"Gardner, Renee - What Are Friends For" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Renee)

WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?
By
Renee Gardner

Sabrina Conrad looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was perfect, her hair shone, her sapphire blue dress gently caressed her body. She pivoted around and faced herself once more. No, the effect wasn't quite right. Her fingers toyed with the buttons at her throat. She undid one, then another, exposing just a hint of cleavage. Finally pleased with herself, she flung a silver gray mohair stole over her shoulders and marched out of her apartment, ready to sail gracefully into her lover's office and announce that their affair was over.

Her romance with Dr. Amos Beller began one rainy Sunday evening as they struck up a conversation while they waited on line to see the re-edited version of "Psycho" and discovered that they both loved old Hitchcock movies, sushi, sailing and classic jazz, and both were successful in their professions -- she a freelance writer; he a dermatologist.

The only hitch in their relationship, which progressed from friendship to passion in breath-taking time, was that Amos's pending divorce made it impossible for them to be seen in public. So instead of going to fancy restaurants, they met every Tuesday in his office after his nurse and patients were gone, and spent the evening in the examining room partaking of take-out food and illicit romance. "It will only be a little while longer," Amos reassured Sabrina whenever she complained about their less than ideal arrangement and questioned if his divorce would ever take place. She hung on for six months, hoping for the best.

Last week she became infuriated when Amos selfishly refused to change the time of today's rendevous to accommodate her schedule. It wasn't as though she had asked the impossible -- the office was closed for renovations, though work wouldn't begin until the next day, so they could have met at any time. "You know I can't see you earlier. I have to move all the furniture and dump old files before I leave for Barbados," Amos whined in answer to her request. And that's when Sabrina saw him for the selfish, egoist he really was and began to plan her final goodbye.

The businesses in the suburban complex where Amos had his office all closed between 4:30 and 5:30, making the back parking lot conveniently deserted on Tuesday evenings when Sabrina nosed her car into a spot at six o'clock. Tonight Sabrina's car had company. Looming out of the autumn twilight like a brooding prehistoric creature, a large dark green dumpster took up the two parking places closest to the entrance to Amos's office.

She pressed the bell beside the brass plaque that read "Amos Beller, M.D." and waited for him to open it like he always did. No Amos. She rang the bell harder, then dug through her handbag for the key he gave her when their romance was new. The caveat that came with it played in her head as she inserted it in the lock: "For you, my darling, I give the key to my heart and my office. Open my heart at will; the office only in case of emergency."

The door opened easily. She felt her way along the narrow dark corridor that led past the now bare waiting room and the infamous examining room. The lack of light didn't surprise her. "Save the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves," Amos said whenever he turned off an unnecessary light.

She called his name as she approached his office.

No answer.

"Where are you, Amos?" Her voice now was taut with tension.

"Amos?" she called a third time.

Silence.

"Are you hiding from me?" She flung open his office door, shouting her demand.

A faint unpleasant odor floated over the dimly lit room. The couch, chairs and rug were clustered together in a corner. Four neat rows of dirt outlines on the bare walls gave testimony to where framed diplomas once hung. Bulging plastic trash bags confirmed Amos's diligent house cleaning. He sat at his Regency desk. Though his feral gray eyes where hidden behind the tinted glasses he always wore, Sabrina sensed he was staring at her.

"Why didn't you open the door?"

He didn't respond.

"Answer me, damn you," she snapped, dropping any pretext of civility.

Silence.

"I said, 'Answer me'."

He denied her the dignity of a reply.

Overwhelmed by disgust for the man she thought she loved, Sabrina vomited up the litany of humiliations he had inflicted on her over the past half year -- a sordid affair, broken dates, broken promises -- the list seemed endless. As she paused to catch her breath, her eyes were drawn from his face to the silver letter opener that lay on the desk. It shimmered like a precious jewel under the halo of light cast by the small desk lamp. She grasped it tightly, raised it overhead -- and plunged it into her lover's heart.

* * *
Sabrina did not remember fleeing the scene. Back in the safety of her apartment, under the unblinking, watchful gaze of Simon, her golden tabby cat, she downed a large neat scotch in one thirsty gulp, then held the empty goblet up to the light as if viewing her future -- and shuddered. It wasn't the future that made her blood run cold. It was the five clear fingerprints pressed onto the smooth glass surface. "Oh, lord, no! My fingerprints all over Amos's office,"

She grabbed the telephone and punched in a number she knew by heart. After the ubiquitous answering machine message instructed her to leave her name and telephone. "You have to help me." Her plea to her best friend Faith Trainor came in spurts. "Something terrible has happened. Please call."