The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress by Ariel Lawhon Read Free Book Online Page A

but Ritzi implored the doorman to let her in. As usual, William Klein was in the office early, and he’d been only too pleased to see her. Until she made her request. There was no hiding the desperate note in her voice. “Do we have an agreement?”
    “I’m not saying shit about being at Club Abbey last night. That’s just asking for trouble.”
    “Then don’t. Say we had dinner at Billy Haas’s Chophouse. Crater goes there all the time.”
    Klein jerked at the knot in his tie, and his face was flushed. Angry. “I still don’t see how this is my problem.”
    She didn’t want to be close to him, didn’t want his sweaty hands anywhere near her, but she leaned over the desk anyway, her best act of intimidation. Ritzi was scared enough to be convincing. “I will make it your problem the second the cops come looking for me. I went home with you last night. That’s the story.”
    “I could take it to Owney, tell him you’re blackmailing me.”
    The threat landed like a fist in her rib cage.
    “Joe is your friend .” She choked out the words.
    “So?”
    “So your friend—a damned supreme court justice, I might add—was dragged out of a hotel room in Coney Island last night. You don’t think that’s going to be a problem ?”
    Klein turned to study one of the many black-and-white prints on the wall. Showgirls, every one. Feathered and sequined and leggy. His favorite leading ladies. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? That this isn’t some racket?”
    “I can tell you how they stomped on him. The way he screamed.”Ritzi held on to the lip of the desk as she moved closer. “Is that what you want?”
    “Enough.”
    “They can’t know I was there.”
    “It’s your mess, Ritz. I don’t want any part of it.”
    “What if Crater doesn’t come back? We’re the last people to see him.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    “But if I’m right, there will be questions. The only thing left to decide is how to answer them.”
    His eyes, usually greedy, had a calculating look in them now. Ritzi felt them on her like an itch. Last night’s dress was disheveled, the satin crushed and one shoulder strap torn. She had swapped her pearls for a cab ride early this morning, and her shoes smelled of vomit. The odor drifted upward, stinging her nose.
    “You look like shit,” he said.
    The anger seeped out of her, and there was a broken-down sort of tired in her bones. Ritzi counted the hours since she last slept and lost track at thirty. “You make it clear that you and I were together last night—lots of nights, for that matter—and I’ll keep my mouth shut. Otherwise, I tell anyone who comes asking that you know what happened to Crater.”
    Klein shifted in his chair and twisted his mouth at the unpleasant prospect of her threat. “So, Billy Haas’s Chophouse?”
    Ritzi nodded.
    There was nothing left to say, so she turned toward the door. The carpet was thick and she didn’t hear him approach from behind. His hand on the back of her neck was a small death, and she choked on the strangled sound that tried to erupt. The backless gown felt daring last night, sexy. But now she was exposed. His hand left a trail of shame against her skin.
    “I’ll keep my end of the deal.” He pulled her toward him. His breath, damp on her cheek, smelled of cigarettes and stale coffee. Clammy fingers snaked into her dress and curled around her right breast. “Seeing as how you’re with me now.”
    The muscles in her body went rigid. Klein felt the barrier and grabbed her shoulder with his other hand. “That’s my condition,” he said, and bent her over the desk.
    MARIA would be late to Smithson’s if she didn’t hurry. Since she’d last been at the Craters’ apartment, the judge had reverted to his single ways. Dishes in the sink. Toilet seats up and towels mildewing in the hamper. Books and papers and clothing strewn about. The apartment practically looked ransacked. The bed hadn’t been made. Pants on the