James Wesley had been surprised when the cell phone trace showed that she was in the theater district. Not that seeing a play was that strange, although she was off-off-Broadway and not near the popular staged renditions of cartoons that seemed to be so popular these days. What concerned him is the idea that she might be on a date.
Who knew what discussion they had about exclusivity? Knowing Mr. Fisk probably none. In the five years he had been Fisk's associate and consigliere he had never known the man to pay much attention to women. Occasionally he'd point out a particularly attractive woman and ask Wesley to arrange a dinner for them, but by the next morning they'd be gone and Mr. Fisk would be singularly devoted to work again.
This time was different. Wesley had known it the moment that Mr. Fisk decided to ask her out on his own. Just because this was something special for his boss didn't mean that the art dealer would see things the same way. So few people saw things with the same clarity as his employer.
The show was almost over by the time he entered the theater. Nobody was on the door so he slipped in without needing a ticket or a bribe. He tried to find her in the dim house lights, but it was too dark and from his vantage point it was all backs of heads. On stage there was buckets of fake blood. Thick syrup that looked nothing like the real thing, a fact of which he was all too aware.
His phone vibrated then, a text from Leland asking for an update, but the sound caught the attention of the woman in front of him, who was staring with amusement. She stood up and walked to the exit, stopping briefly to motion him towards her, before she exited into the lobby. She was already at the bar when he found her, she had a champagne and pushed a plastic cup of red wine towards him.
"I'm sorry it isn't up to your usual quality, but needs must."
"Excuse me?"
She sipped her champagne, wrinkling her nose slightly. "You are Wilson's assistant, aren't you? The wine expert?"
"Yes, but how exactly…"
"You were there, when Wilson and I had dinner the first time. When the unexpected guest arrived."
"You remember?"
She shrugged. "Part of the job is being able to remember faces and names, although I don't have yours yet."
"James Wesley," he said looking at his phone as it buzzed again.
"I'd introduce myself, but I assume you already know my name, history, and the name of my childhood pets."
Wesley stammered. "I assure you, Mr. Fisk hasn't…"
She held her hands up, "It's a joke, James. Besides, while I'm sure Wilson hasn't asked you to investigate me, I get the feeling you may have done it yourself. Which is only fair. I suspect that people don't always have Wilson's best interest at heart."
Wesley hadn't been sure about her before. The introduction of a new person, a woman especially, who so instantly captured Mr. Fisk's attention during this turning point seemed too coincidental to be real. But she was real, and she also understood how the boss needed to be protected. If Mr. Fisk was still talking to him tomorrow he'd tell the man to buy a ring and marry her as soon as possible.
"I'm here about Mr. Fisk. He is having a…trying day, and I was hoping that you might be able to talk to him."
"Wilson has my phone number. He can call me."
Wesley nodded. "Yes, but he wouldn't. Not to talk about his own problems. Not to ask for help."
She frowned, her lips thinning. "Is it that bad?"
"I wouldn't be here otherwise."
Vanessa stared out the window of the car, one of the big black ones that Wilson seemed to have in an unlimited supply. Wesley sat across from her, checking his phone periodically. He wasn't being good company, but then he wasn't sure exactly what to say. He'd trained himself not to talk his boss, not to even mention his name, for so long that it seemed strange to be with someone whose only shared experience was Mr. Fisk. Attempting to make some kind of small talk, he asked her about the play.
"It was no loss leaving early," she explained, still looking out the window. "It was a feminist re-telling of Macbeth. At least that was what it claimed to be. Macduff was a woman, much more logical of course, but they still kept in the idea of Lady Macbeth as a manipulative woman forcing her husband into his problems. I don't think making the hero a woman makes up for that."
"You don't think powerful men can be manipulated?" Wesley asked.
"Everyone can be manipulated. That isn't the issue." She turned her head to start right at him, her eyes level and clear. "In relationships, romantic or otherwise, we tend to find partners who bring out the traits in us that we fear to bring out in ourselves. You can't chastise Lady Macbeth for being ambitious unless you also question why her husband married such an ambitious woman. I suspect it is because he wanted to take power, but needed someone else to give him the excuse."
Of course they weren't talking about a play anymore, Wesley understood that. But if she was correct in her theory, then what did it represent about Mr. Fisk that he was so attracted to this woman? What was it that she allowed him to become that he denied to himself?
Those would be questions for later, no doubt. Assuming that Mr. Fisk didn't fire him, or worse, for taking this step without permission.
His mind went back to the thoughts of earlier in the evening, and the question of fidelity. Exclusivity was probably not something that Mr. Fisk had considered, all the more reason to get a ring and make this clear. If he was about to be killed anyway, might as well see where she stood on that topic.
"Do you go to the theater alone often?" Wesley asked.
"Are you asking me if I date many people?"
"I'm very specifically not asking that," Wesley pointed out, eliciting a smile.
She turned back to the window, features illuminated by a flash of lightening outside. "I think you reach a point in life where you learn to enjoy your own company so much that you don't want to let anyone else intrude. Not unless that person is very special."
She looked back, her eyes downcast. "Does Wilson go to the theater alone?"
For the first time that evening she seemed worried. Having a mysterious man, a known criminal associate, pick you up in a dark car didn't cause concern. But asking if the man she was dating was faithful, well there was probably a story there.
"Mr. Fisk doesn't go to the theater at all in my experience. Although I suspect that he'd be more than happy to join you anytime."