Flinch Factor, The by Michael Kahn

whisper. “Do you know her husband? Jim Bronson? The liquor distributor? He’s divorcing her. Once that decree is final” —she made a throat-slicing gesture with her hand— “she’s history at Briarcliff.”
    Our waiter arrived with our lunches—the daily low-carb salad special for Brenda, a turkey club for me. As I watched Brenda issue additional orders to the poor guy, I finally realized what had seemed so odd about her face. The entire upper half, from eyebrows to hairline, was immobile. Presumably the result of a recent round of Botox. Along with the forehead wrinkles, the injections had eliminated all facial expression. Brenda was no plastic surgery novice. Judging from the way she filled out her turtleneck sweater top, I was guessing a fairly recent boob job as well. Her nose job—the turned-up Debbie Reynolds style—had been a popular style during her high school days and mine. I’ve read that women these days opt for a more natural, less obvious version. I assumed that her blue eyes owed their eerie radiance to tinted contact lens.
    I couldn’t understand how Brenda and my sister Ann were good friends. But there were many things about my younger sister that I couldn’t understand—and I’m certain she was equally baffled by me. Long ago we’d decided to just love one another and forget the rest.
    But I also couldn’t understand what Nick Moran had found romantic or alluring about this self-absorbed woman. It was like discovering that Prince Charming had been sleeping with one of Cinderella’s stepsisters the whole time.
    Maybe Nick’s sister was wrong about Brenda. Maybe their relationship was not a romantic one. Regardless, I needed to find out.
    As Brenda paused to take in a forkful of salad, I said, “I appreciate you meeting with me.”
    She nodded.
    â€œYou knew Nick Moran.”
    Her face remained blank as she chewed.
    â€œHe redid your master bathroom about a year ago.”
    She stared. “How did you know that?”
    â€œI’ve looked through his files. His sister retained me to help wrap up some things after his death.”
    â€œWhat kind of things?”
    â€œJust things. We should leave it at that.”
    I’d realized ten minutes into our meeting that telling Brenda Gutterman anything was the equivalent of broadcasting it on the airwaves.
    â€œWell, well, well,” she said with sarcasm. “Top secret, eh?”
    â€œJust attorney-client privilege. The same if you retained me to handle something for you.”
    â€œSo what can you tell me?”
    â€œThe reason I asked to meet today. I want to ask you about your relationship with Nick.”
    â€œMy relationship?”
    Judging by her voice, she was trying to feign confusion. Her face, of course, remained blank.
    â€œAccording to Nick’s sister, your relationship with Nick extended beyond his renovation work.”
    â€œMeaning exactly what?”
    â€œMeaning exactly what you think it means, Brenda.”
    â€œHe told her about me?”
    â€œYes.” I decided to gamble. “Everything.”
    She sat back in her chair and placed her hand over her heart.
    â€œI am shocked. I am outraged. I cannot believe he would do that. That he would betray me. Would betray us. This was our secret.”
    â€œWho else knows?”
    â€œHow can I say? Apparently, he is a member of the kiss-and-tell club. Serves me right for sleeping with the help.”
    I wanted to reach across the table and slap her in the face. Instead, I tried to keep my face as blank as hers.
    â€œI don’t believe he told anyone,” I said.
    â€œHe obviously told his sister.”
    â€œHe didn’t tell her about the sex part.”
    â€œThen who did?”
    â€œNo one.”
    â€œHow did she know?”
    â€œShe didn’t. All she knew is that one of the women Nick talked to her about was named Brenda. I figured out that you