Unsympathetic Magic

by Laura Resnick

  “My vet’s just a few blocks away,” Biko said. “I’ll take them.”

  Lopez said to Biko, “Hand me that sword.”

  Biko looked shocked. “I can’t give you my sword!”

  Moving swiftly, Lopez seized the weapon from the appalled young man and headed for the struggling mambo.

  Biko said in horror, “Hey, don’t touch that thing with my—Oh, man . . .”

  Unable to bear the sight, the lad looked away as Lopez poked the writhing snake sharply with the rapier.

  Napoleon responded sensibly to this new attack by slithering away from the mambo and fleeing. Seeing the snake on the move again, Nelli barked.

  “NO!”

  Nelli flinched at Lopez’s tone and lowered her head. Moving with disturbing speed, Napoleon had already reached the far wall and was frantically trying to climb it, intent on escape. He kept falling down and trying again. I was torn between pity and revulsion.

  Lopez returned the rapier to Biko and then grabbed a pretty batik cloth that was draped over the small table that stood next to Henry’s chair. He knelt by Nelli’s side.

  Realizing his intention, Catherine protested, “You can’t use that! It’s—”

  “Shut up.” He wrapped Nelli’s bleeding paw with the material as he said to Catherine, “You and that woman have five minutes to get that snake into its cage. If I don’t see it safely contained by then, I’m calling animal control to come get it.”

  Nelli’s dewclaw lay near me. I moved away from it and climbed laboriously to my feet.

  Lopez finished wrapping Nelli’s paw. He ignored the dog’s attempt to lick his hand as he rose to face Catherine, who was still standing there frowning at him. He said to her, “Now you have four and a half minutes.”

  She gave him a coldly affronted look, opened her mouth, and drew breath to speak. I thought she was going to threaten to complain to his superiors, and I recalled that she was a billionaire’s widow and probably well-connected. But, meeting Lopez’s hard gaze, she evidently changed her mind. After a pregnant pause, Catherine closed her mouth, looking sullen as her shoulders sagged slightly.

  She turned on her heel and walked swiftly to the reception desk, where she took the gasping, cursing Mambo Celeste by the shoulders and tried to get her to calm down. Then, moving like people who were a lot more familiar with snakes than I ever wanted to be, the two women picked up the squirming, disoriented boa constrictor and carried him out of the lobby.

  Lopez said to Biko, “Lock that sword away someplace safe, then take Max and his dog to your vet.”

  The young fencer nodded and went to do as ordered.

  When Max attempted to thank Lopez for his help, the exasperated detective interrupted him. “Get that man a glass of water or something, would you?” He pointed to Henry, who still sat slumped in a chair. “He looks like he’s going to faint.”

  “No, no, I’m all right,” Henry said faintly. “It was all just a little . . . overwhelming. I’ve never liked that snake. And this dog is . . . Well, she’s awfully big, isn’t she?” His gaze shifted and he pointed to something. “Oh, look, miss. I think your purse has arrived.”

  “My purse!” I said to Lopez, “Oh, thank you!”

  I scooped the bag off the floor, where he had dropped it, and began investigating its contents. My wallet, money, ID, various plastic cards, apartment keys, and cell phone were all there. “Oh, thank God! It would have such a nuisance to have to replace all this stuff!” It would have cost money, too, and I didn’t have money to waste.

  Lopez went downstairs to the hounfour to make sure Napoleon was properly contained. Max began apologizing at length to Henry for the disturbance while a subdued Nelli sat beside him, her injured paw wrapped in its colorful makeshift bandage. When Henry felt able to stand up again, he decided to retreat to the restroom and compose himself there.

  Meanwhile, I sat down on the stairs and listened to my voice mail messages. There had been a number of calls since the phone was taken from me, but it turned out that they were all ones that I already knew about, so I deleted the messages.

  Biko returned from stowing his fencing gear. He and Max hurried for the exit with a limping Nelli, pausing only to ask if they’d see me at Puma’s shop later.

  “No,” I said. “By the time you’re done at the vet’s, I’ll be on my way to the restaurant.” And since I’d be at Bella Stella all day Saturday, we agreed to meet here at the foundation again on Sunday before attending the Vodou ritual downstairs.

  Since I had been reunited with my phone, I decided to call the D30 production office to let them know I was taking calls at this number again. I also wanted to make sure they knew I had indeed paid my required visit to Michael Nolan.

  I spoke with the same woman who’d taken my call yesterday. I still didn’t know her name. But she knew mine.

  “Esther! I was just about to call you!”

  “I visited Mike,” I said firmly. “I was unavoidably detained, but I did show up and do my time. Er, I mean—”

  “Yes, I know. He mentioned that.”

  “He did?”

  “I talked to him earlier today. He’s checking out of the hospital today and plans to come back to work on Monday.”

  “What?” That seemed awfully soon to return to his demanding work schedule. “Are his doctors agreeing to that?”

  “I don’t have the impression that he and his doctors have reached a consensus yet,” she said carefully. “But Mike’s determined. And, well, we do need to finish the episode.”

  “Ah.”

  With Nolan chomping at the bit and with his character at the center of an unfinished episode in a tightly budgeted TV series, the production staff would certainly go find a doctor willing to declare him ready to return to work, if need be. The Crime and Punishment empire had a lot of experience at keeping the wheels of production rolling forward. So if they said they would start filming with Nolan again on Monday, then I believed them.

  “When do want me back on the set?” I asked.

  “Can you hang on for a second, Esther?” Without waiting for my reply, she put me on hold. A couple of minutes later, she came back on the line. “I’ve got Mike on the other line. A doctor has cleared him to return to work.”

  “That was fast.” I was tempted to get the doctor’s name, so that I could make sure never to entrust my own medical care to him.

  “We’ll need you on the set at six o’clock Monday evening. All right?”

  I would have to go straight to the D30 set from the foundation, where I was scheduled to teach a class that afternoon. “No problem,” I said, glad I could feel confident that Jilly’s abused costume would be ready by then. “Where am I going?”

  “The same location Mike got sick. You remember where it is?”

  “I doubt I’ll ever forget,” I said sincerely. “So we’re still doing the original scene?” The one where I would spend most of my time on my knees in front of Nolan.

  “Yes. Oh, and Esther? Mike is waiting on the other line because he wants to talk to you.”

  “He does?” I said in surprise.

  “Yes. Anyhow, unless something changes and you hear from us again, we’ll see you Monday evening,” she said cheerfully. “Now hold for Mike Nolan, please.”

  “Hello?” I said when I heard the line click.

  “Who the fuck is this?” said Nolan’s familiar voice.

  I resisted the urge to hang up on him. “Esther Diamond. You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Oh, right.”

  He was still at the hospital, but he had just finished checking out and was now waiting for the arrival of the car that would take him home. And he wanted to talk to me about the scene we’d be filming on Monday. Mostly, he seemed to be concerned that I would screw it up.

  After a few minutes of listening to him giving me unsolicited advice and unwanted direction, I decided it was time to change the subject. “I want to thank you, by the way, for how nice you were to my friend yesterday
evening.”

  “What friend?” he said.

  “Jeff,” I said. “Jeffrey Clark.”

  “Who?”

  “The man I brought with me to visit you last night,” I said.

  “The old guy from Oxford?”

  “No, the bald man who stayed with you after I left.”

  “Oh, right! Nice guy.” There was a pause. ““His name was Jeff?”

  Apparently the bonding had been a little one-sided.

  “I gather you offered to speak to the show’s casting director about him,” I said. “That was very good of you.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re going to talk to the casting director about Jeff,” I reiterated.

  “Why would I do that?” He sounded puzzled.

  “So that Jeff can audition for him.”

  “Jeff’s an actor?” There was surprise in Nolan’s voice. “I thought he was a fan. I thought that’s why he asked you to introduce us.”

  “He’s an actor,” I said. “And you’re going to talk to—”

  ”Oh, come on, Esther. I can’t go pestering the casting director on behalf of every aspiring actor who talks his way past security to meet me.”

  I gave it one more shot. “Jeff Clark’s not aspiring. He’s very accomplished. He—”

  “Forget it,” Nolan said. “I’m not a charitable institution.”

  I sighed and dropped the subject. I felt a little sorry for Jeff, but Nolan’s reaction wasn’t exactly a surprise to me.

  “Well, I hope you continue feeling better, Mike,” I said as I saw Lopez reenter the lobby. He looked around the empty area and then walked over to me. “I’ll see you back on the set on Monday.”

  “Another thing I was thinking about,” Nolan said. “When you’re kneeling in front of me and you say—”

  “I’ve got to go,” I said, looking up at Lopez. “Bye.”

  As I ended the call, Lopez asked without enthusiasm, “The set of The Dirty Thirty?”

  I nodded. “We’re resuming filming of my episode on Monday.” I recounted the news I’d just received.

  “Are you kidding?” He sat down beside me on the stairs. “That guy had a heart attack less than forty- eight hours ago. Is he crazy?”

  “I have a feeling he’s afraid to miss work. The show has two other talented costars and a strong supporting cast,” I said. Actually, for all that he was a jerk, Nolan was a compelling performer and his antihero character was very popular, but I didn’t underestimate the neuroses of a self-absorbed star. “I’ll bet that Nolan is worried he’ll lose the spotlight if he gets written out of a few episodes because of his health.”

  “Even so,” Lopez said, “you’d think that the risk of dying young would scare him more.”

  I smiled at my practical companion. “You don’t know actors.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  More than ready to stop discussing Michael Nolan, I asked, “Is Napoleon locked up?”

  “They call him Napoleon? I’d say he’s about two feet taller than his namesake. Anyhow, yeah, he’s contained.” Lopez added, “And his cage is nicer than my first apartment.”

  “Then you’d think he would spend more time in it.” I put my cell phone away. “It’s such a relief to have my purse back. Thank you so much!”

  “No problem.”

  “Where did the cops find it?”

  “In a garbage can right outside the Harlem Market.”

  I knew that place. A few blocks south of here, it was a semienclosed space with market stalls where the vendors sold African souvenirs: tribal masks, leather goods, clothing, decorative objects, drums, and music. “I wonder how my purse wound up there?”

  “Probably dumped deliberately,” Lopez said.“Whoever had your bag didn’t want to get caught with it, and I think they didn’t really know what to do with it. So they probably figured its contents would get stolen and scattered pretty quickly if they left it at such a busy location.”

  “I’m lucky that didn’t happen.” I clutched the bag gratefully to my chest.

  “One of the market vendors found it. He called the cops.”

  “Really? I should go thank him!”

  “Not a bad idea,” Lopez said. “Maybe more guys would report petty crime if they thought a pretty woman would come around and thank them for it.”

  The silence that descended between us after he said this lengthened until it grew awkward.

  I gazed across the floor of the lobby. Nelli’s blood was smeared all over the place, and the cracked wooden sculpture lay where it had fallen. I would have enjoyed seeing Catherine or Mambo Celeste have to clean up the mess, but I assumed the foundation employed a janitor or a cleaning service.

  Feeling Lopez’s sidelong glance, I gestured to the wreckage. “Uh, I can explain this.”

  He shook his head. “No need.”

  I looked at him. “Really?”

  “Well, in one sole building, we have a huge snake and a woman too silly to keep it in a cage where it belongs, Max and his neurotic dog, a teenager with a sword, and—oh, yes—you.” He shrugged. “I’d say the results were inevitable.”

  “Hey, I tried to prevent this from happening.”

  “Yeah, that was my first thought when I got here and saw you wading through blood and giving a half nelson to a hysterical dog the size of a minivan: Esther must be trying to prevent trouble.”

  “Prevention wasn’t going as smoothly as I would have liked,” I admitted. “Not all of us can manhandle a dog that size by her collar, Stud Muffin.”

  “You should never get that close to the teeth of a dog that’s not in its right mind,” he said seriously. “If she had bitten you by accident . . .”

  “It all happened pretty fast,” I said. “I don’t like that snake, but that doesn’t mean I think we should let our dog kill it. Anyhow, I’m not so sure Nelli would have won.”

  “You couldn’t have talked Max into getting a kitten?” he said with some exasperation.

  “Nelli has special qualities.” Seeing his skeptical expression, I added, “They’re not immediately apparent, I grant you.”

  “Well, I suppose she’s slightly more cuddly than a seven-foot-long boa constrictor.” He grimaced. “What do you think they feed that snake?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

  “And, Jesus, the way he attacked that woman—”

  “Mambo Celeste,” I said.

  “The way he attacked Mambo Celeste when he was scared . . . Well, you’d think she’d reconsider her choice of house pet now.”

  “She won’t,” I said with certainty. “He represents Damballah, a sacred . . . something or other.”

  I was suddenly very tired of this place, and I looked forward to spending tonight singing old favorites to cheerful tourists in a noisy restaurant downtown. And as another silence descended between us, I also suddenly recalled how many things I didn’t particularly want to discuss with my companion.

  “Well, thanks again for bringing my purse. I really appreciate it.” I got to my feet. “I have to go to the restaurant now. Bye.”

  “Nice try.” He pulled me back down beside him. “We have to talk.”

  “I’ll be late for work,” I lied.

  “We’ve got Bella Stella under surveillance,” he pointed out. “I know what time your shift starts.”

  “Surveillance? That’s a waste of taxpayer money,” I said. “The restaurant’s full of tourists at this time of year. All the wiseguys are on their summer vacations.”

  “Fair point,” he said. “Get any postcards from Lucky Battistuzzi lately?”

  “One,” I said, refusing to apologize for my friendship with the semiretired hit man. “He’s enjoying his tour of Sicily.”

  “Ah, yes. Visiting the sights, enjoying the food, reminiscing about the good old days with other retired Mafia killers.” He shrugged. “I’m just guessing, of course.”

  “He went there to recover from a broken heart,”
I said crisply. “But since you seem able to move on from a woman so easily, you probably can’t understand that.” I rose to my feet again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to work.”

  “Wait just a damn minute.” He rose, too, looking irritable now. “Who got out of bed in the middle of the night as soon as you asked for help? Who faced a firing squad of laughing cops to get your arrest erased? Who’s been driving the Two- Five crazy for the past couple of days because of what happened to you in their precinct?”

  “Oh, you’d drive them crazy about that no matter who got mugged and found a severed hand there.”

  “Well . . .” He backed down a little. “Okay, that’s probably true.”

  “Anyhow, now we’re square,” I said tersely.

  He frowned. “We’re square for what?”

  “We broke up, then you got me out of jail.” Jeff’s interpretation of events had stung more than I’d realized. “So we’re even now.”

  “How are we even?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “You don’t owe me anything else.”

  “I didn’t ‘owe’ you that,” he snapped.

  “Fine,” I snapped back. “Then I guess I owe you now.”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Tell me the truth.” Still smarting from the humiliation of Jeff’s comments, I said, “Did you help me the other night because you felt guilty?”

  “Guilty? About what?”

  “About dumping me,” I said impatiently.

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t dump you! I . . . I . . .” His blue eyes suddenly blazed with surprise in his dark face, and a look of sheer astonishment replaced his angry expression. “I dumped you?” After a stunned pause, he sat back down on the steps, looking thunderstruck. “Oh, my God. I hadn’t thought of it that way. I guess you’re right. I, uh . . . I dumped you, didn’t I?”

  I folded my arms across my chest as I looked down at him. “It’s always good when we can clear up these little misunderstandings.”

  “I dumped you,” he repeated, looking at me in amazement.

  “And obviously that’s something I particularly enjoy hearing repeated. Go on, say it again,” I said, as he continued staring at me. “It makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside.”