Free Lovers and Liars by Brenda Joyce

He made two hundred grand a year, not including the interest from his million-dollar trust. He wore seven-hundred-dollar suits. He drove a Mercedes. He had a house in Malibu. He saw Fred and the family at least twice a year in New York, and Fred came out to the West Coast at least as often.
    It wasn’t enough. Before, he supposed in retrospect, he had been afraid to try to compete, afraid to fail. Now he was competing, and he was doing well. He was up there, but he wanted more, much more. He hadn’t known he would ever be ambitious, but he was. Money, success, power, respectability—they went hand in hand. He wanted to be bigger than he could possibly be as a corporate lawyer.
    He wanted to be Fred’s equal. He could imagine the day, the day he walked into Fred’s office as chairman of a powerful conglomerate, controller and manipulator of millions. The feeling of being equal, of having made it, the look on Fred’s face, his warmth, his love.
    He had met Abe Glassman last year as they sat at opposite sides of a deal being negotiated here in L.A. Cannily, Adam had pointed out a few points in favor of Glassman Enterprises, to Glassman’s sharp irritation. Adam then—as he could now—felt the weight and intensity of Glassman’s black-eyed stare. The man had a charisma that he had never encountered before. The aura of power—it frightened him, thrilled him, mesmerized him, and he was unable to deny it.
    He knew the call would come, and it had. A discreet meeting with Glassman in his blacked-in limo. They had discussed the project obliquely, but by the time Adam was dropped off, they both knew he had become Glassman’s man. The deal was renegotiated later, without Adam’s sharp and timely interference. He merely gave his approval to the board.
    He thought about the day Glassman would die. With a smile. The man was fifty-three. Even if he lived anotherthirty years, he had to die sometime. Adam could wait—he would wait. He would use the time to increase his power, day by day, bit by bit. For when Abe did die, he, Adam, would be in a position to have it all.
    He had never been married, and now he knew why. The right prospect had never come along. He thought of Belinda Glassman, and his smile grew.
    And funnily enough, it was Abe Glassman who had suggested it. Strongly.
    A marriage made in heaven.
    By two mere mortals.
    With Abe on his side, how could he lose?
    And that was just it. He couldn’t.

14
    S he would never forget the summer of 1971.
    The aching loneliness and emptiness had begun early in her marriage, a few years after Belinda was born. Or even earlier. Nancy loved Abe. There was no question of that. But she never saw him. He was never there. Oh, he would come home at night, flash a vague smile at her, but then he’d lock himself into his study until late in the evening. Sometimes he’d wake her with his hands and mouth, in the middle of the night when he came to bed. It seemed like those moments were the only times they shared.
    She knew she was a fool to complain. She had everything any woman could ever want. She had a dynamic husband who loved her and showered her with furs and jewels and homes. She knew Abe was proud of her. They went out several nights a week. Abe’s friends were all business associates; their wives were like her, attractive, dripping diamonds, perfectly coiffed. Abe always had a boastful comment:“Doesn’t she look great?” Everyone always agreed with Abe.
    Other evenings, Abe went out alone. “Strictly business,” he said.
    Nancy knew better.
    She knew it wasn’t always business. She knew there were other women. She told herself she didn’t mind. Because Abe loved her and no other woman would ever take her place.
    And there was Belinda. Her beautiful daughter. Nancy loved her fiercely from the moment she was conceived. Abe was ecstatic that she was pregnant, for there was nothing he wanted more than a son. During her pregnancy he treated her like a princess, the way he had