Social Lives (31 page)

“So. Are you ready to see the West Palm facility? It's really something. If you're not already sold on the club, this will certainly do the trick,” Rosalyn said, smiling.

Nick jumped right in. “Oh, we are already sold! Truly, we're honored that you offered to sponsor us. I just hope we're able to meet enough people in time.”

Barlow scowled. “Nonsense. You've met everyone you need to know right here. What my wife says goes.”

Rosalyn pretended to take it as a compliment, though the sarcasm was hard to miss. “Thank you, darling. But I think it's wonderful they're coming with us. It is a good idea to meet the committee members.”

When the drinks arrived, Barlow watched the faces of his guests. Nick was practically bursting out of his seat, his eyes were bright, his face on permasmile.

“Well, we're glad for the company. But it must be hard to leave your little girl. Rosalyn had to pull me kicking and screaming away from Mellie.”

Sara nodded, but she couldn't speak. Barlow's words had dragged her from her bunker right back to her reality, which was unbearable at the moment. Her eyes welled with tears as she got up from her seat. “Excuse me . . . ,” she said.

“Sar—they've already pushed back . . . ,” Nick called after her, but she was up and headed for the restroom. Spotting an unbuckled passenger, the flight attendant gave a knock on the pilot's door and the plane came to a smooth stop. Then the small phone on the wall buzzed softly.

“I'll get this, you get her,” Rosalyn said, waving Barlow off to fetch Sara.

Nick sat there, helpless. He should have been the one to get his wife, but the orders had been issued and Rosalyn had her own agenda.

With the phone pressed to her ear, Rosalyn handled it seamlessly. “I know, Bob. We'll get her back in her seat. Don't take us out of rotation. . . . Okay . . . great.” Rosalyn replaced the phone on its cradle, then smiled at Nick. “It's no problem. They'll hold our spot for a minute or two.”

Nick shook his head. He was more than a little embarrassed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Please. Don't worry about it.”

Then they sat silently, watching the scene unfold at the back of the plane, where Barlow was now talking to Sara through a closed bathroom door. His face was serious at first, his head pressed to the wood paneling. Then he listened intently before speaking again. A smile broke out, then a slight laugh. Then he got that look—the one he always got when he was amusing someone and enjoying himself in the process. Nothing boosted Barlow's ego like making a woman laugh.

Nick shifted nervously in his seat. He checked his watch.

But Rosalyn had no worries. A few seconds later, the door opened. Sara
stepped out, her eyes red, but a smile on her face. She gave Barlow a playful pat on his forearm, then followed him back to their seats.

“You see,” Rosalyn said to Nick before they came within earshot, “Barlow has a way with women.”

Nick looked at her, surprised by the comment, but whatever concern was born from it was quickly replaced with relief at the sight of his wife and, finally, the feel of the plane resuming its course to the runway.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Sara said, wiping her face one last time.

“It's my fault for bringing up those damned rugrats. No more mention of such things for the duration.” Barlow raised his glass and the others followed, clinking glasses.

“To a wonderful trip,” Nick said.

“Hear, hear,” the others agreed. Then, as they were taking their first sips, Barlow winked at Sara, who managed to smile.

And Rosalyn, for the first time since boarding the plane, was unable to do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

T
HE ROOM WAS DARK
. It was nearly five and the sun had gone down, but neither of them had thought to turn on a light. They stood now, on opposite sides of the bed, passing things back and forth as they packed the bags that would carry the Christmas gifts to California for their annual family trip.

“We should just buy it all when we get there,” Kelly said to her sister. “Every year it takes an entire day just to pack. Beth's the only one who still believes in Santa anyway.”

Jacks tossed a wrapped box to Kelly. “Here—try this one in the duffel. I think it's clothing.”

“Did you hear what I said?” Kelly asked, taking the box.

“I heard. It's just one more year. Maybe two.”

Kelly shook her head. “I don't know about that. Andrea believed until she was ten.”

“Well . . .” Jacks had more on her mind than the unruly amount of luggage they would be carting out west this year.

Kelly shoved the box in the duffel, then fought to zip it closed. “There. Is that it?”

“Yeah.” Jacks pulled the duffel to her walk-in closet, where the other bags were piled up against her shoe rack. Then she closed the door. As she
turned around, the light from the bathroom caught her eye, and she stood for a moment, just looking, and remembering.

Kelly was gathering the empty shopping bags when she saw her sister standing there in a daze. She folded the bags together and shoved them into a larger black one. Then she turned on the bedroom light, breaking the spell that had drawn Jacks in. “Hey,” she said, walking up behind her. “It's over.”

Jacks closed her eyes when she felt Kelly's arms around hers. “I just can't believe it. I can't believe it's over. It doesn't feel over.”

Kelly gave her one last squeeze, then leaned against the wall beside her. “That's what Red's guy told him. The investigation is closed. It came right from the U.S. Attorney's office. Haven't there been any letters?”

Jacks shook her head. “Nothing. He just comes home, goes to work, comes home, goes to work, and the papers in that damned briefcase never change. It's like he's just carrying it around, for appearances or something.”

Kelly shrugged. “And the calls?”

“They stopped last week. At least to the house. Maybe they call him at the office. I don't know.”

Kelly watched her sister's face. There wasn't a trace of relief. “I know it doesn't seem like much with everything that's happened—with David's episode,” she began, then pulled back for a moment, letting the memory return. “But, Jacks—think about it! He's not going to jail. You won't lose the house, or the rest of your savings. David can rebuild the business, get another job. He's always been resourceful that way.”

Jacks turned now to face her sister. She should feel it, she knew. David had climbed out of that tub with excuses of work stress, a bad market—this, that, and the other thing. He had made light of it, saying he'd let himself unravel just to shock himself out of the self-pity that had taken hold inside him, and to make him think about Jacks and the girls and what was important. He'd confessed only the smallest piece of what had gone on, that some of his investments had taken a big hit and the investors were unhappy. That was how he had explained the phone calls and his odd behavior. He'd held her tight, told her not to worry, and when he'd turned from her to get on with the day and greet the girls, who had just walked through the door, he had not felt the wetness on his pants from the thin film of water that had remained in the tub after Beth's bath the night before. And that was how Jacks knew his mind was not right. That he had gone to a different place. And although it
was a better place than the one that had driven him to crawl into that bathtub to begin with, it was still not a place that felt remotely safe to her.

“It's not right, Kelly. Not this time.”

Jacks walked into the bathroom, where she had started to pack her cosmetics.

Kelly followed. “He
has
been under a lot of stress. Maybe he was crying out for help—for a way to tell you.”

Jacks shook her head. “Remember that day you were here with the kids? We were sitting under the blankets, watching them in the leaves?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Remember I asked you if there was something Red had found out, and you said something like ‘Let's wait and see,' or ‘Don't worry about that now'? Something like that?”

Kelly pretended to struggle with the recollection, but she knew exactly what Jacks what talking about. “Why?”

Setting her small makeup pouch on the vanity counter, Jacks looked Kelly in the eye. She needed an honest answer, and Kelly was already on that plane halfway to the California sun. “I need to know what that was.”

Kelly waved it off. “Nothing—it was nothing.”

But Jacks didn't move. “I need to know.”

“Oh, shit, Jacks. Why? It was nothing.” Kelly started to turn away, but Jacks grabbed her arm.

“Tell me.”

With her sister's hand still holding on to her, Kelly stopped moving and looked up. “Fine. You want to know? Here it is. But don't overreact. He was wrong about it, okay?”

“Just tell me.”

Kelly hesitated before confessing what she had been withholding for weeks. “When the investors started backing off the investigation, Red poked around to see where the money was coming from, to pay them. Remember I told you how he thought David might have had something squirreled away?”

Jacks nodded.

“Okay. Well, Red couldn't find anything, but that's a tall order for someone like Red. Private offshore banks don't exactly publish their clients' accounts in the
Post
.”

“Right . . .”

Kelly took another long breath. “So he went to the city for a few days, used the money you gave him.” She paused then, looking at her hands to avoid Jacks, and to figure out how to say what she was about to say. “He followed David.”

“Followed him? Where? Where did he go?”

“He thought he could at least see what bank he was using. He figured David wouldn't risk doing anything online with the feds watching him.”

Jacks felt the blood rush from her face. “So where did he go?”

“He went to a law office. . . .”

“Well, that's nothing. I already knew he had a lawyer.”

Kelly grabbed hold of Jacks's hands. “No, Jacks. Not his lawyer. He went to see a man named Angelo Farrino.”

“Farrino? Why do I know that name?”

“He represents organized crime families, that's why. He handled the Gianno appeal years ago—remember they aired it live? The man with the bald head, smooth-talker?”

Jacks remembered, but she couldn't speak. Of course it had crossed her mind that David had dug himself a deep hole and that he might have done something desperate to cling to the edges before falling to its depths. Of course it had crossed her mind when the phone calls came, when she felt compelled to start locking her doors and watching her kids like a hawk—when she found David curled up in the bathtub like a lost child. But her worst-case scenario involved some lunatic investor who wanted payback.

“Jacks?”

“I'm confused . . . hold on a sec.” Jacks turned away as the images of that lawyer, Angelo Farrino, and her husband played in her head. Back and forth between the two, the lawyer on TV with his infamous client, her average Joe husband. It was inconceivable.

“Jacks—listen! He was wrong. The case went away. The phone calls stopped, and David hasn't pulled any more money out of your house or investments.”

“Then why? Why would he go there?”

Kelly shrugged. “Maybe he wanted a higher-profile lawyer. Or maybe he needed someone to put pressure on the Vegas insurance company that wasn't paying out for the fire. Farrino would be the perfect guy for that
job.” Kelly was grasping at straws, but Jacks could see that she had already sold herself on a version of events that did not involve their lifeline owing money to a member of the Gianno crime family. And it would be easy for Jacks to join her.

“There was that man a few years back,” Jacks said, her eyes widening as she recalled the story.

“What man?”

“This man—in Wilshire. He was murdered in his closet. Tied up, kneeling on the floor and shot in the back of the head. It turned out he was virtually bankrupt. His wife didn't even bother to sell the house, just let the bank have it. I remember now, there was an auction, but no one would touch it after what had happened. They tore it down.”

Kelly pressed her hand into the white marble vanity, channeling her frustration. “Jacks, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm saying, it did happen here before. Here . . . in this town. I remember that story.”

“And that story has nothing to do with David. You're not making any sense.”

“No, it makes perfect sense. If David were Daddy, would you believe it then? Would you believe that he might have done something so desperate?”

Kelly shook her head and looked away. “Jacks—”

“No! Answer me. Would you believe it then?”