Fidelity Files (32 page)

Marta nodded understandingly. "So you go buy some now?"

I looked down at my pajamas. I really didn't want to leave the house just yet. In a few hours I would have to get dressed to meet John down at the docks for Daniel Miller's take-two assignment. "Nah," I said, waving my hand in the air. "I'll just pick some up on my way home today."

Marta shrugged. "Okay. I do the laundry next week when I come back."

I followed her gaze until I came face-to-face with the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. I squinted at it, just barely able to make out the shirt I had worn on the day I went to Raymond Jacobs's office. When he propositioned me for sex. And below that, I could see the outfit I had worn to Sarah Miller's house, when she handed me a wad of cash and told me to test her husband for the second time. And at the very top of the pile was the shirt I had picked out for Eric's assignment last night... the one that I never went through with.

If I stared at the pile long enough, I could almost "see" the bad vibes and creepy germs pouring off the clothes, onto my laundry room linoleum floor, and crawling toward the doorway where I stood.

I backed up slightly.

"Next week?" I asked, slightly tense.

"Yes," she replied. "I come back on Tuesday."

As stupid as it sounded, part of my ability to reset and start fresh every morning was because of laundry. Well, actually, because of Marta's expert laundering skills. It was like she had a special touch, a special decontamination superpower of her own that allowed me to wear an item of clothing to dinner with my friends even though it had been removed by a cheating husband only days before. Marta got rid of all the dirt and grime I picked up during the course of the day. She cleansed my life of all things relating to betrayal and other negative forces.

I had come to depend on that decontamination as a means of survival.

And the thought of that laundry piling up and sitting there for another three days made me not want to sleep in my own bed at night.

"No, no," I responded quickly. "I'll go to the store right now and get some."

Marta simply flashed a satisfied smile and went into the kitchen to start doing dishes.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt and ran out to my car. In addition to laundry detergent, I picked up some breakfast and coffee at the Coral Tree Café. After that I stopped at the bank to deposit what was left of the cash that Sarah Miller had given me. I had decided to deposit the sum in unequal installments over the past five days to avoid any unwanted attention or questioning from the bank. And finally I dropped in at the Apple store to buy a new charger for my iPod.

By the time I got back to the house, it was time to start getting ready for today's assignment. I hadn't completely forgotten about my almost phone call to Jamie to cancel our date. I had just
chosen
to overlook it.

Besides, I had things to do. Laundry detergent needed purchasing, iPods needed charging, and ridiculously large amounts of cash lying around needed depositing. And after that I had to go to work. John would be meeting me at the docks in less than an hour. I certainly wasn't about to change around my whole schedule just for a guy.

WHEN I reached our previously agreed-upon meeting point at the marina, I found John pacing anxiously in front of a large yacht, dressed in white pants and a white collared shirt, with a blue handkerchief tied meticulously around his neck. He tilted his head back to salvage the last drop from his Coffee Bean paper cup.

"What are you wearing?" I asked, trying to stifle a laugh as I approached and stared incredulously at his outfit.

John looked down at his clothes and carefully pressed his finger against a piece of red lint on his pants, and then flicked it into the warm sea air. "Hello! It's sailor chic," he informed me condescendingly, as if he were trying to explain a Renoir painting to a culture-deprived teenage girl.

I smiled. "Ah..."

"So what's the plan? Where is he? What should I do?" he asked anxiously.

I looked around the dock and tried to match up the photo of Daniel Miller's sailboat that his wife had given me with the real thing. It was going to be difficult, since they all kind of looked alike. I now wished that she had given me some type of parking space number. Is that even what they call them? Parking spaces? Designated boating spots? Docking zones? What the hell did I know about being down at the "dock of the bay" except for that one song about wasting time there. Although Ashlyn was supposed to be quite the dock rat, according to her last meeting with Daniel Miller.

"Well..." I began.

"See, here's what I was thinking," he quickly interrupted, tossing his empty coffee cup into the nearest waste bin.

I laughed. "Go ahead."

"Okay. So here's you and me, just casually strolling the docks. Ashlyn with her good friend
Wallace
. And then suddenly... 'Well, well, who do we have here?' A friend of Ashlyn's. 'Hey, you're the guy from that something or other bar,' etc., etc. You introduce us and I say something brilliant like 'It's chilly out here. I'm just gonna grab my sweater from the boat,' and then you make your move... or do whatever it is you do. Seal the deal. Sink the bait. You know."

John stood back with his arms folded across his chest, patiently awaiting my praise.

I bit my lip, holding back a smile that almost refused to be stifled. "First of all," I said, "Wallace?"

"I needed an alias. And I think it sounds very 'Saturday afternoon at the docks,' don't you?"

"Fine," I replied, choosing my battles. "And second of all...it's almost eighty degrees out here. I don't think your little brilliant, sly sweater escape story is gonna fly."

John waved my objection away with his hand. "Well, whatever, two nickels or a dime. I'll go get coffee or something."

I looked at him strangely. "Don't you mean 'six of one, half dozen of another'?"

John frowned. "Details, Jen. Useless details. We're wasting precious inspection time."

I shook my head. "Fine, let's go." I had a feeling this was going to be a disaster, but at this point, I hardly cared. Sarah Miller was in denial. Sure, it was some sort of peculiar, reverse-psychology denial. But denial all the same. Her husband had already passed my test. As far as I was concerned, he was not the cheating type. I didn't even make up another inspection card. The fact that she wanted to pay me an exorbitant amount of money on top of the triple fee she already had paid me the first time around to come down here and confirm what I already knew to be true was, I guess, her problem.

John self-importantly cocked his elbow at his side and nudged me with it until I slipped my hand through it, and we walked arm in arm along the dock, keeping an eye out for the boat in the picture.

"You look ridiculous," I commented quietly, out of the corner of my mouth.

"
I
look like I belong down here among the rich and famous," he insisted. "
You
look like you should be drinking a diet Coke out of the can in the Valley somewhere."

"John, it's not the Governors Ball. It's Marina Del Rey. I saw a bum sleeping with a stuffed Pooh doll on a bench about three minutes ago."

John loudly cleared his throat. "Don't you mean '
Wallace,
it's not the Governors Ball'?"

I shot him a look. He ignored it. "And yes, you're right, Miss Ashlyn. They really do need to do something about the dreadful homeless problem down here. Where do they think this is? Venice Beach?" He pronounced the location as if the words themselves were somehow dirty and full of beach trash.

I stifled a giggle and we continued walking. A few yards ahead I saw a man hanging over the side of a boat, diligently scrubbing off dirt with a white rag. I slowed my step. "That's him," I whispered to John – pardon me...to
Wallace
.

John stopped dead in his tracks, as if we were stalking a deer in the woods and the smallest sound or movement might scare away the prey. I could feel his body tense up next to mine.

"Relax," I reassured him, finding his hesitation somewhat endearing. "This will be an easy one."

John took a deep breath and we approached the boat.

"Daniel?" I said with great surprise in my tone as I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked up at the man aboard the boat in front of us.

He looked down at me and smiled. "Yes?" I could tell I was familiar to him but that he embarrassedly couldn't remember my name or who the hell I was. I was suddenly further reassured that this was going to be just as I suspected...an easy confirmation of what I already knew to be true.

"It's Ashlyn. We met the other day at the W Hotel bar."

His brain spun around like the reels of a slot machine, searching for the right combination of name, face, location. I could see it in his eyes. And then suddenly ....
ding, ding, ding
. Jackpot.

"Ah, yes. The sailboat lover," he ventured, hoping desperately that he had gotten his facts right.

"So you
do
remember me," I said with a fabricated sigh of relief. As if his recollection of our previous night together meant the world to me.

"Of course." He stepped down from his boat onto the dock and offered me his hand.

I shook it, and then turned to John. "And this is my friend..." I forced a straight face. "Wallace. Wallace, Daniel."

"Pleasure to meet you," John said, shaking his hand eagerly.

"Pleasure is mine," Daniel said.

I stood to the side and watched the two of them shake hands. I looked from John to Daniel, and for a second I could have sworn their handshake went on for just a touch too long. But before I could even contemplate it, Daniel had turned back to me.

"So what brings you down to the marina today?"

"Oh, well," John began, not even allowing me the opportunity to open my mouth, "Ashlyn and I often walk the docks in the afternoon when the weather's nice. She loves coming down to see the boats... and I like coming to see the...well, you know, people on the boats."

I subtly elbowed John in the side to warn him about flirting and overly sexual innuendos. "Yes," I said, attempting to cover his tracks. "It's such a nice day, we just couldn't resist."

Daniel looked around and took in the Saturday afternoon sunlight. His gaze circled back in our direction and seemed to linger on John, although it was hard to tell behind his dark sunglasses.

John watched him intently, as if trying to get a lifetime's worth of gossip on the man in only a short glance. The situation was beginning to feel awkward, and I knew I had to speed the process along.

"Hey, Wallace, weren't you talking about getting some coffee? I think I would really love a latté if you're still going to go."

John looked at me with begging eyes. Eyes that said "
Please, Mommy, can't I stay and watch just a little bit longer?
"

I shook my head discreetly at him, but the disappointment that filled his face was much less subtle. "Yes," he finally replied, sulking. "I was going to go get some coffee. Would you like any, Daniel?"

Daniel smiled kindly. "Yes, I would love an iced coffee, please. Thank you."

"You got it." He then turned to me and, with his back to Daniel, sneered mockingly. I smiled politely back.

John walked quickly toward the boathouse at the end of the dock and I turned my attention back to Daniel. It was time to get down to business and get this over with.

But as soon as I turned my head back, I noticed that Daniel's attention certainly was
not
back on me. As I followed his gaze this time, it was undisputable. Sunglasses or not, there was no doubt that his eyes were aimed directly at John, aka Wallace, as he merrily trotted down the wooden planks of the dock, his blue handkerchief blowing in the ocean breeze.

And like a gush of hot air, everything hit me at once. It suddenly all made sense. The reason that Daniel Miller seemingly wanted nothing to do with me. The reason Sarah Miller insisted that I try again – and try harder. Because cheating with another
woman
was better than the alternative, the one she had really been suspecting all along.

And just as quickly as it hit me, an idea came rushing to me as well.

"Can you hold on a minute?" I asked Daniel politely. "I forgot to tell Wallace that I wanted soy milk in my latté." And with that I spun on my heels and practically ran to catch up with John.

"Wait up!" I called after him.

He turned around with a confused look on his face. "What? Did he turn your sorry ass down already?"

I shook my head as I caught my breath. I patted John on the shoulder and smiled. "It's a good thing you came along after all."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Why's that?"

I smiled at him, knowing that what I was about to ask would surely make his day – and possibly his year. "Because I have a better idea."

I SIPPED my coffee and glanced at my watch for the third time in the past forty-five minutes. The wooden park bench I was sitting on was starting to get rather uncomfortable. And it didn't help that I had to perch on the very edge of the bench to avoid getting splinters in my bare legs. The white sailor-style miniskirt had been my last attempt to get Daniel Miller's attention. But as it would seem, no amount of
female
skin was going to cut it.

I immediately felt sorry for his wife. There she was, sitting in her empty Stepford house in the canyon, wanting so much to believe that maybe he was just bored with
their
sex life, not with sex with women in general. Because if that were the case, I'm sure she would blame herself, thinking that she had literally pushed him away from the female species altogether. What a terrible thing to have to live with. And why hadn't she seen it before? As in, fifteen years before, when they first met? Or thirteen years before, when they exchanged wedding vows? How can someone hide something like that for this long?

Just as I stood up to stretch my legs I saw John walking toward my bench.

I quickly hurried over to him, and the first thing I noticed was that his blue handkerchief was tied on the
opposite
side of his neck and his hair was slightly out of place. Or as out of place as John would ever allow it to get.