The Perfect Marriage(21)
“What about insurance?”
“It’s not covered because it’s experimental.”
James now understood. Jessica’s hesitancy was because she was asking him for money.
“I know that you didn’t sign up for this when we got married. But it means Owen’s life. The doctor said that there was no point in going back to any of the insurance-approved protocols because they were unlikely to work. So it’s this or . . . Owen’s going to die. I’m sorry to be so dramatic about it, but that’s the truth.”
Jessica began to cry. James got up and sat on her chair’s armrest, holding her hand until the sobbing subsided.
“How much?” he asked at last.
“The doctor said low– to mid–six figures.”
Jessica knew that they were not nearly as well off as they seemed to the outside world. Before they had married, James had explained that it was an occupational requirement that he present as rich so that his wealthy clients respected him. That meant he lived well beyond his means. The purchase of the loft had taken every penny he had. So much that he’d had to use the money Wayne had paid Jessica for her half of the house in Queens, plus a second mortgage, to settle up with Haley.
“You know how tight things are now, Jessica. We don’t have anything to speak of in the bank, and with the slowdown in the art market, I haven’t made a decent commission in six months.”
“What about selling some of the art?” she said, looking at the walls as if they were a life preserver that could save her from going under.
“I don’t own any of it. It’s all consigned. And I can’t even sell them at fire-sale prices to raise money because most of my deals have a contractual minimum.”
“Don’t we own anything that we can sell?”
James sighed. “Yeah. My watch might fetch fifty grand, and if I cash out my life insurance policy and my very modest retirement savings, maybe I could pool together . . . I don’t know, seventy-five grand?”
She let go of any resolve. Jessica’s entire body seemed to fail, and she fell onto him.
Of course, James did have one possible solution. Their sudden need to raise money fast made Reid’s earlier offer of a quick score seem heaven sent. Of course, that was true only if God trafficked in stolen art.
“There is a way,” James said.
It was as if she had been given an antidote to a poison. Jessica’s head snapped up. “What?”
“The deal Reid wanted me to do. I think I can raise the money that way.”
Jessica’s entire face lit up. “I . . . I don’t know what to say, James. You’re not only saving Owen’s life but mine too. I mean that. And I’ll borrow the money from you. That way, if anything ever happens between us, I’ll pay you back.”
“Nothing is ever going to happen between us, Jessica. I love you and always will. Let’s just worry about getting Owen healthy. That’s all that matters now.”
“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Haley said, still in bed. “I’m a little insulted that fucking me didn’t put a smile like that on your face.”
Reid put the phone down and debated whether to tell her the truth. On the one hand, Haley fucked better when she was angry at James. On the other, he couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t call the cops if she knew James was involved in a deal with him.
“It was business,” he said. “You’re pleasure.”
“I’m not pleasure, Reid. I’m . . . I don’t know what I am to you, actually. It’s never made any sense. I know that something must go on in your head, because every once in a while it makes you decide we should do this, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it is.”
“Right back at ya. I never know what possesses you to agree to come over when I call.”
Their affair—if that was the right word, which it wasn’t—had begun shortly after James left Haley. She called Reid one day, spilling out a sob story about how all their mutual friends had chosen James over her. He reminded her that those people were James’s friends to begin with.
“We met you together,” she said. “You’re friends to both of us. Please, don’t abandon me.”
Reid didn’t really have friends. The people in his life were there for a reason: family, business, pleasure.
He’d seen an opportunity for Haley to serve as pleasure. And she certainly had served. Each and every time. And all he’d had to pay to be the recipient of the most off-the-wall sex of his life was to listen to Haley rant about James doing her wrong and how she’d get even with him someday.
“I think you know exactly why I come over to fuck your brains out whenever you call,” she said.
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“It’s my way of getting some small measure of revenge against James. Because I know he’d be absolutely incensed if he knew. Which begs the question: What did James do to you this time to make you want to fuck me?”
“You’re crazy,” he said. “Why can’t I just enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?”
“For the same reason that a cigar can’t just be a cigar.”
She was right, at least in part of it. Truth be told, Reid didn’t think James would care in the least if he knew that Reid and Haley sometimes went at it. “Better you than me,” he’d probably say. But Haley was undoubtedly correct that, for her at least, their encounters had much more to do with James than with him. It didn’t take an advanced psychology degree to realize that Haley was hate-fucking James with Reid’s body. For her, it was like a drug—she got the positive reinforcement that she was desired, with the added benefit of believing that James would be apoplectic if he found out she was screwing Reid.