The Guest Room(64)

…

Later that morning, Richard reassured his younger brother that Nicole might change her mind in a few weeks or a few months. But he didn’t believe it. He only said she might because he felt he had to say something, and he couldn’t quite read the tone of his brother’s voice on the phone. But the wedding clearly was off. That part of the conversation was brief and, it seemed, almost rote. It was as if Philip had grown accustomed to the news, bad as it was, and in hours had jumped four stages to acceptance. In truth, Richard wasn’t surprised that Nicole was leaving him before they could even get to the altar; Kristin, he surmised, would have done exactly the same thing. Any woman with even a teaspoon of self-respect would. Nevertheless, he felt bad for his brother. It seemed the collateral damage from Friday night was only getting worse for everyone.

“Are you weirded out that all those Russian dudes made bail?” Philip asked him suddenly.

“They didn’t all make bail,” he answered carefully.

“Okay, most. I find it amazing that one was the guy who Spencer used to talk to on the telephone when he was lining up the girls.”

“You do hang with an impressive crowd,” he said. He still hadn’t decided whether to tell Philip what his despicable friend was doing and enlist his help. He guessed this was because he suspected, in the end, he was going to pay the guy off. Maybe after he had written the check or transferred the money he would rat Spencer out. Inform Philip that his friend was a dirtbag. But he kept coming back to the reality that there was no guarantee Spencer wouldn’t keep coming back for more, which was one of the reasons why he hadn’t called his portfolio manager and moved around some money already.

“The guy was just a voice on the line,” Philip was saying. “They never met.”

“Next time, Philip? Tell him to just use Craigslist, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s a deal,” his brother agreed, though Richard would have preferred that Philip had said there wouldn’t be a next time. Then: “Spencer is f*cking terrified. He just can’t believe those guys are back on the street.”

“He probably should be terrified.”

“He even got me a little wigged out. But, like, what would the Russians want with us, right?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I guess.”

“You’re supposed to do better than that, my older brother. You’re supposed to reassure me.”

“Am I?”

“It’s part of the Older Brother Contract.”

“Good to know.”

“And I gather his legal quicksand is just getting worse.”

At this, Richard felt himself perking up. “Oh?”

“Brandon Fisher’s lawyer called his lawyer again yesterday afternoon. Brandon’s wife checked herself into some clinic.”

“Oh, please.”

“I know. But between the Russians and the lawyers, Spencer is not a happy camper.”

“Well, I’m not either.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

He braced himself. “What?”

“Mom and Dad are kind of bummed about the wedding. They really like Nicole. I’m sure they’ll call you later today or tonight.”

“And?”

“Tell them I really am okay. Reassure them.”

“Yeah, no problem. I can do that.” He took a little pride, unseemly as it was, in the reality that as far as he had fallen, he remained—at least in the eyes of his brother and their parents—on a higher moral ground than Philip. This was, of course, a low bar. But still…

“What’s next?” Philip asked.

“For me? I don’t know. See what the Rorschach on the living room walls and the couch makes me think of this morning.”

“The couch is still there?”

“A rubbish company is picking it up, but they can’t come until Saturday.”

“Have they seen it?”

“No.”

“Well, won’t they be surprised when they do. Me? I’d just drag it outside and burn it.”

“The couch is the least of my problems,” he said, and his brother murmured something not wholly intelligible in assent.

After hanging up, Richard saw a news van driving slowly past the house. He fantasized giving the camera crew the finger if they pulled into his driveway. He sighed: it was almost Halloween. He wondered if they’d get any trick-or-treaters this year, or whether he was such a pariah that no self-respecting parents would allow their children anywhere near the Chapman front door.





Alexandra


Somehow I slept. I did. I slept in a ball with the sheet over my head, but I really did fall into a deep sleep in the hotel room.

It was only when I woke up the next morning that every siren on the street scared me. I was two blocks from Sonja, and that didn’t help. The room was on the third floor and looked out on an air shaft. No fire escape. What worried me? Not fire. I worried because I had nowhere to run if they came for me.

They. The Russians. Police guys. Anybody.

I had made up my mind I would use Kirill’s pistol if the Russians came, but I would surrender if it was police or soldiers at the door. (I don’t know why I expected soldiers, but I did.) I would go to the jail Inga and Yulian had told me about on the Rikers Island, as awful as they had made it sound. But I would shoot the Russians, because this time they were not just going to make me pee in a coffee pot. They were not just going to burn off Sonja’s or my hair. They were going to kill me.