He didn’t look concerned, at least not right away.
“You could,” he said. “And tell them what?”
“Everything. Show up at the station and tell them what happened. Tell them you set me up. Make it my word against yours.”
“And who,” he asked, “do you expect them to believe? A New Yorker they’ve never met? Or a man they’ve worked with for a decade?”
I shrugged. He was right, but I couldn’t show it. “Stranger things have happened.”
He stepped toward me and grabbed the front of my shirt, the first time he’d put his hands on me. His eyes stared into mine and his voice lowered, almost to a whisper.
“You’d be dead before you reached the station.”
He let go and I exhaled. We stared each other down.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “I’m offering you a generous compromise, one you’d be wise to take. The last thing you want to do in these mountains is fuck with me.”
He patted my back again and led me through the doorway.
“Tomorrow night, eight o’clock,” he said. “I’ll see you both there.”
38
The Otter Ridge Steak Room was an opulent affair; a cozy log building the size of a home, nestled into the side of the mountains. The main dining room held no more than a dozen tables. Our table was in a small private room at the far side of the building, filled with lit candles and smells of pine and basil. The lighting was dim, the mood intimate. Our table sat beside a large window displaying a view of downtown Otter Ridge below. The lights of Main Street burned bright in the cool autumn night.
The ambiance was welcoming; the mood at the table was not.
By the time I convinced Suzanne to join me for dinner, she had calmed to a point that was manageable. I thought she would be fine in front of Vince and Adeline. I was wrong.
“Come with me tonight,” I’d pleaded to her, holding her hand between mine in her apartment living room. “Please. I need you.”
“You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t,” she said, yanking her hand away.
“We can talk about it after. I promise. We’ll talk about everything.”
She said nothing.
“It’s a free dinner and cocktails at this nice restaurant. Would it be so bad?”
“Depends on the company.”
“Vince and Adeline are your friends. They were your friends before they were my friends. You like them.”
“Perhaps I don’t like you,” she said, and shrugged.
The conversation continued like this for twenty minutes until she finally softened and agreed to go. We would dress up, eat dinner, and have a nice time, and afterward we would talk things through. I really did need her.
On the drive to dinner, me in a sport coat and her in a red dress and doused in perfume, the trouble began. I will never understand how this happened, or why. But she somehow got the notion I’d slept with another woman, despite the fact that there were virtually no signs. It’s as if she smelled it on me.
“You’re different,” she said, glaring.
“In what way?” I asked. I’d never been particularly good at lying.
“You’re full of shit.”
And it continued like that, until she accused me of cheating on her. There was the fact that she and I had never verbally defined any sort of relationship, and therefore cheating was impossible, but I didn’t dare bring it up. When we pulled up to the restaurant, she was resting her head on her hand, which was resting on the passenger side window.
“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “Damn unbelievable.”
“We’ve established there’s zero basis for what you’re accusing me of,” I said.
“There doesn’t need to be. You ooze infidelity.”
I put the car in park in the small, secluded lot, and looked at her.
“Could you just be cool?” I asked. “You sound insane.”
She shook her head. “You would think of it that way.”
I sighed. “You have no idea how insane you sound.”
“Fuck off.”
“Listen!” I yelled. “Could we just table this shit? Could you just relax for an hour? Would you mind putting off your delusions and accusations for that long, and just have dinner with your friends?”
She shook her head and said nothing.
“Hey, you haven’t heard from Damon, have you?” I asked.
She scoffed and opened the car door. I followed her inside.
For thirty-two minutes, everything was fine. We entered, her slightly in front, and were led to the table where Vince and Adeline already sat. They greeted us warmly, and we responded in kind. For thirty-two minutes, Suzanne acted normally; wordy and cosmic. Thankful for the invite. We both thanked them. The couples sat across from one another. Vince spoke and Adeline smiled. We listened and laughed when appropriate. Cocktails were served, menus were offered and declined. Vince would order for the table. For thirty-two minutes, the mood was bright, and I had nearly forgotten I was being blackmailed by one of them and had slept with two of them and was in considerable danger because of all three.
We spoke of frivolous matters; of changing seasons and food and music and recreation. We did not discuss work or relationships.
“I still remember your set here,” Vince said to Suzanne.
“You sang here?” I asked.
She looked down and suppressed as smile. “It was a long time ago.”
“It was fantastic,” Vince said.
“It was,” Adeline agreed.
“Swanky place,” I said.
“There was a time,” Vince said, “when Suzanne sang at least once a week in the valley. Always the classiest spots.”
It went on like this for thirty-two minutes, cordial and flattering and almost fun. The second round of drinks were served and the food was ordered—steaks for the men and seafood for the women. We talked and laughed and I didn’t think of the perils of my situation. I didn’t think of smuggling heroin. I didn’t think of Vince’s words, which hung in the air when they said them and kept me awake that night.
You’d be dead before you reached the station.
I didn’t think about it. For thirty-two minutes I drank martinis and ate beef tartare and didn’t think about it.
It started with Adeline. She sat across from me, and yet I hadn’t been worried about anything going wrong with her; I’d been focused on the one to my left. Adeline gave me eyes when we sat down, and again when she took a drink of her martini. That didn’t matter; no one saw. She brushed my shoulder once when she excused herself to use the restroom. That didn’t matter. She laughed at most everything I said, and winked at me once. That didn’t matter. None of this mattered, because neither Suzanne nor Vince saw it, and because I ignored it. I wanted to stare at her and yell—Cut that shit out!—every time she made contact. But I couldn’t. I just had to get through the dinner. And for thirty-two minutes I did.
In the thirty-third minute, Adeline touched my foot with hers beneath the table, and this time Suzanne saw it. It was a harmless, innocuous touch—less blatant than her other cues, could have even been an accident—but she saw it. She saw it, her face went blank, and she stared at me.
She spoke eventually, but at first she just stared. Vince was telling a story about a party years ago, recounting a pot- and whiskey-fueled happenstance. He laughed, Adeline laughed along and so did I. Suzanne stared, but he kept talking.
“You piece of shit,” she said, coldly looking straight into my eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
Vince stopped his story. “Everything alright?” he said.
“No,” she said, still looking at me. “Not at all.”