Vicky has done an admirable job thus far of keeping her own counsel. And even to me, someone who has staked his life’s work on reading women, the opposite sex remains somewhat of a mystery.
What I know about Vicky Lanier is this: almost nothing. Every time I ask her about herself, she deflects. She mentioned something about an unhappy childhood. She’s made one offhand comment about “West Virginia,” and I did what I could with that last week, some unsophisticated Googling. Research is not my strong suit and not something I really need for my purposes, and I can’t bring in Gavin because then he’d know her name; she would be Vicky Lanier Dobias and not “Number 7.” But I did enough on my own to know that a teenager named Vicky Lanier went missing in 2003 from Fairmont, West Virginia.
That must be her. So she didn’t get off to a good start in life. She’s a scrapper, a survivor. She’s had to go it alone. My guess? Simon Dobias gave her stability and comfort more than love and passion. And she saw a meal ticket. She saw all those dollar signs and made a decision based on need. These almost-ten years married to Simon have been an investment.
But now, asking me about my intentions? That’s Vicky’s way of feeling me out about next steps. She’s thinking about a life with me. She’s too cautious to say that outright, but she’s thinking about it. And it scares her. I have to make sure she trusts me.
“The great thing about my job,” I say, “is I can do it anywhere. Here or Manhattan or with my toes in the sand in Monterrey. I’ve thought about Paris, I’ve thought about the Tuscany region. I’ll probably stick to the States, so I can keep my eye on trends, which is harder to do remotely. But who knows?”
She’s watching me as I say this, matter-of-factly, while I pull on my pants. I usually leave off my shirt for as long as possible, because women love my abs.
“So it wouldn’t have to be in a big city?” she asks.
Yep, she wants to know. She’s fantasizing about places—though which ones, I don’t know—and me with her.
“Not necessarily,” I say. “What about you? Do you always want to stay in Chicago?”
Volleying that serve back in her court, in just the same, low-key, indirect way, not confronting her with the idea of a future together but dancing near it. If she’s going to move slowly, so am I. Don’t rock the boat, like Gavin and I discussed. Keep Number 7 on the steady and narrow until November third.
When I look over at her, she’s looking out the picture window that looks onto my patio and far away to the city’s magnificent skyline.
“I’m not staying in Chicago,” she says. “Anywhere but Chicago.”
? ? ?
“Let me take you to dinner,” I say.
“Where?” she asks.
“Wherever. You name it. There are twenty places within walking distance. Or anywhere else.”
She chews on her lip, checks her watch. It’s coming up on seven in the evening. “It’s getting late.”
“Afraid to be seen in public with me?” I laugh.
She looks at me. “Not in the way you mean it, but actually, yes, I am very afraid of that. Wouldn’t you be, if you were me? What if someone saw us?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose.”
“Well, yeah, you suppose? This isn’t a joke, Christian. What if Simon found out?”
“Okay, I—”
“What if Simon found out and filed for divorce?”
I put up my hands. I’ve struck a nerve. Her eyes are on fire.
“What if Simon found out and filed for divorce before November third?” she says. “Did you read that trust language?”
“I did—”
“If he even files for divorce before our ten years are up, I’m done. I don’t get a penny.”
“I know.”
She gets off the couch, grabs her bag. “Okay, I’m glad you know. Do you also know that I don’t have four hundred million dollars in investments or whatever you have? That this money is the only money I have?”
Whoa, whoa, whoa, this is spiraling.
“Yes, and I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be so casual about that. Hey.” I walk up to her, though she appears to be in no mood for comfort or intimacy right now. “Vicky, I will never do anything that jeopardizes that. Nothing. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. You’re important to me. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She’s still fuming, still upset, her eyes turned from mine. I don’t move, following her lead.