She stared at her husband. They’d been together since she was practically a child. She’d married as a girl. For better or worse.
“I’ll call you later,” Phoebe said. “You’ll bring the girls for dinner.”
“Mom, listen to what I’m saying. We’re never coming back.”
Phoebe hugged her rigid daughter. “No. You can’t make such a decision just like that.” She tried to gather Noah in her arms, but he backed away to his sister, and together they walked out.
The front door closed.
She turned to Jake. “What did you do? God in heaven, what did you do to us?”
CHAPTER 26
Phoebe
Jake left the room without a word.
Phoebe wandered through the ornate rooms, trying to think. She folded and refolded stacks of sweaters, her hands buried in drifts of soft cashmere. She cleared coffee cups and scrubbed the stain of Kate’s red lipstick from the china. On the terrace, she lifted her face to the stinging wind.
Next came bourbon. For courage. For deadening. To face the next minute of her life.
When Phoebe had finished the drink, and another, she found Jake. “You stole it all?” She hovered at the entrance to his study, gripping the edge of the ivory-colored doorjamb.
Boxers sparred on the screen. Jake lay on the leather sofa, arms dangling, his fingers scraping the rug. He kept his eyes on the television, watching sweat-oiled men pound each other, and answered without looking at her. “The money you took out this morning was to cover all the checks I wrote. There’s almost nothing left after that.”
“Checks? To whom?” She tightened her fingers around the crystal glass filled with ice and bourbon. Thin crystal. Expensive. Baccarat. Simply squeezing too hard might shatter it. Yesterday, if she so wished, just for fun, she could have thrown the entire set against the wall. Just to hear the crash of splintering glass could have been her pleasure for the day. Replacements were always available.
What had she paid for this one glass? Two hundred? Three?
“Checks for the people that matter,” Jake said.
“Don’t they all matter?”
“Sure. Everyone,” he muttered.
Lies. All he told were lies.
“What am I supposed to do?” He still spoke without looking at her. “Should I write a check to the richest clients, like Louis Klein, or your sister and Ben?”
Her sister. She lowered herself to the edge of the leather chair with shaking legs.
“It’s over.” Jake still wouldn’t look at her. “We can only help a few people.”
She remained mute, at a loss for a frame of reference.
“People like Louis made plenty off the company, believe me,” he answered himself. “They’re not losing a thing.”
Louis Klein treated Jake like his fourth child. He called Phoebe on her birthday and sat at the family table at their kids’ weddings.
“I wrote checks to your sister, bonuses for all the people in the office. People like Leon—that’s who I’m taking care of. The money will go out tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure.” He spoke as though doing something worthy of pride.
Waves of faces flashed. Uncles. Cousins. Eva. Linh. Zoya. Ira. Mira House. She might as well separate molecules of water as isolate family and friends not in the Club.
“I’m seeing Gideon on Monday. Don’t worry. I’ll put everything in order.”
“How?”
“Don’t worry.”
“My sister’s money is gone?” she asked. “Eva and the others? Ira? Mira House?”
Jake struggled to a sitting position and placed a hand on each of his knees. “Are you not listening? Almost everything is gone. I’m slicing up what’s left; too many people need a piece of the pie. The Club’s gone, Pheebs. You gotta stay quiet for now. Don’t call Deb, or the money could disappear before she gets it. Do you understand?”
“How did this happen, Jake?”
He raised the television volume. “Like a house burning, one stick of furniture at a time.”
? ? ?
Now they faced going to the party.
The holiday celebration.
JPE’s bash was always held someplace fancy enough for the women to glitter, while allowing the men to wear nothing dressier than sports jackets and fresh shaves. A place where they could let down their hair, receive expensive gifts selected by Phoebe, drink endlessly, gorge all night, and live up to the family touch Jake infused into the company.
This year’s “family touch” was Jake’s fingers snaking into the staff’s pockets, pulling out their salaries, and channeling the money to the thirty-seventh floor—where most of the staff had invested their life savings—smashing their trust until it was no more than particles of dust.
She would skip the party and let Jake claim whatever illness he wanted for her, if not for the tiny hope that some miracle would bring Kate and Noah to the celebration.
Extravagant fabric shimmered from Phoebe’s closet. She stared at dresses, evening skirts, and palazzo pants until they blurred into a Picasso of her wardrobe.
Bouclé.
Crepe.
Silk.
Red.
Beige.
Blue.
White.
Black.
Black.
Black.
She could take a knife and slash every piece.
Or slit Jake’s throat.
Thief.
Crook.
Pirate.
Plunderer.
Jake walked in, his charcoal suit too clean a contrast to his bloodshot brown eyes, dense with misery. He’d combed back his thick hair but skipped the second shave he usually took before a party. His tie knot appeared clumsy.
“You’re not dressed,” he said.
“When did it start?” she asked.
Silence.
“Why did you do it?”
Still as dirt.
“Nothing makes sense.”
“Just get dressed. We’ll talk later.”
When he left the bedroom, she rummaged in her dresser till she found a prescription bottle under a pile of silk camisoles, shook out a Xanax, and swallowed it dry. Once the pill was down safely, she grabbed a long black skirt and a grey blouse. She’d match Jake. Sack cloth and ashes. Two clichés of penitence.
A car service driver picked them up. No one worked during the holiday—especially not Leon. He could drink his favorite Chopin vodka, which Jake always made sure was on hand, all night if he wished—he’d be the driven, not the driver. The night of the party, Jake sent a car for Leon.
Connie rushed over, hugging Phoebe first and then Jake. “I was so worried about you!” she said to Jake. “Where’d you go? You disappeared. You didn’t answer your calls; I was going crazy wondering what happened. Some questions came up about the party and I—”
Jake patted Connie’s shoulder. “Phoebe’s sister took ill.” Jake tapped his chest as though the problem lay in Deb’s heart. “She’s in the hospital. West Boca Community at first, but we arranged transportation to Cedars.”