That was a hellish month in the back-office-a new computer system, the trading room churning out twice the usual number of deals, and half his staff out with flu-but Margot had pulled her weight and then some. He remembered how quick she was reconciling payments, and how accurate. The other clerks didn’t like her much but there was no question she knew her shit. After a day or two they were following her lead, and so-in his way-was Lowe.
She was like a tune stuck in his head, and all of a sudden his morning train ran too slow and the workday went too fast. Overtime was a gift and he relished every second, down even to the lousy takeout meals-anything that got him alone with her, and got him close enough to smell whatever made her smell so good.
When he was close, he couldn’t stop looking. He was cautious at first-careful not to stare-but as time went by his eyes grew hungrier. If she noticed, or minded, Margot gave no sign, and after a while Lowe didn’t give a damn. He pored over her from follicles to fingernails, and memorized every inch. Once, late on a Thursday, he’d had to stop himself from touching. He left her in his office and walked the halls and wondered what his forty-eight-year-old brain was thinking. Looking was one thing, he told himself, but his palm on that white calf… By comparison, the talking seemed so harmless.
Drifting, Lowe smiled at the thought. How long before she’d known all about him-ten days, maybe? Two weeks? From his high school varsity letters and his dropping out of b-school, to his twenty years at the bank and his promotion, five years ago, to manager of the back-office-he’d told her everything. To which she’d nodded and looked into his eyes and said next to nothing about herself.
Not that Margot was the silent type. When it came to crude humor she held her own with the other clerks. She toned it down a little for him: some deferential teasing- subtle flattery, really; jokes about the size of the trades they were processing-how any one of them would make a nice lottery prize; and, inevitably, her favorite game-what if. What if you could go anywhere… do anything… start all over again? What if you knew then what you know now? What if you won the lottery?
Her daydreams were of travel-first class all the way. “And none of this nature shite, thank you-it’s cities only. Trees are fer parks, and animals fer zoos or eating.”
Lowe’s fantasies were more modest, but Margot coaxed him along.
“Would’ve gone easy on the pitching in middle school- saved my arm for later.
“Wouldn’t have majored in accounting.
“Would’ve traveled more-London maybe, or Paris.”
And then, on another Thursday, she’d coaxed him farther. Even as the words left his mouth, Lowe knew there was no going back.
“I wouldn’t have married so young, I guess… or maybe not at all.” His face burned and his eyes bored into the carpet. Margot didn’t answer, but when he looked up she was staring at him.
From his bubble, Lowe could see that sex was inevitable after that. Which isn’t to say that he wasn’t surprised when it happened, or that he didn’t nearly burst an artery when he saw that hard white body for the first time. A word had popped into his head then, something from high school English-what was it?
It was a Tuesday and there were accounts to balance and Lowe thought she’d be working late. He was surprised when she appeared in his doorway at 5:00, coat on her arm.
“I’m through those accounts and if there’s nothing else, I’m off,” she said. Disappointment hit him like a sandbag. Margot looked at him and at her watch. “You want a coffee before I go?” she asked. It blunted his upset a little and he nodded. But when they got to Water Street, Margot headed not for Starbucks but for a taxi. Lowe followed.
“There’s a place uptown you’ll like,” she said, and she said nothing else for the rest of the ride. The place was a sleek hotel in Murray Hill, where the desk clerks dressed better than Lowe. They nodded at Margot as she crossed the lobby. The room was large, and Margot kept the lamps off and opened the drapes and let the city light in. She pulled her shirt over her head and stepped out of her shoes and skirt.
“Look all you like now, Jimmy,” she whispered. “Fer as long as you like.” Alabaster. That was the word.
Her body was limber and smooth in a way that his wife’s had never been, even before the kids. Every time was better than the time before, and every time left him gasping and starving for more. The mattress was on the floor when they came up for air. Margot hit the minibar and brought back tumblers of John Jamesons. Lowe hadn’t been quite sober since.
Things moved quickly after that. Margot whispered in his ear-talk of what if and lottery tickets. She had it all worked out, and she had a friend in Europe-a Mr. Flynn-who knew useful things like how to launder money and how to get new passports. She made it sound so simple. One trade, identical to thousands of others in the system, except that it was fake. But there’d be nothing fake about the payment the system would wire out.
“Dead simple,” she’d said, and she was right.
Leaving his family was easier than he’d expected, too-at least at first. As images of Margot filled his head, his wife and daughters had faded to grainy silhouettes. Audrey was barely a shadow when he told her about his business trip. So was his boss when he put in for vacation. Dead simple.
Margot had booked the flights. They’d gone first class to Brussels. She told Lowe to lay off the booze and drink lots of water but he didn’t listen. His head was splitting when they arrived and things had been hazy ever since-a blur of swank hotel rooms and rainy cityscapes and never quite knowing the time. Zurich, Amsterdam, Luxembourg, Frankfurt-and in each, a friend of the unseen Mr. Flynn, with papers to be signed. They all knew Margot, but it was Lowe’s signature they needed. Lowe had worried about the documents, and the nameless men, and Flynn-wherever he was-and he’d wondered about Margot’s hotel room in New York, and the other hotels, and who was paying. But the questions always stumbled from his head before he could ask them, and Margot was there to put a pen in his hand, and afterward a drink and her hard white body.
Somewhere-Amsterdam maybe-Lowe’s stomach had started to burn, and he found himself thinking of his family. It was incoherent stuff-vague worry about… he wasn’t sure what-but the thoughts left him empty and aching. Three times he’d mentioned them to Margot, and not again.
The first time, her lower lip had trembled. “I thought I made you happy,” she’d said softly. Then they fucked until the sheets were drenched.
The second time went less well. “I’m not yer feckin’ priest,” she’d snapped.
The third time was in Frankfurt and her voice made him jump. “Jaysus-enough with yer feckin’ regrets! It’s over and done but you poke at it like a bad tooth.” She shook her head. “Yer pretty feckin’ Irish for a New York Jew, Jimmy-you’ll fit right in in Dublin.” Ten days in the city now and he still didn’t know what she’d meant.
Not that he’d seen much of Dublin besides their hotel room. Waiting for Flynn and their passports, Margot grew steadily edgier. She was restless and paranoid-stir-crazy, but reluctant to leave the hotel. It was only because he had started to annoy her, Lowe knew, that she allowed him his walks each day, to the park and back. He wondered what she was worried about, and what would happen when they got the passports. Would Margot go with him to another city? Did he care? The thought of not having sex with her made Lowe sad, and the thought of traveling alone scared him, but in his bubble he didn’t dwell on these things long. Margot leafed through her magazine and perfume fell from the pages onto him. She shifted her hips and Lowe thought about the body beneath her robe and reached for her again. She was having none of it.