“Can you help me?” I asked.
“Celeste Smith is a tough one to crack,” he said. I may be able to get you access, but I can’t make her talk to you.”
“Access is all I ask.”
“All right, then,” he said. “There’s a little benefit party at the Century Plaza tonight. Celeste and His Nibs will be there.”
“You can get me in?”
“Hell yes. You’ll be my date. We’ll get so bombed and obnoxious that unless Oprah goes on another diet, we’ll headline The Inquirer for weeks.”
“You’re driving all the way into L.A. for this gig?”
“Why not?” He glanced at the blonde, caught her yawning. “Nothing doing around here.”
“Black tie?”
“Always.”
“What time?”
Garth reached out and smoothed the lapel of my jacket. “Can you spend the day? We’ll relax a little, go out to the Orchard for lunch. Drive in later together.”
“I wish I could, Garth. But there’s so much I have to do. I’ll meet you in town tonight, around eight, Emily’s apartment. You remember where it is. Is that okay?”
“If it has to be,” he said. “Anything I can do for you in the meantime?”
“Maybe. How complete is the film library at the station?”
“For local news, excellent. Anything beyond the Coachella Valley, I can get from the network. What do you want?”
“1969. Nightly news reports from early August until Christmas day.”
“Sports and weather, I assume.”
“The Peace Movement. War news.”
He nodded. “Emily and Marc.”
I handed him a list of the people indicted with Emily. “Anything you can find.”
“Sure,” he laughed. “What are friends for, except to abuse?”
“You take abuse so well,” I said.
The blonde stood up and stretched to her full, and impressive, height.
“Are we going to play tennis or what?” she demanded. “Let’s ‘or what’ for a while.” Garth grinned. “We can play tennis anytime.”
“Forget it.” She picked up her drink and carried it into the house.
“Sorry, Garth,” I said. “I’ve interrupted things.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll work on the news tapes this afternoon, bring what I have tonight.”
“You really want to do this?”
“It’s a privilege to be asked. I remember Emily Duchamps when she was taking a lot of flak. I believed in her then. I still do.”
“I believe in her, too,” I said. I sipped the Ramos fizz he handed me. It hit my empty stomach like a cold bolt, but it tasted good.
“Are you feeling sad, baby?” he asked.
“Yes. At the same time, I’ve met so many people who care deeply for Emily that I’ve begun to finally understand who she was. I feel some of her strength.” I handed him the glass. “Garth, she’s going to die. But she lived the life she wanted to. She left a mark. Who can ask for more?”
“Can’t ask for nothin’ more.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you tonight and we’ll set the city on its butt.”
Garth may sound like a patronizing son of a bitch, but I love him. I can say anything to him and face no risk. That’s a rare quality in a friend.
As I walked away from him, I was thinking also of Jaime, of how awful it is to leave people behind. I had moved frequently, following jobs. In my wake I had left many friends, a husband, a world of possibilities.
Garth held the front door for me. “What are you wearing tonight?”
“I’ll come up with something.”
“The station still has a contract with Desert Mode. You might give them a call, drop my name.
“Thanks,” I said. I will.”
“Take care of yourself,” Garth called after me.
“See you at eight.”
“I’ll count the minutes.”
Something occurred to me as I unlocked the car. “We’re going to a fundraiser for what?”
“Carrie Smith Clinic, drug rehab for teenagers.”
“Who is Carrie Smith?”
“Celeste’s daughter. She ODed late last year,” he said. “She was thirteen.”
I got into Max’s car and backed out into the street. I wasn’t feeling at all like attending a gala fundraiser, especially one that promised to have sad undercurrents. But if it was the only way to see Celeste, then I would do it. I had been well-trained by Garth.
I called Desert Mode as Garth had suggested. The shop was a boutique on El Paseo in Palm Desert that had dressed me for my nightly newscasts way back when I still read the news. I had always hated the clothes they sent over—desert glitz—but the price was right: nothing more than a promotional plug. So I called them.
After I mentioned Garth’s name, the shop owner was willing to honor the old arrangement one more time.
“Are you the same size?” she asked.
“Same size, yes. Just make adjustments for the effects of gravity,” I said. I need everything. Dress, shoes, underwear. It’s black tie in Century City.”
“I’ll take care of you,” she said. “Mention my name during the evening.”
“Early and often. Can you send it to Garth Underwood’s by five o’clock?”
“He’s at the same address?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Maggie. You’ll be magnificent.”
“Passable is all I ask.”
“Magnificent is what I’ll deliver.”
I envisioned sequins and shoulder pads. I really didn’t care, as long as it got me through the door at the Century Plaza.
Chapter Eleven
Aleda Weston was scheduled for arraignment in federal court at two o’clock. I wanted to be there early to talk with Fay Cohen.
It was nearly eleven by the time I got back on the freeway headed for L.A. If traffic cooperated, and I drove like a bat out of hell, I figured I might also be able to squeeze in a few minutes with Emily and my parents at the hospital.
I made good time as far as Norco. Then I hit the weather front. There was a deluge. It so rarely rains in Southern California that people forget from one storm to the next how to drive on wet streets. That meant bumper cars the rest of the way in.
Every few minutes, I tried to call my mother at the hospital, to check in. But the weather played hell with the telephone cells, and I couldn’t get through. Everything rolled together made me feel antsy. I’ve never mastered being in two places at once, or flying over obstructions, and that frustrates the hell out of me.
When I finally arrived downtown, I was out of time. If I skipped the hospital and drove straight to the federal courthouse where the hearing was scheduled, and if I lucked into a decent parking place, I knew a few minutes with Fay would be the most I could hope for. Mother would understand, that’s her nature. But it’s not mine. I was fuming.
I found parking in a public structure only a block and a half away. When I cleared the metal detectors at the courthouse entrance, I had maybe ten minutes, optimum, to find Fay and pound her ear. Still feeling juiced, I stopped at the information desk to ask for the department number and directions. What the desk officer told me stopped me like a full speed run at a block wall:
“There is no Weston arraignment scheduled in this court this afternoon,” she said, unmoved by my persistence. “You might call the court clerk.”
I called Metro Detention.
“Aleda Weston was arraigned at oh-nine-hundred hours and kicked,” I was told.
“Could you interpret that?” I asked.
“She posted bail and left.”
Not what I expected to hear. “Where is she now?” I demanded.
“I don’t have that information.”
I had such a weird feeling, like coitus interruptus I had said to Flint. That pretty much describes it. I had come expecting answers, some resolution. Suddenly, zip. Nothing. Christmas without Santa.
&nb
sp; For a good minute, I stood in the cavernous court lobby trying to figure out which way I had come in and how and where I should go next, and whether or not I should just sit down on the marble floor and cry.
The handful of change I had dumped on the shelf under the telephone lay there like a rebuke. I could call around, but I didn’t know where to start. Fay Cohen must have been staying in the city, but I had no idea where. I did try Max, but of course he wasn’t in. I doubted whether Flint would even speak to me, and I had no idea what I would say to him: “How’s the love bite on your neck?”
While waiting for inspiration, I plunked some coins into the slots and dialed Denver. I hoped I wasn’t waking Linda from her afternoon nap. I prayed I wouldn’t have to argue with Scotty about his complaint of the day, whatever it might be. I wanted only to speak with my daughter.
To my great relief, Casey herself answered the phone. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“Okay.” The connection was scratchy. “Snowed last night and the powder on the slopes today was really good.”
“You skied?”
“Uh huh. With Dad. How’s Aunt Emily?”
“The same. Grandma and Grandpa are with her.”
“Oh,” was all she said.
“Have you thought any more about coming to Ireland with me?” I asked.
“Sure. It’s cool.” But she sounded cool.
“How’s Linda feeling?”
“She throws up a lot.”
“When is the baby due?”
“In June,” Casey said. “It’ll be strange to have a brother or sister. I mean, I don’t have a lot of relatives.”
“Good strange or bad strange?” I asked.
“Good, I guess. Babies are pretty cute.” There was a pause; then her voice came back very low. “Dad’s really happy.”
“He should be. He makes great babies.”
She made “Mom” sound like three syllables.
“Casey,” I said. “I’m happy Dad’s happy. You can enjoy yourself there and not be disloyal to me.
“I know that,” she snapped.
“Good.” I missed her more than I thought I would.
“Mom, when will we get back from Ireland?”
“I’m not sure. When the project is finished or the grant money runs out.”
“By June?”
“Long before,” I said. “Casey, you don’t have to decide about Ireland for a while. Wait and see how you feel when you come home from Dad’s after the holidays.”
“Okay. Mom, I have to hang up. We’re going to some kind of Christmas party.”
” ‘Bye. Have fun.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
I said good-bye and hung up, because one more word from her would have done me in. She was so far away and I really needed to hold her. Small uncomfortable insight here: I didn’t think I could get through the Ireland project without her company. What must it be like for Scotty, I wondered, month after month with only phone calls to connect them? I hoped he had a nice baby.
I gathered what was left of the change and poured it into my pocket. When I turned to leave, I walked face first into the broad chest of Flint’s partner, Detective Bronkowski. Surprised, I stumbled back and he caught me by the arm.
“Thought that was you I saw coming in,” he said. “McGee, right?”
“MacGowen,” I said.
“Right.” He hung on to my arm above the elbow. “I hear you’ve been out looking for scalps.”
“Just talking to old friends,” I said, thinking this surprise encounter was no accident. “Have you found out anything useful?”
“This and that,” he shrugged. “Case hasn’t broken yet. But it will.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Are you still staying at Emily’s?” he asked.
“At least through tonight.”
He handed me his card with its gold-embossed detective shield. “If you move, or you have anything you want to talk about, give me a call. You can reach Flint at the same number.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you out,” he said. We were in a big, empty lobby. He filled up his share of it with physical bulk rather than idle chatter while we walked. I knew he had something he wanted to say. He was awfully slow getting around to it. Maybe it was his technique, I thought. When he finally opened up, I was expecting him to say something like keep your nose out, or don’t track up the evidence. He surprised me again.
“Mike Flint’s a decent guy,” he said out of the side of his mouth, somewhere short of hostile.
“Yes,” I said. “He seems to be.”
“A good cop. I’d hate for him to get hurt.”
“So would I.”
“Uh huh.” Bronkowski tapped his chest above the tie tack. “I worry he might take a direct one right here. You know, from someone who was just fooling around.”
“You mean like a drive-by shooting?” I said.
“You know what I mean.”
“Flint’s a big boy. I suspect he can take care of himself.”
“He can,” Bronkowski said. “When he’s playing in his own league.”
I left Bronkowski in front of the courthouse. I turned once and saw him lumbering up the hill toward Parker Center, police headquarters. He had certainly given me something new to think about. I wasn’t aware that all that much had passed between Mike Flint and me. Some kissing and touching. He had been rougher than I expected. And I had liked it more than I thought I would. It was all vaguely disturbing.
The clouds began to clear just as I drove out of the parking structure. The sky was God-speaks-to-Moses stuff, straight out of the film files of Cecil B. DeMille. I had a lot of time to admire it. Though official rush hour didn’t begin for hours yet, traffic downtown already approached gridlock. I could have walked from the courthouse to French Hospital in the time it took me to drive.
It would have been nice to walk, I thought, to get a little fresh air to spur the thought processes. I simply couldn’t afford to walk. The parking lot charged three dollars an hour and I was down to the last twenty I had borrowed from Max.
At the hospital, I followed the sound of music to Emily’s room—Wagner played at top volume, the way it should be played. Emily used to argue with my father about Wagner. He insisted that one could appreciate Wagner without being a Nazi, no matter how Hitler had used his music. Emily disagreed noisily until Dad confiscated the keys to her VW bug, reminding her that the original bug was a product of the Third Reich. Even Emily had a price.
Because of the music, I expected to find my father inside. My mother was alone with Emily.
Lohengrin covered the sound of the door closing behind me. I paused for a moment and just watched her as she massaged lotion into Emily’s hands. No matter what she did, there was always an air of elegance about my mother. Her gray hair was pinned into its usual bun, a loose arrangement that always looks as if it’s ready to unravel, though it never does. She wore pleated gabardine trousers, loafers, a handknit sweater — a faculty wife’s uniform.
Emily inherited her long legs from Mother. They’re too thin and bony to look like much bare. But they do fabulous things for pants. Mother sat with one leg gracefully draped over the other, seeming very calm, considering the situation.
“Mother?” I said, reluctant to interrupt.
“Hello, dear.” She turned down the volume of the tape player and raised her cheek for a kiss.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” She smiled. “I think I’ve had rather a lot of Valium. Dr. Song has been an angel about it. Once I get home, I’ll probably sleep for two days. Ask me how I am once I’ve wakened again. The hysterics are doubtless waiting for a more chemically friendly atmosphere.”
I laughed. “Is Dad stoned, too?”
“No, the poor dear. He and Max are out making preparations to fly Emily up to Palo Alto. The doctor thinks more can be done for her in a larger
hospital. If she must move, we might as well have her closer to home. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” I said. “How is she?”
Mom touched Emily’s cheek. “No change.”
I went to the bed and leaned over Emily. The expression on her face was exactly as it had been the night before, her lips puckered into the same tight O. 1 felt discouraged. I sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her leg through the thin blanket.
“You look tired, Margot,” Mom said.
“I had a long night.”
“Have you learned anything useful?”
I shook my head. “I’ve collected more questions than answers. It’s maddening.”
“Aleda was very anxious to speak with you.”
That snapped me to attention. “You spoke with her?”
“Very briefly. I always thought the world of that girl. So did Marc. I always hoped something would develop between them. Such a shame what she’s going through.”
“Start at the beginning, please,” I said. “Where, when, who… “
“Let me think.” Mother glanced at her watch. “She telephoned rather early. She had been very sick during the night, she said. She didn’t sound well. The long trip across country and then incarceration just exhausted her. Jail always seemed to knock out Emily, too. The smell of the place, and all that racket, I suppose. I never much liked having a turn at bailing her out. Thank God you never put us through that.”
“Mother?” I prodded. “Aleda?”
“As I said, she was awfully sick. Rod Peebles—remember him? Awkward sort of duck. Rod was able to pull some strings. Privileges of office, I suppose. Maybe it’s not quite the fair thing, but now and then it is nice to have some influence on your side. Rod managed to get a judge out of bed for a quickie arraignment on compassionate grounds. Aleda was released into his custody. Nice of him. Odd, though. Of all that mob Em hung with, I never expected Rod to amount to much. Sometimes people surprise you.”
“Where is Aleda now?”
“Seeing a doctor, I hope,” she said with some force.
I called Rod’s assembly district office downtown and got a recording telling me the offices were closed for the day. I must have shown my disappointment. Mother took my hand.
Telling Lies Page 11
