Annihilate Me 2: Vol. 1 (21 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After confirming lunch with Lisa at
La
Masseria
, I called Tank to ask him if he’d drive
me across town.
 
A part of me wanted
to just take a cab in an effort to step out of my current life and leave it
behind, but given the press, which could be anywhere at any point, I knew that
it was best to be safe and to rely on the one man few would dare to cross.

I rode the elevator to the lobby
and when the doors slid open, Tank was waiting for me.

When I saw him, I immediately
hooked my arm through his.
 
Tank was
a beast and he dwarfed me by a good foot, but for so many at Wenn, he was
exactly the kind of giant you wanted at your side—he was nothing if not a
gentleman, but he could be ferocious towards those who threatened his
charges.
 

Looking at him now, I thought he
looked terrific in his fitted black suit, white shirt, and gold tie, which Lisa
and I had picked out for him two weeks before.
 
I looked down at his shoes, and was
happy to see that he was even wearing the Prada men’s Oxfords we’d picked up
for him at Barneys.
 
They were as
masculine as he was.

“You look handsome,” I said.

He smiled down at me.
 
“Is that a fact?”

“It is.”

“I believe you had a hand in all
this?”

“Guilty as charged.
 
Do you like the shoes?”

“They’re kind of stiff, but I’ll
break them in.”

“But do you like the style?”

“Yeah, I like them.
 
They’ve got some good traction, which I
need.
 
I’m just used to something a
little more basic, that’s all.”

“You’re beyond basic.
 
And by the way, I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know what.”

“So, I assume that my information
on Rowe helped?”

“Let’s just say that’s one bastard
who has his guard up.”

“Good.
 
He should have his guard up.
 
How did you handle it?”

As we strolled across the lobby, I
told him about everything that had transpired on the dance floor.

“He’s likely wondering if you’re
bluffing, you know?”

“He’s an egotist.
 
Of course he’s wondering.
 
And why not?
 
It’s not as if I offered him solid
proof.
 
Still, thanks to you, I
nailed everything else—from the name of his mistress straight down to
where they have their little trysts.
 
Oh, and also the apartment he bought for her.”

“Do you think that’s enough?”

“I don’t know yet.
 
We’ll need to wait and see how he
behaves before we can know for sure.”

“Hmmm,” he said.

“Hmmm, what?”

“Hmmm, as in I’m thinking.
 
If I can get anything more concrete,
I’ll let you know.
 
I have friends
in security all over this city.
 
Many of them owe me favors.
 
Let me put out some feelers today.
 
It’s unlikely that Rowe will see his woman so soon after you called him
out on it, but men are men.
 
He’ll
be with her again.
 
Give me some
time to see what I can lock down.”

“I’m so glad Lisa is engaged to
you.”

“And I’m perfectly happy that she
accepted.”

“Thanks for helping me out with
Rowe.
 
In the end, it will only help
Wenn.”

“I just wish I could have been
there, because I know how you can be.”

“You should have seen his face.”

“I would have enjoyed it.”

“Today, he sent me a dozen black
roses with a note telling me to fuck off.”

“Did he sign the note?”

“Hell, no.
 
But I know it came from him.”

“Class act.”

“That’s what I said to Ann.”

“Let’s get you to Lisa,” he
said.
 
“She hasn’t seen you in a
week, as I was reminded a few times this morning.
 
She’s anxious to see you, especially
after what Alex and you have been through recently, and particularly after what
happened last night.”

As we crossed the lobby, I looked
out the window to my left.
 
“It
doesn’t appear as if any members of the press are here.”

“They’ll be here by the time Alex
and you leave.
 
As for now, there
are other stories to cover.”

We walked through the doors,
stepped out onto a sidewalk teeming with people walking along Fifth, and moved
toward the car waiting for us curbside.
 
Cutter was driving.
 
Tank
held open my door for me, closed it, and got into the front seat.

“La
Masseria
,”
he said to Cutter.
 
“Jennifer needs
some downtime with her best friend.”

*
 
*
 
*

La
Masseria
was located at 235 West Forty-Eighth Street.
 
From the outside, it was intentionally
nondescript and looked deceptively small.
 
But inside, it was large, thriving, and inviting, which was perfect
since the stars of the surrounding Broadway shows were frequent patrons.
 
It was a unique space that allowed
well-known actors to disappear toward the back of the restaurant without
causing the stir they might have caused otherwise.
 

Unlike many of the restaurants in
Times Square, this one was a justified standout.
 
The service was impeccable, the wine
list was extensive, the cuisine was authentic and delicious, the pasta was made
on site, and no matter who you were, you were never rushed.
 
It was the absolute antithesis of what
dining in the Square typically offered—cheap eats and underwhelming food
at popular chain restaurants.
 
La
Masseria
was so understated, only those in the know knew
how good it was.

Which is what I loved about it.

The car stopped in front of the
restaurant, and Tank stepped outside and escorted me inside, where a hostess
greeted us.
 

“Good afternoon,” she said.
 
“Do you have a reservation?”

“I’m actually here to meet a
friend,” I said.
 
“The reservation
is under Wenn.”

A look of recognition crossed the
woman’s face, but she checked it almost at once.
 
She looked down at her computer.
 
“I see here that there are only two of
you.”

“Yes.
 
I’m here to have lunch with my
girlfriend, Lisa.
 
Has she arrived?”

“In fact, she has.
 
But I think I have a table that will better
suit you, Mrs. Wenn.
 
Something more
private and discrete.
 
Would you
like that?”

“Please.”

“Will the gentleman be joining
you?”

I turned to Tank.
 
“Why don’t you have lunch with us?
 
Come on—you know it will be
fun.
 
Don’t say ‘no’.”

“This is all about you and Lisa,”
he said.
 
“You two need time
alone.”
 
He winked at me.
 
“Besides, I get to spend tonight with
her.”
 
He gave my arm a friendly
squeeze.
 
“Call me when you’re ready
to leave.
 
I’ll be outside before
you pay the bill.”
 

And with that, he left the
restaurant.
 

“Let me take you back to your
friend, and then I’ll bring you to another table at the rear of the
restaurant,” the hostess said.
 
“It’s for VIPs.
 
You won’t be
bothered, Mrs. Wenn.
 
I can assure
you of that.”

If there ever was a time that I
wanted privacy, this was it.
 
“I
appreciate that,” I said.
 
“Thank
you.”

When we came upon Lisa, who was
seated in the middle of the large space with her blonde hair raked back into a
chic ponytail and her bright blue eyes shining up at me like a balm, she stood
up and gave me a hug.
 
I wrapped my
arms around her and gave her a kiss on each cheek.

“God, it’s good to see you,” she
said in my ear.
 
“I’ve been thinking
of you all week—especially today.”

I drank in her warmth like a tonic,
and gave it right back to her.
 
“I’ve had better weeks,” I said.

“I’m so sorry, Jennifer—for
all of it.”

“How about this?
 
For the next two hours, we put it all
behind us.
 
I want a mental break
from it all and I want time to enjoy my friend.
 
They’re moving us to a more private
table.
 
So, gather up your things,
darling.
 
Apparently, we’re heading
south.”

Within seconds, we were seated at
the back of the room at a lovely, large table that overlooked the entire
restaurant.

“I assume with your new zombie
novel coming out that you’re having something rare for lunch today?” I
said.
 
“Brains?
 
Intestines?
 
Maybe a beating heart?”

“I’m all about embracing the raw
movement.”

The hostess who seated us asked if
we wanted anything to drink.

“Two martinis, please,” Lisa
said.
 
“It’s what we do.”

My stomach wasn’t exactly craving a
martini—I still felt a bit nauseous from the weight of the day.
 
But I refused to spoil lunch, so I just
went with it.
 
“Belvedere for me,” I
said.
 
“With a twist.”

“Grey Goose here, three olives,
dirty.”

“Perfect,” the woman said.
 
She handed each of us a menu, informed
us of the specials, and then told us that our waiter would be back in a moment
with our drinks.

I looked at Lisa.
 
“Do you realize that this month marks
our one-year anniversary of moving here?
 
Think about that for a second—one year since we kissed Maine
goodbye.”

“I actually thought of that this
morning.”

“It seems like five years ago.”

“I know.
 
It’s weird.”

“A year ago, both of us were
busting our asses to get to a better space in our lives.
 
I was out of work for months.
 
You were just starting to hit on Amazon.
 
And now look at us.
 
It’s almost too much.”

“And I’ll take it,” Lisa said.
 
“Have you forgotten our shitty little
walk-up apartment?”

“Well, there’s that…”
 

Once our drinks had arrived and the
waiter had stepped away, Lisa picked up her cocktail and held it up to me.
 
“Lives change.
 
But this friendship hasn’t.
 
Cheers to you, Jennifer.”

“And cheers to you, Lisa.
 
I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I picked up my cocktail, and we
touched glasses, but I found that I could only take the slightest of sips,
which Lisa noted.
 
“Sorry,” I
said.
 
“My stomach is a little
off.
 
Laying booze on top of it
probably isn’t the smartest thing I could do right now.”

She furrowed her brow at me.
 
“That’s a new one,” she said.
 
“Usually, a martini calms your nerves.”

“I know, right?
 
I should be bathing myself in vodka at
this point.
 
But the thought of
drinking makes my stomach turn.”

“You’re just going through a
difficult time.
 
I know you don’t
want to talk about it now, and I respect that.
 
Just know that I sent a bomb threat to
the
Post
after reading today’s special edition.”

“Thanks, lovey.”

When the waiter came by to take our
orders, Lisa said that she was going to have the
trancio
di
salmone
con salsa
alla
mostarda
.

“Salmon,” I said.
 
“Yum.”

The waiter looked at me.
 
“And yourself, Mrs. Wenn?”