Beautiful Illusions Read online

  I tiptoed out of that room, and prepared to come down the stairs.

  From down below, I could Ryan talking on his cell phone, so I decided not to bother him just yet, as I wanted his full attention.

  But what I heard stopped me in my tracks.

  “Listen, Alexis, I am tired of your petty bullshit. I bought you that goddamned Porsche you demanded, I really don’t know what else you want except maybe your own airplane.” Ryan was talking in a loud whisper, not necessarily shouting, but definitely not trying to be completely quiet. He was pacing the floor, and it appeared that he was talking to himself, like a schizophrenic. Of course, he had in a Bluetooth, but, still, it looked odd – like the homeless people you see in the library who are talking to somebody who wasn’t there.

  There was a long pause. Ryan’s pacing was frenetic, and he was pulling on his hair. Not running his fingers through it, but pulling it with both hands. Then - “Yes, I know I have my own airplane, but you don’t understand, I earned that.”

  Geezus, his own plane? Really? I was intrigued, utterly intimidated, and scared to death at seeing him this way, all at the same time.

  A shorter pause, as I saw Ryan pick up a stress ball, and squeeze it, no longer pulling on his hair. Then – “Oh, yes, I did. Yes, I did. Trust me, after what that bastard did to me, I earned that and more. Besides, you forget that I do work for a living.”

  What bastard? Who did what to him? Yeah, he works for a living, but buying a plane on a bank president’s salary seems a stretch. For that matter, buying a de Kooning on a bank president’s salary is also a stretch. Oh, how I wanted to retreat back into the bedroom and not listen to this, but I stayed, my feet rooted to the ground.

  Another long pause, about five minutes. Now he was again pacing the floor, having thrown the stress ball against the wall. He looked like his hand was going to be going through the wall next. Then - “What kind of fuckery is that? How dare you bring that up? We’re divorced, I gave you all that I’m going to give you, and blackmail will get you exactly nowhere.”

  Oh, lord – blackmail? My mind was racing now. Ting, ting, ting, just like a computer, my thoughts started racing about what was up with all this. I felt like crying – just when I was starting to let down my guard….

  Now Maximus and Brutus were getting into the act, coming up to him to try to comfort him. He was now sitting on the couch, and they tried to lick his face. He hastily pushed them both away, and started towards the door to put them out. Then he picked up the stress ball again, and paced some more. Then - “Go right ahead. Go to the press. It isn’t my ass that’s on the line, it’s his.”

  Jesus – the press. Must be something bad. The computer started whirring again. Ting, ting, ting.

  A long pause, then - “Goddamn it, I’m not going to keep buying your goddamned silence. This has to end, Alexis, one way or another. So, go ahead with your little plan. You’ve got no proof anyhow. Remember that there is a gag order in our divorce decree, so you can’t use those depositions against me.”

  A silence of about one minute, as Ryan was now at the Benton painting, putting his left hand on it protectively, as he said “Goddamn it, I told that you can never have the Benton, so why do you keep asking me about that? How many times-“

  More pacing, then “I know that the de Kooning is much more valuable, but you can’t have that one either, and that’s that.”

  Still pacing, and pulling on his hair, then “No, the Cezanne is off-limits too, but, Holy Christ, you know that. That’s been in my family for years, and you know why I have it now. You know why, so quit asking me about it.”

  Cezanne? What the-

  More pacing, and he opened the door to go outside. I immediately ran back into the room, and opened the window so I could hear. Now he was pacing around outside. Then “You’ll get nothing more. You’ll never be satisfied. I could buy you a fucking Greek Island, and you’ll come back for more and more.”

  He made his way back into the house, and I rushed to where I was before, up above. Then - “I won’t give into blackmail.”

  Then - “Little shit.” Although I realized that he was no longer holding the phone when he said this last bit.

  I tiptoed back into the guest bedroom, afraid of him knowing that I heard any of that, much less all of that. Why do you have to be so nosy? I had to admit that I also was afraid of going downstairs. He couldn’t be in a good mood after all of that. I laid back in the bed, half expecting him to storm in here, ripping the covers off of me and kicking my ass out. Or, worse, ask me why I was still there. Well, maybe that wasn’t worse. Equally bad.

  Tentatively, I opened the door and looked down at Ryan in the living room again. He was pacing the floor, muttering to himself. I could make out various words. “She can’t do this.” And “She won’t do this.” Then he was on the phone again. “Sheldon, it’s me.….She’s threatening to go to the press again…Tell me again about the terms of the gag order…That’s what I thought. She can use what she knows, she just can’t use the legal proceedings against me. But she can use what she found out through me during our marriage…I know, I know, she wouldn’t have agreed to our divorce terms otherwise, but, goddamn it, I wish we had a more airtight gag order on her…I know, I didn’t think she’d be so vindictive either…God, you think you know somebody….Well, the good news is, without those depositions, she has no proof of anything. I’ll just deny it all…Yes, I know it’s his ass, not mine…I don’t know why I care how much trouble he gets into… He just scares me still. Plus, if this gets out, it’ll be absolutely humiliating for me…No, it’s not that…Yes, well, thanks, Sheldon, for answering the phone on an early Sunday morning…Good to talk to you too…Yes, I didn’t forget about racquetball. On my schedule…Bye.”

  Sheldon. Sounds like a lawyer’s name.

  Ryan was on the phone once more. “Hi, I need to make an appointment…Dr. Halder…Today, if possible…10 A.M. is fine.”

  After this last conversation, he dragged himself to his couch, slumped his shoulders, and put his head in his hands. I quietly went back into my room and shut the door, then cracked it open a little, to hear if he were coming up to see me.

  To my surprise, he got on the phone with somebody else. “Nick,” he said. “I really need to see you.” At this point, Ryan was sitting on the couch, the dogs sitting next to him. He was petting them calmly while he spoke.

  Pause. “Well, I’m kinda spiraling right now.” At that, he pulled on Maximus’ ear. The dog yanked his head away. “I’ll tell you later. I just really, uh, really need you to see you right now…Tonight would be great. Maybe we could get a drink?”

  My heart plummeted to my shoes. Nick? Who was Nick? Nick – girl, boy? Nicolette, Nicole, Nikki? Oh, lord, I knew it! Dude’s got a girlfriend. I bit my nails, not worried about the manicure. Don’t jump to conclusions. It might be his brother. Or sister.

  After careful consideration, I decided to play it off like I had never heard that conversation. Any of the conversation. Although warning bells were going off in my head, I didn’t want to confront the matter. I was kinda nuts about this guy, so sweeping danger signs under the rug seemed the thing to do.

  Suddenly, he was calling for me. “Iris?” I could hear him coming up the stairs. My breathing started coming rapidly, more and more so as he got closer to the door. I ran back into the bed and pulled the cover over my head, then thought better of it. That would be a dead giveaway that I heard all of that.

  Instead, I pretended to sleep.

  He quietly opened the door. Then he sighed, and closed the door behind him. He went back down the stairs. My breath caught. I hope that worked. God, I hoped that worked. I hope he really thought I slept through all of that. Then I thought – how long should I wait to come down the stairs?

  I decided to wait a half hour more. It was now 7:30. To my knowledge, he didn’t have to be anywhere until his 10 AM appointment, so hopefully I wasn’t bothering him too much.

  The second I opene
d the door, he spun around where he was downstairs. He smiled wanly. “Hey, beautiful,” he said without his usual enthusiasm. Encouraged, I made my way downstairs, and he was already coming up the stairs, so we met halfway.

  Putting his arm around me, he said “I hope you slept well.”

  “Yes, yes, I did. Thank you very much for letting me stay.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let you drive after all that wine.”

  “Excellent wine. You have very good taste.”

  “Well, that was a particularly good year because it was so dry that year.” He smiled. “Global warming is actually a good thing for vintners.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. The drier it is, the better the crop.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, when there’s too much moisture, the leaves tend to get moldy, and the grapes don’t grow as well. The sugar also gets more concentrated in dry weather.”

  “Learn something new everyday!”

  Surreptitiously, I looked at his face for any sign of the emotional turmoil that he was apparently going through. He did look a little wan, a little less engaged, a little more distracted. But he was hiding it well. I felt mixed emotions about that. If he could hide his emotions about this, what else would he be good at hiding in the future?

  I waited for him to say anything about the conversations this morning. He had to know that there was at least a chance that I heard something, although I hoped it was not in his mind that I heard as much as I did.

  “Um, let me fix you some breakfast.” Well, “fix” wasn’t quite the term, as he had a cheese strata already in the oven, which was now coming out and cooling.

  “Did you prepare that last night?” I knew that stratas are usually an overnight thing, but I didn’t recall him making anything last night.

  “Yeah. After you went to bed, I got this ready. I wanted to make something nice for you for breakfast. And, for the record, I am impressed that you know about cheese stratas.”

  “Well, I am not a total food philistine,” I said with mock indignation.

  “Never thought you were.” He was distracted - he apparently thought I was being serious when I acted offended.

  He sliced up the cheese strata, then garnished it with some berries and cream. “Bloody Mary or Virgin Mary?” he asked.

  “Bloody, please.”

  He smiled at that. “My kind of woman. Now, shoo, go meet me on the terrace.”

  I went out the sliding glass door that opened into his backyard. The “backyard,” was more of a palatial terrace. The back patio was paved in lightly colored stone, overlooking an in-ground Olympic-sized swimming pool. A 10-person hot tub gurgled just above the pool. The hot tub was also built in-ground. I made my way to his dining table, which also sat 10, and was situated under a canopy. Just beyond the pool and hot tub, I could see roses, daisies, geraniums mandavillas, and a gazebo. There was also a fully-stocked wet bar outside, underneath a little Tiki hut, right by the pool.

  Ryan appeared, bearing a tray with his plate and mine, and two Bloody Marys. I felt a little weird sitting at such a large table.

  “Love, would you rather sit by the pool?”

  I looked towards the pool, noticing that there was a smaller table with an umbrella attached. “Sure, but let me help you with the food and everything.”

  “No, I got it. Just meet me there.”

  I went down the steps to the table by the pool, Ryan right behind me.

  Sitting down to eat, I bit into my strata. “Oh, I’m in heaven! Where did you learn to cook?”

  “Here and there. I picked up a little all my life.”

  I felt glad that he didn’t tell me the clichéd “My nanny taught me to cook.” Or something like that.

  I took a deep breath, wondering if he would say anything at all about the unfolding drama. To my surprise, he did.

  “Uh, my ex-wife called this morning.”

  I tried for the right expression. Not exactly surprised, but not like I knew something, either. I hope I get this right. “Oh?”

  He smiled. “So, I um, I have to go somewhere this morning.”

  I sat silently, waiting to see if there was more.

  “I, um, am, um, um, um, uh, s-s-s-seeing my therapist this morning.” He looked at me, his face taking on the puppy dog expression I saw on our first date. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of losing me for telling that he’s seeing a therapist.

  “Hey, not a problem. I got things to do anyhow.” What these “things” were, I didn’t really know. Probably get caught up on my DVR.

  “Yes, yes.” He stared at his glass pensively and said little else.

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say to any of this. I hope I get better at this over time. Hell, I hope I hear from him again. Then I remembered in a flash that he apparently had a date that night with somebody that he apparently had strong feelings for, judging by the tone of the conversation. I tried not to jump to conclusions, though. It might be an innocent thing – maybe Nick is his sister? Anyhow, I hardly had exclusive rights to him. I barely knew him. So, I decided not to ask about Nick. Besides, I couldn’t ask about Nick without giving away that my nosy ass heard everything he said to his ex-wife.

  The breakfast was soon finished. Not being quite sure how to play this - if I stay, am I intruding? If I go, does he think that I’m scared off by the therapist thing and am no longer interested? - I opted for eating and running. “Hey, thanks for everything. You’re an amazing cook. I hate to eat and run.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, sounding miserable. “Um, let me show you out.” I looked at him quizzically, suddenly remembering that I didn’t have my car there. I wondered if that occurred to him as well. In a split second, it did. “Oh, shit. Uh, hold on a second.” He went into the other room with his iPhone. He came back in a few minutes. “I’m terribly sorry. I just called my driver. He’ll be here in about five minutes.”

  Jeeves is driving me home? NOT a good sign. I sighed inwardly. I knew this was too good to be true.

  Daniel, his driver, was there in five minutes, driving a Cadillac Escalade, just as Ryan had promised. Patting my head a little before I got into the car, he said “Thanks, Iris. I had a very nice time.”

  That’s it? Not even a fake promise to call? Not even a half-hearted “I’ll see you later?” I nodded my head. Bastard. I immediately banished that thought .No, not a bastard. A nice guy who is dealing with a nasty problem that I can’t even begin to fathom. Well, maybe he is a bastard, if this Nick person is his girlfriend. Estranged girlfriend? Sister? Woman he wants as a girlfriend?

  Smiling, I waved.

  But he already had his back turned and was walking into the house.

  Chapter Six

  Sitting in the back of the Escalade, I willed Daniel not to be a chatty driver. I couldn’t deal with that right now. I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry. Daniel will no doubt report it if I cry, so keep calm. Then I thought ha, Daniel won’t report anything. Ryan won’t ask, because he won’t care. Daniel has probably seen it all anyhow.

  Thankfully, Daniel was the stoic sort, not even trying to make small talk.

  Once inside my apartment, I let loose a torrent of tears. I had no idea why I was crying. I barely knew the guy. Except that I actually had known him my entire life. That is, I had known the idea of him all my life – the seemingly perfect guy. Dare I say – Prince Charming? So, I was upset, because I assumed that I wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

  I decided to take a walk to my mailbox, which was centrally located in the middle of the apartment complex. I hated getting my mail, but I needed to take a walk and get some fresh air. Stepping out onto my stoop, I looked at the sky, which was now threatening rain. I sighed, knowing that I didn’t have an umbrella – all my umbrellas ended up getting left somewhere, so I usually just got drenched like a puppy. I hurriedly made my way to the clubhouse, where the mailbox was, hoping that I wouldn’t get caught in a torrential downpour. A loud crack of thunder, followed by a lightning
that lit up the sky, told me that I didn’t have much time.

  I got to the mailbox, and opened it.

  “Oh, for the love of god. Not again!” I said, as I peered inside and saw only a little yellow note. The note informed me that my box had gotten too full, so everything would be waiting for me at the post office. This had happened way too many times – I had an awful habit of not checking my mailbox for weeks at a time. Nothing ever came in the mail that was important, I reasoned. But it was still a pain in the ass to have to make the special trip to the time-sucking vortex known as the post office, and wait in line while the one or two postmasters take an eternity with each and every one of the fifty customers. I briefly considered just never getting the mail, but decided that was unwise. You never know – the one time you decide to completely blow off the mail is the one time that you will miss something really important.

  And, of course, the threatening sky chose to dump on me at just that moment. It wasn’t just any rain, but it was a cloudburst. The wind whipped up to about 70 MPH, and, all at once, I was completely saturated. I trudged home, not even hurrying to get out of the downpour.

  It was like that all that week. Dragging myself to work, trying not to snap at clients, barking at opposing counsel, writing ever nastier letters to them.

  “Your client better get her ass off that couch and stop sponging off my client,” read one letter.

  “Tell your client to get off the crack and bong hits and take care of the kid, or we are going to get a modification agreement faster than you than you can read this” read another.

  I was on an “ass” kick, in that I was loving that word. I wanted to use it is some fashion in every letter I wrote. I refrained myself when writing my motions to the judge, however. But even these motions were more aggressive than usual, although not quite as blunt as the letters to opposing counsel.

  And one client, in particular, sent me into Defcon 1. He showed up to plead for a DWI, and, when he arrived at the courthouse, the smell of alcohol on his breath nearly knocked me over. It was fresh alcohol, too, because it actually smelled like vodka, as opposed to smelling slightly sweet, which is what vodka smells like on a person's breath after a period of time.