The Idea of Him (17 page)

Jackie said this crew was up to another deal that would be even bigger. I had to find the missing link before that happened. Problem was I didn't understand all the codes and numbers on the flash drive. Though I could tell that the projects Red, Green, and Blue had bank account information linked to them, I didn't know what they meant. I was still worried that they implicated Wade in a way that would harm him, and us, and because of that, I kept a firm grip on the flash drive. I would not be handing it to Jackie just yet.

23

Landed Gentry

At 4:40
P.M.
that steamy day, I rolled my car through Murray's automatic gate, which dramatically revealed his stucco Southampton château. The pebbles on his circular driveway were raked to an even perfection like frosting on a cake. An enormous elm tree that was new to the yard loomed over the driveway.

On the lawn in front, I spied Murray with a Wiffle ball and bat in his hand at home plate. He was clad in pinstripe seersucker shorts held up by probably the longest needlepoint belt known to exist—his initials “HH” sewn in pink and green squares every three inches, with crisscrossed golf clubs in between. He wore bright orange Tod's driving shoes that looked like they were about to explode on his puffy feet.

Murray's sinewy wife, Eri, quite elegant at last night's screening in a Dennis Basso gown with the jewels and the chignon, was looking decidedly out of place on a makeshift athletic field. She wore white leggings on her drainpipe legs, a fuchsia Polo shirt, and $1000 snakeskin Lanvin “sneakers” on her feet. Her bright blue contact lenses made her dark Asian eyes ethereal in a deeply creepy way.

I drove the car a little bit around the circle and watched the Hillsinger family from my front seat as I pretended to be on a call. I couldn't bear to walk out into the bright, blistering sun just yet.

Murray was playing ball with his two sons, Benjamin, aged six, and Noah, aged four, with Eri supposedly playing catcher: one of those insta-families created by older rich men who've left their long-loyal wives for all the hopes and promises younger flesh seemed to offer. The boys wore little colored twill shirts tucked into khaki shorts that reached their knees. Benjamin, skin bulging over the top of his socks like his dad, walked up to the pitcher's spot that Murray occupied and whined, “I hate team sports. Why do we have to play this stupid game?”

“Murray! The kid needs to take a break. Take it easy on him,” a matronly woman yelled from the shade of the front porch.

“No, Ma! The kid needs to learn to play ball. You think you were easy on me?”

“You weren't nothing like Benjamin. You couldn't do anything right. You needed to work hard just to get even with everyone.” Mrs. Hillsinger lumbered up from her chair and walked down the steps of the front porch while her enormous breasts swung to and fro. “Benji's already a star. Come heyah, my Benji. Come to Nana for some love.”

“Ma! Stop!” Murray smacked the top of Benjamin's head, knocking his cap off and told him, “This is only finished when one team reaches twelve points. You got that?”

I got out of my car into the intense heat, leaving the engine and AC on, and walked right over to the game, hoping my own kids would remain hypnotized by the wonders of Pixar.

Murray yelled over, “Give me ten minutes, Allie. You got the envelope, right?”

I smacked my bag and held it tight. “Yes, I do. Unburned.”

“Murray!” Mrs. Hillsinger yelled again. “Don't you go working and ignoring my boys. Allie's got your life in control. You've got all afternoon to do your work!”

I walked up the steps to the house and kissed the formidable Toni Hillsinger hello. She grabbed some flesh on my arm. “Allie, darling. You're lookin' too thin. What's with you city girls? Eri over there is so skinny she looks like Popeye's girlfriend. A Japanese Olive Oyl!” As she laughed, her enormous Murray-like stomach shook.

“Well, Eri is quite elegant actually.” I was trying.

“If you like that kind of thing.” She added in a loud whisper Eri could hear. “
Not my type! That's for sure!
” As she walked back to the stairs, she continued on her charming rant, no longer with any pretense of discretion. “And look at my Murray, what's with the fey needlepoint belt and orange girls' moccasins on his feet? He forgot where he came from. Just because he buys a house on a bay with pretty flowers doesn't mean he's a gentile.”

“I can hear you, Ma,” Murray bellowed. “Allie, go ask Eduardo for some
gentile
iced tea. Or he'll bring you one on the back porch. Go sit, Allie,” he barked, as if I were his lapdog, which I guess wasn't far off.

“Sure thing.” I went back to check on the kids to see if they wanted to come into the television room or watch the game outside.

Just then, a beat-up 1986 Ford F-150 pickup rolled around the driveway. In it, I spied an older woman behind the wheel, and a passenger I couldn't see properly. The truck stopped short of the walkway near Murray, and the messy-haired woman in her late fifties waved a hearty hello from the driver's seat. A
BARBARA'S ORGANIC GREEN THUMB
sign was painted on the side of her truck.

“Barbara, what are you spoiling us with today?” Murray stopped his game and walked over to the car.

“Everything. Looks like you could use some fruit in your diet. No pies for you today.” Barbara cracked up in a raspy voice that sounded like it was caused by far too many Kool Menthols—I noticed three used packages lining the filthy dashboard. She grabbed a small basket of strawberries from behind the passenger seat and held an especially plump one up to the sky. “Look at these babies. Rubies from the heavens.”

She was a handsome woman with a stocky middle and long legs, curly grayish-blond hair, and deep brown eyes, looking for sure like she was born and bred on the salty East End of Long Island. Barbara pulled down the creaky and heavy back door of her truck, which had long ago lost its springs, and pulled out a cardboard box bursting at the seams from the weight of the fresh berries, peas, and lettuces. She unloaded more boxes of heavy produce as if they were filled with cotton balls.

“What about me?” yelled Eri, feigning disappointment and jealousy. “Don't I matter, Barbara? Didn't you bring anything for me?”

“Now
you
pay the bills?” Toni Hillsinger said from the porch. Eri shot her a cool look, while Barbara piled on.

“I've known Murray a lot longer than he's even known you,” Barbara yelled back. “Maybe before you were born, sweetheart!” More laughter cracked out from both older ladies staking out territory. Barbara stomped her strong build through the back door and toward the pantry.

“See, Ma? See how a woman treats me nice? Could you try that once? I send you to Boca on the East Coast, to the Bacara on the West, not to mention possibly the Cip in Venice—you could act a little appreciative.”

“You know Pop and I worked hard to make you good at everything so you could make all that money and have all this. And I don't even get any thanks for it. Ah, the hell with you. I'm takin' my nap.” Mama Hillsinger walked through the front door without saying another word as she let it slam behind her.

Quite unexpectedly, out of the passenger seat of the beat-up truck pranced a sexy thing in hot shorts, tangerine orange in color, who murmured to the older woman, “Hold on, I'll give you a hand, I didn't realize there was more . . .” The shorts were hiked up so that the back of her bottom ever so slightly bounced out with each little provocative step. A high ponytail of streaked blond curls sticking out of a New York Yankees hat was all I noticed at first. Pert little breasts in a tight turquoise cotton camisole next. Then that unmistakable face.

No. It couldn't be.

It was. Jackie Malone. Here in Southampton.
What on earth? Was she stalking me?

As she approached, I watched Murray's eyes bulge out at this candy-colored confection of a girl.

I barely recognized Jackie. This wasn't the lip-smacking sophisticate who was slithering around my parties and the Tudor Room; it was the spritely, down-home, country singer, Barbie version.

“I'll get it,” Jackie said. Wow. The weatherworn lady driving the pickup must have been her mother, and Jackie's story about a mom in financial straits started to take on more meaning.

I studied Murray's expression. Something about this Jackie woman terrified him. I was sure he'd witnessed her around New York and at the Tudor Room, but seeing her in this setting was seismic for him in a way I couldn't decipher. I could tell because his face wasn't just red, it was full-on purple, just like the fresh beets Barbara had yanked out of the earth.

Jackie arched an eyebrow and rounded the truck, which caused Murray to blink wildly from the amount of perspiration dripping down his forehead and cascading down the divots in his pockmarked face. When he saw her twirl around the corner of the Ford F-150, as if to help her hardworking mother in such a selfless way, I thought he might just melt into a round puddle of sweat like a cartoon character.

“Murray. Try to be a little cool.” I nudged him. I was watching Eri watch Murray watching Jackie and couldn't quite figure out the dynamics of the trio.

“Who is that woman?” he asked me.

“Have you seen her before, Murray? I think I have somewhere.”

“I-I don't know. I just can't figure out who she is, doesn't matter at all.” And he turned to face his boys on the field.

“I'm not sure. Looks like she's just helping the lady,” I answered just to screw around with him.

It took me a moment to realize that Blake was standing at my side, prepubescent mouth equally agape. I turned him back toward the car, dropping my carefully collated package of charts in the process. Jackie strode over and reached for the envelope marked
CONFIDENTIAL.

“Let me help you with that,” she said as she bent her knees into an elegant squat next to me.

24

The Guard Saw All

Jackie lifted the confidential envelope off the driveway pebbles, wiped some dirt away, and deftly slid it into her saddlebag.

“Not so fast, Jackie. Drop it.” I held her arm tightly and surprised myself by digging my nails into her smooth skin, all the while watching Murray try to waddle across his sprawling lawn to get a fly ball that he of course missed by ten yards. “Give it back before I cause a scene.”

Jackie stared me down. “I'm protecting you. I'm going to get into the car, scan what's in here, and slip it right back to you. My mother will take twenty minutes to get her stuff settled inside; she arranges some wildflowers in his—”

“How much crack have you been smoking exactly?” I asked her. “I don't care if your mother relandscapes the entire estate while we're waiting. You are NOT taking this envelope.
Give it back to me or I'll call him over here and—
”

“Mom. It's soooo hot.” Lucy draped her limp body across my bent back and wrapped her arms tightly around my neck.

I tried to loosen Lucy's grasp even as I held tightly to Jackie. “Lucy. Please get off me, sweetie. I'm sorry it's so hot. Go wait in the car where the AC is blasting and I'll see if they have some lemonade.”

The horn in my car honked for three full seconds. Blake. I looked toward the car, behind the garage and out of view of the Wiffle ball game.

“Blake! Stop that right now!”

“Mooooommmmm. C'moooooooon.” He stuck his head out of the window of the car with his tongue hanging out, panting like a dog.

I held on to Jackie, fearing she would run with the company package. “Do you know Murray?”

“I can't answer that question right now.” This was all she was going to give me.

Lucy started crying and tried to pull me by the waist into a standing position.

“Lucy. Please, it's way too hot for you to lie on top of me and pull me like that. Mommy's working.” I pried her sticky body away. “I promise we will get ice cream after we're done here.”

“You promise?” Lucy sniffed in her tears and finally retreated to the car.

I nodded and turned back to Jackie. “Okay, well, then answer this: Is Wade involved in this envelope somehow?”

“I'm sure he is. That, among other things, is why I need to look it over. It's for the next scheme they're planning, and there might be some key information about it. That's all I need. I know the flash drive has the account numbers that will nail them for sure and the account names, but you said you can't find it anywhere, so what is in this envelope might be very fruitful.”

“Allie!” bellowed Murray. “Come back over here! What the hell are your kids doing here? We might as well make them useful while you're getting your work together. Get them to teach my kids how to throw a damn ball. Hell, we can all play, family against family for ten minutes. What do you say, kids? Winner gets the new Mercedes GT3!” Of course, more gut-bouncing laughter at his idiotic joke. Lucy and Blake, freed from their isolation chamber, ran happily over to join the game.

“Let go of my arm.” Jackie spoke sternly through her teeth and pulled me behind a very Hamptons, indigo-blue hydrangea bush. “Let me look at the papers before he realizes we know each other. Leave your bag in your car. Help with the Wiffle ball game. I'll look like I'm helping Mom. Then I'll slip it back in your bag.”

“It's sealed.”

She opened her bag. “And the pièce de résistance.” She pulled open an inside pocket holding a roll of the exact same red tape marked
CONFIDENTIAL
that had sealed the envelope.

I looked into her elusive eyes. “How do you know all this, Jackie? How do you know all this about these guys?”

“Because I used to fuck your husband.”

I blinked hard.

Jackie continued, “Sorry to say it like that, but it's the correct answer to your question. And I know where he hides his information. And the guy at the coat check at the Tudor Room lets me go through his briefcase. I've been through Murray's bags and files too. You've got to listen to me on festival business; I can help you turn it around. The indies used to count on a robust DVD market, but now they don't have that. Your business plan is so outdated—the Fulton film
channel
. I'm telling you. Get Max to pay for that and you'll be rich on your own and you won't need these guys' nonsense.”

“How come I didn't see any of their nonsense myself if you're so sure . . .”

“How can you
not
know, Allie? It's all right in front of you, if you'll only get those blinders off and look around a little. I'm telling you, this group is planning another big splash soon; mark my words and watch for it. You are playing the fool. You're telling the press on the day of your screening that Max isn't orchestrating a takeover of a hot new company on the horizon, Luxor, but, in reality, he already owns a ton of it. Not exactly a sin on your part, but if you're not careful, you could get snagged in all this.” Jackie stamped her sneakered foot so that the charms attached to the laces jingled.

“Stop being so damn loyal to the men around you and open your eyes. Get a grip. Stop avoiding the truth. Or at the very least, figure out the truth and then act on it.”

When she swung the garage screen door shut, dust flew like sparkles in the late-afternoon sun.

 

MURRAY YELLED, “ALLIE,
pick up your crap and get your ass over here. Your kids are waiting!”

Minutes later, I was rounding third base, gunning for the Mercedes convertible, far sweatier than this kiddie game or even the heat warranted, when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. After I made it to home base, I checked the screen.

The caller ID read:
Guard Station
. Lorenzo. I broke into a second layer of fresh sweat.

“I'll be right there, everyone,” I said in an overly cheerful way, pretending as if I really cared about this stupid Wiffle ball game. “Blake is up. Go team!”

“Mrs. Crawford, it's Lorenzo.”

“Yes?” My face was locked into a huge fake smile. “Go, Team Crawford!”

“I just took my coffee break.”

“Yes?”

“C'mon, Mom!” Lucy yelled. “Blake's out. We're in the field.”

“Well, seeing as you're all nice all the time, I—”

“Please, Lorenzo,” I said calmly, like a cop speaking to someone about to leap out a forty-story window. “Just give me the news.”

“Well, there's no security screens at my desk, they're all in the back room so I had to leave to see . . .”

“Yes?” My entire bra was soaked at this point.

“Hey, Allie.” Murray was now next to me, yelling in my other ear. “Get your ass on the pitcher's mound.” I tried to keep up my smile, even as Murray started poking me in the arm like a child.

I held up a finger, and Murray huffed toward home plate. “Now!”

“Well, from the look of the security tape,” Lorenzo continued in his painfully meticulous manner, “the man who brought your kids to the building, I don't know if that's Mr. Crawford, but he got out of the driver's seat with the kids and took them to you.”

“Yes. My husband. What about him? Did you see a black SUV?”

“Allie. Off that fuckin' phone!!!” I knew that tone, and I knew his limits. Murray was seriously pissed off.

“Well, yes, an SUV was behind both men, but neither got out of it. But it's all clear on the tape: your husband was with the kids, and then he was the one who gave that envelope to the man who went upstairs to see you. He even smacked him hard on the back after he whispered some joke in his ear.”