He nodded. "I'm flattered. A woman like you-I imagine you land most anyone you want." "It would seem not," she said, lowering her eyes again.
"Hey," he said gently, "try and understand. If I had a kid sister, she'd probably be around your age."
She scoffed, but nicely. "Incest taboo-I'm sure you can handle it."
He peered into her eyes. Was she putting him on? Looking at her heaving freckled chest, he recalled the two times he'd come to her office and found her coated with sweat. Suddenly he was seized by a hard carnal longing. He wanted her very much.
She reached toward him, touched his cheek with the tip of a finger.
"No big deal. Sometimes I get pretty bold." She smiled. "If there's someone in your life you're loyal to-I apologize." :'No, there isn't anyone now."
"So, then… " she coaxed gently, "if you're anxious about getting involved, don't sweat it."
He looked at her. Her face was flushed. He liked her nonchalance.
"Okay, you're on," he said, trying to match her casual approach. "What do you say we begin by building up some trust?"
"Great idea!" She snuggled against him. "I liked you the moment I met you. Did you know, Frank? Remember how hot it was? The hottest night of the summer. But you were really cool. You were the only one there who acted like he knew what he was doing." She raised herself up to kiss him. "When you followed me into the kitchen, I said to myself: "Hey, this guy could be fun!"
" She stared into his eyes. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I'm beginning to," he said. "I don't think of myself as being particularly attractive to younger women."
"Hey! You are! You're handsome and you keep yourself in shape. But I don't care about that. It's more the way you carry yourself. You're like a real person, not some pretty boy with body tone."
She kissed him again. He kissed her back. They stroked one another, then began to unbutton each other's shirts.
After a while she took hold of his hand. "Come on," she whispered,
"let's move this into the bedroom."
His bed had belonged to his parents. Sarah had always hated it because, she'd said, it was "too old world." She had wanted everything in their house to look sleek, like furnishings from the Home section of The New York Times. For years Janek had kept his parents' furniture in storage, finally finding use for it when he got divorced.
When he and Netti were completely undressed and in each other's arms, she thrust her hands above her head into the grillwork of the headboard, then grinned wickedly.
"You guys all carry handcuffs, right?"
Uh-oh! He shook his head, regretting he couldn't accommodate her.
"Sorry, too much like work." He gazed at her. "What about straight?
Think you can handle it?"
Her eyes gleamed as she took up his challenge. "Depends how you do it, I guess." it took them the better part of an hour to settle down. Then, though he perspired a lot and felt thoroughly exercised, he didn't feel at all fatigued.
"You're a lot of fun," she whispered in his ear.
He kissed her. "So are you."
"Let's sleep a while. What do you say?"
He agreed that that seemed like the appropriate thing to do.
They made love again an hour later, then lay entwined and talked.
"Do you mind if I ask a fairly rude question?" "Go ahead," she said.
"Do you do this kind of thing… often?"
"What kind of thing?"
"You know-"
"Make love to a client?"
"Yeah, I guess that's what I meant." "No, not often," she said. "In fact, this is the first and only time."
She got up to get a drink of water. When she returned, she sat naked by his feet at the bottom of the bed, arms wrapped around her knees.
"You're a good guy, Janek."
"So are you, Rampersad." She smiled. "Thank you." She gazed at him. "I like you. I think you like me. But we're not going to get involved. Just liking someone isn't enough for either of us. Still, I'm glad that didn't stop us from having fun. Meantime, I'm handling your alimony appeal.
And there's also the other thing."
He studied her. "You want to talk about it, don't you?"
She looked serious. "I won't if you don't want to."
"It's all right. We've gotten to know one another, I figure now we're friends."
"Thanks. I feel that way, too. Which may have been in the back of my mind when I came on to you. Which isn't to say I wasn't greatly attracted, because you can be sure I was. In fact, still am." She lightly slapped her own face. "Geez, Netti, why're you tongue-tied?"
Janek sat up. "Let's hear it. What's on your mind?"
"This whole Mendoza thing stinks. I figure you already know that. I wonder if you know how much."
He appraised her. "Why don't you tell me?"
She nodded. "The way I see it, Jake Mendoza most likely did pay someone, probably that doofus, Metaxas, to beat the living shit out of his spouse. He probably did it because he despised her, knew she was going to divorce him and didn't feel like paying out twenty or thirty mil to cut her loose. So, okay, that may have been what happened. I don't know.
I wasn't there. But I know one thing: There wasn't anywhere near enough evidence to convict him. Not legitimate evidence anyway."
"You still think that letter was forged."
"I'm sure of it." She shook her head. "I know it's an old story. You don't agree. I understand that. Truth is, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference what either of us thinks. My job is to get my client a new trial, one that can conceivably go his way. It won't be easy. In a situation like this the burden shifts to the defense."
"I understand."
"Good. Because I want to talk about something else. In looking into the case, I've discovered some interesting things-things not particularly relevant to my job. They have to do with the Clury aspect, the way it was actually connected, as opposed to the way everyone thought."
"What about Clury?"
She looked at him. "Suppose I could show you that there was another agenda, something that had nothing to do with the Mendozas. Suppose I theorized that the time connection between Edith Mendoza's homicide and Clury's quote assassination unquote was coincidental, notwithstanding the client-investigator connection that certainly did exist. Suppose I could demonstrate that someone else wanted Clury out of the way for his own reasons, someone you've never thought of in that regard. And suppose I could persuade you that because Clury was a cop, and you cops were certain Mendoza paid to have him offed even though there was no evidence at all to support that belief, certain individuals among you faked up evidence on the other totally unconnected homicide that Mendoza very possibly did pay to have committed. Suppose I could show you all that.
What would you think?" He thought: One thing's clear, Netti isn't tongue-tied anymore.
"You're asking a lot of suppose-l-could questions. I can't relate to a theory. If you have something, lay it out' " She smiled. "That's what I thought you'd say. But, you understand, I'm under constraints."
"You're representing Mendoza-"
"Exactly. And because of that there're things I can't say. What I was hoping-well, I thought maybe I could point you in a certain direction, and you could pick it up from there.
Suddenly a nasty thought flashed through his mind.
Could she have engineered him into bed so that they could have this conversation under the umbrella of a freshly generated intimacy?
"Is that why you came here tonight?"
"What do you mean?"
"To ' me in a certain direction'?"
She stared at him. "I came over for one reason-to get your signature on your complaint."
"Kind of slick, though, just happening to be in my neighborhood."
Now she was mad. "I came uptown especially to see you. I called because I didn't think you'd like it if I turned up unannounced."
"But the reason you came on t@"
She got off the
bed, stood before him naked, stared at him, shook her head, then started picking up her clothes. She spoke angrily:
"Is that what you think-that my brilliant quote seduction unquote was part of some scheme to manipulate you into engaging in this dialogue?
Give me a break! And give yourself one, too." She stared at him. "I was as turned on as I said I was. Maybe even more." She paused. "Why don't you think back a little, like maybe to yesterday? You came down to see me about a personal matter. I didn't call on you. You came to me."
She was right; he was mad at himself for thinking like a paranoid.
"I'm sorry, Netti," he said. "Of course you're right."
She shook her head. Her eyes looked sad. "It's this whole weird Mendoza thing. It drives everybody nuts, doesn't it?"
"That's what they say." He gazed at her. "Please forgive me."
She finished dressing, came to him, kissed him. "Of course." She sat beside him on the bed. "It's always a mistake to mix business with pleasure. I know better. I asked your permission, but I shouldn't have even broached it. Still"-she began to stroke his cheek-"if I had a choice between bedding down with you and talking about the case, I'd bed down anytime. I mean that, Frank. So, now we've got that out of the way … " They laughed. Then she told him she had to go, had to prepare for an early court appearance and feared that if she stayed she'd find it impossible to resist seducing him all over again.
He agreed that she could leave, providing she understood he didn't want her to.
At the door, after a final kiss, they stared at each other. It was as if, Janek thought, they both understood that the issue of their quarrel was still left unresolved.
"Before I go I'd like to say one final thing about you know-what," she said.
"Go ahead."
"If you ever decide to pursue it, let me know and I'll point the way.
But unless you ask me, I promise you-I'll never bring it up." "Thank you," he said. "I think that's the perfect way to leave it.
He woke late, had to rush to make his meeting with the squad. Still, he felt wonderful, almost light-headed. On the subway, thinking of Netti, he couldn't keep from breaking into a smile. He knew there could be no future in an affair with her, but he was happy she'd seduced him. It was, he decided, probably the only way the two of them could have gotten together.
At the office he found the squad despondent. No one had turned up anything. No gallery person any one of them had spoken to could recall a girl named Gelsey who created artwork involving mirrors. Janek reminded them that they'd just begun, that the New York art scene was huge.
At four that afternoon he was peering into the window of a grungy storefront on East Fifth, staring at what appeared to be a huge gilded phallus, when his beeper went off. A punked-out young woman, hair molded into violet spikes, walked by with a springer spaniel. When she heard the beeper she stopped.
"You on fire, Mister?"
He slid into a phone booth, called Special Squad, spoke to Sue, who told him that Ray Galindez had come up with something. When he reached Ray at the David Wise Gallery, Ray explained:
"They don't recognize Gelsey here, but they represent an artist named Ruth Hibbs who works with mirror images. I think we ought to speak to her, Frank. She may know other people in the field."
"Sounds good," Janek said. "Set it up."
When he got back to Special Squad, Ray was waiting, quietly stroking his mustache. He'd arranged a meeting with Ms. Hibbs for eight P.m. Janek noticed that his people were yawning and that their eyes were pink.
Understanding they were suffering from staring at ugly images, he invited them all to an early dinner at the Carolina Oyster House around the corner.
After the feast, he and Ray went to Ruth Hibbs's address. It was a small industrial building in the photo district with a freight elevator and an artist-in-residence loft on the top floor. When they rang the buzzer and nothing happened, they retreated back to the sidewalk.
"Who's there?"
Janek looked up. A black woman was leaning out the window.
"Ms. Hibbs?"
"That's me." "We're the detectives," Ray said.
The woman studied them, then she nodded. "The buzzer system's out. I'm throwing down the keys. I'd appreciate it if you'd catch them, not let them fall into the grate."
Ray and Janek stood back, the keys were thrown, Ray forward and neatly scooped them out of the air. "Nice move," Janek said. Ray, glowing, unlocked the inner lobby door.
The freight elevator, which smelled of photochemicals, moved slowly.
When the doors opened on the seventh floor, Ruth Hibbs was waiting. She wore wire-rimmed glasses, a sparkling white T-shirt and tight black leather pants. When she turned to lead them into her loft, Janek appreciated the neatness with which her hair was braided into cornrows.
As soon as he stepped into the loft, he was impressed. One wall embraced a huge mirror, ten feet by ten feet. The other walls, stripped down to bare brick, were covered with paintings. The dozen or so canvases were large and, he thought, very well executed. Each was divided precisely down the middle by a thick, straight black line. On one side of the line there was a head-to-foot image of a stylized nude male or female figure striking a pose. On the other side, this same figure was precisely mirrored.
Ruth gestured them to a sitting area near the front windows. After they sat, she studied Ray's drawing of Gelsey "No"-she shook her head-"I've never seen this person."
"Who are the other artists who work with mirrors?" Ray asked.
"I only work with one mirror." She pointed to the large one on the wall.
"I pose my models in front, then paint what I see. A double image, straight and reversed-that's my trademark. No self-respecting artist would copy another's signature style."
"Ray didn't mean copy," Janek said. "We're interested in artists who use mirrors in all sorts of ways."
Ruth nodded. "I've seen them used as surrounds. And there're a couple of people who make mirror sculptures. Jim Dargesh in L.A. bends mirrors.
There's a guy in Boston, Edelman or Adelman, who creates abstract surfaces by arranging small round mirrors in series." She thought a moment. "I remember seeing a show of large-scale mirrored geometric forms sometime last year. It was at the Martinelli Gallery on Greene Street. There's also a star photographer, Leslie Kron, who shoots still lifes against backgrounds of angled mirrors. There're probably a lot more people I could think of." She stared at Janek. "Is this important?"
He felt she knew something. "It is," he said. "We'll appreciate any help."
"You say her first name's Gelsey?" Janek nodded. "Suppose I helped you find her. Would she be arrested or anything?"
"Nothing like that," Ray assured her. "We think she's in danger. We're looking for her so we can warn her protect her if she'll let us." Ruth continued to stare. Janek thought: She's wondering whether she can trust us. Finally she nodded. "I'm going to make a call."
She strode to her work space at the far end of the loft, Picked up a wall phone and stabbed out a number. Janek glanced at Ray. Ray touched his mustache and smiled back. Then they both sat silent, straining to overhear the conversation.
When Ruth Hibbs came back, she squinted at Janek. "I called a friend, Jodie Graves. I think she knows the person you're looking for. The woman signs her work ',' but that isn't her first name."
"What's her first name?" Ray asked.
"Elizabeth. Most people call her Gelsey, but some call her Beth. She shows at Erica Hawkins on Broadway near Spring." Ruth Hibbs shook her head. "Funny-I've heard of her, but I never knew she worked with mirrors till Jodie mentioned a picture the other day… Later that night, when he and Ray finally reached Erica Hawkins, and the woman reluctantly opened up her gallery so that they could meet, Janek received a major insight into Elizabeth Gelsey's mind.
Ms. Hawkins had shown them the portrait, titled "Leering Man," which hung in her office opposite her desk. The moment Janek saw it he was astonished. The work, he felt, cast
a powerful spell, and the longer he looked at it, the more deeply he felt himself drawn in.
The image was not beautiful, nor was it intended to be. Rather, it was a dark vision, a portrait of a leering and perhaps threatening male embellished with all sorts of artifacts-coins, bits of paper money, shards of mirror glass, little springs and wheels-enmeshed in thick paint and arranged into a kind of encompassing halo around the subject's head.
At the bottom of the canvas was a very small naked female figure, lying with arms outstretched, exposed, vulnerable, as if at the mercy of the leering man whose face loomed so large above. This female's eyes, engaging the viewer, were wide open, displaying a mixture of pleasure, confusion and pain. The eyes were also very familiar; Janek recognized Gelsey's eyes as depicted in the two police artists' sketches.
But just as extraordinary, Janek thought, were the eyes of the Leering Man above-enlarged, black, meeting Janek's with an unremitting gaze.
Gelsey had depicted the eyes of a person who was smirking while, at the same time, apparently suffering great distress.
After staring at the faces, becoming lost in Gelsey's vision, Janek decided it was her ability to convey different feelings simultaneously that accounted for the painting's extraordinary power. He was moved by her empathy and understanding of human failings-the anger that masks anguish, the sensual pain that lurks in a smile, the knowledge of one's own malice that erodes one's joy even as one tries to take pleasure in the bitter suffering of another.
The Meeting Janek emerged from the Holland Tunnel, then headed west across the Jersey swamps. The rising sun chased him, burnishing the grasses of the Meadowlands shades of rust.
There were numerous ways to drive to Newark. He chose the Pulaski Skyway. It was narrow, noisy, dangerous, but he liked the way it was constructed. It reminded him of his boyhood, building bridges out of parts scavenged from other kids' discarded Erector sets. Anyway, he wanted the trip to take a while, to feel like a journey, He hadn't slept well, his dreams haunted by Gelsey's Leering Man. At dawn he'd called Aaron, asked to borrow his Chevrolet.
"Sure," Aaron said. "But don't you want me to drive you?"
"No, thanks."
"What about backup?" "Won't need backup on this one," Janek said.
Mirror Maze j-4 Page 24
