Fidelity Files (31 page)

He gazed at me innocently. "What? When do I ever go overboard?"

THE CLOCK hadn't moved in what felt like two hours. But that didn't stop me from staring at it.

9:13
P.M.

I silently willed it to fast-forward to midnight, like a Cinderella hopeful in reverse, knowing full well that at midnight it would all be over: the coach would turn back into a pumpkin, the dress would disintegrate into rags, and I would be once again alone, in my bedroom.

Unlike me, Cinderella actually wanted to go to the ball. She wanted it so badly that a fairy godmother magically materialized to grant her wish with the wave of a wand.

And if I knew there would be a Prince Charming waiting for me at
my
destination this evening, I would have wanted to go, too.

But tonight wasn't about Prince Charmings. Not for me, anyway. For me it was about charming somebody else's prince.

Somebody I cared dearly for and would have done anything in the world to keep her safe and happy – even this, apparently.

The clock flipped to 9:14.

Exactly fourteen minutes ago Eric Fornell, the love of Sophie's life, should have entered a local bar merely minutes from my house with a group of friends he hadn't seen since college.

In exactly forty-six minutes, Ashlyn would be, coincidentally, entering the same bar. Or at least that was the plan. Leave the house at 9:45 P.M. so I could arrive at the bar at ten o'clock, which would give me ample time to determine whether or not Eric was the cheating type and then get the hell out of there. After that I would call Sophie at midnight with the long-awaited results.

Until then she would be waiting by the phone.

Nine-fifteen P.M.

I sighed loudly and pulled my eyes away from the digital clock on my nightstand. I stood up and walked into my bathroom to start on my makeup.

"Nothing too dramatic," Sophie had instructed me yesterday. "Eric likes girls with natural beauty. But be sure to show cleavage. He's a textbook boob man. Although he'd never admit that to me, but a girl can just sense these kinds of things."

I stared at myself in the mirror and adjusted my cleavage-maximizing bra until my breasts pressed against each other to form a perfect crease down the middle of my chest. I opened my makeup drawer and fished around for my earth-toned shades.

"And don't play dumb with him," she continued earnestly. "Eric likes well-read women who have something to contribute to the conversation, not just pretty faces."

Part of me wanted to do and say the exact opposite of whatever Sophie had instructed me: dramatic eye makeup, the flattest-chested shirt hanging in my closet, and a conversation filled with comments that made me look like a complete airhead. Such as, "If this is a German beer, why is the label in English?"

But I knew that would be dishonest.

If I were really going to go through with this, I would do it right. No shortcuts, no skipping ahead in line, no
cheating
the potential cheaters. I would give Sophie the same dedicated focus and work ethic that I offered to every other client.

9:34
P.M.

God, I hate that clock
.

I sat back down on my bed and refocused my eyes on it.

This is ridiculous,
I thought to myself.
Just get up and walk out the door. It's very simple. You open the door, you walk through it, you close it behind you. What's so freaking complicated about that?

9:40
P.M.

But my body wouldn't move. The backs of my legs were cemented to the white down comforter. My feet were melded to the floor. My eyes were fixated on the clock.

9:42
P.M.

Get up!

I tried to tell myself this would be an easy night. Quick and simple. I'd probably be out the door in a matter of minutes. I'd walk in, order a drink at the bar, and upon locating the subject in question, I'd flash my flirty eyelashes, keep my breasts in his eye line, and then do my best to cram witty and intelligent quips into what was sure to be a short, five-minute conversation – if that.

Sophie could finally rest easy tonight – and every night for the rest of her life. And I would once again feel the rush of adrenaline and satisfaction that had inspired me to start this job in the first place. Knowing that I had just helped someone.

9:45
P.M.

Okay, it's time,
I told myself.
This is what you do. If you can't do this for Sophie, then what's the point in doing it at all?

Maybe it was the padding in my push-up bra, maybe it was the gold chain necklaces wrapped around my neck, or maybe it was the weight of something far heavier, and much less tangible, but my body felt like it weighed a zillion and a half pounds.

And once again, I couldn't bring myself to move.

I didn't move at 9:46
P.M.,
and I didn't move at 10:30
P.M.

I didn't even move when the clock struck eleven.

I was paralyzed. Completely and utterly paralyzed.

As in no movement whatsoever. I could barely even feel myself breathe. I wondered if this was what an out-of-body experience felt like. But I didn't exactly have the sensation of looking
down
on my body; more like my body was keeping me glued down.

When midnight finally fell upon my lonely, white room, my arms broke free from their invisible straitjacket and I reached over and picked up the phone – just as we had planned.

I dialed Sophie's number and I waited.

It seemed like forever before the phone rang. And, just as I suspected, it only rang once.

"Hi." Her voice sounded breathless and I was almost positive it wasn't from running to the phone, but more from not being able to take a decent breath until now.

And, regrettably, I knew exactly how she felt.

"Hi," I said cautiously, careful not to let my voice give anything away. But I knew, no matter how cautiously I spoke, no matter how carefully I chose my words, the fact still remained: What was about to come out of my mouth was a lie. Despite all the efforts I'd made to come clean to my friends.

"Well, what happened?" she asked without any delay.

I felt like I had just gone in a complete circle. Three weeks ago I would have given anything to tell Sophie the truth. To put an end to my deceitful world. And for a brief moment, I did.

But now things were different.

Now would be a time to lie again.

Because the truth was much too complicated for even me to hear aloud. And somehow the lie was easier – it always had been.

"He passed," I whispered.

THERE WAS silence on the other end of the phone.

"Sophie?" I asked, immediately petrified that we had been disconnected and I would have to find a way to force the lie out a second time.

And then her quiet, shaken voice came through. "He passed?"

I nodded, knowing full well she couldn't see me but still somehow wishing the thought would permeate through the phone so I could avoid having any further deceit leave my lips.

"Yes," I finally said aloud.

"Oh, thank God!" Sophie let out a huge breath. "Thank
God
!"

"Yes," I said again, failing to think of anything else to say.

"So what happened? What did you do? What did he say? How did it happen?"

I cringed.
No details! I can't come up with details! It's too painful.

"Well," I began, "he um..." And then I stopped and paused. "You know, it really doesn't matter
how
it happened. Why dwell on it? He passed and it's done. Time to move on and leave it in the 'past.'" I forced out a weak chuckle.

She ignored my attempt at humor. "But was it immediate? Or did he chat with you for a while and
then
turn you down. I mean, geez, Jen, I want some details, for Pete's sake. I've been dying over here!"

I grimaced, knowing full well that I wasn't going to be able to get out of this without giving her at least some specifics. So I decided to go with the simplest, most gratifying story. If I was going to whip up the whole thing from scratch, there was no reason to complicate it or leave any room for doubt. "Nope," I said. "Turned me down flat. Didn't want
anything
to do with me."

"Really?" she squealed with delight. "What'd he say?"

"Well," I began, "I recognized him from the picture you gave me, walked up to him, tried to spark up a conversation, and he said, 'Sorry, I'm just here with some old buddies of mine, trying to catch up. Plus, I'm engaged.'"

Then there was silence on the other end. "That's weird," Sophie remarked warily.

I was immediately defensive. "Why?"

"Um, it's just that, why would he tell you he had a fiancée right off the bat like that? He didn't even know why you were talking to him. Doesn't that strike you as a bit odd?"

Shit
.

"No," I said frantically. "Not odd at all. Well, okay, I'm paraphrasing a little. I mean, there were a few lines of dialogue going back and forth before he came out with the engaged line. It's not like that was the first thing out of his mouth."

"Oh," she said, and then fell silent again.

"Trust me." I filled in the pause. "I know odd situations. And this was definitely not one of them. A textbook case of being madly in love with the person he's with and not interested in meeting, talking to, flirting with, kissing, or going home with anyone else. Plain and simple."

I heard another sigh come through the phone, and I was fairly confident I had managed to dodge that bullet successfully.

But then she asked, "So now I guess we have to figure out what I should tell Eric." As if it were the most obvious next step in the world.

"Nothing!" I blurted out quickly... maybe too quickly. This was one of those tiny details I hadn't completely thought through yet. It's like what they say about committing murder: Everyone makes at least three mistakes. Three details that never even cross your mind as the adrenaline of committing a crime is pulsing through your veins.

This would be one of those details.

In my adrenaline high of not following through on the promise I had made to my best friend and then lying to her about it, I hadn't even thought that she might suddenly decide she wants to tell Eric about the successful inspection.

"What do you mean, I
shouldn't
?" she asked doubtfully. "Why shouldn't I? He deserves to know. I want us to be honest with each other. Plus, I want to commend him for passing. Positive reinforcement."

"He's not a dog, Soph." I tried to release a mocking chuckle, but it came out more like a snort.

"I know, but...I just think..."

"There's no reason he has to know," I interjected.

"But why?"

My mind raced. I had to come up with something good – and fast. "Well, Sophie," I said, "think about it. You can't tell your fiancé – the man who asked you to marry him, to be with him for the rest of your lives – that you had absolutely no trust in him at all. So much so that you actually hired someone to hit on him in a bar! And not just anyone...your best friend! He'll think you're crazy."

Silence ensued on the other end. She was considering this. "I guess you're right," she said with hesitation.

"Of course I'm right! I mean, as of right now, to him I'm just some lame-ass random chick at a bar. It doesn't have to be any more than that."

"Yes, but what about what you said the other day? About when he meets you again?"

I swallowed hard.

Good question
.

Overlooked Murder Detail #2.

"Well..." I paused, pulling bullshit right out of my ass. "That's easy. I doubt he'll even recognize me. He barely saw me for a minute. Plus he was drunk."

Oh, my God... Please buy it, PLEASE BUY IT.

"You really think he wouldn't recognize you?"

She wasn't buying it.

I swallowed again, refusing to give up. "Sophie, be reasonable," I began with a tone that unmistakably implied she was being ridiculous. There's nothing worse than lying to someone and then making
them
feel stupid for questioning your cover-up. "The bar was dark, he'd had a few drinks. I'm sure my face just blended in with all the other random girls in the crowd."

I held my breath and waited for her response.

"That's true," she admitted thoughtfully.

I released the breath.

"But you said the other day that if he
does
recognize you, it will be really weird. And I just don't want him to figure out what we did and then get mad that I didn't tell him about it. Maybe I should just tell him. I mean, honesty is the best policy, right?"

"No, it's not!" I shot back.

Spoken like a true professional.

"It's not?" Sophie questioned. "Jen, you're acting weird. If anyone should be an advocate for honesty in relationships, it's you."

"I know, I know. I just think that sometimes there are things that people don't need to know. Especially people you care about. I don't think he
needs
to know about this. Telling him will just cause more problems than the honesty is worth."

She contemplated again. "Maybe you're right."

"And trust me. He most definitely will not recognize me."

And this time, I didn't need my special mind-reading superpowers to know with 100 percent certainty that I was right.

AFTER I hung up the phone the silence of my bedroom overwhelmed me. I lay in the dark, thinking about what I had just done. What it would mean tomorrow when I woke up. And the day after that.

Would I ever be able to look Sophie in the eye again?

I mean, sure I've lied to her plenty of times in the past. The last two years had been one huge lie. But those were virtually harmless, right? They didn't even affect her...directly. This was something much bigger. This was a very important piece of information that I'd promised to deliver to her and then failed to do so.

And now she'd be making a decision based on the possibly false information I
had
supplied her with and it could affect the rest of her life!

I felt sick to my stomach.

I thought about calling her back and telling her the truth. But then she'd most definitely ask me to try again. "That's okay," she would say. "He's in town tomorrow night, too; you can just go through with it then."

And if I couldn't go through with it a few hours ago, why in God's name would that change overnight? It wouldn't.

So there went that idea.

I continued to lay in the darkness, trying to talk myself out of the nauseating feeling that was filling my stomach and inching its way up to my throat.

And just then, my phone beeped.

Without moving my upper body, I turned my head and looked over at the nightstand. The backlight had illuminated and the message on the screen was informing me that I had a new e-mail in my in-box.

I stared at it for a good thirty seconds before I finally surrendered and reached for the phone.

I clicked on the e-mail program and my entire face went white with horror.

Staring back at me was an e-mail from Jamie.

And the subject simply read:
Fwd:

I bolted upright to a sitting position.
This is it,
I thought. The e-mail I'd been dreading since our first date. Since he first asked me for my e-mail address so that he could e-mail me during his business trip. The notorious forward that exposed me to the world as the true home wrecker I supposedly was had finally found its way to Jamie's doorstep. Or rather, his in-box.

My heart clenched in my chest as I took a deep breath and clicked on the e-mail. I braced myself for what was sure to come: that familiar link followed by that inevitable "Is this really you?" question, paraphrased depending on my relationship with the sender and their level of doubt that the Jennifer Hunter they knew could ever be mixed up in such a charade.

My Treo seemed to be functioning abnormally slow tonight. "C'mon!" I urged the two-inch screen. But it remained blank. I shook it violently, as if trying to actually jolt the gears into action. Then the screen went black. With a frustrated sigh I tossed it down on the bed and jumped to my feet.

My phone sure picked a hell of a time to freeze,
I thought as I sprinted down the hallway to my office.

I opened my laptop and quickly found the same e-mail staring back at me. I clicked on it, secretly hoping that maybe my computer would crash as well or my Internet would go out. Then I wouldn't have to deal with it. I wouldn't have to come face-to-face with what I knew deep down was coming all along.

But it did open. And as soon as it did, my eyes were immediately drawn to the distinctive, underlined blue text that has come to be recognized in all countries as an invitation to click and read more. A link. A signpost leading to a Web address that would be forever known as the Web site that had ruined my life.

My eyes suddenly started to blur and my vision clouded over. I could barely see the link clear enough to actually click on it. Not that I needed to see anything. I knew what was there. I knew what information my eyes would report back to me had they been functioning properly.

Through my hazy vision I managed to place the cursor over the blue, underlined text and press down on the mouse button. My mind immediately began to search for possible stories. Cover-ups. A believable excuse. Something to get me out of this. An evil twin sister. A mad scientist cloning people all over the city and I just happened to be one of them.

Or I could just tell him it was a joke. A prank. People put up fake Web sites all the time to be funny, don't they? April Fools'!...in October.

Yes, I would just sit Jamie down, and with a straight face explain to him that the whole thing was just a...

"Panda cam?" I said aloud, as my eyes refocused on the screen. "What the hell is a panda cam?"

I blinked and looked at it again. On my laptop was a streaming live video of a baby panda walking around his habitat at the San Diego Zoo. Dazedly, I flipped back to the original e-mail.

Underneath the link Jamie had typed in:

Thought you might find this cute.
Can't wait to see you again.
Jamie

I sighed dramatically and fell back against my chair, suddenly
feeling like a counter- terrorism agent who had just stopped a nuclear bomb
from exploding over the city of Los Angeles. He had sent me a link to a freaking
camera that's pointed at an infant Asian bear. That was it! Nothing more.

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I slowly made my way back to my bed. I laid down and reached under the sea of sheets and blankets until I found Snuffles and tucked him under my chin.

After one more wary glance over at my frozen phone, I drifted off to sleep.

WHEN I woke up in the morning, I knew what I had to do.

I had to cancel my third date with Jamie.

There was no other choice. I couldn't spend the rest of my life running to my computer to see if my life was over every time I heard an e-mail
ding
. What was next? A heart attack over a link that turns out to be a koala bear mating video? It was obvious that my life was just far too complicated to try to start up a relationship. I had just lied to my best friend about something that could easily affect the rest of her life. Who was I kidding, attempting to date right now?

I sifted through my top nightstand drawer until I located Jamie's
business card. I picked it up and stared at the number that was labeled "cell
phone" as I unplugged my pink Razor from its charger. Without lifting my eyes
from the card, I started dialing.

"Miss Hunter," Marta's voice came hurtling through the room, startling me so much that I dropped the phone on the carpeted floor with a muted thud. I looked up and saw her heavyset frame in the doorway of my bedroom.

"Marta, you scared me," I said, catching my breath and bending down to pick up the cell phone. When I checked the screen the number had been erased.

"So sorry, Miss Hunter. I come while you sleep. I start the laundry."

"Very good," I said, picking up the business card again and preparing to punch in the numbers for the second time.

"Problem is," Marta continued, "you no have more laundry detergent."

"Don't I?" I asked curiously, placing the cell phone and the business card on my dresser and walking toward the doorway. "I thought I just picked up some at the supermarket last week."

Marta followed me down the hallway into the laundry room, where I discovered that she was right. The room was completely devoid of any fabric-cleaning substances. "Well, that's weird," I said, studying the room. "I guess I just
thought
about buying it but never actually did it. I'm sorry, I've had a lot on my mind lately."