Adventures of a Salsa Goddess (29 page)

Bar None

I’d fully expected, given what Sebastian had told me about everything Robert had done, to be led through three or four solid steel and barred doors and then into one of those rooms with the two-way mirrors, whe
re I’d find a frightened and disheveled Robert, fastened to a metal chair by leg chains, with the wild desperate look of a trapped animal.

Instead, Sebastian took me to his office, which had a desk, a couple of metal filing cabinets, two chairs, and a partially obstructed view of Lake Michigan. This was what watching too many cop shows and reading too many legal thrillers did for the ordinary person. Mass media completely warped your expectations. If I’d still had my sense of humor I would’ve been able to laugh at my momentary disappointment at the too-ordinary surroundings.

“Can I get you anything?” Sebastian asked. “Some coffee or soda?”

I shook my head no. I was
too shocked by everything Sebastian had told me at Robert’s condo to think about eating or drinking. I looked out at the lake. It was another warm, gorgeous day. But I couldn’t appreciate it. Without any warning my life had completely fallen apart.

“There’s something you should know before you talk to Robert,” said Sebastian.

“There’s more? I don’t think I can handle anything else.”

“I don’t think Robert would tell you this himself, so that’s why I’m going to tell you, for what it’s worth. He insisted that I bring you here before he agreed to cooperate with us. He wanted to talk to you in person. Girlfriends are not normally our concern, unless they can screw up or help an investigation, but
...” There was a soft knock at the door, and when Sebastian opened it, Robert walked in, un-handcuffed and looking exactly as he had yesterday when I’d kissed him good-bye. Obviously, he had gotten a full night’s sleep. I couldn’t look at him, but I felt him staring at me as he sat down in the chair across from me. Sebastian nodded to the other agent who’d escorted Robert here. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” said Sebastian. “Knock if you need one of us. There will be an agent right outside the door.” The door had barely closed before Robert blurted out, “Sam, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry! How could you do this to me? You lied about everything!” I shouted. After Sebastian told me everything about his investigation and about Robert, the real Robert, whom I didn’t know
at all, the only thing left inside of me was anger.

“I didn’t lie about the fact that I loved you,” he said. “I still love you, very much.”

“Love,” I snorted. “That’s rich. You obviously don’t know the first thing about love.”

“Listen, I’d never planned on going out on any Single No More dates, and certainly not falling in love. But when I found out you wanted to meet me, and I saw your photograph and video, I think I fell in love with you right then and there. I had to meet you.”

I felt his eyes on me, but I refused to look at him.

“Sam, you’ve got to believe me,” he pleaded. “I wanted to start a new life with you in New York. I was going to go clean and get a real job.”

“Oh, you mean like your real job as a lawyer, before you stole all that money from your clients and went to prison?” Robert winced. Apparently my words had landed like a slap across his face. And then it hit me.

“You used my mother to get you a job working for Martha Smith’s nephew! You played her perfectly
. How convenient. You’d marry me and then waltz into a job that would pay you more money than working for God. And then, by magic, your past is wiped out. Presto, you have the perfect legitimate life.” “It wasn’t like that, Sam,” he said. I could see more of his phony tears in his eyes. He had played me perfectly too.

“You even lied about having a dead wife. Sarah this and Sarah that. Let’s all feel sorry for Robert Mack, the poor widower.”

“For what it’s worth, there really was a Sarah,” he said softly. “She was my girlfriend when I was eighteen. She died in a car crash. She was the first ...”

“Just stop. Stop!” I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear any more of your fucking bullshit! ”

He looked shocked. I’d actually shocked myself. I’d never been so angry in my entire life. I stood up and walked over to the door and knocked on it. The agent opened it.

“Wait, Sam. You have to know, I never meant to hurt you, I love you,” he pleaded, and then started crying.

For a brief moment I felt sorry for him. But it passed. “Good-bye, Robert.” I turned and walked out without looking back him.

Meltdown

For several long minutes after I told her everything, Elaine sat behind her enormous teak desk saying nothing. Her face was a blank page, impossible to read.
As for me, I was beyond white-knuckled. My hands had permanently bonded to the black lacquered armrests of my chair.

I wish she’d start her tirade so I could get this over with. I had steeled myself for an explosion to rival the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. I could imag
ine confused geologists in California noting unusual seismic activity in Manhattan after Elaine went ballistic. As I waited for her response, I heard sounds I never usually noticed. The chair I sat in squeaked every time I moved, and I heard my heart thump inside my chest.

“Samantha, dear, you must be devastated,” she said finally, in a voice that bordered on a whisper. She leaned forward in her chair with her arms extended out over her desk, her hands folded together as if in prayer.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea Robert, that he was actually ...” Elaine’s unexpected kindness brought another wave of tears to my eyes. I began crying. Again. I hadn’t thought it possible. I know the body is sixty to seventy percent water, but I’d cried so much in the past two days that I couldn’t believe I had a drop of liquid left inside of me.

“Of course you didn’t. Men can be such selfish bastards. I’m just wondering, do you know when this will hit the press?”

“I’m not sure. I think in the next day or two,” I said between sobs. “The investigation is done.”

She rose and walked over to the windows and gazed out for a long moment. Finally, she turned back to face me.

“Samantha,” she said gently, but firmly, “I think you need some time off to collect your thoughts and get your life back together.”

“Yes, I do,” I agreed. “But what about my column?”

It felt good to say “my column.” It should. I’d worked hard to get it. For a half a second I forgot about Robert and felt proud that I’d accomplished something I’d wanted for a very long time. My first three columns had attracted hundreds of warm letters from readers with comments like, “That’s exactly how I feel!” and, “You are hilarious. Please don’t stop!”

“Don’t worry about a thing. You just take care of yourself,” said Elaine.

She escorted me out of her office like a mother taking a child who’d skinned her knees to get a bandage.

“Take all the time you need, Samantha.”

“Elaine, I don’t know what to say. Thank you for everything,” I said. We stood there for an awkward second. Although the moment called for it, I’d sooner hug a drooling werewolf than Elaine, so we shook hands.

I went home to my apartment, but I felt like I didn’t belong there. It was the middle of the day on a Monday and everyone I knew was at work. Their lives were humming along smoothly, gearing up for the rest of the week.

I sat in my favorite chair and stretched my legs out onto the ottoman. Every move I made had a surreal, slow-motion quality to it. I had the feeling that if I weren’t very, very careful, I’d have the reverse-Midas touch on everything I did. Plug in a lamp and I’d short-circuit my entire building. Call for my investment account balance and I’d trigger a stock market collapse. Put on a new pair of nylons and I’d get three runs in each leg within two seconds—well, that happened anyway, even when my life was going great.

I was too tired to be angry, and the shock had worn off. The only thing I could feel at this moment was overwhelming sadness. But I tried to console myself with the thought that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Things could only improve from this point. Right?

On the bookshelf opposite me there was a framed photograph of Andre and me, snapped at the top of Machu Picchu just after we’d finished the climb. We had our arms over each other’s shoulders, both of us smiling and triumphant. It had been taken six months ago, just before this whole thing had started. I couldn’t imagine ever again feeling that kind of carefree happiness. It was difficult to comprehend that at this very moment there were people laughing, making love, falling in love, and having babies, when I couldn’t foresee doing much of anything ever again.

My mind drifted back over the past two days since Sebastian had rung Robert’s doorbell, and the perfect life I’d imagined for Robert and me had dissolved in an instant. After I met with Robert at Sebastian’s office on Saturday, Sebastian had taken me back to
Robert’s condo so I could get my things. Sebastian then drove me over to Lessie’s house. Just before I got out of his black sedan, I finally remembered to ask him about something that had been bothering me ever since last summer.

“Do you remember that night at Cubana when Javier and Isabella were dancing together? ”

He nodded, clearly uncomfortable at venturing into the non-work realm of our relationship.

“Why did you lie to me and tell me that Isabella was Javier’s ex-girlfriend?” I’d been thinking of it constantly since
I’d found out about who Robert really was. How could I have chosen such a loser over Javier? I felt sick thinking about it.

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders.

“I love Javier like he’s my brother,” he said. “But he’s too nice for his own good. Sometimes he lets other people take advantage of him. I knew you were lying about why you were really in Milwaukee, so I didn’t want you to get too close to him. But I can see now ...” He paused.

“See what?”

“I was wrong about you, Sam, I’m sorry.”

The doorbell rang. I jumped, and looking outside,
could see that night had fallen. I must’ve been sitting there in the chair for six hours. I noticed that the muscles in my legs had stiffened to boards, and I wobbled to the buzzer like an old lady to open the door.

“I took a couple days off of work,” announced Elizabeth, who plopped down an overnight bag. “I’m going to stay with you until the news breaks.”

As much as Elizabeth didn’t like her job, I’d never known her to call in for a single mental health day or ever take all of the vacation she was entitled to. I hugged her tight.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

She walked over to my telephone and called our favorite Thai restaurant.

“You’re going to be okay, Sam,” she said, with the receiver pressed to her ear.

“With friends like you, how could I not be okay?” I said. I felt the tightness around m
y mouth slightly loosen as I attempted my first smile in days.

Two days later, I picked up my
New York Times
and took it over to the kitchen table where Elizabeth was drinking coffee and eating half a grapefruit.

“The circus begins,” I said, as
I dropped the paper in front of Elizabeth and we read it silently together.

INDICTMENTS HANDED DOWN AGAINST
MILWAUKEE DATING SERVICE:
MYSTERY WOMAN’S FIANCE
ENTERS GUILTY PLEA

A federal grand jury in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, handed down indictments yesterday against Bunny Woods, the owner of the Milwaukee franchise of Single No More, the nation’s largest video dating service, and against her husband, Dmitri Woods, a former guard at the Urbana halfway house in Milwaukee. The charges against the couple include theft, extortion, and fraud, in connection
with a scheme that has left single women across the nation reeling in shock and anger.

Also implicated in the plo
t is Robert Mack, 45, former fiance of Samantha Jacobs, better known as the Mystery Woman of the New York-based
Tres Chic
magazine. Mack pleaded guilty on lesser charges of fraud in exchange for turning State’s evidence. He faces up to three years in prison.

The indictments were handed down after a 15-month investigation, spearheaded by Special Agent Sebastian Diaz of the F.B.I., into the operations of the Milwaukee office of Single No More.

According to the indictment, Bunny Woods, 47, and her husband, Dmitri Woods, 49, devised a plan to fill the depleted ranks of Single No More by recruiting newly paroled male prisoners who had been convicted of white-collar offenses from federal minimum-security camps in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Dmitri Woods is charged with stealing master lists of names and addresses of released prisoners from the halfway house where he worked as a guard, which he then provided to Mack. Mack then contacted and recruited the convicts. In exchange for nominal sums of money, Mack lured the convicts to the office of Single No More, where they went through the process of posing as legitimate clients, having photographs taken, making videos, and preparing false profiles.

Investigation has revealed
that some of these imposter clients went beyond the original plan and actually went on dates with unsuspecting female clients. In exchange for a standard $2,000 fee, the service had guaranteed its legitimate clients that it did a thorough background check, including a criminal check, on anyone applying for membership before allowing applicants to join the dating service.

“I feel sick to know I might
have gone out with a sexual offender,” said Jane, a former client of Single No More and a Milwaukee anesthesiologist, who refused to give her last name. “We join services like this to weed out the bad ones for us. And what did they do? They set us up to meet these creeps. They put our lives in danger.”

Mack, a former attorney, who earned his law degree from John Marshall Law School in Chicago, Illinois, lost his license to practice law when he was convicted in 1996 in federal court of three felony theft offenses for embezzling over $225,000 from his clients. Mack was sentenced to three years in prison and spent the last six months of his sentence at the Urbana halfway house in Milwaukee where he originally met Dmitri Woods.

Recently, Mack had experienced a spate of publicity including an appearance on the
Larry King Live
show after he became engaged to Samantha Jacobs, 41, a native of Scarsdale, New York. Jacobs, a 15-year employee of
Tres Chic
, was sent to Milwaukee during the summer in the hopes of finding a professional, well-educated husband to flout a new statistic reported earlier this year by Harvard sociologist Dr. Victoria Huber that a well-educated, never-married woman over 40 has a better chance of winning a seven-figure lottery jackpot than of ever tying the knot. Jacobs joined Single No More last May and met Mack, who had also posed as a legitimate client of the service. They dated throughout the summer and became engaged early last August.

“At least the article doesn’t make you look bad,” said Elizabeth when she’d finished reading.

“No, not at all. I got engaged to a three-time convicted felon. Who hasn’t done that at least once in their lives?” I said. “And to top it off, I probably dated some of his jail buddies.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about this, Sam. You didn’t know. None of us did. He fooled all of us,” she said, shaking her pretty brunette head. “He seemed so nice.”

“I had warnings, but I didn’t listen to them, as usual,” I told her. I had ignored what my gut was telling me, that Robert wasn’t right for me. But I’d also ignored what else my gut had been telling me, about who was right for me. And because of that, I’d lost Javier, the sweetest, most wonderful man I’d ever known.

“Sam, you will meet a great guy someday. It will happen,” she said with the confidence of a happily coupled woman. Elizabeth was sure Judge Doug was going to propose before Christmas.

Could I ever meet another man like Javier? A man whom I’d felt so comfortable with, it was as though we’d known each other forever? It was impossible to imagine.

Elizabeth left an hour later to go back to work. I flipped on the TV. I just wanted to veg in front of the idiot box and forget about my life. I had five
entire minutes of blessed mind-numbing TV-land drivel until I flipped the channel one too many times and saw Elaine seated behind her desk holding a press conference.

“I was just as shocked as you were by this unfortunate turn of events,” she said, reading from what looked like a prepared statement. “But what you didn’t know and what I myself just found out, is that Samantha Jacobs knew almost from the beginning that her fiance, Robert Mack, was a fraud and a convicted felon.”

“What? What are you talking about?” I screamed, but no one heard me, except perhaps everyone within a three-block radius.

“After Miss Jacobs found
out about Mr. Mack’s true background, they devised a plan to get engaged and go through with the wedding scheduled for December thirty-first. But at some point in the future after the publicity had died down, they planned to get their marriage annulled. All of this was in exchange for securing a lucrative job in New York for Mr. Mack along with a sizable payoff to him.”

“You can’t be serious!” I screamed at Elaine, who was managing to ape perfectly the pained, deeply troubled and unjustly
wronged victim, as she paused significantly to let her last words sink in.

“It is also with deep regret that I am forced to announce that Miss Jacobs’s articles that were published in
Tres Chic
this summer about the Milwaukee dating scene were exaggerated and in several instances outright fabrications. Of course, I fired Miss Jacobs as soon as I found out. I sincerely apologize to the readers of
Tres Chic
and everyone across the nation who was following this story.”