As soon as the bright California sunshine seeped into the Hart’s bedroom, the man’s eyes sprung open in anticipation of his first day on the job. He was relieved that his uncomfortable weekend with Jennifer, Max, and Freeway was over and that he could turn his attention to Hart Industries at last. He peered over his shoulder to find Jennifer still sleeping, her back turned to him, her tussled hair spread carelessly across her pillow. For a moment, he hesitated, resisting the urge to lean over and kiss her cheek. Sensing his presence, she began to stir.
"Mmm," she moaned sleepily. "What time is it?"
"Ah, only five-thirty. Go back to sleep. You don’t have to get up," he whispered, trying to move about quietly.
"Five-thirty?" she said through squinting eyes. "Why so early?"
"I have a lot to do at the office this week. I’ve got to get an early start."
"Oh," she responded, still groggy. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah," he hesitated. "A little better."
Jonathan picked up a magazine and began leafing through it absent-mindedly. The air in the 12 x 12 room in which he had been confined was growing stale, and his senses were growing dull. Martin and Dunning had alternately watched him during the past twenty-four hours, saying very little to him. He figured that they were scheming to overtake Hart Industries in some way, but he didn’t know how.
Jonathan had managed to skim the pages of the Boston Globe that Martin had brought for Dunning, wondering if his disappearance had been newsworthy. He was perplexed to find no mention of it. Surely, Jennifer had alerted the police…unless, of course, Lieutenant Gray was keeping everything quiet. Jonathan’s hopes grew dim at the thought of Lieutenant Gray’s involvement.
Bill Stockton had known Jonathan Hart for many years. As CEO of Jemson Manufacturing and longtime friend, Bill had been mulling over last week’s meeting. That Jonathan was unhappy with his company’s performance came as a complete surprise. Until now, Jemson had provided top-notch service to Hart Industries - Bill saw to it. But what really troubled Bill was something about Jonathan’s demeanor that had changed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew Jonathan was just not himself.
Glancing at his watch, he heard the phone ring several times. It was ten o’clock in the morning in California and he hoped Jennifer was home.
"Hart Residence," finally came the gravelly reply.
"Hello, Max? This is Bill Stockton."
"Bill! How goes it in Beantown?" Max said, chewing on his cigar.
"Oh, pretty well, Max. Winters are rough, but I wouldn’t trade the Celtics for anything," he said, grinning. "Listen, Max, is Jennifer home?"
"Yeah, she is…hold on, Bill." Moments passed until Jennifer picked up the phone.
"Bill? Is that you?" she answered.
Bill warmed to the sound of Jennifer’s voice. The urgency of his call suddenly seemed foolish, but he knew that talking to her would allay his concerns.
"Hello, Jennifer. How are you?"
"I’m fine, Bill. How about yourself?" Jennifer asked, sounding slightly puzzled. Bill only rarely called Jonathan at home, especially since she knew Jonathan was at the office today.
Bill cleared his throat. "Fine, fine. I was just calling…," Bill said, searching for the right words, " because I was wondering if Jonathan was feeling okay. He, ah, seemed a bit under the weather when we met…not like himself."
Suddenly, Jennifer’s expression turned to concern. "Bill," she said seriously, "yes, he hasn’t been himself since he got home. I wonder if he picked up a bug when he was traveling."
"Hmm, maybe he did. He seemed very preoccupied, very serious. We usually have a few laughs, but this time was different," Bill said, wondering if he should disclose Jonathan’s surprising criticisms of Jemson Manufacturing.
Jennifer bit the side of her cheek. "Yes," she said, her mind drifting over the events of the past couple of days.
"Well, Jennifer, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to check in on an old friend, that’s all," Bill said, afraid that he had upset her.
She paused. "Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it. I’ll tell Jonathan that you called," she said, smiling weakly.
They hung up, but neither felt better.
Jennifer spent the rest of the day trying to finish her latest article for the L.A. Monitor, but could not focus. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her conversation with Bill. Calling Dr. Reese did not make her feel better either – he had politely assured her that it was probably a combination of jet lag and the flu. He couldn’t tell her anymore without Jonathan coming in for an exam.
Finally, she pushed herself away from her laptop and decided to lay down upstairs. She had not slept well this weekend, and it was catching up with her. As she entered the master bedroom, her anxieties grew more intense, although she did not know why. She stretched out on the bed trying to relax. Reflexively, she picked up the phone next to the bed and dialed Jonathan. Deann answered.
"Oh, hello, Deann, is Jonathan in?" she said, surprised that his private, direct line was forwarded to his secretary.
"Hi, Mrs. Hart. Ah, no, he’s not here right now. He left about a half hour ago – said he’d be back later. Do you want me to give him a message?"
Jennifer frowned. "No, just tell him I called…thanks, Deann," she said and hung up.
Unable to rest, she got up and began to leave the room, when she spotted Jonathan’s suit that he had traveled in, lying in a heap obscured by the dresser. Jennifer picked it up and began emptying the pockets. She figured she could make a trip to the dry cleaners – it would give her something to do.
She felt something in Jonathan’s breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, she was perplexed to find a two women’s names, Kelly and Amanda, scrawled in blue ink with a phone number – a Boston phone number. Jennifer stared at the paper for several moments and then tucked it into her pocket. For the first time in her married life, Jennifer Hart felt something she had never felt before – and she promptly pushed the feeling away.
Dunning sat drumming his fingers on the table in front of him, waiting for the phone to ring. He was not a patient man, and he was growing more anxious with every passing minute. His nicotine habit nagged at him so much that, against his better judgment, he had sent Martin for cigarettes at the local market.
Finally, he heard the phone ring upstairs. Jonathan sat up with a start – it had been the first signal from the outside world since his abduction. Dunning rose quickly, leaned forward to where Jonathan sat handcuffed to the chair and table, and barked his warning, "Don’t you dare make a move." Within moments he was running up the stairs, two at a time.
Jonathan strained to hear every word. Luckily for him, Dunning had not closed the door at the top of the stairs in his haste to get to the phone.
At first, he could only hear mumbling, but soon Dunning’s voice became clearer. Jonathan closed his eyes and concentrated.
"Good…don’t do anything more right now. Let’s sit on this for a week. We don’t want to move too quickly or we’ll cause suspicion," Dunning said. There was a pause.
"He’s behaving," Dunning answered. "So far, so good. And how’s Jennifer and Max behaving?" Another long pause.
Dunning sighed. "Okay. Just hang in there. You’re doing fine. You know, a good fight should shut her up for a while and keep her off your back. Just don’t go too far. We don’t want it to end up in court," he chuckled.
"All right. Call back again on Friday at ten o’clock, your time. If I don’t hear from you before then, I’ll assume everything’s going along as planned. But, call me immediately if you run into problems," Dunning warned.
Jonathan heard Dunning hang up. His mind raced at the possibilities. A good fight should shut her up and keep her off your back – the ominous phrase wreaking havoc in his mind. Clearly, Jennifer was in danger. The thought of her being beaten launched his nerve endings for battle. And yet, he remained chained to the furniture in the dank, dimly lit cellar, which had become a dungeon of sorts. Enough was enough, Jonathan thought. He was going to have to escape somehow, as soon as possible.
Jennifer looked at herself in the mirror, fluffing her hair. She had put on the light blue dress that Jonathan loved on her, and had asked Max to fix a special dinner for the two of them on the patio. He happily obliged, knowing that his two favorite people needed time together. Jennifer thought about this evening all day, anxious to restore normalcy to her life…to their lives. She heard Jonathan open the door downstairs and her pulse quickened.
The man looked up, as Jennifer descended the staircase. He thought she looked especially beautiful this evening. Neither said a word as she strode up to his face and kissed his lips. He did not retreat, enjoying her warm, supple lips touching his.
"You look lovely," he said, meaning it. She blushed.
"I’ve missed you," she said. "Why don’t you go upstairs, get into something comfortable, and meet me out on the patio. Max has whipped up a magnificent dinner." The man’s stomach growled at the thought. This is the life. Jonathan Hart is a lucky man to come home to this every night, he mused.
The patio glowed with flickering candles that sat amidst the scrumptious meal awaiting the Harts. Max had made sure that everything was perfect, and then dutifully excused himself for a few hours. He had decided to take Freeway with him in hopes that their lovable pooch would become his old self again. Ever since Jonathan had returned from his business trip from Boston, Freeway was out of sorts. He alternately barked or whimpered whenever Jonathan was in the room. It had puzzled them, but they figured Freeway was just feeling jealous.
Jennifer sat waiting for Jonathan, sipping at her Chardonnay. She let the cool, smooth taste slide down her throat and enjoyed the warmth that flooded her cheeks. Jonathan finally came out, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, smelling freshly showered. He sat down and looked over at Jennifer. As much as he wanted to consume both the meal and the woman before him, he remembered Dunning’s edict.
"This looks great. Max outdid himself," the man said pleasantly, smiling at Jennifer. He picked up his fork and began eating hungrily.
Jennifer picked at her salad. "Mmmm," she agreed. "How was work today?"
"Good. It was good to be back."
"You’re feeling better?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think so," he said, tearing into the filet mignon.
Jennifer watched him, feeling her earlier optimism fading. She cleared her throat. "Bill Stockton called here today…he was worried about you."
Jonathan looked at her blankly and then Bill’s name clicked. "That’s strange," was all he could say.
Jennifer shrugged. "Well, he said you seemed like you were under the weather when the two of you met. He just wanted to make sure you were all right."
Jonathan nodded and continued eating. There was a long pause.
"Jonathan?" Jennifer said quietly. He could not help but notice the vulnerability on her face. He looked at her directly, waiting.
"What’s happening?" she asked softly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," she said, with a hint of annoyance in her voice, "ever since you’ve come home from Boston you’ve been very distant, very distracted. Will you at least tell me what’s bothering you?"
The man looked at her sternly. "Jennifer, you know that running Hart Industries can be stressful at times. This is just one of those times. Just bare with me."
Jennifer looked at him in disbelief. "You’re completely shutting me out."
The man sat back against his chair, the wine and food expanding his mood. "Jennifer, you know what your problem is? You’re way too sensitive."
She sat there, still looking at him, stunned. Slowly, anger replaced shock.
"I’m too sensitive?" she said, her voicing rising.
"This is about the sex, isn’t it?" he pushed, knowing she would be incensed – any woman would be.
"What?!"
"That’s what this is all about, right? You’re mad because we haven’t had sex, and you don’t think I love you. Well, don’t worry," he said, winking and taking another gulp of wine.
Jennifer’s mouth hung open. "Jonathan! This is not about the fact that we haven’t made love," she said, barely choking out the words. She bowed her head, as tears sprung to her eyes.
"I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you once I close this deal at work," he said, his gaze drifting off as he thought about the millions he would be making. And once the real Jonathan was dead, and the deal was closed, he would have sex with Jennifer Hart.
Indeed he would, he thought, grinning from ear to ear.
Jennifer stood up, her head pounding. "I’m going to bed," she said exasperated. As she turned to leave, the man pulled her arm and grabbed her waist. She landed promptly on his lap.
"Jen, just give me a little time to work things out. Then, I’ll whisk you away and ‘make love’ to you all night. I’ll take you places I’ll bet you’ve never been before," he said, smiling slyly.
She looked at him strangely, and he realized that he had probably gone a little too far. No matter, he thought. Things would soon fall into place and Jennifer would be all his.
Suddenly, Jennifer stood up. She pulled out the slip of paper she had found in his coat pocket, and tossed it on to the table without saying a word. The man picked up the paper and held it in the palm of his hand. He looked up at Jennifer and felt a twinge of guilt – not because the paper had the names of his two favorite call girls…but because he was playing a game with a woman who obviously didn’t play games.
Jennifer waited until he left for work before getting out of bed the next morning. She had barely slept last night. It all seemed like some kind of nightmare. The man she loved had changed dramatically over the past week and she was determined to find out why. She picked up the telephone and dialed the number she had found in Jonathan’s coat pocket – the number that had been branded in her memory.
"Hello, Miss Baransky, how can I help you?" a pleasant woman answered. Jennifer’s heart was pounding so loudly that she could hear it reverberating in her ears.
"Ah, hello," Jennifer stammered, "I was calling for Amanda or Kelly."
"Well, dahlin’, they’re working right now. Did you want to make an appointment with one or both of them?"
Jennifer swallowed. "I just wanted to talk to them. Maybe I could call back later."
"Honey, they don’t do phone stuff. You have to make an appointment. One hour minimum," Miss Baransky offered cheerfully. "Is this your first time making an appointment?"
"Me? I, ah, yes. I just want to talk to them."
"Sure ya do, honey," Miss Baransky said gently. "How about Friday at two o’clock?"
Jennifer bit her lip, unsure if she was strong enough to hear what she didn’t really want to hear.
"All right. Where are you located? I’m coming from out of town."
Max was washing the dishes while watching his favorite daytime soap opera. Freeway slept quietly in his basket, as Jennifer entered the kitchen.
"Hi, Mrs. H," Max said, switching off the television. He could see that Jennifer was distraught. "How was your dinner last night? It didn’t look like you ate too much."
Jennifer smiled weakly. "The meal was wonderful, Max," she said sighing and sitting down at the table.
"Max, you’ve noticed the change in Jonathan, right?"
"Yeah, I have. He’s not himself, that’s for sure."
"Max, I need you to do me a favor," she said seriously. "I’m going to fly to Boston on Thursday for a couple of days. I’m going to tell Jonathan that I have a writer’s conference, but that’s not why I’m going."
"You’re going to lie to him?" Max asked incredulously.
Jennifer winced at the words. "I don’t want to do it, but I think something’s seriously wrong with Jonathan. Ever since he came home from Boston, he hasn’t been the same. I’m afraid he may have been drugged or injured…remember when he got hit by that motorbike and got amnesia? Well, I keep wondering if he hit his head somehow. I just can’t explain his behavior any other way…maybe I’m wrong, but I want to go back and talk to the people he saw. Maybe they can help, but I don’t want Jonathan to know why I’m going."
"Mrs. H, you know I’d do anything for you," he said, obviously conflicted in his loyalties. "If you think you can figure this out, I’ll help you."
"Thanks, Max," Jennifer smiled, feeling comforted. "Max? You’ve known Jonathan longer than I have," she paused, unable to look at Max directly, "…before we met, did Jonathan ever make use of … an escort service?"
Max made a face. "You mean a …?"
"Yes, that’s what I mean," she said soberly.
"Never." Max turned, walked over to the television, and put his program back on.
As the week wore on, Dunning left the confines of the cellar more and more. He apparently had little tolerance for the silence and the company. Martin stayed with Jonathan most of the time, and was fairly talkative when the two were alone. He seemed relieved when Dunning left on his frequent excursions into Portland. Martin was almost beginning to feel sorry for Jonathan Hart. And Jonathan was certainly fostering that sympathy.
"Tell me, Martin," Jonathan said, lying on his cot, "how long are we going to be down here?"
Martin sat down at the small table in the center of the room. "Another week or so, I guess. They don’t tell me everything."
"Dunning and who else?"
Martin smiled at him and shook his head.
"Can you just tell me one thing, Martin? It won’t change a thing –I just need to know if my wife is really all right."
Martin looked at him, pondering the question. He figured he could tell him something about Mrs. Hart, just to assure him. After all, it wasn’t going to change Jonathan Hart’s fate.
"She’s fine. No one is layin’ a finger on her. Well, I mean, no one is hurtin’ her," he chuckled.
Jonathan’s clenched jaw relaxed. "But, she must be worrying…that must be taking a toll on her."
"Naw," Martin laughed. "She doesn’t even know you’re gone."
Jonathan furrowed his brow, trying to solve the riddle.
"So, when does a wife think that her missing husband is not missing?" Jonathan wondered aloud.
Moments passed, then he suddenly sat up.
"When she’s living with an imposter," he said, looking directly at Martin.
Jennifer stretched out in her First Class seat on her way to Boston. Jonathan had seemed almost happy that she was going to be away, giving her a peck on the cheek as she left the house with Max. She rubbed her tired eyes and thought about the tasks ahead of her: first, she would pay a visit with Kelly and Amanda, then she would stop by Bill Stockton’s office. Hopefully, they would provide clues to Jonathan’s mysterious change in personality. She certainly hoped so, because she did not know how much longer she could go on living with this stranger.
The staff at the Ritz Carleton was only too happy to see Jennifer. They knew the Harts always chose this hotel when they were in the city, and everyone made sure they got the best service. The bellboys and chambermaids clamored to service their rooms, hoping to be lucky enough to receive the generous tips that the Harts gave.
Once Jennifer checked into her room, she collapsed on the bed, her body still begging for more rest. She slept through lunch, and then quickly hurried downstairs to catch a taxi. She dreaded this visit, but she knew she had to get it done.
One of the eager doormen quickly ushered her into a waiting taxi.
"Where to, lady?" the cab driver said over his shoulder. When he saw Jennifer, he smiled warmly.
"564 Washington Street," she answered.
"You sure?" he asked, scratching the beard stubble on his chin. "That’s a rough area."
Jennifer pursed her lips. "Yes, I’m sure."
Dunning was sitting at the table, smoking. The ashtray in front of him was filled to the top with yellow-stained filters. Jonathan knew that he was waiting for the call. Martin sat reading a magazine, obviously bored. Finally, the phone rang, and Dunning bolted up the stairs. This time he shut the door, and Jonathan could only hear muffled sounds from somewhere over his head.
"Hey, Martin, when Dunning comes back, can you go get us some more chocolate bars? I think my sweet tooth is coming back," Jonathan said.
"Yeah, okay…what kind ya want?"
"Oh, how about some Babe Ruths?"
"Yeah, I love them too. And some Kit Kats. You like those?"
"Yes. Get as much as you can," Jonathan said, smiling to himself.
