CHAPTER 32
An hour later we were ready to try again. Our new mark was in his late thirties, but I put his body age a good ten years older than that. In this dimly lit watering hole everything about him looked dark, from his short hair, groomed in a Clooney way, to the rings around his sunken eyes, to the stubble dotting his “I’m the man” face. He looked like a guy who enjoyed taking whatever he wanted. Perfect.
Take my bait, you jackass.
He wore a pin-striped blue suit, the kind that graced many a corner office.
Our plan required a modestly impaired individual, but this guy exceeded our needs by at least three cocktails. I picked him after he swallowed down a Dewar’s and soda like he was doing a Jell-O shot. We waited long enough to make sure he’d come alone, and it was obvious to us both that he was a regular. I checked his finger for a wedding band. I didn’t want to be responsible for any marital disharmony. After all, he was going to pay for sex tonight, just not with my wife.
Ruby, who had been sitting at the far end of the bar, got up and sat on the stool next to our guy. Her eyes, though haunted, were at least dry. It appeared as though Plan B gave Ruby the strength to take things to the next level. The guy might have been talking to the bartender, but almost immediately his eyes were communicating only with Ruby. He would drink, glance over at her, sip, glance again, wet his lips, and again he’d glance. He reminded me of an animal on the hunt. He wasn’t just undressing Ruby with his eyes; he was consuming her.
I moved as well, putting myself close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I sure as hell was going to know what was said. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have listened at all.
“Is your name Princess?” the man asked.
That was when I ordered the whiskey.
Ruby hesitated. Plan B required she use a specific name, and I worried that maybe she had forgotten. “Actually, it’s Jenna,” Ruby eventually said. I heard her swallow away the flutter in her voice, but I was pretty sure Mr. Dewar’s and soda didn’t pick up on her evident nervousness. He was too focused on other things, like imagining my wife naked.
“Can I buy you a drink, Jenna?” the guy asked.
Ruby swiveled to face him, uncrossing and crossing her legs. “I’ll have a Chardonnay,” she said.
He ordered the wine with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin.
“What’s your name?” Ruby asked.
“Andrew,” he said, slurring. “Anndrjrew,” it sounded like. “Jenna’s a pretty name,” Andrew said. “You’re a pretty girl.”
“Thank you,” Ruby said. She avoided Andrew’s probing gaze, as though looking at him was like trying to stare directly into the sun. Andrew didn’t seem to care.
Ruby’s Chardonnay arrived, and she pretended to take a sip. Their conversation continued, with Andrew doing all the talking and Ruby doing a lot of listening and head nodding and forced smiling. It wasn’t hard to overhear what was said. Drunken Drew liked to talk loudly.
Here’s what I learned: he was single and a stockbroker and an a*shole. He bragged about his money and connections—the Beamer he drove, the vacation property he owned, the restaurants where he didn’t need a reservation, the clubs that would let him cut the line. This went on for some time, and with each passing minute, Andrew positioned himself closer and closer to Ruby.
I watched his hand maneuver with the subtlety of a predator on the prowl, inching through the tall grass, getting closer to Ruby’s leg, until it came to rest on her thigh. The actress Ruby disappeared in a blink, and the real Ruby took her place. Her body stiffened at his touch—recoiled, really—but Andrew kept his hand on her thigh. Either he didn’t take notice of her discomfort or he didn’t care. What he did seem to care about was talking, which he did whether Ruby appeared interested or not.
I finished my whiskey in two healthy swallows, got up from my stool, and walked behind them. I was pretending to stretch my legs, but really I wanted Ruby to see my face. The pain in her eyes filled me with profound sorrow, but I tried not to let it show. I mouthed the words, “You can do it.” That seemed to give her a little jolt of confidence.
Ruby leaned in close. I cringed because her lips nearly brushed Drunken Drew’s ear. I couldn’t hear what she whispered, but she talked for a good long while and I saw Drunken Drew nodding vigorously as she spoke. Though her exact words were not audible, I knew what she was telling him.
“I have a massage business,” she was saying. “I’d love to give you a massage. Would you like that? I know I would. I have a hotel room just around the corner, too. We could go there now, if you’d like.”
Andrew’s next move didn’t surprise me any. He asked for the check, and impatiently. My heart sank. I closed my eyes tightly when they got up together and headed for the door.
Keep climbing. . . . Just keep on climbing. . . .
Andrew stumbled once on his way out of the bar. He was laughing, a sloppy drunk—the most detestable kind. Keeping close behind them, I emerged into the warm night air feeling more than a modicum of gratitude that our plan appeared to be working. Thanks to Uretsky’s arrangements, I wouldn’t have to endure the sight of Andrew groping my wife for long. The hotel room at the Holiday Inn was a five-minute walk from the bar.
Walking behind what others would assume to be a happy—but inebriated—couple, I had no choice but to watch everything Andrew did to Ruby. Drew, staggering and unsteady on his feet, put his arm around Ruby’s slender waist and then pulled her in close to his body. I saw him slide his hand down to her butt first, giving it a hard squeeze and next a rub. It took every bit of self-restraint not to rush him. I wanted to throw him to the ground. Honestly, I wanted to kick him in the head. It was like a burst of road rage, only we were three pedestrians.
Rather than charge, I took a calming breath. My machismo wasn’t going to help us.
Ruby slapped Drunk Drew’s hand away, and they stopped walking. An exchange took place, with Andrew saying something and not looking happy about it, and Ruby saying something and looking equally displeased. Then Andrew grabbed Ruby’s cheeks and kissed her hard on the mouth—a slobbery, disgustingly wet kiss. He forced their faces together, trying to push his tongue inside her mouth, as Ruby tried unsuccessfully to pull away.
I had to stand there and watch, unable to help.
Ruby pushed Andrew, more forcefully this time, while somehow managing a smile. I heard her say, “Wait till we get to the hotel room.” Again, Drunk Drew nodded. He started walking faster, too. I kept my distance, following them.
Inside the lobby, Ruby took the elevator to the third floor. I opted for the stairs. I could see the hotel room Uretsky had rented for Ruby to use—room 324—from the stairwell exit. I waited in the stairwell until Ruby had her key card inserted and the door to room 324 opened.
I was on the move before the door clicked shut. This was the first moment Ruby had been out of my sight, and anxiety squeezed my throat. I took out a key card of my own.
It opened room 325.