“That’s because you’re you, Sunny. Things are very clear for you. You know who you are. You know what you want, and it’s what you should want. You like your dog. You do your work.”
“I love my dog,” I said.
“See what I mean? Nice and clear.”
“Except I love Richie and we’re divorced.”
“Shit happens,” Julie said. “But you haven’t panicked. You haven’t gotten yourself knocked up by some guy you don’t care about.”
“I know what I want,” I said.
Julie poured herself some more bourbon and added ice. She didn’t bother with the water this time.
“I do too,” she said. “I want to do whatever I want to do, and not be disapproved of all the fucking time.”
“Michael disapproves of you?”
“He thinks I’m not a good mother, and he thinks I’m not…he thinks I’m not very good in bed.”
“Are you?”
“With him? No.”
“And he pressures you about it.”
“Yes. Bad mother, bad wife.”
“And the more he pressures you?”
“The worse I am in bed.”
“And the music goes round and round…” I said.
Julie patted her still-flat stomach. “And it comes out here,” she said.
CHAPTER
30
AT MIDMORNING, I sat in a booth near the bar in Buddy’s Fox with a dissipated-looking black man named Tony Marcus, who dressed very well, and was quite handsome in a lax sort of way. His bodyguard, a huge man named Junior, took up most of the bar across the back, and his personal shooter, a thin black boy named Ty-Bop, jittered aimlessly near the front door. The restaurant was about half full. I was the only white person there. Tony was having breakfast.
“So,” Tony said, “Sunny Randall, on the job again.”
“This one is sort of pro bono, Tony.”
“I hate pro bono,” Tony said. “You want some eggs?”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’ve had breakfast.”
“Up and at ’em Sunny Randall. What do you want from me?”
“You ever talk with a woman named Gretchen Crane?”
“Why you want to know?” Tony said.
He was having scrambled eggs and onions, and he was very delicate in putting a small bite into his mouth, and patting his lips with his napkin afterwards.
“She was killed last week.”
“And you’re on it?”
“Sort of.”
“You got a client?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Gretchen Crane a friend of yours?”
“I never met her.”
“So why you care what happened to her?”
“You have to care about something,” I said.
“You still got that funny-looking dog?” Tony said.
“No. I have Rosie.”
“One looks like Spuds McKenzie in the beer ads?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the one,” Tony said. “Care about her.”
I reached across the booth and took a triangle of toast off of Tony’s plate and nibbled on it. Butter! I hadn’t had butter on toast since childhood.
“Does this mean you won’t comment on Gretchen Crane?” I said.
“No.”
I had another bite of toast.
“She come to see me two-three weeks ago. Cop I know sent her over.”
“Bobby Franco.”
“Yeah. Anyway, she was real serious. Real worried about how black folks don’t get a break. Real interested in prostitution.”
“In what way was she interested?”
“Wanted to know mostly how it worked, how the whores got treated, how the business was organized. I told her whores got treated like whores, and the business was organized to make money for me.”
“How’d that work for her?”
“Hey, she talking to a black gangster, I didn’t talk like that she be heartbroken,” Tony said.
“Did you tell her anything else?”
Tony finished his eggs. The last bite of eggs was balanced by a last bite of onions, and a last triangle of toast. Tony was very orderly.
“Not much. I get bored pretty quick talking to high-toned white ladies. I sent her to see Jermaine.”
“Who’s Jermaine?” I said.
“Jermaine Lister. He runs the whores for me.”
“You’re letting people run things for you?”
“You get too big after a while to do it all yourself. You try and somebody starts biting off a corner while you busy with something else.”
“Gee,” I said. “Sort of like organized crime.”
Tony grinned.
“Sort of,” he said.
“Did she talk to Jermaine?”
“Don’t know.”
“Wouldn’t he tell you?”
“You do business right, you put people in charge, and you leave them alone. Unless they fuck up.”
“And then?”
“Then Ty-Bop downsizes them,” Tony said and smiled widely. “You want to talk with Jermaine?”
“Yes.”
“Junior,” Tony said without bothering to look. “Call Jermaine, tell him Sunny Randall’s coming over. Tell him she’s okay, long as she don’t nose into our business.”
Junior reached behind the bar and pulled up a phone.
“How come you’re so helpful?” I said. “I’m on the other side. If I could bust you I would.”
“I know that, but you’re fun, Sunny Randall. You’re good-looking and you got a lot of balls.”
“You sweet-talking devil,” I said.
“I like to see what you going to do.”
“And if I nose into your business?” I said.
“Then Ty-Bop be downsizing you.”
CHAPTER
31
JULIE PICKED ME up at 8:30 and we drove to Brighton to the clinic. There were a few scraggly-looking protesters trudging around outside. None of them looked like they were ever likely to be pregnant.
“You want to go in?” I said.
“Not yet,” Julie said. “My appointment’s not till nine. I hate sitting in the waiting room looking at the other women like me.”
“We can sit in the car,” I said.
Julie stared at the protesters.
“Do you think they’ll bother us when we go in?”
“They might call you a murderer or something,” I said. “They don’t look very energetic.”
“I hope no one has a bomb,” Julie said.
“They probably don’t,” I said.
“Remember a few years ago somebody shot up a clinic?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a gun, Sunny?”
“I always have a gun. But I doubt that I’ll need it.”
We were quiet as Julie stared at the pickets.
“Are you clear with yourself,” I said, “that you want to do this?”
“I have to do it.”
“Okay. Then stop scaring yourself to death about it. It is a routine medical procedure. It happens every day. You don’t need to punish yourself in advance.”
“Do you think this is right?”
“For you? Not for me to say.”
“If you were me, would you do this?”
“I think you’ve made some mistakes that I hope I wouldn’t make. But if I had and was where you are? Yes, I’d do this.”
“What do you think about abortion generally?” Julie said.
She was nervous. Her face was pale under her makeup, which made the makeup garish. She swallowed frequently.
&nb
sp; “I try not to spend too much time thinking about things generally,” I said.
“But you must sometimes.”
“Generally I think there are absolutely compelling arguments on both sides of the issue.”
“So how does one resolve it?”
“One does what one must.”
“Without knowing if it’s right?”
“Knowing it’s right for you at the moment.”
“That sounds dangerously like situational ethics,” Julie said.
“Probably is,” I said.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard.
“Time,” I said.
“Oh, Jesus,” Julie said.
“It’s just another visit to the gyno,” I said. “I’ll stay right with you.”
“I can’t think. I don’t know.”
“Julie,” I said. “If you do this, when it’s over you’ll have defined your view on abortion. Which is that it’s necessary, under certain circumstances, at certain times.”
“Sunny…”
I waited. She didn’t move. There were tears in her eyes, and her breathing was shallow and fast.
“If I could tell you what to do, I would,” I said. “I wish I could. But I know this: We can leave, but the problem won’t. And it becomes more of a problem every day.”
“‘It,’” she said.
I was quiet. I had nothing left to say. I looked at the straggle of pickets. Anybody have a gun? I unzipped the belly pack where I was carrying mine. Julie opened the door and got out of the car. I got out on my side and we walked across the street toward the clinic. A short fat old man with a fringe of gray hair muttered, “Butchers,” as we walked past him. I had the impulse to yell, not me, which I had the grace to suppress as we walked through the door to the clinic.
CHAPTER
32
BEING IN RICHIE’S apartment always made me think about how fully he was embodied by where he lived. Everything that he needed was there, and each thing was where it should be. But there was nothing extra. Nothing ornamental. Nothing that was there simply to be attractive. When I let myself in, Richie was having a drink with Rosie. They were on the couch with Rosie lying beside him, her chin resting on his thigh. Opening his door with my key, seeing him with his feet up and our dog sleeping beside him made a surge of hot domesticity flood through me. Safety. Refuge. Certainty. Home.
Rosie’s head shot up. Her ears bent slightly forward. She stared at me while the small brain adjusted to my presence. Then she jumped down and ran over and turned around a number of times while I crouched down to greet her. Richie stood holding his drink and smiled while Rosie and I reconnected. When we had, I stood up and he opened his arms and I went and kissed him. More than sister. Less than wife.
“Want a drink?”
“Yes. What are you drinking?”
“Scotch and soda.”
“That sounds good,” I said.
Richie made me a drink and freshened his and we sat on the couch with Rosie between us and put our feet up on the big hassock in front. I took the first drink and let it ease into me. I was not much of a drinker, but there were moments when nothing seemed quite as perfect as a strong drink with a lot of ice.
“She been good?” I said, looking down at Rosie, who was in a paroxysm of contentment between us.
“Sure. She loves me. Even if she doesn’t live here,” Richie said.
“Not unlike myself.”
“Not unlike.”
We each drank a little of our drinks.
“You went to see Tony Marcus.”
“How do you know?” I said.
Richie shrugged like he does. It was a shrug that said, in effect, I know stuff.
I said, “You don’t have anyone looking out for me? Do you?”
“Like who?” he said.
“You know damn well like who. Your father or your uncle would have somebody to keep an eye on me. All you’d have to do is ask.”
“I know you wouldn’t like that,” Richie said.
I nodded. We were quiet.
“You haven’t exactly answered my question,” I said.
“No. I’m not having anyone look out for you.”
“But you knew about Tony.”
Richie grinned at me.
“Maybe my family is keeping track of Tony,” he said.
I laughed.
“You mean it’s not all about me?”
“Not always,” Richie said.
“How disheartening,” I said.
“Was Tony helpful?”
I told him.
“Jermaine Lister,” Richie said when I was through.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I don’t push into your business without being invited.”
“You’re invited,” I said.
“He’s a vicious stupid pimp,” Richie said, “that Tony promoted to the level of his incompetence.”
“Why would Tony do that?”
“Hard to figure about Tony. He does what he feels like doing because it amuses him, and if he makes a mistake, he just erases it.”
“So he knows Jermaine is incompetent.”
“Oh yeah.”
“And he promoted him to watch him flounder? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, my uncle says that Jermaine wants to replace Tony, and has wanted to for a while. So Tony promotes him so he’s reporting to Tony regularly. It’s sort of a way to watch him.”
“Why wouldn’t Tony just kill him?”
“Tony is Tony. He’s playful. He does stuff because he wants to see what will happen.”
“Like me.”
“Yeah. He likes you. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kill you. But as long as you aren’t interfering with business, he likes to watch what you’ll do. He’s never seen a woman like you.”
“Gee, Tony likes me.”
“Ain’t it flattering.”
“You think Jermaine will like me?”
“No.”
“Because?”
“Because Jermaine doesn’t like anything that I know of. And he especially doesn’t like women.”
“Which is why Tony sent me to him,” I said.
Richie smiled.
“He got a big boot out of it when I took someone away from one of his pimps last year,” I said.
Richie nodded.
“And he’s moving me up a notch, see what I can do against Jermaine.”
“You should be flattered,” Richie said. “Tony’s treating you like a contender. Why do you need to talk with Jermaine?”
“I’m following the path of a woman who was murdered. She talked with Tony, and he sent her to Jermaine.”
“And now she’s dead,” Richie said.
“Yes.”
“Good to keep that in mind,” he said.
My drink was gone. I rattled the ice in the empty glass and Richie got up and made us each another one.
“I could of course trail along when you talk with him.”
I shook my head.
“Spike?” Richie said.
I shook my head again.
Richie nodded, more to himself than to me.
“Have you ever seen a woman like me?” I said.
“No.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Sometimes I wish there were dozens,” Richie said. “Then I could marry one of them and stop mooning over you.”
“Would you actually like to be married again?”
“I like monogamy,” Richie said. “I don’t like to share you.”
“I have feelings for you that I
don’t have for anyone else,” I said.
“I know. It’s a kind of exclusivity,” Richie said.
“It’s the only kind I am capable of right now.”
“I know that too.”
“And I appreciate it that you don’t insist,” I said.
Richie smiled.
“I can’t insist,” Richie said. “You won’t do it.”
“It’s too…” I fumbled for the right word. “It’s too possessory,” I said. “I don’t say forever, but right now. I’m not…there’s still not enough of me to be exclusively yours.”
“I know.”
“Dating other men is a way to remind myself that I’m not exclusively anyone’s.”
“I know that, Sunny. I know all of it. I don’t like all of it. But I’m in this for the long haul.”
“I can’t promise it will work out the way you want it,” I said.
“If it doesn’t it doesn’t. But I’m not going to quit on it. If you don’t want to see me anymore and you’re clear on it, say so and I’ll get on with my life.”
“I can’t say that. I don’t think I’ll ever say that.”
“Then I won’t quit.”
I leaned across Rosie and laid my head on Richie’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry I’m this way,” I said.
Richie put his arm around me. Rosie looked up from between us. If she had the face for it, I think she would have frowned.
“There’s no point to that,” Richie said.
I nodded against his shoulder. He bumped the top of my head lightly with his jaw. Rosie squirmed into a more comfortable position on the couch between us.
“We could make love,” I said.
“That’s always good,” Richie said.
Which it was.
CHAPTER
33
I HAD JUST fed Rosie her supper when Hal Reagan called me.
“Sunny,” he said. “Come get your goddamned sister.”
“Hi, Hal,” I said. “How nice of you to call.”
“She stole my car and hid it somewhere. And she is making a scene.”
“Call the cops,” I said.
“How would your mother and father feel about that? Their daughter arrested. How would you feel? You need to get over here.”
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