Deal Breaker

Chapter 31

Win and Myron went back to the office. Myron felt sore from the beating, but nothing was broken. He would persevere He was that kind of guy. Terribly brave.

Esperanza said, “You look like shit.”

“You’re so hung up on appearances.”

He tossed her the photograph of Adam Culver. “See if your friend Lucy recognizes him.”

She snapped a salute. “Jawohl, Kommandant.” Of all the old shows, Esperanza’s favorite was Hogan’s Heroes. Myron was not a big fan, though he always wished he could have been there when some young TV hotshot said, “Hey, I got an idea for a sitcom! Set it in a POW camp in Nazi Germany. Laughs galore.”

“How many calls?” he asked.

“About a million. Mostly the press wanting your comments on Christian’s signing.” She smiled. “Nice job on that one.”

“Thank you.”

“That Otto Burke,” she said, a pencil near her mouth. “Is he single?”

Myron looked at her, horrified. “Why would you want to know?”

“He’s kinda cute.”

The nausea was back. “You’re hitting me up for a raise, aren’t you? Please say yes.”

Esperanza smiled coyly but said nothing. He started for his office.

“Hold it,” she said. “A strange message just came in for you a few minutes ago.”

“From?”

“A woman named Madelaine. Wouldn’t give her last name. Sounded sultry.”

The dean-nessa. Hmm.

“She leave a number?”

Esperanza nodded, handed it to him. “Remember: The condom is your friend.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Speaking of which, your mother called twice, your father once. I think they’re worried about you.”

He entered his office. His little private sanctuary. He liked it in here. Myron held most of his negotiations and important meetings in the traditionally decorated conference room, freeing him up to make his office whatever he wanted it to be. He had, of course, his view of the Manhattan skyline to his left. On the wall behind his desk he had framed posters from Broadway musicals: Fiddler on the Roof, The Pajama Game, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Man of La Mancha, Les Misérables, La Cage aux Folles, A Chorus Line, West Side Story, Phantom.

Another wall had movie stills: Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, Woody Allen and Diane Keaton in Annie Hall Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy in Adam’s Rib Groucho, Chico, and Harpo in A Night at the Opera. Adam West and Burt Ward in Batman, the TV show, the real Batman, the one where Burgess Meredith played the Penguin and Cesar Romero played the Joker. The Golden Age of Television.

The final wall had photographs of Myron’s clients. In a few days Christian Steele cloaked in Titans blue would join the group.

He dialed Madelaine Gordon’s number. The answering machine picked up. Her silky voice. Hearing it again made his throat dry. He hung up, not leaving a message. He checked the time on the far wall. The clock was shaped like a giant watch with a Boston Celtics insignia in the center.

Three-thirty.

Still time to get to the campus. Madelaine was not important, but Myron very much wanted to see the dean. And he wanted to show up unexpectedly.

At Esperanza’s desk he said, “I’m going out for a while. You can reach me in the car.”

“Are you limping?” she asked.

“A little. Ache’s men roughed me up.”

“Oh. See you later.”

“Hurts like hell, but I can take it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t make a scene.”

“Inside,” she said. “I’m dying.”

“Please see if you can reach Chaz Landreaux. Tell him we need to talk.”

“Okay.”

He left. He picked up his car in the garage. Win was into cars. He loved his racing-green Jag. Myron drove a blue Ford Taurus. He was not what one might call a car man. A car got him from point A to point B, that was all. It was not a status symbol. It was not a second home. It was not his baby.

The drive didn’t take long. Myron took the Lincoln Tunnel. He passed the famed York Motel. Long sign:

$11.99 PER HOUR

$95 PER WEEK

MIRRORED ROOMS

NOW FEATURING SHEETS!

He paid the toll on the Parkway. The woman in the booth was very friendly. She almost looked at him when she tossed him the change.

He called his mother on the car phone and reassured her he was okay. She told him to call his father, he was the worried one. Myron called his father and reassured him he was okay. He told him to call his mother, she was the worried one. Great communication. The secret to a happy marriage.

He thought about Kathy Culver. He thought about Adam Culver. He thought about Nancy Serat. He tried to draw little lines, connecting them. The lines were tenuous at best. He was sure Fred Nickler, Sir Sleaze Rag, was one line. That picture hadn’t sneaked into Nips by itself. Fred seemed to run a tight operation. He had to know more than he was saying. Win was digging into his background, seeing what he could unearth.

Half an hour later, Myron arrived at the campus. Extra-deserted today. No one on the commons. Very few cars. He parked near the dean’s house and knocked on the door. Madelaine (he still liked the name) answered. She smiled when she saw him, clearly pleased, tilting her head a little. “Well, hello, Myron.”

“Hi.” The Return of Mr. Smooth.

Madelaine Gordon was dressed for tennis. Short white skirt Great legs. White shirt. He noticed that the shirt was see-through. Keen observation, the signs of a master investigator. Madelaine noticed him noticing. She did not seem particularly offended.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Myron said.

“No intrusion,” she said. “I was just about to take a shower.”

Hmm. “Your husband’s not in, is he?”

She crossed her hands under her breasts. “Not for hours yet,” she said. “You got my message?”

He nodded.

“Would you care to come inside?”

Myron said, “‘Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?’”

“Pardon me?”

“The Graduate.”

“Oh.” Madelaine wet her lips. She had a very sexy mouth. People overlook the mouth. They talk about the nose, the chin, the eyes, the cheekbones. Myron was a mouth man “I guess I should be offended,” she continued. “I mean, I’m not that much older than you, Myron.

“Good point. Quote withdrawn.”

“So,” she said. “I’ll ask again. Would you like to come inside?”

Myron said, “Sure.” Bowling her over with quick wit. What chance did she have against such sparkling repartee?

She disappeared back into the house, creating an air vacuum that sucked Myron-against his will, of course-in after her. The inside was nice, the kind of house that obviously saw plenty of company. Big open room on the left Tiffany lamps. Persian rugs. Busts of French guys with long, curly hair. Grandfather clock. Painted portraits of stern-faced men.

“Care to sit down?” she said.

“Thank you.”

Sultry That had been the word Esperanza used. It fit. Not just Madelaine’s voice but her mannerisms, her walk, her eyes, her persona.

“How about a drink?” she asked.

He noticed she already had one made for herself. “Sure, whatever you’re having.”

“A vodka tonic.”

“Sounds good.” Myron hated vodka.

She mixed the drink. He sipped it, trying not to make a face. He wasn’t sure if he was successful. She sat down next to him. “I’ve never been this forward before,” she said.

“That a fact?”

“But I’m very attracted to you. It’s one of the reasons I loved watching you play. You’re really very handsome. I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that.”

“Well, I don’t know if sick is the right word.”

Madelaine crossed her legs. It wasn’t Jessica’s leg cross, but it was still worth watching. “When you came to the door yesterday, I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity. I decided to throw caution to the wind and just go for it.”

Myron could not stop grinning. “I see.”

She stood and reached out her hand to him. “Now how about that shower?”

“Uh, can we talk first?”

Puzzlement shadowed her face. “Is there something wrong?”

Myron feigned embarrassment. “Aren’t you married?”

“And that bothers you?”

Not really. “Yes. I guess it does.”

“Admirable,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Stupid too.”

“Thank you.”

She laughed. “Actually, it’s sweet. But Dean Gordon and I have what we call a semi-open marriage.”

Hmm. “Could you elaborate a little?”

“Elaborate?”

“Just to make me feel more comfortable about all this.”

She sat back down. The white skirt might as well not have been there. Her legs could best be described as scrumptious. “I’ve never had to elaborate before,” she said.

“I realize that. But I’m interested.”

Arched eyebrow. “In?”

“Can we start with your definition of semi-open?”

She sighed. “My husband and I have been close friends since childhood. Our parents summered together in Hyannis Port. We were both from the ‘right families.’” She made little quote marks in the air when she said “right families.” “We thought that would be enough. But it wasn’t.”

“So why not divorce?”

She looked a question “Why am I telling you this?”

“My honest blue eyes,” he said. “They’re hypnotic.”

“Maybe they are.”

Now Myron gave her aw-shucks modesty. Mr. Adaptable Face.

“My husband is politically connected. He was an ambassador. He’s next in line to be university president. If we get divorced-”

“That ends,” Myron finished.

“Yes Even these days, the hint of scandal can destroy a career and a lifestyle. But more than that, Harrison and I are still dear friends. Best friends, really. It’s just that we need limited outside stimulation.”

“Limited?”

“Once every two months,” she said.

Yikes. “How did you come up with that number?” he asked. “Some kind of new algorithm, perhaps?”

She smiled. “Lots of discussions Negotiations, really. Once a month seemed like too much. Once a semester too little.”

Myron nodded at her. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

“And we always use a condom,” she added. “That’s part of the arrangement.”

“I see.”

“Do you have one?” she asked. “A condom.”

“On?”

She smiled “I have some upstairs.”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“If you must.”

“How do you and your husband know that the other has kept to their, er, limit?”

“Easy,” she said. “We tell each other. Everything. Helps spice things up a little.”

Madelaine was seriously strange, which only made her more attractive to Myron.

“Your husband. Does he ever fool around with co-eds?”

She leaned forward and put her hand on his thigh. Upper thigh. Upper, upper thigh. “That kind of thing turn you on?”

“Yeah.” He tried a rakish smile. But rakish was not him. He could see in her eyes that she wasn’t buying it.

Madelaine took back her hand. “What are you up to, Myron?” she asked.

“Up to?”

“I feel like I’m being used,” she said. “But not the way I had in mind.”

Man. “Just getting in the mood.”

“I don’t think so, Myron.” She studied him for moment. “Be honest for a second. Are we going to go to bed?”

“No,” he said “We’re not.”

“I’ve never been turned down before.”

“And I’ve never turned down a proposition like this before,” Myron said. “Come to think of it, I’ve never had a proposition like this before.”

“Is it because I’m married?”

“No.”

“Are you involved with someone else?” she asked.

“Worse. I’m on the cusp of something that means a great deal to me. I don’t know which way I’m going to fall. I’m confused.”

“That’s sweet.”

Again he gave her aw-shucks.

“If it doesn’t work out…?” she said.

“I’ll be back.”

She kissed him then. Hard. It was a damn good kiss. He felt it in his toes.

“Just the overture,” she said.

He’d be dead before the second scene. “I really do have to talk to your husband. Do you know when he’ll be home?”

“Not for a while. But he’s at the office across campus. By himself. You’ll have to knock loudly for him to hear you.”

He rose. “Thanks.”

“Myron?”

“Yes?”

“We never use names when we discuss our affairs. I don’t know if Harrison fools around with co-eds. I would doubt it highly.”

“How about Kathy Culver?”

She visibly jumped. Her face stiffened. “I think you better leave now.”

“The honest blue eyes,” Myron said. “Watch the honest blue eyes.”

“Not this time. And when I watched you play, it wasn’t your eyes I looked at.”

“Oh?”

“Your ass,” she said. “It looked nice in those little shorts.”

Myron felt cheap. Or ecstatic. Probably ecstatic. “Were they having an affair?” he asked.

She said nothing.

“I’ll shake my ass if I have to.”

“They weren’t having an affair,” she said firmly. “That much I know.”

“So why did you get all bent out of shape?”

“You were asking if my husband had an illicit affair with a co-ed who was probably murdered. I was taken aback.”

“Did you know Kathy Culver?”

“No.”

“Did your husband ever talk about her?”

“Not really. I just know she worked in his office.” She looked at the grandfather clock, stood, and led him to the door. “Talk to my husband, Myron. He’s a good man. He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“Like?”

She shook her head. “Thanks for visiting.”

Madelaine was in shutdown mode. Probably hurt by his interrogation technique. Using his brawny body to get his way. Myron had never done that before. He liked it. Better than pistol-whipping a suspect, anyway.

He turned and left. Madelaine was probably watching his ass. He put a little wiggle in his step and hurried across campus.