Fidelity Files (34 page)

"Yes, Mrs. Howard. What can I do for you?"

"Well, as you can probably guess, it's about my husband. Although I would really rather discuss it in person. Telephones make me nervous. Would you be able to meet with me?"

"Well, I usually like to get more details over the phone before I agree to meet in person."

"Right," she said, with an air of disappointment. "Of course." Then, after a deep breath, she said, "I guess he's just different. Distant. Always coming home late. Sometimes not at all. And I just thought..." Her voice trailed off, as if she was either too distraught to continue or just wasn't ready to actually hear herself say it aloud. Because that would mean she would be admitting defeat.

"Of course I can meet with you," I compassionately filled in the uncomfortable gap in the conversation.

She let out a loud sigh, relieved that I hadn't forced her to complete that horrific thought. "Thank you."

"When is good for you?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and I assumed she was checking her calendar. "Well, my husband has a business trip coming up in a few weeks, so sometime before that I would imagine."

"I have an opening at the end of the week. How would Friday work?"

"Oh, that would be perfect," she replied. "Can we say eight o'clock?"

"At night? Won't your husband be home?"

"Um, no," she said quickly. "He'll be working late." She sighed into the phone. "Again."

"I see. That's fine. Eight it is, then."

I took down Karen Howard's contact information and home address and hung up the phone. I returned to the living room to find the conversation had gone on fine without me. Julia, of course, was in control, and she was passionately discussing how reality TV was corrupting America's youth. Hannah looked bored to tears.

I quietly entered my appointment with Mrs. Howard into my phone and slipped it into my bag.

"So, should we go to lunch?" I asked, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention.

Hannah jumped up enthusiastically, as if I had just saved her from a trip to the dentist. My mom and Julia stood up as well and stretched their legs.

"Yes," my mom replied, coming over and putting her arm around my shoulders. "Where shall we go, Jen? This is, after all, your...'hood."

"Reality TV corrupting our youth?" I said sarcastically to Julia. "More like our parents. No more
MTV Cribs
for you, Mom."

I locked the door behind me and herded everyone into the elevator. "How about Mexican?"

As Julia started to tell us a story about the last time she ate bad Mexican food, Hannah motioned me close to her. I smiled and bent down next to her ear so she could tell me whatever juicy secret she had stored up during the week.

"I have a question," she said timidly.

The elevator doors opened and my mom and Julia walked on ahead as I slowed my pace to stay behind with Hannah. "What is it?" I whispered, half expecting a question about sex in general and half expecting a question about
my
sex life specifically. Those are usually what Hannah's "secret" questions are about.

She cautiously glanced at our two mothers up ahead, making sure they were a safe distance away, and then whispered back, "Who's
Ashlyn
?"

I FROZE in my tracks.

My mom and Julia continued ahead unsuspectingly, but Hannah and I stayed behind as I struggled to come up with something to say. She must have heard part of my phone conversation. I had to create a lie. And quickly. You would have thought I would be good at it by now. But I'm rarely put on the spot so unexpectedly, especially by my niece, whom I loved dearly and hated lying to more than anyone.

"Um . . ." I stalled. "Ashlyn is...my boss at work. She went on vacation this weekend, but she doesn't want any of her clients to know, so she asked me to answer her calls as if I were her."

I exhaled loudly. Not bad. Not bad at all. I looked up, past the top of Hannah's head, and saw Julia and my mom approaching Julia's Chrysler parked on the street. I began to walk toward them until I saw the look on Hannah's face. She now appeared more confused than ever. As if my solution hadn't shed
any
light on the subject but rather had made things even more unclear.

What was wrong with her? That was a perfectly believable explanation for why I would be calling myself Ashlyn on the phone... and then I stopped again. A chill ran through my entire body. My legs and arms were like dead weight.

I never say the name Ashlyn on the phone. In fact, I make it a point
not
to.

In a silent panic, I quickly rewound the conversation with Karen Howard in my head. "Yes, hello, Ashlyn?" is what she said. And then I replied, "Who's calling, please?" The name Ashlyn never came out of
my
mouth.

I looked down at Hannah, who was obviously reviewing facts in her head as well. Trying to make sense of my bogus explanation and fit it together with whatever unknown pieces she had swimming around in there. She knew my explanation had to fit somehow. Because why would I ever lie to her?

My hand was shaking as I tenderly rested it on her shoulder and pretended that nothing was wrong. "Um, Hannah. Where did you hear that name?" I asked, fearful of what answer would come back.

She bit her lip and looked up at me, squinting from the sun glaring in through the windows of my building's lobby. "From the letter."

I suddenly felt like I might throw up. The hand that I had gently placed on her shoulder for reassurance was now being used as support to keep myself from falling over. I breathed in deeply and tried to regain my composure.

"What letter?" I managed to ask with feigned nonchalance.

"I got a letter the other day. Like a real one. In the mail."

"From who?" I blurted out desperately. So much for my calm, composed self.

She shrugged indifferently, surely not understanding the complete horror of this situation. "Don't know," she said. But she was starting to sense something was wrong. She looked up at me again. "What's the matter?"

"What did the letter say?" I insisted with dire urgency.

She scrunched up her mouth as she thought back to the mysterious piece of mail. "Um, it was a picture. Like a copied picture. You know, with a copy machine."

I nodded. "Of who?"

"Of you," she said, as if it were obvious.

I nodded again and listened, trying to keep my breathing steady and even. Now wasn't the time or place to start hyperventilating.

"You were like talking to a guy or something...it looked like you were in a restaurant or a bar," she added, pleased with her first-rate recollection skills.

"Uh-huh," I said, my throat getting drier by the second.

"And on the back it said 'This girl's name is Ashlyn. She looks a lot like your aunt Jennifer, doesn't she?'"

I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes.

"Ashlyn's a pretty name," Hannah offered, as if it might help cheer me up.

"Did you show that to your mom?" I asked frantically.

"No," Hannah replied, offended at the mere suggestion that she would share her private mail with her
mother
.

"Good," I said, patting her arm. "Let's not show her or tell her or mention this to anyone, okay?" My voice was shrill, as if I might lose it at any moment.

"Okay," Hannah agreed as we exited the building and started walking toward the car. "But how can she be your boss?" she asked.

I stopped and looked down at her. "She's not. She's...no one. I just like using that name sometimes," I said with a shrug, hoping this rationalization would be enough but knowing full well that it would never suffice.

Hannah looked at me as if she was meeting me for the first time. Her eyes begged for more of an explanation. An explanation that would bring back the Jennifer Hunter she knew and loved. "But why would someone send a—"

"You know what?" I began, my voice cracking slightly. I knew I needed more time in order to fabricate a believable story that would tie up all the loose ends in Hannah's head – and mine. And that's exactly what I bought myself when I said, "I'll explain this all to you later. It's a big, juicy secret that I don't want my mom or yours to know about or even overhear."

This apparently made her happy. A huge smile appeared across her lips and she gladly sealed them tight, pantomiming a long zipper being fastened across them and locked at the end with a key. Then she placed the "key" in her pocket for safekeeping.

I tried to act like I was truly sharing in the fun of this juvenile secret-sharing time by nodding approvingly at her charade, but my mind was racing.

Apparently Raymond Jacobs had already started the next phase of his "plan." It had barely been a week! I thought I was supposed to get more time than this. But I guess that's the number one rule of blackmail: There are no rules.

We all piled into the car and headed off to my favorite dive Mexican restaurant for lunch.

Hannah looked content in her seat, staring out at the passing streets of Brentwood and probably fantasizing about what my big secret could possibly be. Maybe a clandestine affair with the gardener like she'd seen when we watched
Desperate Housewives
together at my house because her mom would never let her watch it at her own house. Or maybe I was leading a double life with a husband and two kids who lived in Oregon whom I only saw twice a month. Whatever it was, she knew it would be good.

As I stared out
my
window, my thoughts were far from gardeners and desperate housewives. All I could ponder was whether or not Raymond Jacobs knew about Jamie. And if he didn't, it certainly wouldn't take him long to find out.

"SO WE still on for Tuesday?" Jamie asked when he called later that night.

I thought about his business card lying on my dining-room table. About my unsuccessful attempts to cancel our date because I knew my life was too complicated to add him to it. And about my fear that Raymond Jacobs would discover there was yet another Kryptonite and exploit it as well.

But I knew there was only one answer to his question.

And that answer was yes.

Because Jamie was my escape.

It was becoming more and more clear with every moment I spent with him, and when I saw his face on the other side of my front door on Tuesday night, it was confirmed.

I had never really had an escape before. For the past two years I had been held captive in a prison of my own thoughts and fears, knowing full well that there was a key to unlock the door, but so afraid of what was on the other side that I just simply had chosen to remain locked inside. And just as soon as I realized what this strange feeling of release was, I knew I wanted more of it. I knew I wanted it all the time. The pieces were all adding up. The street signs were all leading to one thing, and one thing only.

I wanted out.

There's a name for the condition I was in. It's called cloud nine. I imagine it's called that because you feel as if you're floating. And I was. I was floating, high above my everyday life. And it looked so small from up here. I felt so peaceful. So serene.

For a moment, I actually believed that it was.

But that's the problem with cloud nine: It can be deceiving. The sheer state of ultimate bliss can cause you to ignore things you wouldn't normally ignore. Like the several curious stares I got as Jamie and I entered the sushi restaurant that night. I barely noticed them. And the scattered whispers that spread throughout the room as we sat down? I barely heard them.

I should have been asking myself why they were staring. What are they whispering about? Do I have something on the front of my dress? But like I said, everything is benign when you're looking down from a cloud. And as far as I was concerned, they were all simply commenting on what a cute couple Jamie and I made, and how happy we looked together, just as I was doing every minute of the evening.

So I merely noted their existence and then quickly forgot all about them as soon as Jamie looked across the table at me and smiled.

"You like sushi, right?"

"I don't trust anyone who doesn't," I replied.

"That's my girl."

My heart flipped.
My
girl? As in possession? Ownership? Exclusivity?

Two weeks ago a comment like that would have probably made me run for the hills. But tonight the sound of his words made me want to jump into his arms, wrap my legs around him, and never come down.

Of course I wouldn't. How stupid would that look?

With Jamie I didn't have to be anyone else but myself. Because, let's face it, I never got the guys. That was Ashlyn's forte. I stayed home on Saturday nights and watched whatever lame-ass TV show the networks had programmed for lonely girls who stay in on Saturday nights. Ashlyn was the one who got all the looks, while I was hardly noticed. Ashlyn had all the interesting things to talk about, all the amazing stories to tell. I used to crunch numbers for a living.

But Jamie liked me, anyway. He laughed at my jokes, complimented my outfits, and made my knees weak when he kissed me. In his mind that other person, the one who had gotten me into so much trouble over the past few weeks, didn't even exist.

"Okay, so what do you like?" Jamie asked me, glancing over the sushi list.

"Um, let's see. Tall men, fast cars, loud music, and hallucinogenic drugs," I replied, counting out the list on my fingers.

He glanced up over the top of his menu. "Damn," he said with a mocking trace of disappointment in his voice. "And I left my mushrooms in my other pants."

I sighed loudly. "I guess I'll have a spicy tuna roll, then." I set my menu down on the table and looked up at him. But for some reason my eyes went right past him and landed on the two men at the next table. They were staring at us and exchanging remarks. Then one man took out his BlackBerry, clicked a few buttons, showed the screen to the second man, and they both looked over at me and nodded to each other.

My heart started to pound.

How could I have missed it before? The looks? The whispers? It was so obvious. All those people had seen the fucking Web site! They'd all been forwarded that dreadful link, and now they recognized me. From my pictures. And they watched me walk into the restaurant, all smitten and googly-eyed, looking like I was in love and they...

Oh my God!
A sobering realization settled in.
They think I'm on an assignment... with Jamie!

"What's wrong?" Jamie asked, sensing my mood alteration and turning around to follow my glance. "Is there a celebrity here?"

But I barely heard him. I sat motionless in my chair. Frozen. Panicked. I couldn't believe what was actually happening. How would I ever get myself out of this one? And even if I did, what did I expect to do? Eat in for the rest of my life? Wear a wig whenever I was in public with Jamie so that no one would be able to corner him and tell him the truth?

And then my eyes widened even farther. One of the men was actually standing up and walking toward our table!

I blinked, hoping – no, more like praying – someone might have slipped a hallucinogenic drug into my green tea. This could
not
be happening.

I knew I had two choices. Hide behind my menu all night and pray that I wouldn't be noticed...or run. And I figured that since waitresses usually come and take your menus away anyway, I really didn't have a choice.

"You know, speaking of celebrities," Jamie continued, obliviously, "I was having lunch with a colleague once and Jennifer Garner was sitting at the next table—"

"You know, I really don't feel very good," I interrupted suddenly, throwing in a clichéd cough for credibility.

"Oh, really?" Jamie asked, concerned. "Is there something going around again?"

I clutched my stomach. "Maybe. I think I should go. Raw fish probably won't help much."

"Sure, of course. If that's what you want." He was being extremely accommodating.

And before he could finish his sentence I was up, out of my seat, pushing my chair back with a loud scrape against the floor. "Good, let's go," I said in a voice that I hoped sounded calm and composed but more than likely was on the verge of cracking.

Jamie quickly removed his napkin from his lap and stood up. "Are you sure you're all right? Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"No! I'll be fine. I just need to lie down for a minute." I grabbed his arm and literally pulled him toward the back door of the restaurant, the opposite direction of the menacing man making his way to our table.

"But the front door is this way," Jamie pointed out, placing a tender hand on my arm and gently leading me in the other direction.

My breathing sped up as I saw the man get closer. I needed to come up with a reason to leave through the back door or even through a window in the bathroom, but there just wasn't any. At least none that would sound logical and convincing. There was no way out of it. We were going to come face-to-face.

The man's eyes locked with mine and a knowing smile crept across his face. He knew who I was. And he knew why I was trying to escape.

"Excuse me." He stepped in front of us. "You look awfully familiar," he said, looking straight at me.

"Really?" I said casually, attempting to step around him, with Jamie in tow. "I get that all the time." I pointed haphazardly at my face. "One of those faces."