MARY CLARK - Every Breath You Take

If she could go back in time, she would have stopped him at that moment and told him how wrong he was. She knew that in Alex she had again found the right person. But he was wrong. It wasn’t always true that real love “just happens,” although that had been the case with her and Greg. And maybe Alex’s love for her had simply “happened.” But I believe finding my soul mate the second time was harder, Laurie thought. It took time, and now I may have lost him, too.

She’d been heartsick longer than she’d allowed herself to admit. But more than anything else, she had Timmy to think of. He barely remembered the father he lost. Now, Laurie thought, I can’t allow him to become attached to another man unless he’s going to be around for the long run. But Timmy already thought about Alex that way.

So, Alex, you were wrong when you said this should be effortless, she thought defensively. It was no gift to say that you were setting me free. It’s not effortless, not for me. It’s taking work, work that I continue to do even though you insisted on “setting me free.”

She sat up again and slipped off her ring, forcing herself to tuck it away again inside its box in the nightstand drawer.

Greg, I loved you so dearly, she thought. I’m so happy that I have your son, and that with him, you and I will always have a part of each other. But Greg, I am so lonely. I have been so alone since that terrible day.

Laurie closed her eyes, reliving with an unexpected surge of joy sitting next to Alex in his apartment, his arm slung around her as they watched a Giants game with Timmy and her father.

The three people I now love best in the world, she thought. Pray God, it’s not too late.

41

The following morning Gerard Bennington arrived at Fisher Blake Studios at 10 A.M. sharp, precisely as scheduled. In photographs Laurie had found of him on the Internet, he tended to favor eccentric, attention-grabbing clothing. In one shot, featured in New York magazine, he wore a kimono paired with red plaid pants. This morning, he had selected a relatively staid tweed suit and a paisley tie. The only flashes of his signature flare were a bright blue-and-canary-yellow pocket square and oversized blue-rimmed glasses to match. According to the Internet, he was fifty-one years old but had the energy of a teenager.

Her guest was not the only person who had made a surprising wardrobe choice that morning. As Grace escorted Mr. Bennington into Laurie’s office, Laurie noticed that she had paired her black turtleneck dress with red ankle-high boots with six-inch heels. The old Grace was back.

As Grace left, Bennington’s eyes scanned the room with disapproval. “Where are the cameras?”

“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding, Mr. Bennington. This morning was just an informational session. The more we prepare, the more efficient we can be when we bring you back for production.”

“Oh, your darling girl, Grace was very clear about that. But I thought this was a reality show. Aren’t there cameras rolling at all times? I mean, what if I say something amazing that you want to use on-screen?”

Laurie realized now that Gerard had already prepared by having his own makeup applied for filming. “You’ve got an excellent point, Mr. Bennington. Why don’t we meet in one of our small studios? I can hit record, and that way we’ll have the option of using today’s footage if we need to.”

“Excellent.” Striking a pose, he said, “Any opportunity to use a camera, I say, take it!”

• • •

Once the single camera in the interview room was rolling, Laurie started by thanking Bennington for lending them his two dresses from the first ladies exhibit.

“By all means. I was so happy to share them. People ask me why I bother spending all that money on my own private collection, to say nothing of the cost of storing them properly. I feel it is a small price to pay to own a little piece of history. A dress is a bargain compared to Civil War memorabilia and other collectibles, and so much more appealing to the eye. So much more cheerful, too.”

“Well, we’ll take very good care of them during production,” Laurie assured him.

“I’m sure, but I must tell you that my lawyers have checked to see that your studio is very well insured.”

He doesn’t miss a trick, Laurie thought, and began, “We certainly appreciate the dresses, but I do need to ask you about these pictures.” She had brought copies of the relevant photographs from her office. She showed him the photograph of the gown belonging to Jackie Kennedy that Jerry had found in the official exhibit book and then the one taken after Virginia Wakeling’s murder.

“Mr. Bennington, would you mind comparing these two?”

He studied the photographs, then shook his head. “They’re the same. Aren’t they?”

He did not notice the difference until she pointed out the missing bracelet.

“Oh dear,” he said with concern. “That is a mystery, isn’t it?”

“Did you lend the museum the bracelet as well? As you can see, the picture in the official exhibit book shows a bracelet that was missing after Mrs. Wakeling’s body was found.”

“When the gown was put on display, I had nothing to do with where the accessories came from. But I do remember it is the kind of trinket Jackie favored. Very youthful, don’t you think, but simple and timeless.”

The conversation was going nowhere. Laurie tried another tack. “Do you remember where you were when you heard about Mrs. Wakeling’s death?”

“Oh, absolutely. I was in the main entry hall, gushing to Iman about her gown.”

Laurie recognized the reference to a famous supermodel who spent most of her career using only one name.

“Versace made her this amazing piece based on Martha Washington,” Bennington explained. “So avant-garde. The thing was the size of a refrigerator. The poor girl couldn’t even sit at the dinner table in it—not that she eats, of course, but still.”

Laurie was beginning to appreciate the fact that she was recording this interview. If nothing else, Grace and Jerry would eat up every last word when they watched it. She could also imagine Gerard Bennington’s more colorful lines providing some much-needed comedic relief in the actual production. “How did you hear about Mrs. Wakeling’s death?” she asked him.

“How could I not hear about it? Some man on the edge of hysteria came running through the hall yelling, A woman fell from the roof! It was very dramatic. Of course, half the people there were trying to rush out of the museum, as if we were under some kind of terrorist attack or something. But the police made everyone stay until they had the lay of the land, cordoned off the crime scene, that kind of thing.”

“But they didn’t question everyone, did they?”

“Oh, heavens no. That would have been impossible. They didn’t speak to me, for example, because I didn’t know anything. It wasn’t until I was walking out that my friend Sarah Jessica told me that poor Virginia was the one who fell.”

“So you knew Mrs. Wakeling personally?”

“Not really. I met her at the previous year’s gala, and of course she had a high enough profile that I knew who she was. But we weren’t meeting for tea or anything.”

“Were you aware of an alarm being triggered that night in the gallery, shortly before she died?”

A look of concern crossed his face. “No, this is the first I heard of it. Do you think it’s related to that missing bracelet?”

“For now, it’s just a theory.”

“It sounds like a delicious one to me,” he said eagerly. “I wonder if it could be related to what happened to Virginia.” He rubbed his palms together. “I can’t wait to hear what you come up with. Of course, I assume you’re looking closely at Ivan. That would be inevitable.”