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It’s Only Business

by Christie Nelson

How can you lose someone you’ve never had? The truth is a consolation prize worn like a badge no one sees. You keep it hidden under your vest. You nurse it in the dead hour. Though its arms are cold, you stroke it.

Carter was like a virulent strain I couldn’t shake. He lived for the next deal. Hotels and room service were his idea of cozy. We’d have a weekend here and there and then he’d be on an airplane. I’d be waiting, waiting, waiting. In my kitchen, pills became a major food group.

Desperate, I’d start seeing someone and then Carter would reappear. I was like a yo yo. One day I was approached. A man and a woman told me things about him I didn’t believe. They showed me photographs. They played tapes. They made me a believer.

As if on cue, Carter called and asked, “How would you like to go to Istanbul?” We flew first class from Chicago to New York. His associate, who I’ll call Leo, joined Carter at JFK. After the wine and food and hot towels, I put on earphones and pretended to fall asleep.

Carter turned toward Leo and dropped his voice. “I was doing business with the Chinese for copper out of Seoul. We agreed to a price. I had two hundred and fifty grand riding on the deal. When the Chinese received the material, they balked. The market tanked. They said they wouldn’t pay the price. I said ‘you agreed.’ They said ‘no deal.’ I asked three times. After that I stopped asking. One day they called. ‘We need steel,’ they said. ‘I can get you steel,’ I said. This time, I had them wire the money into my bank before I shipped. When my banker called and verified the transaction, I shipped.” He paused.

Leo said, “What happened?”

“I shipped dirt.”

Leo whistled.

“Three containers of Chicago’s finest landfill.”

“No shit.”

“They called me. They cried, they said we’re going under, our family is ruined.

Every time they called, I said the same thing, ‘Fuck you.’”

“How much did you make?”

“Seven hundred and fifty grand.”

I heard Leo take in his breath.

“We’re walking into the same kind of territory here. You brought me the deal. I can triple the profit. Watch me.”

The Turks had booked us into a prison that had been converted into a four star hotel—views of turrets and the Blue Mosque. Incense burned, the sheets were silk, and around every corner, deep shadows pooled in the hallways. In the dining room we ate off gold plates. Three Asian couples walked by. Carter followed them with his eyes.

Under the table my legs shook like bamboo in a windstorm.

On the second night, we walked down the hallway toward our room. Every shadow was a trap. It happened in lightning speed. The thing I had agreed to. Two men stepped out of the darkness, Asian features flattened by stocking caps. They seized Carter, taped his mouth shut and took him down. The soft organ of my heart shattered against my breastbone. He fought like a bull.

Leo whisked me into a room. “Snap out of it,” he said, shaking me hard. “Put these on.” He handed me a long dress and a burka. “A driver is waiting outside. Here’s your ID. You’ll get on a bus that will take you to Ankara. Another driver will be waiting there. He’ll take you to the airport. You’ll be back in Chicago by Saturday.”

“When will I see you?”

“I can’t say. Not for awhile. Hurry up.”

Not for awhile, I thought, shedding my clothes, not ever. Not ever again.