by Lisa G Riley
“I’m not upset!” he practically yelled, and then had to catch himself because he was and he didn’t want to examine why. “You know what? If you want to keep this just between us, then we will. I’m good with that. I just don’t know how you’re going to do it.”
“We’ll just keep it to ourselves; that’s all.”
“Right,” Smith said doubtfully and made a turn onto Jasmine Street, the seediest street in town. It was full of single room occupancy buildings, a couple of second-hand stores and empty storefronts. It was also the location of the homeless shelter for men. The street led directly to the highway.
“Stop, Smith. I need to see Cousin Andrew,” Lily said.
“Andrew?” Smith murmured as he pulled over to the curb. He switched off the engine and turned to Lily. “You mean to tell me you guys still haven’t convinced that crazy old coot to get off the streets?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Her cousin Andrew had been homeless for as long as Lily could remember. It upset the entire family, but he refused to move in with anyone. A Vietnam vet, Andrew had not been the same since surviving the war, and had told his family that he didn’t do well among decent folk because they didn’t understand him. He’d said indoors smothered him and he needed the open air. The family capitulated to his wishes, and took care of him in the only way he’d allow: someone always checked on him and provided him with food, money and clothing when necessary. He showered daily at the men’s shelter and sometimes could be found there during the day playing board games. Her family knew that it was the best they could hope for.
Lily got out of the car and started walking towards the alley where her cousin usually staked his claim. She entered and to announce her presence, called out, “Andrew! Andrew Carven!”
“Who’s that?” A gruff voice demanded. “Who dares to enter here? Into the inner sanctum and showing no fear?”
Lily rolled her eyes and ignored the rhymes. He always spoke in them. Most times they made sense, but sometimes they didn’t. “It’s me, Cousin Andrew. It’s Lily.”
“Oh, it’s skinny, skinny, skinny Lily, the little girl as graceful as a filly. Will she get her man, or will she fail?” he sang out. “What’s that green stuff in the well?”
“I also brought Smith with me. You remember him, don’t you?”
“‘Course I remember the dude,” the voice called back, “the long tall Texan who eats all the food.”
At the back of the alley was a structure that was exactly seven feet tall and seven feet wide. It was covered in tarp and some kind of fur, which Andrew only used in the winter time. The floor of the place was also tarp and fur covered. He’d lived in what he referred to as his home for the past ten years. The family tried to make sure the structure was a sound as it could possibly be since he refused to seek shelter even during the coldest of times. The door was nothing more than a plank of wood with a knob. Lily had no idea how it was affixed, but when her cousin pushed it open and stepped through, it continued to stand.
Andrew was a man of average height and build, but all of the outer layers he had on made that difficult to discern. He was sixty-three and had lived most of his life on the streets of Sheffield-Chatham. Lily bent her knees a bit to look under the bill of his coon skin hat to see his face. His eyes were sparkling merrily -- if a bit madly -- at her. “Hi, Cousin Andrew,” she said and bent in to kiss his cheek.
He smiled. “Hi, Lil. What’s the deal? Hi, Texas man? What’s the plan?”
“No plan, Andrew,” Lily said. “Just on our way to Chicago and thought I’d drop in to see you. Do you need anything? I brought you some coffee. It’s got just a smidgeon of a hint of delicious blueberry,” she told him with a smile and ignored both his slight look of alarm and Smith’s soft sound of disgust as she held up a thermos. “I’ve also got some turkey sandwiches and apples here in the bag, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and wash clothes.” She handed him the thermos along with a brown paper bag.
“Thank you, Cousin Lily, for thinking of me.” There was no rhyme this time, just simple gratitude.
“You’re welcome,” Lily said softly. As usual she had to fight with herself to hold back tears and suggestions. He didn’t take either very well.
Andrew smiled again, and as if he knew what she was thinking, said, “No need to worry; I’m the self-actualized man. Look up Maslow’s Hierarchy to understand.”
“I do understand, Andrew. I’m just concerned about you that’s all.”
“Concern is unwarranted, pretty little girl.”
“Do you have laundry you need me to take?”
“Nope. The lovely Glenda took care of that for me just a couple of days ago.”
Lily looked around, wishing she could just force him home. “All right. We’ll be going, then. I’ll see you on Christmas Eve.” He usually came to the family gatherings for all the holidays and birthdays, and most times they could get him to spend the night.
“You bet, pretty pet. Bring me back some Gar-rett’s.”
Lily laughed at the mention of the famed Chicago popcorn treat. “Will do, cousin. You take care of yourself.”
“Always do, always will. You take care of yourself too, as part of the deal.” This time it was he who kissed her cheek. “No tears allowed,” he whispered.
But Lily let them fall for a brief moment as she and Smith left the alley.
Smith wrapped his arm around her. “Are you all right?”
Lily nodded and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. “Don’t mind me. The tears are par for the course whenever I drop in to see him. I just hate it that he lives like this.” He opened the passenger side door and she got in with a murmured thank you.
“As I remember it, he was nineteen when he decided to go to Vietnam, right?” Smith asked after getting in and firing up the ignition. He began to pull away from the curb.
Lily nodded as she fiddled with the heat dials to warm up. “Yes. He was a freshman at Loyola in Chicago double majoring in American History and English Lit. The family tried to talk him out of enlisting, but they couldn’t. Once a long time ago they had him committed, but I guess he was so miserable that he may as well have been catatonic. He didn’t communicate, barely ate and they had to force him to be hygienic. Needless to say, forced commitment was off the table after that.”
Smith nodded in understanding. “Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Jesus, I haven’t heard that term since my freshman year of college.”
Lily grinned as he pulled onto the highway. “You mean they actually taught something so lofty and progressive down in the great conservative state of Texas? Shocker.”
“We have our moments,” he said dryly.
“Speaking of Texas, are you ever going to tell me why you left? I mean, according to Mom, you had quite a lucrative business down there.”
Smith scowled and kept his eyes on the road. “The story’s nothing original. Crazy bitch has delusions of marriage to unsuspecting good ‘ole boy who escapes in horror when he learns of them. Crazy bitch runs crying to daddy who just happens to be a wealthy, well-connected senator. Ass hole senator confronts good ‘ole boy, demanding satisfaction for a wrong that never happened. Good ‘ole boy naturally refuses. Ass hole senator exacts revenge by making a few, but well-placed, calls and over a period of two months, all of good ‘ole boy’s contracts and contacts dry up. Always one to recognize a losing battle; good ‘ole boy leaves home to rethink his options and strategize, and in the meantime, make his name elsewhere.”
Lily was quiet for a few moments before saying, “So to translate: you were in what you thought was a casual relationship with a woman who obviously wanted more. And when you didn’t deliver, she told her dad who then used his connections to push you out. Oh, wow, cowboy,” she said with a concerned frown as she rubbed his arm in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
Smith’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as bitterness clawed through him. “That’s the thing. There was no relationship, casual or otherwise. She
was delusional. You know how we knew each other?” he asked angrily. He barely waited for Lily to shake her head in the negative. “We lived in the same neighborhood and would bump into each other in different places like the dry cleaners or the grocery store. We had coffee at the neighborhood café a couple of times, but that was only because she happened to come in while I was there. Now, though, I believe she planned all of those accidental meetings.”
Angry now herself, Lily said, “Well that’s just horrible. We’re going to have to do something about her. Have you been able to come up with anything? What about checking up on her past? Her father’s? I’m sure there are skeletons in both closets. It’s fighting dirty, but sometimes that’s the only way to fight. Whatever you need from me, you’ve got it. I mean it.”
Smith was smiling now and shaking his head. “That’s my Lily-bud: loyal to the bone.”
“I’m serious, Smith.”
“I know you are,” he said and took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
Chapter Seventeen
“Whaaat the fuuuck?” Smith asked in amazement as he looked up at a giant statue of Marilyn Monroe which stood on display on Chicago’s famed Michigan Avenue in the area known as Pioneer Court. The sculpture captured the 1950s actress in one of her most iconic poses. Standing on a subway grate, she wore a white halter dress, the flowing skirt of which she was trying in vain to hold down as imagined air from the grate blew the dress up, exposing a fabulous pair of legs. “It must be at least twenty, twenty-five feet tall.”
“Twenty-six,” Lily corrected and shrugged when he looked at her questioningly. “I was here when they were putting the thing up. Most Chicagoans seem to hate it, while as you can see, the tourists love it.” She gestured to the throngs of people who were taking pictures beneath the spread legs of the statue. “It’s kind of bizarre,” she murmured as she watched a woman pose a little boy so that he was hugging a bare leg and looking up underneath the dress.
“It’s from the Seven Year Itch, isn’t it?” Smith asked.
“Yeah.”
“I want to see her undies,” he said in an excited whisper, making Lily laugh. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her around to the back of the statue.
“Well, shit,” he said slowly as his gaze latched onto a huge pair of white lace panties. “Granny panties? They put the Blonde Bombshell in granny panties?”
Lily laughed some more at his disappointment. “Don’t think they had thongs when she was around, cowboy, and my guess is that the sculptor was trying to be true to history or the movie. Since I’ve never seen the movie, I wouldn’t know which. Besides all that, she’s not the one they called the Blonde Bombshell. That was Jean Harlow…” she trailed off when he gave her a look that asked how and why. Lily smiled sheepishly. “Mom and Dad are huge fans of old movies; you know that.”
“Who does that?”
The shocked whisper came from her right and Lily turned to see two little girls looking up at the statue with consternation and confusion. “Do you think she’s showing them on purpose?” the smallest one whispered in awe.
The larger child nodded gravely. “And what makes it worse is that she’s about a million feet tall, so like…like…the whole entire world can see!”
“She’s a bad girl!”
Lily laughed with delight, feeling completely in sync with their female pragmatism. Their mother tried to get them to pose with the statue, saying that it was okay because it was art. Lily smirked when they resisted. “Don’t blame them at all,” she muttered. She looked at her watch. “Come on, Smith, we’ve got to motor.”
They had an appointment at The Elite in fifteen minutes, and Lily knew with trying to get through the crowds of shoppers, tourists and business people thronging the popular avenue, they’d just make it in time. Smith took her hand in his and they began their five block trek.
When they’d first arrived in the city, they’d gone immediately to their hotel where they’d checked in and freshened up. They’d left Smith’s car in the hotel garage because driving in the city and trying to find reasonable parking made walking approximately twenty blocks in freezing temperatures seem like a piece of cake. They’d made reservations at a boutique hotel right near Millennium Park, one of Lily’s favorite spots in the city.
“So, what did Mrs. Landry say when you spoke to her? Anything new to report?”
Smith shook his head. “No, I would have told you if there was. She didn’t say much, except that she was miserable without her Charlie-bear and that if us banding together to work on the case helped bring him home, then she was all for it.”
Lily wrinkled her nose. “Charlie-bear? Are you making that up?”
“No, why would I? That’s what she calls him, has since the moment I met her.”
Lily laughed. “Seriously? She never did to me. Charlie-bear, huh? Cute.”
“Okay, here we are,” Smith said as they approached a beautiful red stone building. Oddly enough, the small building fit in fine with the surrounding high rise office buildings made of glass and steel.
They walked together up the short walk. “Oh, my gosh,” Lily said as she stared at the stained glass above the door. “It’s exactly the same as the Businessman’s Social Club back home. I don’t understand Latin, but the words are the same and that image with the lion and the gazelle is exactly the same.”
Smith studied it. “You’re right,” he said and watched as Lily copied the words down in her notebook. He waited for her to finish and then picked up the doorknocker -- which was exactly like the ones at the Businessman’s Social Club -- and let if fall. He did it twice more and then they waited. “We still agree that I should take the lead at this particular place, right?”
Lily nodded. They’d agreed on that course of action just in case the manager here was anything like the manager in Sheffield-Chatham. The appointment had been made through the secretary so they’d had no way of knowing. The door opened, and just like in Sheffield-Chatham, the man who answered was dressed in a black tuxedo. That was where the similarities ended. This man was not as tall; he was Asian and actually offered them a smile.
“Good morning. How might I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Smith Cameron and this is Lily Carstairs. We’re here to see Casey Townes.”
“Oh, yes. She’s expecting you. I’m Bill Tam. Do come in.”
Lily looked at Smith with a raised eyebrow as the man was closing the door. She? she mouthed.
The room was decorated in exactly the same way as the other club, prompting Lily to ask, “Is this a chain of some sort?”
Tam had been walking towards a side table that held a telephone. He paused and looked back at Lily with a confused smile. “Pardon?”
“I wondered if The Elite was part of some kind of chain. At home in Sheffield-Chatham there’s a club called --”
“Ah, yes, the Businessman’s Social Club.” Tam was nodding his head. “It’s no chain, but the clubs were started by one man, Mr. Andre Gossett in 1958. He was a Chicagoan, but spent half his time in Sheffield-Chatham because of business interests. He owned a house in your town and since he was spending so much of his time there, he wanted a club similar to The Elite that he could visit while he was in town. Mrs. Townes is his granddaughter. I’ll call her for you now.”
A few moments after Tam hung up the house phone, a willowy brunette appeared at the top of the curving staircase. She rushed down the stairs and towards them, reaching out her hand as she did so. “Hello, I’m Casey Townes,” she told them as she shook each of their hands. “Follow me,” she said after Lily and Smith had each introduced themselves.
They walked toward the staircase and as they came abreast of Tam, she asked Lily and Smith if they’d like something to drink.
“I’ll have coffee,” Smith said, “Just your plain ordinary every day coffee with cream,” he emphasized with a sidelong glance at Lily.
“All right,” Mrs. Townes said with some confusion in her voice. “And you, Ms. Carstairs?�
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“Coffee sounds good, thank you. I like it with cream and sugar.”
Townes nodded at Tam. “And bring something from the bakery as well, Mr. Tam, please.”
“Yes, madam.”
“I’m afraid I can only offer you about thirty minutes,” Townes said as they started up the stairs. “Things are quite busy around here.”
“Thirty minutes should do it, thanks,” Lily said and stepped into an office with white walls and carpeting.
“I can take your coats,” Towne offered.
After they were all seated, Towne gestured with her hand. “Ask away.”
“Is it all right if I tape our conversation?”
“That’s fine.”
Before they could get started, there was a knock on the door and Tam entered. He carried a silver serving tray ladened with a full silver coffee service; cups and saucers; napkins, silverware and a plate of cookies. He then set the tray on the desk and served everyone before leaving.
Smith took a deep drink from his coffee and asked, “When was the last time you saw Charles Landry?”
“That would have been early December, but he and his brother have been members since the 1970s.”
“Does he come in often, even though they’ve moved out of town?” Lily asked and bit into a cookie. She closed her eyes in surprised pleasure. “Ummm, these are heavenly.”
Townes laughed and took one for herself. “Sinful, too. Let’s see. You asked how often Mr. Landry visits. I’d guess we see him at least once a month, sometimes twice, but no more than that.”
Smith spoke up. “Know who he usually hangs with?”
“Oh, the usual suspects: his brother Simeon, James Anders, Terry Howell and Ash Montgomery. But if he’s with those other three, then Simeon Landry isn’t usually in the group.”
“Why is that, do you think?” Lily asked.
Towne shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s been that way since I’ve been here.”
“Do you know if any of the men you mentioned are here now?”
“Well I know Simeon isn’t. He and his family are in Aspen right now. They always go this time of year. I saw Mr. Anders in the billiard room earlier. I haven’t seen the other two, but I can take you to meet Mr. Anders if you’d like. ”
