What is Love? (10 page)

“I thought of that,
tailed her all month. She never went near no spots to gamble. Never even went
to any appliance store, but they still racked up. I bet someone’s using her
credit, getting bills sent elsewhere and then paying the minimum just to keep
the accounts going.”

“My, that’s actually
quite sad,” Ellen said, trying to imagine dealing with all that debt. “If I
didn’t hate her so much, I might feel sorry for her.” Ellen slumped back in her
chair and watched the cast shadows of rain, creeping down the wall.

“Yeah, she’s in
deep, this one.” He spread the pages across his desk and started circling
numbers. “Some of the debt seems to be hers, mind you. A bunch of college debt,
she paid tuition, started and then got kicked out.”

“Kicked out?
Wonderful.” Ellen sat up and focused on his notes. “What type of college?”

“F.I.T. You know,
the Fashion Institute of Design downtown. Seems she wasn’t showing up much.
Anyhow, once she started working full time, she started to buy clothes like
crazy
 …”
He flipped through his
notes. “A few charges from Mexico, Florida and the Bahamas.”

Ellen’s face
flushed. “That’s when they must have been together,” she whispered aloud.

“Seems as much, she
probably spent a bit on him so she wouldn’t look too gold-digging. Classic move
really. She’s clever, this one.”

“I guess with all
her debt, Jonathan must look pretty attractive.”

“I’ll say. Know how
much he’s worth? They say more than fifty mil, plus secret accounts in
Switzerland.” Morty nodded, pursing his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

Ellen flushed again.
She had always let Jonathan take care of all the finances. She didn’t have a
clue what they were
worth
. Besides, they had never been to Switzerland.

A bolt of lightning
hit something nearby and the whole office lit up, and then just as quickly,
turned into darkness. Thunder boomed and startled Ellen to her feet.
Streetlights went out and car alarms sounded as Morty got up and reached for a
lighter from the wrinkled jacket that hung on a rack behind him. “Guess this
meeting’s over,” he said with a laugh as he flicked his lighter toward Ellen
and piled the notes together.

In the dim glow of
the lighter, Ellen looked at Morty and noticed softness in his eyes.
Was
this sympathy?

Morty glanced away.
“I’ll keep looking, eh?”

“Yes, please do. I’d
like to know more about her finances and the debt. Just dig deeper; something
is bound to turn up. I need something.”

“Yes, I can feel it.
We’re close, we’ll get something,” he said. As he opened the door, another
crack of lighting lit the evening sky. Morty reached for Ellen’s umbrella and
opened it.

A regular
gentleman,
Ellen mused as she stepped outside. “Morty, I really hope you’re
right.” Ellen took the umbrella from his hand.

She stood near the
door waiting for Weston. Rain lashed hard at right angles and her umbrella blew
open, drenching her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything
anymore, except destroying Samantha Miller.

Sam studied the two
choices lying before her on the bed. One outfit, the black crepe sheath, was
sophisticated and elegant and whispered Audrey Hepburn. The other, a cream
dress with a plunging back, screamed sex-kitten centerfold. She touched the
black crepe and imagined herself in a room full of society people—belonging—in
a world she couldn’t wait to enter.

Standing before the
mirror and holding the dress in front of herself, she saw the image was also
safe, like his wife. Suddenly, the black dress was exactly the type of lame
dress his wife might wear.

She tossed it
unceremoniously onto the bed. She picked up the creamy silk sheath and held it against
her body. The soft shimmer enhanced her every curve, revealing her assets. She
knew exactly how sexy she was, for Jonathan more than reminded her. His dumpy
wife would never wear a dress like this. The company party tonight was casual,
but Sam knew that for Jonathan, this would be the perfect dress.

She picked up her
evening bag, checking to ensure it contained the essentials. Lipstick, mints,
perfume
 …
and where was her
diaphragm? She went over to her nightstand and rummaged through the drawer until
she found it. Sam felt a pang of guilt as she pushed her diaphragm into the
zippered compartment of her bag. She had lied to Jonathan and told him she was
on the pill. The truth was, she would be, except for the nasty ten pounds it
always adds. It was better to use the diaphragm in secret—after all, it was
only a little half-truth. And she was doing it for him.

After they married,
she could go on the pill and gain as much weight as she wanted. A charge of
pleasure ripped through her as the image of a huge diamond on her finger
flashed into her head. Sam grabbed her jacket and turned to leave.
Yes,
she thought,
after we are married, I can do whatever I want.

***

Ellen hurried
through the ornate lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, glancing up at the clock tower
in the center of the room, which clearly showed it was now 6:45 p.m. and she
was late. Ellen loved the Waldorf. It was one of New York’s best hotels, and
was her preferred spot for hosting parties. But more important, this was where
she and Jonathan had renewed their vows on their twenty-fifth wedding
anniversary, in front of hundreds of friends.

It had been an
impressive evening, complete with hundreds of orchids arranged in Baccarat
vases on every table. And the food was flawless, as Ellen had made sure the
menu reflected their impeccable taste. Even now, she could almost taste the
lobster canapés.
Yes
, she mused as she entered the elevator,
I
certainly know how to throw a party.

The elevator stopped
on the second floor, opening to the reception area outside the ballrooms. The
entire room was decorated like a western carnival. She saw a beanbag toss right
next to the entrance to the ballroom. A palm reading station and ring toss were
next to the windows and at the far end, a shooting gallery. She flinched as the
sound of gunshots rose above the arcade music.

This couldn’t be
their company event, not Horvath Industries. Jonathan had always insisted on
formal company events. She searched for a sign identifying the company. As she
looked around, she spotted familiar faces, Gregory and Eileen, Bill Tate, from
accounts, and his assistant Wendy. Almost everyone she spotted had a connection
in some way to the company.

Ellen chatted with
Gregory and Eileen for several minutes, then headed into the ballroom. The tables
were set with plaid tablecloths and rusted tin buckets, filled with daisies and
carnations. The four-tiered crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, in a cry of
outrage against the injustice of the shabby décor. She looked down at her
emerald silk Bill Blass dress and sighed.

“My, you really
outdid yourself this time.”

Ellen turned and saw
Patty, wearing a bandana over her nose and mouth like a bandit. Ellen smiled.
“Where is the hay? I specifically requested hay and they assured me there would
be huge bales, bushels of them.”

“Somehow, I don’t
see your hand in any of this,” Patty said, pulling off her bandana.

“I seem to have
missed the cowboy dress code memo.” Ellen touched her dress. “But thanks for
donating the prizes again this year.”

“Glad to help. I’m
always here for you, in spite of your lowbrow party.”

Ellen blushed. “I
had anticipated a higher caliber event.”

“We seem to be alone
in that department.” Patty pointed to her own black velvet dress.

“Yes
 …
speaking of which, have you seen
Jonathan?”

“Last I saw, he was
showing off at the shooting gallery, trying to impress everyone.”

“I wanted the staff
to see us together, to stop all those
 …
rumors.”

“I’m sure there’s
been plenty of that.”

“But everything has
changed. I can’t explain it. He just seems more content lately.”

“Well, that’s
wonderful news.” Patty put her arm around Ellen. “I’m so happy for you.”

Ellen nodded and was
about to speak, when she caught sight of her—of Samantha Miller. She was facing
toward Ellen and had her hand on someone’s sleeve—on Jonathan’s.

Patty noticed the
direct target of Ellen’s gaze. “Is that her?” Patty asked, motioning toward the
lithe figure draped against her husband. She was wearing high heels and a
revealing short dress, leaving little to anyone’s imagination.

Ellen nodded. “I
haven’t seen her up close before. I saw her at a distance when I visited
Jonathan at the company. She is beautiful
 …”
Ellen choked on her words.

“If you like the
trampy type—all body, no brains—an airhead without an iota of class.” Patty grinned.
“Hey, go over there and talk to him, show her who’s boss. Stake your claim.”

Ellen glanced over
toward the cluster surrounding Jonathan.

“Go. You’re his
wife. Show her that you aren’t going anywhere. You never shrank from these
bimbos before—in fact, you’ve crushed them. Go crush this little one.”

“You’re right,” she
said, running her hand over her hair. She turned to walk toward them.

Ellen smiled at
Jonathan. Samantha turned her head toward his intended gaze. Her flirtatious
laughter stopped and she straightened her posture, as if preparing for an
attack. Ellen’s strength resurfaced with every step, like a soldier heading to
battle and growing more powerful by the moment. Ellen smiled directly at
Jonathan and Samantha as she drew closer.

“Hello, I’m Mrs.
Horvath. I don’t believe we have met,” Ellen said, extending her hand.

Jonathan cleared his
throat. “Ellen, may I present Sam, er, Samantha Miller, from our accounts
department.”

Sam stared at Ellen
a moment, her mouth agape, looking confused. She ignored Ellen’s hand and
reached over to brush imaginary dust off Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’ve heard
so
much about you,” Sam said, in a soft baby voice. “Johnny talks about you all
the time.” Her voice had a mocking undertone beneath its superficial cheeriness.

Ellen’s face flushed
with heat as she withdrew her hand. She looked directly at Jonathan, hoping to
meet his eyes but he glanced out into the distance, smoothing his shirt and
ignoring them, trying unsuccessfully to appear relaxed. Ellen knew better; she
knew the guilt coursing through his mind as tiny sweat beads sprouted and
multiplied across his forehead. Samantha smiled and let out a soft, giggly
laugh as she leaned close to Jonathan.

Ellen wanted to slap
her hard enough to wipe away that stupid grin, but instead moved closer and put
her hand on Jonathan’s back. “Funny,” she said directly to Samantha. “I haven’t
heard about you. What is it exactly that you do for us?” She looked at him.
“Jonathan?”

“There’s Gregory,”
he said, glancing away. “I need to talk to him, excuse me ladies.”

Sam attempted to
reach for Jonathan’s sleeve, but he had already turned away. She turned to walk
away before Ellen could think of anything to say, except the offensive words
running through her mind.

Ellen stood for a moment
staring as Sam’s naked back disappeared into the crowd. She wanted to scream.
As Ellen turned to find Patty, she was aware of all the eyes watching this
incident unfold. Was there a hush in the room or did she imagine it? If only
Jonathan hadn’t walked away. She surveyed the crowd, looking for him. Now, more
than ever, she needed to be by his side. She stood, lost in her imagining until
the sound of Patty’s voice interrupted her reverie.

“He left.”

“What?” Ellen tried
to hide her displeasure. “It’s his company event, he can’t leave.”

“Apparently he can.
He ran out and she followed after him.”

“He’ll be back,”
Ellen said, unconvinced by her words and wondering why she said them.

“What happened? All
I could see was the little vixen laughing and chasing after him.”

“This is a sign that
I have been fooling myself. How can I beat her? No matter what I do, I can
never be that—young and happy and foolish—I need to
 …
I don’t know what I need to do, but I should leave.” She
said good-bye to Patty and walked toward the stairs. The world seemed quiet as
she maneuvered down the stairs to the powder room in the lobby.

The ladies’ room,
decorated in a graceful art deco style, with pastel shades of cream and peach
on the wallpaper and sofas, spread out onto two levels, the lower an elegant
sitting area and powder room, the upper a collection of private stalls. Ellen
raced past the mural on the entrance panel, went up the stairs, and sat in one
of stalls on the upper level. In the silence of the room, her heart beat unusually
loud. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths.

Suddenly, the quiet
was shattered with a loud eruption of laughter, as the door to the powder room
burst open.

“Oh my God!” A voice
cried out from the powder room below.

“Can you believe it?”
Another young voice spoke.

“Sam is so lucky.”

“I know. Did you
hear the psychic say he will marry her?”

Ellen sat frozen,
powerless.

“Yeah, she told her
that she will be his wife and have lots of money. And his old wife will be
poor. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Yeah, but Sam
already knew that, he told her he would, once he dumps his wife.”

“She’s so lucky.”

“Yeah, he has, like,
so much money, she’ll be so rich. I’m so friggin’ jealous.”

“Did you see his
wife?”

“Yeah, the old bat,
did you see her face?”

“She doesn’t have a
clue.”

“Oh my God, it was
so funny.”

“Why would you even
come?”

“I know. What a
loser.” More laughter.

“Say goodnight,
loser,” they giggled together.

“It’s Ellen!” Patty
yelled from the lower floor. “Her God damn name is Ellen
 …
and if you don’t get out of here right now—”

“What’s your
problem, bitch?”

“You, you’re my
problem,” Patty snapped. “I’m Ellen’s friend, now get you’re scrawny butts out
of here, all of you.”

“Poor you,” they
laughed as they exited.

Ellen could hear
their voices disappear. The silence following their departure stung.

“It’s over now,”
Patty called out.

Ellen pushed open
the stall door and looked at Patty. “It’s unbelievable.”

They went to the
lower sitting area and sat in silence while Ellen tried to collect her thoughts,
the shock beginning to fade. “Do you think they actually knew something?” Ellen
finally asked.

“You know these
young gossip hounds, they’ll spin anything into a story. They always exaggerate
the truth to make a better story.”

“Yes.” Ellen wanted
to agree. “It’s just that, there is usually a bit of truth in every rumor. She
stood and faced Patty. “I need to get busy.”

“Atta girl. What
should we do?”

Ellen walked over to
the sink and pumped soap into her hand. “Did you hear that ridiculous fortune
teller? I want to go and give her a piece of my mind—how dare she?” She
scrubbed her hands. “And at
our
company event, I can’t believe she gets
paid to dish out such trash.” She picked a hand towel and tossed it into the
bin.

“Let’s go.” Patty
jumped up and linked arms with Ellen. “I think I’m up for a psychic thrashing.”
They went back up the staircase, planning their verbal assault on the
unsuspecting charlatan.

The psychic’s tent
sat in the corner of the foyer, decorated with Christmas lights strung inside
its pointed roof, creating a soft amber glow in the semi-darkness, as if a fire
raged from deep within the tent. Ellen approached the shimmering organza panels
and hesitated. She peered inside through the translucent fabric and asked
herself what she hoped to achieve from this.

“Come in,” a voice
called out from within the lights.

Ellen pushed the
diaphanous fabric aside and entered. Smoke and perfume filled the air from all
the candles set in glass jars along the sides of the tent.
Fire hazards.
She stared at the frizzy-haired gypsy before her.

“Good evening,” the
aging charlatan said, her slow, deep voice amplified for effect. “I am Crystal
Dawn.”

Crystal Dawn! How
perfectly theatrical.
Ellen almost burst with laughter.

“I sense hostility
and anger in your aura.”

Her insight
surprised Ellen until she realized anyone witnessing her scene with Samantha
Miller earlier would reach the same conclusion. “I have good reason,” Ellen
said and pulled out the chair in front of her.

“How so?”

“Because of the
bogus readings you give.”

“Are you quite
certain they are bogus?”

Ellen sat in the
chair and adjusted the skirt of her dress. “Quite certain. You told a friend of
mine, Samantha Miller, that she will be married to this man, the man who owns
this powerful company, and she will be rich.”