In another room was a wall-size plasma screen and a cream leather sofa: Genia's own home entertainment center. In all her life she had never expected to live in a big house with a living room like the one where she sat now, her feet planted on the thick carpet. A house with a sunken living room, the floor covered in pale carpet. Wall to wall, she had said.
The first time she told me about the carpet was one of the few times I'd seen her really smile. She didn't smile much in the old days; she was afraid to show her lousy teeth. The teeth had been fixed. She had the house.
To her, the best part, she had said, was the smell. It smelled new. She had gone up and down the stairs, in and out of the rooms, sniffing it. Sometimes she bent over to be closer to the smell, putting her nose against the fresh shining surfaces. In the dining room was lots of black teak, an enormous table with silk orchids on it and a breakfront with glass doors; inside was Genia's collection of fancy china, all of it black and gold. From France, she had said; it was French.
To me the house smelled like plastic. Or vomit. The faint smell that lingered after someone had puked. It smelled unwrapped and unlived in, but it wasn't my house, so it didn't matter; it was Genia's fantasy, a place she entered every day of her life as if through the pearly gates. She had told me all this once when she first moved in and invited me over for tea.
Instead of tea, she had opened a magnum of Dom Perignon some well wisher had presented to her. We drank it all and smoked cigarettes, and sat on the white sofa together and reminisced like a pair of old Russians. Just that once, tipsy from the bubbles and laughing at old bad Russian jokes about bad sausage and corrupt politicians, I had felt close to her, as if we were brother and sister and had grown up together.
Again I noticed how she held her pack of cigarettes; like me, I thought again.
I put my arm around her now and said, "Scared of me? Scared, who of?"
"Cops. Give me a cigarette, please."
"You have one in your hand."
She stubbed it out in a crystal ashtray on the coffee table and I gave her another one and lit it and she smoked it silently all the way down to the filter, then dropped it in a thin porcelain coffee cup next to the ashtray, where it sizzled and died.
"Where did they go, Billy and the friend?"
"Upstate. He's with Stevie Gervasi, his friend, like I said. It's only Sunday. He only left yesterday morning; the father was taking them upstate. To learn skiing. I think. Or maybe skate. Hockey skating on a lake."
"What's the name of the town, Gen?"
"Indian name. Not far. Maybe an hour, they said. Mahopac, something like this?"
"If he was only a few hours late, how come you're so scared?"
"I told you. I called. There was no one home. I wanted to speak to Billy. I called at the place they go, Stevie's people, I called to Billy's cell phone. I called the mother. I don't know. Now you bring his cross so I know something is bad."
I said, "Johnny's still at the restaurant?"
She nodded.
"He slept there last night?"
"Yes. Weekends, it gets late, sometimes he sleeps in his office."
"Yeah, sure, but two nights in a row? Gen?"
"It's OK. I don't want him driving when he's drunk." She glanced out of the window. "It's almost snowing."
"He could call a cab. You could pick him up. It's not far."
"It works for us, OK? It's OK. You understand. He likes it. He stays late with the guys, he plays cards with the bussers. He enjoys this." She looked at me. "We don't know if anything is wrong. Do we? Artie? I mean until the Gervasis get home." She was frantic.
I found some Kleenex in my pocket and gave it to her. "Wipe your face, Genuska," I said in Russian and put my arm around her.
She leaned against me and wiped the tears and snot and mascara off and balled up the tissue in her hand.
I said, "What was Billy wearing when he left the house this morning?"
She looked up.
"You saw him leave, right?" I said. "You saw him go, didn't you? You wouldn't let your kid go without seeing him, isn't that right, Genia? What was he wearing?"
She nodded. "Around 6.30 yesterday morning. It was foggy, so I watched him. He went across the street. He went to the Gervasi house. It was OK."
I thought about Ivana. She had stumbled over the clothes around ten. Four hours after Billy left home.
Genia played with the sharp little ends of her short red hair. It was a mess, the ends wet with sweat, as if she'd been running her hands through it for hours.
"What did he have on?"
Genia didn't hear me, or didn't want to. "He said I want to do this myself. He said I'm almost twelve. I want to go to Stevie's alone. I can do it myself. My grandpa always let me, he said."
"Your father? The old man?"
"Billy liked him. They were OK together before he died. Except for once. Once I found Billy screaming, just sitting, screaming. I said, what did he say to you, the old man? And he said, about the war, like always."
Go on.
"When Billy gets an idea, he's very intense. He talks really good, Artemy, he was talking when he was two years old, he talks with big words in English I don't understand. It's very hard to say no. He gets upset, and I want this, for him to be independent. Isn't that right? Artemy? It's right, isn't it? So I said, OK. OK. It was all set. The day before I talk to Stevie's mother, very nice, very wealthy and decent woman, and nice to me, you know, and everything is arranged."
"You went over there already?"
"Of course, you think I'm an idiot? Billy was supposed to be home this morning, As soon as I see he is late, I call and when there is no answer I go over. The house is dark." She looked at her square gold watch. From Cartier, she told me once. From Cartier.
"But you saw him go."
"Yes. Johnny said, I want him home for church Sunday, but what for? Johnny never comes home for church. I go to that church with Billy for their sake, I become Catholic, I did all that, to be an American. Then I discover these priests they do dirty things with little boys." She laughed bitterly. "This will kill Johnny. He loves the kid, or pretends he does."
"What does that mean?"
"Johnny's a hugger, you know? He gives you big sloppy kiss, he thinks this shows his love. He's like a child himself."
Straightening her spine, Genia leaned forward again as if she couldn't support her own weight. She combed her hand through her hair over and over, then looked up as if to study my expression.
I got out my cell phone. "I'm going to call this in, Gen. I can't do anything until you say he's missing officially."
"Please, wait. A little while longer, OK, Artemy? It's only Sunday. It's only a few hours. Wait a few hours. It's not even dark."
She picked up the gold cross and worked the chain through her fingers like rosary beads.
"He was wearing it when he left?" I said.
She nodded.
"What else was he wearing? Take me through it."
"I didn't want him growing up frightened like me. I know he's a funny child, strange sometimes, but Johnny says, let him grow up, and this way Johnny is sometimes right. He takes the bus to school. I let him walk to Stevie's. He goes to his grandmother on the bus. I let him bike to the restaurant when weather is good, you see? Even the old general let him go around the block alone."
"How come you call your father the general like that?"
She shrugged.
I said, "Tell me about Billy's clothes."
But she was on another track again. She led me into the kitchen, where she made coffee and I sat in the breakfast nook. She talked. You couldn't stop her. She talked without stopping so I had to pay attention. She held me in the endless talk like a bug in a web.
"Yes. So Friday night I said, he could go. I said you can walk to Stevie's by yourself Saturday morning. Tomorrow morning. Saturday. Then the two of them would be together all day with Stevie's family in the country. Then he'd stay over. I pretended not to see him. I di
dn't let him know I was awake. It was early in the morning. A little before 6.30. So I heard him get up. I heard him go downstairs and let himself out and I watch him all the way across the street and over two houses. I can see him all the way to the front of the Gervasi house because the streetlights are still on and also people on block have lights outside their houses." Genia paused. "So it was OK. I went back to sleep. He's very independent. He's not an emotional kid. He's very sure, you see, very determined. He's . . ."
"What is he?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"He's what, you were going to say? He's . . . Tell me!"
"Do you want some coffee, Artemy? I have cake. Cheesecake. Good cheesecake from Junior's."
Sometimes I thought, when I was in a better mood, that the biggest danger of being a cop was the cake. People who talked to you—and plenty did—wanted you on their side. They made coffee. They put out cake. I loved cake. You could gain a ton of weight on a long case. You could also get so wired from drinking coffee to keep them talking, you almost freaked out.
She said, "I can't remember."
"Remember what?"
"If Stevie's mother said what time they'd be back. I can't remember now. I'm confused." Her face was pallid, a whitish green and slick with a faint sheen of sweat. "What do you want to know?"
Again, I said, "What was Billy wearing when he left?"
"I told him, dress warm. I put his clothes out."
"He does what you say?"
"He's very smart," she said.
"He's a good boy. Very neat, you know."
"So what was he wearing?"
"I put them out for him. Jeans, OK. Sweatpants. T-shirt. A heavy sweater. The baseball jacket you got him, he likes the jacket, Yankees jacket, you remember? He doesn't care about baseball but he wears the jacket. I wanted him to wear his winter coat, but I knew he wouldn't so I put out a heavy sweater. I made him wear sweatpants under his jeans."
"Why wouldn't he wear the coat?"
"Because," she said. "I'm telling you, he always wears his baseball jacket, the one with the tear in the sleeve. He wouldn't let me fix it. He said he got the tear when you took him to the stadium. It had to be that way."
"Shoes?"
"Sneakers," she said.
"What color?"
"Green."
"Socks?"
"No socks. I put them out. He doesn't like socks."
"What do you mean?" I tried not to show what I was feeling.
"He doesn't like them. He gets obsessed with stupid stuff. Sometimes he starts yelling about nothing and I just say, OK."
"Did he have anything with him? Was he carrying anything?"
She nodded. "Sports bag he takes to school."
"But no socks."
"No socks. They make him itch."
"You're sure he didn't change his mind?"
"He does not change his mind. What is it about his clothes, Artemy?"
I hesitated. "Let's go over to Billy's friend and see if anyone's home yet. Come on."
She said, "I have to fix myself. I can't go like this."
"Then go fix yourself, Gen. Go on."
I waited in the living room while she went upstairs. I heard the water running. At first I wanted to run after her. She was febrile, fragile, weirded out; I thought Genia might hurt herself.
Did Johnny always spend the weekends at his restaurant? Was he asleep, drunk, knocked out? I got up and looked out of the kitchen window at the yard in back. Ice clung to the bare trees; the barbecue set, the furniture, the tool shed were shrouded in black plastic.
Upstairs I heard Genia moving from room to room. I waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. After a while she came down in a skirt and sweater and her pearls; Genia resembled an Upper East Side mother. She fidgeted with the sweater as if it were a costume.
"You look nice," I said, holding my cell phone.
She was panicky. "Who are you calling?"
"My boss. We need to get on this. You need to say he's missing."
"No! Not yet." She gripped the sleeve of my jacket. "Not yet. Let's go, OK? I'm ready."
I zipped my jacket. She went to the hall closet and pushed aside the furs and took out a camel's hair coat and put it on.
I looked at her fur coat on a hanger and said, "It's cold out."
"I don't want to look like Russian, like immigrant," she said. "I don't want to look that way, you understand?"
The streets were empty. Genia's silver Land Rover—Johnny bought it for her fortieth birthday—was parked outside her house.
"Which house?" I said.
"On the corner," she said, pointing to a white colonial with an ocean view. I turned to look back. You could see the corner of the Farone place from the white house.
There was an SUV in the drive. We walked up to the front door and Genia rang the bell. We waited.
The door opened. A woman in her late thirties stood in the doorway. She wore jeans and a loose plaid shirt. She had shoulder length hair, dirty blonde, a pencil behind her ear, and a placid expression.
"Hi," she said. "I was just going to call you back. I spent the night over at my sister's place. I just got back. Genny, I got your message. What's the matter?"
"Is Billy here?" I said. "Is Billy at your house?"
She said, "No, of course not. I thought the boys canceled their date. Come in," she said, but Genia shook her head.
"Stevie said sometimes your Billy just doesn't show up. I mean the kids are like that. But Stevie said Billy did call this time. He called before six yesterday morning. He said he wasn't coming. He had something else. He had to go out with his father. Stevie was pretty upset, but his father said, listen, never mind, honey, we'll go have a nice time."
"Where's Stevie?" Genia said.
"He's still out with his dad. They went to the country like they planned. They planned to come home this morning so Billy could go to church like his father wanted, but when Billy didn't show, they said they'd stay late. I'm sorry, Genny, I am, we thought Billy had something else on."
"Can you call?"
She shook her head. "They're skiing. They'll be on the slopes all day. The cell doesn't work there. I'll try but it never works. I think they'll be back tonight, you know, but sometimes they stay over. I'll try the cabin again tonight. What is it?"
Genia nodded, thanked her, turned to go.
"What's the matter?" the woman called as we went down the front drive, along the irregular paving stones set into the path, Genia looking down as if to count them one at a time.
"Thank you," I said. "Thanks. Call us when your family gets back."
Behind us, she closed the door and I realized I didn't know her first name.
Not crying, Genia walked with her shoulders held stiff and her arms hanging rigid by her sides. I put my arm around her, but she shook free.
"No cops, Artemy. Promise me. Not yet. Nothing good comes from this going to police. You'll find him. You're a detective, you're good, you do it. For me. Please?"
"You're sure the sneakers were green? Were they All Star high tops?"
She looked at me. "He wears them every day. What is this about sneakers?"
"Does Billy wander away, Genia? Does Billy do that?"
"Sometimes," she said. "Maybe. Sometimes he goes to Johnny's mother."
"You're close with Mrs. Farone, with Johnny's old lady?"
"You met her?"
"Yeah I met her."
"Then you know. I can't stand her. I brought up Billy Catholic, it's still not good enough for her. She's a peasant, Artemy, she's a red-neck peasant villager, you know this type? Italian. Crude people. No books, no nothing in that house, just statues of Jesus Christ. Ugly pictures of saints, and the old lady dressed like a disco queen."
"You called her?"
"I called her. She didn't see Billy, she said. She hasn't seen him in at least two weeks, she was furious."
"What about the husband, Billy's grandfather?"
"Bastard," she said. "I ca
lled Johnny's sister. The old man is in Florida. He's in Florida. They say he needs rest."
"When did he go?"
"January."
"I want to see Billy's room," I said.
She led me up the stairs that were covered in the same pale carpeting as the living room. The first door on the right opened to the boy's room. I had only been inside a few times. Billy always waited for me outside when I picked him up.
"You've been cleaning? I don't remember his room this neat."
She shook her head. "Lately he changes. He wants everything perfect," she said, looking at the walls that were papered with pictures of fish, fishing rods, boats, nets. "He did it himself," she added. "He put those pictures up, one at a time, until there was no space left. I was very proud of that. He is smart, good boy, right, Artie? You know, he can name all kinds offish, he tells me. He can make what do you call them, flies to go for fishing with."
"Tell me who his friends were."
Genia sat down on the edge of the bed and fingered the bedspread. "I don't know, Artemy He didn't say so much about friends. I went to school and I ask, does he have some friends and they don't know. We take and put him in private school. I say to Johnny this boy needs extra help, for what do they call this, socializing. But Johnny says forget about it. He's perfect. He's OK."
I looked at the shelf of books over the desk that held his computer. Schoolbooks were neatly filed next to encyclopedias and there were more fishing books. There were volumes of boys' adventure stories that looked untouched. Three paperbacks by Joseph Conrad were next to the adventure stories. I pulled one out.
"He reads this stuff?" I said to Genia.
"Someone tells him these are stories of the sea and he gets them on Amazon. The teacher says he reads 11th grade level, even higher, like sixteen-year-old kid. I let him. If he reads so good, this is great, right, Artemy?"
"He still plays Little League ball?"
"He quit. He didn't like baseball. He wanted to be with his fish tank. He designs feeding system for fish. In garage, you want me to show you?"
Disturbed Earth Page 13
