Found Money - James Grippando [123]
“You’re doing great, Marilyn,” said her consultant.
Marilyn forced a smile. She knew she was lying. “Thanks. If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down for about a half hour. Clear my head.”
“Excellent idea. We won’t go much longer today. I promise.”
“Good,” she said, then headed back to her bedroom.
The walk down the hall was her first real opportunity to think. The effect was immediate. Her headache was back before she even reached the bedroom door.
She stepped inside the master and closed the door. This time she locked it.
The bedroom was her sacred sanctuary, a place for retreat. More than any other place, it reflected her own tastes and preferences. Here, she didn’t need the power look of her corner office. She didn’t even feel the decorating constraints that governed the rest of the house, where furniture was arranged to accommodate party flow and rugs were selected on the basis of whether they were resistant to red wine and shrimp sauce. This was her space, and hers alone. There had been men, of course, some of whom she wished she had never invited. But that was the point. Pleasant or not, they had been invited. This morning’s fax was altogether different. In this room, nothing could have been more intrusive.
She opened the top drawer of the nightstand and removed the fax. The choice of venue was interesting. Cheesman Dam. It wasn’t the makeout spot Cherry Creek Dam was for Denver teenagers in the fifties, but it was one of the more remote spots to watch the proverbial submarine races. Marilyn hadn’t been there in over forty-five years, since she was fifteen. Her one and only visit. She and her boyfriend, Joe Kozelka, on a double date with Joe’s friend Frank and some ditz named Linda. The four of them had taken a day trip down to Pikes Peak in Frank’s car, as Joe didn’t have a license yet. Two other couples followed in another car. On the way back to Boulder, they stopped at Cheesman Dam, sharing a bottle of hundred-proof Southern Comfort as the sun set. They ended up staying longer than they’d planned. Longer than they should have.
The headache was getting worse. Her temples were throbbing, and a blinding light pierced her eye. It felt like a migraine. She tried to focus on the pillow across the room, but it only made her dizzy. Her mind swirled with memories. She shook her head, trying not to go there, but it was too late. The woozy feeling, the blurred vision—it was much the way she’d felt more than four decades ago on that warm summer night in the back seat of Frank Duffy’s Buick…
“I’m drunk!” Marilyn snorted as she laughed, smiling widely.
“I’m glad,” said Joe. He took a swig straight from the bottle of Southern Comfort, then moved closer.
Marilyn scooted forward. The view through the windshield brought a gleam to her eyes. Cheesman was an old stone masonry dam that rose more than two hundred and twenty feet above the streambed below. Tonight, the moon hung low over the gaping canyon. Bright stars blanketed the sky. They glistened off the placid waters of the reservoir behind the dam. With all she’d had to drink, it was hard to tell where the stars ended and their reflection began. “So pretty,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Joe. “Frank, why don’t you and Linda go first.”
Frank was resting comfortably behind the wheel, his girlfriend’s head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to go for—”
Joe thumped him on the back of the head, knocking sense into him. Frank looked back and glared, then smiled thinly. “You know,” said Frank, “I could use some air. Let’s go, Linda.”
The door opened. Frank and his date slid out. The door slammed shut. Marilyn and Joe were alone in the backseat.
“Let’s go, too,” said Marilyn.
He took her arm and stopped her. “Have some more to drink.”
“I don’t want any more.”
“Just have some.”
“It’s making me kind of sick.”
“That’s because you’re mixing in too much Seven-Up. You have to drink some straight