I waited for him to say, “I love you,” or “Sincerely yours,” but the message ended, and I shut off the cell phone and handed it back to her.
Neither of us spoke, then she said, “I haven’t called back, of course.”
I replied, “How could you resist that heartfelt plea?”
She smiled, then her smile faded, and she said, “I really don’t want to cause him any pain.”
I said, “If I may say so, he didn’t sound like he was in much pain. But you know him better than I do.”
She said, “He’s called three more times with shorter messages saying, ‘Call me.’”
I thought about Mark Winslow’s message, and I concluded that Ted Nash had not been to Mr. Winslow’s house looking for Mrs. Winslow. Then, I thought about it again, and I concluded that maybe Ted Nash was standing in the room with Mark Winslow while he called his wife. I asked Jill, “Did your husband sound… normal?”
“Yes. That’s normal for him.”
“What I mean is, do you think he was being prompted by someone else? The police or someone?”
She thought about that and replied, “I suppose it’s possible… he wouldn’t normally mention the boys… but…” She looked at me and said, “I know what you mean, but I can’t say for certain.”
“Okay.” Just another paranoid thought, but a good one. Bottom line, it didn’t matter if Ted Nash was one step behind me, as long as he didn’t get one step ahead of me. I said to her, “How about a drink?”
We had a drink, and she mentioned taking me to dinner, but I suggested room service, partly because I always run into the wrong people when I’m out and about, and partly because the more doors between me and Jill Winslow and whoever was looking for us, the better.
We chatted awhile, and she confirmed that she’d had the video camera cassette locked in the hotel safe and I said I’d gotten the receipt. She also said that she’d kept her cell phone off all day, not used her credit cards, and not used the ATM machine.
She told me she’d gone to St. Thomas on Fifth Avenue, then walked along the park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She’d gone to Barney’s, then did some window-shopping on Madison Avenue, and then walked back to the Plaza. A typical Sunday in New York, but a very memorable day for Jill Winslow.
We ordered room service, and it arrived at eight. We sat down at the dining table, lights low, candles lit, and soft music coming out of the speakers.
Despite all this, neither of us was trying to seduce the other, which was probably a relief for both of us. I mean, she was very good-looking, but there’s a time and place for everything. For me, that time had passed since my marriage; for her, that time was just beginning. Also, Kate was due to arrive here about 5P.M. the next day.
We had wine with dinner, and she got a little tipsy, and started telling me about Mark, and a little about her two-year affair with Bud. She said, “Even when I decided to be naughty, I did it with a man who I knew I’d never fall in love with. Safe sex. Safe husband. Safe marriage. Safe neighborhood. Safe vacations. Safe friends.”
“There’s really nothing wrong with that.”
She shrugged.
Later, she confided to me, “I had one brief affair since Bud. Three years ago. It lasted about two months.”
I didn’t want the details, and she didn’t offer any.
I’d ordered steak, not because I wanted steak, but because I wanted a steak knife. Jill excused herself at one point and went into her bedroom, and I put the steak knife in my room.
At about 10P.M., I excused myself with the explanation of jet lag and too much rich food and wine, which I wasn’t used to in Yemen.
She stood, and we shook hands. Then, I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “You’re a trouper. This will all end well.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Thanks again for the shirt. Good night.”
“Good night,” she replied.
I checked my cell phone for messages, but there weren’t any. I left a wake-up call for 6:45, then I watched the news for a while, then popped in the videotape ofA Man and a Woman. I fast-forwarded through the beach blanket scenes, and played the last few minutes in slow motion from where I could see the glow on the horizon, followed by the light rising into air. I tried to be skeptical and to give it another interpretation, but the camera didn’t lie. I played it backwards, to see if that would reveal something that could be interpreted differently-but frontwards, backwards, slow motion, normal speed, it was what it seemed to be: a missile, with a fiery tail and a smoke plume, rising toward the lights of an aircraft. It was the small zigzag of the light and smoke right before the explosion that convinced me, if I needed more convincing-the fucking missile corrected its course, locked on, and hit its target. Mystery solved.
I took the tape out of the video player and put it under the mattress, and put the steak knife on my night table.
I fell into a restless sleep and kept replaying the videotape in my dreams, except it was me on the beach, not Bud, and it was Kate, not Jill, standing naked next to me, saying, “Itold you it was a missile. Can you see it?”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
My wake-up call came at 6:45, and I rolled out of bed, reached under the mattress, pulled outA Man and a Woman, and stared at it awhile.
I looked out the window toward Central Park. I’m not a Monday person, and the weather outside didn’t improve my mood; it was cloudy and raining, something I hadn’t seen in forty days in Yemen. Not that I wanted to be back in Yemen.
After I showered, I got dressed in my increasingly comfortable tan slacks, and put on the pink shirt. If I saw Ted Nash today, and if he made a comment about the shirt, I’d have to kill him.
Aside from that, today was going to be what’s called a Big Day. Today, I’d speak to Nash, and if he’d gotten his act together with Washington, we’d meet with the appropriate parties present. I had to think about who should be at that meeting, where it should be held, and if I should bring one of the videotapes. I’m not much of a meeting person, but I was looking forward to this one.
Most important, this was a big day because Kate was coming home.
I thought about the airport greeting committee, which could possibly include men with different agendas regarding who should take Kate into a waiting car. It could get very sticky, but Dom was good at going psychotic when anyone fucked with him. And Kate, as I’d found out, was no slouch, either, when it came to getting her way.
By now she was airborne, and maybe I should have e-mailed or called her last night, alerting her to a possible situation at the airport. But if she was under the eye-and she probably was after my meeting with Nash-then neither her e-mail nor her phones would be secure.
I checked myself out in the full-length mirror. The pink really did bring out my tan.
I went into the living room, and Jill was sitting at the dining table wearing a white Plaza robe, having coffee, and reading theNew York Times. I said, “Good morning.”
She looked up. “Good morning.” She added, “That shirt looks good on you.”
“It’s going to become one of my favorites. Did you sleep well?”
“No.”
I sat at the table, poured myself coffee, and said, “Yesterday was a stressful day for you.”
“That’s an understatement.”
I sipped my coffee and looked at her over the brim of my cup. She seemed relaxed, but I thought the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. I asked her, “Have you had second thoughts about any of this?”