Page 31 of Saltwater

I throw the water back to Lorenzo. “I’d love a tour,” I say, even though I wouldn’t. But I’ve been on more boats like this than Helen has, or at least I think I have. And we need more time alone. Although now that I’m here, on this island, I’m glad I’ve made other plans. Because it’s hard to tell if this version of Helen, the one who is tipped back against the gunwale, the one who, as soon as we’re under way, walks the length of the boat to where Ciro is driving and puts a hand on the back of his chair to steady herself, is a Helen I can trust.

—

“I’m not going toturn them in. If that’s what you’re worried about,” Stan said.

He must have waited hours to corner me there, in the shitty, nondescript parking lot two blocks off Wilshire’s Miracle Mile, where Marcus kept his office. Especially since I followed the most important rule of assistants—always leave after your employer—and Marcus had gone home hours ago.

“I’m worried about getting fired. That’s what I’m worried about,” I said.

“How will they know?”

“How will they know that Marcus’s assistant is combing through files looking for information that implicates his family in his sister-in-law’s death? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because they have tracking software oneverything.And in any case, you think they haven’t scrubbed all of that? You think it’s just lying around?”

Stan nodded, conceding the point. “I’ve thought of that. But what if they mention it? I’m just asking for you to keep an eye out. Not even look into it. Just tell me if something comes up. Maybe there’s something there they haven’t thought of.”

“After this long, I highly doubt that they’ll let something drop in casual conversation. What are you expecting—Oh, I did kill my wife? Bullshit.”

“Look,” he said, “I know you want to keep this job.Iwant you to keep this job. It’s a good job, right? Benefits? Reasonable hours? And I can help you keep it, if you help me.”

For weeks I had avoided his calls. This was the result.

I always knew Stan’s name might pop up in Marcus’s email, on his calendar. Maybe some part of me hoped he wouldn’t remember me when that happened. There were so many girls. But he placed me immediately, knew my name even. Which was worse, more intimate.Lorna.

The way he’d said it sounded like a threat.

“I like them,” I said. It was weak, and we both knew it.

“And they like you.”

What he meant was,They like you.But if they knew more, they wouldn’t.

In 1988, the year I was born, Stan Markowitz graced the cover ofFortunemagazine when he took his fledgling chip company public. It was one of the first and largest foundational tech companies in California. By 1992, he was still CEO, but bored. So he decided to start another company, and then another. By the time he turned sixty, he had transitioned to venture capital, vowing to never retire. He kept working. Moving between home offices in Los Angeles, Aspen, the North Shore of Oahu, and a yacht,Il Fallimento,which he had brazenly decidednotto name after a woman or feminine noun.Il Fallimento. Failure.Stan hated it.

He hated it, in particular, with women. Which was how I got to know Stan. I never called myself an escort or a call girl or a hooker. Those roles have more defined boundaries. But I was tall, with long legs, thick brown hair, and a body that looked obscene even in the most conservative situations. And so, while I might have ended up with a screen test if things had gone another way, instead I ended up on boats, or at houses, but always at parties. Did that mean that I slept with every man whose party I attended? No. But I slept with a lot of them. I drank with most of them. And I did steal fromallof them. Including Stan. Stan, who loved the party girls. Stan, who didn’t pay for sex, but paid for other things—rent, food, flights, dinners, clothes,medical treatments (both vital and optional). Stan, who was always trying to shake off those early years of rejection with women, back before the money started flowing in and he could pay to avoid it.

When Marcus hired me, there was a background check. An extensive background check. But I was the kind of girl who also kept a day job—barely, with the drinking, drugs, late nights, and fencing of stolen goods—so not much turned up. Plus, I had Helen pulling for me. I had become the me who didn’t get involved with guys like Stan anymore.

She’s great. You’ll love her.

“Why do you care?” I said, crossing my arms. “Why do you care if they did it? If they didn’t do it? Who the fuck cares?”

“That guy,” Stan said, pointing at the black box of a building where I spent the bulk of my days, “that guy has been dicking me around for years. He promised me an investment in my first company and never came through. Same with my second. Then he pulls that shit blowing me off? I’ve known them for years. They’re bad people, the Lingates. You don’t understand the fucked-up way they operate.”

“How do they operate, Stan?”

“Like old money is above it all. Like old money can do anything. But he’s wrong, you know. Their money? It’snothingcompared to what I have. What my friends have.”

And yet they have something you want.

“This is all a petty revenge scheme?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? Theydeserve it.”

“I don’t even know Richard that well,” I said. “I work for his brother.”

“I know you know how to get to know men, Lorna.”

—

---