The Road Narrows As You Go (46 page)

Too bad, I love farms, Wendy said and toasted her flute to his.

You're right, Wendy. Farms are great. But a farm's just land. And land is hell. One life's all we get. Don't be tied to the earth, I've learned. Follow your heart and soar with eagles. What is a tragedy is what happened out
there
, Piper said, and Wendy nodded without being sure where
there
was yet. Ever since Sue and that fellow. Shakes. Insomnia. I sought therapeutic counselling. That's right. Not a cheap fellow either. But Freudian, so. I see what the loss did to Frank, too. Mind you. Everyone's different. He poured himself and all his sorrow into this godzilla deal. It's remarkable to see his stoicism first-hand. How are
you
? You seem okay about your boyfriend.

Not my boyfriend. A friend. More of a brother. Cain and Mabel kind of a thing.

A tall, lean version of Frank veered up behind Piper. Shitbag asshole.

Piper quaked at the seams. Don't do that, Lionel. Startled me.

Sorry. Hee hee. Didn't mean to.

How long have you been standing there, creep? Wendy, do you know Lionel? Frank's older, more inane,
bachelor
brother—a math whiz sequestered in a turretlike office back in San Jose where he socializes with no one but Frank and spends all day and night concocting financial instruments to better bend a buck, spend a buck, and possibly conceal a buck. Am I introducing you correctly, Lionel?

You are.

How do you do, Lionel? Nice to meet you. You're the slobbering image of your brother.

I am.

Is Piper telling the truth? Are you swindling great fortunes?

Yes and yes, Lionel said. But all above-board, of course. Thanks to superior math. Up-to-the-second computerized tests on the data. Results. More tests. Better results … Gee, Wendy, you
do
look spectacular. Wow, that turban is something. Gosh, you look more gorgeous than Diane Keaton.

What's he mean by
that
? Piper winked at her.

You're more tanned than your brother, too, I must say. Does your turret face south?

Yes, but no. I swim outdoors, said Lionel and thumped his chest with the hand not holding a martini. My private pool. In my house. Retractable roof. Between the kitchen and living room. I can swim and watch TV while my girlfriend cooks dinner naked—

If he had a girlfriend, added Piper.

I love my pool, Lionel said.

Like most other Hexen employees, Lionel also smelled rankly of Ruthvah.

Wendy, meet Hexen the Third, said Frank as he swept eagerly in between her and his brother. And this is Diamond the Fifth, and Mistral the Second.

Mistral the First was a flock of white hair floating in midair over the collar of a suit and tie, and Mistral the Second was another elderly fellow with startlingly jaundiced skin and redshot eyes beaming out of a yellow brick face on top of a barrel chest leaning way forward over two spindly legs as he extended a long monkey arm off one of his two walking canes to shake her hand.

They
love you, said Frank.

Lurv
her, said Hexen the Third in an attempt at humour.

It is true, we
do
. We
love
you around here, said the eldest Mistral. This company would not be where it is today without your, I don't know what else to call it, special touch. Because I guess I don't read the funny pages, why I can't be more precise.

See how they all love you? said Frank as he pulled a bacon-free appetizer off a silver plate.

Who's got a spoon to gag me with? Wendy said in a courteous tone, and the partners enjoyed a laugh. On the house, she said.

You sound just like your comic strip, said old Mistral. That flock of hair looked like a shred of cotton batting pulled from a pillow, on top of a head so tiny as to be mistaken for absent.

And on the financial festivities went. And on. Far longer and so grindingly dull that the thought of gulping down another dyed cocktail and a vermin-sized foodlet off a silver platter while chatting politely with so many diabetic alcoholic mendacious old men nauseated her. The only woman in the room aside from the server girls, the only female allowed to drink, was Wendy. Men sucking on handrolled Dominican cigars that stank like ass to high heaven and deleted all the powers of the Ruthvah. The boardroom swayed with smells. More catering, more drinks, more cigars. After Diamond asked Wendy for an original drawing and she made one on the back of a spreadsheet of Francis the rabbit in his best pinstripe suit being chased by a calculator, all the other name partners wanted original drawings, too, to give to kids or, to keep things equal among the businessmen, themselves.

I like your bosses, said Wendy.

No, you don't.

They are more boring than plywood, she said, but I like them because they make
you
happy.

I make
them
happy, Frank said. A tenth, a hundredth of my salary's what each of them takes home.

A hundredth. I'm no good at math. Where does that leave
me
?

Well off.

She said, All I want is to sit on your lap, but if you're going to make me stay here, you better tell that guy behind you with the platter of prawns to turn around and serve us some before they vanish—my stomach is growling, she said.

Frank pressed himself against Wendy's body. The door to the penthouse suite swung open.

Wendy was a bit too sloshed to be horny. But she went with it.

The penthouse lights were out. The room was dark. She sensed something different about the place. Absent was the fresh money smell she thought the hotel service must perfume the place with. A cologne of unfamiliar musk, not Ruthvah, permeated the room instead.

She pulled away from his tongue. Frank …? Frank? she whispered, hesitating to make it a question.

Frank put his cellphone down on the table in the entranceway. Mm. You smell so good, he said as he engulfed his face in the loofah of her hair. Oh god, Wendy, I wanna fuck your pussy so hard right here and now, he said in a voice not quite his own.

She giggled. Oh, wow,
that word
.

I
knew
it! I fucking knew it!

Wendy screamed, high-kicking like a startled horse, and accidentally kneed Frank in the groin. Cross-eyed, tongue flicking out of his dry heaving mouth, Frank managed a reptilian squeak.

I
fucking
knew it,
you
fucking dogshit, a voice snarled in the darkness. You fucking two-faced
traitor
.

Wendy switched on the chandelier. The well-dressed man at the far corner of the living room slammed his hand down on the sidetable, shaking a Tiffany lamp, as he stood up from his chair. His movements, all lunging and pacing.

You're not Sue, you're … you're that—I already forget your fucking name—that—
cartoonist
.

She pointed to him. And you're …

K-Kravis
, Frank spat.

You dick-hearted liar, piss-flavoured liar, you cheated me out of millions. You nearly cost me my reputation, my brokerage … Why haven't you returned a single one of my goddamn calls, you squiddy spineless bloodsucker?

How did you
get
in here?

I broke in, of course, said Kravis with a mean grin on his coinface and an American Express card flapping prominently between his fingers. I thought you
sold
this, you sticky-fingered liar. Want to tell me why you still own a million-dollar penthouse in a city where you no longer live? Or, pardon me, but am I
looking
at the reason?

I've got half a mind to call the police, said Frank.

Go right ahead and get a full mind to, you no-good criminal fuck. I'd like to see you do that. Call the police. Hilarious. Pah!

What is it you think you're entitled to now, Kravis? You already spent your inlaws' fortune on bad bets. You're an addict with no impulse control.

Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your
tryst
, Frank. How long has your wife been missing or dead for? But your private affairs are no business at all of
mine
, of that I'm fucking sure. Certainly not. You're here for deals, deals. Nothing but deals. You shut me out of that Shepherd Media deal, you conniving bald fuck.

Kravis had fixed himself a drink apparently, because he finished it now in a big overweening swig. The ice fell to the bottom of the glass like broken glass when he set it down on the coffee table. Well, I suppose then it's true what they say about tragedy plus time. I'm fucking sure you corporate backstabbers are opportunistic enough to waste no time laughing over a couple of dead loved ones.

Kravis, I never disclosed inside information on a deal to you. If that's been your impression in the past, you're wildly mistaken.

I do my part, Frank, I polish the financial shoes, I carry the market luggage, I do all your dirty work and heavy lifting, and in return you agreed to keep me going with a steady supply of very profitable inside fucking info. Very simple. Million-dollar debt transactions are revolutionary things, Frank. America's the place to pull a heist like yours. Hundred percent and higher interest rates. I've said it before, you're the Salvador Dalí of finance. But you can't do a job this size without help. You need me for your junk to work. And I did—I took that position for you.

Frank snapped. In a flash his dinner jacket was off and his Zegna tie unravelled from where it confined his neck, the top three buttons on his white French-cuff dress shirt undone, and he shouted, Get out of my home.

You forget I was wrestling champ at Princeton, Frank. I can still do fifty pushups a day.

Where I'm from boys play rugby, said Frank as he got into first position.

Wendy said, Grab him by the scruff, Frank, toss this pup out on his ear.

I remember. I remember Lupercal Plastics Infuckingcorporated— remember them, Frank? Nicaraguan plastic factories in need of some protection, Frank? I remember everything.

Where is it? Frank said.

Where's what? said Kravis, ducking back.

You're wired up, aren't you? Trying to entrap me, is it? You're conspiring, aren't you, coward. Come here and show me. You've been interrogated, haven't you?

Kravis slipped away from Frank's right fist, took a shot to his enemy's forehead, and that left him open for Frank to give him an unexpected blow below the belt.

Kravis let out a mulish Oof! and doubled over.

Frank seized him and both of them fell across the coffee table, sliding on the varnished finish, swathed in the comic books Wendy had bought earlier in the week.

Kravis tore his shirt open. Are you happy now? he barked as pearl buttons spat off, chest bare except for the occasional cottonball of shrivelled once-manly hair and a red scar like a zipper running up the centre of his ribcage. He flexed his muscles under a layer of pink flushed skin. I am not wearing a fucking wire but I am here to warn you it's getting like that. The DA and the SEC probed me
like aliens
today, full of questions I'd just as soon forget they asked.

You snitched
already
, didn't you? said Frank with disgust. What did you
say
? What
fabrications
did you spin to get out of this one? That's why you're on the
out
, Kravis, why no investment bank would have you—no loyalty. You're one inbred motherfucker, aren't you, Kravis? I've seen a thousand chuckleheads like you who grew up spitting distance from shit, and you come to the big city to make pay. You sold your vital wisdom at its low, and you bought in on Wall Street avarice at its high. Now you think you're in the opera box of life, with a fabulous wealthy wife and a mansion in Greenwich, but there's a can of dog food between your ears. I'm surprised you can
tell time
let alone arb the market.

You're public enemy number one on Wall Street right now, Frank, ask anyone. Goldman Sachs, Lehman—all their fortunes are shrunk, thanks to you. They hired Rudy Giuliani to lure you in, hook you, kill you, and fry you like catfish.

Now Frank opened the main door and said, Go home to your wife and your wife's castle and her family's money, Kravis. Go home and regret all this.

He slammed the door behind Kravis and locked the door. Spoiledrotten, stinking drunk fool, Frank said and drove his fist into the door.

I heard that, Kravis shouted from the other side and slammed his own hand against the door.

She backed into the living room and stood under the chandelier thinking of the strong botanical hands and flowering face of Richard McGuire.

Don't say a
word
, Frank said and rushed into the room and put a hand under the nearest lampshade. Gotta sweep this whole damn place now. He could plant a microphone almost anywhere. Help me look. Damn him. Comes in here drunk and ranting about payback. Fuck him.

As she made an effort to inspect the lampshades and backsides of paintings, her mind wandered back to the sensation of McGuire's legs ambiently flirting with hers under the tiny table. Nodding at Art Spiegelman's fingers drawing in the air as he spoke. And Françoise snipsnipping at the noodles on her plate didn't seem to notice McGuire's moves in the least. Wendy began to wonder why she didn't take McGuire up on his offer. Continue the night fucking back at his little SoHo studio. Greenwich Village dinner. Noodles in tomato sauce. Was Richard the one, not Frank? She'd never know unless she let Richard show her.

She remembered asking McGuire, Can you tell me why there's so many hobos?

Out-of-work actors. All the best agents moved to Los Angeles.

Had she come to visit a month ago she probably would have followed up McGuire's under-the-table moves with some of her own. Instead she was here with Frank in this violated penthouse on Fifth Avenue.

After dropping a tumbler of ice and vodka into each of their palms, she went and opened the curtains so she could once again see the beautiful city lights over Central Park. Everything brightened up in the room. She sat down on the fur rug and pulled her legs up behind her, tucking her stockinged feet under her. Frank watched her the whole time, vibrating, she could see. She felt all of a sudden very fetching and lovely in her new role as Frank's mistress and took a long drink to show off her bare white throat.