Next To You (20 page)

‘Yeah. I’ve always wanted to embrace my inner James Bond, but I should really embrace my inner Tom Hanks.’

Caroline set the popcorn aside, shifted, and put her arm around Will’s neck, hugging him. ‘Thanks for being my Tom Hanks good guy good friend and putting up with my snot all over your James Bondian Tom Ford suit today.’

With a shrug, he hugged her back. When she settled against his shoulder again he chuckled. ‘You know, Tom feels up Elizabeth Perkins in
Big
. His hands are all over her boobs. The camera lingers on Tom’s amazement over feeling her breasts.’

‘And in this movie Tom gets felt up by Michael Clarke Duncan.’

‘You gotta spoil my boob-feeling image fun, don’t you?’

Caroline chuckled, and turned to watch the screen. Will nodded off just after Tom Hanks’ character had his balls in Michael Clarke Duncan’s character’s hand.

The TV screen was blue when he opened his eyes. Slouched comfortably against the back corner of the couch, Will had pillow under his neck, his legs stretched out along one length. Caroline rested the other direction.

She was fast asleep with her head on his stomach.

Will unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, loosened his tie, pulling it free as he collected his racing, competing thoughts about her marital circumstances—and present position. He wanted to slip alongside her and have the glory of her body resting against his, but his only option was clear. He took a breath, prepared to do the proper gentlemanly thing, and began to ease himself from her sleeping form.

Batman’s head snapped up. From the rug in front of the TV, ears sharply pointed, the dog looked at Will, quizzically, until Caroline rolled sideways, her nose nestling into Will’s armpit.

The dog settled his face back onto his paws, and Will decided he wasn’t going anywhere. He was comfortable right where he was. So was Caroline, and he liked having her there.

He was also hedonistic … and lazy, too lazy to get up and go through the hassle of undressing and, well, too lazy to move to another room.

But mostly, he was too lazy to stop enjoying sleeping beside a woman with soft perfume and soft hair.

Will was well in touch with his hedonism, but lazy … he’d never realized exactly
how
lazy he was. He’d told himself he was comfortable, told himself he liked uncomplicated, but he finally worked out that his comfort and the lack of complication in his life added up to nothing more than his being lazy.

And
lazy
sure explained a few easy little habits he had. Yet did he need to step outside all the easy? Was there a real point, beyond it stroking his ego, for exiting the simplicity of his life when lazy worked just fine?

He switched off the TV, took off his glasses, and shoved them on the top of the couch. He pulled at the mohair blanket draped over the back of the sofa, unfolding it with one hand, spreading it so it covered Caroline. A moment later, his hand settled onto her head and he floated off to dream.

He raced his bike in the Isle of Man TT. He won the MotoGP, beating Jorge Lorenzo leaving Valentino Rossi in the dust, squeaking by Dani Pedrosa. He rode Route 66 with Caroline, all the way from Chicago to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

They stopped on the side of the road, under the silver-green leaves of a shady cottonwood tree, and he held her in his arms. Her hair blew into his face, tickling his nose, and when he pushed it away to smooth it behind her ears he saw Alex.

Caroline became the tree. Dark red hair wrapped around her trunk, and Alex peered through leaves that grew fatter and brighter green until each leaf was swollen with poison. With a knife, Alex began to carve his name in the bark of the tree. Caroline screamed and screamed, and the poison leaves exploded, the caustic wash coating Will, burning slowly.

Blistering, prickly anger moved through him, spider-like. Fine hairs of animosity and rage irritated his rationality, leaving a streaky rash in his mind, and Will woke with a start, beside Caroline, itching.

He didn’t need Jungian analysis to tell him his nightmare and the lingering inflammation that made him scratch his arms was the result of failing to come to her aid the first time he’d seen Alex abuse her.

Will had to put a stop to living a lazy life. He had to do more than simply leave domestic violence information in her mailbox. He had to do more than
hope
she’d realize exactly was happening with her estranged husband. Whether it was physical, mental abuse, or both, it was a complicated situation, one Will knew Caroline was aware of. Except that her being aware and leaving Alex didn’t seem to be enough.

Gently, Will slipped from the sofa, adjusted the blanket over her, and stretched. Her eyes opened and then closed again. She made a small sound he would have sworn was a laugh. He watched for a little while.

How long had she’d stayed with Alex before she finally tried to escape? What explanation could she have for why she insisted on clinging to him? Will didn’t imagine that she loved Alex, but love was the only reason that made any sense.

As he stood, his gaze fixed on Caroline, Batman moved from his cozy spot on the Turkish rug. He set his tiny paws against the cushioned edge of the couch, and he watched too. Then the dog glanced up at Will as if to say,
how come you didn’t do something before what happened yesterday?

Scratching his whisker-stubbly neck, Will looked down at the dog and resolved to act with more moral fiber, to leave lazy and any thought of his ego behind. He let Caroline sleep and took Batman home to feed him. After he let the dog out to pee, Will carried on with his normal morning routine. He went to get his newspaper. When he’d returned with the
Tribune
, she’d gone home. He tossed the paper on the empty couch, crossed the landing, opened the door, and poked his head inside, calling out, ‘Squirt?’

He found her in the living room, in a half downward dog pose, her face tight with a grimace. ‘Hi,’ she said, straightening. ‘Thanks for letting Batman out.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he said. His grin felt lopsided. ‘You’re not planning on running this morning with a bum knee?’

‘No, I’m just doing a bit of yoga to keep it from stiffening up on me.’

‘Well, don’t fall over and give your butt another crack.’ He put a hand in his pocket. ‘Wanted to let you know I’m going to have to skip this morning’s coffee. I’ve got something to take care of before eight-thirty.’

***

‘
I hm-hm
,’ Will had a sip of Pumpkin Spice latte, ‘
in love this hm-hm
.’ He hummed the rest of the song and watched out the window of the Walgreens across the street from Webb & Fairchild, waiting for the number 22 bus.

‘
All men hm …’
he paused, drank more coffee, and sweet cinnamon and nutmeg rolled over his tongue, ‘…
hmm someone
…’ He’d begun to sing the old Monkees’ tune ‘You Just May be the One’ under his breath when Alex exited the vehicle a few moments after Caroline.

Jumping to conclusions and coincidence be damned, William Murphy, Private Investigator, was on the job. He knew he was being juvenile, he knew was getting carried away, thinking of himself again as a PI in an old black and white movie, but he had to know, had to be sure, had to allay his own concern. When Alex crossed the street, Will left the drug store and followed the man.

As before, Alex kept a discreet distance while Caroline made her way to work. When she went through Webb & Fairchild’s State Street front entrance, Alex paused to tie his shoe before he continued south, and took a left on Washington.

Unlike before, rather than crossing the street and heading toward Michigan Avenue and the coffee shop he’d gone into the last time, Alex turned left, and went in through Webb & Fairchild’s Wabash entrance.

So did Will.

It became apparent Alex had a well-established routine for his surveillance. He stopped in men’s accessories on the ground floor, placed a briefcase on top of a table display of handkerchiefs, opened it, and took off his tweed blazer. He pulled a rumpled green jacket from the case, unrolled a blue ball cap from his pocket, and stuffed his ponytail into it. A moment later, blazer packed in the briefcase, he traveled to men’s fragrances, sprayed himself with the new Ralph Lauren cologne, then rode the central atrium escalator to the second floor.

The word
vindicated
came to Will’s mind. He felt vindicated and a few other words like seething, vicious, and alarmed.

He moved quickly, jogging to the escalator near Tailored Men’s Clothing, taking the moving staircase two steps at a time. Methodically, he covered the second floor near Personal Shopping, strode into Designer Wear, crossed through Dress Shirts and Ties, and wound up in Sportswear—where Alex pretended to look at socks and underwear.

Will passed back through Shoes and Designer Clothes to Personal Shopping. Rather than Caroline, Stuart sat behind the desk. ‘Hello Stuart.’

‘Mr. Murphy,’ Stuart nodded pleasantly. ‘It’s been a little while. How nice to see you again, sir.’

‘I thought you worked in Designer Menswear.’

‘I fill in for the personal shopper as well.’

‘Does that mean the lovely Caroline is unavailable?’

‘She is lovely, isn’t she? She’s proven to be quite popular in personal shopping. We’re lucky to have her back. You’re the second gentleman asking after her this morning. I can assist you with anything you need, but she’ll be up here again after lunch. If you’d prefer to speak with her directly, she’s on level three in Women’s Personal Shopping this morning.’

‘Thank you. Take care, Stuart.’

‘You too, sir.’

Hostility mushroomed in Will’s heart. He hurried up the escalator to Women’s Wear on the third level. Unfamiliar with the layout of this floor, he asked a sales clerk for directions. He took his time moving through the area. It would be easy to spot a man amid petite and maternity clothing, especially a scruffy-looking one like Alex. If he had to, Will would hang out up here all morning and play private eye.

When he passed through Career Women’s Fashions, Caroline swished by in a green blouse, a multicolored striped skirt, and dark stockings that concealed the bandage on her knee. She carried several dresses on hangers, holding them high so as not to let the longest gown touch the carpeted floor.

She saw him, smiled, and hung the clothes on a brass rack that was a little too high for her to reach comfortably. ‘Hey there, Frosty.’

‘Hiya, Squirt.’

‘Let me guess. Today is the first day you’ve seriously thought about cross-dressing and you’ve come to me for professional assistance? I can see you in this pink chiffon dress.’ She fluffed out a flowing long gown on the clothes rack. ‘Pink will suit you nicely. But be careful when you try it on. Ms. Hellman’s inside the change room.’

He narrowed an eye. ‘I thought you said purple was my color.’

‘You could do pink. I have a powder pink Tom Ford suit upstairs that would look great on you. I know you like Tom Ford. He fits you and James Bond so well.’

‘No thanks.’ Will waggled a finger, glancing around for Alex. ‘I’ll pass, but I still need a new raincoat. Can you show me some, preferably one that isn’t pink?’

‘I’m with a client now, but Stuart can show you. I’ll call down to let him know you’re coming.’

Will shook his head. ‘I’d rather wait for you. To be honest, I came in this morning to get a gift for Bea, my secretary. You’ve spoken with her a few times. I know she can come across severe, especially on the phone, but she looks after me, and ol’ Bea’s all heart. Who am I calling old? She’s the same age as me. Anyway, I just thought I’d drop by to say hi before I get her a nice box of chocolates.’

‘Is this supposed to fit this way, Caroline?’ A statuesque woman with a mass of long, golden curls stepped from the changing room, adjusting the collar of the blue and pink paisley blouse. She fiddled with the sales tags on the sleeve, and when she looked up she glowered at the two of them. ‘Do you
mind
, Caroline?’

‘Uh-oh, now you’re in trouble,’ he said under his breath.

‘M-hm,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m coming, Ms. Hellman. I’m just finishing with Mr. Murphy.’

‘You can finish with him later. This is my time, and I’m
waiting
, Caroline!’

‘I guess I’ll see you later.’ Without thinking, Will dropped a kiss on her mouth and turned towards the central atrium escalators. He left, the blonde with the curly hair-do bitching about being kept waiting.

As he looked back at the woman rebuking his friend, he caught a flash of Alex rushing by a rack of pantsuits. The man moved toward the escalators. Will let him gain a bit of distance, and rode down the escalator, peering over the edge of the black handrail to keep an eye on the blue ball cap as it circled to the next flight the floor below. By the time Will got to the street level, Alex crossed through jewelry and headed out the west entrance. The redhead paused to let traffic pass, and hurried across the street. He darted into a bakery-café, bought a cup of coffee, and went to the bus stop where his surveillance had started. When the bus arrived, he climbed on board.

Fifteen seconds after the number 22 bus pulled away from the stop, William Murphy went back to his office and told his secretary he was taking the rest of the day off. He changed back into his leathers, sent his shirt and suit to the cleaners. After he took the elevator to the executive parking area, he rode his motorcycle home and waited for Alex to show himself.

Four hours later, Caroline looked at him, and laughed. ‘What?’ Will said.

‘Are you sure you want to drive? ‘

‘I’m fine,’ he said, despite the fact the steering wheel was in his lap, there wasn’t any legroom, and his knees banged against the dashboard of her little sports car. ‘I’ve ridden a Triumph motorcycle, now I want to drive Triumph sports car. Besides, the seat’s comfortable.’

‘Let’s see if you say the same thing in ten minutes. You look like a well-dressed pretzel.’

His laugh boomed in the small space. ‘Oh, the things I do for junk food,’ he said, accelerating a little too quickly up the street, taking the corner a little faster than necessary.

Caroline put a hand on the dash, steadying herself. ‘Whoa! Yes, going to get ice cream and groceries
is
exciting. I see you’re channeling your big kid and inner Steve McQueen, but this is an English sports car, not an American muscle ca—are you double clutching?’