Mary Clark - Where Are You Now?

Bruce had just returned to his suite in the hotel he owned in Scottsdale. Shaking his head, he walked over to the minibar and reached into it for a cold beer. It was only four o’clock, but he had been outside in the heat most of the day and deserved it, he assured himself.

He settled in the big armchair facing the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the desert. At any other time it was his favorite view, but at this moment he was seeing only the college apartment he had shared with Mack MacKenzie and Nick DeMarco, and reviewing again what had happened there.

I don’t want to see Mack’s sister, he told himself. All that happened ten years ago, and even then Mack’s parents knew I was never close to him. He never once asked me home to Sutton Place for dinner, although he was always taking Nick with him. It didn’t even cross Mack’s mind that I might enjoy going, too. To him, I was just an unobtrusive guy who happened to be sharing an apartment with him.

Nick the lady-killer; Mack, everyone’s choice for the nicest guy in the world. So nice that he apologized for beating me out by a fraction to be one of the top ten graduates of our class. I’ll never forget the look on Dad’s face when I told him I hadn’t made it. Four generations at Columbia, and I was the first not to be in the top ten. And Barbara, God, the crush I had on her in those days. I worshipped her… Shenever even glanced in my direction, he thought.

Bruce tilted his head and finished the beer. I’ll have to call Carolyn, he decided. But I’ll tell her what I told her parents. Mack and I lived together, but we never hung out together. I didn’t even see him the day he disappeared. I got out before he and Nick were awake. So, leave me alone, little sister.

He stood up. Forget it, he told himself impatiently. Just forget about it. The quote that often ran through his head whenever he happened to think about Mack jumped into his mind again. He knew the quote wasn’t completely accurate, but it worked for him: “But that was in another land, and besides the king is dead.”

He went back to the phone, picked it up, and dialed. When his wife answered, he knew his face lit up at the sound of her voice. “Hi, Barb,” he said. “How are you, sweetheart? And how are the kids?”

A fter his luncheon with Aaron Klein, Elliott Wallace went back to his office and found himself thinking about Charles MacKenzie Sr. and the friendship they had forged in Vietnam. Charley had been in the army’s ROTC and was a second lieutenant when they met. Elliott had told Charley that he was born in England of American parents and had spent most of his childhood in London. He had moved back to New York with his mother when he was nineteen. He had then enlisted in the army, and four years later he had earned his own commission and was side by side with Charley in some of the fiercest fighting of the war.

We liked each other from day one, Elliott thought. Charley was the most competitive person I’ve ever met and probably the most ambitious. He was planning to go to law school the minute he was discharged. He swore that he was going to be a very successful lawyer and a millionaire. He was actually pleased that he had grown up in a family that didn’t have two nickels to rub together. He used to kid me about my background. “And what was the butler’s name, Ell?” he would ask me. “Was it Bertie, or Chauncey, or Jeeves?”

As he leaned back in his leather chair, Elliott smiled at the memory. I told Charley that the butler was William, and he was gone by the time I was thirteen. I told him that my father, God rest him, was the most cultivated human being and the worst businessman in the history of the civilized world. That was why my mother finally threw in the towel and brought me home from England.

Charley didn’t believe me back then, but I swore to him that in my own way I was just as ambitious as he was. He wanted to become wealthy because he’d never known that world. I was one of the haves who became a have-not and wanted it all back. While Charley was in law school, I went to college and then got my MBA.

We both succeeded financially, but our personal lives were so different. Charley met Olivia, and they had a wonderful marriage. God, how like an outsider I felt when I saw the way they looked at each other! They had twenty-three good years, until Mack disappeared, and after that they didn’t have a day that wasn’t filled with worry about him. And then 9/11, and Charley was gone. My marriage to Norma was never fair to her. What was it Princess Diana told an interviewer-that there were three people in her marriage to the Prince of Wales? Yes, that’s the way it was with Norma and me, only less glamorous.

Grimacing at the memory, Elliott picked up his pen and began to doodle on a pad. Norma didn’t know it, of course, but the way I felt about Olivia was always between us. And now that my marriage is a distant memory, after all these years, maybe Olivia and I can plan a future together. She recognizes that she can’t live her life around Mack anymore, and I can see that her feeling about me has changed. In her eyes, I’ve become more than Charley’s best friend and the trusted family advisor. I could tell that when I kissed her good night. I could tell when she confided that Carolyn needs to be free to stop worrying about her, and most of all I can tell because she’s planning to sell the Sutton Place apartment.

Elliott got up, walked over to the section of the mahogany bookcase that housed a refrigerator, and opened the door. As he reached for a bottle of water, he wondered if it was too soon to suggest to Olivia that a penthouse on Fifth Avenue, down the block from the Metropolitan Museum, might be a wonderful place to live.

My penthouse, he thought with a smile. Even twenty-five years ago, when I bought it after Norma and I were divorced, I dreamed I was buying it for Olivia.

The telephone rang, then the crisp British voice of his personal secretary sounded on the intercom. “Mrs. MacKenzie is calling, sir.”

Elliott rushed back to his desk and picked up the receiver.

“Elliott, it’s Liv. June Crabtree was coming for dinner and at the last minute she can’t make it. I know Carolyn is meeting her friend Jackie. By any chance would you like to take a lady to dinner?”

“I would be delighted. How about having a drink at my place around seven and then going over to Le Cirque?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

When he replaced the receiver, Elliott realized there was a slight bead of perspiration on his forehead. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, he thought. Nothing must spoil it for us, and I’m so afraid something might. Then he relaxed and laughed aloud as he thought of what his father’s reaction would be to that kind of negative thinking.

As dear cousin Franklin said, he thought, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

L ate Wednesday afternoon and long into the night, grim-faced NYU students, scattered throughout Greenwich Village and SoHo, were taping posters on storefronts and telephone poles and trees in the hope that someone might recognize Lisa “Leesey” Andrews and provide information that would lead to her recovery.

The photo that her roommate had taken only a few days earlier of a smiling Leesey, the statistics of her height and weight, the address of the Woodshed, the time she left it, her home address where she was presumed to have been heading, and the fifty thousand dollars reward offered by her father and Nicholas DeMarco were all included on the poster.

“More information than we usually give, but we’re pulling out all the stops,” Captain Larry Ahearn told Leesey’s brother at nine o’clock Wednesday night. “But, Gregg, I’m going to be fair with you. Truth is, if Leesey was abducted, every hour that passes lessens our chances of finding her alive and safe.”