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Later that same day, I found another printout: studies on circumcision. I’d already circumcised Freddie, and how was it anyone’s business? Two days later came a list of appropriate Montessori schools in the greater Pittsburgh area. A day after that, a sheaf of horror stories about SIDS cases at day care facilities.
A crack formed in my brain. During one of our nights out, Greghad talked about howhe’dhad a Montessori education. And last year, when a local day care had an infant suspiciously stop breathing while napping, he’d muttered to me, “Personally, I think day cares are evil.”
The messages kept coming, sometimes two or three stuffed into my locker over the course of a single shift. They were about the Ferber method, how long a mother should breastfeed, the benefits of organic food. Each unwelcome piece of paper I unfolded felt like a ransom note, a letter of execution. Greg Strasser was not a man to reject. I learned the hard way.
“My poor, poor baby,” Ollie says, dragging me back to the present. I look around. Dust sparkles through our living room. Our baby turns on the monitor screen, suspended in dreams. “But you don’t have to be scared. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I frown into my lap, momentarily confused.Thisis why Ollie thinks I’m upset? But then, of course he does. He thinks I’m in a state because someone murdered my boss in cold blood. But it’s not the murderer I’m afraid of. It’s how relieved I am that Greg is gone.
And that I hold myself a little bit responsible.
16
RAINA
SATURDAY, APRIL 29, 2017
Thanks to the free cocktails at Greg Strasser’s post-funeral reception, I’m still buzzed when I show up to Alexis’s party. This makes me chatty with my Uber driver. I babble about movies I’ve just seen, my favorite neighborhoods in Pittsburgh, and wanting to be a writer when I grow up.
“What do you think about that crazy murder that happened near Aldrich?” the driver asks me as we turn onto a Lawrenceville side street. “Pretty scary the killer still hasn’t been found.”
“Iknewthat guy,” I say, almost proudly. The driver looks at me like I’m a celebrity. Asks who I think did it. But that’s a question I don’t want to answer.
When I get out of the car, I realize I’m a hot mess. I need to sober up. I need to beontonight for Alexis so I can see what she’s all about.
I stare at my outfit. I’ve got on my highest heels. I’m still wearing my sexiest, shortest black dress—which, okay, probably wasn’t funeral appropriate, but I thought Greg, wherever he is now, might appreciate it. Tonight bears so much promise. Every text I’ve received from Alexis in the past twenty-four hours has been increasingly suggestive and flirty. She’s one of those girls who punctuatesher texts with hearts and gives people flirty nicknames—hottie, sexy girl, gorgeous. I knew a few high school girls who did that, always screaming out, “I love you!” to their friends and creating over-the-top tributes in one another’s yearbooks, but with Alexis, the nicknames take on a new charge. I feel she’s calling me sexy because shewants to have sex with me.
And I’d like to make that happen... and more. I just need to figure out her stakes. How to ensure it doesn’t go up in flames. Basically, I need to make sure it doesn’t go the way of what happened with Alfred Manning months before.
I thought I’d read Manning right when I’d planned out the scam. I’d paid my dues by being his faithful assistant for months, enduring meetings with Marilyn O’Leary, endless coffee runs, boring discussions about policies and staff changes and budgetary blah blah blah and admissions requirements and a meeting with Barack Obama, which unfortunately I hadn’t gotten to attend. I’d pretended, postured, become the perfect Aldrich girl he needed. Hell, I even audited classes in case Manning, for some reason, memorized my Aldrich schedule and quizzed me on the subjects. I knew what his stakes were—his milieu wouldn’t look kindly on the news that the president of the university got busy with his student assistant. And that night in December, I was ready to pounce. This was going to be an even better version of Dr. Rosen. I was so ready to take his cash.
He’d invited me over to his house in Blue Hill to screen the latest Aldrich promotional video and make notes. We’d meant to do it in the office, but he was mired in meetings—and the notes were due that Monday.
It was almost too good to be true. His house, where we’d be alone? No cameras, no nosy Marilyn? He was almostaskingfor what I had in store. I was ready, too: the hemline of my blush-colored silk dress stopped at the top of my thighs. My shoes were high, pointy-toed, and expensive. My hair was blown out and soft around my shoulders, and my makeup was subtle and sexy. Ringing his bell, Ishivered—I’d left my heavy winter coat at home. But big coats weren’t sexy, and tonight, it was go sexy or go home.
The door swung open, and there was Manning, dressed in a fitted, long-sleeved tee and slim-cut jeans that seemed to belie his sixty-nine years. But he looked confused at my appearance. “Did you come here without a coat? Aren’t you freezing?”
“I’m not,” I said, trying to bite back my annoyance. I lowered my lashes and gave him a playful punch on the arm. “But I’d love to come in.”
“Well.” Manning tugged his collar. I couldn’t tell if he was feeling bashful or awkward. “Yes, do. Come in and get warm.”
I sashayed past him. I could tell he was looking at my ass.Good, good, good.
We walked through the house and into the basement, which was carpeted and smelled like lemon Pledge. Manning flicked on a light in a room to reveal a small theater with tiered rows of plush seats and a large screen at the front, framed by velvet curtains. “Wow,” I said. “Swanky.”
He found a seat. I slid right next to him, a notebook in one hand. The seats shared armrests, and I made sure to drape my arm over his armrest in hopes our hands would bump. My gaze drifted to the side of the room. A door was ajar, and inside I saw a long bathroom counter where several pill bottles were lined up. I wondered if anything fun was in those bottles. Something we could do together.
As Manning dimmed the lights, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. Earlier that day, I’d downloaded a video app that could film in near darkness. Manning was busy fumbling with the remote and didn’t see me prop the phone on the far arm of the adjacent chair at such an angle that it would capture both of us in the frame. I felt a pang of regret. It was starting. There was no turning back now.
The opening credits to the promotional film filled the screen. Ever so slightly, I angled my legs toward Manning’s. He didn’t move. My heart was a jackhammer. I could sense the video counter tickingupward, logging every moment. I slid my left hand down our shared armrest toward his lap. On the screen, Alfred appeared, speaking about Aldrich’s long tradition of excellence.
“Oh!” I cried, grabbing his hand. “It’s you!”
He chuckled. “In the flesh.”
Then he turned to me, a curious sparkle in his eye.You can do it,I urged him telepathically.I won’t bite.I pushed out my breasts.Touch me.Nobody will see. Nobody will know.I glanced toward the open door to the little bathroom again.Let’s pop some of those pills. Get crazy.
Then Manning’s eyes darted to the seat past me. “What’s that?” He pointed.
