Robert Tanenbaum - Enemy within

"So you're working now?"

A shrug. "Not really. A client of mine passed me a ticket. Since I don't have any stock options, I appreciate the free eats. And, of course, you never can tell when you might pick up something." He waggled his eyebrows theatrically, and she laughed.

"Oh, Walsh, you are too smooth for me, too smooth by far. I need more traction nowadays. I don't like to skid out of control." She gave a tiny tug at his cummerbund, presented her gaudiest smile, finished her… what was it, fourth?… glass of champagne, and flounced away.

A dull gong sounded, and she found herself caught up in the flow of people. The dinner. Did she want dinner? Not really, but it was too much trouble to fight the flow. Besides, she had to sit down-the marvelous jacket felt like a full combat load on her shoulders. She felt her elbow gripped. It was a large man, beautifully barbered, tanned, with deep, dark eyes. "You're at table four," he said.

"Am I? How do you know?"

"I know because I arranged it." A little squeeze on her upper arm. "I'm Shelly Solotoff. I'm an old pal of Butch's. He's not here tonight?"

Somehow Marlene suspected Solotoff already knew that. "No, he's home with the babies. Besides, he has no interest in being nouveau riche."

"But you do?"

She yawned. "Excuse me. Three champagnes and I'm off my feet. Do I? I don't know. It serves to pass the time and show off one's taste in clothes."

They arrived at the table. He held her chair; she sank gratefully and slipped out of the jacket.

"I used to work with your husband, back in the stone age, when the sainted Phil Garrahy was still in charge."

"That must have been before I got there. Do you do this kind of service for all the wives of men you worked with twenty years ago?"

He chuckled. "That would depend on how many wives they had. But only when they're beautiful, exciting, and dangerous."

"And rich?"

"That comes under excitement. The poor are so dull, don't you think? Noble maybe, but dull."

Marlene fanned her face. "Gosh, Shelly, all this charm. I'm quite overcome. Now tell me about the time shares in St. Bart's you're selling. Or mutual funds."

He grinned. "Nope, no deals at this table. This is the laid-back table, right, Jimmy?"

This was a cell phone magnate, who seemed disappointed when Marlene did not immediately recognize his name. He obviously knew Solotoff. They exchanged some good-natured ribbing as between men who have little to say to one another. Also at the table: one of the one-name people, whom Marlene thought looked older than she appeared on TV, with her boy toy, sculptured from bronze and clearly coked up; and two rubicund middle-aged men with silvery toupees and women young enough to be daughters. Laid-back, indeed. The star cooed when Marlene was introduced to her and wanted to know about shooting people and pouted when Marlene declined to expatiate on the delights thereof.

Silent waiters brought the heavily worked and barely identifiable food of the rich: cuttlefish cannelloni with morel-asparagus puree; lobster bisque with carmelized truffles; terrine of baby lamb, roasted foie gras, Scottish salmon, ambergris, cocaine, uranium… Solotoff gorged and was excessively knowledgeable about the food and wine. Marlene picked at the food, longed for a banana, drank the succession of wines. Also gorging: the boy toy, the daughters, although Marlene felt sure they were scheduled for an after-dinner barf in the ladies'. Their men ate lightly and conversed about possessions and exotic and strenuous vacations. The cell magnate flirted with the one-named star. Solotoff had eyes for no one but Marlene, however, which Marlene thought was flattering, considering the lookers at the table. Something about the guy was off, however; there was more than the instinctive drive to try to seduce an available woman, although she had enough of a load on for that not to matter too much. She was having a little vacation was all, nothing wrong with that. Solotoff, though, seemed inordinately interested in her husband. Every other sentence seemed to be fishing around about Karp, and there were insinuating remarks, backhanded compliments. Even partly anesthetized by drink, Marlene did not like it and said so.

"Why're we talking about Butch? Butch is fine. Butch is home with the babies."

"What I said, he's a great man. Watches babies. Bestrides the legal system like a colossus. Beautiful wife, who he doesn't mind is running around town. Total confidence, Butch. I mean who could compete with the almighty Karp? It must be hard, though, married to perfection."

Marlene giggled. "He's far from perfect, believe me."

Solotoff leaned closer. She could feel his breath on her face and smell his winey exhalations. "Oh, yeah? Tell me some of his imperfections." Under the tablecloth, his hand fell upon her thigh.

"He's more perfect than me, that's the main one," she said, and then the waiter was there with a wine bottle, and Marlene found that her hand had moved without conscious will to cover the glass.

Solotoff's hand increased its stroking pressure. "Oh, go ahead. It's Chambertin. A very good year, too."

"No." She closed her eyes. Something bad was happening. There were hidden messages in the sounds of the banquet, the murmurs and the clink of implements. Her skin felt clammy, and the rich food roiled in her belly. There was someone she had to see, someone she had to talk to, a friend… who was it? Who had the answer? Or the question?

Someone was talking into her ear, things about Butch. About a different Butch, a cheat, a hypocrite, corrupt and manipulative, which made kind of sense because she was a different Marlene. What had happened to the real ones? She didn't know. A shudder ran through her. She shook her head, and the room reeled around her in slow motion, the chandeliers making long, slow circles. The one-named star had her head thrown back, cackling, showing the little face-lift scars under her ears. The waiters passed out peach bavarois with goat's-milk ice cream, swirled with semisweet chocolate. Hieroglyphics in the swirls. The message… horrible, horrible.

"I have to go now," she said, and rose to her feet and fell hard against Solotoff, who rose, too, and grabbed her around the waist. She felt the crystal jacket being dropped on her shoulders, and she floated through the room, leaning into the man. Butch? How did Butch get here? Butch didn't like these kind of things. Maybe the different Butch, the monster.

Now in a car, a limo, dark. Far away, someone was doing stuff to her body, fingers probing up her skirt, plucking at her underwear, squeezing her breasts, breath on her neck, a leech of some kind there sucking away. She let it go on; she had no strength, and besides, she was not even sure it was her, whoever she was now.

Brightness, a hotel lobby, an elevator, more grappling. Pausing before a door, the man was probing through her purse, finding the key card, the little light going green, into the room. Marlene saw the bed, its coverlet turned down, the green-wrapped chocolate on the pillow. Oh, good, once she was in bed, everything had to stop. She took three steps and flung herself on it, facedown.

Solotoff looked at the prone figure with satisfaction. Her skirt had flown up, exposing the full length of her thighs and one buttock, enclosed in patterned silk. He took off his jacket and tie, unhitched his cummerbund, and kicked off his pumps. He had drunk a good deal of wine, but knew that it was not enough to keep him from screwing Karp's wife. She was a little older than he liked for strange pussy, but she could have been a hundred and he would still have gone for it. He slipped his suspenders off his shoulders and dropped his trousers. Too bad he didn't have a camera, but who knew he would luck out this way? In his mind he anticipated his next meeting with Karp. I fucked your wife and now I'm going to fuck you in court. No, too crude. Had to be subtle, make it last, make it hurt more. Things had not worked out well for Solotoff in recent years. He had the practice, he had the rich wife, but something was missing. There was a nasty ache where contentment should have been. But this, somehow this was going to make up for a lot of it. This was going to be sweet. Maybe she'd even like it. Maybe she'd like it from him better than from Karp. His groin stirred. That would be a bonus.