The Up and Comer (31 page)

They really did know how to cook. A homemade gazpacho fresh from their rooftop garden to start, followed by Chilean sea bass nicely blackened and not too oily. A lemon tart and some vanilla-hazelnut coffee rounded it all off. Well done, girls.

We retreated to their living room, where we drank brandy and had our choice of smokes. Cigars, cigarettes, or weed. The biggest turn-on, at least for me, was that the girls were educated, or, should I say, talked as if they were. Alicia was big into existentialism and could quote Simone de Beauvoir at will. Stefanie, to her credit, was something of an art buff. She was particularly fond of Leger and had gone so far as to visit his museum in Biot, France. Though when you got right down to it, she explained, her favorite place to be was the van Gogh room on the upper level of Musee d'Orsay.

"Really?" I said to her. "I'm planning on being in Paris myself next April."

Then came the sex. To be honest, it was my lone attempt at manipulation that evening. As I had been riding somewhat of a winning streak, I thought maybe I could do something about my guilt with Connor once and for all. If I could get him to cheat on Jessica, I reasoned, I wouldn't feel so bad about the affair. And yet, as much as he'd had to drink, he declined. In fact, when I asked him which girl he preferred, he simply shook his head and laughed.

It was a major backfire. That Connor remained faithful to Jessica even in the face — and bodies —
 
of Alicia and Stefanie made me feel that much worse. I declined the after-dinner sex as well, making some joke about the buddy system. Instead, I refilled my snifter and further tried to numb myself.

Meanwhile, the two single guys weren't about to decline anything. As Connor and I kicked back in the living room and watched Robin Byrd on the tube, Menzi and Dwight paired off with Alicia and Stefanie in separate bedrooms. The girls had originally suggested a foursome, but such homophobes were Menzi and Dwight that they would have nothing to do with it.

When we finally said farewell sometime after midnight, the two boys were walking with the happiest limps I'd ever seen. The lone disappointment for them came when they tried to get Alicia and Stefanie's phone number. That's when they were told about the policy: no repeat customers. It wouldn't be as special, said the two girls. Incredible. They obviously knew what kind of word of mouth they had to be turning away business.

After cruising around a bit in the limo, we made a final stop at the Whiskey Bar. You would think Menzi and Dwight had had their fill for the evening. Then again, maybe you wouldn't. As soon as we walked in, their eyes lit up at the overabundance of talent that lined the walls.

"Like fish in a barrel," said Dwight.

"You sure your rods aren't too tired?" I asked.

"Nonsense," they both told me.

After ordering a round of drinks, I announced that I had to go to the bathroom. The pay phone was in the basement next to a cigarette vending machine. Four rings.

"Hello?" she said.

"It's Philip."

"It's late."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I was sleeping."

"Sorry again."

"You sound drunk."

"That's because I am."

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait, I'm okay. Just a little happy," I told her.

"What's this I hear about tonight being your treat?"

"You spoke to Connor?"

"Yes, before he left his office," she said.

"Yeah, it's true. Tonight's my treat."

"What for?"

"No reason."

"I don't believe you."

"Can't a guy be nice to his friends?"

"You're not that nice," she said.

"Maybe I'm changing."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Are you free for lunch tomorrow?" I asked.

"Perhaps. If I'm not too
tired."

"Very subtle."

"Thank you," she said.

"Do you ever wonder?"

"About what?"

"In another life... you and me."

"You really are drunk."

"I'm serious."

"I'm hanging up now."

"See, I knew you'd thought about it," I said.

"You're an arrogant son of a bitch, you know that?"

"You wouldn't have it any other way."

"What does that make me?" she said, suspect.

"Incredibly desirable."

She hung up.

I returned upstairs right in time to see the first punch thrown. I didn't need to know what had happened to know what had happened — Dwight had hit on some guy's girlfriend a little too hard. As I rushed over, I could see the guy was a jock type, dressed in shorts and a J. Crew shirt over a sinewy upper body. He landed a right cross to Dwight's unsuspecting chin.

Of course, one of the problems with these jock types was that they confused their ability to bench-press a lot of weight with being able to fight. Another one of the problems was that they rarely, if ever, thought to see who their opponents' friends were. As Dwight recoiled from the blow, Menzi — the former first-team All-Ivy tight end — stepped in, folded one of his huge hands into a fist, and proceeded to level the guy with one uppercut. Indeed, chivalry wasn't dead. He was just knocked out and bleeding on the barroom floor.

Time to go.

Before the bouncers could sort it out we were safely back in the limo. Dwight raided what was left of the ice bucket and nursed the side of his already swelling mouth.

"Jesus, I go away for two minutes," I said. "What the hell did you say to his girlfriend, Dwight?"

"Nuthin'," he claimed, sounding like he'd had a shot of Novocain. "I simply told her that I wanted every bone in her body including one of my own."

Menzi threw back his head. "You asshole, I should've let her boyfriend have one more swing at you."

We laughed and we kidded. We passed around the Krug and drank from the bottle. When it was done, so was the night. Dwight got dropped off first, followed by Menzi. Each thanked me profusely for one hell of a time. With both of them gone, Connor and I put our feet up.

"Were you thinking about it?" he asked me.

"About what?"

"Getting your money's worth with our two very nice dinner hostesses this evening."

"Did I
think
about it? Yeah. In the end, though, I guess I'd be too afraid that Tracy would somehow be able to tell."

"I know what you mean; Jessica's kind of the same way," he said. "It's like guys must emit some type of pheromone when they cheat, and only certain women can smell it."

"Notably our wives, is what you're saying."

He nodded. "Do you think we could ever tell with them?"

Like twelve cups of coffee was his question. Very sobering.

"You're not still thinking that—"

"That Jessica's having an affair? No, I don't think that anymore," he said as the limo pulled to a stop in front of his apartment. "I
know
she's having an affair." Connor opened the door and swung one leg out. "Thanks for everything, Philip. See you soon."

THIRTY-TWO

Two rings."

She picked up. "This is Jessica."

"We need to talk," I said.

"So that's what we're calling it now?"

"I'm serious; something happened last night," I told her.

"What?"

"Not over the phone. During lunch... twelve-thirty. I'll be the early one."

"This isn't one of your ploys to get me to come out and play, is it?" she asked.

"I wish it were."

The weather had called for a light sprinkle that day. What we got was a midday downpour. Shoulders hunched under my umbrella, I started to make my way over to the hotel at twelve-fifteen. I didn't bother with the gym bag decoy. Arousing suspicion in my office was no longer so high on my list of worries.

Connor had closed the door to the limo so quickly the night before I hadn't had a chance to call after him. I had heard what he said; I just didn't know what it meant. Or, at least, what it really meant.

"I
know
she's having an affair."

It was Jessica and her damn tell, I was thinking. It was back. She had gone cold on Connor again. It would mean revisiting a topic that had ended with her not talking to me the first time. This time, however, I'd be more careful in how we discussed it. There was too much at stake.

Yet again.

I was short with Raymond while checking in. I couldn't help it. He wanted to tell me how much his mother appreciated the money I'd given him, and all I wanted to do was get up to the room and call Jessica. The sooner I called her, the sooner she'd get there. Sensing my impatience, Raymond apologized for droning on. I explained that I had a lot on my mind. While he appeared to understand, there was no smile from him when he handed me my room key.

"This is Jessica," she said.

"Room seven-oh-two," I told her.

"Okay."

I hung up the phone and started my usual pacing. Outside, the rain was beating hard against the windows. I tried to sit down on the bed, but it was no use. I was too anxious. I got up and started to pace again. It was going to be the first time Jessica and I were together in the hotel without having sex. For about a hundred and seventy-five dollars less we could've been having our conversation in a restaurant. A restaurant, though, meant the possibility of bumping into someone we knew, and when you least expected it or wanted it, Manhattan had a funny way of doing that to you. Besides, the image of having to tell Jessica to calm down, or worse, having to tell myself to calm down, amid a throng of onlookers was enough to convince me that it was money well spent. Public displays of hysteria were something to witness, not partake in, I always thought.

A minute later there was a knock. Thankfully, she had arrived quickly. I walked over and opened the door to greet her.

Only it wasn't her.

"Expecting someone else?" he said.

In that instant, terrifying beyond measure, I knew it to be true. The jig was up.

I was standing face-to-face with Connor.

"Yeah, I thought so," he said, looking at my expression as he walked by me and into the room. He was wearing a full-length raincoat but had no umbrella. He was drenched.

I closed the door and turned around. Connor had taken a seat in one of the chairs by the window. His narrow eyes were fixed right on me, brimming with a controlled anger that, for him, was far more threatening than anything uncontrolled could ever aspire to.

"So this is where it happens, huh?" he said, looking about the room.

I stammered. "How — did — you...."

"We'll get to that in a moment," he said. "Now, is this, like, your regular room, or do you two like to mix it up and have a different room each time?"

I started to say something. I can't remember what, exactly. A futile attempt to explain that it wasn't what he thought... the operative word being
futile.

Connor raised his palm at me. "You didn't give me an answer.
I said, is this your regular room or is it a different one each time?
You would think you could do me the courtesy of answering my question being that you are fucking my wife."

"Connor...."

"Answer me, goddamn it!"

"Different room each time," I said, half swallowing my words.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said. "I guess it makes sense, you know, having different rooms — the two of you being big fans of
variety
and all."

"How?" I repeated.
How did he know?

Connor reached into his raincoat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "This is how," he said. "It arrived at my office yesterday morning forwarded to me by the executor of the last will and testament for one Tyler Mills. Strange to think I only met him once. I guess you could call it a letter from the grave."

I listened in amazement. Even dead, Tyler still had it in for me.

"Would you like to hear it?" asked Connor. "Because I'd like to read it to you."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Too bad," said Connor. Then he quoted Mick Jagger, though most likely not on purpose. "You can't always get what you want."

He unfolded the paper, cleared his throat, and read:

Dear Connor,

I can't tell you how disappointed I am that you're reading this letter. That's because if you are... I'm dead.

If you don't already remember me, I met you and your wife out at Balthazar one night when you were eating with Philip and Tracy Randall. I was the one bearing champagne.

While it may not have seemed that way at the time, my being there at the restaurant was far from happenstance. In reality, it was part of a little underlying drama that you were unwittingly a part of. I think it's time you learned
what's
been going on.