Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation

by Alice Loweecey

  Frank pushed the photo of Blake’s head between Giulia’s legs toward Blake. “You’re telling me that flagpole wasn’t from this oral exercise? It looks pretty hot to me.”

  “Well, if you ask Cammy or Mags, they could tell you some stories.” Blake winked at Giulia. “But I’m telling you, Frank, the photos aren’t real. Here’s how it was: your girl didn’t have cable; I got bored. I decided to reminisce about some of my best lays and apply a little elbow grease. Of course, knowing sugar here was only a thin wall away helped.” He turned that grin on Giulia again. “Did you hear anything? I wondered if you were peeking.”

  Giulia couldn’t keep her eyes on his wide baby blues. Her gaze dropped to the soggy salad in front of her. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, save me from this hell.

  “Blake, you’re full of it.” Frank tucked the photos in his pocket. “You’ve never stopped yourself when there was a willing female within shouting distance. Save that story for Pamela when she catches you with a stacked file clerk.”

  Blake guffawed. “I’ll be the soul of discretion and a credit to the van Alstyne name and fortune. I’ve changed.”

  “You have?” a cultured, feminine voice said.

  Everyone looked up. A beautiful blonde stood at the end of the table, a brown envelope dangling from one manicured hand.

  Blake half-rose. “Pamela?”

  She’s everything I’m not.

  Giulia stared without embarrassment because the men sat in a tableau of open-mouthed surprise.

  Pamela van Alstyne’s shining hair curled just at the tips: a blonde Julia Roberts. Her linen skirt skimmed her narrow hips; her sage-green silk shell draped with just the right amount of cling. Her makeup accented her flawless complexion. A touch of brown mascara brought out the highlights in her hazel eyes.

  Blake really was marrying the perfect woman. Next to her, Giulia was both of the Ugly Stepsisters combined. Mousy, unimportant, and frustrated. No wonder Blake thought she’d be easy.

  “Pammy, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” Blake pushed his dishes toward the wall. “Sit down and have lunch with us.”

  “Thank you, no, Blake.”

  Even her voice was perfect. Low without being sultry, flat vowels probably trained out through elocution lessons.

  “Do I have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Driscoll?”

  “Of course, forgive me, my manners must be out to lunch.” Only Blake laughed feebly at his own joke. “Frank Driscoll, Giulia Falcone, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Pamela van Alstyne.”

  Frank stood in the cramped space and shook her hand. “My pleasure.”

  When Giulia held out her hand, Pamela’s dropped to her side.

  “I’ve seen so much of you already, Ms. Falcone. I feel as though we’ve no need of a formal handshake.”

  Giulia kept her eyes away from the envelope in Pamela’s hand. She had to say something, or Pamela would think she remained silent out of guilt. Well, what else could she think?

  Frank sat. “I didn’t know you and Giulia had met, Ms. van Alstyne.”

  “Not in person, no.” Pamela opened the envelope. “But someone was kind enough to give me some photographs of Ms. Falcone. I do wish I could thank the photographer for the informative morning I spent with these.”

  The room wavered, and Giulia’s ears buzzed. She dug her short fingernails into her palms, and the slight pain brought her back. She might wish the Second Coming would happen right now, that very moment, and save her from this humiliation, but she’d salvage what dignity she could and not slump into her antipasto.

  “Thank you,” Pamela said to the waitress hovering at her elbow, “I won’t be staying to eat.”

  The waitress glanced at the men and Giulia.

  “Thank. You,” Pamela said again through her rose-tinted lips. The waitress tore her eyes from the photos in Pamela’s hands and scurried to the next booth.

  Blake tried to take the photos from her.

  “Blake, dear, it’s very rude of you to grab.”

  Frank said, “Ms. van Alstyne, I—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Driscoll. I haven’t finished. If you’ll allow me?”

  Frank inclined his head. A waiter carrying a loaded tray looked over Pamela’s shoulder and stumbled, nearly upsetting three bowls of pasta fagioli.

  Giulia’s body no longer threatened to faint. That would be a release she didn’t deserve. She’d spewed her rage and hate at God last Friday—only five days ago? When she renounced Him, He’d obviously bowed to her whim. Look what happened in the park as she spat out her last curse.

  Pamela set the photos on the table. “Blake, darling, I can see you passed a delightful evening—Monday, wasn’t it?”

  “Pammy, I can explain—”

  “Ms. van Alstyne, let me assure you—”

  “Gentlemen.” Pamela’s voice, softer than theirs, still silenced them. “I think the explanation is obvious.” She clasped her now-empty hands in front of her. “This common whore spread her filthy legs for my fiancée and he mounted her like a bull in heat. Have I omitted anything?” She gazed at all three of them. “Oh, yes. Blake, dear, I wondered about that odd smell on your face when you kissed me Tuesday afternoon. How foolish of me not to recognize the musk from another woman’s cunt.” She finally looked at Giulia. “That is the word, isn’t it, Ms. Falcone? I looked it up to make sure someone like you would understand me.”

  Giulia dropped her eyes to the ravaged breadstick. If she concentrated on counting the crumbs, maybe she could trick her ears into not hearing another word.

  “Blake, Mr. Driscoll, Ms. Falcone, thank you for a most enlightening experience. And may I compliment you on your hiring acumen, Mr. Driscoll. You certainly found an enthusiastic employee. Blake,” she gave him a tight smile. “I believe this belongs to you.” She removed the one-carat diamond from her left hand.

  “Pamela, please listen.” Sweat beaded Blake’s forehead as she let the ring fall to the table. It bounced and landed against Blake’s knife with a high-pitched ring.

  “I really must run. I have an auction meeting in ten minutes.” She transferred the smile to Giulia. “Should I advise you to get tested for HIV and sexually transmitted diseases, Ms. Falcone? Or is it Blake who needs to worry? Perhaps you should share your sexual histories over dessert. Enjoy your lunch.”

  “Damn.” Blake shoved the ring into his briefcase. “Frank, I have to get her back. Find out who’s doing this. Spend any money. Do whatever you have to.” He threw two twenties on the table and ran out.

  The waitress returned. “May I get you some dessert?” Her eyes never left Giulia.

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Frank said. “Come on, Giulia.”

  Giulia’s legs moved when she told them to, but her numb fingers tried three times before they caught hold of her purse.

  The busboy stared at her. A waiter caught her eye and licked his lips.

  Hot sunshine on a smelly city sidewalk was delightful. Why couldn’t she get warm? She shivered all the way from the restaurant to Frank’s parking space. The car was stifling, but she kept the window up.

  Frank rolled his down. “Aren’t you hot?”

  “No.” She wrapped her arms around herself like a straitjacket.

  Twenty more minutes of silence. When Frank parked in his usual spot behind the building, Giulia pried one arm away from her body and reached for the door handle.

  “Giulia.”

  She waited, not looking at him.

  “Tell me...”

  “Tell you what, Frank? That I should never have offered Blake a safe place to spend the night? I’m not stupid. I figured that out already.” She kept speaking to the dashboard. “I understand that working with me is offensive now, but stopping this stalker is more important than our personal likes and dislikes, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll put every effort into identifying her. You can treat this time as my notice. As soon as she’s caught—”

  “I’ll terminate your e
mployment. Is that what you want?”

  No. I want you to say you know everything Blake said about me was a lie. I want you to trash professional boundaries and hold me and say you’ll make Blake apologize.

  “I thought you were—” Frank’s voice stopped. A moment later, he said, “You used to be a nun, Giulia. Holy. Untouchable. When I bought coffee from you and you started talking to me, I thought you were sweet and clever and I was kind of ashamed for being attracted to you. When you said you’d work for me, I thought maybe there was a slim-to-none chance that you might not only look at me as your boss.”

  This is hell. Trapped in an airless, ninety-degree car listening to the man I admire and want tell me why I now repulse him.

  “Instead, you screwed Blake and lied to me about it.” Frank didn’t raise his voice, but she flinched.

  “No.” He wasn’t going to believe that if she could help it. “Listen to me, Frank. I. Did. Not. Sleep. With. Him. I don’t care what those photos make it look like. They’re lies.”

  He banged the back of his head against the headrest. “Damn. Damn. Who do I believe, Giulia? You? The tangible digital evidence in my coat pocket? Blake?”

  “I’ve never told you a lie, Frank.”

  “Everyone lies, Giulia. I lie to my brothers about how successful I am. Nature-girl Sidney might be a closet Twinkie addict. You lied about Blake standing naked in your living room. You’re no different.”

  “Don’t you dare equate—”

  “Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do, Ms. Falcone. Don’t try to assume the all-holy nun mantle when it suits your convenience.”

  “I never do that. I want you to listen—”

  “I want you to be who I thought you were. What kind of a—never mind. When the stalker is stopped, you’ll no longer be my employee. Correct?”

  “Yes.” She opened the door before her stoic front crumbled. She preceded him inside and went straight to her desk.

  Sidney came out of the bathroom. “Hey, Ms. Falcone. How was lunch?”

  Frank’s door slammed. Giulia typed like the keys were cheap meat that needed pounding. Sidney tiptoed to her own desk and read the document on her screen.

  _____

  “Sidney, if I had the money, I’d give you a raise,” Frank said Thursday morning. “Two dog-walkers and one jogger passed me this morning, and none of them gave me a second glance.”

  He moved to Giulia’s desk. Today he dressed like any off-duty detective. Khaki pants, blue shirt open at the collar, linen-weave blazer. “Anything to report?”

  “No. I switched from behind his porch swing to his bushes when the sun started to rise, then jogged the block for the last half-hour. Four people drove to work—probably—between five and six. Nothing else.”

  “Fine. Here are my notes.”

  “The spreadsheet will be updated before noon.”

  “What’s your plan for tomorrow morning? We can’t use the landscaper disguise two days in a row.”

  “Eager college student.”

  His forehead crinkled. “What?”

  “Before sunrise, I’ll jog down the street or across the intersection where I can still see. As soon as it gets light enough, I’ll bring out a sketch pad and draw. If anyone asks, I’m analyzing styles for my MFA in architecture.”

  _____

  “Envelope for you, Ms. Falcone.” Sidney turned it left and right in her hand. “I can’t make out the return address.”

  Giulia took it like it held a live scorpion.

  Sidney knocked on Frank’s door and opened it. “Mail, Mr. Driscoll.”

  “Anything important?” He didn’t look up from his screen.

  “Phone bill, junk, résumé-looking envelope, and an envelope for Ms. Falcone.”

  “What? Ms. Falcone, bring it in here. Thanks, Sidney, that’s all.”

  Giulia dragged her feet across the room. Zombies must function like this. Her only clear thought was how much she did not want to open this plain, square envelope.

  Frank made the gimme gesture with his hand. “Let me see it. Smudged return address, of course. Use my letter opener.”

  Giulia slit the flap and pulled out one of those cards that play music when opened. Her fingers touched the battery-powered computer chip in the back.

  “What does it say? Show me.” Frank came around to stand next to her.

  Her face. On a camel’s body. It made no sense. She’d expected a new X-rated photograph.

  “A camel?” Frank looked from Giulia to the card and back. “Is this biblical?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Open it.”

  She started to breathe a quick prayer. Useless. She’d renounced God.

  “Open it, Ms. Falcone.”

  Cackling laughter. She closed it. Opened it again. Sort of like the Wicked Witch of the West mixed with Woody Woodpecker. She read the cartoonish text: “ ‘Although you use an abundance of soap, the stain of your guilt is still before me. Consider what you have done. You are a swift she-camel running here and there, sniffing the wind in her craving— in her heat who can restrain her?’ ”

  Giulia flung the card to the floor. “You bitch!”

  Frank caught her arm as she ground her heel into the computer chip. “Stop! I need to see it.”

  She kicked it into the far corner and it popped open. The laughter slurred into a drunk-sounding Woody Woodpecker.

  “What for? So you can point out how each word applies to me? Let me save you the trouble.” She stalked to the corner and clawed the card up from the floor. “This is probably Jeremiah or Ezekiel. Let’s see. Nothing can make me clean again. That’s clear. She’s acquired a sense of humor, too. That’s a pretty mangy camel she put my head on. I especially like the lively translation she used for the quote. The RSV and King James are so stodgy when it comes to sex.”

  “Giulia, calm down.”

  “We’re back to Giulia now? Of course. Women like me don’t need the dignity of last names. Everyone in Tutti Mangia knows that now. Did you see how the busboy stared at me? Maybe he was wondering if his tips would cover a quick blow job.”

  “Giulia, stop it.”

  “Are you afraid I won’t give you a full day’s work after yesterday? Or that I might try to sabotage this investigation out of spite? After all, I’m a liar, right? I’m the filthy whore who spread her legs to keep the client happy. No, wait.” She held up the card and pointed to it like the teacher she’d been. “I’m a she-camel in heat—nobody can restrain my lust.”

  “Giulia Falcone, shut up!”

  She let the card fall to the desk. The slow-motion laughter petered out at last.

  God, she was tired. Too many nights of sleeping in snatches between rape nightmares, photograph nightmares, homeless nightmares. If the landlord evicted her when she lost this job, would she sleep better under the Delaware Street Bridge? Was the convent really worse than all this?

  She tucked her trembling hands into her skirt pockets. “Do you want me to leave now, Frank?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh. Well. That’s that. “I’ll clean out my desk.”

  “What? No.” He stood toe to toe with her until she looked up. “I want you to go home and get some sleep. You look like death warmed over. Just set your alarm so you make it to Pamela’s house on time tomorrow morning.”

  This sounded like the old Frank, before those photographs appeared on the door. His face showed concern—but the minimal kind. The boss making sure his employee was able to do her job. Well, it was more than she expected.

  “Thanks.”

  She shuffled to her desk and shut down her computer.

  Sidney wasn’t even pretending to work.

  Friday afternoon, Giulia poked her head around Frank’s door.

  “Frank, let me see the clue collage. Something’s bugging me.”

  “Come in.” He waved to the wall on Giulia’s left.

  She read and made notes and compared interview quotes and background information unti
l Sidney buzzed Frank’s phone. “I’m leaving, Mr. Driscoll. Break a leg tonight and have a nice weekend.”

  Frank typed a moment longer, then closed the document. “She only says goodbye to me? Don’t you count?”

  “She’s afraid of me.”

  “Of you? Why on earth—oh. Yesterday.”

  “Duh, Frank. If you’d explain what the blowup was about maybe she’d try to understand.”

  “Ms. Fal— Giulia—”

  “But since you still believe the photos and not me, there’s no point, is there? After I leave, she’ll have a great story for the next admin. All about the crazy ex-nun who slept with the client and wrecked her career.”

  _____

  The conductor closed his music as the applause dwindled.

  “Good show, everyone. Nice job on the Minuet tonight. Sounded like cats yowling. Keep it up.”

  Giulia broke down her flute and clipped her score together. Just after ten o’clock. In five hours, her alarm would ring.

  “Excuse me, First Flute.”

  Giulia looked up into broad pecs under a tight black T-shirt. Up higher, into the smiling face of the Second Violin.

  “This is the right moment to give you this.” A chocolate rose appeared in his hand.

  “I—it is?”

  “To be honest, I meant to give it to you last Saturday, but I lost my nerve.”

  Giulia’s brain short-circuited.

  He held out the rose. “I’m glad I didn’t, though, because you look like you really need it tonight.”

  To her left, Frank slammed home the locks on his cello case.

  Giulia took the rose.

  “Do you have any plans tonight?”

  His physique was even more impressive up close. She caught a whiff of the same shampoo she used. A frisson of intimacy ran through her. She willed her brain to connect with her mouth. “I have to be at work at four a.m.”

  “Ouch. Can I talk you into one drink?”

  This was the Second Violin asking her out. Forget five hours of sleep. She’d manage on three. “Fair warning: at midnight I turn into a pumpkin.”