Too Darn Hot (10 page)

TWELVE

S
eymour Avenue wasn’t the ritzy part of Newark but it was nearby. Two blocks over was Van Ness Place, which once had gates at either end. The gates were gone but the houses were still the biggest around.

Our house,
their
house, was small. I’d only lived in it my last two years of high school. Soon as I graduated from Newark High I amscrayed out of there PDQ. I’d spent my whole life wanting to get away from my family. When I was little, I daydreamed of having a magic pogo stick that would take me far and wide, almost like flying. Up, up, and away.

I sat in the car and stared at the house. It needed paint. But it had always needed paint. The small front yard wasn’t mowed. Had it ever been?

I’d left the motor running and I reached for the shift to put it into first and skedaddle. But the front door opened and my pop stood there eyeing the car. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of gray trousers, and brown oxfords.

I coulda left. I knew he didn’t know who was in the car. But like somebody else was running the show, I turned off the motor and got out.

When I came around the car to the sidewalk, his face lit up and he came down the three front steps.

“Faye. I can’t believe it.”

“It’s me, Pop.”

“A sight for sore eyes.”

He put his arms around me and gave me a big hug. It felt nice.

“What’re ya doin here, toots?”

“I’m seein you.”

“C’mon in.”

My heart was pounding cause I knew my mother was inside. And even though it was still early in the day, I didn’t honestly know what condition she’d be in.

Pop and I walked up the steps together, his arm around my shoulder, mine around his waist, and we crossed the narrow porch to the front door.

“That’s some snazzy car ya got there, Faye.”

“Not mine. I borrowed it.”

“Well then, ya got snazzy friends.”

He gently pushed me in front of him and we went through the doorway. Once inside the blue funk settled over me. There seemed to be too much furniture in the living room, and all of it was dark. I hadn’t remembered that.

“Let me get your ma,” he said.

I grabbed his sleeve. “How is she?”

He shrugged. “She’ll be okay this time a day. I know she’ll want to see ya.”

I wasn’t so sure. He left the room and I froze, unable to sit down, like maybe I’d catch something if I did. There was a
Reader’s Digest
on the coffee table and a racing form stuffed down between the seat cushion and arm of a chair. Not much had changed.

Then I heard them coming down the stairs. They were moving slowly. She was setting the pace. They reached the bottom and walked slowly to the living room. When I felt them in the doorway I turned around to face them.

Pop had an arm around her waist as he guided her in. I knew she wouldn’t look good; she hadn’t as long as I could remember. But this was a whole new dimension and it knocked me for a loop.

Mostly the Bowery was peppered with men, but sometimes you’d catch sight of a lady on the street, too. That’s where my ma looked like she belonged. Her salt-and-pepper hair was now totally white. It hung down the sides of her face, lifeless and dull. Her skin had a yellow cast to it, and under her vacant eyes were dark patches like smears of tar.

“Here’s Faye, Helen.”

“Hello, Ma.”

She stared at me like I was a stranger, or a ghost.

“Let’s sit down. Over here, Helen.”

He steered her away from the chair with the racing sheet.

“Take the load off yer feet, Faye.”

I sat on the edge of the sagging couch so I could bolt if I had to.

“How are ya, Ma?” Stupid question.

“Just grand.”

What could I say to that? “I had to be over this way so I thought I’d pop in.”

“Pop in,” she said.

I felt myself shrinking. I was about fourteen now.

“Ya want some coffee or somethin, Faye?” he said.

“No, thanks.”

“Pop in,” she said again. “Sort of the way ya popped out.”

I didn’t like how this was going or what I felt. Twelve now. I didn’t have an angle on what to say, what to ask her. It was like a minefield.

“Faye’s a private investigator, Helen.”

I was stunned Pop knew what I did. “How’d ya know that?”

He smiled, making his dimple show, but he didn’t answer me. Not that my line of work was top secret. Easy to find out, if you wanted to know. And that’s what got me. I wouldna thought he’d care enough to know.

“What do you investigate?” she asked.

“Different things. Depends on the case I get.”

“Like missing persons?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“Missing people.”

I nodded.

“Missing children?”

“Sometimes.”

“Missing babies?”

Oh, no.

“I haven’t had a case like that.”

“Sure you have.”

“Helen, don’t.”

“Why don’t you look for your brother.”

I stood. “I gotta go. I’m meetin somebody.” I started toward the door and she grabbed my wrist.

“Your brother’s missing, you know.”

Her grip was tight, like she’d clamped my wrist in a vise. “Ma, he’s not missing. He’s dead. Ya know that.”

“Dead.”

“He died in the influenza epidemic twenty-five years ago. Let go of my wrist, okay? I gotta leave.”

“Find him,” she said.

I was very young now, but I was strong and pulled out of her grip, ran from the room and the house. By the time I got to the street Pop was on the porch and coming down the steps.

“Faye. Faye, please don’t go this way.”

“I gotta,” I said, dashing to the other side of the car to get in.

He tried to open the passenger door but it was locked. I started the car.

“Faye, please.”

I looked at him and he had tears in his eyes. But I hadda keep going. I hadda leave to save myself. I shifted, worked both pedals, and moved away slowly so I wouldn’t hurt him. When he stepped back, I floored the damn thing.

I drove down Clinton Avenue. I wasn’t going to let this kayo me. I’d always known Ma wished I’d died instead of Jimmy. She went around the house moaning that she wished
she’d
died instead of her son. But that was a lie.
I
was the one she’d trade for him. She never said so, but I knew. I pushed it to the back of my mind and homed in on where I was going and who I was gonna see.

I passed the Roosevelt movie theater. I wished I was going there instead of seeing Lucille Turner. The theater was showing
Shadow of a Doubt
and
King of the Cowboys,
a Roy Rogers movie. I liked Roy better than Gene, but I liked Trigger better than either of em.

The traffic wasn’t bad so I got to Market and Broad pretty quickly. I found a parking spot on Edison. Still shaken by the dustup with my mother, I lit up in the car. I knew I couldn’t get out and walk while I was smoking cause Aunt Dolly told me nice girls didn’t do that.

Thank God for Aunt Dolly and Uncle Dan. They’d raised me from the time Jimmy died until I was about four. Then everyone thought my mother was okay and I moved back home. But she was a stranger to me. And she wasn’t okay. My pop wasn’t home much, so I spent a lot of time alone with books.

On weekends I stayed with my aunt and uncle and they took me to the movies, gave me books, and, when I was about twelve, started taking me into New York City to see plays. My first show was
The Shannons of Broadway
and from then, right up until I left Newark, we went every other Saturday. My Uncle Dan also taught me to play chess.

I didn’t let most people know I played or how good I was. Chess wasn’t a girls’ game and though I mostly didn’t give a rat’s behind about stuff like that, I figured I’d leave that one out. No guy would play with me anyway. I watched the big-shot roosters play in Washington Square Park and knew I coulda beaten a few of them.

I stubbed out my cig in the chrome ashtray and got out of the car. Mostel’s Bookstore was on Market, which wasn’t far. I hoped Lucille would have lunch with me.

The store had two show windows on either side of the door, and when I opened it a little bell chimed. The place was stuffed with both old and new books. There was a U-shaped counter in front, but no one was behind it. A couple of customers browsed the shelves.

A tall girl, her dark hair cut short, came outta the back. I knew right away this was Lucille. She wasn’t as beautiful as Claire but still a knockout.

She wore a knee-length, peach-colored dress belted at the waist. It had large lapels and was puffy at the shoulders. The sleeves were short. She smiled as she came up to me.

“May I help you?”

I had to ask to be sure. “Are you Lucille Turner?”

She looked frightened, like a startled cat. “Is something wrong? Who are you?”

I showed her my license.

“What do you want with me?”

“Have ya read in the papers about the missin soldier?”

She nodded.

“Yer sister’s boyfriend. I believe ya met him once.”

“I don’t know anything about his disappearance.”

“I’m not sayin ya do. But I’d like to ask ya some questions all the same.”

She looked over her shoulder toward the back of the shop. “Not here. I don’t want Mr. Mostel to know.”

“Okay. Will ya meet me for lunch?”

She mulled it over. “All right. Do you know where Child’s is?”

I did.

Lucille checked her watch. “About twenty minutes.”

“Ya sure you’ll show?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Mind if I . . .”

“Miss Turner?” A man’s voice came from behind us.

“I’m with a customer, Mr. Mostel.”

“When you finish, come back here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not a
please,
” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Or
thank you.
”

We smiled at each other.

“I was gonna ask if ya minded if I looked around.”

More mulling. “I guess that’s fine. But I don’t want to leave together.”

“You think I look like a PI? Why couldn’t I be a friend?”

“You could, but it makes me nervous. Please meet me at Child’s, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll give the browsing a pass.”

“Thanks.” She scurried off to the back.

I left and made my way to the restaurant.

Aunt Dolly used to take me to Child’s for lunch on Saturdays when we didn’t go see a show. I always had the buckwheat cakes with sausages and a Chero-Cola root beer. Every time she’d ask me if I wanted to try something else, but I never did.

I was smoking a cigarette and drinking an RC when Lucille came in. She found me right away and took the seat across from me. I couldn’t get a booth.

“Thanks for comin, Miss Turner.”

“Sure. Call me Lucille.”

We agreed to use first names. I let her look at the menu before the smiling waitress came over, dressed in a white starched uniform with a little white cap.

“What can I get you ladies?”

At last, a nice waitress. I ordered my buckwheat cakes and Lucille asked for tuna salad on white and a Coke.

She lit her cigarette with a Zippo and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Fire away,” she said.

“I’ve been hired to find Private Ladd.”

“By Claire?”

“I can’t tell ya that.”

“Well, who else would it be? It doesn’t matter, anyway. Did she tell you to come talk to me?”

“Lucille, like ya said, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to meet ya.”

“Howdayado,” she said, and gave a big throaty laugh. “So we’ve met. What’s next?”

“I have a few questions.”

“About Charlie?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what you think I can tell you.” She turned her lighter around and around in her hand.

“Maybe nothin. But maybe somethin you don’t know is important.”

“Like what?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out. Did ya like Private Ladd?”

“I liked him fine.”

“And ya met him how many times?”

“Only once.”

She answered very quickly, as if she wanted me to be sure how little she knew him.

“And where was that?”

The waitress brought Lucille her Coke and left.

“I had dinner once with Claire and Charlie. She’d broken off with another guy and Charlie was the new one.”

“Van Widmark.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Claire told you about Van?”

I didn’t answer.

“She tell you what happened to him?”

“He told me ya used to visit him.”

“You’ve met Van?” This seemed to upset her.

“Wanna tell me why ya visited him and then suddenly stopped?”

“It wasn’t sudden. And what does Van have to do with anything? With Charlie?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“So why’d ya visit Van?”

“I felt sorry for him.”

“If ya felt sorry for him, why’d ya stop droppin by?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Was it because you were pregnant?”

She glared at me and pressed her lips together so tightly they disappeared.

I waited.

“I think I should leave.” She put out her cig.

I reached across the table and put my hand gently but firmly on her wrist. “Please don’t do that. I’m not yer enemy.”

“How do you know about the baby?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I suppose you can’t tell me that, either?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I know it wasn’t Van because he’d never tell anyone.”

“Who was the father?”

“None of your beeswax, Miss Quick.”

“Did the father know you were pregnant?”

Ever so slightly, she shook her head.

“But your parents knew and cut you off, didn’t they?”

She nodded and her eyes teared up.

“Why didn’t ya tell the father?”

“I don’t see what this has to do with Charlie missing.”

She was right. “I’m sorry.”

Our lunch came. My buckwheats looked the same as when I was a kid. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

Lucille stared at her sandwich as though
it
might bite
her
.