Dorothy Parker Drank Here (8 page)

“We're here about your ex-husband,” Mrs. Parker said.

“My ex-husband?”

“I wonder if you know how much he still cares about you.”

Audrey's smile dissolved into a thin line. “If he cared about me so much he'd cough up the seventy thousand he owes me.”

“Is there not some part of your heart that harbors a bit of tenderness toward him?” Mrs. Parker asked.

“Toward that pig? Do you know how many times he cheated on me?”

“I understand,” Mrs. Parker said, “but I have some news that might soften your feelings.”

She folded her arms. “Go on.”

“I'm afraid he's very sick.”

“How sick?”

“He has a brain tumor.”

Audrey blinked. She appeared to be in shock, though it was hard to read her expression. “Did he send you?”

“He has no idea we're here,” Norah said.

“I'm so very sorry,” Dorothy Parker said, laying a hand on the woman's arm. “Ted is dying.”

At last, an actual expression registered on the woman's face. She lowered herself into a chair, put her face in her hands, and wept.

“It must be difficult to hear that about someone you once loved,” Mrs. Parker said.

“It's not that,” Audrey said. She looked up, and rivers of black mascara streamed down her cheeks. “My ex-husband's name is
Phil
.”

—

W
hat now?” Dorothy Parker said when she and Norah were back on the street. “It seems all roads to the real Audrey Shriver are dead ends.”

“I have another idea,” Norah said, recalling the photograph of Audrey and Ted seated with another couple. “I think there's someone who might know how we can find Audrey.”

“And who's that?”

“Peter Salzberg, Ted's publisher.”

“Inspired,” said Mrs. Parker. “Which way do we go?”

A short while later, the two women were at another security desk—this one at the newly formed Apollo Publishing Group, which had acquired Litton Press just a few years earlier. Norah used the same tactic as before—showing her business card to gain entry.

“I'll need cards for both of you,” said the security guard.

“I'm afraid I lost my purse,” Mrs. Parker said.

The guard frowned.

“Wait a minute,” Norah said. “I think I have one of your cards . . .
Didi
.”

She rummaged through her wallet and found a copy of her boss's business card. It was worn and gray, and had some notes scribbled on the back, but it would do. The guard called upstairs, reading off the names on the cards, identifying them as Didi Dickson, segment producer of
Simon Janey Live
, and Norah Wolfe, associate producer.

“Congratulations,” Norah whispered to Dorothy Parker. “You've just been promoted.”

“Hold on,” the guard said into the phone, and then addressed Norah. “His assistant wants to know what this is in reference to.”

“Ted Shriver,” Norah said, and held her breath.

The guard spoke quietly into the phone for a few minutes and hung up. “Elevator bank to the left,” he said, handing passes to the two women. “Sixteenth floor.”

P
eter Salzberg turned the last page of the manuscript, took off his glasses, and rested his head in his hands. He was overcome. The stupidly titled
Louse
was one of the most affecting books he had ever read. Driven by a narrator whose piercing insights were so astute that Pete had to take frequent breaks to recover, it pulled him in and pulled him along, as he ached for the pristine moment of recognition when the protagonist would shine the brilliant light of understanding upon himself, penetrating his dark cloud of self-loathing. But of course, he wasn't capable of that, which was the whole point of the book. The result was the most profoundly human story he had read in a very long time.

He would publish it, of course, and it would sell. Ted's controversial history would be a publicity machine that needed no fuel. And once readers got their hands on the book, word of mouth would do the rest. But awards? Never. Not with that plagiarism charge hanging over every page.

He took out a pad to start making a list of possible titles. The first one he wrote was the simplest:
Bad
Husband
. He looked at it and put down his pen. Was that it? Had he found the perfect title for this
book? He was a big fan of simplicity, and this one seemed to hit all the right notes. It was intentionally judgmental. And the word
husband
would let readers know that a relationship was at the heart of the book.

He turned to his computer and did a quick search to see if there were any current or forthcoming novels with that title. There was no rule about reusing titles—they couldn't be copyrighted, after all—but Pete knew that a fresh title would stand a better chance of making a splash.

To his delight,
Bad Husband
had a good clean history. He turned over the manuscript, crossed out
Louse
and wrote in the new title. Yes, it felt right. He was confident his marketing people would agree.

Of course, the thrill of bringing a brilliant new book to the world was tempered with a choking sorrow. Because after reading these pages, he understood that Ted's depression was immovable. He would not be able to convince his old friend to have the surgery that might save his life.

“Mr. Salzberg?”

Pete looked up to see Christopher, his assistant, standing at his door.

“There are two women from
Simon Janey Live
here to see you.”

“To see
me
? What do they want?”

“They said it has to do with Ted Shriver.”

“What about him?”

Christopher shrugged. “That's all I know.”

Pete looked down at the manuscript. They must have gotten wind of his acquisition, but how? He hadn't even told his wife, for God's sake. Had someone in his office leaked it? Had Ted?

“Take them to Katie,” Pete said, referring to his publicity director.

“They said it has to be you.”

That clinched it, then. It had to be about the manuscripts. Pete
opened the cabinet next to his desk, placed the pages inside, and locked it. “Fine,” he said. “Show them in.”

A short while later, Christopher led the two women into Peter Salzberg's office and introduced them. The smaller one—a dark-eyed woman wearing a hat—looked familiar, though he couldn't place where he knew her from. The other one was lithe and pretty, with the neat features of a news anchor.

“Have a seat,” he said after shaking their hands. “What can I do for you?”

“We're here about Ted Shriver,” said the telegenic one.

“So I heard, Ms. . . .” He trailed off, studying the business cards on his desk.

“Norah is fine,” she said.

“He is dying,” said the other woman in a clipped, formal accent. “Were you aware of that?”

Peter Salzberg shifted in his seat. Maybe they didn't know about the manuscripts after all. He hoped that was true; his control of the information was essential.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “How did you find out?”

“Long story,” Norah said. “The point is, we thought you might be interested in seeing him reveal the truth about his alleged plagiarism . . . on national television.”

“Ladies, that's a battle I stopped fighting twenty-five years ago. Ted Shriver has never revealed the story behind that incident and never will.”

“He revealed it to me,” said the one in a hat.

He glanced down at her business card and looked back up. “I'm sorry, Ms. . . . Dickson. Can you repeat that?”

“I said,
he revealed it to me
.”

Pete folded his arms. It didn't seem possible. “And how did that come about?”

“He was drunk and on painkillers. He thought I was a hallucination.”

Pete Salzberg drew a deep breath. The woman's explanation actually sounded plausible.

“It's true,” she continued, and there was something about her eyes that disarmed him—an abiding wisdom that went as deep as a crypt. He was inclined to trust her.

“I assume you're here to tell me the story.”

“We're here,” Norah said, “because despite knowing the truth, we can't convince him to reveal it himself. And of course, that's what we want—for him to talk about it on
Simon Janey Live
.”

“If you think I can convince him you're—”

“We don't,” Norah said. “We don't think you can convince him, but we know who can. His ex-wife Audrey.”

“So why have you come to see
me
?”

“We think you can help us find her.”

“I might,” Pete said, “but I need to hear the story first.”

The smaller woman folded her hands in her lap. “My dear Mr. Salzberg,” she said, “you seem like an honorable man. And I want you to promise that once we tell you this story, you will lead us to Audrey Shriver.”

“I'll do what I can,” he said. “I promise.”

The two women exchanged a look and the younger one began. “It was Audrey,” she said. “She was in a fury over his infidelity, and she planted the plagiarized paragraphs in
Settlers Ridge
. I guess she knew he would never proofread the book before it went to press.”

“Why on earth would he keep that a secret?”

“To protect her,” said the other woman. “It's actually rather romantic when you think about it. No man in heaven or on earth ever loved me that much.”

“And besides,” Norah added, “he thinks he deserves the blame, even though he's innocent. He's punishing himself for hurting her.”

Pete stood and went to his window. He needed a moment to take this in. After reading the book and understanding the depths of Ted's guilty conscience, the explanation seemed so obvious he felt like a fool for not having seen it. Of course, when the scandal first broke, he had suspected Audrey had something to do with it. But once the marriage fell apart he couldn't understand why Ted wouldn't expose her crime, so he assumed there was some other explanation—like intentional self-sabotage. But this. This made perfect sense.

“He still cares about her,” Pete said, realizing that was why Ted had kept silent all these years. The son of a bitch was a romantic after all.

“That's our conclusion as well.”

For a moment, he felt a flicker of hope. If Ted still had feelings for Audrey, there was a fraction of a chance he might agree to the surgery. But then he remembered Audrey's fury. It wasn't just hurt and it wasn't just bluster. It was the blackest, most bottomless kind of loathing.

He turned to face the women. “She hates him, you know.”

“Naturally,” said the petite woman.

“You don't understand,” he said. “Her hatred is . . . volcanic.”

“We figured as much,” Norah said. “But if she learns he's dying . . .”

“It's a fool's errand.”

“Let us worry about that,” she said. “Tell us where we can find Audrey Shriver.”

He shook his head. “I can't do that.”

“But you said—”

“Audrey hasn't spoken to me since she and Ted split up. The truth is, I don't know where she is.” He took his suit jacket from the back of his chair and put it on. “But I know someone who does.”

“And who would that be?” said the other woman.

He pushed in his chair and headed toward the door. “Follow me.”

They did as he said, trailing behind him as they went down the corridor toward the stairwell. “Where are we going?” Norah asked.

“One flight up,” he said, opening the door.

As they followed him up the steps to the seventeenth floor, he explained that a woman who had started as his assistant rose through the ranks to become a senior editor. She was later recruited by another publisher but was courted back to the Apollo Group with the offer of her own imprint, which meant that there was now an entire lineup of best sellers published under her name.

“She's quite the powerhouse,” he said as they arrived at her office. He knocked lightly on the open door and she looked up. “Got a minute?” he said.

She took off her reading glasses. “What's up?”

“Ladies,” he said, “I'd like to introduce my wife, Aviva Kravette.”

—

A
viva Kravette reached across her desk to shake their hands, and Norah was impressed with her vibrancy. She had to be in her midfifties—possibly older—but she wore her chestnut hair smooth and long. On closer inspection, her face showed some signs of age, but she had such a youthful energy about her that Norah could feel a direct line to the dewy ingenue in the old photograph.

“They're from
Simon Janey Live
,” Pete explained.

“Oh?” Aviva sat up straighter.

“Don't get excited,” he said. “They're not here to interview you . . . or me, for that matter. They want Audrey.”

“Audrey?” She sounded confused.

“Shriver.”

Aviva grabbed her reading glasses and put them back on. “For heaven's sake.”

“Hear them out.”

“It's about Ted Shriver,” Norah said.

“Ted Shriver is a piece of shit.”

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Parker, “but he's a dying piece of shit.”

“So I heard. And I'm sorry, I really am. But my sympathy only goes so far.”

“There are two sides to every story,” Norah said.

“Oh really? Let's examine that. On the one hand, you have a vulnerable, madly-in-love woman who gave up everything for her husband. On the other hand, you have a drunken, out-of-control womanizer who used any excuse to go on a bender and sleep with starstruck young women. Two sides. You're absolutely right.”

Norah fought the urge to defend him, to blame his alcoholism, to explain how much he had punished himself since then. But Aviva was right. He had behaved deplorably. There was no excuse. But if only she had looked into his eyes and seen the pain there. “What about the plagiarism?” she said.

“What about it?”

“Have you ever considered how it happened?”

“Of course. He tied one on for a change and typed in the wrong paragraphs. He was probably proud of himself for finding the typewriter keys.”

Pete shook his head. “It was Audrey.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don't you remember how angry she was?”

“And why wouldn't she be?”

“But her
rage
,” he said. “She was like a wild animal.” He turned to Norah and Mrs. Parker. “She threw his typewriter out the window. Almost got arrested.”

Aviva rubbed her eyes, like she was trying to erase the memory. “I couldn't talk her down. Her fury was impenetrable. God, I was worried.”

“And she wanted
revenge
.”

“But she wouldn't do that. Audrey of all people—”

“That's the thing,” Pete said. “To her, nothing could be worse than a plagiarism accusation, so she set him up. What better way to get even?”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman in love with a scoundrel,” Dorothy Parker said.

“I admit she was angry enough to do
anything
,” Aviva said, “but he would have defended himself.”

Pete approached her desk. “Do you believe Ted was in love with Audrey?”

“I suppose. I don't think he was ever happier than when he was with her, which made it that much worse. Anyone who could cheat on someone they cared so much about—”

He put his hand on her shoulder, and Norah watched the look that passed between them. It was something more than love—they were letting each other in. Norah felt it in her throat like a heaviness of air. She had to look away.

“What would have happened to Audrey if people found out she had planted those paragraphs?” Pete asked.

“She could have lost
everything
—her whole career. But if you think Ted was trying to save her from that, you're giving him a lot of credit.” Despite her words, Aviva's voice had lost its conviction, and Norah sensed that she was on the brink of changing her mind.