Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons (13 page)

Frankly, the closest I can get to a spiritual experience is playing music. I played Scarlatti and felt better.

* * *

On Tuesday, Chris and I had a breakfast date at my apartment to take stock— not my idea. Such things never are, but she’s a morning person. Nonetheless, she arrived as haggard and drawn as if she’d had an argument with a controlled substance.

“You poor peach,” I said, stealing her favorite word. “Are you okay?”

“Still not over the weekend, I guess.” But she smiled as if she was merely tired from dancing all night. She’d bounce back, but it would take time. Time, and renewed self-esteem— the vindication of turning the real killer over to Martinez. I wanted to give her that with every cell in my body.

She stretched out her lanky body on one of my facing white couches, in perfect confidence that coffee would arrive soon. It did, of course.

I took the opposite sofa.

Quickly, we brought each other up to date. She hadn’t found anything in the clips. Tommy La Barre was looking better and better.

“But let’s go over everybody again,” I said. The question of enemies was touchy— who wanted to think someone didn’t like her? And Chris was Southern. “We’re s’posd to be like golden retrievers,” she used to say. “Born to please.”

“Have you ever been responsible for someone going to jail?”

“Hey, partner, we’re defense attorneys. Did you forget?”

“Okay, okay. Wasn’t there anyone— like maybe from high school or something— that you broke up with before they were ready?”

“I never even
dated
in high school.”

I wouldn’t want to say her mood was negative, but she didn’t really resemble a golden retriever. I brought in some pastries from my local Italian bakery, but she didn’t reach for one. A bad sign.

“Well, look,” I said. “I really don’t mean to criticize your friends, but you’ve got to admit the Raiders of the Lost Art aren’t exactly out of
Our Town
. I mean, nothing against being psychic and all, but they’re a little on the strange side, and I was just wondering—” to my amazement, something struck her funny. “You are such a peachblossom!” she said, and it was the closest she’d sounded to her old self for nearly a week. “You’re tryin’
so
hard to be nice. I guess I really got you with that lecture on tolerance. I’m sorry. Really. I was just in a mood.”

“Actually, it gave me a lot to think about. Especially when Julio confessed he’s in the men’s movement.”

That provoked a new outburst of gales. “The men’s movement! Come
on!
”

“Hey, what happened to tolerance and not making fun of people just because they’re different?”

“Julio as the wild man. I can’t stand it.” She was out of control.

“Hey, look, he’s got a right—”

“To paint his
face?
Rebecca, there’s such a thing as taste.”

These ever-changing Chrises— one all urban scorn, the other put-upon minority— were starting to get to me. “Chris, you’re making me mad.”

“Mad? Huh? What’d I say?”

“If you want to be taken seriously, you’d better take other people seriously.”

She sat up— she can drink coffee lying down, and that was what she’d been doing. “Don’t get mad at me. Listen, I really need you.”

“Well, look, it doesn’t make sense. You’re leading some secret life with a bunch of screwballs from the space bar in
Star Wars
, and you think it’s okay to laugh at some gorgeous hunk who’s trying to get in touch with his manhood.”

Which just showed how shell-shocked I was. I would have taken his announcement a lot more in the vein she had if she hadn’t been such a little trailblazer.

“Well, I mean!
Julio.
Who wouldn’t like to get in touch with his manhood?” She laughed a little more and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I guess it was the thought of him naked. I must have felt like dwelling on it.”

“He’s too short for you.”

“Anyway, about the
Star Wars
cast— begging your pardon, but they’re the only ones who couldn’t have killed Jason. I was with them, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” I thought a minute. Maybe I was still a little mad with her, maybe just emboldened by her giggle fit. Before I could stop the words, I said, “Well, goddammit, if you’re so psychic, why don’t you know who did it?”

“It’s not that easy.”

I fixed her with a stem eye. “Keep talking.”

“The stuff’s not all that reliable.”

“How does it work, anyway?”

“You have to know what questions to ask, for one thing.”

“How about this one: ‘Did Tommy La Barre kill Jason McKendrick?’”

She shrugged. “Why the hell not?” She closed her eyes and dropped her chin. When she opened her eyes, she looked amazed. “Well, he might not have. I didn’t think I’d get anything, because it’s impossible to read for yourself. But I did get a little something. It looked a lot like ‘innocent.’”

“Does it come in images or what?”

“Sometimes. I get lights mostly. Tommy just didn’t light up over that one.”

“Where do you think it’s coming from? Are you reading his mind or what?”

“I wish to hell I knew.” For a moment she looked as miserable as when she’d first told me about it.

“Well, back to the original subject.”

“Who hates me.”

“Look, somebody had to know you were in that group. They had to steal your car, remember?”

“They just followed me. I’m sure that was all it was.”

“Even so. You can’t get around the fact they went to a lot of trouble to frame you. If it wasn’t Tommy La Barre, who? Who, who, who?”

“I’m getting depressed.”

“You’ve got to face it, Chris. Somebody wanted you to take the rap for murder. That’s a lot of animosity.”

“I’m getting depressed again. Can’t we get Julio to come do a naked dance for us?”

I didn’t answer.

Finally, she said, “Maybe it was a crazy person.”

“Do you know any?”

“Well, La Barre didn’t act normal that time when he threatened me, but now that I think of it, you know what? I’ll bet he was doing a lot of coke at the time. I wonder if he still is.”

“If so, that would qualify him as crazy.”

“He might be the only one I know. But you know one, of course— the Cosmic Blind Date.”

“Oh. Roger DeCampo. But it can’t be him— he doesn’t know you. La Barre suggested Jason might have attracted one— like in
Play Misty for Me.
”

“But it would still have to be somebody who knows me too.”

Good. She’d accepted that. Suddenly I said, “Have you ever heard of a Sarah Byers?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh. I thought for a minute I might be onto something.”

“You know, now that I think of it, it had to be somebody who knew something about stealing cars— they must have had a slim jim, and they must have known how to hot-wire.”

“Sounds right.”

“But I don’t know anybody like that.”

I was quiet, trying to think where to go from here. Finally Chris said, “I wonder if I should try something.”

“What?”

“You’ll think it’s crazy, but I don’t know, it couldn’t hurt.”

“What, for Christ’s sake?”

“Maybe I could get the group together.”

“Group?” I was drawing a blank.

“You know. The Raiders. Maybe we could come up with something.”

She was right. It couldn’t hurt.

Chris was taking the morning off, still going through clips, but I could allow myself no such luxury. I
had
to get some work done, or that was the way it felt before I got to the office. Once ensconced, I found very nearly all I could do was fret. I picked up the phone to call the doctor, and before I’d dialed, I’d convinced myself I was making a fool of myself. There was really no lump, I’d turned into one of those people doctors call crocks. I called Mickey. “Are you okay?”

“Listen, I’m really sorry about last night. I was about to call you.”

“Was it something I said?”

“Are you free for lunch?”

I looked at my watch— not really. But I said, “If we could do a quick one. Sandwiches in the park or something.”

“Perfect. How about Embarcadero Plaza? Could you get the sandwiches, do you think?”

I sighed. My life was going this way lately. “Okay. But you didn’t answer the question. Are you okay or not?”

“Things are a little weird.”

I sighed again, feeling like somebody’s grandmother. “Well, how about you? You sound depressed.”

“I’ll tell you all about it.”

I went to the ladies’ room and felt my breast. No question: The Thing was there. Panic swept through me, leaving me shaking against the stall door. I had fought a man with a knife once, when I had no weapon at all, and I hadn’t felt this kind of fear. This was like the movie
Alien
; when the beast was inside you, when your own body betrayed you, there was nowhere to turn.

I went back and picked up the phone. I got the doctor’s office and said I wanted to make an appointment.

“Is this for a checkup, or are you experiencing some problem?”

Why did I have to tell this stranger? It was none of her damn business.

I mustered as much dignity as I could. “I’ll tell Carolyn when I see her,” I said, using my doctor’s first name.

“I’m sorry, our procedure is to find out when we make the appointment.”

“Just like your procedure is to weigh me when I come in whether I want to be weighed or not.”

The woman’s voice was frosty. “We need to know whether you’ve had a sudden change in weight.”

“You know, I really can’t—” But before I got any further Kruzick stuck his head in my door. If it was none of the receptionist’s business, it was most assuredly none of his. I was suddenly so embarrassed the woman was spared the lecture I’d been about to deliver on doctors treating patients like children, infantilizing us and making rules for their convenience rather than our comfort. Rules, hell! I might have shouted, I’m
hiring
this woman, and I’m the one paying the bills. From now on,
I
make the rules.

I could kill Kruzick. Think how satisfying that would have been. Instead I just asked to have Carolyn call me back.

My secretary assumed a prissy mouth. “Shall I hold madame’s calls today?”

“Let me talk to Rob if he calls, and Carolyn.”

“And who might Carolyn be?”

“That might be none of your beeswax.”

“Veddy good, mum.” I kind of liked him in this role, but if I said so he’d think of a way to make it irritating; in his way, the man was a genius.

When he had gone, I stared into space awhile, trying to orient myself. I was a wreck this morning, either from the fear or from the stress of living in denial for three days. Or was it only two? I couldn’t even count anymore. What it felt like that morning was the last day of Pompeii— something awful was going to happen, something cataclysmic. I got out my calendar and looked at it— sure enough it was two days before my period. Throw hormones in with the rest, and you had a major paranoia attack.

Rationally, that should have explained it, should have calmed me. I should have been able to say to myself, “I’m doing what I can for Chris and also my lump, and that’s the end of it.” But I guess Julio was right about the mind being less important than we think. I couldn’t get a grip.

Just to have something to do with my sweaty hands, I called Sarah Byers’s number, hoping for a referral to her office. Instead, I got this: “This is Sarah. Don’t ask for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for me.”

God. Was that a suicide message or just a reference to ringing telephones? It gave me the creeps.

After that, with Kruzick holding my calls, I had no choice but to work. I ended up so involved I was surprised when he came in, announced he was going to lunch, and dumped a stack of message slips on my desk. The top one nearly sent me through the ceiling.

“Alan, I thought I told you to put Carolyn through.”

“And so I would have, Mum, if the lady had called.”

“She did call.” I showed him the message slip. “And by the way, the butler act’s wearing thin.”

Without batting an eye, he changed to Southern ditherer: “Well, I declare to goodness if that doesn’t say ‘Dr. Perlmutter.’ You don’t s’pose we had a l’il ol’ failyah of communication, do you?”

“Oh, go to lunch.” I called Carolyn back, told the damn receptionist I had a lump, and made an appointment.

I was fifteen minutes late meeting Mickey as a result. No problem— she didn’t turn up for another five.

I handed her a tuna sandwich and didn’t even let her get it unwrapped. “So let’s have it. Kruzick’s cheating on you, isn’t he?”

“No. It’s nothing to do with Alan. Exactly.”

“Well, what then?”

“I’m the one who’s having an affair.”

“You! But, Mickey—” I couldn’t say what came to mind:
My baby sister is an angel; she doesn’t do things like that.

“I’m pond scum, right?”

“Of course not. But what’s going on?”

“It’s a friend of Alan’s. A guy from the theater. He’s married and has three kids. The youngest is eight months old.”

“Gosh.” That was the best I could do. I was as close to speechless as I get.

“Pretty bad, huh?”

“Um. May I be perfectly honest? Not good. But like I said— what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” The words came out in a whisper. She said it again: “I don’t know. I think I’m in love with two people at once.”

“You’re in love with this guy?” I was so surprised I practically shouted it.

Her eyes filled up. “You don’t know. You just don’t know how awful it is.”

“I guess I don’t. How is it awful?”

“Oh God, the guilt. And being jealous of his wife and children. And never seeing him enough. And knowing I’d die if Alan found out … You just don’t know!”

The solution seemed simple enough to one who wasn’t in the middle of it. The question was whether to mention it. I tried to make a delicate little joke of it: “Well. Usually one man…”

“Oh, stop! Rebecca, you just can’t know what this is like.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to moralize.”

“It’s okay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Oh God, how could I have not mentioned the indecision? That’s the worst part.”