Overseas (8 page)

“Don’t worry. I’m okay. What… what are you doing here?”

“Out for a run.” His voice was grim.

A groan escaped from the man on the ground. “Let’s get going,” Julian said.

“And leave him here?”

“He’s all right,” he said scornfully. “Arsehole.” The word sounded especially crude in his cut-glass British voice.

“What if he, like, dies?”

“He’s not going to
die
, Kate, I assure you.” He met my eyes and drew in a heavy breath. “All right. I’ll call 911 and leave a tip.”

“We have to stay. We can’t just walk away. It’s, like, a
crime
scene. Sort of.”

His knuckles rested on his hips. I could feel his frown, though I couldn’t quite make it out in the gloaming. He looked at the body on the pavement, and then turned back to enclose me in a long silent stare. “Fine. But it’s going to get messy. You’ll have to give a statement, maybe appear in court. He’ll probably sue me, once he knows who I am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. Not your fault. I can afford a lawyer, for God’s sake.” He drew out a phone from the pocket of his running shorts and punched the keypad. “I suppose it’s the right thing, anyway,” he said. “Not that he deserves it, mind you.”

I felt my muscles begin to tremble now, breaking past my determination to stay calm. I wrapped my arms around my middle. Julian was talking on the phone, rapid and calm, facing the prone man, but he saw my movement peripherally and his eyes flicked over to me. He reached out his left arm and drew me in. “She seems all right,” he was saying, “but she’s beginning to go into shock. I’m trying to keep her warm. Yes. All right. Two minutes. Thanks very much.”

He slid the phone back into his shorts and put his other arm around me. “They’ll be here shortly. Try to breathe slowly.”

“Really, I’m okay,” I insisted, forcing down a sob. I’d never had hysterics, and I wasn’t going to start now, with Julian Laurence holding me in his arms. His thick heather-gray T-shirt felt soft against my face, slightly damp with sweat; his chest radiated with lovely heat. “So how did you happen to be out running just now?” I demanded.

“Ruddy good luck, I suppose,” he said.

I turned that over for a few seconds, and then something occurred to me.

“And where did you learn to punch like that?”

“Hmm. University.”

“They teach
boxing
at college in England?”

“The sweet science. Feeling better?” His arms began to ease.

“Yes, a little. What if he wakes up?”

“Don’t worry,” he said darkly, and I shut up. I could hear a siren now, at the outer fringes of my hearing.

“I guess this isn’t the right time to talk…” I began.

“Hush,” he said, running his palms along my back. The siren was getting louder. “We’ll talk later.”

T
HE POLICE TOOK ONE LOOK
at the situation—my scrapes and bruises, the groaning figure on the pavement, our forthright explanations, Julian’s knuckles—and didn’t give us much trouble, beyond taking down our statements and names and addresses. They’re pretty smart, the NYPD. They can tell the good guys from the bad.

Still, it was late when I got back to my apartment. One of the policemen gave us a ride to the East Side in his cruiser, and dropped me off first.

“You’re really all right?” Julian asked, as I put my hand on the door handle.

“Nothing a little Neosporin can’t cure,” I promised. “Um, thanks, by the way. I’ve never been rescued before.”

“I could have lived without it.”

“Of course. Bad joke.” I hesitated. “Sorry about the trouble. I mean, I really am.”

His voice went soft. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and paused. “Take care.”

Was that it?
Take
care?

“You too,” I said, and got out of the cruiser. It sped off down Seventy-ninth
Street and turned right on Lexington, down the five short blocks to Julian’s house.

P
HONE
. P
HONE RINGING
. I scrabbled at my bedside table for my BlackBerry and pressed the green button. “Hello?”

The ringing kept on going. Must be the landline.

I rolled out of bed and squinted at the clock. Six-thirty in the morning. Who the hell could it be? I couldn’t even think straight. Where
was
the phone? Somewhere in the living room, right? We almost never used it.

I found it at last. “Hello?” I mumbled.

“Is this Katherine Wilson?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Amy Martinez from the
New York Post
. I understand you were involved in an incident in Central Park last night with Julian Laurence of Southfield Associates?”

The handset slipped from my fingers to crash on the floor.

My thumbs flew.
Julian, the
Post
just called. What should I say? Call me. I don’t know your number. Kate. P.S. So, so
sorry.

The phone rang a minute later. “Kate?”

“Julian. I’m so sorry.”

“Enough of that rubbish. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re right, we should have left him there. I’m so stupid. I didn’t think about what it all meant for you.”

I heard him sigh. “Kate, it’s irrelevant. I can handle a bit of press.”

“But you hate publicity.”

Silence. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re never in the papers. You never give interviews. And now Page Six is calling me and drawing God knows what conclusions…”

“Calm down, darling. What did you say to them?”

“Um. I said no comment,” I mumbled. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? I mean, I’ve never talked to a reporter before…”

“What was her name?”

“Amy something. Menendez?”

“Martinez. I’ll call her and sort things out. Go back to sleep.”

“
Sleep?
I have to go to work. Oh, crap. Work. What should I tell them?”

“Tell them the truth. If they ask.”

“Which is?”

He laughed at that point. “Which is that we were running in the park, and some rotter tried to attack you.”

“Oh, sure.
That
will shut them all up.”

“Look, I don’t mind. Tell them whatever you like, whatever sounds right to you. Let me handle Miss Martinez. We’ve spoken before.”

My shoulders slumped. “Okay. Gladly.”

“And don’t apologize,” he warned, just as I opened my mouth to do it.

“Right,” I said. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Good. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Sore. You?”

“Right as rain. Now take some aspirin and go to work. I’ll handle it.”

“All right.” I paused. “Thanks, Julian. I mean that.”

“Good-bye, Kate. I’ll ring you later.”

I hung up the phone and stared at it. Aspirin? Who the hell took aspirin anymore?

6.

By lunchtime, the word was out.

Charlie cornered me in one of the unused conference rooms in the far corners of the Capital Markets floor. I hadn’t turned on the lights. I was hoping no one would notice me there. “Dude, what the fuck?” he asked under his breath. “You’re all over the Internet.”

“Oh God. Seriously?”

“Julian Laurence really laid some guy out for you?”

“It was all just a big misunderstanding,” I said.

“Some fucking misunderstanding. It’s on
Gawker
, dude.”

“Gawker? You’ve got to be
kidding
me!”

“Serious as a fucking heart attack. Links to the Smoking Gun.”

“What’s that?”

He pulled my laptop over and began typing a new URL. “It’s this Web site that posts public documents. Divorce filings and police reports, shit like that. And there! Boo-ya!” He turned the screen so I could see it.

“Wow,” I said, impressed. There was last night’s police report, every livid detail.

“So is that pretty much how it went down? And why were you out running with Julian Laurence, anyway?”

“I wasn’t. He just happened to be there when the guy ran into me.”

Charlie’s eyebrows lifted. He was no idiot. “Just happened to be there, huh?”

“Yeah. Wild, huh?”

He shook his head. “Full of shit, Kate. Full of shit. I thought we were friends.”

“Charlie, I swear to God, I did not go out running with Julian Laurence last night! I was totally shocked when he came up and laid into that jerk.”

“Shocked,
shocked
,” he said, like the guy in
Casablanca.

“Seriously, Charlie. I wouldn’t lie to you. Alicia and Banner, maybe, but not you.”

He sat down in the chair next to me and swiveled for a moment. “All right. Fine. So do you think it was a coincidence? Or was he following you?”

“I don’t know.” I turned back to my computer and propped up my chin with one hand.

“It would be some fucking coincidence,” he offered.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Are you okay? You’re not, like, hurt or anything?”

“Oh,
now
you think of my well-being. Once all the gossip is cleared away.”

He flashed me a smile. “Hey, priorities! Seriously, though. You’re all right?”

“I am totally all right. Just a couple of scrapes.” I pointed to my right arm. “Band-Aid stuff.”

“Awesome. So have you had lunch yet?”

“Charlie, there’s no way I’m poking my nose out of this conference room.”

He considered this for a second or two. “I can bring you back something.”

“Why are you being so freaking nice?”

“
Fucking
nice,” he corrected me. “Because you’re famous now, and our celebrity-obsessed cultural imperative makes me, like, want to suck up to you. Reuben, maybe?”

“Too greasy. Maybe something from that soup guy around the corner?”

He stood up. “Done.”

“And a Diet Coke?”

“Don’t push it. You’re not that famous. Oh, fuck
me
. I’m outta here.”

He dashed out of the conference room like I’d stung him, brushing past Alicia Boxer with a muttered “Hey, dude.”

She frowned at his disappearing figure, and turned back to me with a broad grin. “Wow, Kate! You dark horse, you! Now I know why you jumped at the gala invitation like that.” She sat down in the chair Charlie had just left. “So what happened?”

“Oh, it’s totally blown out of proportion,” I told her. “I was out for a run, and some guy tried to get all macho on me, and Julian sort of punched him.”

She tilted her head speculatively. “So you two are, like, together?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

“Wow.” She smiled. “Some friend.”

“He’s a good guy,” I said.

“Hmm.” Her lips pursed. “So are we still on for dress shopping today? I can, like, sneak you out the back way if you like.”

I opened my mouth to decline, but then an image crossed my mind: me, in some devastating black gown, sweeping through the doorway to an admiring crowd. Which included Julian Laurence.

I stood up. “Let’s go.”

W
E WERE
deep inside Barneys before I remembered Charlie and the soup.

“Oh, he can eat it himself,” Alicia said. “What about this one?” She held up a long red dress with a V neckline cut down to the navel.

“Um, I was thinking of maybe an empire waist,” I said. “It kind of suits me.”

She frowned and looked me over. “You have to have a certain kind of body to wear that well, Kate,” she said.

Whatever that meant. “Well, I still like it,” I insisted.

“O-
kay
,” she said. “What about this one?”

“I’ll try it.” I had just caught sight of something a few racks away and began threading my way warily around the swinging hangers.

My phone rang.

My heart leapt at the sound, but when I took my BlackBerry out of my pocket, the number on the screen wasn’t Julian’s. I sighed and popped the Bluetooth into my ear. “Hi, Mom,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Honey, are you all
right
?”

“Oh, Mom, you’re not
crying
, are you?”

“Mary Alice called me with the news. What
happened
? Were you…
mugged
?” She said it in a hissing kind of whisper, like
raped
.

“It was nothing. Some guy ran into me in the park, and a friend stepped in to help me out.”

“Well, who’s this
friend
? Mary Alice says he’s some kind of…
billionaire
.” Again, the hissing whisper. For God’s sake.

“Mom, he runs a hedge fund, that’s all. He’s like a client.”

“
Like
a client? Or
is
a client?” Mom was invariably at her sharpest when it was least convenient.

“It’s hard to explain. Wall Street stuff.”

“Oh, honey. How badly were you hurt?”

“Hardly at all. Just a few scrapes.”

“But you must have been traumatized!”

“Mom, the police took care of everything…”

“Police!”

Oops. “You’re making way too much out of this,” I said, fingering the dress. It was long and flesh-colored, with a low straight neckline and tiny glittering beads scattered widely over the gauzy skirt: the kind of dress that would drape just so, without looking as if either of us were trying too hard.

“Honey,” she said, after a few seconds of stunned silence, “I’m flying out there tonight.”

“No! Oh my God, Mom,
don’t
! I’m fine, absolutely fine!” Alicia had wandered over and was looking critically at the dress I’d picked out. She lifted it off the rack and held it up to me with a moue of disapproval on her face.

“Honey, you were
mugged
!”

“For the last time, I wasn’t mugged. It was just an… an altercation. Please don’t fly out. Save your money. Think of that retirement in Florida.”

Alicia snickered and put the dress back on the rack. I motioned frantically at her to hand it back.

“I don’t want to retire to Florida.”

“Look, I’ve got to go. I’m in the middle of Barneys right now. Just don’t fly out, okay? I’m totally fine. Physically and mentally.”

“I love you, honey.”

“Love you. Bye.” I hung up the phone and slid it in my bag. “Don’t put it back. I’m going to try it on.”

“For real? There’s a ton of much better stuff.”