What is Love? (9 page)

Sam watched Rory
sleeping beside her. As her hand brushed Rory’s cheek, he awoke. “What time is
it?” he mumbled into his pillow.

“Four-thirty.”

He rolled on his
back. “God, Sam—”

“I can’t sleep, I’m
worried,” she whispered.

“About what?” He put
his arm around her.

She lay silent,
enjoying the comfort of his embrace, then turned in his arms and lay on her
back. “Johnny. All of this.” Sam looked up at the ceiling. “He doesn’t have
lots of money.”

“But I thought—”

“I know, so did I.
He says I have to wait so he can make arrangements to secure more money and if
she contests the divorce, it could take a couple of years before we can get
married.”

“So wait a little
longer.”

“I can’t. The longer
he delays, the more
 …
the more I
worry. His wife is really determined—now they’re going to counseling. Can you
believe it?”

“That sounds
reasonable for someone who’s been married a long time,” Rory said, tracing a
finger along Sam’s shoulder.

“Reasonable?” She
brushed his hand away. “He’s stalling and I’m worried.”

“Sam, he loves you,
right?”

“Yes
 …
yes, he thinks he does.”

“Then be patient.”

“But what if, after
all this—what if there’s little money? He said most of it belonged to his wife,
from an inheritance, and that he has to change things so she can’t claim it’s
all hers.”

“Sam, you told me
you loved him.”

“Well, I do. He’s
kind, and he spoils me so much. I feel important when I’m with him, like I’m
somebody.”
And safe,
Sam admitted silently to herself. She felt
protected from the world when she was with Jonathan. “I feel amazing around
him. He goes crazy for me—says I make him feel young and alive again—and it’s
fun going to all those fancy places. I can only imagine being his wife, with
loads of money and trips and all the parties—”

“Ah yes!” Rory
laughed and rolled onto his back. He strummed his hands across his stomach.
“Well, well, well. I see your problem. He may not be rich enough for you—and a
girl like you, well, you need an awful lot of money.”

“Very funny.” She
slapped him on his chest and he grabbed her hand.

“It’s true, say so.”
He tightened his grip and grinned.

“Okay, yes. I only
want a very rich and powerful man.”

Rory let go of her
hand. “Which is what he is right now, so really, it’s his wife getting all his
money. She’s the problem.”

“Yes, the bitch. She
can make it very hard for him. He’s done all this work building the company and
she just sits around, playing queen of the parties and spending all that
money.”

“A position you
aspire to.”

“Of course.” Sam
climbed on top of him. “I want it all, all the money, lots of it.”

“Choo want, I could
erase her,” Rory said, attempting his lame mobster impression. “Rub her out.
Cement boots?”

“Oh yes,” Sam
laughed, “and hurry, before I get too old.”

“Too old to enjoy
all that money?”

“Too old to spend it
on fun things.” Sam pounded his abs with her fists. “It’s sick. They have so
much money and they do such boring things. She is such a dud.”

“Well, she is old.
How old is she?”

“Johnny says she’s
fifty-eight, but acts more like she’s eighty-eight.” Sam started tracing hearts
on Rory’s chest with her finger. “She doesn’t do anything fun. It’s like her
plan is to bore her husband to death and then keep all the money.”

“Maybe he loves her
and that’s why he’s stalling—”

“Love her?” Sam
stopped her tracing and bolted upright. “He hates her. She drives him crazy.
She’s a control freak.” She climbed off Rory and sat on the edge of the bed.
“She tells him what to do and criticizes him all the time.” She turned and
plumped her pillow with her fist.

“Yet, he did stay
for a long time—how long exactly?”

“Forty years.”

“Yeah, I’d be sick
of my wife after forty years.” Rory laughed as he pulled Sam closer.

“Not if it were me,”
Sam said as she pinched his cheeks.

Rory grabbed her
hands and flipped her onto her back, then, sitting on her, pinned her hands
above her head. “Don’t go getting all soft for me. I’m off limits, remember?”

“Come on,” Sam
pleaded. “I wouldn’t be boring. Admit it.”

“No
 …
forty years with you and I wouldn’t
be bored, that’s for sure.” He kissed her and stopped. “Maybe they were like us
once?”

“Hardly!”

“Well, to stay even
thirty years, there must have been something.”

“Yeah
 …
money.”

“Come on, think
about it. Maybe he’s not just stalling. Maybe he really can’t leave her.”

Sam pushed him off
and struggled to sit up. “You’re not helping.”

“Well, it’s
possible. He may be just talk, can’t actually pull the plug, needs her nagging
and all. There’s men like that, you know. They need a bitchy, bossy wife
 …
like a bit of torture.”

“Don’t say that.”
She reached across for her cigarettes.

“But it might be
true
 …
”

“I’ve invested
almost two years in this. I am so damn close.” Sam sat up and leaned against
the headboard. “I can see myself in that huge house. There I am, just sitting
around in expensive designer clothes, visiting spas, telling my staff what to
do and going to fancy parties—”

“Okay, okay. I get
the picture. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“In case it doesn’t
work out.”

Sam looked away.
“Oh, it will work out. It will damn well work out.” She faced him, shaking her
lighter. “I will do whatever’s necessary to make this work. Whatever!”

“Even rub her out?”
Rory laughed.

“Yes
 …”
Sam said softly, unable to force a
laugh. “Even that.”

***

The rain lashed hard
against the window of the coin shop. From inside the shop, Ellen could see dark
thunderclouds approaching.

“Here are some of
the pictures I took of the subject. She wasn’t hard to tail—goes out a lot.”
Morty pushed the stack of photos toward Ellen. She picked them up and studied
each one. There was several of her with Jonathan at lunch. By the dates in the
corner these were recent lunches. Her stomach tightened. As she looked at Sam’s
face, envy started to rise, a stinging feeling, expanding in the wall of her
chest. Jonathan had had mistresses before, but this one was different. Yes, she
hated to admit, she was beautiful. Ellen could see how he was so easily seduced
by her looks, and her—what was it she felt as she stared at this vixen?

“She’s got charm,
that one,” Morty cut in, breaking Ellen’s jealous fixation. “Charm up the
yazoo, pardon the expression. Seen loads of girls in my line of work, but she
has that extra something, men just goes crazy around her. Hell, even I felt a
little—”

“Point taken, Morty,
I get it.” Ellen set the pictures down. “Actually I don’t get it. If she’s that
amazing, why him? Why my Jonathan? I mean, let’s be honest, he’s no movie star.
She could have anyone, so why on earth him? I mean, he’s far too old for her
anyway.”

“It’s like this
 …”
Morty adjusted himself in his
chair, creating a wretched screech. “Way I see it is—she’s from small-town
nowhere and has had nothing her whole life except the attention of men
 …
she gets to the big city, full of
dreams and ain’t no ordinary guy gonna give her those dreams. See, she’s used
to brushing off loads of guys, especially good-looking ones, so it’s easy—” Morty
raised his hands for emphasis. “She waits until she catches a big fish.”

“A big fish?”

“A catch, a rich
sugar daddy.”

“But why so old?”

Morty abruptly
leaned backward, the rusted bearings squealing without mercy.

“You ain’t gonna
like this—”

“Try me,” Ellen
pleaded.

“These rich old guys
are easy, they usually been nagged to death and starved so long in the bedroom
sense—hell, they’re ripe for the picking.”

Ellen blushed,
feeling the full heat of her own failures burn across her face.

“Then you factor in
that no one listens to them anymore, no one thinks they’re good-looking or sexy
and—wham!” Morty smashed his fist on the desk, causing Ellen to flinch. “You
have a recipe for instant gold-digging. It’s like a license to print money.
That and the daddy angle. See,” Morty leaned forward in his rusty chair, “some
girls grow up without a daddy and without all that love and security a daddy
brings, so they go out and find it. They need it. They attach themselves to a
man that gives them that safety, and nothing’s gonna stop it. They become
obsessed. She probably believes she really does love your husband.”

“I feel sick.” Ellen
rose to her feet. Morty stood and poured a glass of water. “Where’s your
ladies’ room?” she asked, holding her stomach.

Morty pointed down
the hall. “First door on your left—don’t mind if the seat’s up.”

She stood beside the
door to the bathroom, leaning against the wall and holding her stomach. Who was
she kidding? This wasn’t news. This was what she knew all along.
You aren’t
here to listen to sugar-coated lies; you are here to get the truth—even if it
hurts. It’s the only way you can win.
Ellen closed her eyes and imagined
victory against the pretty face that filled her mind with such hate.
Morty
is here to help; now get out there and get on with it.

“Morty,” Ellen said,
as she took her seat again, inspired with renewed vigor. “What have you got? I
want to fix this minx and send her off in a new direction, to find a new
catch.”

“You see, Mrs.
Horvath, that’s the problem. There just wasn’t much to find. I mean her mother,
well
 …
now, there’s a project
for you, a real loser. A former stripper, a druggie with a charge of
possession, spent most of her years wasting away, dating and supporting career
criminals, you know the type.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Well
 …
the rest of her family appears
completely corrupt, a rap sheet of drug-related offences and a bunch of theft.
Big losers, but nothing much to shame your old man—er, husband about. Now, this
Samantha girl, there’s not much, I’m afraid. She’s clean, seems to be staying
far away from the family’s gutter lifestyle, if you get my drift. I’d have to
look harder—”

“Are you asking for
more money?”

“Yes—well, no.”
Morty waved his hands in the air and leaned toward Ellen. He tugged on his belt
and rested his hands on the buckle. “You sorta get a hunch about this stuff. I
don’t think there’s much dirt to find.” Morty tapped the file folder.

“Well, what do you
have?” she said, dejected. She had truly expected that he would uncover a
scandal, something horrible, or at the very least, something to be embarrassed
about.

“Let’s see …”
He rifled through the pages. “Here
 …”
he
pointed a grimy page of notes. “She graduated from Sherburne-Earlville High
School in 1972; average grades, and then took a job in a night club, as a
martini girl.”

“Martini girl, maybe
there?”

“Nothing. I checked
it out, was hired because of looks and not much else, said she got lots of tips
and kept the men happy. They loved watching her shaking that martini shaker.”

“I bet they did.”

“But no action.”
Morty shook his head in apology. “She wasn’t into much outside of work.
Occasional boyfriends. One guy, a Rory Chasen, seemed a bit of a regular
squeeze, followed her to the city. Other than that—oh here—she did a stint
dancing at the Upside Club on Seventh Avenue. A cage dancer. Not for long
though, as soon as she got her job at Horvath Industries, she quit.” Morty
smoothed his thinning hair back. “Like I said, no monkey business. No nude
photos, not so far anyway, and no sex for sale.”

“Well, that’s a huge
relief,” Ellen said with her best sarcastic smile. Morty didn’t return the
smile. “What about drugs? She must have used some drugs, girls like her—”

“Nothing. She might
be using, but she’s never been busted.” He flipped through more notes. “Driving—she’s
clean, no DUI or accidents.”

“Why on earth would
I care if she was in an accident?”

“Mostly if she
caused one. Hit and run shows bad if you killed someone. You run over a mom and
kids—your life’s over!” He snapped his fingers. “Especially if you was drunk.”

“Oh yes, of course
 …
and nothing like that?”

“Zip!” Morty pulled
out a page covered in colored post-it notes. “But man, her finances are
something nasty, a real big mess. Seems she’s addicted to charge cards.”
Morty’s head nodded in all directions like a bobble-head on a dashboard. “Wow,
has she got a lot of plastic—racked up a whole pile of debt.” Morty looked up,
anticipating a reaction.

“Well, that’s
encouraging.” Ellen leaned closer and smiled. “Go on.”

“Seems to be buying
a lot of appliances, lots of washers and dryers.”

“Appliances? Why on
earth would a young girl need—?”

“See it all the
time,” Morty clasped his hands behind his head, leaned back and nodded,
“usually gambling problems. They buy the appliances on credit, then sell ‘em for
cash. Classic little scam. Hell, she might not even know about some of them.”

“How can that be?”

“Seems to be a bunch
under her name and credit file, but at a different address. Me?” Morty leaned
forward. “I think she’s none the wiser. I think her naughty Mommy or an old
flame is racking these babies up and she won’t know about any of it till the
shit hits the fan.”

“Well, that’s
something; maybe she has the gambling problem and they’re helping her.”