So close, p.32
So Close, page 32
Your brows lift. “Give me a hint.”
“No. Get moving if you want to find out.”
You heave an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh and rise from the bed. “When have I ever left you in suspense?”
I laugh. “As often as possible, and you know it!”
Considerately, you go to your shower so I can get ready in mine. I dry my hair and make up my face.
I know I should dress, but I can’t muster the energy to change again, as I’ll have to once you leave. So, I stay in my kimono. There’s so much to do and so much risk involved in doing it. I’ll have to live up to my fullest potential. I must be everything my mother ever hoped I would become.
When I see you next, it’s in my vanity mirror’s reflection. Witte’s freshly trimmed your hair, although it’s now closer in length to how you wore it in college than it was when I woke up in the hospital. You’ve dressed in a navy three-piece suit, the rich material boasting a slight sheen. The color is beautiful, something like midnight sapphire, and you’ve paired it with a pearl-gray dress shirt and tie. The lilies on your cufflinks squeeze my heart a little.
I’m so arrested by how urbanely handsome you are I forget what I was doing until you take the silver-handled brush from my nerveless fingers. You grab its twin from the vanity and take over the job, using both hands in an easy rhythm.
My eyes close as you carefully run the boar bristles through my hair. It’s not the same with short hair, is it? Hardly a need to use both brushes, but you do, and you’re adept at the task.
“I honestly pity every other woman in the world,” I tell you. “They’ll want you, but they’ll never have you.”
“You’re stalling.” Your voice is low and warm with amusement.
“Haven’t you heard of delayed gratification?”
“Yes, and it doesn’t suit me.”
“Clearly. Let’s eat breakfast, then –”
You stop brushing. “You try my patience, Setareh.”
I’ve never seen you quite like this, as eager and anticipatory as a child at Christmas. It’s delightful.
Laughing, I decide not to torture you. It’s too essential to make you happy. I rise to my feet and go to my nightstand. I find you directly behind me when I turn to give you the hinged leather box. I laugh again. “You’re terrible.”
Your smile is smug as you take the box. “That’s not what you said an hour ago.”
“I wasn’t saying anything an hour ago.”
“I can translate your moans.” You open the box, and your head tilts slightly. You carefully extract the antique pocket watch and its chain.
I take the box to free your hands and watch as you open the case.
You read the inscription aloud, very softly, “The seconds I owe you and more.”
I’d wondered if you would remember what you said to me at the beach house. When you swallow hard, I know you do. You close the cover, your thumb brushing over the etched images of the moon and a starry sky decorating the front and back of the casing. Lilies no more. Your hand closes around it.
“Thank you,” you say hoarsely. “I’ll cherish it.”
Pulling me close, you kiss me thoroughly.
At breakfast, you show the watch to Witte. He glances at me and smiles as if the gift pleases him. “It’s an impressive piece and a lovely gift.”
With your permission, he attaches the fob to the buttonhole of your vest and slips the watch into the pocket. I’m biased, of course, but I find the chain’s addition very sexy.
When it’s time for you to go, I walk you to the door and kiss you goodbye. It’s a poignant parting for me, and that causes you to delay.
You search my face. Without heels, I’m several inches shorter than you, and you seem larger than life. “You make it very hard to leave you, Setareh.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.” I grip your wrists. “I promise I’m okay. I have Witte and a million things to do. Before I know it, you’ll be home.”
You continue to stare, clearly torn.
“Why don’t we watch a movie after dinner?” I suggest. “We’ll see how far we can follow along before we’re distracted by necking like teenagers.”
Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m already looking forward to it.”
Rising onto my tiptoes, I kiss you. “Go, before I don’t let you. And stay alert. Keep your head on a swivel. You’ve got my heart in your body. Don’t break it.”
“Make the same promise to me.”
I watch until the elevator seals you inside. I note the two security professionals in smart black suits flanking the entrance, meeting each of their glances with a brief nod. Then I close the front door and lean heavily against it.
Witte rounds the corner from the kitchen and stops when he sees me. He looks refreshed and vital. While we were in Connecticut, the time to himself appears to have suited him. I can’t help but wonder how much longer he’ll be with us. Now that you have a wife to look after you, I’m curious if he contemplates new challenges. I hope that’s not the case. I hope he stays for many years to come. He loves you so, and you should have many people in your life who do.
His features are soft when he asks, “Would you like anything? Some tea, perhaps? Juice? More coffee?”
“No, thank you.” I straighten. It’s easier for me now that you’re not here. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be heading to the Greenmarket today for some things for dinner and breakfast tomorrow. Would you care to join me? It would be helpful to know what you like.”
“You’re doing everything right. I’ve loved everything you’ve made so far – Michelin should rate you.” I ask the following question as if I haven’t already pinned down his schedule. Witte is a creature of habit, and I’ve been very observant. “How often do you go to the farmer’s market?”
“In some cases, daily. Some weeks, only once or twice.”
“The thought of a day out in the city is very tempting, but the stylist is coming by shortly. She has a few more things for me.” I move away from the door. “I’d love to accompany you whenever your next outing might be.”
He smiles at my word choice. “It’s a date.”
“Could you please call the beautician who took care of me before and see if she can fit me in at some point?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
I head to my room, my gaze following my reflection in the mirrored hallway.
The maids have already stripped and remade the bed. I wonder what they think of you now. After years of widowhood broken only by the occasional one-night stand, our sheets now bear the evidence of a man who enjoys his wife multiple times a day. Perhaps it’s not such a surprise, considering the forcefulness of your sex appeal. And household staff see so many intimate things. There are no secrets from them.
Witte’s knock seems to come so quickly.
“Yes, Witte?”
“The beautician – her name is Salma – says a client canceled this morning, and she could head over now. Would that be acceptable, or would you prefer another day?”
I feign delight. “This morning is perfect. A little pick-me-up before I pick up the pieces.”
He smiles and nods.
After that, the next time I see Witte, he’s laden with garment bags and department store totes, walking into my room on the heels of Tovah, who startles me again with her oversized energy packaged in such a petite frame.
“Good morning, Lily! How are you? I love that kimono! So classy yet so sexy.” Her smile is brilliant. She’s arranged her long, chocolate curls in an elaborate updo of braids and twists. Her sleeveless wrap dress has a giraffe print, and her heels are sky-high.
“Thank you. You’re looking very classy and sexy yourself.” I smile at Witte as he heads into my closet with his burdens.
“I’ve been holding on to these for you since you left town,” Tovah says, dropping her purse into the chair where you used to watch me sleep. “Please tell me you lounged around on a beach with aqua waters and drinks with little umbrellas.”
“That sounds lovely,” I agree, “and you must be clairvoyant. We went to a beach but didn’t have the rest. Does it still count?”
“Any beach counts, umbrellas or not.”
Witte steps out and pauses by the door to the hallway. “I’ll be running out now. I’ve notified reception about Salma’s arrival, and Lacy will get the door. I’ve prepared three shredded chicken salads for lunch, and you’ll find them in the fridge if you make a day of it. I expect I’ll be back around three.”
“You think of everything, Witte. Thank you so much.”
As he’s leaving, Tovah sets her hands on her hips. “Where do I get a Witte?”
“You’ll have to ask Kane about that.”
The door latch clicks, signaling privacy, and our smiles drop instantly.
She sighs heavily. “We’ve all been talking about this, and we don’t think it’s the right time.”
“It’s the right time.”
“It feels rushed.”
I move into the closet. “It’s not rushed. We’ve been planning this for years. We could pull this off in our sleep.”
“You were just hit by a car!” Tovah follows me. “Under suspicious circumstances. You were in a coma, for chrissake!”
“I haven’t forgotten.” I open the garment bag and eye the ensemble inside. “This is really good.”
“Of course it is. I’m good at my job.”
Glancing at her, I find her chewing her lower lip. “I’ve got this, Tovah. We’ve got this. It’s normal to be nervous when you’ve planned something forever, and it finally comes together. I had some anxiety this morning, too.”
She throws up both hands. “That’s a sign! You should wait. Let’s get our bearings. Make sure you’re one hundred percent.”
“We’ve waited long enough. Aliyah’s going to stir up problems. We need to execute before she figures out a way to fuck this up.”
There’s another knock on the bedroom door, then Lacy’s voice. “Hey. He’s gone.”
I return to the bedroom with Tovah.
Lacy stands inside the door. “And Salma’s here.”
Dressed in jeans and an artfully ripped band T-shirt knotted at the waist, the voluptuous brunette wheels a baby-pink trolley case into the bedroom behind her. Her face is flawlessly made up, with elaborate cat eyeliner and perfect thick brows.
“We’re sure Witte’s gone?” I ask.
Lacy nods. “Left the parking garage and everything.”
Salma glares at me. “You already did your face!”
“It needs more work,” I assure her. “And I need help with the wig. I used too much adhesive when I did it myself. I thought I was going to rip my scalp off.”
She shakes her head and scowls.
“Hey,” I protest, “don’t look at me like that. If I didn’t make up my face, Kane would’ve stayed home thinking something was wrong. It was an effort to convince him to go as it was.”
She curses in Spanish under her breath. “He’s a serious complication.”
“I know.”
Lacy slouches against the jamb. Dressed in a gray maid’s uniform, she’s restrained her red hair in a bun at her nape and pops a huge bubble of gum before telling me, “We don’t think it’s the right time.”
“I’ve heard,” I say wryly, going back into the closet for the wig. When I return, all three women are staring at me. I pause and give them the attention they seek. “How many chances do you think we’re going to get?”
“At least one more,” Salma says with a defiant tilt of her jaw.
Tovah crosses her arms. “Aliyah’s already giving her grief.”
“Fuck her,” Lacy says. “I never liked that bitch. When she’s not trying to tackle Witte into the nearest bed, she treats Bea and me like dog shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe.”
“How is Bea?” I ask.
Lacy’s nose scrunches. “She’s okay. I talked to her this morning. I feel bad about doctoring her tea yesterday. She said she’s been in the bathroom all night.”
“Her tummy trouble will feel better by dinner. And since we don’t want to make her sick again in the future, we seriously need to get going. We don’t have a ton of time.”
Grim-faced, we keep the plan rolling.
By eleven o’clock, the woman in the mirror has my mother’s face. Contour has sculpted my cheekbones and jaw. A heavier hand with the eyeshadow deepens the sockets of my eyes. Black hair falls down the center of my back in a thick braid.
Makeup has finished the job of transforming me into her very likeness.
A tall, dark figure lures my gaze to the open hallway door behind us. “Hey, you’re early.”
Rogelio studies me as he enters the room, his face tight with concern. He’s dressed in jeans and a Yankees jersey rather than the dark suits he wears at Baharan. His normally clean-shaven jaw is stubbled, his crew cut slicked back with glossy pomade, and a thick gold chain circles his neck. The flat, watchful gaze is the only thing that distinguishes him from a random guy on the street. “I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel right.”
“You, too?” I ask softly. I always take him seriously. We’ve been together a long time.
His hand comes to settle on my shoulder. “You’re too beautiful, querida.”
“As if she doesn’t know that,” Salma says with a roll of her eyes, carefully repacking her trolley.
“She’s too beautiful,” I correct. “This isn’t my face.” I catch my team’s worried expressions in the mirror. “You all have to trust me.”
Rogelio reads my determination and sighs heavily. “Fine. You’re the boss.”
Turning in the vanity seat, I look up at him. “It would save me time if you could open the jewel safe. Can you get through the fingerprint recognition?”
“Of course. My crew handled the installation.”
“I’ll help him,” Tovah says. They leave through my closet.
A movement across the room catches my eye, and I see that one perfect Blacklist lily bloom has inexplicably fallen from its stem. It lies on the dresser top, beneath the abundant bouquet, facing me. The stamen has shed across the glossy surface in an explosion of bright orange that inexplicably resembles blood splatter. There’s a thud at the window, and I jolt. Salma curses. A bird thrashes against the glass, clawing for purchase, flapping frenziedly until it slides out of view.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Salma mutters, crossing herself.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“Go help Lacy,” I tell her.
Her hand presses over her belly, briefly hiding the letters that spell out PANTERA. “You’re my family. If anything happens to you, I will haunt your ghost and kick your ass when I die.”
We hug tightly. She smells like strawberries and champagne. She’s sniffling as she leaves the room with a quick stride.
Tovah returns with Rogelio on her heels. She carries a weighted blue sack with her and pats the side of it. “We’re all set.”
“Time to get dressed.”
She passes the bag to Rogelio and follows me.
“I can dress myself,” I tell her wryly.
“Not this time. If something fucks up, it will not be because of your wardrobe.”
When we’ve finished, I look at myself in the mirror. The gray slacks with the navy tuxedo striping are baggy and held on by the grace of a slim black leather belt. The long-sleeved button-up top is a paler shade of grayish blue and has a patch with the image of an eagle on the breast. It, too, is oversized, even with the silicone breastplate that gives me the appearance of having huge breasts. My rear is also padded, and I wonder how I’ll sit during the drive.
“There’s a hat and sunglasses in the bag,” she tells me. “Put ’em on, keep ’em on.”
“Got it.”
She grabs me by the forearms. I’m wearing flat black orthopedic shoes. With her ankle-breaker heels, Tovah barely hits my eye level. “I expect you to call as soon as you’re free and clear.”
“I will,” I promise. “Stop worrying.”
Her mobile mouth puckers, and I know she’s fighting the urge to argue more. “Okay,” she says finally. “Okay.”
I follow her out of the closet but pause on the threshold as she disappears into the hallway. Rogelio paces in the fluid way of a man who’s trained his body to be a weapon. Leaning into the doorjamb, I cross my arms and watch him.
“You look ridiculous,” he says.
“I feel ridiculous.”
He stops and holds my gaze from across the room. Then he grabs the bag off the bed. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
47
LILY
Lacy waits for Rogelio and me by the front door, twisting the handle of a feather duster nervously between both hands. “I’ll see you later.”
I kiss her cheek. “Take the time to think about what you’ll do next. Places you’ve always wanted to travel to, maybe?”
“I’ve got a binder.”
That makes me grin. “Of course you do. I can’t wait to see it.”
Rogelio holds the door open for me, and we step into the elevator vestibule. He looks at the two men stationed there. “Fix the CCTV. I was never here. She never left.”
They nod, and one breaks off for the utility closet.
“Tuck your braid into your shirt,” Rogelio tells me, looking me over again. “And put the hat on.”
I do as he says. “Better?”
“Hardly.” He pushes the button to call the car. “I wish you’d let me handle this.”
“No one else would make it out alive.”
He says nothing further until we’ve made it through the parking garage and are on our way in a rental van with switched plates. The car that hit me had switched plates, too. But that’s just a coincidence. There’s no way it could be anything else.
“Here’s where we’re at so far,” Rogelio says grimly, his eyes on the road. “The reservation for lunch is at twelve-thirty. Laska texted Amy earlier to confirm. That message came to the clone, and I replied. I told Clarice I’d won a lunch for two at a restaurant in the general direction of the meet-up. Today’s the expiration date, and I can’t make it, so she’s taking Amy. My tracker on Amy’s phone will let me know if they deviate. If Amy’s followed, they’ll think she’s en route for up to half an hour. It buys us some time – but not much.”
