“How did you find out about this supposedly missing data?”
“Roger told me.”
“LeBrock told you I had it?”
“He figured you must, since there was no sign of it in your office.”
“When?”
“When what?”
“When did LeBrock tell you?”
“I don’t know. This morning. After Simon told him.”
“What time this morning?”
“I don’t know. Do you think I look at my watch every time I have a conversation?”
“Was it before the meeting you were in when I tried to call you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Did LeBrock pull you out of the meeting to tell you?”
“No. It was later. I was back at my desk for an hour, but then Roger called me upstairs and I had to cancel …”
Her voice tailed off, and she started to trace a circle with a drop of water that had formed on the countertop.
“Cancel what, Carolyn?”
“A performance review with Mike Atherton. One of my direct reports.”
“What time was it scheduled for?”
“Eleven.”
I pulled out my phone and took another look at the records of the calls I’d missed that morning. The first one had been at 11:07. I held the phone out for her to see.
“You didn’t reply to my voicemail. You didn’t try to call me during the hour you were at your desk. But you did call seven minutes after LeBrock started whining to you that I’d taken some data. And then you called another eleven times.”
She didn’t reply.
“What’s going on, Carolyn? Why are you doing LeBrock’s dirty work for him?”
“I’m not. I didn’t call you in that hour I had at my desk because I was mad at you. That’s the truth.”
“You were mad at me? What for? I’m the victim here!”
“Marc, have you taken a single moment to think about how this makes me look? I didn’t just encourage you to take that job. I went to Roger and I begged him to give it to you. I vouched for you. I put myself on the line for you. And what happened? You skulked around the office like a vampire, afraid to be seen in daylight. Upset the few people you bothered to come in contact with. And got terminated less than halfway through your contract. At least you get to walk away. I’m the one left with egg on her face.”
“It’s not egg, Carolyn. It’s horseshit. A ton of it got dumped on my head. And all you can worry about is whether any splashed on you? Gee, thanks for the sympathy.”
“That’s not all I’m worried about. I’ve told you, I don’t live in a single-track universe, like you do. But it’s one of the things I’m worried about. Of course it is. Don’t you understand me at all?”
“No. I clearly don’t. And after what LeBrock did to me, I don’t understand why you’re backing his plays, either. You should be standing up for me, not running that bastard’s errands.”
“You’ve got this whole thing ass-backward, you idiot.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I’m trying to help you. Not Roger. Not AmeriTel. You.”
“You’re lying. You’re just trying to squirm back into favor with LeBrock. What happened? What was the deal? You come home and get the data from me, and he makes sure your halo doesn’t get tarnished?”
“No.” She smoothed her skirt over her hips then clasped her hands in front of her, as if she was about to pray. “Getting the data back was my idea, I swear. You don’t know what’s at stake here.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what’s at stake, Carolyn? Because from where I’m standing, this whole thing stinks. You seem pretty damn desperate to keep LeBrock happy, and I’d like to know why.”
“Roger’s furious. He’s talking about calling the police. Think what that would do to your reputation, Marc. You’d never get another contract, ever again.”
“And you’re so worried about my employment status you’re prepared to entice me with an afternoon in the sack to get LeBrock’s data back for him? What a dutiful employee you are, Carolyn.”
“You make it sound … dirty.” She moved in close, a loose strand of her hair tickled my cheek, and a delicate wave of Chanel No. 5 wafted over me. Then she placed a hand on my chest and slowly worked a finger in between the buttons of my shirt. “What’s wrong with an afternoon in the sack with your wife? Most husbands would welcome it!”
“Maybe. If they felt like it was their wife’s own idea. But if she was being pimped out by the guy who just fired them? Not so much. No, thank you. Count me out.”
Carolyn stepped back, eyes ablaze, body rigid with anger, and for a moment I thought she was going to punch me. Then I thought she was going to burst into tears, which would have been worse. But in the end she just turned on her heel and stormed away, leaving me frustrated and alone in a lingering cloud of her perfume.
Monday. Afternoon.
SHE WAS BLOND. SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL. AND SHE WAS DOOMED.
The tragedy was etched into her face as she slipped from her lover’s grasp and plunged backward into the abyss, their fingertips an agonizing inch apart, a single tear escaping her piercing blue eyes, the drama of their entire lifetimes captured in that single pivotal moment.
I didn’t know her name. Her age. Where she lived. If she had a job. Whether she survived the fall. But I did know what she was thinking: I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN I’D NEVER HANG ON TO A GUY AS GOOD AS JEFF. Lichtenstein had written it in a speech bubble when he created her, back in 1964. That was all the information he’d given us, apart from the title. The Break-up. And I knew that because Troye had written it on the appraisal, back when I bought her.
“Is that how you picture us?” Carolyn took me by surprise. I hadn’t heard her come into the study behind me. “Are you Jeff? And is she me? I always wondered.”
“No, I’m not Jeff.” I turned to face her, and struggled to keep the dismay from showing when I saw she was still wearing her office clothes. “You’re not her. And I resent the implication.”
“But that’s where you were, right? This morning. When I couldn’t reach you? I was frantic, and you were at the gallery.”
“Right. I like it there.”
“You lose your job, and instead of talking to your wife, you go look at stupid overpriced cartoons. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit messed up, Marc?”
“You’re jealous of a painting? Is that what this is about? Because that’s ridiculous, Carolyn.”
“I’m not jealous.” Her tone turned icy. “And I wouldn’t call it a painting, either. I just think you’d relate to me better if I covered myself with dots and stood motionless against the wall.”
“You don’t think we relate well enough? Seriously? What does that even mean?”
“I get that this is difficult for you, seeing as you only understand things that don’t have a pulse. I realize it must be hard, not having any friends, to grasp the concept of listening to another person. And I know it might not get the needles spinning on your precious geek-ometer. But I really, really need you to stop. Take a moment. Open your ears. And hear what I’m telling you.”
“If you have something to say, say it. No need to insult me first.”
“For goodness’ sake, do you not understand? Do you need me to send an email?”
“What? I don’t know what you want.”
“The data, obviously.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“What is it with you and that damn data? Why don’t we just forget about it, and go in search of tequila instead?”
“No.” She shook her head, definitively. “We’re not going to forget about it. I need you to give it to me. Right now. As your wife, Marc, and after everything we’ve ever been through together, I’m asking you. Please. I need you to do this one, simple thing for me.”