In the Company of Liars

MARCH
EIGHT DAYS EARLIER
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31

She left that cocktail party immediately, without a word to Sam, without a word to Jessica. She went home and paced her house, did not sleep, as night blurred into early morning. There was no mistaking it. “Someone at work,” her daughter had told her in mid-December, and now she had seen who the “someone at work” was, firsthand. She had seen The Look on Sam’s face.

She showered early Friday morning, February sixth, and drove to his office in the city.

“Where is he?” she demanded. She bypassed the receptionist and hunted him through the halls, looking into each office, calling out his name. But he wasn’t there, they explained. Mr. Dillon was downstate, flew down to the capital this morning for some meetings.

So she went to her Lexus SUV and drove to the capital. He could be at his office or he could be anywhere at the capital, any number of rooms, most of which would be closed to her. No matter. She wouldn’t stop. She would wait, if necessary. She would find his car and sit on it. She would see him today.

First, the office. After two wrong turns, her knuckles white, her eyes clouded by tears, she found the building.

“Where is he?” She ignored the young man who popped out of an office to assist her.

The boy trailed after her, alarmed, no doubt, but she found Sam Dillon in his office and slammed the door behind her.

Sam was on the phone. He was disarmed by Allison’s appearance, the fact that she had traveled down here, the haggard, agitated, hurt expression that Allison knew she couldn’t hide.

Sam made quick work of the phone call and stood up. His lips parted but he didn’t speak. Allison grabbed the first thing she could find-a small pillow, embroidered with the crest of the state Senate, resting on a small love seat in the corner-and hurled it at Sam.

“You prick,” she hissed. “You prick.”

“Whatare you talking-”

“My daughter?” Allison took a step closer. Her throat caught. She tried to calm herself but she couldn’t control the wave of adrenaline. “You’re the guy at work? The one I ‘wouldn’t approve of’?”

“Allison.” Sam came around the desk. “What the hell?”

“This is your ‘ethical dilemma,’ Sam? You can’t decide whether you want to fuck me or my daughter?”

Sam’s face froze, but he quickly recovered. “Now calm down a minute-”

“How could you make me believe that what we had-”

“Allison, I’m not sleeping with Jessica.” Sam dared to approach her, tentatively reached out and took her shoulders. “I’m not sleeping with your daughter. Not now, not ever.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She was perspiring. She wanted, more than anything in this world, to hear these words, to believe them, but his reaction-including his guilty expression-told her that she hadn’t been far off.

She had seen that same look of guilt on Mat’s face when she had paid him that surprise visit years ago at his office and found the young intern sitting on his desk.

History was repeating itself.

“You tell me everything,” she said calmly, through gritted teeth, removing his hands from her, “and you tell me right now. I saw that look on your face last night. And now I know why my daughter wouldn’t tell me about the ‘guy’ she was interested in at work.”

“Sit.” Sam gestured to a chair, sat on the edge of his desk facing her.

“I’m fine standing,” she said.

“That’s all it was,” Sam explained, followed by an exaggerated sigh. “Jessica was interested in me, yes. Yes, she made overtures. Before I met you, Allison. Before that. She’s been working here for a year. I just met you a couple months ago.”

Allison found that she was holding her breath.

“Nothing happened, Allison. Nothing. But yes, she-she showed interest. And I was flattered. Okay? I’m a middle-aged, divorced man and a beautiful twenty-year-old is interested in me. Sure, it boosted my ego. Sure, I probably didn’t discourage it. It was the kind of harmless, flirtatious stuff that happens. But then one night-this is probably, I don’t know, I didn’t exactly mark my calendar-maybe November of last year, she said she wanted to see me outside the office. So I make a joke, right-how about I go into the parking lot?-but she’s serious, she wants to start dating me. I said no, Ally. I said it was inappropriate for more than one reason, and it had nothing to do with you-I didn’t even know you yet. It was inappropriate because she was Mat’s daughter, because I’m almost thirty years older than her, and because she worked for me.”

“And what did she say?” Allison asked, her voice trembling.

“She said-” Sam raised his head, as if to recount the events. “Oh, she said, she couldn’t control two of those three, but she could quit her internship.”

Allison raised her eyebrows, to show she was not finished listening.

“I said no, Allison. Christ Almighty, I said no.”

Allison sat down in her chair, feeling her physical exhaustion for the first time.

“And what’s this,” Sam asked, “about the ‘look on my face’ last night?”

Allison chewed on her lips, cast her eyes downward. “I saw you looking at her at the party,” she answered. “I saw that look on your face.”

Allison types on her laptop, a present from Mat, since the county prosecutors seized her last computer and seem to be in no hurry to return it.

She always loved the theater best.A Doll’s House, Ibsen’s play, was her favorite. She played the lead, Nora Helmer, the underappreciated mother, the wife to Torvald, in an amateur production one time. She remembers moving about the house in the final scene, when Nora left Torvald, left him devastated and confused, Nora finally empowered and taking control.

Plays are so hard, though, because so much of it is language. Dialogue can be so trying, so difficult to write exactly how people talk. But at least she knows the subjects well.

ALLISON: I don’t want Jessica to think I’m innocent.

MAT: Why not?

ALLISON: Because if she thinks I’m innocent, she’ll think that her testimony put me in jail. If she knows I’m guilty, it will be easier for her to accept.

(Mat seems uneasy with this. It is putting a lot on him, forcing him into a difficult conversation about their daughter.)

MAT(Sheepishly): What-what should I tell her? How could I possibly convince her that you’re guilty of murdering Sam?

ALLISON(pondering): Tell her that I buried the trophy at the base of a fence, near a yellow post, behind the Countryside Grocery Store on Apple and Riordan.

Allison reads it over and frowns. She hits the backspace button on the laptop and watches the cursor gobble up word after word, until this passage is wiped out.

“Needs more work, Ally,” she says to herself. She has time.