Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland (15 page)

Warmest regards, Laila

The letter was not one of my most brilliant ideas, but at least it would buy me some time for Joey. He would not survive if he stayed here much longer. I raced up the stairs and opened the door to the bedroom where Rojo had been sleeping with the blonde earlier. They still lay in bed snuggled together. I left the envelope on top of his wool coat confident he would share it with Angel. Not too soon though.

No mention of Joey accompanying me had been made in the note. Angel would figure that out soon enough. I could only hope he didn’t go ballistic.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Darlene and Bob E.

Austin, Texas, 2012

“I insist on paying for this,” Chris says before the Margaritaville bill arrives, but when the puffy-lipped waitress shows up with our check, he struggles to get his wallet out of his back pocket long enough for me to place my
VISA
in her hand. Neither of us had eaten one morsel of food. She looks surprised as she clears the full plates from the table and trots off with my card.

When the waitress returns, I fill out the
VISA
slip and we stroll together to the exit. Chris hugs me, then zips out the door without offering to walk me to my car.

Stumbling from the restaurant drunker than I’ve been in years, I wave at the skinheads and punks still hanging out in the parking lot
. Don’t you dare mess with me. I’m Laila the fearless one.
Right. Who am I kidding? Have I regressed to the stupid girl who flew a suitcase of drugs cross-country in the seventies? Or maybe I no longer care about what happens to me since everything important in my life is imploding.

As I open my car door, I see Chris in the near distance handing something, his card perhaps, to a pretty young woman. What a contrast he is to my husband. Ed would never let a woman walk alone in a sleazy parking lot, let alone stiff her with a big bar bill. I would give my right arm to have him back. Pulling out my iPhone, I text him: “Come home right away. All your fantasies fulfilled. Tonight only. No rain checks.”

I click on the ignition and creep slowly out of the Margaritaville parking lot. Seconds later, the flashing red-and-blue lights of an Austin police car blaze on in my rear view mirror. This can’t be happening. What was I thinking trying to drive in this state?

The squad car passes me by and speeds off to catch another car up ahead. A warning for me to get the hell off the road before I kill myself, or worse, someone else. I cautiously drive the two blocks in East Austin, then cross
I-35
into yuppified West Austin with its friendly signs of Starbucks and Whole Foods.

For the next hour, I sip a Chai tea at the natural food grocery store cafe and respond to e-mail on my phone. I call Ed but he doesn’t answer his cell. Nor did he respond to my evocative text. After another hour, I feel sober enough to drive to the rental where he’s staying in south Austin. It’s much closer than driving to Lake Travis.

When I arrive, I don’t see any vehicles in the driveway. After clicking my rental key into the deadbolt, I open the door and enter the small brick house. A rustling sound comes from another room. “Hello, is anyone here? Ed, is that you?”

I wander to the living room where Juanita is perched on a couch with her high-heeled sandals tossed on the floor. She looks up from a big yellow pad she’s busy scribbling on.

The dingbat needs to get herself a laptop. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

She looks up from her notes. “Laila. You’re just the person I wanted to speak with.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say,

“I moved into Ed’s rental across the street. He said I could hang out here today while he finishes getting it painted.”

“Ed left you here alone?”

“He went to Lowes to get more paint,” she says. “Should be back any moment.”

My face burns, my eyes strain, my lips swell like someone who found out that they’d won the lottery, but lost their winning ticket. My imagination runs wild. Who is this bitch? What does she really know of my past? Is there something going on between her and my husband?

Juanita stands. She’s still gorgeous but smaller than I remember. At least two inches shorter than I am. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?”

“I don’t want ef’n coffee.”

“You look like you can use some.”

Duh. I still must smell like a brewery. “This is
my
house, you know. My name’s on the deed along with Eduardo’s.”

“I’m sure it is, Laila. How much did you drink with Chris Reynolds?”

I cough, trying to hide my surprise that she knows about our meeting. “Why don’t you ask him?”


“You can’t trust that man.”

“Who the ef am I supposed to trust? You?”


“Always with the potty mouth.
No sé que podria visto Ed en ti.”

“You don’t know what Ed ever saw in me? What’s with you and the Spanish anyway? Eduardo’s not here to impress.”

“Some things sound better in Spanish. I doubt you’d understand.”

“You’re right. And I don’t get a woman who goes after a married man.”

She flinches. “You’ve got that all wrong. I want to help you. If you’d tell me what Chris said, we can start to sort this thing out.”

I laugh. Perhaps somewhat manically. “Like I’d share that with
you
.
Mi mejor amiga?”

“Look. Eduardo’s like a big brother to me. I care about him because of our
familias.
You are in great danger hanging out with your old friends Chris and Ben. They will take you down in the sewer with them.”

“Give me one reason I should trust you.”

“Better speak to me before the
FBI
gets involved. I’ve called my friend Agent Lopez. You’ll hear from him soon.”

“How many times did you screw him?” I say.

She slaps me across the face. Hard. “
Gringa repugnante.”

I place my hand on my burning cheek. “Touché.”

The sound of “Yesterday”on my iPhone interrupts. I click it on.

“I’m up at the house,” Ed says.

“You’re home?”

“Well yes, I got your text about fulfilling my fantasies and thought that maybe—”

“Juanita said you’re at Lowes.”

“She said that I’m where?”

Call-waiting interrupts.
DARLENE
pops up. “Ed. Wait there, I’ll be right home.” I click back to my boss. “Hello.”

“I need you to come to my office right away.” Her voice is throaty, hoarse, and barely recognizable.

“Now? It’s after five, and I have a personal matter—”

“Bob E.’s broken up with me. I have no one else to talk with,” she says morosely.

“I-I’m sorry, Darlene, can we meet in the morning?”

“It gets worse. Someone told my husband about our relationship. I have to ask. Was it you?”

“Of course not. Why would I do something like that?”

“I didn’t think so. But who else could it be?” she asks.

There’s only one person that is capable of that type of behavior, but I don’t tell Darlene. Not yet.

I fly out of the rental house. If my marriage is to survive, I must go home now.

Juanita dashes behind me yelling, “Don’t leave. I need for us to talk.”

I slide in the front seat of the Acura, slam the car door shut, and burn rubber as I take off down Frontier Trail. Juanita stands there with exhaust blowing in her face.

Against my better judgment, I turn onto Mopac Expressway and head north to the
LBJ
offices instead of home to Ed for our overdue reunion. It’s 5:22 p.m. I promise myself it’s just a ten-minute pit stop.

THERE ARE ONLY A FEW CARS
in the parking lot as I maneuver the Acura into a space by the door of the Gartner building. When I arrive in Darlene’s office, she’s slumped in her chair, pecking haphazardly at the keyboard of her laptop. Her blonde hair, normally impeccably styled, is flat on one side, sticking straight up on the other. She smells like a college coed after a late night fraternity bash. Her vain attempt to cover the alcohol smell with Listerine and Lilac Cologne does not work. But who am I to judge
?

She points at a white leather chair. “Have a seat, honey.” Her words are slurred. “Richard wants me to move out. He’s threatening to take full custody of the twins.”

I sit down, feeling my face tighten. “What happened?”

“He’s pissed and humiliated. Whoever told him about my affair with Bob E. left no detail to the imagination. It’s like someone was in the bedroom with us. We did some, you know, kinky things.”

I shake my head. “Do you know who told him?”

“Someone eavesdropped or maybe there’s a tape. No one else knew about the affair but you.”

I look her straight in her eyes. “Jesus, Darlene, I thought you knew me better. I swear to God.”

“I realize you have no motive,” she says. “Unless you want Bob E. for yourself.” She squints at me.

“Look. I’m happily married.”
That isn’t exactly true anymore.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but a loyal friend,” she says. “Besides, I’ve never shared that personal stuff with you.”

I bite my lip. “Ivy Foreman may have something to do with this.”

“How would you know that?” she asks.

“She came to my office one day and ordered me to make you to stop seeing him.”

Darlene grabs a Kleenex and dabs her eyes. “I’ve suspected she’s had a crush on Bob E. But why would he share such personal details with her?”

Because the man thinks with his dick.

Darlene crosses her arms. “You have to speak with him.”

“Me? He’s your ef’n lover.” The words could not be stuffed back in my mouth. “Sorry.”

She blows her nose in the tissue. “He won’t take my calls. I can’t exactly waltz into his office or appear at his doorstep.”

“Set up a business meeting through Geisha Girl,” I say.

“Tried that, too. She’s the ultimate protector. A human Doberman. Can you go there now? Tell Bob E. I must see him.”

I check my watch. “It’s after six. I’m sure he’s gone.”

She glances out the window. “His Beamer’s still in the parking lot.”

I think about Ed waiting for me up at the lake house. “I have to go home now.”

Tears spill down her cheeks. “For crissakes, help me out here? After all I’ve done for you.”

“Okay, okay, just stop crying,” I say.

She gets up, stumbles around the desk, and hugs me. I feel the muscles in her tense body relax a little. “Tell him his sugarplum still loves him.”

In lust, I understand. In love with Bob E.? Is her battery not fully charged? I head for the door and down the hall to the elevator. Once inside I click on my iPhone and call Eduardo. His cell rings and rings then his voicemail. I try our landline. Still no answer. He’s probably puttering in the yard and left his phone in the house.

AS THE ELEVATOR GRINDS TO A STOP,
I pray that Geisha Girl has gone home for the day. What can I say to Bob E?
Uh, hello, sir. Can you tell me who would know private details of your sex life?

The reception area where Suzi Lin sits is empty. The screensaver on her monitor flashes the letters
LBJ
in red across the royal blue background. A pale light glows in Bob E.’s office. I take a deep breath then rap on the door.

“Come in.”

I enter the office and stand in front of Bob E.’s mahogany desk. In contrast to Darlene, Bob E. is flawlessly dressed in a starched white shirt, striped tie, and grey suit pants. Not a hair in his thick wavy mane is out of place as he sits typing at the keyboard of his laptop. It takes a minute before he glances up at me from reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. Blood creeps up his neck to his face. “Laila. What can I do for you? Have a seat.”

I park myself on a grey leather loveseat. The right words are difficult to find. “I, ah, am here for Darlene. She’s very upset.”

“I’m truly sorry if I hurt her.”

“Richard is forcing her to move out, and he’s taking the kids.”

He furrows his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone shared every personal detail of your relationship with Darlene’s husband.”

“That can’t be,” he says.

“Does Ivy Foreman have something to do with this?” I ask.

He rubs his chin and stares out at the sun setting over Lake Austin. His pupils are flat as tacks.

I clutch the arm of the loveseat as we sit quietly for a few moments and watch the rust-colored sun dissolve in the blue water.

He breaks the silence. “Ivy threatened to tell my wife about the affair.”

“And tell Richard, too?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I beat her to the punch and told my wife myself. Oddly enough, Trudy was very calm. She wanted to know all the sordid details. Thought maybe she could be a better lover—”

“I don’t want to hear this.”


He continues despite my protest. “I begged her for forgiveness. Told her she was the one woman in the world I loved. I never thought she would betray me.”

“By telling Darlene’s husband everything you ‘fessed up to her,” I say.

“I assumed she’d forgiven me. That she wanted to continue in our marriage.”

She sure fooled you, asshole.
“Darlene’s life is in ruins. Will you see her?”

“I promised Trudy I’d never speak to her again. I’m getting… professional help.”

“What about Darlene? Don’t you care about her?”

He clasps his hands together on his desk and half-smiles. “Tell her… she’ll always have a very special place in my heart. But it’s no longer possible, practical, for us to be together. I’d advise her to go home to Richard, beg forgiveness.”

“She wants to see you. You owe her that much.”

“It’s just not in the cards.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got to pick my kids up at soccer practice. I’m truly sorry.”