I schedule the message to send Monday, early afternoon.
HR has a strict no-porn rule. Everyone might understand, I suppose, that poor Caroline was alone, her boyfriend two states away. What was a girl to do? But still, a rule is a rule, even for perfect Caroline. Rebecca, still grieving the loss of her plant babies, will be forced to fire her. I can almost imagine the scene, the rent-a-cop’s arm on Caroline’s shoulder, ushering her out the door as her tears fall on the dark green stain on Rebecca’s rug.
I check my watch. It’s time to go. I step into the elevator one last time and ride to the first floor. I am at peace with this place now. Perhaps I’ll even send a postcard to the team once I’m settled in Florida, or maybe not. I reset the alarm and stroll out into the still-black night. It’s truly amazing how much one can accomplish in a day when one is committed to tying up loose ends, when one has a plan.
Gretchen will be happy to see me. Sure, she’s confused—thanks to fucking Buck—but once she sees me, she’ll realize who she can trust, who she can believe in. Fortunately, her apartment is a block from my office, and I am in front of her building in less than two minutes. I hop out of my car and hurry up the familiar walkway. Gretchen’s building is one of a series of old brick brownstones, charming and decaying at the same time. Gretchen has planted pink geraniums in the window box next to her front door. Her next-door neighbor, an elderly woman I’ve said hello to a couple of times, has chosen to plant red ones. The look is homey, very Americana.
I wish Gretchen had given me a key. She keeps forgetting to ask her landlord, she says. She also says she’ll remember when I remember to divorce my wife. Cute, huh? A little bit of a power play going on with her, I realize, and feel my fists clench. I take a deep breath, calming myself. I need to hurry.
I knock softly on the thick front door, imagining Gretchen sleeping in a soft silk nightie. I don’t want to frighten her, but I need her to wake up already. I resist the urge to bang my fist on the door, deciding to go around back. I walk between the carports, my feet crunching on the gravel driveway. Her window is sheltered by a large pine tree that she likes for privacy, but it scratches my face as I push my way inside its branches. She doesn’t even have a curtain on her window, relying on the pine tree to shield her from prying eyes. I need to tell her that isn’t safe; I mean, all it takes is breaking a few branches off and you have a clear view.
I tap on her window a couple of times, harder with each tap, and watch as she stirs. She sits up in bed, looking toward the window but not seeing me. I knock again.I’m here, my love.She turns on her bedside table lamp, her eyes squinting in the bright light. She’s disoriented, poor thing. She picks up her phone, perhaps checking the time. It is late, or early, depending on your perspective, almost four thirty in the morning. I myself have been fighting waves of exhaustion whenever my adrenaline rush fades.
I knock again, three times, and then wave a hand so she’ll know it is me, a friend, a lover, not a Peeping Tom or some other creep. She stands up, her short nightie revealing her gorgeous legs. Gretchen has her phone gripped in both hands in front of her. Too late I realize she may be dialing 9-1-1.
“Gretchen, it’s me, love. It’s okay, no need to call the police,” I yell through the glass. Fortunately it’s the old leaded glass, beautiful but thin. No storm windows, of course, since her landlord is cheap.
She leans forward and then takes a step toward the window, trying to see me in the dark, phone still positioned defensively.
“Paul? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, yes, it’s me,” I say, relief flooding over me. “I came to whisk you away to the happiest place in the world, my love.” Even to me that sounded a bit corny, but women love this sort of thing.
“I asked you to leave me alone, to let me think.” Gretchen steps back. “You need to go now, Paul.”
Buck has done this. He has poisoned everyone with lies. I may need to make a stop in Nashville, just to say hello to Lois, make sure she isn’t going to do anything crazy. But first, I need to get Gretchen back on team Paul.
“My love, listen, let me in. Let’s talk. I’ll help you pack up. We’ll have so much fun!” I put one hand on the window, enjoying its cool smooth texture. I want to touch Gretchen’s cheek, feel her warm body beneath mine. I smile my winning smile, adding a wink.
She does not return my enthusiasm and takes another step back, toward her bedroom door. “I’m not going anywhere with you. If you don’t leave now, I will call the police.”
Lights suddenly flood the driveway and carport area, and I am illuminated as if it’s daylight. Next door, the old lady’s brownstone pulses with light as her back door opens.
“Who’s out here? I’m gonna call the cops.”
She’s an idiot. If I were a bad guy I would jump her now that her door is open, bash her head in and take any money she might have around. But the old lady has balls. We are feet away from each other, but my pine tree is protecting me.
I look back through the window at Gretchen. She mouths two words: “Go away.” Fine. I hear her, loud and clear.
The old bat closes her door and turns off the outdoor floodlights, and once again I’m shrouded in darkness. I’m fine. I don’t need Gretchen. She’s not even rich. No, it’s best to start over, just the boys and me: the three musketeers against the world. Fuck you, Gretchen, my love. I flip her the bird but I don’t think she saw me, retreating as she did into her living room.
I cut through the yard on my way to my car, and for good measure, for fun, I pop my head into her living room window.
“Boo,” I say, with a wave goodbye.
The look on her face is priceless, and I laugh all the way to the car.
Women are so predictable, so easily manipulated. I’m glad we didn’t have any girls. Boys are transparent, easy to read, easy to raise. They’ll have so much fun in Florida, or Nashville, wherever we end up.
I pull away from Gretchen’s apartment thinking fondly of all the great sex I had there, enjoying the little zip of desire that courses through me as I make my way onto the familiar street that leads to home. Norah Jones sings “Come Away with Me” as I cruise down Lane Avenue. The street takes me on a straight path through my beautiful suburb, a place filled with high-end shopping, cozy restaurants, country clubs, lucky children and spoiled housewives. My boys will carry memories of this place forever. Come away with me in the night, boys. We’ll build our new home in the sunshine.
That’s the only negative thing I can tell you about Grandville—I mean, it is never sunny. From October to the end of April, it’s perpetual gray. And then, when the sun does start to shine, it’s great for a couple weeks until it turns to unbearable heat and humidity. We’ll be better off someplace else. Anyplace would be better than here.
The light is green and I turn onto my street. I haven’t seen another car since I left the office and I still don’t. It’s just the Ford Flex and me, cruising my neighborhood, heading for home. I only have one more little detour to make.
I pull over to the curb, and turn off my headlights. The Boones’ Grandville home isn’t as special as their cottage. Like you, I’ve checked the value of all of my neighbor’s homes online and I know ours is one of the top two. The Boones’, on the other hand, is in the middle of the pack. In fact, if you’d never visited their lake house, you would think they were barely hanging on.
Maybe they are. It seems Greg made a bad business investment, and he’s overleveraged. One little thing could push them over the edge, especially since they cut their homeowner’s insurance to a minimum. I don’t know that for a fact, it’s just what I hear, since we share the same insurance agent. I was only asking for myself, of course, since I’m in a bit of a pinch and wanted to save somewhere. My agent, Bob, took me to lunch, but advised against cutting coverage as much as my neighbor.
