The floor of the room was set three steps down from the doorway. From my perch I could see a huge fireplace at one end of the hall, groups of people socializing throughout the room, with waitresses scurrying around and offering food and wine. No tiny hotdogs wrapped in Bisquick here. There must have been three hundred peopie, and this was a Wednesday night. There were also a few large tuxedoed men with black cummerbunds and chiseled smiles interspersed among the crowd.
I was able to hear Simon before I saw him. His laugh, actually. It always reminded me of Celtic great Bill Russell. More of a cackle, really, than a laugh. I found its source in the center of a group of people about two o’clock from where I stood. I didn’t think I’d be around too long so I left the steps and walked over to his group. He saw me approach, nodded a welcome, and finished his story. I was close enough to listen, but instead chose the cacophony of indistinguishable voices that filled the room. I must have gotten lost in the motion and sound of the place because the next time I saw Simon he was pulling at my sleeve as he slowly began to lead me toward the steps.
“Have you seen Fran?”
“What?” I had to lean closer to him.
“Tonight. Have you seen Fran tonight?” Some man—about fifty, silver-haired and very expensively dressed—grabbed Simon’s arm and began to extoll the pleasures and virtues of marriage. I wondered whether his mistress was in the crowd. After he left Simon turned toward me. “Do you always have to be so fucking hostile?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.” He smiled as a jeweled middle-aged lady planted a bright red kiss on his cheek. I handed him my handkerchief.
“See, I’m not hostile.”
“Right. I forgot that you wear sunglasses to all the parties you attend.”
I grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled him to the side of the steps where we had some measure of privacy.
“Look.” I took off the glasses, gave him a few seconds to catch the green, and put them back on.
“What the hell happened?”
“I fell off a bike.”
“Bullshit!”
“Right as usual, Simon. Why did you ask if I had seen Fran?”
“We had a bet.”
I didn’t have to ask what it was. “Well, you won this one, but I hope you aren’t in a pool about how long I’ll stay.”
He grinned. “I’m not stupid, Matt man. Let’s try to find her upstairs. I want to know what happened to you. No one will notice if we’re gone for a few minutes.”
“They sure as hell won’t miss me.”
“Nor you them.” I recognized the voice, turned and looked up the stairs.
“Boots, it’s been a long time.”
She pointed toward my face and started down the stairs. “Working for the mob these days?” She landed alongside Simon and was holding back a smile. “No, no, it must be a fashion statement, to go with the rest of your dazzling wardrobe.”
I shook my head. “Time hasn’t lowered your nose, doll.”
She burst out laughing. During the period we hung out together I think I enjoyed her laugh the most. It was strong but not overpowering, ringing with ease and a lack of self-consciousness. She was Fran’s best friend but, unlike many a best friend/husband chill, she and Simon had a warm, independent relationship.
My friends, the matchmakers, were patient before they set us up. But two years to them was just the blur of a sleepwalk to me. Boots worked as a vice president for the phone company and had to have been hard as nails to chew her way past her male competition. I always suspected I gave her a chance to play Nightingale. I was drinking pretty heavily in those days and couldn’t have been easy. Still, I was surprised when she stopped seeing me without much of an explanation, but I was too drunk most of the time to realize I’d lost something. Hearing her laughter next to me now, I knew that I had.
She pointed to the glass of bourbon in my hand. “Well, the alcohol didn’t ruin your fast mouth.”
“It did for a while but hard work, perseverance, and chemicals returned the gift.”
Simon was giving up hope of dragging me off to Fran. If needed he could always get Boots to substantiate my presence and win his bet. He turned to me and grabbed my arm. He looked meaningfully toward my face, “I want to talk with you soon. Meet me in the solarium, okay?”
I nodded. Solarium, not greenhouse. I had forgotten.
Boots and I stood aside as Simon glad-handed his way up the stairs and out the door. It was fun to watch him work. Each person Simon chatted with seemed to walk away pleased by the encounter.
“I’m the only one he ever bashes,” I muttered.
“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
I wasn’t going to repeat something that was stupid the first time.
“Nothing.” The noise in the room had grown louder and I almost had to shout to be heard. Boots frowned, then grabbed my hand and pulled me around and up the stairs. Her hand was warm and looked very dark against my palm. Going up the stairs was a helluva lot more fun than it had been coming down.
We got to the hallway and paused. There were fewer people but I still caught a fair number of surreptitious looks. What was that longhair doing with such a lovely lady? And, she was lovely. Oliveskinned, high-cheekboned, and slender, with green eyes and black, thick hair, she looked like an aristocrat from Northern Italy. In the old days I figured she was slumming, but I used to tell myself it didn’t matter, sometimes she made my nightmares disappear.
She kept holding my hand—she always did like to shock—and pulled me toward the butler’s pantry. It had been commandeered by an expanded kitchen staff to serve as the waitresses’ pickup station. It was almost more boisterous than the ballroom. Someone with a chef’s hat raised his head and began to protest our presence, saw Boots, smiled, and waved us over to a protected alcove.
“You always had a way with men, doll.”
“Don’t ‘doll’ me. That’s Andrei. I’ve been eating here for years. What is this ‘doll’ shit—to go with your glasses? What are you doing now?”
I didn’t want it to sound like nothing had changed in the past couple of years. “I’m working as a detective.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “So you wear sunglasses?”
“Jesus, Boots, stop with the glasses already.” I took them off and pushed my face in front of hers. She squinted and said, “Put the glasses back on. Your face looks terrible.”
“Shoulda seen it a couple of days ago.”
“What happened?”
“Got it working on a case.” I grimaced as I heard the words. It didn’t matter that it was true; it still rang like a B movie.
“It’s pretty ugly. What happened to the other guy?”
“Maybe he was hit by a car. I was laying on the floor when they left.”
It was her turn to grimace. “Are you sure you’re in the right kind of work?”
I laughed. “That’s what everyone asks.” I had forgotten how pleas ant it felt to be around her. “And you? Still clawing your way toward a bathroom key?”
“You’re still so tactful. No, I already have it.” She had a mischievous and satisfied look on her face. “They had to build a whole new loo.”
I laughed again. Ma Bell without an executive bathroom for women. “They can’t fire you now. Too much invested.”
We stood quietly and watched as platters of food kept replenishing the long wooden table that ran the length of the room. It seemed as if Boots and I had run out of things to say. I wasn’t in a rush to separate but I didn’t want her to feel stuck.
“Listen, I’ve got to see Fran. She and Simon bet on whether or not I would show and he’ll shit if she doesn’t see me. Do you have a guess?”
Boots shook her head and a look of annoyance crossed her face. “Same old Matthew Jacob. Come on, we’ll find her. She’s probably in the solarium. Too many people downstairs.”
“What do you mean ‘same old’ me?�
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She shook her head again. “Forget it.” She started for the hallway and I followed. At least I didn’t have to negotiate the party alone. “What’s with the cast of thousands?” I tapped Boots on the shoulder as we entered the foyer. “I have trouble believing all these people are Simon and Fran’s friends.”
The good humor returned to her eyes. “Haven’t you been to a party here before?”
“Nothing like this.”
“Alex Hirsh isn’t going to celebrate his daughter without inviting every important person he can think of. Don’t you recognize anyone?”
“I don’t know. Some of them seem familiar.”
“They ought to be. Enough of them are on television.”
“These folk don’t guest on reruns.”
We were on the stairs leading to the solarium when she stopped and looked at me. “You’re an infuriating man, Matthew Jacob. You know exactly how to separate the wheat from the chaff but half the time you can’t find the damn bushel.”
What she said sounded right so I looked like I understood. I didn’t want it to seem like I couldn’t find the wheat.
We found the entire family, plus, right where Boots thought they would be. Alex stood by the immense curved windows that ran across the front of the room and down the entire southern face of the house. Fran and Simon were sitting on top of a pool table with Lena perched like a bird on a wing chair off in the corner. A number of vaguely recognizable personalities were spread throughout the room listening as Alex extolled the virtues of fatherhood. We entered and slid our way toward Simon and Fran.
“We have had nothing but nachas. Don’t get me wrong. You can’t have kids without worry, but it’s not the worry you remember.”
One of the jeweled blue-haired women couldn’t resist. “Alex my friend, if children are such a pleasure, why did you stop at one?”
But Alex was feeling too good to be disturbed by the catty remark. “I couldn’t tolerate the idea of dividing my affections. Also, Netti, we didn’t start with all this and I wanted Frances to have everything.”
A few people in the room turned toward Fran and smiled. She gave a slight wave acknowledging them as Alex relinquished center stage and the room began to buzz with independent conversations. Fran glanced at Boots and gave her a questioning look. Boots shrugged back. I began to feel uncomfortable, but Simon seemed oblivious to the interchange and said to Fran, “You owe me some money, hon.”
Fran turned toward me. “You’re full of surprises, Matt.”
I threw my hands up, palms out. “How can you say that? I told you I was coming.”
She laughed. “I’ve won a lot more of these bets than I’ve lost.”
Simon interrupted. “You’re going to drive him out of here before I get a chance to visit.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then told Boots, “I’m going to steal him for a few minutes if you can bear it.”
“Only on the condition you bring him back before he sneaks away.”
The three of them laughed. I managed a smile before Simon hopped off the table, grabbed my arm, and led me to the door. I could feel eyes on the back of my neck and I found myself hoping it was Boots. When I turned back to look, however, I was surprised to see Alex looking at the two of us intently. I guess I really was underdressed. Simon and I walked up another flight of stairs and entered a room that could have passed for a public library. “How’d I end up on Alex’s shit list?” I asked.
Simon looked at me with surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“I noticed him staring at me and it didn’t exactly look friendly.”
“You’re your usual paranoid self. He’s just interested in whether you’ve discovered anything.”
“He knows I agreed to spy on Fran?”
“Damn it, Matt, stop calling it ‘spying.’ All that does is make me feel guilty.”
I spoke without thinking, “You have nothing to feel guilty about, Simon.”
He looked at me sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean? Have you found anything out?”
“Nah, I told you there’s nothing to find out.”
“You’re holding something back, man. Don’t fuck with me.”
I thought about butchering my tongue while another part of my mind raced for something to say. I flashed on the Lincoln with the scraggly beard and used it for a life raft.
“Okay, I happened to notice a sleazy kid sitting in a Lincoln and the match didn’t seem right. It’s not going to amount to anything, and I didn’t want to encourage your fantasies.” It seemed lame to me; but Simon looked like he’d stumbled into a judgeship.
“All right! See, maybe I’m not crazy. Way to go!”
I shook my head. “No, man, this is why I didn’t want to say anything. It’s just more fodder for your delusions.” I felt badly, but better to feed his imagination than ruin his life. “Why does Alex know about all this?”
Simon rolled his eyes toward the molded tin ceiling. “He knows because I told him. I don’t think you understand how badly Fran is doing.”
“She doesn’t show it.”
“Yeah, she’s impressive that way. But listen, if you doubt me, ask Boots.” He looked at me slyly. “Still something there, huh?”
“Don’t be an asshole. I just ran into her, remember.”
He banged his forehead with his hand. “Right. I’m crazy about this too. If nothing’s there, why get angry?”
“I’m not angry.”
“Right. Anyhow, Alex is taking your search seriously.”
I was relieved to change the topic. “Well, Alex isn’t thinking any better than you. What I noticed is probably a kid with a rich father.”
Simon looked at his watch. “Well, you don’t know that yet. Do you have a way of tracing this kid?”
If I weren’t careful he’d have me hit the street now. “I’ll check, Simon, I’ll check.”
“Okay, Matt man, I knew you would deliver.”
“All I’m going to deliver is a busted inside straight.”
He clapped his hands. “Well, in that case, we better celebrate now. You wait here and I’ll get the girls.”
“Get the ‘girls’? Simon, you’ve lost it. Get the girls! You’re too happy about something that’s going to be nothing. And I don’t want to drink.”
“You just keep working. Also I know better than to try to keep you at a party with booze. Sit tight and prepare your nose.”
I didn’t need a second invitation. “I’ll wait, but you better ask one of the ‘girls’ whether she wants to come. I’m not exactly her best friend.”
Simon didn’t hear anything I said. He was intent on his celebration. While he was gone I walked around the room and tried to admire the appointments. I liked the smell of leather and wood but the atmosphere of white male supremacy was overbearing. It bothered me that Simon had spoken with Alex. It bothered me more that Alex had taken him seriously. Maybe I was missing something.
I was getting around to trying some drawers when Simon and Fran returned. I was glad Boots was with them.
Simon bustled over to the desk and removed a matte black cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket and opened it. From his other pocket he pulled a small glass bottle the size of his thumb, three-quarters full of coke. The three of us stood around the desk and silently watched him dump a quarter of the bottle on the case’s flat interior and spread it into lines. Hispanics just dumped it into their hand and snorted, but Anglos liked their tools. I loved the show. I loved cocaine. But I had always steered clear of leaning on it. My kind of love cost too much.
We took turns with the metal straw. I enjoyed the way Boots snorted. Nothing loud or protracted but she got every bit of her lines. The drug was coming on and I thought of sex with her. I forced my attention back to the desk and took my turn tooting until the case was empty. Everyone agreed that we’d had enough, but I still felt pangs of regret when Simon snapped the black case shut.
We made small talk while the drug did its damag
e and pushed my discomfort at being in the same room with Fran into a low murmur. After fifteen minutes of talking and laughing, Fran began to look like she was late for a meeting. “Simon, we have to go back downstairs. Dad is probably wondering where we are.”
I looked at Fran. “Who are all those people?”
She shrugged. “Dad can’t help himself. If he’s inviting more than four people over he invites the world. He says he can’t afford to offend anyone.” A bleak look crossed her face. “Mom hates these things. It’s hard on her. She’s not very social.” She looked at me and smiled. “You can relate to that.”
I could and, as the thought of going downstairs took shape, began to. Simon came over and handed me the small bottle.
“You don’t have to come downstairs now; just turn the lights out when you leave. But say goodbye before you split.”
A reward for pretense. I shoved the bottle into my pocket. “You got it, boss.”
Before they were out of the room Boots was sitting behind the desk with her feet up. Her dress was flounced around her legs, and she should have looked ridiculous. Should have, but didn’t. She looked like she belonged so when she told me to have a seat I did. I took a chair and moved it to where I could see her on a slant. I didn’t want to look up her dress.
The coke pumped words out of my mouth. “Why didn’t you go downstairs with them?”
“Your self-pity is tired.”
“No, I mean it. Why the interest? I thought we were doing okay, then I didn’t exist.” Sometimes I surprised myself. Coke balls. I squeezed my hands shut. Sweaty palms.
“You sound angry.” She leaned forward and her dress rode a couple of inches higher. Like hell I didn’t want to look.
“Nah, not angry, but my rule is one slum ride to a customer.”
She swung her legs off the desk and swiveled her chair until she was looking right at me. Her eyes were flashing. “You stupid son of a bitch. You always thought I was slumming.”
The Complete Matt Jacob Series Page 10
