Paper Phoenix: A Mystery of San Francisco in the '70s (A Classic Cozy--with Romance!) (12 page)

In the front of the room a tiny white-haired man, barely able to see over the podium, was haranguing the crowd. Despite this fact, a steady buzz of conversation came from small knots of people who appeared to be caucusing, and members of the audience got up and wandered at will. The speech seemed to be serving the same function that a tinkling piano serves in a crowded cocktail lounge. Andrew took out his notebook, whispered, “He’s from the Senior Citizens Lobby,” and began scribbling.

The Senior Citizens Lobby spokesman was denouncing the Golden State Center because it would do away with low-cost housing in the neighborhood. “In the words of Richard Longstreet, our esteemed Redevelopment Director, who was
dreadfully
sorry he couldn’t be here tonight to listen to our charges”— the man paused to give the crowd a chance to laugh sarcastically— “as I say, in the words of Mr. Longstreet, the Golden State Center will be ‘a part of the neighborhood but also a transformation of the neighborhood— a newborn, vital phoenix rising from underutilized and undervalued land.’”

I squirmed. “I can’t believe Richard would say anything that corny,” I muttered to Andrew.

He continued to write. “Probably a flight of fancy from his public relations flack.”

“— ask you, my friends,” the speaker was continuing, “is out of what ashes is Mr. Longstreet’s phoenix rising? I submit to you it’s from the ashes of the little people who are being displaced because the City Hall fat cats think it’s a good idea!”

This shot brought scattered applause and shouts of “Right on!” I thought it would have been a good stopping place, but the speaker made his point several additional times, using phrases like “disregard of the average citizen,” “unholy alliance between big business and big labor,” and “like to see
them
try to live on Social Security.”

I surveyed the crowd. There was no obvious racial or cultural common denominator. “Who are all these people?” I asked Andrew.

His eyes swept the room. “A lot of them probably live around here in cheap hotels that’ll be torn down when the Center goes up. Let’s see— that group over by the door is the Anti-Highrise Coalition. Very active bunch. I would guess some of the other people are merchants who don’t want to sell and move. Hey!” His elbow dug into my ribs. “There’s Joseph Corelli!”

“Corelli? Where?”

“Over there. See? Sort of hidden in the corner. Bald, heavy-set guy.”

The man Andrew described was leaning against the wall, arms folded. He looked like a prosperous businessman in his fifties who had sampled a little more Luigi’s pasta than was absolutely necessary. He was wearing a dark suit, and his fleshy face looked glazed with boredom. I wondered what scandalous secret Larry had known about this apparently upstanding man, something so damning that Corelli would pay to keep it quiet. Corelli’s name had been on Richard’s calendar, too. What was the connection between them?

The senior citizen finished his speech to moderate applause, and there was a certain amount of milling around while the Anti-Highrise spokesman tried to find something to lean his numerous charts against. I told Andrew about finding Corelli’s name on Richard’s calendar and said, “I want to talk with Corelli. What could he possibly be doing here?”

“Beats me. We should try to find out.” Andrew glanced around. “They usually have some barely potable coffee in that little niche over there. Want to try some while this guy gets organized?”

As we threaded our way through the crowd, I caught snatches of conversation. People were talking about lawsuits, holding actions, and civil disobedience. Everyone referred to the Golden State Center as the “GSC.” Bitter voices flung out the name “Longstreet.”

When we had almost reached the coffee urn something caught my eye. I thought there was a familiar face in a group to my left. I looked again, and stopped still. Standing about four feet away, not looking at me, was the narrow-faced man who had lurked beside my garage to grab me and warn me to stay away from the Times. He was smoking a cigarette. As I stared at him, he turned toward me. His eyes widened when they caught mine, and he turned immediately and moved away into the crowd.

“It’s the man! The one from last night!” I cried over my shoulder to Andrew as I took off after him, excusing myself to the various citizens whose toes I was mangling. It would be perfect to catch him in this crowd, and demand what he thought he’d been doing. I’d be surrounded by witnesses if he tried to hurt me.

I heard Andrew say, “What— wait a minute!” as I plunged on. I was gaining ground until a group of Anti-Highrisers, deep in a discussion of quality of life, wandered into my path. By the time I had disentangled myself from them, the man was gone.

“You’re a real tiger, aren’t you?” Andrew sounded irritated.

It had been a stupid thing to do. “I got carried away. But what on earth could he have been doing here? This whole situation gets stranger all the time.”

“Just watch out. I don’t want you to get carried away— literally.”

“Neither do I.” I noticed that barging across the room had brought me considerably closer to Joseph Corelli. “Why don’t we rendezvous after the next speech? I want to strike up an acquaintance with Mr. Corelli.”

Andrew’s response was to roll his eyes upward and wander away. I elbowed my way to Corelli’s corner and settled against the wall next to him. After a decent interval of listening to the Anti-Highrise speaker, who had finally gotten his charts propped up, I glanced at Corelli and said, “Good crowd here tonight.”

Corelli looked at me. Up close, his face was heavily sensual, with full lips and knowing eyes. He looked me over with languid expertise and apparently decided I’d do to relieve his boredom. “They’ll never get anything accomplished if they don’t get organized,” he said, moving closer to me. His voice was deep, and he smelled of pipe tobacco and wine.

“There doesn’t seem to be much structure,” I said. Corelli had moved so close it was making me nervous.

“Chickens with their heads cut off,” he agreed. “The only good reason for coming here is that occasionally a very attractive woman turns up.”

Well, well, well. I had made a hit. “Actually, this is my first time here. I don’t understand the issues as well as I should.”

Corelli bent over me. “There’s not that much to understand. These are just a lot of people who object to getting screwed by the city.”

“And what are you? One of those people who object to getting screwed?”

He smiled wickedly. “Only in one sense.”

I fiddled with the scarf at my neck. I hadn’t engendered this much sexual intensity at a first meeting since an eighty-five-year-old retired board chairman fumbled at the front of my dress while helping me with my coat at a charity benefit. I wondered if Corelli came on like this with every woman he exchanged words with, or if it was my unique charm at work. “No, really,” I protested.

“It’s a complicated situation, but basically you’re right. I own some property that’s needed for the Golden State Center. I don’t want to sell. I’ve come to a couple of meetings to see if an efficient protest group would develop. So far I’ve been disappointed.” His smile deepened. “Are you bored to tears yet?”

“Not at all. It’s fascinating.” It was outrageous to play along with him, but it seemed the only basis for our getting acquainted.

“Aren’t you kind to say so.” His eyelids looked heavy, his voice was smooth. Did he lick his lips, or was it my imagination? “In that case, why don’t we go discuss it over a drink, and leave these windbags to their exercises in futility?”

The last place I wanted to be was alone with this turned-on Joseph Corelli. I tried to sound regretful. “I can’t. I’m here with a friend. But I’ll tell you what.” I put my hand on his arm. “I really am interested in discussing this further. Why don’t we get together tomorrow afternoon?”

Corelli looked miffed, and I was afraid he’d turn me down. Hope, however, did not die easily. After a minute he grunted a reluctant “All right,” and dug in his pocket for a business card. “Come around to the back,” he instructed me. “My office opens on the alley.”

I shook his hand, arranged to stop by at two o’clock, and slid back into the crowd.

As we drove home after the meeting Andrew said, “You certainly made a hit with Corelli. Are you sure he didn’t drool down your neck?”

I felt smug. “My irresistibility is legend. I’m going to pump him about Richard tomorrow.”

When we reached my house, Andrew got out of the car. “I’m coming in with you while you make sure that guy hasn’t come back.”

“Great.” We sprinted through the rain. Wet flowers from the Japanese magnolia had blown onto the front steps. The house looked just as I’d left it, one light burning in the living room.

As Andrew followed me into the entry hall, though, I sensed that something was different, that the peace of the house had been disturbed. I didn’t know why I thought so. Everything looked the same. With growing uneasiness, I walked into the living room. There, looking as impeccable as ever, was Richard, sitting in an armchair waiting for me.

Invariably well mannered, Richard stood up when I walked into the room. After raising his eyebrows when he saw Andrew, he focused on me. “I want to talk with you.”

My immediate response was a slight drag toward acquiescence, a hangover from twenty-two years of agreement to his requests. Before I could say anything, though, I felt a much more powerful flash of resentment. Was there no limit to Richard’s gall? This was my home now, not his, but apparently he felt perfectly justified in invading it. “How the hell did you get in?”

“I kept my key.” He looked a trifle shamefaced about it, knowing it hadn’t been a sophisticated thing to do.

I held out my hand. “Give it to me. I want it right now.”

“I’ll give it to you. But first I’d like for us to have a chat.” He turned to Andrew with blatant inquiry. Richard had always accomplished a great deal by indirection. He didn’t have to tell Andrew that Andrew was unwelcome. The arrogant tilt of his head, the slant of his body did it for him.

Andrew didn’t budge, and I had no intention of asking him to leave. I was only beginning to realize how dangerous Richard might be. Still, it was unlikely that he had missed the folder yet, so he didn’t know how much trouble he was in. “This is Andrew Baffrey, a friend of mine,” I said. On impulse, I added, “He’s the editor of the
People’s Times.”

Only someone who knew Richard as well as I would have seen the look of shock and fear that hung for an instant in his eyes. It transformed his face for me as thoroughly as if I had seen it suddenly made livid in the glare of lightning. And I felt not dismay, and certainly not pity, but triumph. At last, I thought, at last I have the upper hand. Then his self-control reasserted itself and he turned to Andrew and said, coldly, “How do you do?”

Andrew, standing near the door, nodded gravely. Neither offered to shake hands. Richard turned back to me, his eyes freezing. “I want you to tell me what you’re up to, Maggie. I want to know right now.”

Bubbles of power were eddying through my veins. I felt invulnerable. “I spent a lot of years doing what you wanted me to do, and look where it got me. You can’t exact anything from me any more, Richard. You deliberately gave up that privilege.”

Richard squared off to face me. “First you come to my office and make an irrational scene about being followed. Then I hear that you’re running around with my enemies, people who want to ruin me. To put it bluntly, I think you’re sick. Furthermore, since what you’re doing directly concerns me, I deserve an explanation.”

So I was sick. Causing trouble for Richard made me ipso facto unbalanced. “Don’t get self-righteous with me. If you’re so concerned about what you deserve, then I suggest you deserve to spend time in jail.”

He took a step nearer. I felt only exhilaration. “What the hell are you talking about?”

In the background I heard Andrew say, “Maggie, wait—” but I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m talking about
you,
Richard,” I spat out. “You make a pretense of cultivation, but when it comes right down to it you’re a crook. Nothing but a cheap crook.”

Although it shouldn’t have, the slap surprised me. I was aware only of the impact of the blow at first. Caught off balance, I reeled backward against the liquor cabinet and in an effort to keep from falling swept several crystal cordial glasses to the floor. I heard them shatter at the same time I was aware that Andrew had shouted, “Leave her alone!” and bounded across the room, grabbed Richard, and shoved him away from me.

Richard turned savagely. I had never seen him so out of control. “And you!” he shouted at Andrew. “What do you mean, stirring up trouble this way!”

“He didn’t stir anything up! I went to him!” I cried. My face was starting to sting, and I had to blink tears out of my eyes in order to see Richard and Andrew glaring at each other— Richard’s tie crooked, Andrew’s navy blue sweater pulled to one side. This encounter was taking on all the aspects of a barroom brawl. It was almost funny, in a totally horrible way. I tried to suppress the giggles that were rising in my throat. If I began to laugh, I might not be able to stop until they carted me away. Swallowing hard, I said, “Richard, get out. Give me the key and get out.”

His foray into physical violence had left Richard crestfallen. It was with only a trace of his former arrogance that he said, “We haven’t settled anything yet.”

“We aren’t going to. Not tonight. Get out.”

Without another word, Richard detached the house key from his key ring, dropped it on the coffee table, and walked out, straightening his tie as he went. After the door clicked, Andrew and I looked at each other. I was still slumped against the liquor cabinet, my hand against my smarting cheek. “Has he hit you often?” Andrew asked.

I shook my head, as much to clear it as in denial. “Never.”

“He’s a real bastard,” he said hotly. “Worse than I thought.”

“Rotten. He’s absolutely rotten.” Without any warning at all, my face was wet with tears. I bent my head and let them flow. Once they had started, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop them. The terror, the anger, the shocks of discovery I had experienced today were sliding out of my eyes and dripping off my chin onto the pretty silk scarf I had put on to take Candace to brunch so many hours ago.