Lie, Lie Again(102)
That done, she walked to the kitchen and deposited the shopping bag on the counter, plucking items from it. Moving swiftly, she dumped half the bottle of prune juice down the kitchen sink and flicked on the faucet to wash the putrid purplish liquid away. Recapping the bottle, she placed it in the fridge along with a six-pack of water—minus one—a loaf of wheat bread, a bag of green grapes, a jar of jam, and a box of butter. All the items were hers minus the prune juice, which she’d picked up from the store. After shifting the items around to make the fridge appear fuller, she stood back, assessing her work. Satisfied, she moved to her next task.
Taking the small plastic bag from the pocket of her blazer, she placed it on the counter and began opening drawers until she found a mallet used for tenderizing meat. Smoothing the baggie, she centered the round white pills and brought the mallet to them, effectively turning them to a fine powder with one solid strike. She emptied the powder into one of Nadine’s prized champagne flutes. The cut crystal was a stunning shade of red and perfect for the role it would play. Once every last speck of the crushed pills was in the glass, she positioned it back on the shelf and closed the cupboard.
Tucking the empty bag into her pocket, she smoothed her blazer, snatched the shopping bag, and left the apartment. Now she only had to wait. She walked down to her car and placed a large canvas bag on the passenger seat. She adjusted the rearview mirror, making it so she had a view of the entire driveway, and turned on the engine. When Jonathan arrived, it was important that it appear she had pulled in moments earlier.
A minute passed.
Then another.
A sickening feeling crept into her stomach.
She’d done this before—waited and watched for a car.
But this was different, she reassured herself. She clenched her jaw and ordered the bad feeling to retreat. There was nothing to fear now. She was an adult. And Jonathan wasn’t her parent. He was a bully who needed to be stopped. Nadine would approve. No one would lose but the loser himself.
She saw the lights before the actual car and made a silent wish that it was Jonathan, not the investor. Because Jonathan needed to arrive first. If not, her plan would fail.
The car rolled into Nadine’s old spot, and she shut off her engine. It was time. She shouldered her purse along with the large canvas bag and exited her car.
Jonathan waved as he rounded his Camry. “Hi there.”
She wore a confused look. “Hi. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I have that meeting with an investor.”
“Oh, right! You did mention it’s today.” She cleared her throat and infused her voice with the right amount of admiration. “Well, you look great. Low-key power mogul.” If the power mogul were a slob kebab.
“Thanks.” He straightened his limp linen coat.
She pursed her lips in thought. “It’s funny I ran into you. I’ve been struggling with a business matter and have been hoping to talk to someone who can give me some solid advice. Do you have a moment?”
He glanced at his watch. “Uh, yeah. Only a minute, though. Walk with me?”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“What can I help you with?” he asked, unlocking the door to Nadine’s apartment. He flicked on the lights and set his briefcase on the round pedestal kitchen table.
She stood near the table, not moving to set down her bag just yet. “A friend has started a side venture. It’s direct sales. Are you at all familiar with those?”
“Of course. Back in the day, it was Tupperware. Now it’s something chef.”
“Right. Pampered Chef.”
“Seems to do pretty well. What’s your question?”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not considering Pampered Chef. This is where I need some guidance. To give you some background, the start-up kit costs one hundred fifty. But the payoff is great. My friend has made enough money for a week’s vacation in Hawaii by what boils down to hosting parties.”
“So what’s the product?” he asked impatiently.
She placed the big canvas bag on the table and stuck a hand inside, knowing she’d have to work quickly to keep his attention. She pulled out a pair of pink marabou handcuffs. “It’s an adult toy and lingerie company. That’s where I need advice.”
“Uh-huh. What can I do for you?”
“Well, she’s had more success at couples’ parties. The men spend two to three times as much as the women. My concern is, will guys like you—you know, sharp, successful guys—think it’s cheesy?”
He shrugged, eyeing the bag. “Hard to know. What else does the company sell?”
“She gave me her starter kit to borrow for a few days so I can get some feedback.” Sliding a hand into the bag, she lifted a slinky piece of red silk and passed it to him. Next, she pulled out a black bra that was really nothing more than two patches of silk with lacy straps, along with a bottle of sparkling wine. Reading the rose-colored label, she said, “This is called Orgasmic Pink. Cute, huh?”
He cleared his throat again as he inspected the bra. “Yeah.”
“In fact, she said I can keep the wine. We should do a toast to your new business venture. We’ll only pour you a tiny glass, though, since your meeting is tonight.” Without waiting for his response, she expertly removed the cork with only the slightest pop.