“One week, Stan,” the B Man said quietly. He held Stan’s finger for another second and then gently placed the hand on the floor. The finger was already swelling, the bone nearly puncturing the skin. “Do you hear me?”

Stan managed a nod. The pain was staggering.

“And you’re not going to hide from me again, are you, Stan?”

He shook his head.

B Man smiled down at Stan. Then he raised his heel and slammed it with expert accuracy onto the broken finger. Again, B Man had to cover Stan’s mouth to muffle the scream.

“I guess we understand each other now,” B Man said matter-of-factly. He turned toward the mirror, fixed his hair, and then walked toward the door. “Always a pleasure to see you, Stan. You have one week to come up with the money. And now it’s sixty thousand dollars.”

LATER that night, Laura sat in Serita’s spare bedroom and looked out the window. What had happened? One moment the world had been perfect, and then she had been suddenly thrust into hell. What had she done? She hated the whole world right now. She hated everything about it. Sometimes, she even hated David for leaving her here alone when he knew that she could not survive without him.

Time limped by, but it did not heal any wounds. Every time she felt like she was getting stronger, she would drive past a playground with kids playing basketball, or see lovers holding hands by the Charles River, or see a family taking a Sunday drive in their station wagon, and then the wounds would reopen and gush fresh blood.

And nothing made sense anymore. Their new house had been broken into but nothing was stolen. David’s account had been mysteriously transferred to the Twilight Zone. Her father was acting peculiarly. And what was going on with T.C.? Since when has he been against using pressure tactics to get information?

Serita stepped in the room and turned on the light. “What are you doing, Laura?” she asked.

“The usual,” Laura answered. “I guess I just want to be alone.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that recently. It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“I’m going to move out tomorrow, Serita. I think it’s time I took care of myself.”

“Brave words, girl. So what are you going to do at your own place?”

Laura shrugged.

“If you’re just going to mope around, you might as well just stay here.” Serita tossed a newspaper onto Laura’s lap. “Read this.”

Laura glanced at the top of the page. “The financial section? I didn’t think business was your bit.”

“It’s not,” Serita agreed. “But I think you should read it.”

She did not have the strength. “Why don’t you just give me a quick rehash?”

“Okay, it’s like this. Svengali slipped two points yesterday. That means it has dropped over ten points in the last two weeks. The reason it keeps sliding is because there is speculation that you don’t have it anymore, that you’re not going back.”

“I really don’t care, Serita.”

“You listen to me. If you no longer give a shit about yourself, fine. But you have stockholders to protect, people who believed and invested in you. You can’t just abandon them.”

Laura did not say anything. Her eyes never left the window.

“What the hell is the matter with you, Laura?”

Laura turned her gaze toward her friend. “What’s the matter with me?” she repeated. “Don’t you read the papers? My husband is dead, Serita. Can’t you understand that? David is dead.”

“Of course, I understand. But you’re not dead, are you?” Serita crossed the room and sat on the chair next to her friend. “Let me tell you something,” she continued. “I remember everything there is to remember about you. I remember how you told me all about those snotty little kids who picked on you because you were ugly, but you survived and showed them what you were all about. And I remember how those assholes from all the big companies laughed when you first started Svengali. They kept trying to knock you down, remember? But you stood up to them, Laura, and again you survived when everyone else counted you out. And me? I just sat back and cheered you on. You fought to make that company what it is today. You fought hard. It’s your baby, Laura. Svengali is yours. Don’t just give it up. David wouldn’t want that. And he wouldn’t want you to give up on yourself like this.”

David. Just hearing his name again pricked Laura’s eyes with tears.

“Honey, I know it’s hard, but it’s time to live again before everything you have—everything you worked so hard for—falls apart.” Serita stood and looked down at her friend. “Besides, I happen to be your highest-paid model. If Svengali goes under, I’m going to lose an important customer. You wouldn’t want that.”

“Heaven forbid,” Laura replied with a hint of a smile. “You know something?”

“What?”

“You’re a good friend.”

“The best.”

Laura wrung her hands in her lap. “Serita?”

“I’m right here.”

“I don’t know what to do. I . . . I’m scared to go back.”

“I know, honey. I don’t want to push you. Take one step at a time.”

Laura nodded but the doubts and fears remained burrowed in her mind. With a long and painful sigh, she sat up and reached for the phone. She dialed the number of Svengali’s director of public relations.

“Hello?”

“This is Laura,” she said, her voice quaking. “Make an announcement that I will be back in the office tomorrow morning.”

“LINE five, Dr. Ayars.”

“Thank you.”

James Ayars picked up the receiver and pushed line five. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Out.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“I’m not at your beck and call.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“What do you want?” the voice asked.

“I was at the settling of David’s estate today,” James said.

“And?”

“Something rather odd came up about David’s finances.”

“So?”

Dr. James Ayars leaned forward. “I’m no longer convinced that David committed suicide.”

8

“ESTELLE!”

“Yes, Laura?”

“Where the hell are the designs on winter shoes? I asked for them ten minutes ago.”