Love Nest (19 page)

Rita O’Dea served supper in her spacious eat-in kitchen. The meal was lamb chops, baked squash, and apple sauce. Her guest was Attorney Rollins, who sat tensely at her table, as if he felt he should have been waiting on her. He took small bites. She watched him and smiled. “You’ve got such dainty hands, Willy. Like I had when I was ten.” She deposited a chunk of butter into her shell of squash. “Miss your mama?” she asked, and he went silent. “I’m not making fun of you. I know how it is. I miss my brother. How long’s your mother been dead?”

“All my adult life.”

“But you had her when it counted. Thank God for something.” She salted her food and then placed the shaker near him, but he made no move for it. “Don’t you use salt, Willy?”

“I try to avoid it.”

“I’ve been told to.”

He said, “Who told you about my mother?”

“The girl told me. We talked a lot when she did my back — I’ve got a bad one, you know. She said you were a perfect gentleman, treated her like a sister. You even gave her a key to your house.”

“It pleased me when she chose to use it.”

“Pleased you a lot.”

“Yes.”

“You a lonely man, Willy?” She paused, filling her mouth. Her gaze was steady. “I already know, but you can tell me. How lonely?”

He used his knife and fork on a thick lamb chop, which had been broiled medium-rare and was full of juice. “There are times I don’t want to go home at night, but it passes.”

“There are times in this big house, Willy, I want to scream. Loneliness can tear you up inside. But like you I don’t let it last long. Instead I think about business. I think about it all the time.”

She had poured wine. Now she poured more, her bare arm close to him, the fat in it packed deep. Her full, handsome face hovered.

“People look at you and me, they might think we’re soft inside. They don’t know us. They don’t know I’ve got my brother’s balls. These same people look at Alfred and Harriet, they see something different, but they don’t know them either. See what I’m saying?”

He was beginning to, but the look he gave her was at once searching and cautious.

“You and me, Willy, we’ve dealt with tragedy. We can handle it, but I worry about the Bauers. I don’t know if they’re made of the same stuff.”

Uncertain whether to speak, he continued to eat. The chop gave him trouble, and his knife slipped.

She said, “Something happens, I want to know I can depend on you. I want to know you can step in, keep things moving. The thing that’s important, Willy, is every minute of the day I’ve got to know you’re my man.”

All of her face claimed his attention, and he nodded emphatically and unequivocally. Her voice, in some phantom way, sounded like his mother’s.

“I like your name,” she said. “You’re Yankee, you’re Andover. In time maybe we can change the name from Bauer Associates to Rollins. How’s that sound?”

It sounded overwhelming, life-changing, heady. It was too much for him to think about at that moment, and he let his confusion linger as if it were something to savor.

“The only thing is, Willy, you’ve got a black mark against you.”

He tightened. “I don’t understand.”

“The Silver Bell.”

“The price was right,” he said rapidly.

“It was too right. If I knew that, you should’ve.”

Afraid to look at her, he busied himself with the chop, his knife struggling with the remaining meat. Inside, he was ice.

“Pick it up,” she said. “Eat off the bone. Get grease on your face like a man.” Her voice had gone unusually low. “It’s the way you eat when you’re alone, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He reached into his plate. “Yes, it is.”

“In the old days anybody did me or my brother wrong, Ralph Roselli could go after him in a hundred different ways, each one looking like an accident. But I don’t do business that way anymore. Not if I can help it.”

He gnawed on the bone, his eyes squeezed shut behind his amber glasses.

She said, “You owe me.”

• • •

The town, in Sergeant Dawson’s estimation, had two reasonable restaurants, but he liked neither. One, Backstreet, he considered too cramped and crowded, and the other, Rembrandt’s, he regarded as too roomy and impersonal, with the aura of its past existence, a mortuary, still clinging to it. Eve James suggested the Andover Inn, which he felt was too rich for his blood. “I’ve already made reservations,” she said with cheerful finality. She had frosted paint on her mouth which, pursed, looked like a shiny coin. “Remember, Sonny, it’s my treat.”

They were in her car, a sporty Mazda much like the one, except for the year and color, that Melody Haines had driven to the Silver Bell. “Nice wheels,” he said. “Buy it local?”

“I didn’t buy it at all.”

“A gift?”

“A bonus.”

The inn was elegantly nestled on the grounds of Phillips Academy, just beyond the chapel. The parking lot was full. She drove up onto the grass and was out of the car before he was. “Shall I lock it?” he asked.

“I already did. Just shut it.”

Inside the inn, he smoothed his hair back in a worried way and looked down at himself. His tie was regimental and went well with his button-down shirt and herringbone jacket. His trousers were fresh from the cleaners. “You look super,” she said wryly.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

She had on a silky dress with a scoop neckline and cinched waist. Her bobbed red hair, brushed back in a dense natural wave, emphasized her tight, hard face, which had worn well. She was a little fleshy under the chin, but not enough to matter. The maître d’ led them to a table set with fresh flowers, and a waiter’s helper, his features cherubic, arrived presently with smoked salmon coronets, cherry tomatoes, and stuffed sections of celery.

“I could make a meal of this,” Dawson said.

“But you won’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to shame you.”

The waiter, brisk and efficient, soon returned with their drink orders, Harvey’s Bristol Cream on the rocks, and then moved smartly to tend to a table of elderly ladies dressed in soft pinks, lilacs, and watery blues. The piano player, with eyes that appeared half-shut, was rippling through a medley of nostalgic tunes. Eve lifted her drink.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” he said, and one of the elderly ladies smiled at them as if she thought they were celebrating an anniversary or a reconciliation.

“Suspicious of me, aren’t you?” Eve said.

“Very.”

“You’re wondering why I phoned. Simple enough, Sonny. Old times.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“It shouldn’t be. We’re old friends.”

He opened the impressive covers of the menu and examined the list of entrées. “I hope you can afford this,” he said, and she gave him a clear gaze.

“You know I can.”

“You’ve done well.”

“More or less.”

“I take it you’ve been with Bauer for a long time.”

Her eyebrows were dark circumflexes, her smile droll. “In one way or another.”

“Are you still a hooker?”

“No, Sonny. I’m a good girl now.”

Later she smiled up at the dashing wine waiter and selected a moderately priced bottle of Graves, which immediately gained the waiter’s approval: a perfect choice, a good year, an excellent buy. He backed off with a bow. “That’s what I would’ve picked,” Dawson said.

“You’re kidding.”

“Of course.”

They chose rack of veal for dinner, which was served with anchovy fillets, creamed potatoes, and an exotic vegetable. Usually a fast eater, Dawson took his time, occasionally dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin, sampled the wine, and listened to the piano music. She said, “You’ve got another question. I can feel it coming.”

“Did you know her?”

“Who?”

“Melody.”

“I made it a point not to.”

“Why?”

“She was Alfred’s pet. I used to be. We all get older.”

“But he still takes care of you.”

“And I wouldn’t want to disturb that.”

“Yes, I can understand.”

“I thought you would. It’s one of the things I remember about you.” She rested an elbow on the table, and her bare arm seemed to float out of the silky sleeve. The only ring she wore was Andover High School, Class of 1967. “Innocents at play, weren’t we, Sonny? Junior year, as I remember. Backseat of your car.”

“
Your
car. You didn’t like mine. You may have been ashamed of it.”

“Wasn’t that. Mine had more room.”

“Yours was smaller.”

“We remember different things, don’t we?”

They paused to watch a trolley of rich desserts roll up to the table of elderly ladies, who began agonizing over their choices. At another table somebody’s beeper went off, and a man who looked like a doctor rose to his feet. Eve finished eating and placed her knife and fork together, like man and wife, on the plate.

She said, “Remember Hartigan’s Drugstore, the ice cream sodas we had? The man in the starched peaked cap who made them? We giggled a lot, couldn’t stop ourselves. Remember the spigots popping out syrups? We made everything sexual. Remember the rose-veined marble of the counter? You said it looked like me inside.”

“I couldn’t have gotten that close.”

“We didn’t always wait for night to go parking.”

“Whatever we thought we had didn’t last long.”

“At that age nothing should. A sin if it does.” She smiled lightly. “But the years have no business going by so fast, do they?”

They skipped dessert. The man whose beeper had sounded had returned to his table and, his wife looking on, was carefully examining his check. In anticipation of theirs, Eve had discreetly laid out a gold Master Card at the edge of the table. She sipped Jamaican coffee through a layer of whipped cream, the rim of the glass sugared, the sparkle adding another dimension to her class ring. For want of something better to say, Dawson asked why she had never married.

“What makes you think I didn’t?”

“Did you?”

“No. No time.” She dabbed her mouth. “Why didn’t you? The real reason.”

“I never wanted to be responsible for anybody except myself. Selfish, I guess. Or maybe I was afraid or insecure. Something like that.”

“So instead you became a cop, responsible for everybody.”

“Yes. But only while on duty.”

“Melody went beyond your shift.”

“A little,” he conceded.

“A lot,” she corrected.

He gazed off. “I’ll tell you something, Eve,” he said, looking back slowly, “I’m always on duty.”

“And I’ll tell you something,” she said. “From what I heard, she’d have stayed a perennial ingenue.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She expected miracles. She thought men wanted to marry her, Alfred for one.” The waiter collected the card. “You for another,” she added.

Later he said, “Thank you for the dinner.”

They wound their way out of the dining room at the same time the elderly ladies were leaving and for a moment or so mingled among them in what seemed a gust of scent, mostly hair spray and emanations from the neck. One of the ladies resembled Eleanor Roosevelt. It was she who had smiled at them earlier and now smiled again. The wine waiter bowed, for Eve had tipped him well.

The dark sky was shot through with stars, and the air was cool and still. “Lovely,” she murmured and dangled the keys. “You drive.”

He had to push the seat back. Then, on Main Street, the car purring with a power he was not used to, he readjusted the rearview mirror. He drove toward Ballardvale Road. She lowered her window and asked if the breeze was too much for him. It was, but he shook his head. She sat sideways in the bucket seat, her dress carelessly riding up, her eyes on him.

“If you’re taking yourself home,” she said, “drive slow.” He did, letting other cars pass them, their lights sweeping over them and chalking their faces. She dropped an arm over the back of his seat and brushed her fingers against his nape. “You were my first love, Sonny.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” Her voice came at him in a low pitch, her smile slanting. “Do you remember where we used to go parking?”

“It’s not there anymore. Houses are.”

“A shame.”

“Your boss built them.”

“More shame.” Her mouth moved toward his. “Some other place then. What do you say?”

His eyes shifted into hers, and suddenly she laughed.

“You’re not buying it, are you? I told Alfred it was a long shot.”

“He really must hate me.”

“He has no choice, does he?”

He accelerated and turned sharply onto Ballardvale Road. “What was the game plan?”

“I bruise easily, you surely remember that. And no jury would believe I ripped my dress myself, not this one. It cost six hundred dollars.”

“So now you get to keep the dress.”

“Silver lining to everything.”

He pulled up in front of his driveway, and they both got out. She ambled around to the driver’s side, where he held the door open for her, the motor idling. In the starlight her face looked cleansed to the bone, her mouth newly minted.

“Like old times, Sonny, me dropping you off at this funny little house. Strangers must wonder if real people live in it. You’re not Andover anymore, you know. Others are. May I?” She rose on her toes, carrying up the mingled scent of her clothes and skin, and for a number of seconds her full lips looped over his. He stepped back with a shiver, and she slipped into the Mazda and grinned out the open window. “You have a lot of willpower. You must be pleased.”

“Not entirely,” he said. “I have a hard-on you wouldn’t believe.”

She wrenched the gearshift into drive. “Yes, I would, Sonny. I’ve seen ’em all.”

• • •

The Bauers had gone to bed early, Alfred with a book on John F. Kennedy that he was still reading and Harriet with a magazine that she had not opened. She seemed asleep but was not. Her eyes snapped open when the front door chimes sounded. “Are you expecting somebody?” she asked, and he looked with a shade of disappointment at his watch.

“Not this early.”

He made the trip down to the front door wearing only his striped pajama bottoms, his chest hair sticking out where he had been scratching. Above his solid shoulders a vein pulsed through the ruined flesh of his neck. He opened the door on Eve James.