Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“I can’t believe you were a clown,” Sara laughed.

“Laugh all you want, but I was really good at it. I even had my own clown identity.”

“Really? What’d you do? Scare the little kids until they confessed? The two of you had sort of a good clown-bad clown thing going?”

“I have to admit I was a little weak on the personality side. But I did pick out a name. From the day I started, I was known as Slappy Kincaid.”

Sara laughed out loud. “Slappy Kincaid? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a good name. In fact, for a clown, it’s a great name.” As Sara continued to laugh, Conrad said, “So now you have my embarrassing fact. Time for yours. Why’d you get fired?”

Sara finally caught her breath. “I’m warning you, it’s not that big a deal. I mean, especially when you compare it to something like clown assistant…”

“Just get on with it.”

“Okay, here’s how it goes: Last year, when I went for my annual review, William Quinn, the head of the executive committee, told me that I wasn’t going to make partner. Of course, the only reason I worked like a dog for the two years before was because of Quinn’s reassurance that I was on the partner track. But things were obviously not working out as planned, and I was being asked to leave. However, since I’d put in a good six years of my life there, he said he’d let me stay on board for a whole four extra months if I needed to.”

“How kind of him.”

“Kindness is his middle name,” Sara said. “So anyway, I smiled, said thank you, and calmly left his office. By the time I got back to my own office, I was ready to smack Quinn in the head with a tire iron. And that’s when I saw the lovely little E-mail he’d sent me. According to the E-mail, the four extra months we spoke about had one small condition: I couldn’t tell any of the other associates in the firm that I was being fired – I had to say I was leaving by my own choice. Apparently, they were worried about what the younger associates would think if they knew that the firm promised partnerships but didn’t follow through. So in exchange for good morale, I was offered a better severance package.”

“And the idiot sent it to you by E-mail?”

“He sure did,” Sara sang. “Needless to say, I kindly responded with my thoughts on the subject. I politely declined his offer, and then, in my moment of blissful vindication, forwarded his letter and my response to the entire staff of Winick and Trudeau.”

“I must say, that was incredibly mature of you.”

“I was angry and hungry for revenge – it was a perfect time to regress. Besides, after throwing away six years, I couldn’t let him do the same thing to the other lawyers. They were my friends. If you want to fire me, that’s one thing, but don’t expect me to hide your dirty secret.”

Laughing, Conrad said, “So what’d you do when Quinn found out?”

“What’s to do? When he came storming into my office, I told him that I held him personally responsible for wasting half a dozen years of my life. He called me an unseasoned, shallow-minded waste of space; I called him a bloated and domineering Boss Tweed. After lunch, I came back and all my stuff was conveniently packed up for me. Naturally, I didn’t get the four extra months. Looking back, I guess it was a psycho move, but it really did seem like the best option at the time. And even if it is embarrassing, at least I-”

“Sara, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You should be proud of what you did.”

“You think?”

Conrad was flattered by the tone of her question. “You were looking out for your friends. That’s what’s important.”

A tiny grin lit her cheeks. “I’m glad you see it like that.”

“Of course, there are easier ways to protect them than by broadcasting your boss’s private mail.”

“Watch it, Slappy. Get on my bad side and I’ll syndicate your memos, too. Vengeful pranksters are far more dangerous than lawyer clowns.”

“But lawyer clowns are so much more fun.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sara said. “You’re not my type.”

“And what is your type?” Conrad asked.

“Let’s see. I like astronaut clowns, doctor clowns, and political clowns. But I don’t like lawyer clowns.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you ask?” Sara asked coyly.

“Just answer the question: Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. Why-” Before Sara could finish, Conrad leaned over, grabbed the back of her head, and gave her a long, deep kiss. Sara knew she should pull away. Instead, she just closed her eyes.

“I CAN’T DO THIS,” SARA SAID, PUSHING CONRAD BACK after a couple of seconds. “It’s not right.”

“What’s not right? My kissing or-”

“Any of it. All of it. The whole thing,” Sara said. Her hands were trembling as she got up from her seat on the sofa. She shouldn’t have waited. She should’ve pulled away quicker.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought you-”

“Conrad, I care a great deal about you, but I’m still married. And while I may be annoyed with Jared, that doesn’t mean I should betray him.”

“But-”

“Please don’t say anything else,” she stuttered. Searching for people to blame, she was coming up empty. “I admit – I liked it, but I shouldn’t have done it.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Finally, Conrad said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in that position. I was-”

“No, it’s okay.” She tried to sound as convinced as possible. “It’s late… We’ve been working hard… We’re both tired. You flirted with me and I flirted right back.”

“I know, but that still doesn’t make it okay.”

“Nothing’s going to make this one okay. Let’s just call it a night.”

Conrad stood from his seat and headed for the door. “If you want, I drove in today – so if you need a ride home…”

“Thanks,” Sara said. Pausing a moment, she added, “Actually, maybe I should just take a cab.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice trailing off.

As he was about to leave the office, Conrad turned around. “Sara, I really am sorry. And I know this may seem like a lame excuse, but for that one moment, it truly did seem like the right thing to do.”

“I know,” Sara said, replaying the scene in her head. Being angry with Jared made it so easy. “That’s what scares me.”

Standing in the bathroom, Jared leaned toward the mirror above the sink and carefully removed the gauze pad from his chin. He winced when he saw the oval gash that Kozlow had left him. Although the bleeding had long since stopped, the cut was still extremely tender. Trying hard not to stare at it, Jared reached under the sink and took out some cotton balls and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. This one’s going to hurt, he thought as he wet the cotton with the colorless antiseptic. Holding his breath, he lightly dabbed his chin. In the mirror, he could see the yellow-white pus that was just beginning to form around the edges. And while that signaled the first step of the healing process, Jared knew the pain was just beginning.

It took Sara another half hour to realize she wasn’t going to get any more work done. Conrad’s kiss had shined the spotlight on something she’d never wanted to see, and regardless of how much she tried to focus her mind elsewhere, she couldn’t stop thinking about every detail of the incident. As she hailed a cab, she kept asking herself the same question. How? How could she do it? She wanted to blame it on an external source: Anger. Loneliness. Frustration. But as her cab headed back uptown, past Carmine’s, and Ollie’s, and John’s Pizzeria, and every other restaurant that reminded her of her husband, Sara finally faced the hard truth about her late-night encounter: While it was happening, she’d enjoyed it. And the only person she could blame was herself.