The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (47 page)

Linda Steinman was an attractive forty-eight year old woman who had not remarried since the divorce in 1987. She had lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and taken a healthy chunk of Berenger’s salary as alimony, but she also had a high-paying job as a human resources director at a major architectural firm in the city. Berenger maintained a cordial relationship with her because they’d had children together and because he knew he’d always love her.

She had phoned him a week earlier to set up the dinner meeting at Ray’s, one of their favorite restaurants in Little Italy. It was
not
one of the famous New York chain locations of Ray’s Pizza, but rather a small family-owned dive that served authentic southern Italian meals. Linda had said there was something she needed to discuss with him. Berenger figured that wasn’t a good sign, for she usually called him only to discuss money matters pertaining to their twins. Both Pam and Michael were now in their early twenties and, like most young people, needed help with their finances. Pam was doing graduate work at Albany Law School and Michael had recently left NYU and moved to California to attend the L.A. Music Academy. Both were expensive prospects.

When Berenger arrived at the restaurant, located on Prince Street between Mott and Elizabeth, Linda was already at a table nursing a glass of red wine. He waved at her through the plate glass window but she didn’t return the greeting.

Yep, he was late.

“Sorry,” he said as he made his way through the narrow aisle of tables that were already filled with customers. It was a small place and not very accommodating for a guy his size. “I’m going out of town tomorrow and we had to get a lot of stuff ready.”

Linda looked at her watch. “Thirty-five minutes isn’t too bad. I can remember waiting three or four hours at a restaurant for you.”

“I said I’m sorry. Come on. You look great, I’m happy to see you.”

She made a face and shook her head. “Whatever. I’m starving. You know what you want?”

“I just got here. Let me look at this for a sec.” He scanned the menu for five seconds and then snapped it shut.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Lasagna.”

He shrugged. “I like lasagna. And they make it good here.”

“You’re such a creature of habit.”

“I know, and you never could change me. Stuck in my ways.”

“Forget it. Let’s try to have a nice time.”

Berenger held out his hands. “I’m having a blast!”

The middle-aged waitress waddled over to the table. “Something to drink, sir?”

He pointed to Linda’s glass and asked her, “That’s all you want? Care to share a carafe or a bottle?”

“This is good enough for me.”

“Bring me a carafe of the red,” he told the waitress. “And I think we’re ready to order.”

He told the woman what they wanted and then they were alone—except for the other customers sitting just a few feet from them on all sides.

“So, what did you want to talk about? Have you heard from the kids?” he asked.

“To answer the second question first, yes, I’ve heard from them. Pam, anyway. I never hear from Michael. Have you heard from him?”

“Nope. But I’m sure he’s fine. When he’s
not
fine is when we hear from him. What’s Pam have to say?”

“Only that her boyfriend is a jerk but she still loves him and that her mid-term finals were really hard.”

“She’s in law school. What does she expect? And all men are jerks. Didn’t you tell her that?”

That brought a smile to Linda’s lips. Berenger always thought the sun rose with her smiles. They brought out the warmth and intelligence that otherwise lay dormant behind a composed exterior. Her perfectly round brown eyes also crinkled a bit when she grinned—an endearing feature that he’d never forget. She still wore her dark black hair to her shoulders and Berenger was always amazed that she never had any gray.

Linda was tall, tan, and athletic. She kept in shape by going to the gym regularly and watching her diet. That had been another bone of contention between them during the marriage. Berenger hated to exercise and count calories. Only in the past several years had he taken to working out in the gym at the office.

“You’d think Michael would have the decency to call me on my birthday,” she said.

“He didn’t call you?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll murder him.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I’ll at least mention it to him. That’s just not right.”

“He’s never remembered my birthday. Ever. When he was young, you always bought the cards for him to sign—or Pam did when they were a little older and still living at home.”

“Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember my birthday either.”

“Children should remember their parents’ birthdays. And anniversary. If the parents are still married.”

He shrugged at that one. “Yeah. Well.”

“So, listen, I wanted to talk to you.” That was the way she always began when something serious was coming. “
So, listen, I wanted to talk to you
.” Past tense, as if she’d been contemplating it for days or weeks. Or as if it was his fault that she hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him yet.

“Here I am. Let’s talk.”

Linda took a deep breath and then spit it out. “I’m getting married and moving to California.”

For a second, Berenger thought someone had just hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer.

He’d always known that it was a possibility. Linda had been single for twenty-two years and was still an attractive, desirable woman. In many ways, he was surprised that it hadn’t happened prior to this. He knew she dated and there was one serious boyfriend that stayed around for nearly ten years in the nineties. But that had fizzled out after the new millennium.

But nothing had prepared him for the shock of hearing those words. He had read somewhere that men always take it harder than women do when their ex-spouse remarries. He didn’t know if that was true, but he certainly felt the swell of a jealousy, anger, and pain cocktail. Even after twenty-two years of being away from her.

The waitress brought the carafe and another glass. “Your meal will be out in a few minutes,” she said.

Berenger took the carafe without pouring a glass and took a long swig out of it.

“Spike, Jesus!” Linda whispered.

He set down the carafe and exhaled loudly. “That’s good wine. Hey, I’ve always wanted to ask you something. Do you color your hair?”

She blinked. “No. Why?”

“You don’t have a single gray thread.”

She smiled again. “No, I don’t. It’s that Mediterranean blood.”

“You’re really a beautiful woman, Linda. How do you stay looking so young?”

“By practicing habits that you don’t. Did you hear what I just told you?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” He poured wine into his glass and took a sip. “Is he, uhm, someone I know?”

“You met him once. Richard Noyce. He’s an architect at the firm.”

Berenger’s brow wrinkled. The name sounded familiar but he couldn’t place the guy. “Where did I meet him?”

“At my Christmas party a year ago.”

“A year ago? Not this past Christmas?”

“Right.”

“Describe him.”

“Tall. Bald. Mustache. Broad shoulders. Forty-four.”

“
Bald
?” Then he shook his head as if he’d been splashed with liquid. “
Forty-four
? He’s younger than you?”

“By four years.”

He thought for a moment. “Okay, I remember him. He’s the guy you said had hung mistletoe all over your apartment.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He took another sip of wine. “Okay. Yeah. I remember him. He looks like Mister Clean with a mustache.”

“He’s setting up his own firm in California. So we’re going to get married and move out there.”

“When is this momentous occasion?”

“This fall. Probably September. We haven’t set an exact date yet. But he needs to be in Los Angeles by October first.”

“
Los Angeles
? You
hate
Los Angeles!”

This time it was her turn to shrug. “Not anymore.”

“Whenever you were in Los Angeles with me you hated it.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Berenger’s ears were ringing and he felt a headache coming on. He rubbed his eyes and took another sip of wine.

“Do you love this guy?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you and he… been…”

“Seeing each other?”

Berenger rolled his eyes and said, “Well, I was going to say
sleeping with each other
, but, yeah, that’ll do.”

“Three years.”

“Really? Three years?”

“Uh huh.”

“How come I didn’t know that?”

“You did know that. I’ve told you several times. I’d say I was going to such-and-such with Richard. I was doing this-or-that with Richard. You didn’t put it together?”

“I guess not.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Do the kids know?”

“Yes.”

His mouth dropped. “You told
them
before you told
me
?”

“Yes.”

“Now I’m
really
gonna kill Michael for not calling me.”

“Leave him alone. I told them not to tell you.”

He took another sip of wine and then sat back in his chair. “Wow. I gotta hand it to you, Linda, when you want to talk to me about something, it’s usually in the doozy department. And this one’s a real doozy.”

“I hope you’re going to be mature about this.”

Berenger snorted and said, “Come on. We’re both adults. Of course I will. Linda, we haven’t been together in twenty years.”

“Twenty-two.”

“Whatever. I think I can get used to you living with another man. After all, I’ve—”

“—been with a number of different women since the divorce.”

“But I haven’t gotten
married
.”

“You would if the right woman came along.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you would.”

Yes, he probably would
. Berenger hadn’t thought about it for many years, though. It was true there had been a few very eligible candidates in his life since the split with Linda, but he had never felt the need to commit to anything more than several months’ worth of cohabitation every once in a while.

“Los Angeles, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, at least you’ll be near Michael.”

She nodded. “That was a nice incentive as well.”

“What does Michael think about that?”

“He doesn’t mind. It’ll give him a place to go for dinner on the weekends if he wants one.”

“Does Mister Clean have any children from a previous marriage?”

“Yes, two, and don’t call him that.”

“How old are they?”

“They’re grown. Two boys. One lives in Los Angeles as well, and one lives in Washington, D.C.”

“What do they do?”

“One’s an architect, like his father. He’s the one in D.C. The other one… is a musician.”

Berenger laughed. “Well, that’s gratifying. Maybe he and Michael could start their own band.”

“Oh. Richard and I are going out of town this weekend. I think we’ll be gone a week or so. Just in case you try to get hold of me.”

“I said I was going to be away, too. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. It’s a case.”