Fifth Ave 01 - Fifth Avenue (45 page)

“Are you all right?” she asked.

It was a moment before he turned to her.
 
“Not really.”

She walked over to where he was standing and put her arms around him.
 
“You can talk to me,” she said.
 
“You know I'm here for you.”

“I know you are.”
 
He kissed the back of her hand.
 
"Why else would you throw a drink in Ryan's face?"

"That was a mistake," she said.
 
"But I have to admit it felt good."

"You're human, Elizabeth.
 
And remember--nobody likes Ryan.
 
He provoked us.
 
They'll side with you."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

“Last night, in your sleep, you said Leana’s name twice.
 
You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

George nodded.

“Do you think it’s true what Louis said about her tonight?”

“I don’t know,” George said.
 
“But I was planning on finding out when you came in.” He released himself from the embrace and walked to his desk.
 
He picked up a phone and started dialing.

Elizabeth stepped to his side.
 
“Who are you calling?”

“Who do you think?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to call?
 
Helen might be in bed.
 
You’ll disturb them.”

“I don’t care if I disturb them.
 
If Harold’s been speaking to Louis Ryan about my daughter, I want to know about it.”

“You know you can’t believe a word Ryan says.”

“I understand that,” he said.
 
“But I also know my daughter.
 
And you’ve seen how Harold’s been acting lately.
 
There’s a reason behind it and this might be it.”

“Why didn’t you just confront him about it on the ship?” she said.
 
“We could be beyond this now.”

The line started ringing.
 
“Because I was too angry,” George said.
 
“And making one scene was enough.”

“You’re not angry now?”

George shot her a look.
 
The line clicked and Harold answered the phone.
 
“It’s George.
 
Can you come to my office?
 
I need to see you.
 
Yes, tonight.”

*
 
*
 
*

“What’s the problem?”

George turned in his chair and looked across his office at Harold Baines, who had just stepped inside and now was standing in shadow.

“I’m not sure,” he said.
 
“But I think you can help me figure it out.”
 
He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk.
 
“Why don’t you have a seat?
 
We have a lot to talk about.”

Harold hesitated for a moment, but then came across the room.

“Want a drink?”

As he sat, Harold looked at George.
 
Although he was nervous, a part of him even frightened of this meeting, he somehow managed to keep his features neutral.
 
“Are you having one?”

“I’ve already had several.
 
One more isn’t going to kill me.
 
What do you want?”

“What you’re having.”

George crossed to the bar.

Harold turned in his chair.
 
He looked at his best friend and wondered if Jack Douglas told him what he’d seen on Anastassios Fondaras’ ship.

He was frightened.
 
He wasn’t sure how he would handle the situation if it arose. Never had Harold been confronted with his homosexuality.
 
Never had anyone called him on his drug problem.
 
He always was discreet, careful.
 
But recently, he had been preoccupied, forgetful.
 
Sometimes, he felt as if he were losing control of his life.
 
The deals with WestTex and Iran, his increasing dependency on heroin and coke, all were devouring what little structure and routine he once had.

For years he had been living a lie.
 
For years he had been miserable because of it.
 
The drugs and the sex were an escape from a life he was becoming convinced was no longer worth living.
 
He did not love his wife or his children because he barely knew them.
 
The only people he cared about were the people who had never let him down--George and Leana.
 
And now he couldn’t face them because he had betrayed them both.
 
What kind of a man was he?

“We’ve been friends too long for bullshit,” George said from the bar.
 
“So, I’ll just get to it.
 
I spoke to Louis Ryan tonight--or, rather, he spoke to me.
 
He told me something I’m not sure I believe.”

Harold sat motionless in his chair.
 
In the windows before him, the city gleamed.

George walked over with the drinks.
 
“He said you two have become friendly.
 
He said that, thanks to you, Leana’s going to be running his new hotel for him.”
 
George stopped beside Harold and handed him his martini.
 
“I want to know if that’s true.”

Harold put his glass down on the table beside him.
 
If he lied to George now, he knew that it would destroy what had taken thirty years to build.

“Obviously, it’s not true.”

George sat in his chair.
 
He leaned toward his desk and rested his head in his hands. He felt drained, exhausted--but relieved, as well.

“I didn’t think you had,” he said, straightening.
 
“But I had to ask.
 
I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“You didn’t offend me,” Harold said.

“I had to know.”

“I understand.”

There was a silence while the two men drank.

Harold returned his gaze to the view out the windows.
 
As he sat there, numb, he watched two helicopters sail over a city he was beginning to hate.
 
It was a city that, like so many other things in his life, held little appeal for him anymore.

He looked at George and knew that nothing could ever assuage the guilt he felt for having betrayed him and his family.
 
Nothing could fill the deep emptiness that had become his life--not friendship, not love, not truth.

He wondered how much longer he could live a lie.
 
He wondered at what point his world would begin to crumble.

“This takeover has been difficult on you, hasn’t it?” George said.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve lost weight,” George said.
 
“A lot of weight.
 
Helen tells Elizabeth that you’re not eating well.
 
I noticed that at tonight’s dinner.
 
You hardly touched the food on your plate.
 
Is there something wrong?
 
Are you not well?”

“It’s just my ulcers,” Harold said.
 
“I admit I’ll feel better once this takeover is complete.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing else?”

“Nothing I can’t handle with a little thought,” Harold said.

George leaned back in his chair, curious to know what Harold meant by that.
 
He decided to let it pass. “I met with Frostman today,” he said.

Harold looked surprised--and then perhaps a little vulnerable. “I didn’t miss a meeting, did I?”

“This time you didn’t.
 
I met with him alone.” He finished his drink and stood. “Chase is onboard, but they’ve struck a tough deal.
 
But so have I.
 
I think it’s one I can live with.
 
One we all can live with.”

“What’s their money going to cost?”

“Eight percent.”

Harold raised an eyebrow.
 
“Not bad.
 
Who gets senior debt?”

“We do,” George said.
 
“But for that, they’ll end up with a thirty-five percent share of WestTex.”

Harold shook his head. “You’re going to have a hard a time getting board approval on that.”

“I know,” George said. “But that’s their deal and we’re running out of time. The board will have to accept it--or we lose billions.”

“What if this falls through?” Harold asked.

George seemed almost defeated when he said, “I guess we approach someone else.”

*
 
*
 
*

Later, when Harold left Redman International, the black Mercedes limousine that had been waiting on 50th Street started its engine, cut into traffic and cruised to a stop beside him.

Harold stepped away from the curb at the same moment the limousine’s rear door shot open and Vincent Spocatti stepped out.

Harold felt a shock.

Calmly, Spocatti pressed a gun against his side.
 
“Get into the car, Harold.
 
Your day isn’t over yet.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“How about a nightcap?”

Jack turned from the painting of irises he was admiring in the foyer of Celina’s apartment and moved into the living room, where she was standing at a bar.
 
They had just returned from Anastassios Fondaras’ party and it was late.

“Do you have any beer?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”
 
She bent to the small refrigerator that was at her feet, reached inside for something light, which she knew he liked, and then looked at Jack.
 
In her eyes was a spark of humor.
 
“Would you like me to pour it in a champagne glass?”

Although Jack smiled, he seemed distracted as he loosened and removed his black bow tie.
 
“This time, the bottle’s fine.”

He came over to where she was standing and took it from her.
 
He looked at her for a moment, moved to speak, but then sipped his beer.

Celina turned back to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine.
 
She was confused about what happened earlier on the yacht and more than a little angry with Jack, but she didn’t want it to show.
 
She wanted to make love to this man and yet she wasn’t sure if he wanted the same.
 
Why did he stop it from happening at the party?
 
He asked me to follow him below ship and then he stopped it.
 
Why?