Dopplegangster (2 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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We both worked nights, so we’d met for lunch on our previous two dates. This time, Lopez wanted to take me out for dinner. He said he had something to celebrate. He was a detective in the Sixth Precinct and usually worked second shift, getting off around midnight. I was doing eight shows per week as a chorus nymph and unrewarded understudy in the new off-Broadway musical
Sorcerer!
So Lopez traded shifts with another cop so he would be free on Sunday, the one night I wasn’t working.
Unfortunately, it turned out to be a bad night for me. Also for my love life. And things soon got worse. Before long, someone was trying to kill me. And Lopez.
So maybe he’d have been better off if he’d never asked me out a third time.
1
 
T
he good-looking man standing in my doorway wanted to have sex with me.
That much was apparent just from the way he was dressed. I wasn’t born yesterday. (In point of fact, I was born twenty-seven years ago.) A man who goes to that much trouble to look sexy has got definite plans in mind when he arrives at a woman’s door.
Lopez wore a sophisticated, well-cut black jacket and trousers with a black silk shirt. Open at the neck, the shirt exposed the smooth, dark golden skin of his throat. Even in my current state of panic and depression, I noticed how tempting this was. But only briefly.
The dim light in the hallway glinted off his straight black hair as he held out a single red rose to me.
I frowned. “What are you doing here?”
He looked a little surprised by this reception, but quickly regrouped. “We have a date tonight.”
“We do?”
“Yes, Esther.” The hand holding the rose dropped to his side. “Sunday night. Dinner. I wanted to . . .” Thick black lashes lowered over blue eyes as his gaze flickered over me. “You’re not exactly dressed for celebrating,” he noted.
“Celebrating?” I snapped. “
Celebrating?
Are you insane?”
He blinked. “Did something happen?”
“Ohmigod!” I suddenly realized what he was doing there. “We have a date tonight!”
He lifted one brow. “Do you want to close the door? I could knock on it, and we could start all over again.”
“You look nice,” I said, hoping to make up for my earlier behavior.
“Can I come in?” he asked patiently.
“Oh! Of course.” I moved aside and gestured for him to enter my home.
I live in a good apartment for a struggling actress in New York City. It’s a second-floor walk-up in the West Thirties, near Ninth Avenue. The neighborhood is about as elegant as the floor of a public bathroom, and the apartment is old and falling apart. But my place is spacious (by Manhattan standards) and rent-controlled, and I have it all to myself.
However, even with rent control, I was currently worried about how I’d keep a roof over my head.
I closed the door behind Lopez and turned to face him as he stood in my living room. I realized he looked better than nice, he looked traffic-stopping. I suddenly regretted that I was greeting him with messy, unwashed hair, wearing old sweatpants and a T-shirt from the Actor’s Studio, with a half-eaten pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in my hand.
Prince Charming meets the Bag Lady.
Except that Detective Connor Lopez didn’t look innocuous enough to be Prince Charming. (He also didn’t look like a Connor.) Thirty-one years old, he had inherited exotic dark looks from his Cuban father and lively blue eyes from his Irish American mother. Average height, with a slim, athletic build, he looked like a man who’d want more than a chaste kiss in exchange for rescuing the sleeping princess. Especially dressed the way he was tonight.
I’m 5 foot 6 and in decent enough condition to do eight performances of a song-and-dance musical in skimpy clothes every week, but I’m not skinny enough to work in Hollywood. I’ve got brown eyes, brown shoulder-length hair, and fair skin. My looks are versatile, and I can play heroines onstage, but my face, like my figure, doesn’t meet Hollywood leading-lady standards. However, when he chose, Lopez had a way of looking at me that made me feel like a sexy movie-star vamp.
That wasn’t the look he was giving me right now, though.
Eyeing my not-ready-for-dinner appearance, he said, “I can wait while you change. Er,
shower
and change.”
“I can’t go out!” Seeing his expression, I said more calmly, “I’m sorry. I just can’t. Not tonight.”
Now he looked concerned. “Are you okay?”
“No.” My stomach roiled. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Maybe eating half a pint of ice cream before dinner wasn’t such a good idea?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.” As my stomach churned noisily, I said, “Well, maybe that didn’t help.”
“Have a rose.” He held out the flower again. As I accepted it from him, he added, “And tell me what’s wrong.”
“
Sorcerer!
is closing.” I wanted to cry.
Both brows rose this time. “That’s unexpected, I take it?” When I nodded, he said, “When did you find out?”
“About two hours ago.” I had come back from yoga class, done two loads of laundry, cleaned the apartment, and was just about to step into the shower when I got the call informing me I was out of work. I’d been in a blue funk ever since.
“So . . . just like that? The show’s over?”
I nodded morosely and sat down on my couch. I gently laid the rose on my coffee table, then I took another bite of ice cream. Lopez sat down next to me and took my free hand. Then he looked down at our joined hands, frowning a little.
“Sorry,” I said. My hand was sticky. “It’s the Turtle Soup.”
“The what?”
I waggled my Ben and Jerry’s carton at him. “The ice cream. Lots of caramel.”
“Oh.” When I tried to pull my hand away, he held fast and said, “No, it’s okay.”
“In times of stress, I need ice cream,” I explained.
“Of course.” He smiled. “Give me a bite.”
I scooped some out of the carton in my lap and brought the spoon up to his mouth. His lips were full and, I knew from experience, felt lush when he kissed.
Our eyes met as I spooned caramel-laced ice cream into his mouth. When I started to pull my hand away, he held it in place so he could lick the spoon. I also knew from experience that he knew just what to do with his tongue when he kissed.
“Mmm,” he said, still looking at me.
It should have felt sexy to feed him ice cream. Normally, it would. As previously noted, I wasn’t dating him because it was the smart thing to do; I just couldn’t keep away from him. And the way he looked tonight, with his thick black hair falling over his forehead and his open collar showing off his smooth throat . . .
I sighed dispiritedly. I was just too upset to feel sexy. I was also too unkempt and dirty. Some other time, when I felt better, I’d regret that I had wasted this moment. But right now, even Lopez couldn’t stir my hormones. That’s how bad I felt.
Evidently realizing that
all
he’d get out of this moment was a bite of ice cream, he let me lower the spoon. “That’s pretty good. But I’m still a Cherry Garcia guy.”
“Heath Bar Crunch is my usual poison.” I sighed. “But this was all I had in the freezer when I got the call.”
Since I’m an actress, I need to watch my weight. Especially while working in
Sorcerer!
, where my tight costumes left a lot of skin bare (albeit covered in green body paint and glitter). So I try to limit my ice cream consumption to special occasions and dire circumstances; since life is full of both of these, I always keep a pint or two on hand, just in case.
“So does this mean you’re . . .” Lopez shrugged, not quite sure how to phrase it. “Out of work?”
I nodded. “Out of work.”
“That was fast.”
“Welcome to my world.” I ate another spoonful of the Turtle Soup.
“What happened?”
I knew that to a normal, salaried person—even to a cop, who sees everything—the sudden, unexpected shift from employment to unemployment that’s a normal part of an actor’s life looks pretty dizzying. In fact, it makes actors dizzy, too. Right now, my head was reeling.
“Well, you know, reviews haven’t been so good,” I said.
Sorcerer!
was a tepid musical built entirely around the (rather mediocre) magician who was the producer’s husband. After sitting through a performance, Lopez had said that only the chance to see me scamper around stage half-naked for two hours had made it a good evening. Although this sort of comment is flattering coming from my date, it’s alarming coming from an audience member. I continued, “So our houses haven’t been good.”
“Your houses aren’t good?” he repeated with a puzzled expression. “You mean, audiences don’t applaud?”
“I mean, they don’t come. Ticket sales are weak,” I clarified.
“Ah. Yeah, I noticed that the night I came to see you. A lot of empty seats.”
I nodded morosely. “That’s a bad house—one with a lot of empty seats. And
Sorcerer!
is an expensive show. Golly Gee’s salary alone . . .” I trailed off, since I’d just accidentally stepped into territory I tried to avoid when I was with Lopez.
Golly Gee was the surgically-enhanced, B-list pop star who played the female lead in
Sorcerer
! I was a chorus nymph and her understudy. My involvement in fighting Evil with Maximillian Zadok had begun after Golly had vanished one night during the show’s disappearing act. I mean,
really
vanished.
Lopez knew from interviewing us during the course of that investigation that Max and I both believed Golly had vanished magically. (Which was indeed the case.) He thought this was crazy, which Max assured me is a very common reaction to paranormal events. I understood Lopez’s point of view, since it was initially my reaction, too. Only overwhelming evidence to the contrary, right before my eyes, had convinced me to believe in things now that I knew Lopez still did not believe in.
And any attempt to convince Lopez of what had really happened would no doubt wind up leading, in the end, to admitting that Max and I had killed Hieronymus. Or sort of killed him. (The fact that any such explanation would also convince Lopez I was nutty as a fruit-cake concerned me, too, since I didn’t want him to stop asking me out.) True, we had saved Golly Gee and the other disappearees, but Lopez would insist on knowing how. And he was good at questioning people and putting together scattered details until he figured things out. I knew that if I let the subject be opened, there was no chance that Lopez would let it be closed until he knew everything.
So, having foolishly lowered my guard enough to mention Golly, I tried to backtrack. “Anyhow, musicals are very expensive, and without enough revenue coming in, they’ve decided to close the show.”
“It probably hurt the budget a lot when Golly, er, disappeared for more than a week?” Lopez said, watching me with cop eyes now instead of potential-lover eyes. This was exactly the sort of thing that had made our first two dates a tad awkward.
“Yes. Keeping the theater dark for that long was expensive.” I had refused to go on in Golly’s place and do the disappearing act without knowing what had happened to her. It was the only time in my entire life I had let a show down. And it’s a good thing I did! If I had performed, I would have become one of Hieronymus’ victims. The show only resumed ten days later, when the evil apprentice was dead (or dissolved) and Golly was back where she belonged. “Losing all that income hurt us.” I took a bite of my ice cream.
“Golly has never been very clear about where she went.” When I didn’t reply, Lopez added, “You haven’t, either.”
“Oh, it’s all over now,” I said, scooping up another bite of ice cream and offering it to him. “So I don’t see why—”
He pushed the spoon aside as he said, “Because filing a false report with the police is illegal.”
“No one filed any false reports!” I put the spoon back in the carton.
“And now Golly’s explanation—like
yours
, Esther—is vague, contradictory, and makes no sense.”
“I haven’t given you an explanation!” I snapped.
“That’s right. You really haven’t.” His expression said he was waiting for one now.
Oops.
I decided to change the subject. “Can we please focus on
my
crisis for a minute? I’m out of work!”
He had the grace to look a little contrite. “Okay. Fair enough. Are you—”
“Worried about bills? Yes! I’m also worried about paying rent! Worried about when I’ll get another acting job! And trying to find a way to earn a living until then.”
He let go of my sticky hand and put his arm around me. “I’m really sorry this happened,” he said soothingly. “I know you were hoping the show would run a while, maybe even move to Broadway.”
I leaned into his arm. I’m not prickly, I like being comforted. I admitted, “I guess I wasn’t being realistic. We never really got off the ground, and an expensive show needs to come out of the gate like gangbusters to succeed these days.” I sighed wearily. “But I did think we’d at least make it through summer. So now it’s May and I have no prospects for a summer job. I’ll have to find a way to make some money.”

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