Angel of Death. Christian Russell
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the building Paulardis tried to make up with his female colleague. He pulled his beautiful Corvette next to her. “I’m sorry about that argument with Kurren, Mary. I take all responsibility. Can I drive you home?”
“Are you going south?”
“Indeed I am,” he answered hopefully.
“Well then, give my regards to the Mexicans.”
* * * * * * *
On his way home Mark tried to pull himself together. A difficult moment was lying ahead: the discussion with Cathy. He was trying to convince himself that his decision to break up with her had nothing to do with the actress. After all, he had decided to move to a hotel on Monday, after that argument from which he had emerged like a whipped dog. As for Dorothy, he hadn’t done anything that he should feel sorry for. He wondered if his wife had seen that picture in The New York Times. The one that showed him leading the actress protectively by the shoulders out of the theatre. Damn it! he concluded. I worry too much about a marriage that died years ago.
The thing that was really breaking his heart was Tommy’s predicament. How was he to explain all that to the little boy? Anyway, rather than keep him in the middle of a war they should share his affection in times of peace.
When he parked his car outside his house, Mark felt he was in a mood for a row, which hadn’t happened in a long time. He was going to put in a good fight this time.
After he got in he looked for his wife. He saw her on the couch. She was just finishing a cosmetic procedure. She had put a mixture of creams on her face. Only her eyes shone through.
“I didn’t know we’re having a masquerade,” the man said sourly.
“That’s a beauty mask,” explained Cathy who was trying to relax following McGerr’s advice. “Jenny, our neighbor, told me how to do it. And I’ve been using it every day for three weeks now. What do you think: am I doing it for nothing or does it really make me look better?”
“Of course it does. What I really don’t understand is why you ever wipe that off!”
The woman was stunned by this sudden hostility coming from her husband whose attitude was usually that of non-combat. What had happened? Mark didn’t give her the time to ask anything. He ran upstairs straight to his bedroom. He pulled a big leather suitcase from under the bed. Then he opened the wardrobe sorting his clothes, throwing some into the case. Cathy finally showed up in the doorway, speechless, failing to understand what was going on.
“What are you doing, Mark?” she asked him after a while.
The man didn’t answer. He was done with the clothes and was now squeezing in his towels and toilet items. Then he started looking for something anxiously. As he couldn’t find it he questioned the woman harshly. “Where’s my insignia jacket?”
“Ask the guys from the sanitation service,” she answered coldly.
“I thought we had some rules around here. The things that bring luck don’t get thrown away. That jacket brought me luck in college and even some more years after that.”
“But it was full of holes.”
“It was. But each hole had its own story. It was a jacket full of memories.”
“Of course,” she replied angrily. “Full of memories with whores in the bushes and second-hand cars.”
Mark turned to her instantly. He gave her a look full of pain and pity. “You’re pathetic, Cathy! And at times like this you make me sick. I’ve decided to separate from you. At least for a while. That’s why I’m moving out to a hotel.”
There was panic in the woman’s eyes. “Why are you doing this to me, Mark? Is it because last Monday I gave you a passionate speech on how you should behave? I just wanted you to spend more time with me and the boy and to take over some of the chores.”
“In that case you should have married a penguin or a stork,” he retorted calmly zipping the suitcase and grabbing it ready to leave. He gently pushed the woman away from the door, went out and started climbing down the stairs. Tommy stormed out of his playroom.
“Daddy, you’re home!” he exclaimed joyfully. Then he noticed the suitcase and asked a little sadly. “Are you going some place, dad?”
Mark nodded. He took the boy in his arms and kissed him.
“When will you be back?” his son asked.
The man avoided a direct answer. “Tomorrow I’ll be here to take you to the game like I promised.” He kissed the boy again and put him down. “Run, now, go finish the Michael Jordan puzzle!”
Tommy ran into his room and the spouses looked at each other in silence.
“Tell me, Mark, are you sure that damned actress whose life they say you’ve saved has nothing to do with it? I saw you both in the paper and you did look like her guardian angel.”
Mark looked at her in surprise. Was that the typical wife syndrome, that is hate for any woman who comes near her husband? Or was it the famous feminine intuition? He favored the latter. His wife was an intelligent woman who had worked for years as a reporter. So he shook his head pretty unconvincingly, which she didn’t fail to notice.
“We’ll talk on the phone, Cathy,” he said on his way out.
She shouted angrily behind him. “Watch out for that door, Mark, don’t let it hit you!” Then she dropped on the couch and wiped the cream off her face with a towel.
Tommy showed up in the hall again. He had finished the game and wanted to show it to his father. He noticed he was gone and asked his mother. “Where did Daddy go?”
“He went to a hotel,” Cathy said, still in shock.
“But why, mummy?” the child insisted candidly.
Cathy put him on her lap and stroked his head. “I don’t know, Tommy! He got bored here, probably. It happens sometimes, you know. When men grow bored, they start a war or move out to a hotel.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sunday, October 18
It had been raining all morning. It had slowed down toward noon but small raindrops kept falling from the sky. Mark had called Dorothy yesterday and given her the address of the Bossert Hotel where he was staying. After an embarrassing pause the actress had acknowledged sending the car to the hotel and asked him not to let her down, he must come, he was the guest of honor.
Mark had hardly finished reading the editorial in The New York Times when the phone rang. The receptionist told him that there was a limo waiting for him outside. He looked at his watch: 16:55. These Whellers are so damn punctual! He changed his clothes quickly and went downstairs. When he saw the long expensive car which was taking the entire driveway, he felt sorry for not having taken a taxi to South Orange.
A chauffeur in a brand new uniform opened the back door for him. Du Nancy got in the car without very much enthusiasm. The inside was as roomy as his hotel room. There were a TV, a phone, a fridge, and a mini bar. He realized that the only thing missing was a bathroom. Well, he couldn’t be too sure of that.
It took them over an hour to get there. As soon as they entered South Orange Avenue the rain stopped as if by miracle. More than that, the sun started shining. Mark thought it probably never rained at their parties. The Whellers wouldn’t have that.
When they reached the gates a big man came out of a small house close by. The chauffeur pulled down the window. “Who are you bringing?” the guard asked.
“Mr. Du Nancy,” the chauffer answered boastfully.
“OK, I’ll let Miss Dorothy know. She told me to call her the minute you get here.”
The big gates opened and they entered a huge park full of century-old trees. After about two hundred yards Mark finally saw what the actress had called ‘her uncle’s villa.’ The Louvre could