Suspicion of Betrayal (11 page)

"Oh, don't do that. People are crazy, especially in Miami. Someone might be stalking you. Tom doesn't like me to go out after dark, and he's always checking to make sure the doors are locked. We had a woman in our neighborhood stabbed in her own house by a man who had followed her home. You should call the police."

Gail nodded. Whatever one might say, Lynn Dobbert had a disaster to top it. She went out with the checks she had brought in.

Tapping her pen on the desk, Gail looked again at the telephone, then dialed Jamie Sweet's number. An answering machine picked up, causing her a moment of cKstress before she said, "Hi, Jamie. This is Gail again. Just wanted to make sure you're all right. If you need to talk to me—anytime—please don't hesitate to call." After a second or two of searching her mind uselessly for a piece of memorable wisdom, Gail hung up. She laughed to herself, remembering Charlene Marks's advice about maintaining a safe emotional distance.
Don't be their mother or their pal.
Commercial litigation in the posh law firm downtown had not been nearly as messy.

She heard a click and looked around. Miriam had come in, closing the door behind her. She crossed the room, bouncy stride in high heels, curly hair swinging from a clip on top of her head. Bracelets jangled, and gold earrings spun. But something had ticked her off.

"¿Qué pasa?"
Gail asked.

She was holding some papers, which fluttered as she extended her arm to show Gail. "Look at this. Look what she did. She put the South Miami Motors caption on an order for South Miami Hardware. And I just called the courier! This has to be filed at the courthouse this afternoon."

"Well, tell her to redo it."

"Why did you give it to Lynn?"

"You were out to lunch, Miriam, and it seemed simple enough."

"She hasn't learned the system yet," Miriam said. "She is so
slow."

"Inexperienced, not slow."

The red-lipsticked mouth, which had opened to vent another complaint, released a long sigh instead. "You're right." Miriam was only twenty-two, but had been Gail's secretary for three years at Hartwell Black. Gail had wooed her away with equal benefits and a raise. Miriam was worth every dime, but she took her seniority seriously.

"Oh, somebody left a message." The pink slip of paper that Miriam quickly handed her said that Elena Godoy could meet her at Lola Benitez Couture on Saturday morning at ten o'clock. Please call.

Gail set the message beside her telephone. "Elena Pedrosa Godoy is Anthony's cousin. She wants to help me pick out a wedding dress."

Miriam grinned, buoyant as a teenager. "I can't wait to see it! What will it look like?"

"I don't qualify for white. Something pastel and ankle-length, I suppose. Karen's outfit will be harder. Will she even agree to wear a dress?"

"She's going to look so cute."

"My flower girl," Gail said. "One of Anthony's nephews will be the ring bearer."

"Who's going to carry the
hadas?”

Gail repeated it slowly. "Addas?"

"Hadas.
With a silent H. It's like . . . money. Little coins."

"I've never heard of that."

"Oh, yes! After the rings the groom gives the bride the
hadas.
She holds out her hands like this, and he opens the little box and takes out the coins, and he gives them to her. It's to signify, like, I'm going to take care of you forever. All my worldly goods are yours. It's a custom in Cuban weddings. Or any Spanish wedding, I guess."

Gail smiled. "That's very nice. I don't know if it's appropriate for Anthony and me, but it's nice. Good Lord. We should have chosen the words for the ceremony already, but we've been so busy! Maybe we'll just do the usual thing. What was yours like, Miriam?"

"I wish I'd known you then. I'd have invited you!" Miriam leaned her little fanny on the edge of the desk. "We got married at Iglesia San Lázaro in Hialeah, and I had a long satin dress with a train, and Danny wore a white tuxedo. We had the
hadas,
and the
lazo,
and our mothers pinned the
mantilla
on our shoulders. Then we rode in a white limousine to the banquet hall. I should show you the video! All our friends and family were there, and we had a deejay and a mirrored ball in the ceiling!" She laughed. "The first dance was with my father.
Papi
couldn't stop smiling. Then he gave me to Danny, and we danced together. It was so perfect. We partied till one o'clock in the morning; then we drove to a hotel on Miami Beach."

With a giggle Miriam covered her mouth. "Oh, my God, Danny was so tired he fell asleep! We didn't. . . you know, make love till morning, but the sun was coming up over the ocean, and we heard the waves and the seagulls."

"It sounds perfect," Gail said.

"It was. You know we conceived Berto on our honeymoon? It was a total surprise. Danny says he wants to take me to Hawaii, we might have twins!" Miriam picked up the order that she had complained about earlier. "Well, I'd better redo this before the courier gets here." Hair bouncing on her back, Miriam vanished into the hall, her high heels clicking on the tiles, then diminishing.

Smiling, Gail watched her go. Miriam and Danny were blessed—unlike Wendell and Jamie Sweet, whose marriage had been cursed from the beginning. Since the failure of her own marriage, Gail had decided that there was nothing she could have done to save it, because the
passion
hadn't been there. They had not been lovers but two people occupying the same house. With Anthony . . . Gail closed her eyes and rested her chin on her fist. With Anthony no escape was possible. To leave him . . . She could not imagine it. Or that he would leave her. Never. She remembered his words, spoken with such infuriating assurance as he sat on the edge of the bed in the room at his grandfather's house.
I
would find some way to make you stay.
Looking up at her with those dark eyes. She had laughed, but if he had reached for her, she would have made love to him all over again.

With a start, Gail noticed the clock. Three-thirty already, the afternoon almost gone.

Next. Letters from attorneys who had read the ad in the
Business Review
about the spare office. One was from a recent graduate studying for the bar, who wanted to work as a law clerk. Another from a man in his sixties who wanted to practice part-time. Most were articulate, with substantial resumes
attached. And all—every one—were from lawyers who wanted to be hired. Paid. Put on salary. The ad had clearly said,
Office space to share.
Desperation in the ranks, too many lawyers. Gail was grateful for her contacts. If her office went under, she could get a job. But it would be a job, not a business. It wouldn't be hers.

On the computer she quickly typed a form letter thanking the lawyers for their interest, etc., etc., with instructions for Miriam to customize it for each. The intercom signaled a call, and Gail picked it up without moving her eyes from the screen.

"Yes?"

Lynn told her that Mrs. Sweet was calling again.

If Gail had imagined that Jamie would listen to her advice when their last conversation ended, that mistake became quickly evident. Between sobs, Jamie told her that Wendell had just left. They'd gone upstairs to talk, hoping to settle things between them. Instead they had argued. He had said they wouldn't be going through this if Jamie hadn't been brainwashed by her lawyer. He had screamed at her for taking his children away, trying to ruin his life, stealing his money like the common slut she had been when he met her. She had screamed back at him to get out, and he had hit her.

"Oh, God. Jamie, are you all right?"

"My lip's busted, but it was my fault. I was yellin' at him, callin' him names."

"This isn't your fault! I want you to call the police. We're taking this to the judge."

"No, Gail! Please don't." "Jamie—"

"I can't—I can't do this anymore. If it wasn't for the kids, I'd kill myself, I swear I would." "Jamie, please—"

"Could you—Gail, I don't mean to be a bother— could you please come talk to me? Please." She sobbed. "I don't know what to do."

"Of course. Of course I will."

Gail scanned her desk, calculating what she could leave, what had to be taken with her. She flipped through her appointment book. A client was coming in. He could be rescheduled. As she stuffed files into her briefcase, followed by her laptop computer, she tucked the phone under her chin, speaking as calmly as she could. "Jamie, I don't want you to worry. I'll be right over. Do you have some tea? Good. Make us some tea, and we'll talk. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. If Wendell comes back, don't let him in."

"He won't be back. I told him if he came back, I'd shoot his sorry ass."

"I'm leaving right now," Gail said. She stuffed more files into her briefcase and grabbed her purse. Hurrying down the hall she glanced at her watch: 4:15. She would make a call to the day camp for Karen to take the bus. The bus would drop her off around five-thirty. Gail doubted she could make it home by then, but Karen had a key and knew to stay inside. At six-thirty Anthony would arrive to take them for a short visit with his grandfather; then they would go to dinner. That meant that Gail could not afford much time at Jamie's house. She would get her calmed down, maybe have a neighbor come over, then leave.

Miriam was at the copy machine. Lynn was working at the desk behind the frosted window that opened onto the waiting room. When they looked around, Gail told them what had happened.

She was almost out the door when she remembered the repairman. "Damn." She came back to ask for a volunteer. "He'll be there at five, and I can't cancel it."

There was a quick discussion, a comparison of schedules, a shuffling of afternoon activities, kids, husbands. Lynn agreed to go, using Miriam's key to Gail's house.

Gail said, "I'll pay him when I get there, between five-thirty and six. And if you'd keep an eye on Karen too?"

Lynn stood up, nervously clasping her hands. "Be careful, Gail. What if Wendell comes back? What if he's carrying a gun?"

"I'll shoot him with Jamie's."

SEVEN

Wendell Sweet had struck his wife across the face, and her upper lip was swollen. She had bruises on her arms and a bump on her head where he had pushed her against the wall of their bedroom. They had gone in there for privacy, leaving the children in the playroom downstairs.

Gently probing her fingers through Jamie Sweet's thick red hair, Gail found the bump. Jamie had insisted she was fine, but Gail had to be sure. Jamie had also insisted that she didn't want to make a police report. Gail was mystified by this, wanting Jamie to be as angry as she was. It was as though Wendell had come in there and sucked all the air out of the room, leaving Jamie dizzy and weak.

Head bowed, she sat on a satin-covered ottoman in a bedroom overdone to the point of kitsch with gilded furniture, swagged drapes, and tasseled pillows. A gold-framed print of Monet's
Water Lilies,
in purple, occupied the space over a puffy white sofa. A pair of small chandeliers hung on either side of the canopied king-size bed. The gold silk comforter had fallen to the floor, and the air was heavy with the conflicting aromas of unlaundered sheets and perfumed candles burned to puddles of wax. The carpet was littered with toys and children's picture books. Jamie had fired the housekeeper, trying to save money.

"I'm
fine,"
Jamie said again. She moved away from Gail's hand and smoothed her hair. Her blue eyes were puffy from crying and blotchy with mascara. She took another sip of tea. Gail left hers where it was on the dresser, too watery and already cold.

Frustrated, Gail said, "You are not fine. The man just beat you up! I should file a motion for contempt of court."

"This is my decision!"

"Don't be afraid of Wendell. He needs to be put in jail."

"No. I don't want my kids knowing—" Her voice caught. "Knowing the police came to get their daddy."

"But Jamie, isn't it better to show them that the law won't let him get away with—"

"Don't tell me what's better! My own father was in jail. I know how it feels." Jamie lifted her hands. "I'm sorry. Gail, I'm sorry. I'm not thinkin' straight right now."

Gail paced slowly across carpet so thick it nearly snagged her heels. She kept her eyes on Jamie, wondering how to make her listen. It would do no good to say,
I told you not to let him in.
"The judge has to approve a settlement. He won't let Wendell dictate the terms."

"What if I keep pushin', Gail? He could say screw you and leave the country. Then what would I do? The mortgage on this house is almost five thousand dollars a month. I'm so far behind now they're gonna put me out in the street."

"I won't let that happen, I promise. Wendell isn't going to get away with this. Without you he'd still be an oil rigger. You worked double shifts as a waitress to put him through college, and now it's his turn to take care of you. He is legally obligated, and you shouldn't feel the least bit guilty."

"Wendell says he doesn't have enough to keep me and the kids in the house, livin' so high, like we been doing."

"He is lying to you."

"This is such a big place. It wears me out. I got clothes in that closet there I never put on."

Gail could see their reflections in the wall of mirrored closet doors, one woman pacing, one slumped with her head in her hands. She went over and knelt beside Jamie and said quietly, "Okay. You feel overwhelmed right now. Maybe you should look for another place. No pool to take care of, a little less yard. But you'll want a good neighborhood for the kids."

With a wobbly smile Jamie lifted her head. Her eyes glistened with tears. "You want to hear something funny? When me and Wendell were talking—before we started fighting—he said he still loves me."

Gail took her hand. "It's not love to hurt someone. A man who hits you in the face does not
love
you."

"He used to. I used to love him too." Her voice was husky with emotion. "How do people stop loving each other? Was it real to begin with?"