by Carr, Robyn
She pulled her legs under her and sat on them. “I guess anything’s possible. So, why would he be looking for me?”
“Jennifer, he’s into you. You’re his squeeze.”
“He called me a bimbo. He wanted ‘something done’ about me.”
Alex tried to keep his smile to himself. He pinched her cute chin between his thumb and forefinger. The way she looked now, she just didn’t qualify. “He likes bimbos. Maybe he just wanted to make sure you got an explanation before you said anything that would get him in trouble. Maybe he wanted to be sure of your silence.”
“It didn’t sound like that, Alex.”
“In the moment, it didn’t. But the feds are watching him, and in watching him they’re very sure who Barbara is. If they say she’s alive, she is.”
In the way a person’s life can flash before their eyes, Jennifer quickly reconsidered everything. Was it possible Nick had been singing in the shower because he had a tune on his mind rather than because he was wicked and unremorseful? And had he sent his guys looking for her after her disappearance because he wanted her back?
“You know,” Alex said, “he might have been worried that something happened to you. Or maybe it occurred to him that if you’d had an accident or been the victim of a crime, he might be blamed.”
“Does this mean I’m not in danger?” she asked very softly, very cautiously.
“To tell you the truth, Jennifer, I’m not sure where we’re at. I think the big X factor here is what does the FBI think you can tell them?”
She curled herself up a bit smaller and leaned against Alex. Reflexively, his arms went around her. She chewed on one of her short nails, thinking, shaking her head.
“You were with him a couple of years,” Alex said.
“I know this isn’t easy to grasp, but we had an arrangement. Like an arranged marriage without the marriage. We never talked about it. I knew what my role was—it wasn’t complicated. I worked on being pretty and being absolutely no trouble. In exchange for making him look good, he was very generous. Believe me—he had money to throw away. Nick is the kind of guy that if you asked him why he has eight yachts, he’d answer that he just sold one.”
“Unbelievable. I can’t even relate.”
“Believe me, after the way I grew up, hand to mouth, it’s very easy to get used to that lifestyle. But the thing that made it work for me was that I made sure I was emotionally unavailable. I was remote—that’s probably why he wanted me so much. And I ignored the fact that he had these goons with him all the time. I never listened to his conversations. I learned how to close my ears and concentrate on filing a nail or reading a book. I had no expectations. I was as low maintenance as a statue.”
“Where was your security?” he asked.
The thing that she’d been most proud of suddenly seemed shameful. But she was committed to telling him the truth. There was a lot more truth to tell him, but she’d take one thing at a time. “He was extremely generous. I was headed for an early retirement, but I’m sure it never occurred to him I was saving in order to stop being his mistress.”
“So—can you think of anything about Nick that would interest the FBI? He’s been arrested before, you know. Fraud, trafficking, money laundering.”
“The minute I saw what I thought was Barbara’s dead body it came to me that I’d been in serious denial—that clearly Nick was a thug himself. Maybe a mobster. But honestly, I can’t give you any specifics. I never saw anything illegal. From time to time I’d meet business associates of his—nice people, to the last one.”
“What about his investment properties? Anything there that didn’t gel?”
“It was perfectly legitimate. I’m sure I was hired because I looked good and could deal with people, especially businessmen.”
“Is it possible it was a setup to run money through a legitimate corporation? Did you actually see the buildings, the offices and the tenants?”
“I did,” she said. “They were very real.”
“There’s an easy way to get to the bottom of this,” he said. “We can set up a meeting with the feds and they can ask their questions.”
She chewed her lip for a moment before saying, “Do I have to talk to them?”
“No. But it’s always better to be cooperative.”
“Can we stop the clock for just a little while?”
“It wouldn’t be good to wait very long. They could find you before you have a chance to go to them.”
“Could you get into trouble for not telling them where I am?”
“Yes. But not the worst trouble imaginable. Don’t worry about me.”
“Could we wait till the prom is over? Till the lambs come?”
He pulled her closer. “I don’t know if we have that kind of time.”
Jennifer sat down at the computer after Alex left. Although it took hours, Jennifer wrote Louise the entire story of how she came to be a bald-headed waitress in Boulder City. She stayed up till the wee hours in order to get it all down. She even gave the details about her part-time job as a girlfriend to the rich old gents. And what at the time seemed the harrowing witnessing of a murder, and how she had finally braved bringing Alex into her camp and asking for his help.
…So you see, Louise, I am not what you thought I was. I didn’t tell you a tenth of the truth about me. I apologize, I was afraid. But I fully intend to see this through, to talk to the FBI, to try to get my life back. Not that life, but one that makes more sense. The life I’m living right now, as Doris the dog-sitter/waitress, makes a lot of sense.
Your friends will take care of Alice very well, should anything go wrong.
Thank you, and again, I’m sorry for the deceit.
Love,
Jennifer
She forgot to turn off the computer when she went to bed. In the morning when she woke, there was a message from Louise.
My dear girl—Jennifer,
Never question my judgment! You are exactly what I thought—honest, decent, wise and fearless! You’ve been through quite a lot and have proved you have the stuff great women are made of. I couldn’t be more proud of you. And I am profoundly proud to be your friend.
Love,
Louise
The next day as Jennifer waited tables for the breakfast crowd, visited the library, walked around the park—without Alice for the time being—there was a new spring in her step and her smile was a little quicker. She greeted people a bit more enthusiastically than she had. The message from Louise lifted her heart and made her feel fifty pounds lighter, despite the fact that she still had much to deal with.
She realized that in just around three months, she had created a kind of lifestyle that she had always craved and had never before been able to envision. She had friends. She felt she belonged. She wasn’t working at keeping up some pretense that would keep her image intact.
There was a vast difference between having a career and living one. In her old life, the life of Jennifer, there was no difference between her vocation and her personal life.
The news that Barbara Noble was alive and well changed a few things, also. Despite the fact that the authorities wanted to talk to her, she now had no more reason to fear Nick Noble than she did the day she got onto the MGM Gulfstream with him. She didn’t know what condition her condo and car were in—it was possible that in anger over her disappearance Nick had appropriated them. But she still had bank and investment accounts. She was no longer destitute.
That early retirement she had been saving for was going to come much earlier than she anticipated. She wasn’t going back to that other life, and although she couldn’t deny strong feelings for Alex, it had nothing to do with him.
Over the next week Alice began to get around better, nearly ready for her return to the park. Her appetite was improved and Jennifer was hopeful that she would greet Louise happily in the fall. Alex had taken on the habit of having his breakfast almost daily at the diner, not to mention frequent visits next door in the evening
s, but he had not yet been invited to spend the whole night.
She did a little shopping, had her short cap of dark hair trimmed, plucked some of her new eyebrows into an attractive shape and bought a little makeup. Nothing fancy, just some liner, gloss and blush—not that she needed it. The sun on her cheeks gave her a glow, as did her relief. The patrons of the diner didn’t know what caused the new effervescence, but they noticed.
Ryan rode his police vehicle, the mountain bike, up onto the sidewalk while she was sweeping and said, “Doris, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should catch a movie on your day off.”
She almost dropped the broom. The shock on her face made her look stricken and she was speechless. He had barely ever spoken to her, and he had never flirted.
“Or, maybe we should get a bite to eat somewhere.”
“Ryan,” she finally mustered, “did you just ask me on a date?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d pay, too.”
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, she instructed herself. “How nice of you. But Ryan, I don’t have any days off.”
“None?”
“Not with Alice recovering from surgery.”
“Well, jeez—when are we going to go out, then?”
“We’ll just have to talk about this later,” she said. She hoped that “later” she might be able to tell him she was seeing someone. But until Alex knew everything about her, she wouldn’t dare presume. And then there was the FBI. What an odd triangle.
“Okay. How’s Alice doing?”
“Pretty good. How about a cup of coffee? Or a Coke?”
“Sure,” he said, parking his bike and sauntering into the diner. Once inside, he found a couple of guys he knew. He never specified the coffee or the Coke.
Jennifer went behind the counter, fixed a cup of coffee and said to Buzz, “You’ll never believe what just happened. Ryan asked me out on a date.”
“Ryan must be the only guy around the diner who doesn’t know you’re already dating someone.”
“Did you ever get the idea he wanted to date me?” she asked, still a little stunned. Hedda came in the back door for work, stashed her purse in the pantry, grabbed her apron off the hook and joined Jennifer behind the counter. “Ryan just asked me out on a date,” she said to Hedda.
“Get outta town!”
“Seriously,” she said, and carried the cup of coffee over to his table. He was in a conversation with the guys and seemed to have already forgotten about Jennifer.
When Jennifer was once again behind the counter, Hedda asked, “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Would you like a cup of coffee or a Coke?’” She shook her head in bemusement.
“If you’re in no hurry to leave, I have a couple of quick errands,” Buzz said.
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him. She watched in satisfaction as he served up a meal into a take-out carton. “Mrs. Van Der Haff?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He grinned. “She asked me if that girl is ever coming back. I told her one of these days.”
“Today?” she asked.
“Actually, I have a couple of stops. Next time.”
It wasn’t long before the diner was empty again. When Jennifer was stacking some dirty dishes, she asked Hedda if she could manage alone. “Sure,” the girl said. “Adolfo is here if anything challenging comes up.”
Jennifer went to the little bungalow near the Sunset Motel in which Sylvia and the kids lived. There was a small window of opportunity to see Sylvia alone—while Hedda was at the diner. And before Sylvia went to work. She thought she’d just get the lay of the land and, if it seemed prudent, speak to the woman about encouraging Hedda to go to the dance and have a good time.
Joey was running back and forth around the trees with a couple of neighbor kids, churning up the hot dust of the grassless yard. The windows were open, though it was already in the high eighties. A rusty air-conditioning unit hung from a window; Jennifer suspected it didn’t work. Spring had given way to summer, and by the height of the afternoon it would be nearly one hundred degrees in the Las Vegas valley, a few degrees cooler in Boulder City.
She listened at the screen door but heard nothing from inside. She rapped on the screen door and called, “Yooo-hooo.”
She heard a groan. Then, “Who is it?”
“Doris. From the diner.”
It was a while before Sylvia came to the door, tucking her wrinkled blouse into her jeans. Her hair was stringy and there were dark circles under her eyes. “Hedda in trouble?” was her first question.
Jennifer laughed. “Hedda? When’s Hedda ever been in trouble? She’s a dream come true.”
“That so?”
She turned around and walked back into the living room without inviting Jennifer in. So, she opened the door and invited herself. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she said with a decided lack of sincerity.
“I’m just waking up,” she said. She sat on the couch and lit a cigarette; the couch seemed to list to the starboard. “I was on my feet till after two.”
It was nearly four. Jennifer looked around the room and saw that there was no other place to sit. The kitchen, though tiny, had room enough for a little table and two aluminum chairs, so she pulled one into the living room.
“That’s a tough job,” Jennifer said. “And in those shoes!”
“Yeah, it is.” She took a draw on her cigarette and tapped it into an overflowing ashtray. “What can I do for you?” she asked with the exhalation. The tone of voice and unpleasant look on her face suggested that Sylvia felt cheated. Robbed. Shat upon.
“Oh. I heard a couple of the high school girls talk about the prom. Coming up real soon,” she said.
“So?”
“I was wondering if Hedda was going.”
She sucked on the cigarette again. “Why didn’t you just ask her?”
“I thought it might be safer just to ask you—in case that boyfriend of hers hasn’t asked, or there’s some other problem.”
“Problem? You mean like the fact that a kid like Hedda can’t afford things like proms.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at her watch. It was a couple of hours before she had to go to work, but with the way she looked right now, some major reconstruction would be necessary to make her look decent.
“Well, here’s the deal. I know it seems unlikely, but I happen to have a dress. Very adorable. It was a bridesmaid’s dress, but it doesn’t look like one. The bride didn’t make us get dresses uglier than toads and—”
“She won’t take it,” she said, stamping out her cigarette.
“Sure she would, if she doesn’t already have a dress. Did you get her one?” she asked, as if she couldn’t see the raveling carpet, listing couch, disheveled house that baked in the sweltering heat of the un-air-conditioned room. This was where Hedda and Joey slept, in this room, and that was not a fold-out sofa bed. There were exactly three small rooms and a bath—living room, bedroom, kitchen. The kitchen was hardly bigger than a closet. It reminded her of the apartment on the Honeymooners.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but coming up with a prom dress would be a little tough for someone like me.”
“Well, then, I guess it’s lucky I have this dress. Here I am, thirty, and still thinking about the fact that I never went to a prom. Did you?”
The minute she asked the question, she regretted it. She knew the answer before Sylvia gave it. She lit another cigarette before saying, “I had Hedda when I was fifteen. No, I never went to the prom. Hedda’s better off saving her money for something useful.”
“Are you angry with me?” Jennifer asked.
“I don’t have time for this,” she said.
Jennifer leaned toward her. “What can I do to help, so that you have time to talk about Hedda?”
She sucked on the cigarette. “You can mind your own business.”
“Hmm,” Jennifer said, standing up. She put the chair back at the kitchen table, and as she did so, she noticed the empty
Jim Beam bottle in the trash. Well, Sylvia was over twenty-one—she was entitled to a drink after a hard night. “Okay, then. I just thought—”
“You know, coming in here like this and making me feel like trash isn’t going to help anything.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
Sylvia stood up. “It isn’t easy, you know. I do the best I can.”
“I’m sure you do. Really, I didn’t—”
“You think this is what I had in mind for my life?” She took another angry drag from her cigarette, stubbed it out in the full ashtray and glared at Jennifer. “This is not what I planned on.”
She wondered if she should suggest that life had a strange way of giving you gifts you couldn’t plan—like Hedda. Or maybe she could tell Sylvia that she hadn’t had much more growing up and understood the frustration. But instead she just said, “I’m sorry, Sylvia.” And then turned to go.
It was very likely Hedda was right, Jennifer thought. Sylvia might indeed hate her and blame her for almost everything that was wrong with her life.
Alex was called to his sergeant’s office, where he found Dobbs sitting in front of Sergeant Monroe’s desk at an angle. It wasn’t a big office and Dobbs was a big guy who seemed to fill the entire space on his own. He wasn’t wearing the black trench coat, but he was apparently committed to the thin tie. When Alex entered, Monroe stood up. Not so Dobbs.
“How you doing?” Alex said politely, extending a hand.
“Not good,” Dobbs said, eschewing the handshake. “You screwed with me.”
“What are you talking about?” Alex asked.
“Okay, okay,” Monroe said. “Have a seat. Let’s see where we are.”
