The Last Night Out Read online

  He paused momentarily as if deciding whether to go farther, and then without Suzanne prompting him, he continued. ‘I was so solitary, all alone. Then a guy I was working a project with introduced me to his sister, Anna, and I found myself with my first girlfriend. And my first lover. Which was great until she got pregnant. I got married when I was nineteen. I was twenty when I became a father.’

  There was no hesitation before his next words.

  ‘But you want to know something? Even though I got trapped into marriage at an early age, my daughter is worth it. I love her like nothing else on this planet.’

  Having passed that hurdle, he continued his story. The family ended up relocating to Chicago where construction was really booming. He got a job with a small company where the owner took him under his wing, teaching him the business end of construction. When his boss decided to retire, Vince bought the company and started not only building, but developing his own buildings.

  ‘And now, in case you didn’t notice, Columbo is probably the most visible sign in the city. It’s my passion and I’m very good at it. I thrive on the competition in the bidding process, dealing with the unions, working out design problems. I have no idea what else I would be doing if I wasn’t developing properties.’

  Suzanne stared at him over the rim of her wine glass. ‘That’s quite a story. You have a lot to be proud of,’ she said, not quite sure why he had enlightened her about his family life. His history made no difference to her. She had no intention of ever getting involved with him, and so she let it drop.

  He never spoke about his family after that, and she never asked about them. Their lunch conversation returned to the previous topics of art and sports and history. Then one Friday, he presented her with an expensive bottle of French perfume. She tried to decline the gift, but he insisted she take it, explaining it was really just a small token, a lagniappe. Suzanne accepted it warily. The following Friday there was another gift, this one far more pricey, a gold Bulgari bracelet. This time she firmly refused to accept his offering. Their arrangement was strictly business and gifts suggested something more. He shrugged and put the bracelet back into his suit pocket.

  When they finished lunch and were waiting for the waiter to bring the check, he surprised her by saying, ‘Suzanne, a beautiful woman should have beautiful things. I’m going to continue buying you gifts and you are free to refuse them. But I’m going to save them hoping the day will come when you will accept them.’

  Her blue eyes glassed over. ‘Suit yourself, Vince, but I’m not for sale.’

  The following Friday, he presented her with a strand of black pearls which she glimpsed at admiringly before turning down. The next week, he brought a Cartier tank watch. And so it continued for several more weeks until, against her better instincts, she found herself growing attracted to this self-made man in more than a platonic way. It was nearly impossible to not be charmed by him. He was successful, intelligent, and handsome. He had come to her rescue when she had so desperately needed it. They shared many traits. Both were driven to succeed; both realized success came at a cost; both appreciated the material things that accompanied success. They loved the fine arts, music, and literature, but had little interest in social trappings like parties and galas. They were both solitary souls, their greatest satisfactions coming from their work.

  He was her friend. He was her confidant. He was her financier.

  And then he was her lover.

  It happened at their twelfth lunch. Vince must have sensed her resolve was wavering, because when she arrived at the Ritz Carlton that day, instead of being shown to a table in the hotel’s restaurant, she was ushered into a private dining room. Vince waited beside a bottle of Taittinger Comtes de Champagne chilling in a copper bucket. He lifted the bottle from the bucket and showed it to her.

  ‘My favorite,’ he said.

  ‘Not bad,’ she agreed, knowing full and well that the bottle price was stratospheric. Her practiced eyes surveyed the room. A large oriental rug covered most of the rose-colored marble floor. A pair of Louis XIV chairs upholstered in rich cream-colored brocade sat before a mirrored wall. The strains of a Brandenburg concerto filtered in from invisible speakers. A table for two draped in Irish linen sat beneath a glittering crystal chandelier, set with fine china, heavy silver, and sparkling crystal. Suzanne had never imagined such scenes existed anywhere outside the movies or one’s fantasies.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind by-passing the restaurant,’ Vince apologized. ‘I just couldn’t tolerate listening to other people today.’

  ‘Well, I can’t complain about the amenities,’ she said. Her eyes registered the open door at the far end of the room and the huge four-poster bed inside. Weeks before she would have been insulted by what it suggested. That day the sight made her knees tremble.

  There was a discreet knock at the door and a white-jacketed waiter entered wheeling a cart with a mound of caviar nestled in ice, accompanied by toast points and crème fraîche. Vince pulled out her chair, and she sat quickly, grateful to feel the solid seat beneath her. He took the seat opposite her and smiled.

  So much blood had rushed to her cheeks, she was certain she had turned the same color as her red suit. The waiter poured the Taittinger, served the caviar and disappeared. Without exchanging a word, they clinked their glasses and drank. Though the champagne was excellent, the taste barely registered. Unfamiliar sensations coursed through her, her breath registering in shallow puffs. She had been pursued by plenty of men in her life, but school and then work had always come first, and her sexual experiences were limited. She felt an unfamiliar giddiness. Was it the Taittinger or the man?

  Their usual small talk drifted into silence as the electricity between them continued to grow until the only sound in the room was the concerto. When the waiter reentered to pour more champagne, it was Suzanne who broke the silence, surprising herself with her own words. Looking boldly into Vince’s eyes, she said, ‘Have him hold the next course.’

  The waiter retreated, leaving them alone. Vince remained rooted to his chair, his eyes transporting him across the space between them. He longed to go to her, but his body was responding in a manner that would most certainly give itself away were he to stand. Her skin was glowing and rosy, her pupils enlarged in the sapphire blue circles of her irises. His nerves were more primed than the day his daughter was born.

  When he found words, he delivered them in an unwavering voice. ‘Suzanne, I want to make love to you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in this world.’

  His words pleased her greatly because her feelings mirrored his. Every fiber of her wanted him to touch her, to consume her. A side of her she never knew existed took hold and she took the initiative, rising from her chair and walking around the table, lowering herself onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. His hardness beneath her confirmed his words, and she relished her newly discovered power.

  Their first kiss lasted minutes, neither one wanting or willing to break it off. Suzanne had never experienced anything quite like that kiss. It took her to another dimension, as if he was an extension of her. The kiss was warm and deep and the most carnal thing that had happened in her life. She wanted it to never end.

  No longer ashamed of his physical state, Vince stood with her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, kissing her passionately as he laid her on the bed. His lips were caresses, moving from her neck to her cheeks to her eyelids. He unbuttoned her suit jacket and lowered his mouth to the mounds of her breasts. He unzipped her skirt and slid it over her hips, his excitement enhanced by the lacy garter belt and hose she wore, a prescient change on her part from her usual pantyhose. It was her turn to undress him and she took her time, pressing her lips to the flesh as she opened each button of his shirt. When she ran out of buttons she reached for his zipper.

  Then it was his turn again, and he lowered her onto her back, continuing to kiss her as he removed her bra, the garter belt and hose, the wisp of panty beneath. He was
frenzied and wanted to lick every inch of her, and nearly did so, his excitement growing stronger as she lay beside him moaning. And when he could stand it no longer, he climbed atop her, pressing himself at the sweet spot between her legs.

  ‘Are you ready for me?’ he panted.

  ‘I’m not using any birth control,’ she managed between gasps. This turned him on all the more. The knowledge that she wasn’t on the pill or carrying her own condoms told him this scenario was alien to her, that she didn’t sleep around.

  He, however, was prepared. He retrieved a condom from his pants and rejoined her in the bed for what turned out to be the best lovemaking either had ever experienced in their lives.

  They finished lunch in bed, taking breaks between courses for another round of lovemaking. As day drifted languidly into evening Suzanne lay in his arms fully satisfied, finding it hard to believe there was something more exhilarating than opening a new account or receiving a huge bonus check.

  ‘I brought something for you,’ said Vince, kissing her forehead. He reached into the nightstand and produced a cache of small boxes. Her heart leapt as she realized he had brought all the gifts she had turned back: the gold bracelet, the black pearls, the Cartier tank watch. But there was an additional box this time, the signature blue box with the white ribbon from Tiffany’s.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she opened it. She wasn’t quite sure if she was relieved or disappointed at the exquisite pair of diamond-and-emerald earrings flashing iridescently in the lamplight.

  ‘Oh, Vince, these are stunning,’ she said.

  ‘So will you take my gifts now?’

  ‘My mercenary side will always out in the end,’ she said, climbing out of bed and going to the mirror. Completely naked, she put on the earrings, the pearls and the bracelet and turned for his approval. ‘What do you think?’

  The sight of her with the strand of dark pearls hanging to the middle of her long slender waist stirred him again, and he put out a hand to pull her back to him.

  It was after midnight when her newfound happiness hit the first speed bump. She was dozing in his arms when he awakened her. When she met his eyes and saw an apology in them, the smile that had begun to crease her lips turned downward.

  ‘I have to leave you now.’ He pulled her close and put his lips to her ear. ‘I have never, ever, felt like this about a woman. You have been under my skin since the first time I saw you. Being with you is better than I ever imagined it could be.’

  Suzanne put on a mask of indifference. He was telling her she was the most special thing in his life, but he had to go home to his wife. It wasn’t a surprise, but it stung nonetheless. For him to leave her after the magnitude of the step they had taken today was disappointing. Why hadn’t he arranged some lie so they could spend this first night together? Hell, she hadn’t even called the office to tell them she wouldn’t be back after lunch. She had put herself on the line, and now he was deserting her.

  ‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘Don’t judge me. Not after something so important has happened between us.’

  Welcome to the real world, she thought. What did she expect? ‘I’m sorry you’re leaving,’ she said without any argument.

  She met his goodbye kiss with cool lips, his caress of her cheeks with cool eyes, not wanting him to find any neediness in her. Once he had gone, she ran a bath in the marble tub and poured in some deluxe bath salts. The scent of lavender tickled her nose as she eased into the steamy water and gave some more consideration to her situation. This did not have to be a bad thing, she realized. In fact, having a lover and a life of her own could actually be having the best of both worlds. She had never looked for commitment in the first place, never wanted a family, so why not roll with it?

  She crawled back into the bed and sniffed the pillows. His scent was there in the linen, masculine and musky. She put a pillow between her legs and another beneath her head. Feeling very sexy and content, she drifted off into a trouble-free sleep.

  A florist’s box was waiting outside her apartment door the next morning. Inside were two dozen long-stemmed yellow roses. The accompanying card read, To the most special woman in the world. Love, Vince.

  She never gave his marital status a second thought again. She was going to enjoy their relationship for what it was. While she questioned the wisdom – not to mention the moral aspects – of carrying on an affair with a married man, Vince added an element to life that she’d never known was missing. Their time together was filled with excitement and passion. Vince gave her something to look forward to, an intense physical outlet. Every minute with him brought pleasure. Accepting that the affair couldn’t go anywhere made it all the more enjoyable. No need to ruin things by overanalyzing. They were two people sharing each other’s minds and bodies. That was enough for her.

  The sound of multiple horns pulled Suzanne from her reverie. The light had changed and she was holding up traffic. She was on her way to a funeral. As she touched the accelerator and the BMW surged ahead, she could feel Angie’s disapproval coming from above.

  FIFTEEN

  10 Days Until

  I sat in the window picking flint from my black Gap skirt and watching the street for Flynn’s silver Audi. This would be our first time together since the awkward dinner on Sunday night. My nerves were frazzled and my stomach churning so loudly, I could only pray it wouldn’t announce itself during the funeral. The last few days had proved beyond the pale, trying to find normal when I wasn’t quite sure what normal was. My life had spun so dramatically out of control that I didn’t even feel like myself, but rather like someone suspended above me looking down on my hapless other self.

  I had avoided Flynn altogether on Monday, using the excuse that there was so much to be wrapped up at the Chicagoan before the wedding that I needed to work late. That was actually true. A sales director’s responsibilities didn’t stop even if one of your best friends was murdered and you cheated on your fiancé and you were the bridal half of the world’s most excessive wedding. My paperwork was backlogged as a result of having taken off so much time for wedding preparations, and the calendar told me ten days remained to pull everything together.

  In a bit of dumb luck, Flynn was called out of town on Tuesday and didn’t get back until late, sparing me the ordeal of attending Angie’s wake with him. The heart-wrenching event had been difficult enough as it was, filled with moaning and wailing and tears. I had gone with Suzanne, who had been so overwrought that we only stayed an hour.

  But now here I was again, in a state of apoplexy at the prospect of facing my fiancé. Not wanting to take the chance that he might come up to sinful Eden, the moment I saw his car pull into the street I was down the stairs and out the door. He hadn’t been in my apartment since that day, and I feared if he visited the scene of the crime he might sense something different. Since we hadn’t been together the last couple of days, I’d been able to drop the guilt shield, but today it would have to be raised again.

  I walked towards his car feeling vulnerable. The air smelled of damp pavement from an earlier rainstorm, and the sun was just peeking out from the last of the black clouds, promising a Chicago humid day. A near perfect day for a funeral. I stopped beside the car to compose myself, taking a deep breath before opening the passenger’s door. The smell of cleaning solution usurped the smell of damp pavement. Of course. It was Wednesday. Flynn’s day for his regular hand-wash. Funeral or no. He greeted me with a white-toothed smile. I sat down and buckled myself in, the seat belt preventing me from giving him anything more than a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘That was romantic,’ he said, his smile morphing into a disappointed pout.

  ‘Flynn, I’m burying one of my best friends today.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m being disrespectful.’ He put the car in gear and drove off without another word, no doubt nursing wounded feelings while I sat wrapped in a cocoon of deceit. The radio was playing a Whitney Houston song, ‘I Want to Dance With S
omebody Who Loves Me’. An uninvited image of the carpenter on the packed dance floor of The Overhang popped into my brain, an image I immediately suppressed.

  After suffering through twenty minutes on the snail-paced surface streets, we merged onto the Dan Ryan. Flynn started driving fast, as if he was in a race against time, weaving swiftly through cars without leaving much margin, sometimes crossing four lanes at a time. He loved to drive aggressively, and I usually said something about his risky behavior, but at the moment a fatal crash seemed the perfect solution to my problems. When we reached the Edens spur, he started driving even faster. As the off-ramps sped by, the curves arcing round to neighborhoods of identical, split-level houses, I realized it was time to break the silence, if not for me then for the safety of others.

  ‘Thank you for coming to the funeral,’ I said, hoping my voice rang true. ‘I know you had a big day at work today.’

  ‘I wouldn’t even think of letting you go through this alone.’ He seemed pacified and brought the car’s speed closer to the posted limit. ‘Maggie, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Why do you keep asking that?’ I sighed, lobbing the ball back at him in a best-defense-is-a-good-offense tactic.

  ‘Well, I know this death has been hard on you, but you just aren’t yourself. Ever since I got back from New York, it’s like you’re a different person.’ When I didn’t say anything, he added, ‘See, that’s what I mean. What is wrong with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I racked my brain for some reasonable excuse. It was unfair to torture him like this. ‘I’m just exhausted and a little depressed, I guess. Don’t take it personally.’

  He took his hand off the wheel and patted mine. ‘Well, think of something nice. Like our wedding. Hard to believe it’s less than two weeks to lift-off, isn’t it?’