by Ingrid Thoft
“Yes. Thanks, Mark. I appreciate it.”
Fina finished her slice of cake. Then she put down the empty plate and started on Milloy’s slice.
“You know what would be a perfect end to the day?” Fina asked Milloy. They were sprawled on her couch, each with a glass of wine. She was still in her black dress, but her hair was loose from its chignon, and Milloy had tossed aside his jacket and tie. The day had been consumed by the funeral and reception, and although Fina was tired, she also felt restless.
Milloy looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, that,” Fina said, nudging him with her bare foot, “but I was thinking of something else.”
“I didn’t bring my table. I can work on you, but it won’t be my best work.”
“That’s also very appealing, but wrong again. I think we need a date with a hooker.”
“That was going to be my next guess,” Milloy said, and drained his wine. He massaged her bare foot. “Do we have to? I’m kinda worn out.”
“Remember what I said? You don’t have to have sex with her. Just get her here. Or there.”
“Where’s there?”
“I’ll get a room. See if Molly can meet you at eleven P.M. at the Solstice.”
Milloy reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his call log and selected the entry for Prestige. “You owe me.”
“Indeed.”
Fina padded into the kitchen and opened another bottle of wine. She brought it back to the couch and refilled Milloy’s glass.
“That’s right. Molly. Uh-huh,” Milloy said into the phone. He avoided eye contact with Fina. “Tonight would be great. I’ll be at the Solstice.” He listened. “I don’t have my room number yet . . .” He made a hurry up gesture to Fina. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed her contact at the hotel. Luckily, Prestige required a lot of information from first-time clients; Milloy was still nodding and listening two minutes later when Fina mouthed the room number to him.
“I actually just checked,” Milloy said, “and I’ll be in room five fourteen.”
After a few more nods and yeses, Milloy finished the call and looked at Fina.
“Eleven P.M. with Molly. What exactly are you going to do with her?”
“I just want to ask her some questions. Determine if she’s a threat to Rand.”
“If they’re as discreet as they claim, she might not tell you anything.”
“Might not, but people tend to change their tunes when money or fifteen minutes of fame is involved.”
“What? You don’t believe in loyalty among prostitutes?” Milloy asked.
“As much as I believe in honor among thieves.”
The Solstice was the newest boutique hotel in the city and had the aura of hip wealth. The lobby was a wash of grays with eggplant and fuchsia popping out of pillows and extravagant flower arrangements. The textiles were sumptuous—velvet, fur, and brocade—and though busy, the lobby was hushed. Loud cell phone conversations were gently discouraged, and there were private salons if a call couldn’t wait. The restaurant was known for tiny helpings of exquisite food, although Fina didn’t think that foam qualified as food. She’d eaten there once and had stopped at Kelly’s afterward so she wouldn’t go to bed hungry.
They left the car with the valet, and Fina checked with her friend in security. He gave her the room key, and she provided a description of Molly. Upscale hotels use a lot of security measures that fade into the background, many of which are specifically designed to deter working girls. The hotels have a thin line to walk: They don’t want to be known as the kind of establishment where hookers loiter, but they want their guests to have a good stay, whatever extracurricular activities they might enjoy. Fina knew that some hookers dressed as businesswomen, a disguise that worked given the number of legitimate businesswomen who traveled regularly for work. Ah, the benefits of the feminist movement.
Room 514 boasted a king-size bed backed by a cognac-colored leather headboard. The pillows were stacked three high. The rest of the furniture in the room was large with curved edges. There were touches of stainless steel and glass thrown in, but the cold minimalism that passed for modern these days was missing.
Fina launched herself onto the bed and rolled over to look at the ceiling.
“Hey, don’t mess things up,” Milloy said.
“Dude, she’s a hooker. She doesn’t care about your linens.” She stretched her arms and legs in opposite directions. “I could sleep here for hours.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“You always want a plan.”
Milloy sat down on the bed. “What can I say? Plans make me feel safe.”
Fina sat up and scanned the room for the minibar. She grabbed a king-size bag of M&M’s and plopped back down on the bed. “I’ll be in the bathroom when she gets here. You let her in, talk for a minute, and then I’ll come out and see what happens. She’s probably going to check in with her handler when she first gets here, so I won’t come out before then.”
“Okay.” Milloy flipped on the Red Sox game, and Fina occupied herself reading the room service menu. At 10:55 P.M., she slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. She left the lights off and kept the door ajar. She didn’t want the poor girl to think she was being ambushed—even though she was.
“This is weird,” Milloy called out after a couple of minutes.
“It’s actually weirder for me,” Fina said. “I’m standing in the shower stall, fully clothed, in the dark. We have to be quiet; we don’t want her to hear us.”
Thirty seconds later, there was a knock on the door. Fina could hear the announcer’s voice fade and Milloy walking across the room.
“Mr. Smith?” a young woman asked.
“Call me Joe,” Milloy said. “You must be Molly. Come on in.”
Fina listened to five minutes of inane chitchat, and then Molly called the office and let them know that she was with Mr. Smith and everything was copacetic. It was like listening to tweens after they’ve been dropped off at the mall. They sounded like a couple of virgins.
“Hi,” Fina said, and held up her hand in a friendly gesture when she came out of the bathroom. Molly looked startled and abruptly stood up from the velvet-covered club chair.
“Wait a second.” She scanned between Milloy and Fina. “No one said anything about a threesome.”
“Just relax. I’m so not interested in a threesome,” Fina said.
“Ever?” Milloy asked, looking at her.
Fina glared at him. “We’re not cops, and we’re not going to get you in any trouble. We just have a couple of questions.” She sat down on the bed to try to reassure the girl she wasn’t going to make any sudden movements. It also gave Fina a chance to assess her and be appropriately appalled.
Molly looked barely eighteen. She had long, glossy blond hair pulled into two braids. Her makeup was subtle, except for the bubblegum pink lip gloss that covered her lips. She was wearing a tight, short-sleeved, white blouse that showed ample cleavage and a tiny plaid kilt that barely covered her ass. Kneesocks and loafers completed the look. Fina saw a trench coat and briefcase sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed. Presumably she hadn’t traipsed through the lobby looking like a Catholic schoolgirl or a music video extra.
“I’m not going to talk to you,” Molly said, and reached for her coat. “This is seriously uncool.”
“We’re still going to pay you,” Fina insisted.
“You bet your ass you’re going to pay me,” she snapped.
“Look, I know your company is all about discretion, but I think its security might be threatened in the not-too-distant future.”
“Maybe I should call my boss.”
“Why don’t you? I’d love to talk to your boss,” Fina said.
Milloy poured a glass of champagne from the bottle he’d op
ened and offered it to Molly.
“No, thank you.”
He handed it to Fina and poured one for himself.
“Are you really over eighteen?” Fina asked.
“Of course, and escort services are legal.”
“Right. Right up until the moment you start swapping bodily fluids.”
“That’s gross,” Molly said, and wrinkled her nose.
“I thought you were going to call your boss?”
“I changed my mind. Can I have my money now?” she asked Milloy. “Or maybe she should go,” Molly looked at Fina, “and I’ll finish the job.”
“Not tonight, sweetie,” Milloy said. “You’re beautiful, but the only thing people should be buying from you is Girl Scout Cookies.”
“Thanks.” Molly sniffed. She looked hurt.
Fina reached into her pocket and pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and her card. “I’ll throw in some extra if you’d consider introducing me to your boss. I’m serious about the business being at risk.”
Molly buttoned up her trench coat and cinched the belt around her waist. She tugged the elastics off her braids and pulled her hair into a low, sleek ponytail. “I’ll think about it.” She took the wad of money and card and put them in her pocket.
Milloy walked her to the door, and she left.
“Wow,” Milloy said. He sat down on the bed next to Fina. “I’m never going to look at your brother the same way again.”
Fina shook her head. “You and me both.”
Fina awoke in a tangle of sheets. When she opened her eyes, it took her a moment to figure out what she was looking at. Ahh. It was the landscape of Milloy’s sculpted pectoral muscles. She watched his chest rise and fall as he sighed deeply in his sleep. Fina burrowed her naked body closer to him and closed her eyes. Molly, a bath, room service, Milloy. The night had definitely ended better than it had started.
She slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. The shower had a rain forest showerhead, and she stood under it for ten minutes and let the water sluice over her skin. She massaged a generous squirt of lemon-sage shampoo into her hair and followed with the conditioner. Once she was dry, Fina slathered the complimentary lemon-sage body lotion over her skin and slipped into a robe.
Milloy was splayed on the bed, his eyes closed. Fina pulled her phone out of her bag and scrolled through her messages.
“You smell like a muffin,” Milloy mumbled, and rolled over.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?”
Fina glanced at the clock. “Nine thirty. Do you have appointments this morning?”
“Not until noon.” He threw back the covers and walked into the bathroom. Fina admired his spectacular backside.
“I know you’re looking,” Milloy called from the bathroom before closing the door.
Fina smiled and looked at her call log. Carl had called, as had Matthew and Risa. She didn’t feel like calling anyone back. Ever.
Instead, she climbed onto the bed with the room service menu and clicked on the TV. She bypassed the morning news shows and settled on a cable show that chronicled the birth of a baby. It was one of her favorite shows. It was like birth control in a tidy half-hour package that didn’t mess with your mood or give you chin hair. Most of the women seemed normal and clearheaded, but there was a segment of expectant moms who weren’t yet sleep-deprived, yet they were completely deluded. No matter what your body is telling you, the baby isn’t really craving General Tso’s chicken, two orders of lo mein, shrimp with cashews, and egg foo yung. That’s just your inner fat girl finally getting her way.
When Milloy emerged from the bathroom, it was time to push. He perched on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around his chiseled torso, and watched. The woman’s legs were spread, knees up by her ears, her lady parts a blurry blob.
“Who wants this to be filmed, let alone broadcast on national television?” Milloy asked, shaking his head.
“I have no idea, but thank God they do. What would we watch otherwise?”
Milloy tilted his head. “I think that’s the head,” he said.
“How can you tell? I think her bits are just shifting.” Fina’s phone rang. “Shit.” She looked at the caller ID. “I’ve got to take this.”
She went into the bathroom, put down the toilet lid, and sat before pressing the connect button.
“What’s going on?” she asked Carl.
“Why didn’t you call me back? And why is your phone off? It should never be off.”
“I was just about to call you, Dad.”
“Right. I need you to talk to your police contact, find out if your brother is being arrested today.”
“What makes you think that he is?”
Carl ignored her question. “We need to control this thing. Find out and call me back.”
“I’ll see what I can find out, but they’re probably keeping a lid on it.”
“Just find out, Fina.”
“Fine,” she said, but her father had already hung up.
She looked at the small clock on the marble bathroom counter. It was 9:48 A.M. If she was going to get any information, she better have something to trade. She dialed Mark’s number and picked at her toenail while it rang. Her toenails were bare and short. Occasionally, she toyed with the idea of getting a pedicure, but something about it made her uneasy. Patty had told her that the ancient Egyptians had pedicures, so it was really an ancient art form, not a modern luxury. But the ancient Egyptians also put their genitals in separate containers after death. Was this really a culture we wanted to emulate?
Mark’s voice mail kicked in, and Fina hung up. Mark would see that she called, but she didn’t want to leave a message and risk irritating him. You had to be careful with Mark; he was easygoing, until he wasn’t.
Next, she dialed Cristian’s number.
“Menendez,” he answered.
“Hi. It’s me.”
“Hey. Sorry about yesterday.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Pitney was kind of a bitch at the funeral.”
“Eh. She was just doing her job. Before I forget, I got those Disney on Ice tickets.”
“That’s awesome. Matteo is going to be so excited. You’re going with us, right?”
“Oh, was that part of the deal?”
“Who will make fun of those beloved storybook characters if you aren’t there?”
“But I’ll spend the whole time worrying about safety issues; that Beast looks very top-heavy.”
“Come on . . .”
“All right, all right, I’ll go. That’s not the reason I called, though. I think I have something else for you, something related to Melanie.”
There was a squeaking noise on the other end. Fina imagined him leaning back in his desk chair, waiting to take in the information.
“I’m all ears,” Cristian said.
“Have you heard from a guy named Bob Webber?” Fina asked.
“How does asking me questions equate with you having information for me? And don’t think that Disney on Ice tickets get you a free pass.”
“Ouch. The tickets are a gift, Cristian, and I’m only trying to figure out what you know and what you don’t know.”
“Why don’t you just assume that I don’t know and go from there?”
“Fine. There’s this guy named Bob Webber, and he claims that he saw Melanie the afternoon she disappeared.”
“I’m listening.”
“He’s a construction worker, and he saw her near a building site in the North End, after she was in Cambridge.”
“He’s sure?”
“He’s sure. He gave me a really good description, including her hideous sunglasses.”
“Anyone else see her?” Cristian asked.
&n
bsp; “I haven’t found anyone else yet, but presumably, you guys know where her body went in the water. Does a sighting in that area fit with the tide and current info?”
“We only have preliminary info about that.”
Fina sighed. “I don’t have the resources to check this out, not like you do. If you guys canvass the area, you might get another sighting.”
“When did you say you talked to this guy?”
“I didn’t say. Uh . . . last Friday.”
Cristian was quiet on the other end. “Why didn’t you tell me this when you talked to him?”
Fina stood up and looked in the mirror. There was a small magnified mirror hanging to the side of the large one. She peered into it. “Oh God, that’s horrible.”
“What?” Cristian asked.
“Nothing. Sorry. You know those magnified mirrors in hotel rooms? I think their sole purpose is to horrify women. Do men ever look at their pores like this?”
“Why are you in a hotel room?”
Fina pushed the mirror back on its hinged arm and turned her back to the larger mirror. “I had to do some surveillance. Totally unrelated.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Which was?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Bob Webber from the beginning?”
“I got the info from a source, and I couldn’t compromise the source. And Bob has some problems of his own.”
“What? A warrant?”
“He owes a lot of child support.”
“So you’re protecting a deadbeat dad?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Fina could hear Cristian breathing. “One other thing: You can’t chase it down for a couple of hours.”
“Why not?”
“Because I promised my source. He’s trying to get the child support thing sorted out. You’ve waited this long. What are a couple more hours?”
“Sounds like a wild-goose chase to me.”
“It’s a legitimate lead, Cristian.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You’re giving me a lead that’s a week old, and you’re forbidding me from following it until your sleazebag source can work his magic. I might as well wear a blindfold and tie my hands behind my back.”
