Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘Well, fuck you too.’

Laura chuckled sadly. ‘You’re a good friend.’

‘The best.’

‘But I’m taking advantage. I should move out.’

‘No way. I need you here. You’re my excuse to Earl.’

‘You love him, you know.’

Serita put her hands on her hips. ‘How many times do I have to tell you – ’

‘I know, I know. He’s just a good lay.’

‘You got it. But he loves the spa commercials. He says seeing me all sweaty on Nautilus machines makes him hot.’

‘I’m happy for you both.’

‘Fuck you, too.’

Laura kissed her friend’s cheek and left. She got into her car. As she drove, she tried to keep her mind blank, tried to concentrate on the road in front of her. But her mind would not do as she commanded. It kept coming back to David, always back to David, to the way he walked, to the way he held her as they slept, to the feel of his unshaven face against her skin when he kissed her.

David had changed her in so many ways, and yet now that he was gone, she knew that many of those changes would soon dissolve away. She remembered how wonderful it had been to discover each other, to learn of love together. It had taken a while. Love and trust did not come easily to either one of them.

During the second month of their relationship, Laura felt herself finally begin to let down her defenses and open up to him. Before that, she had been afraid of exposing herself to the devastating weapon of love, of being hurt in a way in which she could never recover. But on this cold December night, Laura realized that she and David were destined to be together. True, they had made no commitment to each other, made no pledges. But Laura knew. And now that she did, she wanted to see David, couldn’t wait to be with him so that she could at long last tell him how she felt. But would she have the courage? Would she finally be able to say and hear words she had always dreamed about but never allowed herself to hope for? Probably not. Probably she was not ready. But then again, if you don’t try…

She had been sitting at her desk, her leg shaking as it usually did. A happy, goofy smile, the smile of a woman starting to fall heavily for a man, kept inadvertently leaping upon her face. Laura psyched herself up, working up the nerve to go through with it. Finally, she reached for the phone, called David at the Garden, and invited him over for dinner this Friday.

‘Are you cooking?’ David asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Let me see if my Blue Cross is paid up.’

‘Stop being a creep.’

He paused. ‘I’d love to but…’

‘But?’

‘I can’t on Friday. Can I take a raincheck?’

Disappointment gushed through her. ‘Sure,’ she managed.

‘I have to go to this fundraiser.’

Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She mentally chastised herself for her behavior, for hoping that he would invite her to go with him to the fundraiser. It was just that she wanted to see him so much.

‘Listen,’ he continued, ‘I have to get back to practice. I’ll speak to you later.’

Laura heard the phone click. She waited for the dial tone to return, and then the annoying noise that tells you that your phone is off the hook followed. After another minute or two passed, she put the receiver back into its cradle.

He had not asked her to go with him.

Sleep became an infrequent visitor for Laura that Friday night. Why hadn’t David invited her to the fundraiser? Didn’t he need to see her too? Or was she rushing this whole thing too fast? After all, they had only been seeing each other for two months. Maybe he was not ready to make any commitments. Maybe he did not feel the same way she did.

Laura showered and dressed early Saturday morning. Needing something to take her mind off David, she headed into the office and started to wade through last month’s financial statements. Earnings were up almost ten percent from the previous year, which was a full four percent better than Laura had anticipated. Content with that, she sat back and grabbed the Boston Globe. When she hit the society page, she found a photograph of David at the fundraiser.

With another woman.

Laura felt a hand reach into her chest and grab her heart. The mystery woman was a stunning, older blonde whom the Globe identified as Jennifer Van Delft. Ms Van Delft had her arm locked around a tuxedo-clad David, who was smiling like a lottery winner and described by the paper as Jennifer’s ‘escort.’

Escort. That son of a bitch.

Tears began to work their way into her eyes. She continued to stare at the picture. Why was she crying? What the hell was she getting so upset about? Had she really been stupid enough to think that there was something special between them, that David cared for her more than his other girlfriends?

There was a knock on the door. Laura moved quickly. She folded the newspaper, wiped away her tears, smoothed her Svengali business suit, and regained her composure. ‘Come in.’

David came through the door with a smile, not unlike that in the photograph, smeared across his handsome face. ‘Good morning, beautiful.’

‘Hello,’ she said coldly.

David crossed the room to kiss her but she turned away, leaving him only room to buss her cheek. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. I’m just busy that’s all. You should have called first.’

‘I thought maybe we could grab some lunch together.’ Laura shook her head. ‘Too much work.’

Puzzled, David watched her go back to work as though he weren’t there. ‘You sure nothing is wrong?’

‘Positive.’

As he shrugged, David noticed the Boston Globe sitting on her desk. A knowing smile came to him. ‘Does that upset you?’ he asked, pointing at the newspaper.

She looked up at the headline. ‘What? The fire in South Boston?’

‘I’m talking about the picture of me inside.’

‘Why on earth would that upset me?’ she asked. ‘I don’t own you. You’re free to do as you please.’

He chuckled lightly. ‘I see.’

‘But I do think we should mellow out for a while,’ she continued.

‘You do?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘This relationship is getting way out of hand.’

David sat down in the chair in front of her desk. ‘So you want something a little more relaxed – one of those flexible relationships.’

‘Flexible relationships?’

‘Right. We make no commitments. We see other people – all that kind of stuff.’

Laura’s leg would not stop shaking. ‘Yes.’

‘I see,’ he continued. ‘So you’re not upset that I was at the fundraiser with another woman?’

‘Me?’ she replied. ‘Not at all.’

‘But, Laura, suppose I don’t like your flexible relationship idea. Suppose I don’t want to see other women. Suppose,’ David went on, ‘I told you that for the first time in my life I am in love.’

Her heart soared and fell at the same time. She swallowed and looked away from his piercing gaze. ‘Then I would probably say that you’re not ready for that type of relationship.’

‘Witness last night?’ he asked.

She nodded, her wet eyes still afraid to move toward his.

‘Laura?’

She said nothing.

‘Look at me, Laura.’

With a struggle, her head rose, her eyes meeting his.

‘The woman in the picture was Jennifer Van Delft. Her husband is Mr Nelson Van Delft. Does that name ring a bell to you?’

It did, but Laura could not place it. She shook her head.

‘He is the principal owner of the Celtics. Every year, his wife asks me to help her with the muscular dystrophy fundraiser. Her husband was out of town. He asked me to escort her. That was all.’

Laura said nothing.

‘But let me go on so I can remove any doubt,’ he continued. ‘Let me say something I’ve never said to another woman. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.’