Chapter22
Jack Murray shut the door to his Upper Westside Manhattan apartment, brushed off a few stray snowflakes from his thick black hair, then kicked his shoes off and hung his overcoat on the rack in the hallway. Glad to be home, he went through to the sleek designer kitchen, poured himself a red wine and flopped down in the living area, where he turned on a huge flat-screen TV. Wondering why all the lights were on, he scratched his bushy beard, relaxed into the grey leather sofa and took a deep glug of the comforting alcohol.
It had been a stressful day on Wall Street. In fact, every day was stressful since recently starting his new job in the financial district of New York. Working in the money markets was rewarding in one way but so fickle in others. Thinking of the clients he had worked with, he had rarely experienced the sight of money bringing happiness to any of them. The opposite, in fact: he had seen a lot of the wealthy and successful fall. Addiction was a common enemy. Cocaine had no regard for the destruction it wreaked, its victims in thrall to its malevolent power, fellow brokers included, who thought they were Wolves of Wall Street like Leonardo DiCaprio when in fact they were the complete Wankers of Wall Street.
Jack was grateful that his only vices were a fine Bordeaux and at the moment a wannabe actress who went by the nameof Riley. He would be the first to admit that the fact her father happened to own this flat in the sought-after Dakota Building had been one of the deciding reasons for them moving in together. New York rentals were expensive, and if Jack were to eventually follow his dream of giving up the nine to five to concentrate on writing a successful Hollywood screenplay, he needed every leg-up he could get. Paying Riley’s father a peppercorn rent was a real bonus.
When he was offered his dream job in New York working for a shrewd cookie by the name of Jenifer Moon, he had been thirty-five, a man in his prime. Ready to face the world and whatever it offered or asked from him. He hadn’t expected to meet somebody quite so quickly. It was a case of life happening to him when he was busy making other plans. Also, he had anticipated a bigger bonus than the one he had actually received, so his chance of taking time out had not yet come to pass. Yes, the money trappings allowed him a great lifestyle – but was he really happy? He would much rather be finishing his new screenplay and getting it off to agents, but the vicious circle of work, sleep, eat and repeat had become robotic, and he a kind of robot. Jack wanted to make a good impression at the new firm so was working flat out, which meant he was so knackered when he got in, usually after a drink with his colleagues, that writing was the last thing on his mind.
‘You’re late.’ A shrill American accent broke his peace.
Slightly startled, Jack raised his eyes and his voice. ‘I thought you were out with Brooke tonight?’
‘I couldn’t be bothered in this weather. Cabs are so slow today and the traffic is terrible. I’m in the bath. Come join me if you want to.’
‘I’m just having a nightcap to wind down.’
‘Oh, come on, spoilsport. Bring it in with you.’
Jack went over to the window and looked out. Huge snowflakes were falling in front of his eyes, landing on Central Park and the sidewalk below. Despite the darkness he could make out a group of young guys shrieking in delight as they chased each other in a snowball fight. What was it about snow that reduced even fully grown men to children? Probably the same reason a barbecue turned them into the next MasterChef.
After the day he had had, he was quite happy to settle down in the warm and shut the noisy world out.
New York never slept, but tonight, the sirens and traffic seemed muted, as if the elements had allowed the city to doze off, just for a second. He flicked on the television to find an effusive weatherman waving around facts and figures about how rare snow like this was at this time of year, and how the city could expect another heavy fall of it from midnight.
‘Jack! Come to me.’ His girlfriend’s sulky tones caused Jack to make a face. Knowing he would pay for it later if he didn’t, he turned off the TV and walked through to the bathroom, glass in hand.
Riley Roberts, ‘real name not stage, honey’ was luxuriating in the huge copper standalone bath, up to her neck in a veil of thick bubbles. At twenty-five, her body was fit and toned. Her blonde crop made her resemble a young Gwyneth Paltrow, but instead of relying on her natural beauty, her lips had been enhanced and her eyelashes lengthened.
‘Oh, you’re empty-handed,’ she said, those plumped lips curling.
‘Sorry – you should have said.’
‘Did you call the orthodontist today?’
Jack felt his anger rising at the familiar mantra. ‘Howmany times do I have to tell you. Myvery slightlycrooked bottom teeth are staying.’
‘And how many times do I have to tellyouthat they are so not Hollywood, doll. Imagine if your screenplay is a hit and I’m walking that red carpet with you. I can’t be doing all the smiling at the press on my own, now can I?’ Riley lifted herself up out of the water to show off her small pert breasts. ‘Are you drunk? You look drunk.’
‘I had two glasses, this is my third.’
‘I expect Caitlin was there flirting with you all?’
‘Yes, the Caitlin who is very happily married to Dominic was there, but not flirting.’ Jack sighed. ‘If you’re going to start being ridiculous again, I’m going back in to watch the end of the film I started last night.’
‘Fillum.’ Riley mimicked his English accent. ‘I don’t know why you can’t say movie like normal people. So, who else was there then? Ruby? Calista?’
Jack noticed the half-full bottle of Chardonnay resting in the portable wine cooler on wheels he had got her last Christmas. ‘Why are you asking me for a drink, when you have plenty here already?’ For a moment he felt tempted to empty the icy contents over her head.
‘That’s right, be horrible to me. I’m darn sure you wouldn’t speak in that way to that witch you met in Cornwall last year. “Oh, Star, you’re so beautiful. Oh, Star hi, show me your crystal shop and around this quaint little village. Oh, Star, put a love spell on me.”’
Jack ran a hand through his hair. ‘Wait a minute, where did that come from? Every time you have a bloody drink you—’
‘I’ve just been lying here thinking about it. I’m surprised the bathwater isn’t boiling.’
‘I’m not getting into this. I have changed my numbers and every email address. And now I’ve left Eddison’s, she doesn’t even have a clue where I work. Riley, please stop this.’
His fingers automatically went to the scar on his forehead, a reminder of the drunken row when Riley had discovered a message from Star – saying nothing too incriminating, thank goodness. But his incensed girlfriend had pushed him in her fury, and he had lost his footing, cracked his head on the coffee table and fallen awkwardly enough to break a bone in his forearm.
