The Many (11 page)

10

Aunt Rosaline stayed behind with Dawn while the rest of the family took a bus back to Seattle. Dawn was grateful for her aunt’s help. Together, they put out missing person notices around the neighborhood, visited all Isobel's known hangouts, showed her photo at train stations and airports, and even hired a private investigator to trace Isobel's electronic payments. But apart from a cash withdrawal of $2,000 on the morning she left, Isobel hadn't left any tracks. She’d ditched her credit cards, her cell phone – anything that represented her old life. For all Dawn knew, she wasn't even driving the same car.

After a week, Aunt Rosaline announced she had to go back to Seattle. She was a communications manager at a big-time radio station and it wasn't the sort of job you could leave for long periods of time. Besides, she said, there wasn’t much more she could do. Isobel had taken off, and it didn’t seem like she wanted to be found.

Dawn turned down her aunt’s offer to join her in Seattle for a while. She said she couldn’t afford to miss another week of school, even though she had no intention of returning. How could she concentrate on biology and the Louisiana Purchase while her mom was missing? College would have to wait, at least for a year, and she didn’t feel sad about it at all.

Dawn’s real reason for staying in Portland was to dig for dirt on Maxine and the Sweet Violets’ dating agency. Rosaline had all but rejected Dawn’s theory that the blond nurse was responsible for Isobel’s disappearance. When Detective McElroy called to say he'd been in touch with Maxine and there was nothing suspicious to report, Rosaline didn't want to hear any more of Dawn's conspiracy theories. She thought they were doing more harm than good, and perhaps Dawn needed to consider that Isobel had always been a free spirit; a wild child. She was probably having an early mid-life crisis and would eventually return in her own time.

But Dawn knew better.

On her first night alone, Dawn logged onto the Sweet Violets website and paid $69.95 for a one year membership. After filling in her personal details – she had to use the same name that appeared on her credit card – Dawn then uploaded a profile photo from her phone.

She felt a teensy bit guilty about uploading her friend Rebecca's photo, especially on a lesbian website, but she figured it wouldn't do any harm since the profile wasn’t under her name. Dawn would’ve used her own photo if she thought it would attract interest, but even in her most flattering shot she was probably only a five out of ten. Rebecca, with her deep blue eyes and long, copper red hair, was a solid nine. Maybe nine-and-a-half.

Besides, she felt Rebecca owed her. She’d been a completely useless best friend in her hour of need. When Dawn had texted her with the shocking news about Isobel, she’d waited three full hours to call her back. Rebecca then gave the customary "I'm so sorry, is there anything I can do?" speech, but when Dawn asked her to come around and visit, she said she couldn't right now because she was off to the movies with David.
The movies.

Dawn had hung up in her ear. She didn't need a flakey, self-centered princess in her life anymore. And now that they were no longer friends, Dawn felt a lot better about using Rebecca's photo as lesbian bait. 

Once her profile page was set up, Dawn selected the “hide details” option under the security settings. That way, she was free to browse the website for suitable dates but she could keep her real name private. Maxine wouldn’t even know she was a member.

Armed with Rebecca's gorgeous photo and the codename CopperRed, Dawn went hunting for girls. Her plan was to seek out Sweet Violets’ members who’d been on dates with Maxine, to see if they’d had any unusual experiences. She began by searching for Caucasian women aged 25-35 with dark hair and curvy figures, thinking the combination might be Maxine's "type". Sweet Violets promptly came back with 118 candidates in Greater Portland – many more than she’d anticipated. Isobel had always complained that there weren’t enough dykes in Oregon.

Dawn culled the ones who looked too butch, or too weird, or who'd obviously lied about their age, and came up with a short-list of 31. Most of them offered unrestricted access to their profile pages so Dawn was able to search for women who sounded like Isobel – sensitive, artsy, new age. Earth mother types.

She eventually narrowed the list down to seven. Dawn sent each of them “nudges”, asking if they were interested in getting to know each other and opening up her profile pages to them. When she checked her in-box an hour later, she had four positive responses.

Next, Dawn sent them messages saying she wanted to chat a while first because the last girl she’d met on Sweet Violets, Maxine, had turned out to be a nutjob. Two of the women basically said fine, I understand, take your time – and Dawn felt genuinely bad about deceiving them. A third reply, from Lilalove, read:
OMG, you mean Maxine Salinger the nurse? So glad I didn’t go home with her!

Dawn’s eyes lit up.
Maxine Salinger.
It had to be her.

She clicked on Lilalove’s thumbnail and studied her profile again. Lila Hewitson, a 26-year-old bartender/freelance graphic designer from SE Portland. She was recently single and liked roller derby, comic books and pole dancing. She almost hadn’t made the short-list because she seemed too young and punky to be the same type as Isobel. But Dawn had kept her in because she was too damn pretty. Maxine had clearly thought the same thing.

Dawn wriggled in her seat, the anticipation building inside her. Not only had Lila dated Maxine – she apparently had a story to tell. This was the breakthrough she’d been waiting for.

She quickly wrote back:
Lucky you – I wasn’t so smart. Maxine is crazy beyond belief.

Dawn stared at the screen, awaiting a response. She needed to keep Lila interested, but not interested enough to push for a face-to-face meeting. A phone call would be best, she decided. Next message, she'd suggest a phone date.

But Lila was either playing hard to get or she was no longer at her computer. Dawn waited for ten minutes before giving up and retiring to the sofa. There was no hurry, she told herself. Lila had probably gone out for the night – she looked like a girl with an active social life. And Dawn needed to resist sending another message before she'd had a reply. She didn't want to scare Lila away.

Christ
, she thought with a wry smile. This dating business was a real mind fuck, even when you were only playacting.

Dawn was twenty minutes into a Law and Order rerun when her phone rang. She drew an excited breath when an unknown number flashed on screen. It had to be Lila – calling to share horror stories about Maxine. Dawn’s cell was listed on her profile page so maybe she was taking the initiative….

She answered with a soft,
hello?
Trying to sound more like Rebecca.

“Are you stalking me?” came the blunt reply.

Dawn blinked, startled by the accusation. She took a moment to place the voice. When she did, her hand started to tremble.
Maxine.
Lila had obviously tipped her off.

She twisted around in her seat, making sure she was alone. “What do you want?” she said in a small voice.

“That's a question I should be asking you, Dawn. First you send a police detective over to my house, and now you're spreading malicious gossip about me on the Internet.”

“It's not malicious gossip. It's the truth.”

“Oh really? We went on a date, did we? Funny, that must've slipped my mind.”

“You know what I mean,” Dawn said, her grip tightening on the receiver. “You screwed with Isobel’s head.
That's
the truth.”

“I hate to break this to you, Dawn, but your mother is her own worst enemy. I told Detective McElroy she was emotionally unstable. And judging by your own behavior, the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree.”

“She was never emotionally unstable until she met you. I know my mother. You can't fool me like you fooled the police.”

“I'm not trying to fool you,” Maxine sighed. “Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you. But my patience is starting to wear thin. One more stunt like tonight and I won’t be so civil.”

“Ooh, nice line," Dawn said, feeling bolder now the initial shock had worn off. “But I’m not giving up until I find out what happened. You can’t scare me off, Maxine.”

Maxine waited a long time before answering. “If that's the case, I might have to send someone who can.”

“Someone who can what?”

“Scare you,” she said before hanging up.

11

Karl was scrubbing grease stains out of the supply room floor when Ravi came running in, bursting with excitement.

“She’s here,” he said, sneaking a look over his shoulder. “Aisle three.”

Karl didn’t have to ask who he was referring to. He’d hoped the blond would return, giving him a chance to redeem himself. He’d already played out a number of different endings to their first meeting in his mind, and they all involved nudity. The fantasizing had been a godsend, even if he never saw her again. It helped pass the time while he waited for Virgil’s download on Dr. Reynolds – now only a few days away.

He stood up, brushing himself down. Ravi nodded encouragingly and slapped him on the shoulder. “Make me proud,” he said before hurrying back to the counter.

Karl found her in front of the cracker section, casting a leisurely eye over the crammed-together boxes. She was wearing a belted trench coat, black stockings and black heels. Blonde hair lightly tousled by the wind. When she noticed Karl approaching, her lips curled into a smile.

“Here he is,” she said with a sly note of familiarity.

“Your store out of crackers today?”

“No, I just prefer the view here.”

Karl laughed, ninety percent sure she’d just paid him a compliment. He glanced at the contents of her basket – a bottle of white wine and a wedge of cheese.

Here was his chance. She'd flung the door wide open. “You got anyone to share that with?” he asked.

“Not yet. Are you offering?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Good,” she said, digging in her leather handbag. She pulled out a cell phone and asked for his number. After she’d tapped in Karl’s digits, she frowned down at the screen. “Oh my God, how terrible am I? I don't even know your name.”

“Karl.”

“Hi Karl, I'm Maxine. I'll text you my address when I get home. Does nine o'clock suit you?”

He was supposed to work until nine-thirty but he said yes anyway. Given the circumstances, Ravi would understand.

“Then I'll see you at nine,” she said, popping a box of Ritz crackers into her basket and turning towards the exit.

Karl waited until the bell tinkled before poking his head around the end of the aisle. Ravi was grinning at him from behind the counter.

“I heard,” he said. “And yes, you can finish early tonight. But I want details. All the juicy details.”

Karl nodded, thinking he might've just stumbled on a bargaining chip for his advance.

Maxine lived in an apartment on SW Broadway, three blocks from the store, and an upmarket address according to Ravi. It confirmed Karl's suspicion that Maxine had money as well as looks.

He wished he wasn’t so nervous about the evening ahead. Sex with no strings was every guy's dream, but he couldn't help questioning why Maxine had singled him out. He’d heard about cougars, of course, but did they really just fall into your lap like that? He’d barely had to open his mouth.

Despite his misgivings, there was never any question of him not going. He got hard just thinking about Maxine’s long legs and swinging hips, and if he didn't follow through, he'd never forgive himself.

With a splash of Ravi's Polo Black and two Bud Lights for courage, Karl ventured out onto the cold, rain-slicked streets. Downtown had emptied of the nine-to-five crowd, and even the after-work drinkers and diners were thin on the ground. It was the brutal part of February, when the winter seemed endless and ever worsening, and anyone walking the streets on a Monday night had to have a pretty good reason. Karl thought a booty call with a sexy older woman qualified as a good reason.

When he stepped up to the glass entrance door of Maxine’s building, his finger paused over the intercom button. There were butterflies in his stomach and his balls felt like they’d shriveled to peas. It was just the cold, he told himself. And maybe a touch of performance anxiety.

He pushed the intercom buzzer before he could doubt himself any longer. He needed to unwind, and this was the only way. If the evening went well, he might even be able to sleep tonight.                           
“You’re on time,” came her response before Karl could announce himself. The glass door clicked and whirred. “Top floor.”

He entered the controlled warmth of the long, majestic entrance hall. Fresh flowers scented the air and pale light soaked into the polished oak floors. An old style radiator, purely decorative, ran along one wall, opposite a brushed brass elevator and a flashing alarm system. Indeed, this was how the other half lived.

When the elevator door slid open on the 10
th
floor, Maxine was waiting for him. Her hair caught the light like a halo. She wore a beige knit mini dress that hugged her ample breasts and hips. Her smooth, tanned legs were bare, right down to her honey-skinned feet.

“Karl,” she greeted, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Hi,” he said, his hand reaching clumsily for her waist only to find she’d stepped back.              

“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” she said. Maxine’s dress might’ve been skintight but her manner was all business, as if she were about to show him a piece of real estate.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“This way,” she said, spinning on her feet. Following her down the red-papered hall, Karl began to feel a little more comfortable about the visit. His balls felt like they’d returned to normal size and the sight of Maxine had given him a fresh surge of energy.

Outside apartment No. 1009, Maxine jiggled her keys in the lock and pushed the door open, only to stop suddenly, thrusting her rump backwards. Karl had no time to adjust and his crotch bumped against the middle of her firmly packed ass. He stepped back immediately but the damage was already done, his cock beginning to press against his jeans. He’d hoped to show more control.

She turned her head slightly, showing the edge of her amused lips. “Sorry, it always gets stuck about there. I need to get the hinges oiled.” She pushed the door the rest of the way, without any sign of strain, and held it open expectantly. “Well, come on then,” she said.

Playing games
, Karl thought crossly. Treating him like a child. He had to be more assertive, show her he couldn’t be toyed with.

After hanging his jacket on the coat rack inside, Karl reached for her, trying to pull her towards him. But before he could even plant a kiss, she pushed him hard in the chest, backing him off.

“Easy,” she warned, her expression letting him know this wasn’t part of the game.

Karl felt the blood rise in his face. “Okay, what’s the deal here? Maybe I misread the signals but I thought we were going to screw.”

“Screw? Ugh, such a childish word.”

“I’m sorry – what do women your age prefer?”

Maxine’s eyes briefly flashed with anger. She obviously wasn’t used to being insulted. “Fuck,” she said crisply. “If we’d being seeing each other a while – make love. But not screw.
Never
screw.” 

Karl rolled his eyes. “They’re just words. They all mean the same thing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Screwing is for fumbling teenagers in the back seat of a car. Making love is for people who care about each other outside of the bedroom. And fucking is what we will do tonight,
after
we’ve had a glass of wine and some polite conversation.”

“Polite conversation,” Karl said cagily.

“That’s right. It’s part of foreplay.”

He stared at her, trying to work out if she was teasing him or testing him. A bit of both, probably. But the longer he stared at her insanely fit body, the more he realized he would do anything to get to the fucking stage.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

Maxine led him down from the entrance level into the heart of her penthouse, the likes of which Karl had only seen in magazines and TV ads. The main floor was open plan, with an industrial chic kitchen and granite-top breakfast bar extending into an expansive living area. A floating staircase climbed up from the ground floor and Karl noticed three closed doors leading off from the wide landing – presumably the bedrooms. At the far end, a pair of tall rectangular windows began just above eye level and extended to the top of the twenty-foot ceilings. The blinds were open; the glass smoked black from the night. Although it was warm inside, the apartment seemed cold and uninviting.

“Must be nice in summer,” he said as Maxine led him through to the living area.

“It’s nice all year round,” she said with a hint of condescension. “Can I offer you something to drink? Wine? Beer?”

“A beer would be good.”

“Or maybe something stronger? I’m sure I have bourbon somewhere.”

“No, a beer is fine.”

“Well I’m going to have a wine,” she said, pausing by the fridge. “Why don’t you go on through, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Karl chose a fat leather armchair at the fringe of the living area, looking towards the towering windows. His eyes shifted over the room, picking out the personal touches: a magazine rack filled with
Vogue, W, Vanity Fair
; a small stack of modern design and architecture books on the coffee table – and that was it. There were no photographs, no paintings, not even a pattern in sight. He noticed the walls were completely bare and all the rugs and furnishings were either in neutral tones or black. Like they’d been bought from the same catalogue.

Maxine handed him a bottle of European-looking beer and curled into the sofa opposite, tucking her incredible legs underneath her. She smiled at him playfully, sipping her white wine.

“It’s a Belgian pilsner,” she said, nodding at his bottle. “You like pilsner?”

“I’ve never tried it before,” he said, taking a mouthful. The beer was intensely fragrant and hoppy – not really to his liking. “Interesting,” he said, placing the beer on the coffee table. “So, how long have you lived here?”

“Almost two years.”

“Really? It looks like you’ve just moved in.”

Maxine’s eyes circled the apartment, frowning. She seemed confused by Karl’s remark. But when her gaze fell on the design books, her confident smile was quickly reinstalled. "It's a minimalist interior," she said. "In keeping with the aesthetic of the building. I take it you prefer more cluttered surroundings. Clothes on the floor, beer cans on the coffee table, that sort of thing?”

"No, I'm pretty tidy for a guy. It's just bare in here, that's all."

Maxine's voice sharpened. "And as I've explained, I wanted to remain faithful to the original design of the apartment. Baby calendars and homespun tapestries would ruin the contemporary feel of the place.”

“Fair enough,” Karl said, not wanting to make a big deal of it. “It’s all a matter of….” His eyes suddenly shot upstairs, alerted by a creaking noise. “Is someone else here?” he said, immediately on edge.

“Of course not,” Maxine said.

“I heard something,” Karl said, staring at the three closed doors off the landing.

“Probably my upstairs neighbors. They have children who are always running into things.” She laughed. “I should call noise control on them.”

Karl strained his ears, but there were no further creaks from upstairs. Satisfied, he turned back to Maxine. He wanted to get the polite conversation phase out of the way. “So, what do you do for work?”

“I'm a psychiatric nurse.”

“Wow,” Karl said, glancing around the spacious penthouse. “It must pay well.”

“Not as well as my ex-husband.”

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Maxine parroted. “Yes, I was married to a stockbroker for eight years. He left me for a twenty-one-year-old and I got my revenge in court.” She tipped her wine glass to the apartment. “Thank you, Kenneth.”

Karl didn't know what to say to that so he reached for his beer and made a similar gesture. The second mouthful reminded him he really didn't like the taste. “So you work at a hospital?” he asked, hoping to get through the small talk as quickly as possible.

“Richmond Heights. It's a private facility up in the West Hills.”

“Okay. Do you enjoy it?”

“Most of the time. The patients can be interesting. You know what they say – there’s a thin line between genius and insanity.” Her mouth pushed thoughtfully to the side. “And what about you, Karl? Did you always want to work in a grocery store?”

He shot her a black look, stung by her sarcasm.

“Damn, that didn't come out the way I intended,” she said. “Sorry, I can be a real bitch sometimes. Put it down to being a bitter divorcée.”

“I came to Portland to be a builder,” Karl said, feeling the need to explain himself. “But no one's hiring apprentices at the moment so I had to take whatever work I could get.”

“Of course, I completely understand. The housing market is in a terrible state. Perhaps the summer will be better.”

“I hope so. I don't think I could stand another winter in Portland if I was still stacking shelves.”

“No? And where would you go?”

Karl thought hard about the question. “I don't know. Maybe to California, if there were more opportunities down there. Or maybe back to Cave Creek.”