My Honorable Brother Read online

  Fiore had already thrown both his raincoat and suit jacket on one of the queen-sized beds by the time she was alongside him. “I’m sorry, Carol,” he said. “I just couldn’t get out of there any sooner.” He reached for her shoulders as he spoke, but she pulled away.

  She was wearing a white blouse, with a small pocket on each side set off by mother of pearl buttons. Her heavy woolen skirt was multi-pleated in a Scotch plaid, its dominant color a forest green that Fiore found very attractive. Her hair was black, cut medium length. All the features of her face seemed perfectly combined until her profile revealed a slight bump in the middle of her nose. She wore no eye shadow, but had on lipstick the color of a delicate pink rose. At five feet, eight inches tall, she was just two inches shorter than Fiore.

  Carol’s voice carried a harsh tone when she answered. “Your being sorry isn’t enough. I don’t intend to be a lady in waiting for you, hanging around a hotel room until you decide to show up. If you can’t be on time, have the decency to call and let me know. Then it will be my decision whether or not to stay. Don’t think you can take me for granted just because we’re lovers.” She walked past him, over to the bed near the window, and sat down at the end of it.

  Fiore loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He was there for sex, not for a fight. He was looking forward to being in bed with her, and didn’t want anything to spoil it. But he went through this sort of thing on other occasions with other women and was sure he could talk himself back into her favor. Besides, he told himself, she wants the sex as much as I do.

  Doug sat next to her on the bed and spoke quietly. “Look, I know how you feel. I don’t blame you for being upset. But don’t think for a second that I’m taking you for granted, because I’m not. If you left before I got here, I would have understood completely. I would have had to rush home and take a cold shower, but that’s my problem.”

  He looked at her and waited until she returned his glance and gave him a slight smile. He knew he was doing well and was confident that everything would soon be on track. “I probably wouldn’t have been more than ten minutes late,” he went on, “except that Scardino got hold of me and said he had to show me some numbers. Receivables have been God-awful the past couple of months. He wanted to know how I felt about taking out a ninety-day loan from Spalding to tide us over.”

  Fiore removed the gold cuff links from his shirtsleeves. Each was in the shape of a capital “F.” He folded the starched cuffs over twice as he continued speaking. “I had my coat on and was halfway down the hall when he grabbed me. We used the conference room across from the elevator, and I figured it would take ten minutes at the most. But sometimes he has to explain his figures three different ways before I know what he’s talking about. When he finished, it was already quarter of eight. I couldn’t call you from in there because Frankie stayed and started working on some other stuff. The elevator was waiting for me when I stepped out into the reception area. I grabbed it and got over here as fast as I could.” Fiore put his hand on her left shoulder and began massaging it.

  Carol waited until his fingers dug deeper into the flesh, anticipating the pleasure it would give her. “You knew I had to be home by ten o’clock tonight,” she said. “I’ve got a husband who may start wondering where I’ve been. I don’t want to feel like we’re doing something dirty when we’re together. But if there’s only enough time to get undressed, make love and rush out of here, how else can I feel?”

  “You’re right,” Doug answered. “I don’t want it to be like that either.” It didn’t matter to him how long they were together as long as he got what he came for. He moved closer and started working the fingers of both hands into the soft part of her neck and around her shoulder blades. Carol bent her head forward and rested her left hand on his thigh.

  “Frankie’s been putting in a lot of time at night in the office,” Doug said. “He tells me he’s got a hundred things to finish up before the end of the year. It’s no secret he’s not the smartest firm administrator in town, but at least he’s not afraid of work.”

  Carol looked at him and shook her head, as if in agreement. “What’s no secret is that he’s sleeping with Janice what’s her name, Dick Birnbaum’s secretary. He hangs around at night to be with her.”

  “Janice Rossman?” Fiore looked at her as if he couldn’t believe it.

  “That sounds right. She’s got long blonde hair. Always wears heavy makeup. She looks like someone just got her ready to go on TV.”

  He pictured Rossman in his mind’s eye. “Yeah, that’s her. I thought she was married.” He realized his faux pas as soon as the words were out, but if Carol caught it, she let it pass.

  “She’s either divorced or separated. I believe she has a daughter about twelve years old.”

  “So how does she get to spend time with Scardino?” he asked.

  “Oh, right there, Doug,” Carol said, ignoring the question for the moment. “Keep your fingers right there. That feels so good.”

  He pushed his fingers a little deeper into her skin and pressed down hard. He began moving them around in a small circle.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” she sighed, and took her time before answering him. “The gossip about her and Frankie is that she runs out of the office at five o’clock to go home and feed her daughter. Most nights she comes back into town for dinner with him. She lives only ten minutes away, near the Hasbro toy plant in Pawtucket. Once or twice a week he takes her to the Econo Motel in Attleboro. They say it rents out by the hour.”

  Fiore laughed. “That’s transporting a woman into Massachusetts for the purpose of having sex. Christ, I remember how those words about ‘crossing state lines’ used to scare the shit out of us when we were kids. We used to shack up in some motel in Fall River for a few hours on a Saturday night and we were always afraid the FBI was going to smash the door down just as we had an orgasm.”

  Carol laughed along with him. Doug moved his hands over her shoulders and down the front of her blouse. He squeezed her breasts for several seconds, cupping and uncupping them, and moved each of his forefingers in a circular motion around the area of her nipples. She leaned back slightly toward him. He kissed her ear and began unbuttoning the blouse. “How do you know all this stuff?” he asked.

  “Because the girl is a bimbo.” Carol emphasized “bimbo.” “She can’t keep it to herself. She told at least two other secretaries what was going on, in confidence, of course. And apparently she finds enough reasons to go into Frankie’s office half a dozen times a day. She believes in his open door policy but always closes it behind her.”

  Carol moved her arms back to make it easier for Doug to slip off the blouse. He pushed the ends of her bra together so that the hooks came undone. She reached for the straps and threw it on the chair facing the TV. Doug turned her toward him and they exchanged smiles. He loved her breasts. They were larger and more rounded than his wife’s. He put his mouth over one and ran his tongue around the nipple. She started to breathe heavily and he felt her give a mild shudder. He did the same on the other side. He gently pushed her breasts together and let his tongue massage both nipples in a wider circle. She put her hands on the side of his face and kissed the top of his head.

  “Why are you still dressed?” she asked. There was a playful urgency in her voice.

  Doug got up. He undid his tie and started taking off his shirt. He smiled at Carol, who was pulling the zipper of her plaid skirt down from the waist.

  “I’ve got to hand it to Frankie,” he said. “The man is fat, ugly in anyone’s book, and has basically no personality. But he finds himself a good-looking blonde to screw around with.”

  “Look at it the other way, Doug. She may have found herself a little job security in Frankie. Dick Birnbaum’s the third lawyer she’s worked for in ten months. That probably means she’s not the world’s greatest secretary.” Carol put her hand between his legs. “I think someone down there is ready and waiting.”

  Her to
uch excited him. Doug was suddenly anxious to make love. “Fix the bed,” he said. Carol pulled the bedspread down and reached for the light switch. He quickly undressed and lay down next to her.

  “Who do you think we can bill for this time?” he asked, in mock seriousness. A few seconds later they both laughed at the question. Then she started moving on top of him. “Easy, take it easy,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Doug was in the shower when Carol left the hotel room. She emerged from the elevator and walked toward the lobby, holding the straps of her briefcase in her left hand. At that moment, she heard someone call her name. Panicking for an instant, Carol considered ignoring the greeting, as if too engrossed in other thoughts to have heard it. But she glanced to her left and saw a familiar face rapidly closing in on her. She stopped and smiled at Jeff MacGregor. He was one of several vice presidents in the loan department at Spalding Bank.

  Carol represented a number of WC&B clients, including Fiore’s two major construction companies, in obtaining loans from Spalding. She and Jeff often spent the better part of a day reviewing the endless number of documents arranged around the perimeter of a long conference table while closing some of those deals. MacGregor was holding hands with a woman wearing a white suit. Carol was certain she recently saw the same outfit hanging in the designer section of Lord & Taylor’s.

  “Hi, Jeff. Spending the bank’s money again?” She started to offer her hand but stopped, realizing he’d have to let go of his companion’s to take it.

  “Don’t I wish it,” he answered. “We’re celebrating our eleventh anniversary tonight.”

  “Well, congratulations!” She directed the word and her smile at both of them.

  “Carol, I’d like you to meet my wife, Debbie. Debbie, this is Carol Singer, a lawyer at Walters, Cassidy & Breen. She and I often have to do what it takes to make certain that the wheels of progress keep moving forward in this town.”

  The two women smiled at each other and exchanged pleasantries.

  “Working late, huh.” Jeff made it more of a statement than a question.

  Carol raised the soft leather briefcase in front of her. “Yes, I just got out of a meeting. The law is a jealous lover, as we gals like to say. Trouble is, I’ve got an even more jealous husband waiting for me at home. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to run. Very nice meeting you, Debbie. I’ll see you soon, Jeff. Congratulations again to you both.” She waved her hand and hurried off.

  “She’s some terrific lawyer,” Jeff said. They watched Carol moving quickly toward the revolving door at the main entrance. “Her husband’s a lawyer too, but he does litigation. Bruce Singer. He was the lieutenant governor for four years under Frank Lindgren.”

  7

  THE HOUSE, A WHITE Victorian with black shutters, stood on Orchard Avenue, five blocks from the edge of the Brown University campus. It was the East Side of Providence, a neighborhood of well-kept older homes. The wealthy professionals who resided there rejected the idea of a tedious daily commute into the city from Barrington, Warwick, and other outlying towns where the homes were newer, leaned heavily to split level ranches and had significantly more lawn to be cared for.

  When Brad and Patricia Hanley first moved in, nine years earlier, there was a need for the four large bedrooms, three baths, and spacious family room of which the house boasted. According to the real estate guidelines, the price was more than they could afford. But they envisioned a bright future for themselves because of Brad’s new job and borrowed some money from Pat’s parents to help swing the deal. They never regretted the decision. Now, however, their oldest child, Christine, accepted a position in Pittsburgh, where the family lived before Brad was hired to be the new president of Ocean State Wire & Cable. And Christine’s two younger siblings were away at college.

  Pat Hanley looked forward to this time when she and her husband could be alone again. They married when she was nineteen and he was twenty-four. The children came along right away. The youngest, Marie, arrived just sixteen months after Peter and three years after Christine. As a mom, Pat went through her full share of lying awake at night. Brad always fell asleep within minutes after closing his eyes, so the job of waiting up for their kids to get home was hers by default. She listened for the sound of one of the cars pulling into the driveway, followed by the opening and closing of the heavy kitchen door and the footsteps on the stairway. It was only then that she could relax and get some rest.

  Later on, as her children went off to college, she discovered that the old cliché was true—“Out of sight, out of mind”—at least when it came time to sleeping at night. But now, Pat was troubled. Brad’s day started, as always, with his leaving the house at quarter to seven in the morning. But the twelve-hour workday schedule he was on for so long seemed no longer to exist. Instead, she became used to seeing him return anywhere between 9:00 p.m. and midnight.

  Pat urged Brad to come home earlier that night, and he agreed. When he told her not to bother making dinner, she assumed they would be going out to eat. She guessed that he would take her to one of the restaurants on Thayer Street, which ran through the middle of the Brown University campus. Brad always enjoyed being in the company of young people, even if it meant just being able to observe them.

  Pat arrived home shortly before five o’clock from her three-day-a-week job at the Werner Medical Lab, where she ran blood tests. Work at the lab had picked up dramatically because of the increasing amount of AIDS testing that was being done. She took a long bath before changing into a pair of black slacks and a white blouse with a multi-colored rhinestone design in front. The children pitched in and gave her the blouse on her last birthday, but this was the first time she wore it. Pat looked at herself in the mirror as she dressed and was pleased with what she saw. The good looks that attracted a long list of boys from the time she was thirteen were still there. They captivated Brad when he first saw her working as a receptionist for a Dayton, Ohio, metallurgy firm. Her brunette hair, still long the way Brad liked it, showed no trace of gray. The several lines around her eyes didn’t detract from the luminous blue color that looked out from below long attractive eyelashes. She puckered her lips, blew a kiss at herself and smiled, revealing teeth a movie actress would envy. Turning sideways, she threw her chest out a little and complimented herself on keeping an excellent figure.

  Pat hurried downstairs when she heard the back door slam. She was still on her way to the kitchen when Brad called her name and announced that he picked up some food at a Chinese restaurant on the way home. They kissed each other lightly on the lips, as always, and he told her how good she looked. Pat loosened his tie for him and hid her disappointment at not going out for dinner

  “How come you’re all dressed up?” he asked.

  “Oh, I just felt like looking good for my man,” she said. “In case there’s any competition out there,” she added, smiling broadly at him.

  “That’s something you’ll never have to worry about, and I mean never.”

  They got through the appetizers on small talk: how her day went at the lab; the letter in the mail from their son, letting them know he’d be spending most of the Christmas vacation at his girlfriend’s home in Tampa; and the need to do their holiday shopping earlier than usual because they were attending a wedding on Long Island on the twenty-second of the month.

  “Okay, my love, what’s on your mind?” Brad asked. “Why the early bird special?” He reached for the container of shrimp fried rice and used his fork to shovel it onto his plate.

  Pat waited for him to finish before answering. When he passed the container to her, she set it down on the corner of the table. “I’m worried about you, Brad. You can’t keep up the hours you’ve been putting in at the plant the last five months. I hardly get to see you anymore, and I’m afraid you’ll work yourself sick.”

  He smiled. “See what a man has to do to get some attention from his wife?”

  “I’m serious, Brad, so no jokes. This is something we have to t
alk out right now. I know you’re under stress, but there’s got to be a limit on how much time you spend there.”

  As she spoke, he took food from each of the other containers, sprinkled a few drops of mustard sauce on top and mixed it in. “Your turn,” he said, pushing everything closer to her. Pat knew he wouldn’t give her an answer until she scooped some food onto her dish.

  “Look,” he said, after she helped herself to a little of everything, “I appreciate your concern and I love you for it. But I told you before that I’m trying to do everything I can to keep this year from being a disaster for the company. We’ve lost money two years out of every three since I took over. At least the red ink has always been a reasonable number. I mean there was always the chance the good year would wipe out most of the losses from the other two. That seemed to satisfy the Platt brothers. Their other businesses in Connecticut made enough money to let them accept the losses at Ocean State and wait for the demand for wire to pick up again.

  “But the recession we’re in has been hurting everything they own. I can tell they’re panicking when I start to get faxes on a regular basis asking me what orders we’ve got coming in for the next month and how much production we turned out week by week, sometimes day by day. That never used to happen! I can only guess that they’re in a cash flow crunch like a lot of other big companies. I’m sure no one in the Connecticut office has forgotten that I bought three percent of this business when we came here. But you’d think from some of their memos that I didn’t give a damn about what was happening.”

  Brad needed time to calm down a little. He went to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of root beer and got a large glass from one of the cabinets. He half filled the teakettle with water, lit the front burner on the stove and brought a cup and tea bag to the table for Pat. He didn’t say anything more until he was back in his chair and filled his glass.