO. Another bitch, Amanda, was in charge of sales and marketing. The sales team was already taking orders from the buyers. They would total up the orders and advise Phoebe’s group of the numbers. Phoebe would then schedule production at the factory in Brooklyn. Several months later, if all went well, the stores would receive their orders.

  But what if the numbers were changed in the system, after the sales team had placed its orders? As far as Monty could tell, the two areas—sales and production—didn’t communicate with each other. He could easily alter the numbers in the orders placed by the sales team, adding or removing a zero or two. He could make this buyer’s order larger and that one’s smaller and keep the total the same, so as not to arouse suspicion. He could also change the amounts of the particular designs each retailer ordered. Then, after the wrong numbers and types of swimsuits were produced, shipped, and received, SlimZ would have to deal with a huge fuckup: angry retail buyers, bad PR, and maybe even a falling stock price. That should get Candace’s attention.

  He had already changed some of the numbers and was getting ready to change more. With a bunch of queen bees working there, he was sure that once problems were discovered, shit would fly, along with accusations and blame.

  The fun part would be to sit back and see how long it took for chaos to ensue, and for Candace’s company to implode. If it didn’t happen quickly enough, he could do more damage, then watch the very fabric of SlimZ unravel around her.

  18

  Revelation

  Wednesday, October sixth was a warm, sunny day: crisp in the morning but not too cool, with a hint of a breeze and a cloudless, dazzling blue sky above. Indian summer in Atlanta resembled the best kind of summer days up north, but it lasted longer. The heavy heat of the last few months had disappeared and the promise of a southern winter awaited—the kind when jackets are necessary but overcoats, boots, and gloves are rarely needed and usually worn only for fashion’s sake. Fall colors were just beginning to appear in Georgia, but they were worth the wait: brilliant golds, oranges, and reds would soon adorn this city, built inside of a forest.

  David Shepherd returned to his office from lunch and sat down at his desk. Several items awaited his attention and had to be addressed. One of them concerned Candace Morgan’s property on Arcadia Lane. The house had gone on the market on Saturday and was listed with Charlotte Rivers, one of Atlanta’s most successful realtors. Charlotte had a reputation for hard work and integrity, knew the market inside out, and was well connected with Atlanta’s top-tier business community. If anyone could get Arcadia sold, Charlotte could. She would get as high a price as possible, helping David minimize Candace’s loss. Charlotte would also be aggressive in finding a buyer and skilled at closing the deal.

  Charlotte expected any serious offer to be much lower than the $1,490,000 listing price Candace had decided upon, but had declared that the sale should top a million dollars. Candace’s exposure in the deal was several hundred thousand over that figure. When David added in Ken’s fee, the taxes and insurance, and the cost of Monty’s movers and rent, Candace had just sunk another two hundred grand into the place, making her total investment over $1.7 million. Ken’s team had taken five weeks longer than originally planned to get the house ready for the market, and David hadn’t yet paid the invoice.

&
nbsp; He was glad he hadn’t. Late this morning, he had received a troubling message from Charlotte detailing several concerns. To name a few: the landscaping was unfinished, some of the doors were sticking, and several drawer pulls and cabinet knobs were missing. In short, although extra time had been allowed, the job was sloppy. Candace would be incensed if she found out that any of the work remained undone. David decided to give Ken a call and have him rectify the situation immediately, before any more showings took place.

  The house needed to be perfect by Friday, in time for weekend appointments. Candace was getting married in New York on Saturday; by Monday, she and her new husband would be in Fiji, where they would stay for the next two weeks. David was looking forward to the respite from one of his most demanding clients.

  On Friday morning, Candace woke up in Rob’s bedroom—their bedroom—in Manhattan. She’d had all her things from her New York apartment moved over early last month, before the unveiling of the new line at Fashion Week at Lincoln Center. Despite the earlier leak to Woohoo, excitement about SwimZ had been high and buyers had loved the designs.

  Rumors had buzzed about that Candace herself had decided to buck tradition and let the news out early, to get people talking. Whatever people believed, the unplanned strategy had worked—or at least, hadn’t hurt—and Amanda’s team had already taken orders from Neiman’s, Saks, Nordstrom’s, Bloomie’s, and several specialty boutiques. Production had been launched with delivery scheduled to occur in late January, just in time for the spring break and cruise seasons.

  After her coffee, Candace planned to go to the gym and then to return home and work from the apartment until late in the afternoon. Later that evening, she and Rob were hosting a dinner for twelve at one of Manhattan’s newest restaurants, Slipaway. Their guests were Deirdre, Rob’s mother; Myron Frisch, chairman of SlimZ’s board, who would give Candace away; Charles Chadwick—the head of Rob’s firm—and his wife, Nancy; Paula, SlimZ’s head of design, and her husband Steve; CFO Courtney and her date Henry, an investment banker; and COO Ginger and her boyfriend, Mark.