Baiting & Fishing Read online

Chapter 19

  His phone rang. He considered not answering it, but noticed on the Caller ID pad that it was Victoria. He had been neglecting her. She was calling to express her concern. She had not heard from him in a while. He gave her the excuse that he had been doing double duty as a feature writer and a sportswriter, so he had been very busy.

  She said, “Yes. Actually, your sports work was excellent. I usually don't read the sports pages, but I did read the articles under your by-line. You do a good job with the sports articles, too.” She paused. “Perhaps I feel a little jealous. It seems you've had plenty of time to spend with Marcella.”

  He didn't respond.

  She went on, “I am not suggesting that is a bad thing. Actually that is the purpose of my call. I had lunch with her today. She is truly a delightful person.” She paused for a long time as if considering whether or not to continue, “I think she may be falling in love with you.”

  He felt as though he might burst into tears, but he tried to control his voice when he said, “It's early in our relationship. Time will tell.”

  Victoria was quiet for a minute, “What's happened? The last time I saw you, you were floating on air like a teenager in love. Today Marcella came off the same way. You sound as though you have had a change of heart. What's up?”

  “God I hate it when women can read my mind. Victoria, some of my inquiries into Marcella's early life finally paid off with some information. Information that makes very little sense, but is nonetheless troubling. I don't know what to make of it, on the one hand. On the other hand, I don't think I can ask her because I'm sure that if I tell her I was nosing around in her private life, she will freak out and that will be the end of our relationship. I, frankly, don't know what to do.”

  “Can you probe a bit without letting her know you have information?”

  “I probably could but it may surprise you to know that I have a bit of a conscience. I realize that is a rare commodity among reporters. That seems dishonest to me. I started making inquiries into her life before I knew her. After we met, I promised her I wouldn't print anything she told me about herself in the paper, and I stopped doing research on my own. I closed that book. I did, however, tell Karen Thompson to keep digging. I don't know how I can tell that to Marcella without freaking her out. She doesn't trust anybody. She's terribly scared. She has flat out told me that she is more afraid of me than of anyone she's ever met. I think that may be because she has been more honest with me than she has ever been before. If she finds out that I'm a rat bastard, like all the other men she's ever known, simply using her for my own purposes, .... well, I am pretty sure that will be the end of our relationship. And, worse, it will hurt her terribly.”

  He paused. “Here's the thing, Victoria. Whatever I do, I don't want to hurt her. She's been through enough.”

  Victoria didn't respond for a long time. Finally she said, “Ray, I think that you have to tell her. Tell her what you just told me. It's the truth. If you tell her now, there's a chance she'll understand. If you wait too long, she will have reason to suspect your motives.”

  He thought about that. “My heart tells me you're right. If she were a normal person, I think that would be the appropriate thing to do. But, she is so damaged and so afraid, I'm not sure it will work.”

  He stopped for a while, and then said, “But, the only other time in my life I was not honest in a relationship, it caused me to lose my wife. It's possible that being honest with Marcella may scare her off. It's a certainty that if I'm not honest with her and she finds out, then it will be over.”

  Victoria said quietly, “If it helps, I think she's very motivated to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  After a good night's sleep, he called Marcella on his way to work. She answered on the second ring, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. I want to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. I'm usually not that much of a moody bastard, but when I get in a bad mood, I try to avoid people for everybody's sake.”

  She chuckled but said in a gentle tone, “I have to admit I was a little put off by the chill in your voice, but I suppose I have to say I appreciate your not wishing to inflict yourself on me if you were in a bad mood. Are you feeling better today?”

  “Much. It's amazing what a difference a good night's sleep makes. I'm wondering if your invitation to dinner tonight is still open?”

  “Absolutely. Would you like to go out?”

  “No. Let's eat in. We could do take-out if you don't feel like cooking.”

  She laughed, “I love to cook. What time can I expect you?”

  “What time do you want me there?”

  “If you get here by 5:30 or so we can run for a while before it gets dark. I'll make something that can be warmed in the oven and ready when we get back.”

  “That sounds great. I'll see you then.”

  He more or less frittered the day away, doing very little of anything other than avoiding his editor who had somehow heard he attended Victoria's party with Marcella and was on the warpath because he had not filed a story about it.

  He knew the editor got meaner as the day wore on. Some of the people in the city room thought she was a drinker and she got mean in the afternoon because she needed a nip. Ray knew she was a health freak who was a total vegan and never drank anything but water or vegetable juice that she made herself from organic vegetables. It was Ray's opinion that it was worse that she did not even have the excuse of needing a drink to behave like a wicked witch. The problem with her was she was just a bitch -- a bitch who had a job for which she was untrained and unsuited, working for a miserable company that put unbelievable pressure on its middle management to beat on the employees to produce more while cutting costs to a ridiculous degree. He almost felt sorry for her sometimes. But, not enough to deal with her at that moment. So, when he heard she was headed for the city room, he left the building by the back stairs.

  He went to the beach and killed time until 5:00. He got tired of doing nothing, so he called Marcella. “Hey, I'm running early. Will it mess you up if I come now. I figure that would give us a few more minutes on the road before dark.”

  “I'm already dressed and waiting for you.”

  They ran until it got dark. Ray showered first while Marcella finished preparing dinner. When he came out of the bathroom, she handed him a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. “Open this and pour use each a glass. I'll be back in a flash.”

  He laughed. He knew that was true. She could shower and change faster than any person, male or female, he had ever met.

  He considered talking to her before dinner, but he was very hungry and he suspected the conversation would be long. He decided to eat first and then talk. He poured very short glasses of wine.

  After dinner they sat on the lanai, in their usual spot on the love seat. He put his arm out and Marcella rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and cleared his throat. “I have to tell you something. I think this will be difficult for both of us, but I promised that I would be totally truthful with you, and I intend to keep that promise.

  “I told you that when you first came to Sarasota, I knew little about you, so I Googled your name and I read a little of the stories about the Techtron fiasco. I'm a reporter. Nosing around for stories is what I do. I wanted to know if there was a story that someone had missed. When a newsworthy person moves to a small news market, the press takes notice. You have to have known that.

  “Before I met you, I did a little digging of my own and a I put out some feelers among some of my sources seeking information about you. Not about Techtron or your husband, but about you.

  “I came up with nothing. I didn't receive any information back from any of my sources.

  “Then I met you. Once our relationship became 'personal' I stopped my research into your past because I figured if there was something I needed to know about you, you would tell me. I promised you I would not write about your story and I have kept my word. I promise I will not
now or in the future write about any of the things you have told me.

  “Unfortunately, I am a curious person. Curiosity is a good trait for a reporter to have. It is not so good for a man in a relationship with a woman like you. I wanted to know more, so I asked one of my best sources to follow up on some of the information you gave me, not for use in the paper but for my own personal information.” He stopped, swallowed and cleared his throat again. “That was wrong of me. I am sorry.”

  He could feel her body go rigid. It seemed to him she was holding her breath; she was absolutely still. He hugged her and stroked her hair. That did not seem to help. He had gone this far, he had to continue, “The day before yesterday, when I got home in the evening, I found an email from my source. She is a librarian in Atlanta, and one of the best researchers I've ever known. She had previously given me some information about you when you lived in Atlanta. Nothing particularly significant; nothing that had not been in the papers. She told me where you lived, where you went to church and that you were a member of the Buckhead Club.

  “It turns out she is apparently a hell of an investigator. The email she sent me the other night contains a lot of information. I don't know how much of it is accurate. Some of it may not have anything to do with you at all.” She started to tremble. “Most of it doesn't make any sense, which is typical for preliminary investigative data. That's why checking out every detail is important in investigating anything. That is an important detail that escapes a lot of today's so-called investigative reporters.

  “Ordinarily, my next step would be to dig further, and to check and double check each of these supposed 'facts'.

  “But, instead, I'm telling you about this because ... Well, I'm telling you for two reasons. First and foremost, I don't want you to think I'm spying on you behind your back. I know that sounds ridiculous because that is exactly what I was doing. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I have this information. I think that it would be dishonest for me not to disclose what I have done and the information I now possess, however inaccurate it may be. I may be a nosy reporter and a rat bastard for poking into your personal life, but I am not dishonest.”

  He paused for a long time. She did not look at him but she asked through what sounded to him like gritted teeth, “And the second reason is?”

  “The second reason is because I would really like to know what the information means.” His voice cracked.

  She sat up and looked at him for the first time since he had begun speaking. Her eyes reflected a mixture of anger, hurt, betrayal and fear that broke his heart. He was determined to take it because he felt he deserved it. He didn't flinch or look away. She whispered, “I want to see the email.”

  He had the printed version with his notes folded in his wallet. He handed it to her. It was his turn to hold his breath as she scanned the document. When she finished, she started over and read it again.

  She said, “It appears from your notes that after you received this information, you spoke to your researcher and discussed the content. Did you ask her to stop or is she still digging?”

  He looked at his hands and then he looked into her eyes, “She is still digging, but I can and will make her stop.”

  “Why would you do that? Looks like a potential bombshell of a story to me,” she said with a dry expression.

  “I can't write this story at all. I promised you I wouldn't, and I won't. You have to understand that thirty plus years of checking out everything people tell me is a hard habit to break. I have no intention of using this information in the paper. I swear to you. I want to know everything there is to know about you for my own reasons.”

  He looked into her eyes, and was surprised to see that she appeared to be more annoyed than anything. He thought that was odd.

  She sighed and glanced at the paper again. “She did a thorough job. I would be very interested to know where she got some of her information, but I am sure that is something she would not discuss.” She stared off into space for a minute and then handed the paper back to him, saying, “First of all, I think you should tell her to keep digging. She has found out this much. I'd like to know what else she can find. I would like to know what tracks I may need to cover now.” Her voice trailed off. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten he was there.

  Suddenly, she turned to him and asked, “So what do you want to know?”

  “As a preliminary matter, I would like to know if the investigator has made an error in linking the three identities to the same person.”

  She was quiet for a while, then she said very softly, “No, she's not wrong. I have at times used all three of those names. Marcia Pappas was the name I was given at birth. When I moved to Chicago, I changed my name to Marcella Pappias. Since Tonio Collonia was my benefactor, posing as my uncle, it seemed natural I should have an Italian-sounding name. After I graduated from Northwestern and went to graduate school in L.A., I changed my identity again. Tonio was dead at that point. I planned to start over with a new life and a new identity. I expected to have nothing further to do with his family.

  “If your investigator had been able to find information on travel, she would learn that virtually all of my foreign travel was done under the name of Marcella Pappias and, later, Marcella Wilson. M. V. Papillon was always just a backup in case I got into difficulty. I rarely used it.”

  He couldn't help it. He asked, “What did you do for Collonia?”

  “What do you think?”

  “If I had to guess based on the little information I have, I'd guess smuggling. Probably smuggling of money for laundering.”

  She nodded. “You are pretty good. In terms of what I did in this country, it was mostly moving cash from Florida where it came into the country to the upper Midwest where he passed the money through his network of laundries.” She chuckled, “Tonio thought it was hysterical that his money-laundering operation was conducted through actual, and otherwise legitimate laundromats in small towns.

  “Overseas, I generally moved merchandise from one place to another and brought the payment back to the United States or someplace close. If it was a large amount of money I put it in banks in the Cayman Islands, the Bahamas or Switzerland. If it was a relatively small amount of money, I brought it back with me.

  “In short, you are correct. I was involved in a very large scale smuggling operation.”

  “What kinds of things did you smuggle?”

  She smiled, “My specialty was jewels and art. I think the Collonia's also smuggled weapons and ammunition, but the only things I ever carried were gemstones and paintings. Interestingly, most of the items I smuggled were legitimately purchased and paid for. The service the Collonias provided was essentially a delivery service to by-pass tax laws. We were sort of like an underground Federal Express service. Some rich guy in Asia would buy a painting by an old master in Europe for seven figures, but wanted to limit his tax liability. Collonia delivered the merchandise for a negotiated price that was never more than half the amount of the taxes.”

  Ray observed, “Which, on a multi-million dollar purchase could be a lot of money.”

  She nodded and said, “A whole lot of money.

  “Tonio Collonia was an interesting guy. Aurelio continued the smuggling business for a few years, but as far as I know now he's gone almost completely legit. He had the feds breathing down his neck for a while, so I was given to understand that he stopped most of his criminal activities and now lives like a laird on the income from the laundry chain, the employment agency and the enormous fortune he inherited from his father. He arranges a delivery now and then for an old client, but it is my understanding he's basically stopped his illegal operations.

  “You should know a couple of things about the Collonias. Other than working for a mob-owned business when he first came to the States, Tonio was never connected with the Chicago Mob or any other criminal organization except perhaps for a family in his native Sicily. He was always very careful not to step on the turf of th
e American Mafia. The feds always thought he was working with the Chicago Mob and I think that's one reason they never caught him. He was smart. Oh, God, he was smart. He knew that what he did was illegal, but he was an old-world mobster. He was in the business of evading taxes and getting around government red tape. Tonio dealt only in gems and art. Smuggling weapons was strictly Aurelio's operation, and Tonio never knew about it, I don't think. Tonio hated the mobsters that dealt in prostitution, gambling, drugs, and guns. He did not approve of making money off things that hurt people. He didn't think that what he did hurt anyone. He was the odd criminal with an actual conscience.

  “I appreciated that, frankly. I did not then and do not now see myself as a criminal. I worked for Tonio because he had paid for my education and I felt I owed it to him. I was not aware until tonight that he had done the same for other girls. My guess is that the two other girls he left money to were doing much the same thing as me. I would bet their backgrounds were similar to mine. Tonio had lost his entire family in the Second World War and ended up alone in the world at the age of fourteen or fifteen. He had a soft spot for kids in similar circumstances. We were not his only couriers. He had a lot of people working for him.”

  She stood up and said, “I'm thirsty. Do you want some lemonade?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Ray waited in the dark for her to return. She put two glasses on the table and sat down, “Next question.”

  “Did you continue to work for Collonia after you married Wilson?”

  She nodded, “Yes. Roland never knew. It was a huge bone of contention between me and Aurelio. I wanted out of the business after I married Roland. Aurelio thought (correctly it turned out) that my new-found social prominence would make it easier for me to move merchandise and money, especially since Roland owned both a yacht that moved around the Caribbean and a private plane that went all over the world. Aurelio really got into that and eventually he started using his own planes a lot of the time. That was risky because drug smugglers use private planes and boats, and the feds watch their movements carefully. Anyway, Aurelio and I never did get along, and the fact that he wouldn't let me out of the business after I married Roland made our relationship even worse.”

  “Do you still work for him?”

  She paused, “Aurelio and I have a deal. When the Techtron thing started to unravel, I stopped altogether for a while because we expected the feds to dig through my history along with Roland's. They must not have looked at me too hard if they didn't come up with any of this stuff, especially since they could have subpoenaed my bank records and phone records. They never did, but I laid low for a while. Once we realized I was apparently not a target in their investigations, Aurelio started making demands on me again.

  “As I said, he's gone legit for the most part but he still has a few clients for whom he continues to make deliveries. A couple of his very regular clients liked me and they often asked specifically for me to move their really large purchases. One is a Portuguese man who is an art collector. The man has more paintings than the Louvre I think, and virtually all of them are masterpieces of some sort. He has been trying to talk me into marrying him for years.” She smiled with a look of genuine affection. “Even when I was already married.

  “Anyway, yes, I still make an occasional delivery for Aurelio. I think those special jobs are about the only remnant Aurelio has of his former art smuggling empire.”

  “Is that where you go when you disappear?”

  “Sometimes, although more often when I go away it is to a getaway house in the Bahamas. I'll take you there sometime. It's my special retreat when I need to go somewhere I can breathe. It actually belongs to Aurelio, but he rarely uses it.”

  They were both quiet for a long time. Ray knew that as difficult as the conversation had been, they were now moving into even more treacherous waters, “Why did you resurrect Marcia Pappas in 2000? You already had a backup identity.”

  “Yes and no. M. V. Papillon was never really separate from Marcella Pappias. At least not in my mind. Papillon was a backup identity. I only used it a couple of times, but it kept me out of jail both times.” She shuddered. “Once was in Venezuela and once was in Greece. Believe me, I don't want to be in jail anywhere, but certainly not in either of those two countries!

  “Given what was happening in 2000, I didn't see the Papillon identity as a 'safe' identity for the purposes I had in mind.”

  She paused. “This is tricky. You told me not to tell you anything about Techtron. I can't explain what I was doing in 2000 without telling you some behind-the-scenes information about Techtron. What do you want me to do?”

  He thought about it for a minute. “I want you to tell me. I'll consider it deep background. I won't publish any thing unless I can corroborate it from someone else.”

  She sipped her lemonade, “God, I hate talking about my personal life.” She looked at him and continued, “But, since you pretty much are my personal life now, I guess I owe it to you to come clean. I'm not completely over being hurt and shocked that you went behind my back, but I guess I understand.

  “Do you remember I told you that I had concerns about Techtron. I thought there was something not right about the network of clients. As a person in the smuggling business myself I saw things that I know Roland couldn't see. He didn't know about my 'other life'. I could never get him to look closer at the his clients and his sales force. Today as I sit here I don't know what they were up to, but I swear to you it was nothing good. Feel free to look into that. I'd love to know what you come up with.

  “As I told you, Roland kept me away from Techtron. I had no involvement with the business. I was simply the wife of the CEO. I traveled with him. I went to ceremonies with him. He and his cronies did not engage in business conversations in my presence. What is more, I know almost nothing about accounting, at least not legitimate accounting.” She smiled, “I do know quite a bit about money laundering and how to hide money.

  “That is an important point. In my work for the Collonias the whole focus was on hiding huge sums of money and assets we and our clients actually had.

  “What Techtron was doing was cooking the books to show money and assets that were not there.

  “I had for years inhabited a world where there was too much money and it was important to be extremely discrete and to hide the origin of the cash. Roland was all about showing off his money and living a jet set lifestyle. Problem was, for the last couple of years of his life, he had no money. The accountants at Techtron were creating financial statements that were almost entirely fictitious.

  “For a long time I had no knowledge about that.

  “Once, my work for Aurelio intersected with the impending disaster at Techtron. It had to do with the Portuguese businessman I mentioned before. I delivered a painting to him in early 2000. Unlike the FedX delivery guy, I did not just drop off the merchandise and leave. My deliveries were always couched as 'visits'. Sometimes the client was supposedly a 'friend' or a 'relative'. Most of the time, Aurelio had women make deliveries to men and vice versa so it could appear to be a romantic relationship. This man always took that too literally.

  “Anyway, I was scheduled to spend the weekend with him. The first night at dinner he asked me what was up with Techtron. I told him I had no involvement with my husband's business, so I didn't know. He recommended that I start paying attention. He told me he had already sold his stock in Techtron and was advising his friends to do the same. He said there was something 'not right' with the company, but he didn't know what it was. He said it just didn't pass the 'smell test'. The guy is a self-made multi-billionaire, so I assumed he had a pretty good nose for that kind of thing.

  “I knew better than to ask Roland. He always treated me like the village idiot and blew me off when I asked about anything business-related. The fact is that I did then and do now have a better head for business and money than Roland ever did.” She sighed, “I took a careful look at Techtron's annual reports for the
prior years. They were beautiful. They were also full of errors and holes. Of course, I couldn't see the out-and-out fabrications. This part was in the trial testimony, so it's no secret. Jason Sanderson tried to tip off Roland in early 2000 about what was going on. Roland blew him off. A few weeks later, he came to me, thinking that I could somehow prevail upon Roland to look into the finances.

  “Sanderson was mistaken about my potential influence over Roland.

  “I was, however, curious, so I called a retired accountant who had worked for Tonio's money-laundering operation. He was a master at cooking books. I thought perhaps he would be able to figure out what was going on. Sanderson provided me with certain data which, together with the public financial statements, I asked my accountant friend to look into.

  “Sometime in April of 2000, he called me on the phone and asked for an in-person meeting. That meant bad shit, as you probably know. I met him in a restaurant in a crummy neighborhood in Atlanta. It was all very cloak and dagger. He had pretty much figured it all out. Parenthetically, I will note that this guy figured out the scam in only a couple of weeks based on only a little information, most of which was already in the public domain. It took the feds years and millions upon millions of dollars to figure it out, and I still don't think they ever really understood the true magnitude of the corruption. As I said before, if you want a real bombshell of a story, look into the incompetence of the government investigation.

  “In any case, by mid-spring 2000, I knew what was going to happen. I was sure the company would collapse, and I was sure that most of the top executives who didn't immediately flee the country would go to jail. Even today as I sit here, I don't think Roland was involved in the scam. I think they did it behind his back. They knew he wouldn't look too closely. And he didn't. Sanderson warned him. Roland blew Sanderson off.

  “I sat down with Roland and with the books and tried to show him what was happening. He waved his hands in my face and told me I didn't know what I was talking about. He said I wasn't an accountant. How could I know that stuff? He told me to mind my own business. He was so arrogant and high-handed, I couldn't believe it. He had always been aloof and distant. That day, I could tell he knew the sharks were circling. He pushed me away. I looked into his eyes and saw both fear and the kind of single-minded determination to survive that made me certain he would throw me under the bus if he thought it would help him. He had never been a particularly loving or tender person. But, as long as I had something to offer him, he treated me fairly well. From that point forward, however, our personal relationship was essentially over.

  “Tonio had left me a lot of money which I had invested well. Aurelio paid me well for my services, infrequent as they were. I kept that money offshore, in Bermuda and Switzerland. Most of Aurelio's clients also 'tipped' me for my services. Some tipped me in money. Some tipped me in jewels or art. Some gave me insider information on investments. I had never merged any of my money with Roland's. All of my investments were still in the name of Marcella Pappias. By early 2000, my personal worth was something on the order of $50 million. Roland was broke, although he continued to live like a king. Techtron was headed for collapse. I knew that if Roland got his hands on any of my money, it would go down with Techtron. So, I decided to leave him.

  “The first thing I did was, as you put it, to resurrect Marcia Pappas. I bought a condo, opened a bank account, applied for a passport. I also moved the pary of Marcella Pappias' investment accounts that was in American banks to Swiss banks and then moved that money into other accounts, mostly in Bermuda and the Cayman Islands, in Marcia Pappas's name.” She laughed. “I was doing some pretty tricky laundering of my own money. I left enough money in Marcella's accounts to live on if I had to, which turned out to be a good thing. But I moved the bulk of my fortune from Marcella's accounts to offshore accounts in Marcia's name so neither Roland, Techtron nor the U. S. Government could get at it. My plan was to simply move out of the United States and resume my life as Marcia Pappas.”

  He nodded. “Why didn't you do it?”

  She thought about that for a while. “I guess there were several reasons. It would be difficult to say which one was most important. I think for one thing, I had been Marcella Pappias for so many years and I had buried Marcia Pappas so deeply, I hesitated to make that identity switch for sort of psycho-emotional reasons. I delayed for a while, considering whether or not there might be a way to avoid doing that. I talked to a divorce lawyer. That delay cost me. By the time the lawyer came back to me with advice regarding a divorce, the feds had launched their investigation. I was afraid that if I bolted, it would appear I was guilty of something. And, let's face it, while I wasn't guilty of anything in connection with Techtron, I was in fact guilty of a lot of other activity that could have put me in jail for a long time.

  “I had a meeting with Aurelio and some of his biggest clients. My being so close to Roland endangered not only me, but Aurelio and his clients as well. They wanted me to bolt, change my identity and disappear... forever. Aurelio has a palatial estate in Tahiti. He offered to give it to me if I would go there and stay put.

  “I don't know why but some kind of inertia took over. I was so afraid, I couldn't move. I waited too long. By then Roland was under investigation. I guess they never looked too closely at me because they found so much dirt under everybody else's rugs.

  “Do you have any more questions?”

  “Only one.”

  She waited, but he didn't say anything for a long time. She asked, “And what is that?”

  “How on earth have you functioned, after being so used and manipulated by virtually everyone in your life?”

  She buried her face in his chest and did not answer him. He held her tight while she trembled and clung to him. Interestingly, she did not cry. He did that on her behalf.

  Ray got up shortly after Marcella the next morning. He had not intended to spend the night, so he did not have a change of clothing or his shaving gear. He had a quick cup of coffee and then said he had to go home to shower and get ready for work. She walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye. She looked awkward.

  He put his arms around her, “Is something wrong?”

  “On the contrary. I was just thinking. Maybe you should leave some toiletries and a change of clothes or two here. I hate to see you have to get up so early.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing drastic. I just want you to feel as though you are comfortable when you stay here. I'm not suggesting we make any changes in our current arrangement, but ... well, I guess I want you to have the option of staying when it seems appropriate.”

  He hugged her and said, “I might take you up on that offer. At least as far as bringing over a toothbrush.” He made a face.

  She grinned. “I think I'll give you a kiss on the cheek and a rain-check until after you have rectified that situation.”

  He laughed, “That's smart. Call me later and let me know your plans for the day.”

  “I can tell you that now. I am having my hair done and then going for a massage. That means I will be way too relaxed to cook tonight. We haven't been out to dinner lately. Want to go someplace nice?”

  He made a face. “Frankly, I'm not crazy about eating out, but I know you like it. I guess I could make an exception, as long as it isn't anyplace too fancy.”

  “How about The Columbia?”

  “You are the only person I know who would suggest a place in St. Armands Circle as a 'not too fancy' place.”

  “It is expensive, but it isn't that fancy. I guess I'm just in the mood for some Spanish cuisine.”

  He muttered, “I know a couple of joints that serve great arroz con pollo and plantains for a fraction of the price.” Then he smiled, “Okay. But, you can pay, since you're so damned rich and I'm just a lowly reporter.”

  She laughed, “That's fine by me. I know it's a stretch for you, but I really enjoy going out to places like that. I'd love for you to learn to enjoy it,
too, if only once in a while. The agenda for tonight is to discuss Christmas, which, in case you haven't noticed, is right around the corner.”

  On top of the business of going out for dinner, that pushed Ray all the way into another bad mood. At least since his divorce, Ray had tried as much as possible to ignore and avoid the holiday madness altogether. Suddenly he feared he was about to be trotted out to a series of holiday parties (probably in that new tux), and he was not happy about it.

  He managed to put it aside when he got caught up in a couple of new stories that made his fingers tingle to get at the keyboard and write them down. Ray dictated the first draft of both articles using voice-activated software on his laptop in the car on the way back to the office. When he got to his desk, he revised each article carefully, and then filed both of them well before his deadline. Having more than fulfilled his quota for the day, he knocked off early and went home for a quick run. Then he showered and changed into slacks and a sport coat.

  He called the restaurant to ask if he had to wear a tie. He was gratified to learn that jackets were recommended but ties were not required. He packed a bag with shaving gear, an extra toothbrush a couple of changes of underwear, and a pair of sweats. He tossed the backpack into his trunk and drove to Marcella's house.

  She greeted him at the door, and asked if he wanted a cocktail. He declined. He liked Spanish red wine and planned to have some with dinner, so he passed on pre-dinner cocktails. She poured glasses of mint tea instead and they sat on the lanai, watching the fishing boats returning at the end of the day. When the last of the charter boats had gone by, Marcella stood up and stretched, “Time to go.”

  Ray stood up and took her into his arms, “Can you name every charter boat that goes by here nearly every day?”

  She leaned against him and put her arms around him. She whispered into his chest, “Yes.”

  He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head in the hope she would be comforted by his acknowledgment of her situation. He wasn't sure if she obsessively watched the fishing fleet out of sadness or melancholy or fear of 'there but for the Grace of God', but he knew it was a big deal to her that as the boats passed by on the intracoastal waterway she was watching. He suspected that one reason she got up so early was so she could sit there and keep her vigil, watching them going out in the morning as well. She was sort of the unseen and unknown madonna of the fleet. Knowing how intuitive fishing captains often were, he suspected some of the captains felt her presence as they passed by.

  Her car was waiting in the driveway. The driver dropped them in front of the restaurant and then pulled around the circle to find a parking space. The maitre d'hotel would call him when Marcella and Ray were ready to leave. Ray avoided the driver's gaze, which wasn't difficult, because the driver did not so much as glance at him.

  Ray was uncomfortable from the moment they walked into the restaurant. They were seated at a “good” table right in the middle of the room. Ray preferred the quieter tables off to the side. This table was visible from virtually every other table in the restaurant. Everybody who was anybody in Sarasota would know he and Marcella had dined at the Columbia that evening. He didn't like feeling so exposed. He wondered how Marcella felt, being exposed and pursued almost constantly. He didn't like it, and he didn't have anything to hide. He couldn't imagine how awful it must feel to someone with so many secrets.

  Then why are we here? He did not have time to think about it. Marcella had drawn him into describing the events of his day, and he lost himself in the telling of his stories about some of the amazing and wonderful residents of Sarasota. She leaned forward and locked eyes with him, fascinated. That only encouraged him to elaborate.

  He didn't really want to spend the night at Marcella's again, but she appeared to expect him to and he didn't argue. After her driver left, Ray retrieved his backpack from the trunk of his car. Marcella commented on the fact that he had not brought a change of work clothes. He said he would probably want to go home first before going to work in any case. He had toothbrush and shaving gear, the two most important things. He also had running clothes for impromptu after work runs. For some reason Ray could not understand, that seemed to irritate her.

  From Ray's perspective, the only good thing to come out of the evening was the plan for Christmas. Marcella invited him to spend the holiday with her in the Bahamas. They would be alone on an island: no parties, no commotion. That struck him as the most wonderful Christmas imaginable. Marcella suggested they fly to the Bahamas on Christmas Eve, and return on New Year's Day.

  Ray turned in enough filler pieces to fulfill his quota for the week he would be gone. His editor bitched, but there was nothing she could do about it. Ray had so much unused vacation time built up he had lost dozens of hours of vacation because the new company had a “use it or lose it” policy for vacation. He was determined to start using his accrued vacation, and there wasn't much his editor could do to stop him.

  There were many things he loved about the idea of spending Christmas in the Bahamas, the best of which was the fact that Marcella had told him her house was on a private island. (Ray chose to ignore the fact that the island was owned by Aurelio Collonia.) That was reason enough to look forward to going there. Another reason was that he simply loved the Island lifestyle. He was excited about the holidays for the first time in years. He tried not to be too thrilled by the fact that Marcella had invited him to her private retreat, but he was nonetheless. In some way he felt it was a kind of breakthrough for them as a couple.