Staying Cool

by Catherine Todd

“Diana, I can’t ignore the fact that I think the boy we convicted is innocent. How could I live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to try to prove it?”

  “How can you live, period, without an income?”

  “You’re really cutting me loose?”

  “What choice do I have?” she asked. I could have named a few, but I sensed it was a rhetorical question. “Look at it from my point of view. You’re costing us clients. The reputation of the firm is at stake. Against that, all I have is your quixotic quest on behalf of some sleazeball burglar. Couldn’t you go to the Self-Realization Fellowship or the Golden Door instead? Why do you have to find meaning in life this way?”

  I started to protest that I wasn’t looking for meaning in life, but I wasn’t so sure that was true. “Diana, I know you too well to think that all you care about is business,” I told her, although I had no such certainty. “I know you’d be prepared to make sacrifices for the sake of principle, if you really believed in something.”

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid sacrifice is going to be the key word here. I’m sorry.”

  “Couldn’t you hold off just a little?” I asked her, feeling like Willy Loman or a David Mamet character. “I think I’m pretty close to getting Ramon off the hook. After that, the police can find out who did it on their own.”

  “Define ‘a little,’” she said, after a minute.

  “A couple of weeks?” I hoped that would be enough to wrap up my relationship with Ivanova Associates. If I was right about what was going on, there was going to be a lot more to write about than blind dates with the wealth-impaired.

  “I don’t know, Ellen. I’m feeling really uncomfortable about this whole thing. What if there’s negative publicity? It would drive even more people away.”

  “Or attract more business,” I pointed out. “I think whoever’s spreading these stories about me must be connected with Natasha’s death. When we find out the truth, one way or the other, the rumors will stop.”

  “Truth is an overrated commodity,” she said. “It doesn’t put food in your mouth.” She sighed. “Why don’t we review where you are with your clients? Then we’ll have a better idea of our alternatives.”

  The electric chair or death by injection? For obvious reasons, I was less than eager to discuss the status of certain clients. I wouldn’t lie to her, but if she didn’t bring it up, I might be able to keep her in ignorance a while longer. If she felt uncomfortable now, how was she going to feel when she found out I was trying to implicate at least one of our clients in some very messy goings-on? “Um,” I said.

  “I have the list right here,” she said. “Ellen?”

  “Fine. Sure.” The death knell to my job, barring divine intervention or other equally unlikely felicitous occurrences.

  “Burbage,” she said. She must have been clutching the list all along, waiting.

  “The artist and I just installed the painting this week,” I told her. “Over the TV panel.”

  “God help us,” she said, sounding disgusted. “Any other work from him?”

  “Not right away. He’s waiting till he lands a bigger role in a series before he redecorates.”

  She snorted indelicately. “Davis.”

  “I took him to the County Museum of Art, and he fell in love with the Japanese screens. He wants me to get him one, but he’s not in any hurry. As a matter of fact, he’s on vacation till the end of the month.”

  And so on. Name by name, she moved down the list. The closer she got to L, the more inarticulate I became. Visions of unpaid bills kept distracting me.

  “Livingston,” she said. Ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

  “Um,” I said, hoping for inspiration. None came. “Um, there’s a problem,” I told her.

  “A big problem or a small problem?”

  “I don’t want to stack the deck,” I said.

  “Christ. What is it?”

  “I might have to go to the police with some evidence about Bruce,” I said. “I’m afraid he’s mixed up in Natasha Ivanova’s death somehow.”

  “Tell me I’m not hearing this.”

  “I don’t know for sure that he killed her,” I said hurriedly.

  “Is that supposed to be comforting? Ellen, you cannot do this.”

  “Don’t you want to hear what I’ve got on him?”

  “In a purely social context, I’m sure I’d be very entertained. In a professional context, that’s the last thing in the world I want to hear.”

  “But, Diana—”

  “No ‘buts,’ Ellen. I take it you didn’t actually see him wielding the bloody Erté, or anything like that?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “No hard evidence at all that he did the murder?”

  “I don’t need to know that he did the murder, although it seems possible,” I protested. “I don’t have all the facts yet. I just need to know that Ramon didn’t do it, and Bruce is part of that picture.”

  “I take it that means ‘no hard evidence.’”

  “None,” I admitted.

  I could hear her take a deep breath. She sounded as if she might be hyperventilating. “Would you just think for a minute? What if you go to the police or the D.A. or whoever with this information about Bruce, whatever it is? What if you’re wrong—have you considered that? If you could make a mistake when you’re on a jury, hearing every piece of evidence the state can dredge up, what makes you think you’re infallible now?”

  “I don’t think I’m infallible. I won’t do anything rash, I promise.”

  “I wish I could believe you, Ellen, but I can’t. Have you thought that in addition to wrecking your own reputation, and our firm’s, you risk getting sued for slander, libel, whatever? Besides, even if you’re right, do you think any of our well-to-do clients would ever feel comfortable with you again? They trust you, Ellen, because you’re one of them.”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “You certainly won’t be if you go through with this. You’ll be lucky if you can sell nudie calendars to gas station owners.”

  I was trying not to be swayed by this apocalyptic vision of my future, but I could barely suppress a shudder. “Diana, I should tell you that there are other people involved. Even if I withdrew right now, the truth, about Bruce Livingston will probably come out anyway. All I can do is promise that I’ll make absolutely certain of the facts before I do anything.”

  She paused. “I guess there’s nothing more to be said.”

  “I guess not.”

  She sighed. “I’ll need to consult our attorney, so I’ll get back to you in a couple of days with a termination contract. Meanwhile, I trust you to sever the contacts you got through the firm in as graceful a way as possible. When we’ve had a day or two to think, we can get together and go over the client list. I don’t want to make this hard for you, Ellen, and I don’t want you to starve. I’ll be as generous as possible. I hope you know that.”

  “I know that, Diana,” I told her. It was hard to believe in her generosity when she was firing me, but I suppose I didn’t have any choice. It gave me an idea. “I guess I can’t blame you for giving in to blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?” She sounded annoyed, as if I’d doubted her altruism.

  “Sure. What else would you call it? Someone—maybe a murderer—is trying to get you to force me to drop my investigation into Ivanova Associates. He’s threatening to trash your reputation if you don’t give in, so what else can you do? I understand.”

  “Oh, Christ, Ellen, don’t do this to me,” she muttered. “You know I’m a Catholic.”

  “Do what?” I inquired innocently.

  “Make me feel guilty.”

  I didn’t say anything. I let the silence work for me.

  “Christ,” she said again, after a moment. “All right. Three days. That’s all I can give you. After that, I go to the lawyers.”

  “Thanks, Diana,” I said fervently. “You won’t be sorry.”

  “
I wish I had your confidence.”

  I hoped she couldn’t discern what a negligible quality that was at the moment.

  “There is one thing I insist on,” she said.

  “What?”

  “That I inform the Livingstons today, if possible, that some other consultant will be working with them in the future. I can’t risk having them think you used your position to get information about Bruce. You have to break off all contact at once. Promise me you won’t call them, or we don’t have a deal.”

  I didn’t tell her I had a strong suspicion that Julia had already kissed me off for reasons of her own.

  “Ellen?” she prompted me.

  “I promise,” I assured her.

  30

  I tried to call Scott and tell him I had only three days to wrap things up before Diana pulled the plug on my career, whatever was left of it after the Crazed Rumormonger had done his worst. I doubted that three weeks would be sufficient, much less three days, and I wanted to talk it over with him. But I couldn’t reach him anywhere. I wondered if he’d gone up to Stanford to visit his son.

  It’s my final day with the BMW, and I wanted to take one last picturesque drive along the coast before I gave it back to Alvino. Driving a car like that was like vacationing in Tahiti—great fun, but you couldn’t actually live there. At least, I couldn’t. After going around with the top down for a week, my nose was peeling from sunburn, and the laugh lines were threatening to turn into furrows. Still, I was going to miss zipping around the hills at warp speed in a car once driven by 007.

  I remembered my vague promises to Alvino about publicity in the article and decided I’d better check with Cynthia to see if there was any way to use photographs with the car in them. After our last conversation, I wasn’t eager to call her up again so soon, but Jeff Riley was on vacation, and Cynthia was all I had. With luck, I could keep it short, and Scott’s name would never come up.

  Fat chance.

  “I heard you and Scott have been making progress,” she told me, less than two minutes into the call.

  Under the circumstances, that could have a number of meanings. “Where did you hear that?” I asked her, hedging.

  “Scott told me.”

  Oh. I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t stop myself. “When did you talk to him?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. Does it matter?” She knew it did, I could tell.

  “No, of course not.” Like hell it didn’t. Scott had talked to her twice in a few days when I’d been calling all over town trying to reach him. I will not get paranoid, I promised myself. Scott is interested in me. He said so himself. If only he’d given me his high school ring to seal the bargain. How did she do this to me every time? “I just wondered how up-to-date you were, because there have been some new developments since I talked to you a couple of days ago,” I told her.

  “So what’s up?” she asked me.

  I gave her an expurgated version of the events of the last couple of days, stopping well outside My Dinner with Scott and its culmination. I ended with my just-terminated conversation with Diana. I tried not to dwell on its implications for my future prosperity, but Cynthia was no dummy.

  “That’s too big a price to pay,” she said. “This story isn’t worth jeopardizing your whole career.”

  “I’m not doing this for the story,” I reminded her. “But if it works out, it’s going to be a doozy.”

  “Well,” she said, “maybe it’s time for me to take a more active role in the investigation.”

  “What about your leg?”

  “It’s coming along. I get my walking cast in a matter of days. If I took part, you could back out of it altogether. Get your life back in order. It’s not as if you’re really a journalist. What does Scott advise?”

  “I haven’t been able to reach him,” I admitted.

  She clucked her tongue. “Did you try the hospital?”

  “The hospital?”

  “Sure, didn’t he tell you?” Her tone was pitying.

  “Apparently not,” I told her, with a dry mouth.

  “They think his father may have had a stroke. I gather he’s not in the best of health anyway, so they’re doing all kinds of tests. I assumed you’d know, since you’re working together.”

  “Well, I didn’t.” I wasn’t thrilled about confessing that, but what could I say?

  “So how about it?” she inquired.

  “How about what?”

  “Do you want me to step in for you so you can go back to your old life?”

  I hesitated, searching for words. “I appreciate the offer, Cynthia,” I said finally, “but to tell you the truth, I’ve discovered that my old life didn’t have so much to recommend it. It’s time to move on. The one thing I’m sure of is that I want to see this through myself.” I wanted to emphasize the point. “I feel pretty strongly about it, actually.”

  “No matter what it costs you?” she said incredulously.

  “Of course not. If Andy were seriously threatened, of course I’d back down. But within reason, yes.”

  “I see,” Cynthia said. “You’ve changed, haven’t you? You used to be—I don’t know—sort of timid about some things.” She sounded almost annoyed. “What about your career?

  “I don’t know,” I told her honestly. “I’m not a fool. Of course I’m worried. But if Diana cuts me loose, and maybe even if she doesn’t, I’ll work something out. I have contacts and friends. I’ll try to use them, if I have to.”

  “I wish you luck,” she said, in the tone you might use to someone sending in the entry form to the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. “Well, whatever happens, you’ve exorcised your fear of dating, haven’t you? Plus, there’s always the chance you might meet somebody suitable through the dating service.”

  I laughed. “Don’t expect miracles.”

  When she’d hung up, I called the area hospitals until I tracked down Scott’s father. I found him at Little Sisters of Mercy. The receptionist said he was in stable condition and out of intensive care. I thanked her and put down the receiver. Now that I knew Mr. Crossland was all right, I felt better, but I wasn’t going to bother Scott at his father’s bedside. I wasn’t going to dwell on the fact that he’d told Cynthia and not me, either. It wasn’t productive, and right now I had to produce. I settled for leaving a message on his voice mail saying that I was sorry to hear about his father and that I had some new developments on the case, but they could wait till he had time to deal with them.

  Before I could proceed with the next step, which I supposed should be finding out whatever information Tommy had come up with, the phone rang again. I let the machine pick up and listened to see who it was. I couldn’t afford any frivolous distractions.

  “Ellen, it’s me.”

  I recognized the voice. I walked over to the phone, but I didn’t lift the receiver.

  “It’s Cynthia,” she said, less certainly. “Please, if you’re there, pick up. I really need to talk to you.”

  I sighed and gave up. “Hi,” I told her. “I was just on my way out. What’s up?”

  “I’m a shit.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Thank you for telling me,” I said.

  “No, I mean it. I have to tell you something.”

  “Go ahead,” I invited her.

  “I called Scott yesterday. He didn’t call me. He was just on his way out.”

  “That’s not a big deal, Cynthia.”

  “Let me finish. When he told me about your investigation, I got the impression he was interested in you. More than a little interested. I felt like an idiot after what I said to you the other day about Scott and me. I’d sort of thrown myself at him, just like I warned you not to. Well, the truth is, I was…jealous of you.” She said it in such a low voice, I could hardly hear her.

  “You were jealous of me?”

  “Does that surprise you? Scott’s the biggest catch around. Not only that, but you’re getting to work on this incredibly juicy story, and I’m stuck
here on the couch with my foot propped up. Wouldn’t you be jealous?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person, Cynthia. I’ve been jealous of you since high school.”

  “You’re kidding! Is that why you slept with Richard?”

  “I hope not, but it might be,” I told her honestly.

  “Well, um, the thing is, I sort of let it drop about you and Richard. I mean I hinted strongly that you’d betrayed our friendship. I’m so sorry. It was an inexcusable thing to do.”

  “Well, it’s the truth, Cynthia. I’m not proud of it, but I did do it. I’m not thrilled that you told Scott”—that was the understatement of the decade—“but what was inexcusable was doing it in the first place.”

  “No, we’ve been over that. You weren’t yourself. I forgave you a long time ago. Or at least I thought I did.”

  “Having an excuse doesn’t make it right. If I’ve learned anything from this Ivanova case, it’s that people make choices and have to stand by what they do.”

  “I’m still a shit,” she said.

  “Okay, we’re both shits.” I laughed. I felt amazingly liberated. “Look, Cynthia, this rivalry has been going on for almost thirty years. We’re too old for the jealousy bit by about two decades. What do you say we put an end to it?”

  “That’s magnanimous,” she said.

  “I’m in a hatchet-burying mood.”

  “Fine by me,” she said. “You and Scott…”

  “It’s early days yet,” I told her.

  “I hope it works out.”

  So did I, but if it didn’t, I would still be okay. Not ecstatic, but okay.

  “And anyway,” she said, unable to bury the old Cynthia completely, “if it does, just remember I told you so.”

  My sister-in-law told me my brother was still at work. “But I know he wants to see you,” she said. “He might even drop by.”

  “That would be great, Dorie. I want to thank you for helping. I know you’re the one who convinced Tom to visit our mother.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out that well,” she said softly. “But I did it for him, not for her.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I understand how he feels. From his perspective, she may not even deserve the attention, but I’m still very grateful.”