Chapter 2: Friends and Foes

Time has this well-known quality of going on.

But of course we shouldn't give time credit for that. It isn't time. It is all these modest little things and chores that drag us through our days. Things like getting up, shaving, having coffee. Like getting to work and slaving along. Like phoning, meeting, talking and drinking more coffee.

At work I spend a lot of time on the phone and behind the computer screen. Hours may pass without me returning to palpable reality. It makes the arrival of lunchtime sometimes feel like rising from the depth of a pool, gasping for air. Judy's face was the first living thing I came back to. She is my secretary. We often have a bite together, down at the tiny street-restaurant.

Judy is in her late forties. No need to flatter her by saying she looks ten years younger. She proudly looks her age and is a stunner nevertheless. Beside that, there isn't a week going by that she doesn't save my ass. She remembers what I forget. She irons out what I wrinkle. She jokes away my darker moods.

"You look like shit," she said, picking up the menu.

"Thank you very much," I answered.

"But it's true," she went on sweetly. "Lack of sleep?"

I nodded.

"Worries?' She nipped from her water.

"Not sure."

She pouted her immaculate lips.

"Not sure?... I'd say those are the worst."

She smiled, but I knew she was serious. It takes a better man than me to fool her.

We ordered. I took a soup, she a salad. I ruined a bun by crumbling it to a sorry little heap of crumbs. I didn't touch my glass of milk.

"Jules," she said softly. "I won't repeat that you can always talk to me about anything. I sometimes worry about your sloppy memory, but I know you haven't forgotten that."

She made me smile. It felt odd. I realized I hadn't smiled for a while.

Judy went on.

"Your reluctance tells me there might be two reasons for your musing, honey. The first one is that you cheated the firm out of a few million... well, I don't think we should take that one serious."

She grinned and laid her hand on my arm. I admired its youth and aggressive nail-job.

"Which leaves us with Betty."

When she said that, her fingers tightened for just a second.

Our soup and salad came. I made quite a show of unfolding my napkin and spreading it in my lap. Then I took my time to stir the steaming bowl with a tireless spoon.

I looked up and realized that her eyes had never left me through the whole ceremony. They were very green, today.

"I really can't tell you, Judy. Not that I don't want to, but I just don't know why I should worry about her in the first place. I might as well worry that this soup is poisoned. I have no reason, no evidence, nothing."

I heard myself talk. And I knew I gave it all away. The more words I used to deny my worries, the louder they seemed to confirm them. Poison indeed. Judy usually only needs half a word. I gave her half a dictionary.

She was silent. She looked into her salad.

"Tell me all," she said. "Or tell me it is none of my business."

I told her.

Judy doesn't know Paul well. She doesn't know he never lies. That he hasn't lied ever since the early eighties when we first met. But the first thing she asked was when Betty works late.

I stared at her.

"You believe it?" I asked.

"Why would Paul lie?"

"Because he is jealous!" I blurted.

She hesitated.

"I don't know much about your friendships, Jules. You always speak highly of Paul, though. I know you have always been very close. Did he ever before seem... jealous?"

I just sat and thought back over a gulf of time. The time I had known Paul. He had never been jealous. I was better at school, I often helped him. He never seemed envious of my ease at what was difficult for him at times. I must admit that if there ever had been jealousies, they had been mine. Paul was very popular with the girls. He was a great sportsman and a successful flirt.

"No," I said. "I don't think he ever was."

Judy looked thoughtful. She had not touched her salad.

"Yet you call him that."

"He never liked Betty. I introduced them and after seeing her a few times he admitted that he did not like her. I was surprised. I could not imagine that there might be people on this earth not liking Betty. Besides, Paul's taste in people and mine never differed much. I was surprised. And not a bit disappointed."

Judy started poking at her little Japanese salad.

"You think that's the reason why he told you, Jules? To blacken Betty?"

The bluntness of her remark made me feel uneasy. How could I accuse Paul of that? On the other hand, how could I not come to the rescue of Betty's reputation?

"Could you believe Paul would do that?" she said.

Damn, the woman might as well have read my mind. I shrugged.

"I can't let him do that to Betty, can I?" I said. "He can't make me choose between her and him. I... like him. I love Betty!"

My voice had swollen. The last words were loud. Judy laughed. Her hand was on my wrist again.

"Honey," she said. (She often says that, just like "darling". It is just what she says.) "Honey... I think you are overreacting. Please look at what we have here."

She pointed at the centre of the table, as if there was a piece of evidence lying there.

"Paul has seen her with her boss at the restaurant of the Hilton. How often does Betty go to restaurants with clients or colleagues?"

I knew what she meant.

"But he saw them kiss. Intimately," I said.

She nodded.

"Betty is an easy kisser, Jules. It is how she is. Open, warm. Not a fashionable air-kisser. And maybe Paul exaggerates. Maybe he did not see all of it and made an interpretation. Now what happened next? They left for the elevators. Maybe they had a meeting with a client? Or a presentation to prepare? Did you ask her?"

I felt helpless. And a bit of a fool. Maybe it was indeed all harmless. Was this how much I loved Betty? To suppose the worst after only hearsay? Damn you, Paul! Damn me.

"But Paul said the guy had his hand on her ass."

Now she shrugged.

"How long does she work with him?"

"Almost seven years now. He already was her boss before we met."

"Well..." she said, drawing out the ll's. "Jules, we have been together for over four years now and you never put your hand on my ass. But then again I could be your mom. Imagine me twenty years younger and consider again. Would you mind? Would my bum mind?"

She laughed her easy laugh. I knew she wasn't fishing for a compliment, but I gave it anyway. I fiercely dismissed her "mom" argument and said that it had taken almost superhuman self- restraint to keep my hands to myself.

"I rest my case, honey," she chuckled.

Our little palm tops had allowed us to meet at the gym. Betty had been working out for an hour. She glowed. I had just arrived from work to have a healthy dinner with her at the gym's restaurant. It was in a glass half circle at the tenth floor.

Central Park was at our feet.

"You look gorgeous," I said, kissing her. I felt her body press into mine as she prolonged the kiss. It was a weak, wet, open kiss inside a strong and tight embrace. One that made me feel very welcome.

Slightly out of breath we sat down at the window. The sinking sun haloed her lovely silhouette. I put my hand on hers.

"Libby... what have I done to deserve you?"

A wide grin washed over her face.

"An eye for an eye, honey," she said. "A tooth for a tooth and all the other parts I wont discuss here."

The ease crept in. The wit. And the wonderful lightness that made us buoyant. We were floating on a blue tropical sea. Could I ever broach the subject? I took her hand and kissed her fingers.

"Ah, mon vieux," she crooned. "Mes petits doigts te remercis."

We ordered and sipped our healthy juices. We discussed our days. We laughed and made our little innuendos. And I still had not asked her. It was hard to find a natural way to put the question. It had been four days by now, since Paul had seen them.

"How's Robert?" I asked. It sounded rude and sudden to me, but she didn't seem to notice. Robert Mancini is her boss.

"Oh?" she said. "Fine. He's in Europe right now. Why?"

I had feared the why. So I had prepared for it.

"Nothing special," I said, acting relaxed. "Paul might have a question for him. He may need advice for promoting his next exhibition. I don't know. Paul asked me to ask you."

"Well," she said, chewing on her lettuce. "He'll be back next Monday. But why ask us? We know zilch about the art world, honey. You know that. Besides, we are expensive."

I let the stab pass. Its snobbishness irritated me.

"I guess he got the idea when he saw you and Robert at the Hilton, a few days back," I said. "He didn't want to disturb the two of you. You seemed rather, eh, busy."

I kept my eyes glued to her face. She did not pale, nor blush. She didn't respond at all; her food-filled mouth just mumbled something that sounded affirmative. Then she looked up.

"Honey," she said. "Will you please get the pepper from the other table?"