"Absolutely impossible!"
Right — and the one who said it wasn't Jack. It was his stepdaughter, Maya herself.
At those firm words, not only did Jennifer stop crying, even Jack turned to stare at Maya, his voice trembling. "I never — I truly never imagined the one person in this house who understands me would be Maya. I — I'm so moved I could weep! Maya, thank you for trusting me. I've explained it to Jennifer a hundred times and she just won't listen. Sigh."
"Why? Maya, you have to believe me — I'm your mother! And this very afternoon I saw Jack cheating with my own eyes," Jennifer said, incredulous.
Maya kept a level face, drifting into the kitchen to start the noodles. "Jennifer, your brain's short-circuiting. Say Jack wanted a mistress — he'd need money for that first."
Jack's beaming, moved little smile froze on his face. Jennifer's tears cut off. For a moment the only sound in the little living room was Maya chopping vegetables.
Then Maya went on. "As far as I know, Jack hasn't done a script rewrite in nearly half a year. His only paycheck was these last three months — assistant cameraman on the crew of that French hitman movie, Léon."
"Not assistant cameraman — assistant director! It's true, Maya. If you don't believe me, watch the end credits when Léon comes out," Jack cut in hastily.
Maya didn't dignify it. Natalie herself had said Jack carried the assistant-director title but did an assistant cameraman's job.
"The crew already paid everything out, script fee included. The script sold for $5,000, plus three months on the crew at $5,000 — $10,000 total."
Jack jumped in again. "Maya, I have to clarify — it's not just $5,000 for three or four months' work. Once the movie premieres, the French are cutting me in on the back end too."
Maya still ignored him. "He handed you $8,000 on the spot to help with the household — buy James a few more cans of formula. That left him just $2,000 in pocket money for nearly half a year. Jennifer, this mistress you saw — how good-looking was she?"
Jennifer thought it over. "She's some little vixen. A notch below me. Mm — I'd give her a five out of ten."
At Jennifer's shameless self-appraisal, Jack curled his lip in disdain but held his tongue. He was still a condemned man awaiting sentencing, waiting on the verdict of Her Honor, Detective Maya.
"Okay, Jennifer. If a greasy middle-aged uncle like Jack wanted to get a woman into bed, would $2,000 even cover it?" Maya asked.
"I could consider it. Two thousand for the one time — I could grit my teeth and bear it," Jennifer said after some thought.
Maya, how am I supposed to keep this conversation going.
Jack couldn't take it anymore. "First — Maya, I need to clarify — these past two months I've been buried in my own script with no time to work out, so yes, I've let myself go a bit. But say what you like, I'm a graduate of a top school, a director of some modest renown — er, granted, no famous works. Still, with my scholarly air, plus my rich inner depths, I can absolutely draw the notice of a few discerning, beautiful women. Second — that $2,000 was spent long ago; lately I've been living on overdraft. And finally — Jennifer, your husband is standing right here. Is it really nice, talking like this?"
"Why can't I talk? Today you were flirting with that little b— in broad daylight, right out in the open. You did it — and I'm not even allowed to say it?" Jennifer fired back.
"All right, both of you, stop fighting! Jennifer — you first. Was Jack actually caught in the act?" Maya pressed at her temples and cried in exasperation.
"Of course he—"
"No. I was in a café — how could you catch me at anything? Audrey's the café owner; she only saw my script and admired my talent, that's all. Jennifer, you're reading way too much into it." Before Jennifer could finish, Jack turned to plead his case straight to Maya.
"How big is this café?" Maya asked.
The question caught them both off guard. Jack blinked for a moment, then said, "364 Ninth Avenue, near Central Park. Small place, but tasteful. The atmosphere's great, so I sat there to write my script."
"I see. Jennifer, this whole thing's a misunderstanding. A woman who can run a café in a spot like that — and she's the owner, not a waitress — how could she possibly fancy Jack? Relax, it's nothing. This is postpartum anxiety. Give it a couple of days, we'll all go out as a family, get some air, and you'll be fine."
Maya delivered her closing statement and, relieved, lit the gas burner and started stir-frying scallion beef cubes.
"Now, uh — hang on, Maya. How can you be so sure?" With Jennifer settled at last, it was Jack, oddly enough, who wasn't ready to let it go.
Once the beef was about forty percent done, Maya added a little under half a bowl of water, put the lid on, and let it simmer over low heat.
She wiped her hands, wandered back into the living room, shot Jack a glance, and said, "Don't go flattering yourself. How could a woman like that possibly want you? A man your age, still this deep in his own fantasies."
With that, Maya set three big soup bowls on the little dining table and went to fetch the vinegar bottle.
"I feel like she saw my script and truly appreciated my talent — that she had a bit of a thing for me. Of course, Audrey's crush is one-sided. I'm a man with a sense of family responsibility. I'm a Catholic. I've always been faithful to my marriage." Jack tangled himself up in the explanation, though what exactly he was trying to say, no one could tell.
Maya filled each of the three big bowls with greens and boiled noodles, then ladled several scoops of scallion beef over the top.
"Come eat. Beef noodles tonight — there's plenty, and if it's not enough, go make more yourself." And with that Maya dug in first, not deigning to answer a word of Jack's nonsense.
"Maya, why won't you say anything?" Jack couldn't hold back and asked again.
"Jack, eat your noodles. These aren't hand-rolled — leave them too long and they'll go mushy. As for your script — sigh, you've already gone soft as an overcooked noodle yourself, so quit dreaming. The Wayne brothers have turned you down four times now, haven't they? Keep your feet on the ground. Finish the script, shoot the first indie film of your life — that's what matters. Get famous first, then you can go looking for a fling." That said, Maya paid him no further attention and slurped down her noodles — slurp, slurp.
Later that evening, Maya's Shadow Clone slipped into Shadow Escape the same old way and set off for Central Park. Passing along Ninth Avenue, something tugged at her — and she went slipping toward the café at number 364.
Damn. No wonder that idiot Jack's so full of himself — this really is a knockout. Slavic, maybe. Long red hair, a killer figure, the face of an angel, eyes that could melt a man where he stands. Tch, tch. And Jennifer had the nerve to call her a five. Huh—
Maya darted into the shadow of a wall, activating Shadow Escape, and cast out her senses to keep watching.
"What's wrong, Audrey?" A male waiter stepped over to the redhead and asked quietly.
"Clint — just now I felt like someone was watching me." Even as she spoke, Audrey scanned the room, casual and careful.
This bewitching woman is no ordinary woman, Maya marveled to herself, tucked into the shadows outside.