Eye Candy Page 5

  Again, he didn’t hesitate. I had the feeling he’d told it a lot. Grew up in quaint, quiet Greenwich, Connecticut. Had a garage band in high school. Wanted to be in a band forever, but ended up at the Wharton School of Business. Spent all his time in college going to the movies. Wanted to be a director and make commercial action films, but with style. Had a few PR jobs with productions around New York and lived off Dad. Desperately wanted money for his own apartment. Worked as a summer intern at Dad’s investment firm, surprised himself by liking it and being good at it.

  And girls?

  It was too soon to ask him about that.

  He held my hand over the table, but we didn’t talk about last night. He’s going with someone, I decided, and she’s away for the weekend.

  Stop it, Lindy. Just enjoy the afternoon.

  He had an ad on the Web site, right? Would he do that if he was involved with someone?

  Maybe. Who knows?

  “So, do you think your life was different?” I asked. “I mean, coming from a rich family?”

  His eyes locked on mine. A strange smile crossed his face. “Well . . . I’m used to getting what I want.”

  An honest answer, I guess. But it made me a little uncomfortable.

  And then I realized he might be talking about me. Am I what he wanted?

  We finished lunch with espressos. I knew I should get home to my work. But I didn’t want to leave him. So we made our way up Seventh Avenue, just talking and looking into store windows.

  We were on our way back downtown when I felt a chill at the back of my neck. I suddenly felt uneasy.

  Someone is following me, I thought. I had the strongest feeling, as if eyes were poking into my back.

  I spun around, startling Colin.

  Two women pushing baby strollers had the sidewalk blocked. One of them was talking rapidly on her cell phone. The other squatted down in front of her baby.

  Colin raised his blue sunglasses. “Lindy, what’s your problem?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just have this feeling . . .”

  We turned onto Eighteenth Street. Colin wanted to pick up a book for his niece at Books of Wonder, the children’s bookstore.

  “You can buy her some FurryBear books,” I said.

  Colin snickered. “I don’t think so. She’s twelve.”

  He disappeared into the store.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I glanced behind me again.

  No, no one.

  I turned to enter the bookstore—and saw Jack Smith coming toward me.

  Had he been following me?

  He wore a white shirt and yellow tie over black dress slacks. The tie flew up to his shoulder as he jogged up to me, waving and smiling.

  “I thought that was you!” he cried.

  You’ve been following me for blocks. And now you’re acting surprised to see me?

  “Jack! What are you doing here?” I tried to sound like it was a happy surprise, but I didn’t quite pull it off.

  “I had some business and stuff,” he said. His eyes locked on mine. “What a coincidence, huh? I mean, running into you here.”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  He pulled the tie into place, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Were you going into this bookstore? It’s for kids, right?”

  “Yeah. I—”

  “It’s so funny running into you. A real surprise. Hey . . . maybe we could get a drink or something. Coffee, maybe.” He nodded toward City Bakery across the street.

  “Well, actually, I’m with someone.”

  Jack’s expression changed.

  Colin stepped out of the store, carrying some books wrapped in a plastic bag. I quickly took his arm and introduced him to Jack. They nodded at each other. We made awkward conversation for a few moments.

  “Guess we’d better get going,” I said, still holding on to Colin’s arm.

  “Great running into you,” Jack said, flashing a half-hearted smile. “Small island, isn’t it?”

  Colin and I started walking to Seventh Avenue.

  “Lindy, I’ll call you!” Jack shouted.

  At the corner, I turned and glanced back. Jack hadn’t moved. He stood in front of the bookstore, staring after me.

  He seemed so normal and boring.

  Am I going to have a problem with him?

  Well, Colin said he was used to getting what he wanted, and I guess he got it this afternoon. We ended up back at his apartment and made love, self-consciously at first, then passionately, with the bedroom windows open and sunlight streaming in, and the blanket and sheet kicked off onto the floor. . . . Sex in the daytime with someone you barely knows seems so much more decadent . . . and delicious . . . and . . . other adjectives.

  What am I saying?

  What am I doing?

  No, Lindy. Dumb question. You really like him.

  I didn’t get back to the apartment until a little after six. Ann-Marie was in our tiny kitchen, searching for ingredients to make a sandwich. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m not meeting Lou till late. I’ll put this away and we can order out or something.”

  “I . . . don’t know,” I said, dropping my bag on the white Formica counter. “I—”

  Ann-Marie stared at me. “Your face is all scratched up.”

  Colin’s bristly beard.

  I could feel my cheeks turning hot. I knew I was blushing.

  “Where’ve you been? You said you were coming back at—ohmigod.” Ann-Marie’s mouth dropped open. She always was a good mind reader. “Lindy, I don’t believe it. Who was it? That guy who took you to the comedy club? Brad?”

  “No, I—” I tugged at my hair. I realized I’d forgotten to brush it before I left Colin’s apartment. “Colin O’Connor,” I said, avoiding her eyes. “Last night, Colin and I—”

  Ann-Marie let out a scream and rushed forward to hug me. “You found someone you like? Someone you really like?”

  “Yeah. I guess. He’s very nice. He—”

  She screamed again, clapping her hands. “I knew it! I knew you’d find someone. When can I meet him? Maybe Lou and I can go out with you two next weekend.”

  Another hug. I’d never seen her so excited.

  “No. Colin said he’ll be away next weekend.”

  She squinted at me. “Away? He isn’t married—is he?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think so. He has to travel for work.”

  “Lin, I’m so happy for you. What does he do? What’s he like? Come on, spill. Tell all.”

  “I will,” I said. “Let me just get changed. And maybe take a shower, okay? Call out. Get Chinese or something. We can sit and talk.”

  “Excellent.” Ann-Marie opened the drawer where we keep all the restaurant take-out menus. I hurried to my room. The phone rang as soon as I entered.

  I let it ring. After the weird breathing call last night, I put on the answering machine and left it on. I planned to screen my calls from now on. The machine picked up after four rings, and I heard:

  “Hi, Lindy. Hope you remember me. It’s Shelly. You know. The guy you met by accident. I found your number and—”

  I picked up the phone and clicked it on. “Shelly? Hi. It’s me. How’d you get my number?”

  “Lindy, hi. You’re there.”

  “Shelly, how’d you get my number?”

  “Easy. I hacked into your computer and got all your personal info.”

  “No. Really.”

  “Really. I found it online. You know. One of those White Pages pages. It was totally easy. You don’t expect to have any privacy these days, do you?”

  “I guess not. I—”

  “I don’t know if you kept my number or not. I’d really like to see you. I mean, maybe we could meet by accident again. What do you think?”

  I laughed. He was talking so fast, racing.

  “You didn’t really go out with that Colin guy, did you?” he rattled on. “I warned you about him. He’s a girlie man. Wha
t was he drinking, anyway? Some kinda pink ladies’ drink, wasn’t it? A Cosmopolitan? Lindy, hel-lo. You don’t want to go out with a guy who wears tight designer jeans and drinks Cosmos.”

  I thought of Colin’s hand on my breasts. My cheeks burned from his rough, stubbly beard.

  “Shelly, listen . . . I’m kind of busy.”

  “No. Don’t say that, Lindy. Let’s keep it simple. We’ll just have coffee. Or we’ll go to a dance club. Or maybe the Bahamas for a long weekend.”

  I laughed. “Are you trying to wear me down?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s working.”

  Colin said he’d be traveling next weekend. No reason to feel guilty if I went out once with Shelly. After all, I didn’t really know how Colin felt about anything. I mean, I hardly knew him.

  “Okay. Saturday night,” I said.

  “I’m not really in the mood,” he replied. And then quickly added, “Joking. Just joking. Why can’t I stop joking? That sounds great, Lindy. Now, do you want to stay on the phone and get to know each other for an hour or two?”

  “Bye, Shelly,” I said.

  “Bye.”

  I clicked off the phone and returned it to its base. Turning, I saw that I’d forgotten to make the bed. I make my bed every morning—one of my few habits left over from childhood.

  I pulled off my top and started to slide out of my jeans when I saw the light blinking on my answering machine. A message I hadn’t retrieved.

  I pressed the NEW MESSAGE button and stood frozen, listening to a raspy, whispered voice . . .

  “Don’t say no, Lindy. Keep going out with me. DON’T EVER say no, I’m warning you. I’ll mess you up—I’ll REALLY mess you up if you ever say no to me.”

  PART TWO

  11

  It’s a dumb joke,” I said. I still felt warm from my shower. I had on a long flannel nightshirt. My wet hair was wrapped in a towel. “Come on. The food is here. Let’s eat.”

  Ann-Marie chewed her bottom lip. “It’s not a joke. It sounds serious to me.”

  I tore open the Chinese food bag. “Someone’s idea of a sick joke.”

  Ann-Marie started to pace, arms crossed in front of her. “It’s a threat, Lin. That raspy whisper. No way it’s a joke.”

  I’d played the message for her. She insisted on hearing it four times.

  “. . . I’ll mess you up!”

  Ann-Marie shuddered. “Do you think it’s one of the guys you just met?”

  I pictured Jack, then Brad, then Colin. And Shelly? I’d just talked to Shelly. It couldn’t have been Shelly. “None of them seemed like a psycho. They all seemed as normal as you and me.”

  “Uh-oh. You’re in deep shit.”

  I laughed.

  Should I be suspicious of Jack? Did he follow me this afternoon? I had no proof.

  And Brad? I pictured that sudden, violent kiss. But he had apologized, saying he’d slipped.

  “I’m just going to ignore it,” I said. “I’m going to erase it. It was probably a wrong number, anyway.”

  “No, it wasn’t. The guy said Lindy. He called you by name.”

  I began pulling out white food cartons. “Listen, do you want mustard or duck sauce?”

  Ann-Marie grabbed my arm. “Lindy, you have to call the police.”

  “They’ll tell me to ignore it.”

  “They won’t. It’s a threat. You can’t just sit down and eat moo shu pork. You have to report a threat, Lin.”

  I opened the silverware drawer and pulled out chop-sticks. “Well . . . I still have a friend at the Eighty-second Street precinct, remember. Tommy Foster? Ben’s partner?”

  “Hey, yeah. I remember Tommy. I sorta had a crush on him. Then you said he was married.”

  “Well, he’s divorced now. I haven’t really talked to him since a few weeks after Ben . . .” The words caught in my throat. Saying Tommy Foster’s name was bringing back a rush of memories.

  Ann-Marie picked up a rice container and began emptying it on our plates. “Think he’ll be at work on a Sunday night?”

  I shrugged. “Worth a try. If you insist, I’ll call.”

  “I insist.”

  Ben had been such a hothead. He probably would have wanted me to start carrying a gun. Or he would have gone after all the guys I’d just met and confronted them. Tommy was older, more mature, calmer.

  I’ll never forget the way he sobbed at Ben’s funeral. He turned away. He didn’t want the other cops to see him bawl. But I saw it—and it made me cry even harder.

  No one can stay dry-eyed during a police funeral. The bagpipes . . . “Danny Boy” . . . There was so much emotion in that chapel, I thought the roof would fly off.

  I thought all that feeling might bring Ben back to life . . .

  I still had the precinct phone number stored in my cell phone. I called, expecting to leave a message. But to my surprise, I was put right through to Tommy.

  He sounded very surprised to hear from me. He hesitated for a long moment when I told him who it was. I guessed that my voice made him think of Ben, too.

  “Working on a Sunday night?”

  He snickered. “Always. I’m just taking off, actually. What can I do for you, Lindy?”

  I said I had a frightening phone call I wanted to tell him about. He asked where I was living now. Practically around the corner. He said he’d stop by.

  Fifteen minutes later, he showed up. Tommy is a tall, lumbering sort of guy, slump-shouldered and droopy. A Brooklyn Liam Neeson.

  He was wearing a shiny, brown suit a little too big for him, a pale blue shirt and yellow tie loosened at the collar.

  He looked older than I remembered, forehead creased under thinning hair, tired eyes, flecks of gray in his coppery mustache. I figured he was around forty. Why did he look so much older? Police work? Would Ben have aged so fast, too?

  Would Ben have aged?

  I’d have to nuke the Chinese food later. I pulled out some bottles of Corona from the fridge. The three of us chatted briefly. Ann-Marie flirted with Tommy a little. I couldn’t hide my impatience. I was eager to play the phone message for Tommy and get this over.

  He and I went into my bedroom. I apologized for the unmade bed. Tommy waved a hand, dismissing my apology. He stared at the answering machine as if studying it for clues.

  “Let’s hear it. Maybe it’s a caller I recognize. There are some regulars that we get to know.”

  “Regular perverts?”

  He shrugged. “Regular phone creeps.”

  I played the message for him. He shut his eyes as he listened.

  “. . . I’ll REALLY mess you up if you ever say no to me!”

  The words made me shiver this time. Ann-Marie was convincing me this was serious.

  Tommy scratched the back of his neck. He tilted the bottle to his mouth and took a long sip of beer. “I don’t recognize him. It’s a new one. Pretty intense.”

  I had goose bumps on my arms. I tried to rub them away. “Think it’s a joke?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I don’t think you should be terrified, either. There’s a lot of creeps out there. You’ve got to be careful.”

  Tommy took another pull on the beer, draining the bottle, then turned his gaze back to the answering machine. “You have Caller ID?”

  I shook my head. “No. You know. I was trying to save a little money.”

  “Did you try star-six-nine? Sometimes you can trace a call back that way.”

  “I was so freaked. I didn’t think of it. And then someone else called. Right after I got home.”

  “Someone else called?”

  “A guy I met last night.”

  He pushed the button and listened to the message again. He scratched the side of his face. “Can’t place him.”

  “I . . . I’ve been dating some guys from the Internet,” I stammered, feeling embarrassed. “You know. A personals Web site. They’ve all seemed really nice. I mean, okay. Not weird or anything.”

  He narrowed tho
se tired eyes at me. “Maybe you should tell me about them.”

  He followed me back to the kitchen. I got him another Corona. I described my dates to him as best as I could. He listened, leaning on the kitchen counter, scribbling on a little notepad.

  When I finished, he sighed. “These men might be okay. But I don’t have to tell you there are a lot of geeks and freaks on the Internet.”

  I nodded. “And you think one of the guys I met—”

  “No, maybe not. Anyone could have stolen your info, you know. Once you register at a site like that, it would be easy for anyone to access all kinds of stuff about you. Did you put your phone number on the Web site?”

  “No.”

  “Doesn’t matter, really. There are still ways they can get it. This guy doesn’t even have to be in New York. He could be in Alaska or Hawaii or somewhere in Siberia.”

  “So I shouldn’t worry?”

  “You should be careful, Lindy. But remember this: The guys who make these phone calls, they’re not killers. They’re not tough guys. They’re usually little creeps who live alone. The guys who make these sicko calls are all too timid and fucked-up to be dangerous.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll just try to forget about it then.”

  He scratched his neck again, then adjusted his shirt collar. “Well, you should be careful with these guys you’re seeing. But I don’t think there’s reason to be very afraid. Keep in touch, okay? If he calls again, let me know. We’ll see what we can do.”

  At the door, he thanked me for the beers, said it was great to see me again, told me for the tenth time not to be afraid. He hesitated for a moment. I had the feeling he wanted to say something more. But he turned abruptly, pulled the awful yellow tie tighter around his collar, and lumbered down the hall to the elevator.

  “That’s it!” I cried, closing and bolting the door.

  Ann-Marie had just stepped into the room, carrying a copy of In Style magazine. “What’s it?”

  “I’m finished with these Internet dates.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I don’t know if one of those guys left that message or not. I just won’t go out with them anymore.”

  She squinted at me. “Even Colin?”

  I hesitated. “Well . . . I don’t know. I have to think about Colin.”