The Secret Keeping (33 page)

Nobody dared to even speculate.

“Jones, what about the bar?”

“The waiter insists that he’s legally blind, dyslexic and partially deaf in one ear. He has difficulty with faces and names. Doesn’t know her. Can’t say he’s ever seen her before.”

“Johnson, what did you fall for?”

“Uh, the cabby says she suffering from perimenopausal lapses in her short-term memory and has no clue where Frank’s Place even is.”

“It’s her goddamned cab in the photo, right? In front of Frank’s?”

“Well, she says she probably passed in front of the lens by accident.”

“Oh, come off it! With her door open? What kind of nonsense is this?”

Johnson threw his hands up in the air.

“Okay. Anybody else? How about just the guys? I mean, when you’re out looking at women, wouldn’t you naturally take notice of one who looked like this? Especially in the midtown area with all those dreary broads.

Why haven’t you seen this one?”

“There are no women who look like that in the midtown area,” someone boldly volunteered. “That area’s all finance. She probably doesn’t work there–if she works at all.”

“Probably just a coincidence,” someone else authoritatively added. “A little too glamorous for finance.”

Idiots, Hathaway screamed in his head. “Look, I have it from a reliable source that the woman’s been to Frank’s more than once. That is in the heart of the financial district. Moreover, Dr. Kristenson’s offices are in the heart of the financial district. That is most certainly how and where those two women met! She works in that area, maybe lives nearby. It doesn’t matter which. She has a name and an address and we need it!”

_____

Saturday. Jones and Johnson had split up their search of midtown. Pretty quiet on the weekend. Nothing but joggers and a few shoppers, delivery boys, service men. And, of course, the run-of-the-mill street vendors. No neighborhood could survive without them. The two met again in the afternoon, rendezvousing at a hot-dog stand.

“This is bullshit,” Jones complained. “I feel like a gopher, not an attorney. “Dog,” he said to the vendor.

“The works, please.”

“Gopher? Yeah, I could gopher her–if I could find her. I wonder how much that pays,” Johnson said, pointing at a pizza boy passing them by with a twelve cut. He sniffed the air and groaned as he threw himself into the shaded bench on the corner by Frank’s Place. “Anything going on in there?” he thought to ask.

“Nah, completely different crowd on the weekend. I’m telling you the woman is a mirage or something.

And this is just bullshit.”

“If I find her, I’m keeping her,” Johnson said dreamily.

Jones shoved the rest of his hot-dog into his mouth and started for the crosswalk. “What? You stupid or something?”

“Stupid? C’mon, get happy, Mr. Jones. At least she’s a babe.”

“A babe! A mirage, I’m telling you.” Jones mumbled to himself as he crossed the street.

“Finders keepers!” Johnson taunted from the bench.

Jones lifted his hand and flipped him the bird.

“Hey, where’s the pizza place?” Johnson asked the hot-dog man. “I’d rather have pizza.”

“No pizza,” he said. “Just hot-dogs.”

_____

“Your pizza’s here, Ms. Kristenson.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Pizza boy. Jane’s Pizzeria. Where’s that?” he asked him.

“Crosstown,” the boy muttered, pulling at his baseball cap. “Specialty.”

”Jane’s? As in J...A…N…E…apostrophe S…?”

“Jane’s. Yep.”

“Is he alone?”

“He is. Should I search him?”

“No, no. Send him up. Thanks, George.”

Helaine waited for the knock and opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Kristenson. What are you doing for dinner?”

“Oh, my god, next they’re going to say I have a thing for little boys.”

“Only if I spend the night. Will the doorman notice, you think?”

Helaine reflected a moment. “I’ll explain it somehow. Will you?”

“That is the plan, Helaine. Ooh, nice place.”

“Nice ruse, Ms. Beaumont. What are you wearing underneath it?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me see.”

_____

DO YOU KNOW HER? The Sunday edition. All the Sunday Editions.

Lydia Beaumont had gone for her morning jog. She was halfway to the waterfront when she spied her own smiling face under that bold caption, peering out from behind the news cage at a corner stand. She stopped dead in her tracks and took in her catastrophe.

MEET JANE DOE. Jane Doe with Dr. Kristenson. SECRET LOVE. Oh, no, she almost screamed.

“She’s gonna wish she’d never been born,” said a woman who was buying a copy. Lydia hid her face from her and glanced up the street and back again. Do you know her? Do you know her? Do you–?

“Gonna memorize it or buy it?” the vendor demanded.

He eyed her suspiciously, she thought. She averted her eyes. “Sorry,” she replied, her voice scratchy.

“Which one’s the best seller?” she asked, making an attempt at humor.

“YOU KNOW HER…that one in front of you.”

She bought the paper and tripped home with it, her head held low, her last available disguise.

_____

“Oh, no.” (Delilah)

“Oh, no.” (The Keagans)

“Oh, no!” (Helaine)

“Oh, no.” (Marilyn and Edward Beaumont)

“Oh, yes!” (Sharon Chambers)

_____

Okay. Now she could feel Sharon Chambers on her back. Now she could feel eyes on her everywhere, even the doorman’s. Now the phone rang like emergency sirens going off in her penthouse. Now she was an inmate pacing her cell. Or an escaped convict trying to outrun the hounds of hell.

“It’s Robert Keagan…call me back…beep…it’s your dear sweet mom…beep…Liddy, it’s Del…beep…darling, I need to hear from you…call me…beep…Liddy, if you’re there pick up…beep…Lydia Ann Beaumont…I can see you didn’t tell me everything…Lydia…it’s your mom…call me…beep…Queenie?…beep…Queenie, it’s daddy…listen…you need to see Stan…right away…call him, please…beep…Robert again…listen, you need to get a hold of Stanley Kandinsky…right way, Lydia…call me…I’ll be here all day…and please stay put…beep…Lydia…darling…tell me that you’re all right…beep.”

“I’m fine. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Lydia, I am worried. What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet. I just got the paper.”

“I’m acquainted with someone…someone I’ve met at the Keagans. I can’t think of his name. Let me call Robert and ask.”

“An attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Robert just left me a message. I know who he is. Don’t worry, Helaine. I don’t have any enemies and I doubt that anyone’s going to–”

“You don’t need enemies, Lydia. Just people trying to get their kicks. I ought to know.”

Lydia bit at her lip. “What do you want me to do? I mean ultimately. How can I make your life easier, Helaine Kristenson?”

“You already have. It’s not my decision. How can I make your life easier?”

“Promise me you won’t go back to her.”

“It’ll never happen. I promise.”

“How do you feel about being linked to me like this? Are you comfortable with that?”

“I’ve wanted to be linked to you since the moment I first saw you But I never planned on it ruining your life. Your privacy…if they get your name? Are you comfortable with that, because they might, you know?”

They might, she knew. “Lana…”

Helaine fell silent.

“I have never met anyone like you, you should know.”

“Lydia?”

“I would expect to get the girl in the end. That will make my life easier.”

“You’ll get the girl, Lydia Beaumont. I guarantee it.”

“And keep her–they never show that part. I want to get her and keep her. Do you guarantee that, too?”

“Yes.”

“For how long, Lana?”

“Darling…for as long as you like.”

_____

Did he know her? You betcha. He’d know Jane Doe anywhere.

_____

Lydia made an appointment with Stanley Kandinsky. Tuesday, 11AM, Stan Kan.

Monday she went to work in a stripped-down version of herself, no makeup, her hair tied back.

Otherwise it was business as normal.

By afternoon, having attracted no more attention than she was used to getting, she let her hair down and went to the window to apply her lipstick, taking note of the activities on the ground, the collection of reporters assembling like insects at a picnic across the street again.

For naught, she laughed to herself. Dr. Kristenson had taken a mini-vacation, using the time to reorganize her life, which, up until this week, had been stored in cardboard boxes and stacked randomly in her living room.

Books. So many books. She was out of her league with this woman. There were hundreds, if not thousands of them. Saturday the two of them had gone through a carton of Shakespeare before surrendering to their chronic distraction, after which Lydia felt obligated to confess that she was simply a barbarian who could read, but didn’t. A confession that, to her relief, did not seem to concern Helaine much. “Start here,”

was all Helaine said about it. “Pick one.” Lydia selected The Merchant of Venice and Helaine chuckled over it all afternoon.

Confessions. Lydia watched the hornet’s nest swarming below her. They could get it out of her. That she was Lydia Beaumont. That she was Dr. Kristenson’s lover. That she had learned about Sharon Chambers and had thrown caution to the wind to pursue the blond anyway. That she had indeed stolen something that Ms.

Chambers says belonged to her. That she had no intention whatsoever of giving it back, no matter how emotionally distressed the plaintiff claimed to be. That she was terrified. Absolutely terrified.

“Not thinking of jumping are we, Jane Doe?”

Joe. Lydia jumped in her skin remembering too late the unlocked door. “Joe–” They struggled. She lost.

He had her pinned face-forward against the window. “Joe…you’re hurting me.” He was excited–she could feel it where he pressed against her backside.

“Thinking of jumping, Jane?”

She tried to face him. He pushed her hard into the glass of her window. “Christ, Joe!” she blurted, looking down fifteen stories at the busy street. It felt as if she was hanging in mid-air. “Joe…” He was lifting her dress. “NO–”

“Dicking Jane…”

“Joseph!”

He put his hand around her throat and tilted her head back. “Now I’m not done talking yet, your highness. So shut up and listen.”

Silence. Vertigo.

“You like?” he whispered.

She flinched, dizzy.

“Tell me, Jane Doe. Want to scream?”

She shook her head no.

He slipped his hand up her blouse. “Lydia…”

“I’ll call security,” she whispered.

“Bet you half a million you won’t.”

Half a million. She was quiet again. They were in full view of the buildings across from her. She searched the windows to see if anybody was watching. No one was. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed. “I’m talking about being hunted, my dear Jane.”

“J–you’re out of your mind.”

“Shall I blow the whistle, Ms. Doe, like you did on me? These are as gorgeous as ever, by the way,” he said, undoing the catch in the front of her bra.

“I’m not a–it’s my job. Take your hands off me!”

“Then I’ll just have to do my job then. Turn around,” he ordered, “you’re going to blow me.” He grabbed her by the shoulders.

She swung her arm behind her and missed his head by inches.

“Mistake,” he said, holding her once more against the window.

She could see her breath on it. “What are you trying to prove, Joe? You’re bigger than me?”

“A half million–think she’s worth it, Jane?”

“You’re mistak–”

“Bullshit, Lydia.”

She scanned the buildings again. She should have locked her door.

He read her mind. “You’re slipping, your highness. See? That’s what a woman can do to you.”

She had no desire to go there with him.

“Jane Doe…”

It seemed unlikely she could shake him from this. “What if I am? What’s it to you?”

He brought his face close to hers. “To me? Don’t you know?”

She turned her head and lay her cheek against the cool glass. “Blackmail? You need money, Joe?”

He bit at her neck and pushed into her.

“Is that what you’re after?” she demanded.

He laughed.

“Joe…?”

“You’re never coming back to me are you, Lydia?”

She was afraid to answer that. “Do you need money? I can give you–”

“I need this.”

(This?) “Never. No way.”

“No? I don’t see you in a no position.”

“NO.”

His hands were at her hips. She felt the pressure suddenly off her body. “I said no,” she repeated, bringing her heel down on the tip of his shoe.

He yelled in surprise, releasing her and kneeling to the floor. The next blow was predictable, but he didn’t see that one coming, either. After she kicked him he lay beside her desk, holding his groin and cursing as she dialed security and requested assistance.

“Mistake,” he warned between gritted teeth, as he was being dragged from her office.

“The conversation’s over, buddy,” the security guard hissed. “Move it!”

Officially, it was all over for Joseph Rios. Lydia shivered with dread.

_____

“Who?”

“A Joseph Rios. Says he works at Soloman-Schmitt.”

“No kidding…and why should that impress me?” Willard Hathaway asked. “I’m satisfied with my current broker.”

“Because so does Jane Doe. At least that’s what he claims.”

Across the street from Dr. Kristenson! “What’s he look like, a kook?”

The secretary hesitated, her eyes shining. “No, he’s a gorgeous piece of man, sir.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “Better bring him in then. I got a feeling this is going to be good.” He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, hit the record button on his hidden tape. “Oh, and Marie,” he added as she was leaving.

She stopped at the door. “Yes?”

“Run a background while I interview him. I want the scoop right away.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited with bated breath for her to knock again. “Come,” he answered.

“Joseph Rios, Mr. Hathaway.” The secretary closed the door behind her.