I made up different assignments. This time I gave them five words – red, stone, languid, howl, and leap. They were to pick someone in the place to write about and include the five words. What they wanted to do was up to them, maybe flash fiction, a scene or an essay. The main thing was to be discreet, so their target wouldn’t get paranoid that someone was staring at them. I’d brought along my notebook and wrote along with the pair of them. It was always good to sharpen my skills.
Afterwards, they both came back to my place and this time read their own work. As usual, I wouldn’t share my piece since it would change the dynamics of the group if I acted like one of them.
Ed loved reading his own work. That way he could throw in all the innuendo he wanted. Thankfully his piece was pretty tame and about an older woman trying to pick up a much younger man. Tizzy sent the couple she chose to write about time traveling back to the 1960s when the Mezze was just a coffee house with a few food items and located in the back of a bookstore. When she was done reading, she started talking about what used to be where on 57th Street. She sat forward suddenly, remembering something. ‘There’s a program on the Public Broadcasting Station tonight all about the 1893 World’s Fair,’ Tizzy said in an excited voice. ‘It’s all about the Midway Plaisance.’ She pointed vaguely south toward the strip of park that ran between 59th and 60th joining Jackson Park to Washington Park. During the World’s Fair, it had been filled with amusements. Recently, a remnant of the Ferris wheel had been found. ‘We should all watch it. It is about what was right around here,’ she said. I noticed Ed’s eyelids begin to droop before he said he ought to get home. Tizzy made no move to leave.
‘It’s just starting, and I forgot to record it. Do you mind if I watch it here?’ she asked. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘it sounds interesting.’ We walked with Ed to the front door, said our goodbyes and then went into the living room and turned on the TV.
Shots of the neighborhood as it was now showed, while the narrator gave the history of the World’s Fair also known as the Columbian Exposition. There was a scene of the grassy area now and then a montage of photographs showed how it had looked like during the Fair. I heard the word belly dance and started paying more attention. Apparently, there was a ‘hootchy-kootchy’ version of the exotic dance in the Streets of Cairo amusement.
I told Tizzy about my belly dancing experience and stood to give her a funny demonstration. The TV suddenly got very loud, drowning out my voice and we both looked at the screen. Instead of old black-and-white photos, the screen was filled with a woman singing as a panel of judges watched.
Tizzy looked at it with confusion and turned to me. ‘Why did you change the channel?’
Before I could answer, it had gone back to the show on PBS.
And then it happened again, and a cop show came on, before it flipped back to PBS.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Then you saw it?’ I said. ‘You saw the channel change?’
‘Of course, why?’
There was a part of me that thought I might have imagined it when it happened before. But now there was a witness.
‘It must be something with your cable,’ she said. ‘Let’s check the set in your dining room.’ She was on her way down the hall before I could say anything.
She turned on the PBS show and we stood there watching the screen for a few minutes waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s fixed.’ We went back into the living room, which was more comfortable for watching TV. I turned the set back on and after a moment, it began doing the weird stuff again. This time the volume changed before going to mute and the channel switched a number of times.
‘You did see what was happening, right?’ I said and she nodded.
‘It seems like this TV is possessed or something,’ she said almost as a joke. I hesitated, wondering if I should tell her about the other things. It was a relief that Tizzy had actually witnessed the TV doing strange things and it was clearly not in my mind, but it was also upsetting because I didn’t know the cause.
Finally, I told her everything – the DVD that changed and the package with something I hadn’t ordered. She listened with interest and what I said seemed to have gotten her worked up and she talked really fast with a lot of gestures.
‘It sounds like someone is trying to make you think you’re losing it. Making you think you didn’t see what you thought you did and that you’re doing things and not remembering them. You know, gaslighting you.’ I must have looked confused because she continued on. ‘The term comes from an old movie called Gaslight that starred Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer. He messes with her mind, so she thinks she’s going crazy. I just watched it on one of the classic movie channels.’ She did a twirl, gazing around the living room. ‘Though I don’t know how someone could have pulled it off here.’ She said it quickly, all in one breath.
‘Let me see if I can find it for you.’ She grabbed my remote control and did a fast search for the movie. ‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘It’s on again in the middle of the night.’ Her fingers flew over the buttons on the remote. ‘There, it’s all set to record. OK, now it’s my turn to head off,’ she said breathlessly, going to the door. ‘Watch it and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.’
Both what Tizzy talked about and the speed she’d said it, on top of the rest of my day, left me wired. I made myself a mug of chamomile tea hoping it would calm my mind. It didn’t really help, and I finally went to bed, falling into a fitful sleep only to awake a few hours later. As I lay in bed wondering how I could fall back asleep, I heard a voice coming from somewhere in the apartment.
TWENTY-TWO
What now? Or maybe more accurately who now? Things were supposed to happen in threes, weren’t they? Well, I’d had three weird happenings. It might be a cliché, but that’s what I’d always heard. Things came in threes. This was four. Didn’t whoever was behind all this know the rules? Now I was angry and looked for a weapon. Rocky was sound asleep on my pillow and barely stirred when I quietly got up. I suddenly wished he was a dog – a big German Shepherd or even some little feisty terrier who would attack an intruder’s ankles.
I grabbed the two umbrellas that hung on chair near the front door. They were the kind that folded up into a small cylinder rather than the old-fashioned curved handle ones that had pointy ends which would have made them better weapons. I followed the sound. It seemed to be coming from the back of the apartment. The voice spoke again, but although I strained, I couldn’t make out the words.
Adrenalin was pumping by the time I got to the dining room and I felt like Superwoman with my weapon of two umbrellas. It was dark and I could just barely make out the table and then I heard someone speak again. The sound seemed to be coming from the corner on the other side of the room. Without thinking too much, I aimed one of the umbrellas and sent it off into the darkness. There was a thud, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
I paused for a moment and listened. There was just silence. With my free hand, I reached for the light switch. With my heart pounding, I walked around the table with the other umbrella poised ready to strike. I expected to see someone on the ground.
How about something? There was a broken dish and the cordless handset. As I got closer a warbly voice called out ‘low battery.’
Really? I shook my head with disbelief. It was not some diabolical stranger, just me being careless. As I put the phone in the cradle to charge, I chided myself for the overreaction, blaming it on all of Tizzy’s gaslighting talk. I cleaned up the glass and made more chamomile tea before going back to bed.
There was no problem with the battery in the morning as the four cordless phones spread around the apartment, including the one in my bedroom, rang loudly, cutting into my sleep.
Rocky had repositioned during the night and his head was resting on my forehead and I had to peel him off of me so I could answer the phone, or at least look at the caller ID to decide if it was a junk call
or not. As soon as I saw Parker on the screen I reached for the phone and clicked talk.
I’d barely gotten a hello out, when Camille Parker started to lay into me. ‘How dare you defy my orders. I told you not to bother my husband,’ she steamed. ‘I’d fire you, but I don’t have time to find anybody else this late in the game. Just finish it up. I don’t care what you have to do to finish it up and get it to me by Monday or …’ She seemed to be struggling to come up with something to threaten me with but she’d already said it was too late to replace me.
At times like this, I’d found the best way to deal with the situation was to apologize. I stepped in before she could come up with something to threaten me with, and apologized profusely – with no explanation. As expected, it left her speechless. She finally made an annoyed sound and hung up the phone. Though with phones these days there was no actual hanging up, just a click, but I’m sure she would have banged the phone down if she could have.
I guess that means I can’t count on her recommending my services, I thought facetiously. At least she’d given me until Monday, which left me three days to complete it.
It was a morning of crises. I’d barely made myself a cup of coffee when the phone rang again. It was Evan so upset he could barely talk.
‘Take a breath and then tell me,’ I said.
He followed my command and I could hear him suck in air and let it out, then he wailed, ‘She cancelled.’
‘I assume you mean Sally,’ I said in a calm voice. ‘Maybe you should give me the details so we can sort it out.’
‘She called me this morning and said she couldn’t go on the boat cruise.’
‘Did she say why?’ I asked.
‘Just that she had to work. It has to be an excuse. Events are always booked way in advance.’ He sounded crushed and I felt for him. And I blamed myself. I know the note was supposed to be a reflection of Evan, but I felt like I hadn’t done a good enough job. Or I should have read her better when I saw her look at the note. I really had to keep myself from getting so involved with my clients. Even the dance gym. I was trying too hard to make the copy too clever when all I actually had to do was spell out what the place was and describe the classes.
‘I thought I’d have another chance with her. She hasn’t even seen my hair style yet.’ He paused. ‘There has to be something you can do.’
I felt bad for him and I was afraid that my fear was true, that Sally wasn’t interested and she wasn’t even going to give him a chance to show her his true self.
‘I’m going to be downtown,’ I said. ‘Do you want to meet up and talk about it in person?’
‘Yes. I know you’ll think of something.’ He had way more confidence in my ability than I did. We arranged a time to meet at the coffee shop again.
I left extra early so I could drop the sweater off at the shipping service center. I wanted it out of my house and on its way back where it came from as quickly as possible. Then I could forget all about it.
And then it was back to normal. It had already become a routine to catch a mid-morning train for the dance class of the day. I’d gotten to look forward to it, too. The classes were the perfect mixture of work and personal. I was getting good material for the copy, and it was a fun way to start the day. I expected to keep on going there even after I finished my work, though not as often. I was pondering what classes I’d continue to take regularly as I got off the train and walked the few blocks to the place.
An El train rumbled on the tracks above when I reached Wabash. It was odd to look up at this upper level and realize there was a whole world up there with a station and people on the platform waiting for a train, all held up by giant claw legs.
There was already a crowd gathered for the class when I went into Dance with Me. I was glad to see that it was Debbie who was teaching line dancing today. I chuckled when I saw what everyone was wearing for this class. A few people were in dance wear, but most were in jeans with boots. A few even had cowboy hats on.
The class was fun, and I picked up the steps pretty quickly and by the end of the class I was adding in my own little touches like the rest of them.
This time there were no delays. I got to Debbie while she was just turning off the music and said, ‘Can we talk?’
‘Sure,’ she said. I hoped she might stop what she was doing, but she continued to finish things up for the class and then started changing out of her dance shoes. She was always in a totally different mental space at the end of the class than the members were. All around us people were talking and laughing as they went to retrieve their things and grab their coats. It was a fun hour well spent and now it was off to whatever else they had in their day.
She seemed less animated and maybe a little tired. We stood talking as she watched the retreating figures of the students, waving back at few who had waved at her.
‘I’m happy arranging all the classes and teaching them, but there’s nothing like being on stage.’
It was the perfect entry to asking about the shows she’d been in. She was glad to answer, and the list was extensive. ‘But just in the chorus,’ she said. ‘I still go on auditions, so maybe someday I’ll be out front.’
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘I’ll make a point that you are currently a professional dancer.’ After that she talked a bit about hoping to get another level of classes that were beyond the basic. ‘They’d still be drop-in classes, but I’d come up with more elaborate routines and maybe add some props for the tap class. Think top hats and canes.’ She smiled at the thought. By now, she’d gotten her street shoes on and packed everything back in her gym bag. ‘Too much to do, too little time.’ She hoisted the bag on her shoulder clearly ready to go.
As an afterthought, I asked her about Rachel. Debbie let out a sigh. ‘She was too worried about getting the steps right.’ She adjusted the strap of the bag. ‘Do you have what you need?’
‘I’ll write it up and if there’s any holes, I’ll ask you next time.’ She was on her way to the door as I finished the sentence. I understood. Like she said, Too much to do, too little time.
I walked up Michigan Avenue delighting in the fact there was no wind. My hair didn’t blow in my face and my trench coat didn’t flap around. As usual, I used the walking time to think. I went back to the phone call from Camille Parker. I’d thought she might say something about my talking to her husband, but I figured it would be something mild since it turned out that Richard Parker had appreciated my efforts and wanted to be included in the book. I certainly hadn’t expected her to explode.
I’d done a little research on her since finding out that she wasn’t Rachel’s mother. She’d been a widow when she was Richard Parker’s work-wife. Her husband had been a podiatrist and they were comfortable, but hardly rich, though I had the feeling she’d always been a snob.
She clearly loved her position now and, I thought, would do whatever she had to hang onto it.
I was at the coffee shop before I knew it and turned my thoughts to Evan’s situation. As I went in the door, I remembered something. And it was something that hopefully would get Evan to calm down.
He was at the same table he’d sat at before. His hair looked even better now that it didn’t have the just-styled look. His slacks and striped dress shirt suited him. He was not a jeans and T-shirt sort of guy.
There was a cup of coffee waiting for me once again and I thanked him. Poor Evan looked like a wreck as I slid into the seat across from him. I couldn’t make him wait while we made small talk, so I went right to it. ‘I know you think that Sally was just giving you another excuse, but she was telling the truth. A few days ago I saw her showing a woman the bar area with the idea of using it for an intimate wedding reception. It had to be the coming weekend. The woman left saying she needed to talk to her daughter before she committed.’
Evan just stared at me.
‘Don’t you see? The daughter probably agreed and it’s all very last minute.’
Evan’s face relaxed and hi
s lips curved into a hopeful smile. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Thank you.’ He let out a big sigh of relief.
‘So, what you should do is offer her a raincheck. Invite her for Saturday.’
‘Oh,’ he said as his face brightened. ‘I didn’t think about that.’ He grabbed my hand and then didn’t know what to do with it, so he shook it. ‘Thank heavens for you. I’m so bad at this romance stuff. You have to write something. It has to be special and cute.’
‘What if I wrote it in verse?’
‘That’s perfect.’ He looked at me expectantly. ‘It’s already Friday, so you need to do it now.’
Sometimes pressure works for me and sometimes it paralyzes me. Luckily this time it was an incentive and, in a few minutes, I wrote:
Dear Sally,
If you can’t come on Sunday, I have an offer of another way.
Is your Saturday free, to come away with me?
We’ll sail without fail down the river Chicago,
And see buildings and bridges just like we ought to.
I hope you can come, and I promise you fun.
Fingers crossed the day will be warm and there will be sun.
‘That’s brilliant,’ he said, reading over what I’d written.
‘I wouldn’t call it brilliant, but I think it’ll do,’ I said, and suggested that he sign it affectionately.
‘We have to get it to her now,’ he said. There was some discussion on what form to send it to her in. Handwritten was more intimate than typed. He copied down what I’d written, since we agreed it should be in his handwriting. When we parted company, he rushed back to the hotel to leave it on her desk. This time under a paperweight.
I didn’t stop in at the bar this time. I was afraid it might seem as if I had an ulterior motive if I showed up too often. Anyway, I was glad to go home early. After my previous night of interrupted sleep, I was worn out. I was looking forward to going home and relaxing. The last thing I expected was to be dealing with the police.
Murder Ink Page 16
