Ark by Charles McCarry Read Free Book Online Page B

orange juice.
     
    Over coffee, Adam told me he had grown up in Saratoga Springs. He had had a happy childhood. Like me, he was an only child. His father was a stockbroker who in his youth had played football at Syracuse. His mother, who had almost made the Olympics as an equestrian, owned a stable and taught kids to ride. He had spent four years on destroyers, and then gone to law school at Georgetown. After that he worked for the government in Washington for a while, and finally hung out his shingle in Manhattan—in SoHo, on Wooster Street, in fact, because he wanted to live a funky life. He had his own law firm, no partners yet. He made a living, he had a little money of his own. This recitation sounded like a wedding notice in the “Sunday Styles” section of the Times.
     
    Adam said, “Your turn.”
     
    I said, “If you’ve read the author blurb on my books, you already know everything.”
     
    “You’re right. My favorite thing is the photograph, that look in your eyes.”
     
    “Cut it out.”
     
    “Actually, I Googled you,” he said. “You made Phi Beta Kappa. You’ve got an MFA and a PhD. You were an all-conference lacrosse player in college. Did you have a lacrosse scholarship?”
     
    “Women’s lacrosse? Are you kidding?”
     
    Adam said, “One more thing. Our meeting in the gallery was no accident. I spotted you on the street and followed you.”
     
    This was kind of sexy to know, but also kind of not. I said, “Why, when you knew you were going to have dinner with me?”
     
    “I didn’t know you were you. Meeting you was supposed to be a surprise. It was a surprise. I was late at the restaurant because I was looking for you all over Chelsea.”
     
    This was good for my ego. On the other hand, it was eight thirty already, practically midday according to my usual schedule, and I hadn’t yet written a word, except for the smut.
     
    “Looking for me all over Chelsea?” I said. “What’s the plan from now on? Are you going to go on stalking me?”
     
    My tone was not as light as maybe it should have been.
     
    Adam recoiled, then shook his head as if he had never imagined that I could say such a thing to him after what we had been to each other. He left without another word. The door closed behind him. What had I done? Was I out of my mind?
     
    I sat down at the keyboard. Words flowed as from a mountain spring. At noon exactly, Henry’s face popped up on the computer screen. I felt a little current of guilt. It didn’t last long.
     
    I said, “Hi, Henry. Nice timing.”
     
    Henry said, “Can you come for dinner tonight? There’s someone I want you to meet.”
     
    “Another Amerigo?”
     
    “I’ll send the car around seven.”
     
    The other telephone rang. I let it ring. Adam was leaving a message on the answering machine. He wanted to know why I had turned into such a spiteful bitch so soon after we had gotten out of bed? Why? He was at a loss to understand.
     
    To Henry I said, “Fine, seven o’clock,” and hung up.
     
    Adam’s disembodied voice was telling me that if he had any sense he would never want to see me again. However, he was prepared to give me one more chance.
     
    He said, “Let’s get over this bump in the road. My place. Grab a cab, now.”
     
    He gave me an address on Broome Street. I didn’t pick up.
     
    Adam said, “Fine. I know you’re there. The hell with you.”
     
    After he hung up, I went to the computer and Googled him. He didn’t have much of an entry, but what there was checked out with the life story he had told me.
     
    Evening shadows were falling. What would I wear to Henry’s? I pulled on my tightest jeans and a pretty good top and my favorite necklace made of alternating polished and unpolished silver links, and a ruby ring I had inherited from an aunt, and sat down to watch the news while I waited for the intercom to buzz.
     
    Henry’s other guest was a very laid-back Chinese in a two-thousand-dollar suit. He looked