Twisted

don’t like him,” Pete said. “Doug, I mean.”
    “Oh, quit being so jealous. He’s a good friend, that’s all. He likes both of us.”
    “No, he doesn’t like me.”
    “Of course he does. You don’t have to worry.”
    But Pete did worry and he worried even more when he found a Post-It note in her purse last month. It said, D.G.—Sunday, motel 2 p.m.
    Doug’s last name was Grant.
    That Sunday morning Pete tried not to react when Mo said, “I’m going out for a while, honey.”
    “Where?”
    “Shopping. I’ll be back by five.”
    He thought about asking her exactly where shewas going but he didn’t think that was a good idea. It might make her suspicious. So he said cheerfully, “Okay, see you later.”
    As soon as her car had pulled out of the driveway he’d started calling motels in the area and asking for Douglas Grant.
    The clerk at the Westchester Motor Inn said, “One minute, please. I’ll connect you.”
    Pete hung up fast.
    He was at the motel in fifteen minutes and, yep, there was Mo’s car parked in front of one of the doors. Pete snuck up close to the room. The shade was drawn and the lights were out but the window was partly open. Pete could hear bits of the conversation.
    “I don’t like that.”
    “That . . . ?” she asked.
    “That color. I want you to paint your nails red. It’s sexy. I don’t like that color you’re wearing. What is it?”
    “Peach.”
    “I like bright red,” Doug said.
    “Well, okay.”
    There was some laughing. Then a long silence. Pete tried to look inside but he couldn’t see anything. Finally, Mo said, “We have to talk. About Pete.”
    “He knows something,” Doug was saying. “I know he does.”
    “He’s been like a damn spy lately,” she said, with that edge to her voice that Pete hated. “Sometimes I’d like to strangle him.”
    Pete closed his eyes when he heard Mo say this. Pressed the lids closed so hard he thought he might never open them again.
    He heard the sound of a can opening. Beer, he guessed.
    Doug said, “So what if he finds out?”
    “So what? I told you what having an affair does to alimony in this state? It eliminates it. We have to be careful. I’ve got a lifestyle I’m accustomed to.”
    “Then what should we do?” Doug asked.
    “I’ve been thinking about it. I think you should do something with him.”
    “Do something with him?” Doug had an edge to his voice too. “Get him a one-way ticket . . .”
    “Come on.”
    “Okay, baby, sorry. But what do you mean by do something?”
    “Get to know him.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Prove to him you’re just my boss.”
    Doug laughed and said in a soft, low voice, “Does that feel like I’m just a boss?”
    She laughed too. “Stop it. I’m trying to have a serious talk here.”
    “So, what? We go to a ball game together?”
    “No, it’s got to be more than that. Ask him to come visit you.”
    “Oh, that’d be fun.” With that same snotty tone that Mo sometimes used.
    She continued, “No, I like it. Ask us both to come down—maybe the weekend I’m having that shower for my niece. I won’t be able to make it. Maybe he’ll come by himself. You two hang out, paint the town. Pretend you’ve got a girlfriend or something.”
    “He won’t believe that.”
    “Pete’s only smart when it comes to computers and sports. He’s stupid about everything else.”
    Pete wrung his hands together. Nearly sprained a thumb—like the time he jammed his finger on the basketball court.
    “That means I have to pretend I like him.”
    “Yeah, that’s exactly what it means. It’s not going to kill you.”
    “Pick another weekend. You come with him.”
    “No,” she said. “I’d have trouble keeping my hands off you.”
    A pause. Then Doug said, “Oh, hell, all right. I’ll do it.”
    Pete, crouching on a strip of yellow grass beside three discarded soda cans, shook with fury. It took all his willpower not to scream.
    He hurried home, threw himself down on the couch in the office and turned on the game.
    When Mo came home—which wasn’t at five at all, like she promised, but at six-thirty—he pretended he’d fallen asleep.
    That night he decided what he had to do. The next day he went to the bookstore and stole the copy of Triangle.

    On Saturday Mo drove him to the airport.
    “You two’re going to have fun together?”
    “You bet,” Pete said. He sounded cheerful because he was cheerful. “We’re gonna have a fine time.”
    On the