Nothing Ventured

by Roderick Price

  The back door was locked, and Liz was in the kitchen. She had probably heard him drive up, but he knocked anyway. He watched as she pretended to see him and then he followed her as she came over and unlocked and opened the door. She stood there momentarily, just looking at him and then smiled.

  “Hi.” She finally spoke.

  “Hi.” Martin stood in place.

  “Come on in, I’m starting dinner.” She turned as quickly as she had appeared, and he trailed her back into the kitchen. It was the first time they had been alone in the house since she had asked him to move out. She went back to washing fresh vegetables over the kitchen sink and he eased down on one of the old gray bar stools at the breakfast counter. They had always talked about getting nicer bar stools, but these were just so comfortable. Not having seen them for a while, Martin noted just how beat up they looked.

  “How have you been?” asked Martin.

  “Fine. I’ve been doing fine.” She began to scrape the skin off the carrots with a small knife. “And you. How have you been?”

  “Busy. A little busier than usual, but you know—busy.”

  This wasn’t going at all as he had planned. He wanted to just tell her everything. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself. He still had Hilton to contend with too, so maybe it was a little early to even be over here talking to her. She was being cool; not that he expected anything any different.

  “Listen Liz, I need to talk to you, okay?” He wanted to ask her to stop and look at him, but he had no right.

  “You said it was urgent, right? About the house, right?” She was still working on those carrots.

  “Well, we do need to talk about the house, but we need to talk about something else first.” He stopped talking, she stopped scraping carrots and looked over at him. She dropped her knife and dried her hands on the dishtowel lying on the kitchen counter. Then she walked around the end of the breakfast counter and settled onto the end barstool, slinging one leg over the arm as she often did when talking on the phone. “So, what do we need to talk about?”

  “Well we’ve been separated now for a while. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what you said when you asked me to move out.” Martin paused.

  “Like what?”

  She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “Like everything,” Martin said.

  “And?”

  “And we need to talk about some stuff.” He might as well just blurt it out. This was getting them nowhere.

  Liz was one to take charge. “Martin don’t take this personally, but you said we needed to talk urgently about the house, and we don’t seem to be getting anywhere.” She was smiling.

  “Okay, I need to ask you a few questions and you have to answer them. Okay?”

  “What kind of questions?” asked Liz.

  “Just say you’ll answer them okay?”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll answer the questions.”

  Martin hesitated; he looked around the kitchen. She was heating up the water in a pot on the cooktop. “Okay, here’s the first question. Do you love me?”

  “Martin,” she protested.

  “Just answer the question. I need to know the answer.”

  She hesitated for a long time. She had spent sleepless nights asking herself the same question. Where to begin?

  “You know Martin, I’ve decided that’s a very complex question. I know that I used to love you with all of my heart. I used to love our nights together, the way we talked, and the way you held my hand when we walked—even in the grocery store. I loved you like the crazy young woman that I was back then. I loved you when we brought our babies home from the hospital and you stayed home from work to take care of me because you didn’t want my mother doing it. And I loved you when you bought that swing set with a million pieces and put it up in the backyard and made handprints of the kids around the concrete you poured around the bottom.”

  Liz paused to find Martin listening quietly. He still looked great. He looked tired, too. Didn’t look like he had slept in a week. Still looked good, though. Years ago, she referred to him as her Marlboro Man. He had never smoked, but at a back-to-school mom’s coffee a few years back, in front of everyone, one of the new mothers was trying to figure out who went with who. The new mom wanted to determine if she had met Liz’s husband. Liz had been describing him and then one of her friends had jumped in and blurted out, “You know, he’s the one that looks like the Marlboro Man.” Then the woman had known immediately who Liz’s husband was and they had all laughed like teenagers over it.

  Liz continued, “Look Martin, maybe I’ve changed, maybe you have. I don’t think it makes a difference anyway. But that part of our life seems to be gone; or, if it’s still there, I just can’t see it anymore.”

  “Tell me again why you wanted me to move out. I know I’ve changed over the years. Is that why you asked me to move out?” asked Martin.

  “Actually, that’s not the main reason I asked you to move out. Somewhere, deep down, I think you’re still that same person; it’s just that other things have buried the real you and turned you into someone else. For the last couple of years, the Martin I’ve known has given up. He’s mad at his job but he doesn’t have the guts to do something about it. He’s frustrated that he doesn’t get the respect and acknowledgment of others, but he’s not willing to go after it. He’s working as hard as he ever worked, but he’s lost his edge and it’s eating him up inside. The last two or three years it seems you’ve just given up and decided that you will just “get by” these next twenty years. The real reason I asked you to move out Martin, is that ‘getting by’ isn’t good enough any longer. I wasn’t being selfish either, Martin. To be honest, I had always thought I’d be living a better life, and that includes having some more money in the bank. Getting by isn’t good enough for me, and it isn’t good enough for you, either.”

  “You know Liz, there’s some truth to what you are saying. I can see that now,” said Martin. “I was afraid to venture out, to go out on my own. But we had a house payment, kids to feed, I was doing okay in my job. I had job security.”

  Liz listened quietly, sympathetically to Martin, “I don’t know about security. I think sometimes people have to take risks. Go for it. You know they say, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’” She continued to look quietly at him.

  Martin nodded his head, “Yes, yes, at this point I know that better than a lot of people do. I really do think I’m a different man than I was six months ago.”

  “I don’t know Martin. It’s hard for somebody to change. I know over the last two or three years, you just didn’t seem…” Martin interrupted Liz.

  “So, do you still love me?” Martin asked again.

  “Of course, I still love you. Maybe I love you in a different way than I did ten or twenty years ago.” She had changed over the years, too. She missed him. She wanted to talk to him like they used to talk. She wanted him to hold her, to take care of her. She had options; she knew that. Some of the guys she had met she found very interesting. And some had been very successful. If she had to, she could do just fine on her own. She would have to work full time on her fundraising jobs, but she could get by. She wanted a man—a man who was strong, to take care of her. Was that Martin? It didn’t have to be old Martin. It could be somebody new.

  “What about the other guys you’ve been seeing?” Martin could help himself.

  “First of all, it’s none of your business, and second of all, what about them?” said Liz.

  “The guys at work tell me whenever they see you out with someone. Obviously, I know about Hilton, too. For Christ sake Liz, Hilton’s a married man. Why are you going out with someone like him?”

  “So, a bunch of us went out sailing on Hilton’s boat, big deal.” Liz was stretching the truth a little bit. “And he’s married, but they’re getting separated too. Sound familiar?”

  There was supposedly going to be a group of them going out to sail; Hil
ton had told her it was going to be a group. Then it was just Hilton and her. Martin would never know the difference. She continued. “You know what? I like Hilton. He’s got a great job. He’s fun to be around…”

  Martin interrupted, “I don’t suppose the fact that he’s rich and has a giant sailboat even enters into the equation.”

  “You know Martin, as long as you brought it up, yes, it does enter into the equation. I’m just not getting any younger, Martin, and I don’t want to be selling my furniture to raise money to put the kids through college. I don’t want to be living off social security when I’m seventy, either. If I can’t have you, if I’m going to be marrying someone else, then they might as well have money. Believe it or not Martin, I’ve found some guys still find me pretty attractive for an old woman, and some of them, like Hilton, have got money—a lot of money.” She looked him straight in the eye and smiled. She was just so alive, so honest. She just enjoyed life. She wanted more than he had given her.

  Martin looked at her carefully.

  “What about you, Martin?” asked Liz. “You’re a good-looking guy, you been out on any “hot” dates?”

  Taylor flashed before his eyes. The dance at the restaurant when he was deer hunting. Chicago.

  “Well,” said Martin, “I bumped into an old friend from college, but we didn’t exactly go on a date.”

  She looked back at him with a puzzled expression. Finally, she spoke, “Maybe we switch topics. The kids are going to be home pretty soon. You said you needed to talk to me urgently about the house.”

  Again, there was a long pause, and Martin slid off the bar stool and went over by his briefcase to the big oversized leather portfolio. He carried the portfolio over to the breakfast bar and sat it on edge, carefully pulling the long narrow zipper around three sides of the case and then opening it flatly on the counter in front of her.

  “Yes, the house. You know how attached I’ve become to this place, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve said, and I think we should bulldoze this place. For the value of the lot it’s sitting on, it’s not worth fixing up and it’s sure not worth adding on to.”

  “And what do we live in once we bulldoze this house?” Momentarily, she had forgotten they were separated.

  “I need to talk it over with you, but I’m thinking something like this.” Martin pulled back the light waxy paper covering a sheaf of oversized pages and there was a front elevation view of an extremely large house. It was a French Colonial—her favorite. Huge round fieldstones, clapboard siding and cedar shingles on the roof. It was not only her favorite style; it was an architect’s design of her favorite home plan. For years, she had kept the plan in a stack of magazines by her bedside. Somehow Martin had got his hands on it and had some plans drawn up.

  “How, how did you get this? Where did you get this?” she stammered. This was the last thing she had expected.

  “It was easy. It’s Home Beautiful right? You’ve only had it lying on your nightstand for the last five years. I just had Terry get the basic plans from the magazine and then I had him do some working drawings to get it sitting the right way on our lot. I had him make a few changes, too. I had him add a sitting room off the master and a three-car garage. This is just a first draft; I didn’t want to go any further on it without you.”

  “Martin why are you doing this?” Liz was stunned.

  “Doing what?”

  “Showing me these plans. I know what something like this costs. We could never afford anything like this.” Liz was confused. What kind of game was he playing? Why did he go to all of the expense to hire an architect and tease her with this? It all seemed like a dream to her.

  “Well, I think we can afford something like this if we want it,” said Martin.

  “And just how do you propose we pay for it?” asked Liz.

  “I’ve got the money, Liz. Right now, we need to keep it quiet, but trust me, I’ve got the money.” Martin was speaking in quiet tones.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get it? Did you rob a bank or something?” She laughed. “Martin I just don’t understand.” Could what he was saying be true? They had saved years just for vacations and cars and now he was showing her plans to a million-dollar house she had always dreamed about.

  Martin smiled comfortably. “Well, as a matter of fact, something did happen at work, too. I quit my job, but that’s another story.”

  “You quit your job?” Liz was incredulous.

  He continued on, “The truth is I’ve made some very, very good investments that have really paid off. For right now, though, in case anyone asks, I plan to just tell them that I inherited some money. If anyone asks, I’d prefer you tell them the same thing.”

  “Who’s going to ask me that?” asked Liz.

  “Well, nobody right now—except our architect friend, of course. Terry already wanted to know if we had won the lottery or something.”

  They had met through church. Last year, Liz and Sandy had been on the Sunday School Christmas Program Committee together. Terry specialized in designing big custom houses out in Memorial. For a moment, Liz could just imagine the discussions Terry and Sandy were having in their kitchen, too.

  “What did you tell him?” asked Liz.

  “Told him an old maid great aunt had died. Told him we had been saving up anyway for years, and this is something I really wanted to do.” Martin said confidently. “You know I am an only child.”

  “What did he say?” asked Liz.

  “Nothing. Actually, he said, “good for you.” I think it’s pretty common, Liz. You just assume that everybody you know is making a lot more money than I am, and in fact, a lot of parents are helping their kids build these big houses in Memorial. A lot of these couples, like this, moving into these houses, are getting big money from their parents, even if it’s not an inheritance. I don’t think Terry gave it a second thought.”

  “So how much will we have to borrow?” asked Liz carefully. Maybe this is where the fantasy came to an end.

  “We can pay cash for it if we want to. I’ve got the money—and more. I just think it might be prudent, and actually better, tax-wise, not to pay for it all in cash.”

  Liz leaned back on her barstool. She looked at the plans lying on the counter. She couldn’t comprehend this in a few minutes, or even in a few hours. This changed everything, and yet it changed nothing. She couldn’t help from looking at Martin in a completely different light. But she didn’t want to go back to where she was with him; she wanted to live, and she wasn’t sure Martin was being altogether honest with her. There were just too many unanswered questions.

  “So, what do you think,” Martin asked. “Do you like the plans or not?”

  “Yes, yes of course, what’s not to like? Martin, this is all just taking me so much by surprise.” She heard the creaking brakes of the bus out in the cul-de-sac and the roar of the big diesel engine as it took back off down the street. “Listen Martin, I don’t know what this means. You’ve got to give me some time, and now the kids are coming in on the late bus, so we can’t talk anymore today.”

  “Yeah, yeah of course. I know this is a surprise. It’s not just the house Liz, I’m different too. I listened to what you said. I did what I had to do. Is it okay if I just leave the plans for you now to look over and we can talk about it later?”

  Liz hesitated. “Well, yes, I guess. I just don’t want you to read anything into this. I haven’t decided anything about you or about us though, okay? I’m just looking at plans. It doesn’t cost anything to dream, does it?”

  Martin paused again a long time before responding. “This isn’t a dream Liz. You take some time to think things over. I’ve got to go now anyway. Thanks for agreeing to meet.”

  Oddly, he reached out to shake hands and she reached out to touch him, for the first time since they had been apart. Then he quickly walked back to his briefcase by the backdoor, picked it up, and walked out without looking ba
ck. She peered out at him through the side window by the laundry room as he met the kids in the driveway. He dropped his bag and got down on his knees, giving each of them a big smile and a hug. His older daughter stood back behind her little sister waiting, and then gave him a high five before falling into his arms. Liz had never been more confused in her life.

  CHAPTER 57

  Hilton had gotten in late from Wisconsin and was up early. He was dressed in casual clothes, driving over to the Houstonian. No more dealing with the fucking French people over at Prolea. He was out, and ready to start on those leases in Wisconsin. Needed to come up with a package to talk to investors. Need to lay low after the Larry Walker thing. Time for a nice workout, then maybe a lunch, poolside. Wonder if Liz will be there today?

  Hilton was daydreaming on the drive down Memorial. They’re finally widening Memorial Drive, he thought to himself, as he sat in morning traffic. Listening to Bloomberg on satellite radio, he suddenly heard a clip from an earlier Empire Oil press conference. He cranked up the volume. “And so, the Wisconsin oil is simply not there. It was a mistake. Possibly a hoax. The state of Wisconsin is conducting a press conference later today. There will be an investigation.” What the hell? What had he just heard? He tuned to another news channel to try and get another report on this. Somehow the Wisconsin oil was not there? Hilton felt a sickening knot tighten in his stomach.

  What happened? How had the state and Empire and Arbor “discovered” this oil? Hilton had the damn data. He had studied the seismic data himself. Did they somehow get the same maps he had stolen from Martin? Were Martin’s maps in error? They certainly showed huge oil deposits. Martin had even calculated the size of the reserves on his spreadsheets—the ones Anita had stolen from Martin and given to Hilton. The oil had to be there. Hilton had just killed a man in northern Wisconsin to take over the leases to a bunch of Wisconsin land that might be worthless. He had paid Martin a half a million dollars to back out of the deal and keep his mouth shut. But again, Hilton had proof that the oil was there. Somehow the tapes in Madison had gotten mixed up. Or it could be a computer glitch. It didn’t make any difference to Hilton. Bloomberg radio played more clips from the oil executives. Hilton was just pulling into the Houstonian. Another oil industry man was being interviewed. “The maps are useless. Mistakes were made.” Hilton’s leases were worthless. Had to get his half million dollars back from Martin and return it to Prolea before they found it missing. Hilton could go to prison for embezzlement. Martin was also a liability. Martin was the only link between Hilton and a dead man lying in a cabin in northern Wisconsin. Hilton could make Martin go away. Permanently. They could hang you once for killing a man, but they couldn’t hang you twice for killing two. Hilton felt his grip tighten on the wheel as he flashed back to swinging the iron rod forward to crush Larry’s spinal column. Larry was simply expendable. Then he thought about how he had roughed up Martin. Martin was expendable, too.