Page 46 of A Week Away
“What is this for?”
“You spent a lot of money on airplane tickets.”
“So you thought you’d implicate me in fraud?”
“That’s how I got to LA.”
The pieces of paper were a temporary driver’s license for Mr. Henderson and a police report describing how his wallet got stolen.
“These are fakes, right?”
“They work.”
To be honest, they were pretty good. His mother had taught him well. I decided I would borrow the car but wouldn’t use the credit card. I took it anyway though, just so we could stop talking about it.
“Go up to 10 Mile Road and head east. You’ll see the signs for Motel 6. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Goody.”
INTERLUDE
Summer 1982
Frank Sinatra sang “My Way” on a juke box somewhere. The young couple was seated at a small table in the center of the room. It was still early so the restaurant was half empty. The waiter, who was well into his fifties and wore a gigantic white apron, brought over a bottle of Valpolicella and a single glass.
“We need two glasses.”
“I’ll need to see the young lady’s ID.”
She had long black hair which she wore parted down the middle and ironed. She flipped one side over her shoulder and set her purse on her lap. Carefully opening the purse, her nails were quite long and painted red, she took out her wallet saying, “It’s my twenty-first birthday. Legal at last.”
“And your boyfriend brought you out for dinner. What a nice fellow.”
“Husband,” she said flatly while handing the waiter her license.
After glancing at it, the waiter said, “I’ll get you a glass.”
“Can I get a martini? Straight up with a lemon twist.Anda glass.”
“Of course. Gin or vodka?”
The girl blushed as her husband said, “Smirnoff.” When the waiter was gone, she carefully opened her cloth napkin and set it on her lap. “When I was a little girl I’d hear my parents order martinis. I thought they’d be sweet, like a dessert. Then my father let me try one. It wasn’t sweet. But I liked it anyway.”
“Go easy. I’ve only got seventy bucks.”
“Don’t worry, Dominick. I’ve got money.”
That was a humiliating thought. His wife paying for her own birthday dinner. And… he didn’t know where the money had come from. He gave her an allowance, but she always seemed to spend more than he’d given her and always had cash on hand. He assumed the extra money came from her family, but he didn’t dare think about it much.
“Can I have my present?”
“You don’t want to wait until dessert?”
“No. I want it now.”
From the house to the car to the restaurant, he’d kept the wrapped box hidden in his folded coat. He’d bought her a scarf, silk, colorful and large. It had cost almost thirty dollars—more than they could afford. But he knew she’d love it, it was mostly purple.
When he slipped the box out from its hiding place, she said, “That’s too big.”
