Final Exam (23 page)

I turned and came face-to-face with Brandon.

Yes, this plan was definitely ill-advised and about to take a turn for the worse.

Brandon raced past me, nearly knocking me over as he cruised by. He got to Wayne in a split second, or so it seemed, and grabbed the much taller, yet thinner, man by the collar and threw him to the driveway.

Amanda let out a bloodcurdling scream that I was sure alerted every neighbor in a half-mile radius that trouble was afoot. I was pretty sure that nobody ever screams in Scarsdale so I knew the call to the police was being made right now.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, and ran over to try to pry the two of them apart, getting tangled up in arms and legs and ending up on my ass on the driveway. I was shorter than Wayne but his excessive running left him probably only twenty pounds more than me; Brandon was stockier and a little harder to contain. Amanda was no help at all, screaming at the top of her lungs while standing to the side. “Amanda! Enough!” I called. The last thing we needed were the cops showing up and I was sure they were already on the way with the commotion on the driveway.

I don’t know how I was able to do it—maybe the two of them realized it wasn’t really all that decorous to wrestle with a middle-aged college professor—but I managed to pull Brandon off Wayne, who jumped up and stood in front of the two of us, Brandon trying desperately to shake me off. He was strong, but I had three inches on him and held on tight, my arms laced through his; he struggled for a few seconds and then relaxed a little. “Calm down,” I said. “Now, what are you doing here?”

“I followed the two of you here,” he said, panting. He made one more halfhearted lunge toward Wayne, but I held him back.

I looked at Amanda. “And how did he know we were on our way to Scarsdale?” I think I already knew the answer but wanted confirmation.

Even in the dark, I could tell that she had flushed a deep red. “I told him that we were coming here and I was going to break up with Wayne.”

Wayne looked like he had been punched in the stomach. He bent over at the waist and tried to regain his composure.

Brandon looked triumphant, and when I felt him relax even more in my arms, I released my grip. “See?” he said to Wayne. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you. Leave her alone.” He pointed at the middle of Wayne’s chest.

Wayne approached Brandon and got in his face again. “I will not leave her alone. She doesn’t love you.”

She looked at Wayne, her eyes filled with tears, her whole body slumped in sadness. “It’s true. I’m marrying Brandon. Just like I said I would.”

That was a ringing endorsement for the union. “ ‘Just like you said you would’?” I asked incredulously. “How about ‘because I love him with every fiber of my being?’ Or ‘because he’s the love of my life’?” I asked.

She looked at Brandon. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I never should have cheated on you.” She looked at Wayne. “I’m sorry, Wayne. I got confused.”

“ ‘Confused’?” he asked. “Confused by what? Confused by him?” he asked, pointing at Brandon who crossed his arms, a smug look on his face. Clearly, he felt that he had won. “Why don’t you ask him about the business?” Wayne said.

I looked over at Brandon, who looked more than a little confused. Whatever the bait was—and if indeed there was any—he didn’t take it.

Amanda looked at Brandon. “What’s he talking about?”

Brandon shrugged, looking genuinely puzzled. Either he was an incredibly gifted actor or he didn’t know what Wayne was talking about. “No idea.” He gave Wayne a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

Wayne didn’t have a chance to respond because after hearing the wail of sirens in the distance, it wasn’t long before we all caught sight of two police officers, hands on their guns, sauntering down the driveway. I instinctively put my hands up. When I noticed that the trio of love-struck young adults didn’t and were looking at me like I had lost my mind, I dropped them slowly. “Good evening, Officers,” I said cheerfully. “If I were you, I’d cuff him now,” I said, throwing my head in Wayne’s direction.

The two cops—both of the handsome, suburban variety—looked at me quizzically. The taller one asked me for more information.

I explained further. “There’s a warrant out for his arrest. And he runs like the dickens so don’t let him get a head start.”

Tall cop cuffed Wayne while the other got on the radio and called back to the station to check on my story. I suggested that he save some time and call Crawford, giving the cop his cell phone number. Wayne was vehemently protesting his innocence.

“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” he said to Brandon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brandon said evenly.

The cop talking to Crawford told Wayne to shut up so he could finish his conversation. I looked at Wayne, who had turned into something like a caged animal, one of the officers holding one of his arms.

“I think you do,” Wayne said cryptically. The shorter cop, a buff, body-builder type, finished his conversation with Crawford, hung up, and read Wayne his rights. Wayne responded by bursting into tears. “It’s a mistake!”

I decided that the best course of action would be to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want to remind Wayne of the giant Ziploc bag of pot we’d found in his room; regardless of whether the heroin was his or not, the pot was enough to lock him up for the time being. That, my dear Wayne, was not a mistake.

The cops dragged him off, assuring him that he would get his one phone call as soon as they got to the station. I hoped his parents hadn’t gone too far, because their plans for the evening were going to be cut short by having to bail their youngest out of jail.

Amanda was weeping softly next to me, taking in the whole scene. She looked at Brandon. “You should go home,” she said.

I watched as Wayne was put in the back of the police car. He looked at the three of us beseechingly as the car drove away and I had another one of those moments where I felt sorry for him. Why did that keep happening?

Brandon took Amanda in his arms and she started to cry loudly. I moved away from the scene, catching one last glimpse of him holding her at arm’s length and pushing her hair away from her face. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped her tears.

I continued down the driveway and crossed the street. Before I got in the car, Amanda called to me that she and Brandon were going somewhere together to talk. That seemed like a very good idea to me.

I drove back to campus wondering why, now that we had found Wayne, I felt worse than I had before.

Thirty-Three

I tossed and turned most of the night, still saddened by the turn of events but relieved that Wayne was now in custody. I thought about him protesting his innocence about the heroin; he never said that the pot wasn’t his but he was adamant about the more serious drugs being in his possession. I’d have to ask Crawford about that. Was it normal to lie about something like that or did he think Wayne was telling the truth?

I felt relief that this mess was coming to an end until it dawned on me that Merrimack and the rest of the housing office were going to have to find a brand-new resident director to replace me since Wayne was never returning. And I knew the wheels around here turned very slowly, and right now they had an RD—me—who wasn’t getting paid to do the job, something that would appeal to Etheridge and his penny-pinching minions. Surely they weren’t going to leave me here? Or were they?

That was a wrinkle I hadn’t ironed out.

I finally got up around six, my eyes dry from lack of sleep and from living in a dusty, most likely mold-filled environment. I leaned on the cracked sink in the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, wondering how, for the third time, I had come to be involved in such a complicated situation. I decided that that was not somewhere I wanted to go that early in the morning, and without coffee, and that I would table that internal monologue for a time when I was feeling and acting more coherent. I took one last look at myself. “I’m sick of this,” I said to my haggard reflection. Trixie padded in, her nails clicking on the old black-and-white tile on the bathroom floor. She jumped up and put her paws on the sink, her eyes imploring me to do something, anything, that would get her outside. I went back into the bedroom and pulled a sweatshirt over my head, slipping my feet into my clogs.

I took Trixie down to the river, a mist rolling off it and soaking the two of us. I took a seat on a flat rock and watched her play in the water, chasing a couple of brave ducks who were waddling along the shoreline. The sun was tucked away behind a few clouds and it was chillier than I thought it would be. I crossed my arms on my chest and put my head to my knees, all the better to consider everything that had happened the night before, not to mention since I had moved onto campus.

I thought of my conversation with Amanda and wondered how I would attend her wedding knowing that she was ambivalent, at best, about Brandon. I also thought of her stepfather, his father, and the business, and her response to my question about whether or not the limo company was profitable. “It is now,” she had said. I thought about that and surmised Nicholas’s coming to the company and Amanda’s marriage were surely related in some way. Now that Wayne was out of the way, I decided that I would turn my attention to the mystery of Amanda’s impending loveless nuptial.

And immediately came to the conclusion that a ride to Newark was in order. And that I needed Max and her patented feminine wiles to seal the deal.

I put Trixie back on the leash and ran up the hill to the dorm, breathless when I entered the side door. I went into my room, hastily showered, dressed, and was back out the door and on my way to my office within a half hour.

I immediately turned on my computer, tapping my foot impatiently while I waited for it to warm up. I decided to put all my feelings about Max, my red bedroom, her self-absorption, and her sham marriage aside, deciding that I needed her help. I e-mailed Max:
“What’s your day looking like?”

Max, the original BlackBerry addict, responded immediately. She was probably still in bed, able to sleep and text at the same time.
“Why?”

“I need you to come with me to Newark.”
I was banking on Max’s patented approach to life—act now, think later—to get her to commit to coming with me. And I figured that this was as good a way as any to move past the rift between us. Because if there was anything I knew about Max, it was that she would rather pretend things didn’t happen than talk about and resolve them in a mature fashion.

She seemed to have to take a minute or two to think about my request because her reply was delayed.
“What’s in Newark?”

I typed quickly, my response cryptic.
“The answer to all my questions. What are you wearing?”

“I don’t do text sex with my friends.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you look sexy?”

“I always look sexy. You?”

I ignored that; I’ve known Max long enough to recognize a one-word dig.
“You in or out?”

“IN.”
She put a smiley face next to her response.
“I’ll be at STU by 5.”

I clapped my hands together and immediately set about figuring out where T&G Limousine was and how we would get there. I found them again on the Web and jotted down their telephone number. I rehearsed my spiel a few times before picking up the phone, my heart racing as I dialed the number. Someone picked up on the second ring.

“T&G. For all of your car service needs. How can I help you?”

“Oh, hi,” I said. “My name is Martha Raymore . . .”—I stuck with something close to Max’s name because anything else would confuse her—“and I’m with the law firm of . . .” I forgot what the fake law firm was called, so I scanned my bookshelves for inspiration. “Plath, Dickinson, Shakespeare, and Austen.” I smacked my head with the phone. Shakespeare? It didn’t seem to register with the person who answered the phone because she asked politely what she could do for me. “Oh, right. Well, I’m the office manager here and I was told by Mr. Plath that I should look for a different limousine company for our attorneys.”

“Great. I’ll need to put you in touch with one of our partners, Mr. Grigoriadis or Mr. Tsagarakis.”

“It would be great if I could meet with both. Tonight? Say seven-thirty?” Newark was farther away than I had anticipated.

The operator hesitated. “I don’t know if I can arrange that but I’ll ask them when they come in.”

Right. It was barely after seven in the morning. I let my excitement get the better of me. “Thank you.”

“Can I call you back?” she asked.

Absolutely not, I thought. I didn’t want to leave any kind of trail regarding who was making the call. “I’m going to have a very busy day. Can I call you back?”

“Of course. How about some time between eleven and noon? My name is Adriana. Just ask for me.”

“Thank you, Adriana. I’ll call you later.” I hung up and wiped my palms on my skirt. I was definitely going to hell, and there, I would most definitely have sweaty palms for all eternity. Before I forgot, I jotted the name of the fake law firm and the name “Martha Rayburn” onto a sheet of paper, not realizing that it wasn’t the name I had given the lovely Adriana until I called her back, from my cell, between classes, at eleven-twenty. I stood in an alcove on the fourth floor, having just come out of my ten-thirty class.

“T&G Limousine. For all of your car service needs. How can I help you?”

“Can I speak with Adriana, please?”

“Speaking. Who’s calling?”

“Hi, this is Martha Rayburn.”

“How can I help you?”

I got a little impatient. “You said to call you back between eleven and twelve? To see if I could get an appointment with Mr. Grigoriadis and Mr. Tsagarakis?” I smiled as one of my students walked by and waved in my direction.

She hesitated. “Oh, yes. Ms. Rayburn. I had written ‘Martha Raymore’ on my pad. My apologies.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. “That’s an easy mistake to make!” I said gaily. “Everyone does it!” Even me! I neglected to add.

“I have an appointment set up for seven-thirty. Does that work for you?”

“That’s perfect!” I said, whoever I was. “I’ll see you at seven-thirty.” I hung up and crept out of the alcove, attempting to blend into the flow of students changing classes. I don’t know why I felt compelled to act as if I weren’t doing anything wrong—I wasn’t—but I have the most finely honed sense of guilt ever. I made my way to my next class, repeating the name “Rayburn” over and over until I had it right.

I called Crawford at the precinct, but he was out. I left a message with one of the cops to tell him I had called, knowing that if he had a busy day in front of him, I was unlikely to hear from him for a long time, if even today. This made me happy; I hated talking to Crawford after I’ve lied excessively. I feel like he can read my mind, and even if that’s not the case, I feel like he could get the truth out of me very easily.

The day seemed endless. I finally got back to my room at four-thirty, washed up, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. I walked Trixie, seeing Max’s cab in the parking lot on my way back from the cemetery, which had become Trixie’s official spot for her evening walk.

Max got out of the cab, looking extremely vixenlike in a black cashmere sweater that accentuated her stupendous rack, and tight black pants. She had a red pashmina shawl thrown over her shoulders, which matched the red of the soles of her thousand-dollar boots. She threw her arms out. “Good enough?”

“Good enough,” I said. I resisted going over and giving her a hug because just the sight of her reignited my feelings over the guerrilla redecorating.

“What? No hug?” she asked.

I gave her a loose, quick hug. “Let me get my car keys,” I said, breaking away from her and the cloud of Opium that enveloped me when I got close to her. “Go wait by the car.”

Once we were in the car, I outlined my plan. I also filled her in on the latest goings-on with Amanda, Wayne, and Brandon. “Nicholas is a hound dog and likes the ladies. At least that’s what I’m guessing by the five marriages.”

“So, I’m supposed to charm the pants off of him?” she asked, pulling down the visor to check her makeup.

“Not literally.”

“Duh. I’m a married woman,” she said.

No you’re not, I thought. I let it go. “Your name is Margaret Raymore.” At least I hoped that was the name; I couldn’t remember what name I had given Adriana and I couldn’t find the piece of paper I had written the original name down on. All I knew was that it was close to Max’s name and that was it.

“Why?” she asked. “That’s a sucky name.”

“But you can’t use your name or my name,” I said. “You’re an office manager at Plath, Dickinson, Shakespeare, and Austen.”

She turned. “How the hell am I supposed to remember that?”

I looked into the sideview mirror and attempted to merge into the rush-hour traffic on the George Washington Bridge. “Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, William Shakespeare, Jane Austen.” I thought that would help.

She rooted through her giant purse. “Wait. I need to write that down.” She found a pen and a piece of paper. “Say it again.”

I repeated the name of the fake law firm. “So I want you to meet Nicholas, look around the office, and tell me if anything looks hinky.”

“ ‘Hinky’?”

“Yeah. Hinky. Out of the ordinary. See if he hits on you. See if he’s weird in any way.”

“What’s that going to tell us?”

I swerved to avoid being hit by a Pepperidge Farm truck. “I don’t know. But those thugs who beat up Amanda are from Newark. This company’s in Newark. She’s marrying the son of her father’s business partner. I think he put a lot of money into the company. I have all of the puzzle pieces but I just don’t know how to put them together.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” she said, pausing, “that tells me nothing.”

“Can you just play along, Max?” I pleaded, hitting the Jersey Turnpike and feeling better about being off the bridge even if the view was far less scenic.

“I’ll play along,” she said, exasperated. “This is quite a caper.”

We drove to Newark in near silence, avoiding the conversational elephants in the room. Ah, Jersey. Bergen County was lovely, as was the shore. I love the shore. But this stretch of turnpike was dreary, dotted with factories and the occasional strip mall. It was pretty depressing.

Max finally broke the silence. “So, this Margaret Raymore.”

“Right,” I said, my voice wavering a bit. I tried to think back to my original conversation with Adriana or imagine in my mind’s eye what I had written on the piece of paper after I had spoken to her but I couldn’t remember either. I hoped “Raymore” was right.

“That’s it, right?” Max said. I could tell by her tone that she knew I was unsure.

“Margaret Raymore,” I said, trying to sound as definitive as I could. I still wasn’t sure, though.

“We know she’s hot. But does she have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“I just want her to have some game. Does she have game?”

“She has loads of game. She runs one of the biggest law firms in Jersey. She’s an excellent office manager.”

The GPS, my dear friend Lola, told me to exit and I obeyed her command, getting into the right lane and making my way to the exit. I followed her directions through Newark—again, not the most scenic vista I’ve ever seen—and found T&G. I parked across the street in a strip mall and pointed to a one-story building with a fleet of Town Cars, stretch limousines, Suburbans, and a host of other vehicles parked on either side and, presumably, behind the building. The building was nondescript with a small sign indicating that we were at the right place. I guess you didn’t need a flashy setup to operate a limousine company; as long as the cars were new and clean and worked, nobody cared where they came from.

“So what am I supposed to do again?” Max said, looking a little nervous, and obsessively running her hands through her cropped hair. She’s usually a gamer; I wondered what was making her so tense.

“Just tell them that you’re thinking about changing limo companies and that you heard that T&G was the best.”

“And why can’t you do it?”

I sighed. We had been over this. “Because Costas knows me.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Just get a sense of things. Does Nicholas act weird? Is there anybody else around? Is there anything to indicate that things may not be on the up-and-up?”

She looked at me, panic in her eyes.

“I know it’s a long shot, Max, and believe me, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to, but I need to find out what’s going on for Amanda’s sake.”