The Ups and Downs of Being Dead Page 6

  Thinking back through nearly 30 years of marriage, he searched for clues to when their affair might have started. Certainly not in those early days. Life was too hectic and they were on crazy schedules.

  He remembered one night that first spring when they were all flying red-eyes back to Atlanta. Martin had been in Des Moines closing a deal on a 25-thousand square-foot property. After spending two weeks in Springfield, Robert was coming home for the weekend. And Amanda had been fighting wind and rain in Savannah for two days on a photo shoot.

  Robert and Martin met in a bar on concourse D at the airport and waited for Amanda’s flight.

  “It’s amazing,” Robert was telling Martin. “Women love having a man in the store. She tries on a dress and I tell her to turn around so I can get the full effect. Or she likes a skirt but she thinks maybe the blouse is too plain. So I grab a scarf and drape it around her neck. That personal attention means everything.”

  Martin sipped scotch, his bleary eyes unfocused. “And what do you say if she asks you if the dress makes her look fat?”

  “Oh, I tell her the truth. But in a good way. Like—‘sweetheart, your husband might not want you struttin’ your stuff for all the other men out there’. They don’t take it so personally when it comes from me. I’m like their physician.”

  “Doctor Feelgood,” Martin mumbled and downed the rest of his drink. “I’m dead on my feet. How much longer do we have to wait—”

  At that moment, Amanda burst into the bar like a typhoon and paused before letting a magazine, the hefty Best of Vogue issue slip from her hands. The slap on the floor drew attention from all the other weary travelers in the room—mostly men.

  Newspapers rustled, chairs creaked, conversations stopped.

  Then she slowly eased down in a squat, allowing her short skirt to ride up her thighs. Flipping her hair to one side to increase visibility, she squeezed her elbows to her chest to thrust out her breasts, and scooped up the magazine.

  Robert loved the show—God knows he’d seen it a hundred times—but Martin huffed in disdain.

  At the table, she bent to offer air kisses to Robert, one stiletto heel rising behind her in a coquettish pose. Robert took advantage of her public display to rub a hand down to her ass and squeeze. She never rejected his overtures if she had an audience.

  Martin however, refused to stand and offer his cheek. Instead, he rifled the papers on their cocktail table like she was late for an important meeting.

  Once she was sure the barometric pressure had stabilized in the room, she took a seat.

  “My God, the humidity was brutal in Savannah,” she said breathlessly.

  She even fanned her cowled silk blouse, then fluffed her professionally-tangled hair with polished nails.

  “We sat in the trailer all morning playing cards,” she said, “waiting for a break in the rain.” She inhaled a deep breath, her breasts rising to peaks. Then she blew out with dramatic flair, her head wobbling in that ‘what’s a girl to do’ shake.

  “Then it looked like it was starting to clear so we raced out to the beach. You can imagine how hot it got the moment the sun came out, but Dominick started shooting like crazy. Five minutes later, it was pouring rain again. My hair was a wreck, the dress was toast. And we were back in the trailer in our robes, playing cards again.”

  When it was apparent that Amanda would be rehashing her day for a while, Martin stood.

  “Perhaps we can continue this in the car?”

  As they strolled to baggage claim, she jabbered about how the sunlight had played perfectly off her hair. And while they waited for her bags, she chattered about the perfect sunset, and how she was sure Dominick had captured her essence.

  Martin went ahead to look for the driver, and he was sitting in the front seat when Robert and Amanda climbed into the back of the town car.

  By then, Amanda had worked herself into such an aroused state that she pulled Robert on top of her and drove her tongue deep into his mouth. He’d sat motionless, anticipating how far Amanda might take things. If he reciprocated in any way, she’d stop. Almost like his touch was the catalyst that turned her off.

  Unfortunately, Martin growled to clear his throat, and turned in his seat to address them both.

  “I’m heading to Memphis tomorrow night for a meeting with Charles Henderson at McNamara’s.” He rustled a sheaf of papers when Amanda continued to nibble on Robert’s ear. “Amanda, you have an appearance at the Springfield Audrey’s Friday, and then you join Robert in Anderson for the ribbon-cutting ceremony on number twenty-five.”

  Her lips parted in a wicked smile as her hand slid between Robert’s legs; her eyebrow twitched in a taunt. Then, the moment Martin got out of the town car at his apartment, her performance stopped. Had she been teasing Martin as much as Robert, even then?

  No, in those days, she had no interest in Martin. She might not have actually been in love with Robert, but she loved what he could do for her, and she showed her appreciation.

  His mind roamed again, like scanning for a clear channel, and another more recent episode came to mind. He’d come home late from a business trip to find Amanda crying in their bedroom, a scrapbook on her lap.

  “What’s wrong?” he’d asked.

  “This.” Amanda shoved the book at him. “This is what your daughter thinks of me.” On one side of the page, Rachel had pasted pictures of her friends with little captions about their clothes, their hair. Across from these pictures was a snapshot of Amanda. She had fallen asleep out by the pool, wearing a massive caftan. The hem of the shapeless dress had ridden up her thigh, and the caption read: Jabba the Hut. There were also cut-out arrows pointing to the rolls of fat at her neck, to the pasty white leg spread across the chair. Each arrow had a single word: Yuck! Gross!

  He felt so sorry for Amanda that he pulled the scrapbook out of her hands and closed it.

  “She doesn’t mean that. She’s just being a teenager. Showing off for her girlfriends.”

  “But I am gross,” Amanda wailed as she jumped to her feet. “I’ve tried, Robert, honestly I have. But I just can’t get the weight off.”

  He found himself assuring her that her size did not matter, even rubbing his hands along the pillowy layer of fat on her back, down to her humongous hips. Suddenly she was clamoring at his pants, begging him to make love to her. At first he’d said he was too tired, not in the mood. But she’d unzipped his fly. “I can get you in the mood.”

  Christ, she was ready to go down on him. How long had it been since she’d done that? Her desperation turned him on. His desperation made him ashamed. But that didn’t stop him.

  “Let me just get the door,” he’d whispered.

  And there was that goddamn Robbie, staggering down the hallway.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Robert asked.

  When Robbie told him to fuck off, Robert went ballistic, charging down the hall after him. Robbie backed away, dropping a set of car keys. Robert picked them up. They were to Amanda’s Jag.

  “You took your mother’s car? Jesus Christ, Robbie you don’t even have a driver’s license anymore. Do you know how much trouble you could get into…”

  “She said I could.” Robbie spat the words at him before he pushed open his bedroom door and slammed it in Robert’s face.

  Amanda came tripping out of the bedroom. When she saw how angry Robert was she just shrugged her shoulders. “If I hadn’t let him, he’d have taken it anyway.”

  Robert wanted to slap her. “Don’t you understand the liability here? If he has another accident, and hurts someone, kills someone, who do you think pays?”

  She gave Robert her classic smirk. “Insurance?”

  He twisted the keys in his fingers to keep from striking her. “Must you always play the dumb blond? Geez, Amanda.”

  “What?”

  “Go see Martin. Maybe he can explain it to you.”

  “That’s always your answer,” she’d screamed. “Talk to Martin.”

&
nbsp; Everything seemed to tumble into place then, as he lay nestled between his wife and his best friend. She had gone to Martin. And he had offered her what Robert would not. Comfort. Acceptance. Love.

  All this time, he’d figured it was Rachel’s scrapbook that had finally goaded her into getting back in shape. But it wasn’t the pictures. It was Martin.

  At first light, Martin woke up. Robert leaped off the bed before Martin pulled Amanda into a tight squeeze. A sensual moan vibrated in the back of her throat.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  “Great.” She rolled on top of Martin, the sheets slipping away from her naked shoulder.

  Their intimacy was yet another affront to Robert. Even when he and Amanda first married, she never stayed to cuddle in bed. She always said she didn’t want to be seen without makeup, or with her hair mussed. She didn’t seem to mind this morning.

  She lowered her head to kiss Martin, her tangled blond hair falling into his face. What? No brushed teeth?

  “You know what I decided?” she said. “I’m glad we don’t have to go through all that legal hassle. And we don’t have to hide anymore, pretending nothing is going on.”

  With both hands, Martin combed his fingers into her hair, pulling it away from her face and tucking it behind her ears. “Me. too.” He sounded genuinely relieved. “I want everyone to know I love you.”

  Amanda’s smile weakened and she rolled off. Her head flopped onto her pillow. Martin raised up on his elbow, and draped a leg across hers. “You’re worried about telling the kids, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not Rachel so much. But what about Robbie?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about that.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. How could she stand having him stare so closely with nothing but thin wisps of eyeliner she’d had tattooed on years ago. “Maybe it’s time we weaned Robbie off his allowance.”

  Sheer panic broke out on her face. “What?”

  “It’s time Robbie learned how to take care of himself. He’s twenty-six, Amanda.”

  What he really meant was that because of her leniency, Robbie was a total waster. From the day those kids were born, they never cried for more than five seconds before she dropped whatever she was doing to whisk them into her arms. At night, she kept both kids in bed with them. Called it the family bed. Well, there was no room for Robert in that bed.

  “Your whole financial picture has changed here,” Martin said. “Robbie was given a specific inheritance, and from now on any monies he receives will be from that account, not yours.”

  “Also…” Robert watched Martin’s leg tighten against her thighs, locking her down. “I want to send Doug Bailey up to New York immediately to evaluate Robbie. If he’s as heavy into drugs as we think he is, Doug can determine the best course of action. If Robbie needs to be institutionalized—”

  “Institutionalized!” Amanda tried to buck Martin’s leg off, but he held fast.

  “Hang on, now,” he said. “Some of the biggest celebrities in Hollywood have checked into rehab centers at one time or another. You know that. Robbie might not be able to kick his addictions alone.”

  Amanda tried to interrupt again but Martin pressed a finger to her lips. If Robert had ever tried that, she would have chomped it off and spit it at him.

  “Once we get Robbie clean and sober, I’ll find him a job – on Doug’s recommendation. It may take him a while to get on his feet, but we’re not going to provide a free ride anymore. We’ll monitor his progress and when we think the time is right, we’ll let him fly solo.”

  Dear God. Martin even opened his palm like he was letting a little bird go. What an idiot. Hadn’t he learned anything about Robbie in the past twenty-six years?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Robert stood in front of the art deco apartment building in New York City’s Battery Park. A doorman wearing a deep burgundy waistcoat with gold braided epaulets jerked open the glass door and a woman carrying a briefcase burst out onto the street. Immediately, the doorman dashed to the curb, tweeting the whistle around his neck. A cab swooped over, and the woman was in and gone in seconds.

  According to Amanda, the building was filled with young professionals eager to make their mark in the business world. She actually thought these up-and-comers would be a good influence on Robbie.

  He shook his head as he passed through the brass elevator doors and drifted up to the twelfth floor. Once inside Robbie’s apartment, Robert froze to take in the disarray.

  Some kid was passed out on the sofa, a beer bottle tilted in the crook of his arm, the remains of the beer dripping off the boy’s elbow onto the leather cushions.

  The coffee table was piled with empty beer cans; an uncapped bottle of vodka sat half full. Ashes overflowed a saucer, and some of the cigarette butts looked like they had been stubbed out right on the glass tabletop. There were pot stems and seeds scattered amongst the ashes, and pills strewn about. A candle had been left burning; the wax had drizzled onto the glass and over the side where it had puddled and dried in the plush carpet.

  The kitchen was illuminated by the refrigerator door standing wide open, dirty dishes were piled in the sink, empty food containers littered the counter. Robert was certain the garbage overflowing the basket reeked. The place was prime for infestation. Didn’t the tenants’ association ever check these units out?

  As he passed the bathroom, he glanced in. Towels and dirty clothes had been pushed to the walls to make a path to the toilet that was sprinkled with pubic hairs and urine stains.

  There was no path in the bedroom, just strewn clothes everywhere. Robbie and some girl lay sleeping, the sheets a tangled mess. It was obvious the bed had not been made in weeks. Good Lord, with all the money Amanda sent, couldn’t Robbie shell out the cost of a cleaning service at least once a month?

  The girl looked like a tramp, her tight blue jeans ripped in strategic places, her arms swathed in bracelets. She hadn’t even taken the time to remove her high-heeled ankle boots before collapsing on the bed. Her camisole was so loose that one of her breasts spilled out; a tattoo of a snake’s head lay perched on top, with its forked tongue licking at her nipple. Where her top separated from her low-slung pants, Robert saw the snake’s body continue down her belly and into her jeans.

  He forced his eyes away.

  Robbie lay flat on his back, steadily snoring through his gaping mouth. A sudden reflex caused Robbie to choke and he coughed so hard it woke him up. He wobbled to sitting. Then with his head between his knees, he hacked until he produced a blob of mucus that he tried to spit into another overflowing wastebasket. It hit the floor.

  And Martin thought he’d be able to rehabilitate this pig? Fat chance.

  All the coughing woke the girl. She opened bleary eyes smeared with make-up. “Shut the fuck up,” she croaked.

  Staggering to his feet, Robbie shuffled to the bathroom where he hacked out more phlegm.

  Robert wished Amanda could see what all her coddling and pampering had done. For as far back as Robert could remember, she’d let Robbie get away with—he almost thought murder, but thank goodness the other kid hadn’t died.

  When was that? Robbie must have been sixteen. Robert knew his son was drinking because he’d discovered whole bottles of booze missing, but he didn’t realize how heavily Robbie was into drugs until the ski trip to Utah. Amanda and Robbie wanted to go to Vail or Aspen, but Robert was thinking of investing in some condominiums in Park City, Utah. To placate Robbie, he said both he and Rachel could bring a friend along.

  The first day out, Robbie and his buddy Chaz were clowning around on a black diamond run. Chaz collided with a tree.

  What a nightmare. Robert had been in the middle of a meeting with the lawyers and real estate agents when he was called. Amanda had been off shopping and couldn’t be found. The ambulance was just screaming in when Robert arrived at the hospital. Paramedics leaped from the back, juggling contraptions to keep Chaz alive.

  Robert only
remembered bits of the doctor’s report: head injuries – coma – drugs in the boy’s system. All Robert thought about was lawsuit.

  He instructed the doctor to make Chaz a top priority. He called Martin and had him arrange to fly Chaz’s parents out. Then Robert and the rest of his family waited at the hospital.

  Robbie lasted maybe two hours. At first he’d just slumped into a chair and chewed on the yarn strings of his ski hat. But then he’d paced around the small waiting room mumbling to himself, his face winking in exaggerated twitches.

  He got louder until he finally stopped in front of Amanda.

  “Why are we hanging around here? The doctor said he’s in a coma. There’s nothing we can do. I say we go back and ski.”

  Robert jumped to his feet, charging Robbie. “Absolutely not! We’re going to wait right here until Chaz’s parents arrive.”

  “Oh, come on! That won’t be until midnight.”

  “That’s right.” Robert’s head bobbed with anger. “So you might as well get comfortable.”

  Robert remembered how Robbie never even looked at him. His eyes stayed right on Amanda. “I’m burning up in these clothes. Can’t we at least go back to the condo and change?”

  Oh, no. If Robbie got the chance to go back to the condo, he’d park himself in front of the television and never come back.

  “If you’d take that stupid hat off and quit stomping around, you wouldn’t be so hot,” Robert said.

  Still glaring at Amanda, Robbie waited maybe another ten seconds for her to come to his defense. When she didn’t, he stormed out of the room. Amanda raced after him.

  For about an hour, Robert tried to convince himself that they had just stepped outside to cool off. But then Rachel stretched her legs out in front of her and announced to no one in particular, “I guess they’re not coming back.”

  In the back of his mind, Robert had known all along they would not. Amanda had taken Robbie back to the slopes.