The Shadow of Your Smile

42

Peter Gannon woke up on Friday morning with a hangover that put any previous hangover he had ever experienced to shame. His head was bursting, he was nauseous, and he had the crashing feeling that his world was about to disappear from under him.

He knew he would have to declare bankruptcy. There was no way he could pay off the backers of his play. Why was I so sure that this one was going to be a hit? he asked himself. Guaranteeing them half of what they invested was stupid, but it was the only way they’d put up any money. I’ll be a pariah to them now.

For long minutes he stood in a hot shower, then, wincing, turned on the cold water. As he shivered under the needlelike impact of the freezing spray against his skin, he forced himself to deal with the fact that he would have to admit to Greg that he had once told Renée Carter he was sure Greg was involved in an insider trading fraud. Not only that, but I told her that except for the charities we support because of Clay in cardiology research and Doug in psychiatric research, a lot of our donations from the foundation are small and strictly for show. If she hadn’t decided to blackmail me about the baby, no doubt she would’ve threatened to expose the fraud. God, if they were ever investigated! Peter did not finish the thought.

Greg will simply have to give me a million dollars to pay off Renée, and he’ll have to do it now. I saw her Tuesday night. For all I know she’s already thought about how much she’d collect for being a snitch. I gave her two million dollars when she left town almost two and a half years ago to keep her mouth shut, and that was supposed to be it. She said she would give up the baby for adoption.

Renée. Unsteadily, Peter got out of the shower and reached for a bath towel. I was drinking all Tuesday afternoon, he thought. I was afraid to tell her that all I could scrape up was one hundred thousand dollars, not a million. Then, when I was waiting for her in the bar, I had those two scotches. I should have told her that the hundred thousand was all I could give her for now. I should have strung her along…

What happened then? he asked himself. She got mad when I gave her the bag with the hundred thousand, and that was all she’d ever get. Final payment. No more money. I’d have her charged with extortion. Then, when she ran out and started down the street, I ran after her and grabbed her hand. She dropped the bag, slapped me, and her fingernail nicked my face.

What happened then?

I don’t remember, Peter thought miserably. I just don’t remember. Oh, God, he thought, as he slipped into a bathrobe, where did I go? What did I do? I don’t know. I just don’t know. I woke up on the couch in the office on Wednesday afternoon. That was fifteen hours later. Then I started thinking that Sue might lend me the money and I met her at Il Tinello. After Sue turned me down, I got drunk again. Renée hasn’t called me back yet, or has she? I’ve been having blackouts. Maybe I didn’t hear the phone…

Peter looked into the mirror over the bathroom sink. Some mess, he observed. Eyes bloodshot. I never did shave yesterday. Wonder what Sue thought when I met her?

Sue. Renée was the straw that broke the camel’s back in our marriage. I had sworn to Sue I’d quit womanizing, then she read in the gossip column that I’d been seen with Renée. The mistake of my life, four years ago. Sue wouldn’t believe I was sick of Renée and breaking up with her. Crazy, the way the ball bounces. Sue had three miscarriages in the twenty years we were married and Renée managed to get pregnant just when she knew I was about to break off with her. Of course she did it on purpose, he thought angrily, but at least Sue never knew about the baby. That would have been hell for her… And now, divorced or not, he hoped Sue never finds out.

Why didn’t Renée give up the baby for adoption? When I paid her off, she said she would. She sure wasn’t into kids. She did it because she wanted to have a hold over me. A hold called Sally, whom I’ve never met, nor ever want to meet. Why did Renée come back to New York? Guess she’d not gotten her claws into another rich boyfriend in Vegas and needs me to feather her nest again.

If only I could prove the kid isn’t mine, but Renée was smart enough to have saved DNA from me and had it matched with the baby’s. She’s mine, like it or not.

Peter Gannon reached for his shaving soap and razor. As he started to shave, he winced when the blade hit the spot where Renée’s nail had caught him. What happened after she slapped me? he asked himself again.

A half hour later, dressed in a casual shirt, sweater, and khakis, a cup of coffee in his hand, Peter forced himself to pick up the phone to dial his brother, Greg.

Before he could complete the connection, the concierge called on the intercom. “Mr. Gannon, Detective Tucker and Detective Flynn are here to see you. May I send them up?”