After Hours (13 page)

T
he taxi stopped in front of a row house in a working-class Irvington neighborhood. There were several young children sitting on the porch steps of a neighboring house, arguing over a handheld computer game, but other than that the block was quiet.

Dina paid the fare and stepped out of the cab. She noticed the curtain in one of the front rooms moved before settling into place. Pulling back her shoulders, she mounted the four steps leading to the porch and rang the doorbell. The door opened, and she came face-to-face with a woman who reminded her of her grandmother.

“Good morning, ma'am. I'm Dina Gordon.”

The woman beckoned her inside. “Come, child, and rest yourself.”

Forty minutes after meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Gideon Foster, Dina hailed a taxi to take her back to the motel. The Fosters had given her a one-year lease and a set of keys to her new apartment. They'd expected her to bring letters of reference, but after Mr. Foster spoke to Lance, he informed her that if she wanted the apartment, then it was hers.

The rooms were a far cry from those she saw on
MTV Cribs,
but they were hers. The freshly painted space was immaculate with small, cozy rooms and large, bulky, functionable furniture.

She liked that she had her own private entrance and washer/dryer privileges, and the monthly rent of nine hundred dollars was less than her forty-nine-dollar-a-night motel rate. A dreamy smile crossed her face when she thought of what she had to do to turn her first apartment into a home. She had to buy linens, towels and pots and pans. It would be another week before she began working at SJC Catering, which gave her time to adjust to her new crib.

 

Cradling the phone between her chin and shoulder, Dina listened as Karla read back the Irvington address she'd given her at the same time she checked dresser drawers to make certain she hadn't forgotten anything.

“I keep pinching myself to make certain I'm not dreaming.”

“You're not dreaming, Dina. You're now experiencing what you should've had years ago.”

“But I couldn't have done it without you, Karla.”

“You would've done it without me, because always remember that you're a descendant of survivors. Your ancestors went through hell for you to be here today.”

Dina halted zipping the carry-on. “I never thought of myself in that way. Thank you for making me aware of it.”

“If you're not doing anything on the Fourth, I'd like to invite you to my place for a cookout.”

A shock flew through her. “You…you want me to come to your house?”

“Yes, I do. You have a new job, a new apartment and now it's time you make some new friends. Take down my address and cell number.” Dina moved over to the bedside table and wrote down Karla King's Oldwick address. “If you need transportation, then let me know.”

Dina thought of Lance. She wouldn't have to impose on Karla if he drove her. “May I bring a friend with me?”

“Of course,” Karla confirmed.

“He has a car.”

Karla laughed softly. “I understand, Dina. Good luck with everything. I'll see you and your
friend
on the Fourth.”

“Okay, Karla.”

She ended the call, picked up her bag, took one final glance around the motel room and walked out. She had to check out before Lance arrived. He'd promised to drive her to a nearby mall to shop before they celebrated her new job
and
apartment.

J
udge Rhys Weichert watched Karla King walk down the hallway, his gaze widening appreciably. Like fine wine, he found that Karla improved with age. She'd been a bright-eyed, barely legal twenty-going-on-twenty-one-year-old when he first saw her race into his classroom at NYU Law School, out of breath and her hair falling over her forehead in sensual disarray. She'd been one of his brightest students, and before she completed her first year they'd become lovers, meeting discreetly once or twice a week. It hadn't mattered that she was his student or that he was married. He'd fallen in love with the aspiring attorney, and after twenty years he was still in love with her.

He smiled. She was casually dressed in a pair of black cropped pants and a sleeveless white blouse. Her groomed feet were pushed into a pair of black patent leather wedge-heel sandals that put her close to the six-foot mark.

Karla's freshly coiffed hair moved sensuously around her head with each step that took her closer to the man who'd been teacher, mentor, lover and now confidant. She'd told Rhys things she'd never told Ronald. It's not that she didn't trust her husband, but she knew it would probably put a crack in the foundation of their perfect marriage.

A smile tipped the corners of her generous mouth when she saw the minute lines around the still-bright blue eyes deepen when Rhys smiled. He extended a heavily blue-veined hand, pulling her gently into the hotel room and kissing her cheeks.

“You look wonderful, Rhys,” Karla said softly. She hadn't lied. He'd gained some of the weight he'd lost when she last saw him.

The state supreme court judge who'd recently celebrated his seventieth birthday had made it known that he was leaving the bench at the end of the year, declaring it was time he kick back, go deep-sea fishing and become reacquainted with his many grandchildren, most of whom lived on the West Coast. What he hadn't disclosed to anyone, with the exception of his wife and Karla, was that he'd been diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer.

Resting a hand on the small of Karla's back, Rhys shook his head. “You've always been the most beautiful liar I've ever had the delight in knowing. Have you eaten?” he asked, smoothly segueing to another topic. He'd told Karla he was dying, then exacted a promise from her that they would never discuss his illness again. “I've taken the liberty of ordering a light repast.”

Karla permitted Rhys to seat her; she stared intently as he rounded the table to sit opposite her. The ruddy color that was always apparent in the lean face of the tall man with the deep voice and shock of white hair had returned. His hair wasn't as thick and bushy as it'd been before he'd begun chemotherapy. However, he was luckier than most patients because it hadn't fallen out completely. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and a pair of midnight-blue tailored slacks. The subtle scent of his specially blended cologne wafted in her nose.

She wasn't certain why she'd been drawn to the man, because he wasn't what she thought of as her ideal. And if she were completely truthful then she would have to admit that she was only attracted to men in her own race. Rhys Weichert had become the exception because of his elegance, wealth and brilliant legal mind.

Karla had supplemented her partial undergraduate and law school scholarships waiting tables and swinging around a pole at men's clubs until Professor Weichert asked her to have dinner with him. The one encounter changed her life completely when she became his mistress; he gave her the money she needed to complete her education. What he hadn't known was, although she'd stopped waiting tables, she'd continued dancing because the craving for male attention was so great that it'd become an addiction. Instead of dancing at a club, she'd performed in hotel suites for discriminating men with fat wallets and even more discriminating tastes. Her private performances came to an abrupt end the day Ronald placed an engagement ring on her finger.

“I like the room,” she said softly, her gaze sweeping around the opulent hotel suite.

Rhys nodded. “I'm practically living here.” Reaching for a bottle of chilled champagne, he filled a flute, handing it to Karla while ignoring the expression of shock freezing her features. “Erika and I aren't getting along too well nowadays.”

Karla grasped the delicate stem of the flute. “What's wrong, Rhys?”

“She's in denial, Karla. She can't accept the reality that I'm dying and that she's going to be left alone.”

“But we're all mortal,” she argued softly.

A sad smile parted the judge's pale lips. “My dear wife has lived a life of privilege that's insulated her from the ugliness of the world as you and I know it. I met her when I was nineteen and she fifteen. Three years later she'd become my wife. I was the first and only man she's ever known. Although—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Karla asked, interrupting him. She'd met Erika at social events, and Ronald was aware that she'd once been Rhys's mistress, but intimate details of their respective marriages were never discussed.

Rhys's hand shook slightly when he filled his flute. “I need to talk to someone, Karla. My wife has shut me out completely.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Please continue.”

A frown creased the lined forehead as he returned the bottle to the crystal bowl filled with ice, the brilliant jurist appearing deep in thought. His expression brightened when he raised his glass. “I'd like for you to make the toast tonight.”

“Are you sure, Judge Weichert?”

“Very sure, counselor,” he teased, winking at her.

The smile that softened Karla's generous mouth did not reach her eyes. They were sad, filled with pain and the impending loss of her best friend. “I toast to us.”

His bushy white eyebrows lifted. “That's it?”

She nodded. “That's it, Rhys.” She touched her glass to his, then took a sip of the bubbly wine. “It's excellent.”

It was Rhys's turn to nod. “Thank you. I wonder what our lives would've been like if we'd married each other.”

Waves of shock slapped at Karla when she mentally replayed his statement. Even though she'd slept with the man, she never would've considered marrying him. “Why would you even say something like that? You've had a wonderful life with Erika, and my life with Ronald is better than I could've ever expected it to be.”

Rhys drained his glass, then reached for the bottle to refill it. “That's because you and Ronald have an incredible sex life.” He held up his free hand when Karla's jaw dropped. “You didn't have to tell me, Karla. I knew he was satisfying you when you stopped sleeping with me. I kept telling myself that you wanted to be a faithful wife because I didn't want to admit that I'd lost you to a better man.”

I'm not a faithful wife because I still sleep with other men. The difference is my husband knows about them,
Karla mused as she stared at the man with the crestfallen expression. What she wanted to tell Rhys was that he'd lost his appeal even before she'd met Ronald, that it had started to take him longer and longer to climax and that she'd been left more sexually frustrated than before their encounter.

“It's not that at all,” she said in a quiet voice, hoping to soothe his wounded ego. “I'm not going to deny that I love Ronald. But what I want is to live a simple life without the complications or encumbrances that come with having an affair.” Reaching across the table, she placed her hand over Rhys's. “I can't believe that after all these years that you'd question my feelings for you. It wasn't just about the sex, Rhys.”

He reversed their hands, his fingers tightening gently. “Then what was it about, my sweet, sweet child?”

Karla felt a rush of tears prick the backs of her eyelids. She attempted to extricate her hand from his grip but couldn't when Rhys tightened it. “Please don't call me that.”

“But you are my sweet child.”

Sucking in a lungful of air, she willed the tears not to fall. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd sobbed herself to sleep in Rhys's comforting embrace—when an instructor didn't give her the grade she felt she deserved; when her father, who'd divorced her mother to take up with another woman, called to ask her to represent him when charged with kidnapping and raping his stepdaughter; and when her mother died suddenly a day before she was scheduled to take the bar exam. She'd come to Rhys because she had no one else. He'd offered her solace and she, in turn, offered him her body.

“I gave you what you needed and you gave me what I needed.”

He nodded. “You're right, Karla. You gave me what Erika couldn't or wouldn't unless she wanted another child. The only time we ever shared a bed was when our parents stayed over. In public she presents as the perfect wife and hostess, but behind close doors she's cold and unfeeling. She'd told me enough times to go out and get a mistress until I finally did. I lost count of the names and faces of women that I slept with during my marriage until I met you. Once we slept together, I never looked at another woman. You'd become my wife in every way possible. I don't know why I didn't leave Erika and marry you.”

“You didn't do it because you knew eventually I'd leave you for another man.”

Rhys released her hand and removed the cover to a serving tray. “You're right, Karla. Spouses who cheat are usually doomed to cheat again. I suppose that's the reason I didn't leave Erika.”

Karla stared at the scrumptious cold seafood feast of lobster, shrimp, clams on the half shell, oysters and mussels with a variety of dipping sauces. She could always count on Rhys to order what she liked.

She smiled at him. “Erika loves you, Rhys. If she didn't, then she wouldn't be so fearful of losing you.” His blue eyes grew hard, reminding her of particles of chipped ice.

“Please don't try and bullshit a bullshitter, Karla. Erika married me because our fathers decided to merge not only their businesses but also their families. The merger of Simons and Weichert Pharmaceuticals made them one of the country's largest drug companies. She could never love me because she was in love with another boy, and she's spent the past fifty years reminding me of that by keeping me out of her bed. At first I thought she was frigid, but when I discovered her treasure trove of vibrators and other sex toys, I knew differently.”

Karla felt pity, compassion and another emotion she was unable to identify with his passionate disclosure. Pushing back her chair, she came around the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do you want me to sleep with you, Rhys?”

Tilting his chin, he smiled up at her. “You know I can't get it up anymore.”

Resting her cheek on the top of his head, Karla kissed the wiry strands. “Even if you could I still wouldn't have sex with you.”

Rhys reached up and touched the thick hair falling over his face. He'd always loved touching Karla's hair. He loved everything about her: her hair, her skin and her smell. There was something about her smell that was uniquely hers. After they'd made love, he'd loathed getting up to shower because he wanted her essence to linger long after she left.

“Yes, Karla. I'd
love
for you to sleep with me.”

She released him and reached into her handbag to retrieve her cell phone. “I'm staying over,” she said to Ronald when he answered her call.

“Don't forget to invite Rhys and Erika over on the Fourth.”

“I won't,” she told him. “I'll see you tomorrow, darling.”

“I love you.”

She closed her eyes, smiling. “I love you, too.” Turning, she looked at Rhys. “Ronald and I are hosting a Fourth of July get-together. He'd like for you to come with Erika.”

A look of determination shimmered in the steely blue eyes. “We'll be there.” Rhys never wanted to miss an opportunity to see Karla again. They talked on the phone, but that wasn't enough. Seeing her, making love to her, always counteracted his guilt whenever he cheated on his wife.