tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43070856317977216442024-03-13T10:38:30.674-07:00Points of Departure - A Novel<i>A woman goes missing. Her husband and her lover team up to find her.</i>Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-68868877510284293552013-03-12T21:48:00.000-07:002013-03-13T07:22:06.288-07:00EpilogueIt was a warm spring afternoon and Joe was in the garden, chipping at a life-sized block of wood. Already one could see the long flowing robes and hair, and the wings sprouting out of her back. Although her form and features were still crude, it was clear she was looking down and off to one side, an arm extended outward as if in guidance. Joe was carefully freeing the tip of her nose from the surrounding wood when a voice called to him from the house. <br />
<br />
A young woman with long dark curls emerged from the kitchen door and walked over carrying a glass of lemonade. "Don't you want to come in for lunch? It's after one o'clock."<br />
<br />
Joe took the glass. "I hadn't noticed. I'm kind of on a roll here."<br />
<br />
"So was I, but even I had to come to a stopping point."<br />
<br />
"How's the book coming along, by the way?"<br />
<br />
"Pretty well. I think my agent will be pleased." She turned her attention to Joe's work. "This will look good with the one of the little boy you did last fall." <br />
<br />
Joe nodded. "They're companion pieces."<br />
<br />
"They're for St. John's, right?"<br />
<br />
"I don't think so."<br />
<br />
"I thought you had a commission."<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged. "I have a warehouse full of stuff I'm sure will work just as well."<br />
<br />
"Any particular reason not to give them these?"<br />
<br />
"I don't want to." Joe sucked down the rest of the lemonade and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. <br />
<br />
The young woman was silent for a moment, examining the statue again. Even in its crude state, the future shape of its delicate nose, cupid's mouth and pointed chin were clear. She took back the empty glass. "I don't suppose your attachment would have anything to do with your model."<br />
<br />
"I didn't use a model."<br />
<br />
"Just the one in your memory." Her lips cured into a forgiving smile. "If you're hungry, come on in. I'm making lunch for myself and if you're lucky, I might make enough for two."<br />
<br />
"I'll be along in a minute," Joe said.<br />
<br />
For an instant she looked like she might hug him, but gave him a quick kiss on the cheek instead. "I love you."<br />
<br />
Joe tugged a curl playfully, but said nothing. After she went back into the house, Joe picked up his tools and went back to carving Elise's face onto the mahogany angel.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Brent got off the plane and pushed his way through the crowds. He tried to hurry, only to be slowed down by the women in front of him, ambling slowly and chattering about nothing, their enormous bags blocking the aisle. Now that his own steps had slowed, his ankles fell victim to the stroller behind him. <br />
<br />
As soon as they were out of the disembarking area, Brent ducked through the crowd and opened up his stride, scanning the walls ahead for flight monitors. He read down the list of arrivals and departures until he found the one he was looking for. "Dammit." He slung his laptop and carry-on over his shoulder and went to the nearest gate. "Excuse me," he said, placing his tickets on the counter. "Can you tell me how long flight 304 is delayed?"<br />
<br />
The woman tapped a few keys. "Two hours."<br />
<br />
"You've got to be kidding."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry." She tapped a few more keys. "It looks like your plane was coming from O'Hare, and they've been having thunderstorms."<br />
<br />
"Well, at least the conference doesn't start until tomorrow. Thanks." He glanced at his watch, then headed into the milling crowds, stopping at the men's room to splash water on his face and run a comb through his hair. He peered into the mirror and was surprised as always by the number of lines that had sprouted around his eyes over the last few years. He rubbed them, but they didn't go away. He went to dry his hands under the blow drier, noting how bare they were, even though he hadn't worn a wedding ring in a long time. He rubbed the finger of his left hand. "Pavlov was right." He picked up his bags again and headed back into the hall, stopping at a kiosk to pick up a Wall Street Journal. Catching a headline that interested him, he looked for an empty seat. <br />
<br />
Suddenly something of even greater interest caught his eye. He folded his paper and shoved it carelessly into his bag, then he looked around and made his way across the room to where the dark-haired woman sat reading a magazine while a little boy of five played on the chair next to her. Since he couldn't see the woman's face, Brent stared intently at the boy, blonde and gray-eyed, with features so similar to his own that Brent could scarcely breathe. Shaking now, Brent took a few tentative steps closer, trying to see the slender woman's face, but now she was bending over a bag, looking for something. She must have spoken because the boy looked at her, and Brent strained to hear her voice, but could hear nothing over the din of the crowds and the security reminders on the intercom. Finally the woman sat up and looked around. Brent turned away in disappointment. <br />
<br />
"Stupid mistake," he said to himself as he walked down the hall, oblivious to the crowds. "As if I'd run into her here, of all places. Or anywhere at all."<br />
<br />
He hurried through the gate into the main part of the airport and wandered aimlessly until the neon sign of a bar caught his eye. He went inside and ordered a double Absolut on the rocks. He sucked down the vodka quickly, not even wincing as it burned his throat and his stomach. He stared at the television without seeing it, ate a few peanuts, but remained locked in his own private thoughts. <br />
<br />
After finishing his first drink, he ordered a second and took this one to the window. Outside the sky was gray and overcast and from this vantage point Brent could see the planes taking off and landing. Over and over, the pattern repeated; one plane picking up speed and vaulting itself into the air while another came in, small at first, then larger and larger, lowering its wing flaps and tilting its nose up like a bird as it landed gracefully on the tarmac. <br />
<br />
Brent sipped his drink then ordered another, absorbed in the comings and goings. Nothing else mattered, not even the flight he had missed. The world closed in around him, leaving only people who came and went while he sat alone.Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-5581723344092833462013-03-05T21:56:00.000-08:002013-03-06T07:09:45.304-08:00Chapter Forty-SevenJoe and Brent sat with Ursula at her kitchen table. The white and yellow curtains were drawn against the evening and a brass hanging lamp provided cozy light as the men picked at the remains of their sandwiches. Ursula was smiling, the lines around her eyes folding into crinkles. "You two sure went to a lot of trouble to track her here. Funny, but Elise suspected you might get this far. She was tired and really should've stayed another day or two, but she didn't think she should chance it."<br />
<br />
Joe glanced at Brent, who was scowling at his plate. "Is she going to stay in Mexico, do you think?"<br />
<br />
Ursula shook her head. "There's nothing that appeals to her there." She picked up her teacup and took a sip. "She said she's going to Europe as quickly as she can get a ticket under her assumed name. She could be on her way right now."<br />
<br />
"Which country?" Brent asked grimly.<br />
<br />
"Honestly, she didn't say. She didn't want me tempted to tell."<br />
<br />
"We can find her anyway," Brent said. "We know the name she's using. We have her passport number, we--"<br />
<br />
"I don't know if we should be doing that," Joe said quietly.<br />
<br />
"Why not? We've come this far."<br />
<br />
Ursula stood up. "How about dessert?" She went into the kitchen and took a key lime pie out of the refrigerator. She put two slices on plates and brought them to the table. Finding the men still arguing, she gazed levelly at each of them in turn. "If you're going to carry on, you're going to have to take it outside. I raised four children who could think of nothing better to do than snip at each other. I've earned some peace and quiet."<br />
<br />
Joe and Brent exchanged hostile looks, but said no more, transferring their attention reluctantly to their dessert. "The pie looks great," Joe said, although the tone of his voice didn't match the enthusiasm of his words. <br />
<br />
"When you're finished, you can take showers if you like. One of you can sleep in my guest room and the other can sleep on the sofa. I'm sorry I don't have more space, but I converted my other rooms into a study and a studio."<br />
<br />
"That's okay, "Brent said. "I don't mind sleeping on the sofa. We don't have any clean clothes, though." <br />
<br />
"That's right," Joe said. "They're in the truck." He looked at Ursula. "Would you mind if--"<br />
<br />
Ursula smiled primly. "I never lend out my car, but I'll drive you to get your things, unless you'd rather have the truck towed here."<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head. "I think I'd rather wait until morning, when I can get it taken to a mechanic. There probably isn't anything wrong with it, but I'd rather be sure."<br />
<br />
Ursula reached for her keys lying on the kitchen counter. "Well, come on then. Not you," she added, as Brent rose to his feet as well. "I don't need you two arguing any more. And besides, I'd rather someone stay here so I don't have to turn off all the lights and lock the doors."<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged and sat back down. "Gives me more time with this pie." <br />
<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Joe moved down the darkened hallway on silent feet. He emerged into the living room, its blond furniture rendered shadowy and suspicious in the ruddy glow from the fireplace. Joe could just make out Brent's sleeping form stretched out on the sofa, wrapped in a homemade quilt. The light from the fire was kind to his features, making him look young and vulnerable, like a tow-headed child.<br />
<br />
Joe stood over him for a moment, his own features softening into something like pity. Then he shook himself and turned away, scanning the shadowy room. He made out the form of Brent's ruined coat lying across a chair and tried that first, digging his hand into first one pocket, then another, pulling out scraps of paper which he examined in front of the fire. Annoyed, he checked the pockets again, but there was nothing else.<br />
<br />
He found Brent's pants on the floor and went through those next, but had no better luck. Increasingly agitated, he checked the leather overnight bag, groping through every pocket, fold and crevice, producing plenty of folded paper, but not the one he was looking for. Exasperated, he sat on the floor and buried his face in his palms. After a minute he looked up. Silently, he made his way to the sofa and reached a tentative hand under the pillow. Brent stirred, but his eyes didn't open. Joe reached deeper until his hand encountered something. His fingers closed over it and he slowly drew it out. <br />
<br />
Joe moved to the hearth and unfolded it. This was the one. Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he opened the mesh screen and tossed it in. <br />
<br />
A hand grabbed him from behind and brutally threw him to the floor. "What do you think you're doing?" Brent grabbed a poker and thrust it into the fire.<br />
<br />
Joe sat up, stunned but calm. "Give it up. It's over."<br />
<br />
Brent continued poking at the fire but found only blackened bits of ash. "We'll never find her now. That was all we had left to go on. That was--"<br />
<br />
"I want this to be the end of it. I'm tired, you're tired...I'm sure she's tired. Let's just stop."<br />
<br />
"Like hell I will." Brent stood up, brandishing the heavy poker. "Maybe you're done looking, but I'm not. If I have to go to the ends of the earth to find her, I will."<br />
<br />
"Good luck. You'll have to find some way to get those social security and passport numbers again, unless you plan to knock on every door in Europe."<br />
<br />
"You sorry bastard. I ought to kill you." Before Joe could react, he brought the poker down with lethal force. Joe ducked out of the way and wrenched it from his hands.<br />
<br />
Brent tried to wrest it back and they struggled, rolling on the floor and panting, until Joe managed to throw it out of reach of either of them. Brent brought his fist down on Joe's face but before he could punch him again, Joe pinned him to the floor and held him there while he struggled and cursed. It took several minutes, but at last Brent lay calm. <br />
<br />
"You can let me go," Brent said. <br />
<br />
"Not if you're going to pull that shit again." <br />
<br />
"I won't."<br />
<br />
Joe watched without comment as Brent sat up and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent tears. After a moment he retreated silently to his own room, where he threw himself on the bed, drawing deep ragged breaths and waiting for his own tears to come. When nothing happened, he rolled over and gazed out the window.<br />
<br />
A full moon had risen and was shining like daylight through the slats of the blinds. Joe sat up and pulled the cord, flooding the room with cold white light. Then he lay back down, gazing up at the distant satellite-- a world unto itself, so unlike his own. For a long time he stared, mesmerized by the moon's cold, distant beauty, by the way it seemed close enough to touch while remaining tantalizingly unreachable. Joe stared at it so long that finally tears came to his eyes, and he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow so the moon wouldn't see him cry.Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-68394318674480338682013-02-26T22:33:00.000-08:002013-02-27T07:01:32.079-08:00Chapter Forty-SixBrent dug through the manila envelope, repopulating his pockets with keys, wallet, papers and some loose change. He pulled out his belt and threaded it through two loops before realizing he would need both hands for this task. He left the belt hanging for now and dug in the envelope again, retrieving his wedding band from the corner. He examined it, then dropped it in his pocket with his change. He opened the mouth of the envelope and peered inside. Finding it empty, he crumpled it and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. <br />
<br />
As he pushed his belt through the remaining loops he walked to where Joe sat threading his shoelaces through his work boots. "The battery in my phone is dead, but I've got some change. You want me to call a tow truck?"<br />
<br />
"Sure," Joe said. "I'll wait here for you."<br />
<br />
Brent opened his wallet, took out his AAA card and walked over to the pay phone. He was on the phone for several minutes. Then he dropped a few more coins in the phone and placed another call before returning to where Joe was putting his personal belongings back in his pockets. "I also called a cab. It should be here in a few minutes. The tow truck will be out where we left the truck in about an hour."<br />
<br />
"Is that the best they could do?"<br />
<br />
"So they say. Sometimes they show up in twenty minutes and surprise you."<br />
<br />
"They better not surprise us." Joe looked at his watch and frowned. "The truck is at least half an hour from here and I don't want to miss the guy."<br />
<br />
"We could just take the cab to Ursula Docet's and skip the truck for now."<br />
<br />
Joe nodded. "Let's do that. Call and cancel the tow. It should probably go straight to the shop, anyway. I'll go outside and look for the cab."<br />
<br />
Brent hurried back to the phone while Joe pushed through the heavy doors. Outside it was still light but the sun was setting, casting long shadows through the ragged scraps of clouds from recent storms. Joe passed a few dejected-looking men sitting on the steps and a disheveled woman leaning against the handrail, pouting like a naughty child. On the sidewalk Joe scanned the street for cabs. Brent joined him after a few minutes. "Nothing, huh?"<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head. "At least it'll be easy to spot it when it arrives. Hardly any traffic for some reason."<br />
<br />
"That's because it's Sunday," Brent pointed out. <br />
<br />
Joe wheeled around. "You've got to be kidding." He counted the days on his fingers. "I was supposed to go to a showing today. A friend of mine. Works in metal, like I used to."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, and I was supposed to go back to my job two days ago. Life has been going on without us." Brent leaned against a wall and tried to smooth his hair with his fingers. He watched as a red Mustang pulled up to the curb and one of the men waiting on the stairs jumped in. After scanning the road from this vantage point for several more minutes, he thought he spotted something in the distance. Joe spotted it too, and the shape soon resolved itself into a yellow cab, which after stopping for a light, pulled up in front of them.<br />
<br />
The driver rolled down his window. "Cab for Brent Conner." <br />
<br />
Brent hurried over. "That's me." He opened the back door, and he and Joe jumped in. <br />
<br />
"Where to?"<br />
<br />
Brent pulled Ursula Docet's address out of his pocket and gave directions. Then he settled back against the thick vinyl cushions, closing his eyes at the comfort of being in a cab after the miserable cell floor and steel benches. Joe did the same, even as he tried at first to stay alert in order to admire the beauty of downtown at dusk, the red glow of the setting sun setting the glass buildings on fire as shadows lengthened and darkened into purple. Finally Joe gave in to his exhaustion, and by the time the cab entered the freeway, both men were asleep.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
The slowing of motion and the sound of tires on gravel awakened them. Brent sat up and looked around, then pulled out Ursula's address and anxiously scanned the road. Joe glanced at the passing countryside with only marginal interest. Noticing Brent's eager expression, he said. "I don't mean to douse your enthusiasm, but don't get too excited. She won't be there."<br />
<br />
"Even if she isn't, we can find out where she went next. She's got to stop running sometime."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but when?" Joe rubbed the spot on his finger where his wedding band had been. "We had a lot of time to think back there, and I'm beginning to wonder if Elise's friends have a point. We've got no business pursuing her like this. I've always promised her that whatever it was she needed, I would love her enough to give it to her. Maybe I need to give her this, too."<br />
<br />
"Have you lost your mind? She'll regret this if we let her get away with it."<br />
<br />
"Probably," Joe agreed. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't let her do it. If she's making a mistake, she'll just have to find a way to live with it."<br />
<br />
"I can't believe you're saying this, after all we've been through." Brent sputtered. "This is just--"<br />
<br />
"Is this the house?" the driver interrupted. <br />
<br />
Brent compared the number on the mailbox to the one on the piece of paper in his hand. "Yes, how much do I owe you?" He reached for his wallet, but Joe's hand on his arm restrained him.<br />
<br />
"I've got this." <br />
<br />
"I called this cab and I want to pay," Brent protested.<br />
<br />
"She's still my wife and I don't want to hear any more about it." Joe handed a credit card to the driver. <br />
<br />
Brent fidgeted while Joe signed the receipt and put his card away. When they got out and walked up the path to the front door, though, he started to slow down, and just as Joe was about to knock, Brent touched his coat sleeve. "Wait. Schroedinger's cat." <br />
<br />
"What are you talking about?"<br />
<br />
"Schroedinger was a scientist, and he wanted to put a cat in a box with a bottle that might or might not contain poison gas, and then break the bottle. He figured there were two realities-- one where the cat lived and one where it died. Until he opened the box and looked, both possibilities were true."<br />
<br />
"What does that have to do with anything?"<br />
<br />
Brent sighed. "Because as long as we don't knock on that door, Elise might be in there. Once somebody comes to the door, though, we'll know for sure."<br />
<br />
"So?"<br />
<br />
"So we might not like the answer."<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged. "I already know she won't be there." He rapped several times on the door. "And that was a pretty mean thing to do to the cat." <br />
<br />
Soon there was a scrabbling with locks and the door flew open. A tiny woman stood framed in the entryway, thin and erect with a dancer's carriage, pale blue eyes as piercing as a bird of prey's looking from one face to another. Her voice, however, was sweetly accommodating and gave lie to the boldness of her gaze. "Can I help you?"Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-34769772693764387932013-02-19T22:06:00.000-08:002013-02-20T06:55:32.589-08:00Chapter Forty-FiveBrent and Joe found spaces on the bench as the cell door clanged shut behind them. The cell was a little cleaner now, having been hosed down while they were gone. Brent couldn't sit still. "Man, that was just too weird." <br />
<br />
"What was?"<br />
<br />
"Court. The judge. You didn't think it was strange we only got charged with trespassing?"<br />
<br />
"Suits me," Joe said with a shrug, leaning back against the wall.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but what about breaking and entering? Destruction of property?"<br />
<br />
"They didn't charge us with those. You want to go back there and argue about it?"<br />
<br />
"Well, no."<br />
<br />
"Then shut up." Joe closed his eyes. "Unlike you, I wasn't able to sleep when we first got here."<br />
<br />
Brent looked around, still agitated. "Maybe since the door frame was so obviously rotted..."<br />
<br />
"Maybe."<br />
<br />
"Or maybe the owner just didn't want to press charges."<br />
<br />
"Perhaps."<br />
<br />
"Do you think it's possible--"<br />
<br />
Joe opened his eyes. "I think just about anything is possible at this point. Even you letting me get some sleep."<br />
<br />
"So you're not the least bit curious?"<br />
<br />
"Nope." Joe closed his eyes again. "They charged me with trespassing, I pled no contest, judge fined me $500 and I put it on MasterCard. Once they've taken their time about validating everything, they'll let me out, probably sometime this evening. That's all I need to know." He fidgeted a little, trying to find the best spot for his head against the wall. "Ought to be enough for you, too. Take a nap. Nothing else to do around here."<br />
<br />
Brent wadded his coat behind his head and tried to do as he was told, but the sounds of other men stirring, getting up to urinate, and making the occasional monosyllabic comment to each other made his eyes flicker open every few minutes. Finally the distant rumbling of the food cart gave him an excuse to sit up. "Wake up," he said, shaking Joe's shoulder. "They're bringing lunch."<br />
<br />
Joe opened his eyes. "I don't know why you're so interested. It won't be any better than breakfast."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but I think I'd eat just about anything at this point," Brent said, getting to his feet. <br />
<br />
Both men got in line. This time the guard was passing out sandwiches in plastic bags and a red beverage in little paper cups. Brent got his, sat down on the bench and examined the sandwich with dismay. "Plain processed cheese on white bread? They call this food?"<br />
<br />
"I thought you were hungry enough to eat anything.”<br />
<br />
"I may have been wrong." He sniffed at the cup of red liquid. "And what's this? Kool-Aid?"<br />
<br />
"I think so." Joe took a sip. "It'll do."<br />
<br />
Brent pondered his sandwich again. "What time do you think they'll let us out?"<br />
<br />
"Probably around four or five."<br />
<br />
Brent nodded. "I can wait that long."<br />
<br />
"We won't have a ride," Joe reminded him. "We'll have to call a tow truck to go out there with us and get the truck out of the ditch before we can do anything. And there's no guarantee the truck won't need to go to the shop before we can drive it."<br />
<br />
Brent sullenly took a bite of the sandwich.<br />
<br />
Joe laughed at the expression on his face. "You'd think someone was trying to poison you."<br />
<br />
"It sure tastes like it."<br />
<br />
"Welcome to how the other half lives. There are people who eat like this every day."<br />
<br />
Brent didn't answer, and the two men finished their lunch in silence. Then Brent adjusted his coat, trying to find a suitable position for a nap, but couldn't get comfortable.<br />
<br />
"What's the matter?" Joe finally asked.<br />
<br />
"Just this damn sweater. It shrunk after getting wet, and it feels like a straightjacket."<br />
<br />
"Wasn't bothering you last night."<br />
<br />
"Nothing bothered me last night."<br />
<br />
"Take it off."<br />
<br />
"Maybe I will." Brent pulled the sweater off and examined it regretfully. "Too bad." He heaved a sigh and wrapped himself in his coat. "That was a nice sweater." A few minutes later he appeared to be sleeping, leaning back against the wall, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. <br />
<br />
Joe tried to sleep too, but couldn't manage it. He glanced around the room from time to time, but saw nothing in the sleeping drunks and sullen petty offenders to hold his interest. As the minutes passed however, his gaze returned to the teenager huddled in the corner, hugging his legs tightly to his chest. From time to time he rubbed his bare arms. Joe frowned and fingered his own warm jacket. Then his glance fell on Brent's abandoned sweater. He got to his feet, picked it up and went over to where the boy was sitting. "Kinda cold in here."<br />
<br />
The boy looked up. His expression of vague distrust softened a bit for the man who had given him breakfast earlier. "Yeah."<br />
<br />
Joe tossed the sweater at him. "I thought this might fit you. My friend can't wear it any more."<br />
<br />
The boy looked over to where Brent was now sitting up, watching the transaction. <br />
<br />
"You sure?" <br />
<br />
"If you want it. I don't care. We can throw it in the trash."<br />
<br />
The boy examined the sweater, stroking the damaged but still-soft wool. Then he pulled it over his head and fished around for the arms. He tugged it into place, and it was a perfect fit. "I bet I look like a preppy now."<br />
<br />
"Nothing wrong with that," Joe shrugged. "Life seems to be a little easier for folks who play by the rules. Maybe you'll fool someone." <br />
<br />
The boy darted a glance at Brent. "You sure he doesn't mind?"<br />
<br />
"If he does, he'll get over it."<br />
<br />
"He a friend of yours?"<br />
<br />
Joe hesitated. "God help me, but I think he is." <br />
<br />
Brent was watching when Joe returned to the bench and sat down. "What'd you do that for?" <br />
<br />
"Kid seemed to need it. It sucks to be that young and in jail. Sucks even more if you're cold. I hope you don't mind. I assumed you didn't want that sweater any more."<br />
<br />
"What was I going to do with it? I probably would've just thrown it away. It never occurred to me to give it to someone who needed it." He looked a little abashed. "I'm glad it occurred to you."<br />
<br />
They sat in silence for several minutes. "The kid asked if you were my friend," Joe finally said.<br />
<br />
"Yeah?"<br />
<br />
Joe looked away. "I told him yes."<br />
<br />
For a long time Brent said nothing. There was time for a guard to walk past the cell, shoes clomping on the concrete, time for a man on the other side of the room to stand up, stretch his arms overhead and yawn. There was even time for the derelict near Brent's feet to roll over and begin snoring. Finally Brent said quietly, "If he'd asked me that question, I would've told him the same thing."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-37429694024929481892013-02-12T22:45:00.000-08:002013-02-13T08:34:15.625-08:00Chapter Forty-FourJoe sat on the concrete floor staring at nothing in particular. At a small sound, he turned his head. Brent was passed out on the steel bench with his damp coat serving as a pillow. Joe made sure he was in no danger of falling off the narrow bench then leaned back against the wall, this time noting the details of where he was. <br />
<br />
It was a large room, ugly and rectangular, with long metal benches lining three sides, a single steel toilet in plain view in one corner, and the fourth side open to the rest of the precinct house, except for the bars coated in gray paint chipped and peeling in layers. There was a TV encased in plexiglass hanging from the ceiling in one corner, but it was out of order. The floor Joe was sitting on was mottled with mud, spit, urine, and various unidentifiable spills and sticky patches. Across the way, a wild-haired man in filthy overalls had vomited. No one had come to clean it up yet, and Joe wrinkled his nose when a breeze blew a whiff of its reek his way.<br />
<br />
There were at least a dozen other men in the room-- most of them drunk, most of them sleeping it off like Brent. One man had been in a fight and blood was seeping through a bandage on his cheek. Another man, young and well dressed, was sitting in a far corner, looking around with wide eyes. From time to time he jumped to his feet and paced, his hands trembling. Then he would return to huddling in the corner as if on the lookout for invisible assassins.<br />
<br />
One of the men sleeping on the bench appeared to be just a teenager. Joe's gaze lingered on him, his expression one of understanding and concern. He was wearing only jeans and a t-shirt and appeared cold.<br />
<br />
Another sound drew Joe's attention back to Brent, who had opened his eyes. "Go back to sleep," Joe said. "You aren't missing anything."<br />
<br />
Brent closed his eyes again, but let out a little groan. "Does it have to be so bright in here?"<br />
<br />
"How else are they going to make sure we don't get up to anything?"<br />
<br />
Brent raised himself on one elbow and looked around the room in distaste. Then he sank back onto his damp coat. "Shit," he mumbled. "There's nothing anyone can get up to in here."<br />
<br />
An officer walked past the cell without slowing down or looking in. Joe and a few of the other men followed him with their eyes, but no one said anything. <br />
<br />
"What time is it?" Brent asked.<br />
<br />
Joe looked around but didn't see a clock. "Early morning I think. Hard to tell. They took our watches when they processed us, remember?"<br />
<br />
Brent rolled onto his back and pulled a sleeve of his coat over his eyes. "How could I forget? That has to have been the most humiliating experience of my life."<br />
<br />
"It's no party," Joe agreed.<br />
<br />
"There anything to drink around here?" Brent asked. "I could really use a glass of water."<br />
<br />
"They ought to be bringing breakfast after awhile. You'll get some coffee, and maybe you can ask for some water, too."<br />
<br />
Brent lay quietly on the bench, giving the impression that he had gone back to sleep. After a few minutes, though, he stirred. "How long do you think before we're out of here?"<br />
<br />
"Hard to say." Joe rubbed the back of his neck. "If we're lucky, we'll get to see the judge before lunch. We both have clean records, so he'll probably just fine us, unless the guy who owned that place wants to press charges for using his stuff and drinking his whiskey." Joe's eyebrows twitched in concern. "We'll pay the fine or bail, whatever they set for us. Then they'll take their sweet time about processing it and we should be out by late afternoon or evening. Of course," he added, standing up and stretching, "That's if we get to see the judge this morning. If we don't see him until after lunch, we could be here half the night or even until tomorrow."<br />
<br />
"Great," Brent muttered. "We've lost her, haven't we?"<br />
<br />
"Probably."<br />
<br />
"This is all my fault. I really fucked up."<br />
<br />
"Don't be ridiculous," Joe said. "You didn't break that door, I did."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but I was the one who insisted we stick around."<br />
<br />
"So what? It was because of me we ended up there in the first place. We could've stayed in the truck, like you said. And once we were at the house, I still didn't have to go along with anything you said."<br />
<br />
"Well, it's my fault we put the truck in the ditch in the first place."<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged. "I had no business listening to you when my own gut feeling was that we were too close." He toyed with the cuffs of his shirt, noticing a loose button. "We both fucked up. No use worrying about it now."<br />
<br />
"If I were you, I'd be pissed."<br />
<br />
"Well, you're not me. And I'm not pissed. I should be, but for some reason I'm not. I just want to get out of here and be done with it"<br />
<br />
Footsteps approached the cell. A guard fumbled at the lock while another held up a reeking drunk, his pants recently soiled. The gate opened with a clang and the drunk stumbled into the cell, weaving about for a place to sit. The only bench space available was next to Brent, and he made his way toward it. Horrified, Brent scrambled to his feet, grabbed his coat, and moved to the other side of Joe, scanning the floor for a somewhat clean patch of concrete to sit on. Noticing Joe's sudden grin, he scowled. "No wisecracks, please, about how I don't like poor people. I'm not in the mood."<br />
<br />
"Actually," Joe said, "I was thinking that for once I don't blame you."<br />
<br />
Brent looked at the other people in the cell. He made a face when one of them got up and went to the toilet to urinate. "How can they do that, with everyone watching?" <br />
<br />
"If they keep us long enough, you'll find out."<br />
<br />
"You know, you sure are laid back about this whole situation," Brent observed. "I guess you're used to it."<br />
<br />
"You never get used to it." Joe had been working steadily on his loose button and now it popped off. "You just get more accepting, although I sure didn't expect to land back in here again." He dropped the button in a pocket. "It was kind of a promise I made to myself that I wouldn't go looking for trouble any more."<br />
<br />
"Well now I feel really bad about all this," Brent said. "I don't think we've done anything but look for trouble since Elise disappeared."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but what makes you think you have any bearing on what I do?" He looked at Brent's haggard face. "Don't kid yourself. Most of what folks do hasn't got a damn thing to do with you."<br />
<br />
"But if it wasn't for me, maybe Elise--"<br />
<br />
"Oh, hell. If it wasn't for you, if it wasn't for me, if it wasn't for the phases of the moon..." Joe waved his arm. "Your heart's in the right place, Conner, but you've got to cut this bullshit thinking everything is about you. You'll be happier, and people will probably like you a lot better."<br />
<br />
Brent turned away. "That's way more words than I'm in any shape to be hearing. I can't believe you're not as hung over as I am."<br />
<br />
"Maybe I'm just dealing with it better."<br />
<br />
There was a distant rumble, resolving into the clatter of metal wheels on concrete. Joe sat a little straighter. "Breakfast is coming.”<br />
<br />
Brent got to his feet. "Oh, good. I need something to settle my stomach."<br />
<br />
"Then whatever you do, don't eat this crap.” <br />
<br />
"It can't be worse than dorm food."<br />
<br />
"I wouldn't know about dorm food, but I sure wouldn't bet on this not being worse."<br />
<br />
A cumbersome cart of styrofoam trays was pulled up to the gate. "Single file!" shouted the guard, as she picked up the first tray and positioned herself on the other side of a slot in the bars. The paranoid man had been growing increasingly agitated, and pushed past Joe and Brent to be first in line. The guard shoved a tray at him, and he scurried back to his corner. Then Joe took his tray, muttering a quick thanks as Brent did the same. They found themselves a place on the floor out of the path of traffic. Joe started eating without comment, but Brent stared at the scoop of runny eggs, the burnt toast, and the cup of weak coffee in dismay. <br />
<br />
"If you can't eat it, I will," Joe said through a mouthful of toast.<br />
<br />
"I don't see how anybody could eat it. I wouldn't give this to a dog."<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged, picked up his paper cup and took a sip. "At least the coffee's no worse than that machine coffee at the hospital.”<br />
<br />
Encouraged, Brent took a cautious sip. He was about to comment when the man in the corner appeared to reach the same conclusion about the food. With a gut-wrenching yell, he flung the tray against the cinder block wall where it hit with a splat, flinging bits of egg and coffee over the three men nearest him. One started to protest, but the paranoid man shouted incoherently and began stomping and kicking the tray, cup, plastic spoon, and anything else in his path. He knocked over the teenager's tray and the boy backed away, stumbling over a derelict who moved over a bit and ducked his head in hopes of avoiding the rampage.<br />
<br />
There was a thunder of footsteps outside the cell as guards came running. "Cut it out in there!" one of them barked. <br />
<br />
The man continued screaming, picking up pieces of the foam tray and flinging them around. <br />
<br />
One guard shouted down the hall and the cell door sprang open with a boom. Then the guards trooped in, grabbing the man and pinning his arms behind his back while he howled and kicked. More shouting ensued, as the guards tried to bring him under control. A tall guard who appeared to have a higher rank than the others ordered cuffs to be put on, and in less than a minute, they dragged him out of the cell and down the hall. The other guards looked around the cell for other signs of trouble, but everyone pretended to be looking at something else. Satisfied, they moved toward the door which clanged shut behind them.<br />
<br />
After they were gone, Joe darted a glance at Brent. "Things aren't usually so entertaining in a holding cell." <br />
<br />
Brent had been watching the scene in morbid fascination, but now he turned back to his breakfast in disgust. "I can't eat this crap."<br />
<br />
"You sure about that?" <br />
<br />
"Hell yeah, I'm sure. Don't tell me you want seconds."<br />
<br />
Joe picked up Brent's tray and walked across the room to where the boy was now sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, staring sullenly at his overturned breakfast tray. Joe handed him Brent's tray and murmured something Brent couldn't make out. The kid looked up with a hostile expression. Joe made a few other comments, then set down the tray and walked away. <br />
<br />
"That was nice of you," Brent said as he sat back down. <br />
<br />
"A kid shouldn't be going without food.”<br />
<br />
Brent glanced across the room to where the boy was shoveling eggs in his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. "Were you about that age when you a regular around here?"<br />
<br />
"Younger. Up until the last time, I always went to juvenile, though. He's what I could've turned into. I can't ever let myself forget that."<br />
<br />
"So why didn't you end up like him?" <br />
<br />
"Luck. I was assigned a caseworker to keep me out of trouble. Those programs are a crock of shit, by the way." He picked up the plastic spoon from his empty tray, examined it, and tossed it aside. "I lucked out, though. Me and this guy hit it off. I was ready to quit stealing, though, and that helps. Ott couldn't have done a thing for me if I was still enjoying breaking into places."<br />
<br />
"What didn't you like about it?"<br />
<br />
"Getting caught, mostly. But seriously, I was just tired of the lifestyle. Tired of always having to make up lies and watch my back." He sighed and stretched his hands out in front of him. "I could see where it was all headed. The older guys who'd taught me were starting to get county jail sentences and even prison, if they'd gotten into heavier shit than just petty larceny, or had killed someone by mistake during a robbery. One guy I knew ended up dead, shot by a man while climbing through his bedroom window." Joe shook his head. "I may be kind of slow at times, but I'm not stupid. Even I could see there was no future in what I was doing."<br />
<br />
"So this guy Ott, what did he do that was so helpful?"<br />
<br />
"He was a friend. Gave good advice. Didn't get on my case about anything, ever. That was cool, because I sure didn't get that around my mom and stepdad. They had something to say about every little god-damned thing."<br />
<br />
"My folks were the same way."<br />
<br />
"At least yours gave you things."<br />
<br />
"So?" Brent shrugged. "What good are money, nice clothes and a fancy car if nothing you ever do is good enough?"<br />
<br />
"You’re wrong that things don’t matter. But it does suck when your folks don’t care," Joe agreed. "You wouldn't believe the shit my family gave me for going into welding. But I made good money, especially when I started working off shore. Then I hit it big with my crazy sculptures and suddenly I was my stepdad’s ‘beloved son.’"<br />
<br />
"Figures," Brent muttered. <br />
<br />
"I don't have anything to do with them. I won't read their letters, won't take their calls, and they especially aren't in my will. Everything is going to Elise."<br />
<br />
Brent raised his eyebrows. "Even now?"<br />
<br />
"Of course even now."<br />
<br />
"If we don't find her, or if she doesn't want to come back, are you going to change it?"<br />
<br />
Joe frowned. "I can't imagine why I would change anything. I still want her to be happy, no matter where she is. And when I go, I sure won't be needing the money."<br />
<br />
"You could set up a fund, help other kids go straight. Kids like that one over there."<br />
<br />
Joe looked back to where the kid was now nibbling on a crust of toast, glancing around the room with dark, distrustful eyes. "He's probably too far gone by now," Joe observed. "But you've got a good point. Gives me something to think about."<br />
<br />
They were sitting in silence, staring at nothing, when a female guard approached the gate. "Listen up!" she shouted. She started reading names off a clipboard, ordering the ones she called to make a line, single file. <br />
<br />
Joe looked at Brent. "Court," he said. "This is good. They're calling us early."<br />
<br />
Brent's eyes widened. "What am I supposed to do?" <br />
<br />
"Tell the truth. Judge will read the charges, you answer guilty, not guilty, or no contest. Simple."<br />
<br />
"What are you going to do?"<br />
<br />
"Same as you. Tell the truth. If I'm guilty, I'll say so."<br />
<br />
"But what--" Brent looked around as his name was called.<br />
<br />
"Go on," Joe said.<br />
<br />
"But--"<br />
<br />
"Conner, Brent!" the woman shouted again.<br />
<br />
"Just go," Joe said. "You don't want to piss her off."<br />
<br />
Brent slung his coat over his arm and went to stand in line. A few names down the list, Joe was called and did the same. After checking that all was in order, the door opened and the men filed out, following another guard down the hall toward the courtroom.Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-18643182941968890722013-02-05T22:25:00.000-08:002013-02-06T07:03:05.155-08:00Chapter Forty-ThreeBrent looked around the cabin. "See a phone anywhere?"<br />
<br />
Joe took a few tentative steps toward the living room. "No."<br />
<br />
"There must be one," Brent said, heading toward the back of the house. "What kind of house doesn't have a phone?"<br />
<br />
"This one, it looks like.”<br />
<br />
Brent reappeared from the bedroom, shaking his head in frustration. "Of all the places we could've ended up, of course we'd find ourselves in a house without a land line." He stomped back into the main room. "What kind of people live without a phone?"<br />
<br />
"You yourself said you didn't think anyone lived here. They probably just use their cell."<br />
<br />
Brent conceded the point. "Maybe they get better reception out here when it's not raining." He gave a resigned shrug and began taking off his clothes.<br />
<br />
"What are you doing now?"<br />
<br />
"I'm going to wring these out in the kitchen sink and see if I can't get them dry. I guess I'll have to use the oven," he added, "since I don't see any evidence that these barbarians have a dryer." <br />
<br />
"I thought we weren't going to touch anything except maybe a phone, and now here you are helping yourself to the appliances."<br />
<br />
"Am I supposed to just stand here dripping on the floor?" He stepped out of his shoes and bent over to peel off his socks. "Better hope there's a mop around. But I intend to be dry when I leave this house." Wearing only his underwear, he picked up his sopping clothes and headed for the kitchen. Joe stared after him a moment, then stripped down to his boxer shorts and followed.<br />
<br />
Brent turned on the oven and placed three wooden chairs in a semicircle in front of it. He wrung out his clothing piece by piece and draped them over the chair backs.<br />
<br />
"Leave one for me," Joe said, bringing his clothes over to the sink. <br />
<br />
"They ought to dry pretty fast," Brent said, smoothing his shirt over the back of a chair. "They'll probably look like crap once they're dry, but they looked like crap wet, so at least we won't be any worse off." <br />
<br />
"Speak for yourself." Joe unceremoniously draped his jeans over a chair and returned to the sink to wring out his flannel shirt. "My stuff is strictly wash and wear."<br />
<br />
Brent made no comment and stood looking at his clothes drying in the heat blasting from the oven door. "Kind of cold in here.” He wandered into the living room and looked around. "At least they appear to have central heat." He leaned over the box on the wall and fiddled with the dial.<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head. "Next thing I know, you'll be moving in."<br />
<br />
"I told you," Brent said, flopping down on the sofa, "No one lives here day to day. Don't you think if someone lived here, he'd have the heater turned on?"<br />
<br />
"I guess, but this is trespassing and I don’t like it." Joe sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair.<br />
<br />
"Breaking and entering, too."<br />
<br />
"You would mention that. It was an accident, though. As soon as the rain clears up, I'm calling a tow truck, and the first place I'm going once we're out of the ditch is a hardware store. Maybe I can fix this guy's door before he even knows it's been broken. I think I'd rather do that than just leave the money and hope nobody steals it."<br />
<br />
"You mean the first place we're going after it clears is Ursula Docet's. You can drop me off there and come fix this door while I talk to her about Elise."<br />
<br />
"Hopefully Elise will still be there and I can pick her up and take her with me."<br />
<br />
"Maybe she'd prefer to stay with her friend. If you want, I can stick around and keep an eye on her so she doesn't run off again."<br />
<br />
"You think I'm going to trust the fox in the hen house a second time? When we find her, she's not leaving my sight again."<br />
<br />
"What if she wants to?"<br />
<br />
"Wants to go off with you, you mean?"<br />
<br />
"No, go off on her own."<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head. "She doesn't really want that. I know Elise."<br />
<br />
"Sometimes I wonder if you really do. I've been hanging around you for four days now listening to you talk about her, and not hearing much that I recognize as Elise at all. She sounds more like your fantasy of a woman than a real person." Brent stood and looked around the room. "I'm freezing. There must be some blankets or something around here. You want one?"<br />
<br />
"I might as well, since we're helping ourselves to everything else. Why don't we check the fridge and see if there's a few beers while we're at it?"<br />
<br />
"Hey, that's a good idea."<br />
<br />
"I was not being serious."<br />
<br />
"Too bad. I could use a drink about now." Brent disappeared into the back room. <br />
<br />
Joe sat for a minute, listening to the sound of rustling from the next room. "Oh, what the fuck," he muttered. He got to his feet and wandered into the kitchen, but found the refrigerator distressingly empty. He searched the cabinets next, finding dusty skillets, a jar of questionable peanuts and a few old plastic containers. Finally, though, he came upon something that caught his interest. He reached into the dark of the cabinet and pulled out an unopened bottle of Southern Comfort and a pair of dusty glasses.<br />
<br />
He was setting everything on the coffee table when Brent reappeared with a couple of wool army blankets. "You found something. Great!" He tossed Joe a blanket and wrapped the other around himself, then made a face. "It's going to take a lot of that stuff to make me not notice how scratchy and smelly this thing is."<br />
<br />
"Well, I'm sure you'll warm up soon enough and won't need it any more." Joe wrapped himself in his blanket and sat down before reaching for the bottle and pouring them each a glass. <br />
<br />
They sat in silence for several minutes, hunched over their glasses like old men. Finally Joe spoke. "I've been thinking about what you said. I wouldn't say I idealize Elise."<br />
<br />
"Maybe you don't think so," Brent said, "But it must be pretty tough trying to live up to all those statues."<br />
<br />
"I don't appreciate you suggesting I treat her like an object." Joe glared. "It seems like every time I get to thinking you might be all right, you go and make some kind of asshole remark."<br />
<br />
"I'm not trying to be an asshole," Brent said, picking up his drink again. "You've been better to Elise than I could've been. But if you knew her so well, she could've never gotten away with what she did."<br />
<br />
Joe returned to his drink. "I'd hardly say you're some kind of expert on her character. She fooled you, too."<br />
<br />
"I know." He tossed back the remainder of his whiskey and reached for the bottle. "We screwed up. Who knows how many other ways she might've been deceiving us? I had a friend the other night hinting there might've been another guy in the picture."<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head. "Impossible, and that's not me saying she wouldn't have. Hell, I have no idea any more what she may or may not be capable of." He took a long sip of his whiskey, wincing at the taste as he gulped it down. "I do know, though, that she wouldn't have had the time."<br />
<br />
"Fair enough." Brent settled back on the couch cradling his drink. "I didn't really believe it, anyway. She's a good girl. She just got herself in a bad spot and needed to get away and figure out what to do about it."<br />
<br />
"Why didn't she just take a vacation, or something?"<br />
<br />
"Without you? You would've known something wasn't right if she went planning a vacation alone. And there's no way in hell you or I would ever have believed her if she said she was going to see family."<br />
<br />
Joe snorted. "That's for damn sure. I'd know she'd lost her mind if she wanted to go seeing any of those people."<br />
<br />
Brent sighed. "I think this is just her way of starting over. She made a mess of things with you and me both, and wants to start fresh."<br />
<br />
"It's just going to backfire on her." Joe was sipping steadily at his drink now. "I don't even care any more whose kid that is. If she doesn't want it, fine. If she wants it, that's fine, too." He reached for the bottle and filled his glass almost to the brim. "I just want to come into the house after working on a sculpture and find the reality of her sleeping in my bed. I want to wake up in the morning and touch the pillow her head was on the night before. I want to have her at my side at gallery openings and at my kitchen table at night, laughing about what idiots are out there in the world and how lucky we are not to have each other, and..." Joe's voice trailed off. He noticed his full glass and sucked down two big gulps. "I just can't believe she doesn't want the same things I do." <br />
<br />
Brent stared at the dingy brown carpet. "I think I want those things for you, Joe. You're a good man. Not that I ever doubted it, but I always felt like Elise kind of rushed into things with you. She was young, had dated a few guys who treated her badly, and suddenly you were there, adoring everything about her, so of course she felt like she shouldn't let you get away." <br />
<br />
He tossed back the rest of his drink and went into the kitchen to check on the clothes drying in front of the oven. He felt them for dampness, then turned them over to dry the other side. Then he returned to the sofa and refilled his glass. "I guess I've been jealous of you. I've often thought that maybe if I hadn't gone out of state for grad school, it would've been me Elise would've fallen in love with." He sucked down half his whiskey so quickly tiny beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted to see the indentation of her head on a pillow every morning, too? See strands of her hair on a brush, her lipstick on a coffee cup?"<br />
<br />
Brent threw off his blanket. "I married a fine woman, but things haven't worked out, maybe because all the time it was Elise's voice I wanted to hear in the morning. It was her hand I wanted on my forehead when I was sick, and it was her life I wanted to be a part of." He sucked hungrily at his whiskey, not even stopping to wipe the rivulets that flowed over the edge of the glass and down his chin. "Damn you, Joe. It was supposed to have been me, not you!"<br />
<br />
Joe had been staring at his glass all this time, but now he turned solemn eyes on Brent. "You aren't kidding, are you? You really do love her."<br />
<br />
"Yes, dammit!" Brent threw his empty glass on the floor and tried to get to his feet, but the alcohol had gotten the better of his legs and he sat back down. "What did you think this was all about?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know," Joe said quietly, sipping the last of his whiskey. He took a few deep breaths. "I think we've got one hell of a problem on our hands, though."<br />
<br />
"No we don't. Elise solved the problem for us. Damn her, too."<br />
<br />
"You think she really loves us both?" Joe asked quietly.<br />
<br />
"Who the hell knows any more? Maybe she doesn't love either one of us."<br />
<br />
"No," said Joe, shaking his head. "I don't know if I'd want to go on, knowing these four years had been a lie." He set his empty glass on the coffee table. "Funny how I could've been so happy and not even known it wouldn't last." <br />
<br />
"We'll find her as soon as the rain lets up," Brent said. His words were slurring now and he attempted to pick his glass up off the floor. He dropped it twice and when he finally had it in his hand, it was covered in lint and unidentifiable particles which he tried to wipe off with the army blanket, replacing olive green fibers for carpet dust. "I'm not even going to wait for the goddamn tow truck," Brent mumbled, reaching for the Southern Comfort bottle. "I'll walk every step of the way." He poured himself another drink, spilling as much liquor on the table and carpet as he managed to get into his glass.<br />
<br />
"That's good stuff," Joe admonished. "What are you wasting it for?" He grabbed the bottle and refilled his own glass. His aim was unsteady, but the liquor managed to go inside the glass without mishap. <br />
<br />
Brent drank down a little more whiskey, his eyes glassy now. "We need to do something about those clothes. They're going to burn if we leave them like that."<br />
<br />
"Go do something, then." Joe was deeply absorbed in getting his drink down.<br />
<br />
Brent tried to stand, but fell back to the sofa. "You do it."<br />
<br />
Joe set down his glass and managed to weave his way to the kitchen without running into anything. He reached across the clothes and chairs to turn off the oven, nearly tipping the chair with Brent's shirt into the open oven door. "This is some system you rigged up." Sloppily, he gathered up the clothes and stumbled back to the sofa, throwing everything in a heap between them. "Get dressed."<br />
<br />
Brent didn't answer at first. He was leaning against the back of the couch, his head tipped back and his mouth open, snoring. When Joe shook his shoulder, he opened his eyes. "What do you want?"<br />
<br />
"Put your clothes on," Joe said. He tried to pull on his jeans as an example, but forgot to put his socks on first, became confused and decided to start with his shirt instead.<br />
<br />
Brent attempted to get into his own clothes, but the rain and oven heat had damaged the wool slacks and cashmere sweater, making them tight and puckered. "This isn't going to work," he said, trying to pull the damp sweater over his wrinkled shirt. <br />
<br />
Joe managed a lopsided grin. "You look funny." <br />
<br />
Brent reached for his drink without embarrassment, having to make every movement with his whole body now because the tight sweater was constricting him. He sucked down his whiskey, threw himself against the couch and sighed. "I don't give a damn anymore."<br />
<br />
"You're drunk," Joe said, having figured out how his socks went on. "I can't think what else would make you not care what you look like."<br />
<br />
"Maybe some things just don't matter any more."<br />
<br />
"Maybe some things never did." Joe had buttoned his jeans and flopped down on the couch beside him. Noticing that there was a tiny bit of liquor left in the bottle, he grabbed it and finished it off. <br />
<br />
"Nice of you to share," Brent observed through eyes drooping with alcohol and fatigue.<br />
<br />
"You spilled your share on the floor. Remember?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah." He waved a hand. "Doesn't matter."<br />
<br />
"That's what you were just saying."<br />
<br />
"It's true," Brent mumbled. "Nothing matters."<br />
<br />
"You sure about that?" Joe asked, grabbing a sofa cushion and fumbling with it. He tried to get comfortable and closed his eyes. "I thought it all mattered to you."<br />
<br />
"No," Brent said, barely able to get the words out. "Nothing matters to me at all any more."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-80657233797355592592013-01-29T21:56:00.000-08:002013-01-30T07:10:58.413-08:00Chapter Forty-Two"I'll call a tow truck." Brent pulled out his phone and scowled at it. "Damn rural hicks. What kind of place is this that I can't get a signal? This isn't the wilderness."<br />
<br />
"Could be the rain."<br />
<br />
"I guess we'll have to wait it out. Either that or walk to the nearest place where we can use a phone."<br />
<br />
"We passed a place not far back," Joe said sullenly. "Maybe we can go over there and get them to call us a tow truck."<br />
<br />
"I was hoping you'd want to wait until the rain stopped."<br />
<br />
"Why?" Joe said. "We're already wet. Waiting here won't do us any good. Besides, knowing our luck, if we wait here, that'll be enough time for Elise to get away again."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but the rain won't go on like this all night. Let's give it half an hour and see what happens."<br />
<br />
"Wait here, if you want to," Joe said. "But I'm tired of always waiting, always losing her. I'm going to go see if I can get to a phone. Or hell, maybe I'll just walk to Ursula's place." He made to climb over Brent again, but Brent turned up his collar, threw open the door and got out first, closing his eyes against the pulsating beat of the rain. Joe jumped down behind him and slammed the door. "This way," he said. Wrapping his jacket around himself, he started up the road.<br />
<br />
Brent caught up and strode silently beside him. After several minutes, Joe pointed to a spot across a field, dimly visible through the rain. "Maybe they'll let us use their phone." <br />
<br />
"Where's the road to get to it?"<br />
<br />
"We can cut across that pasture."<br />
<br />
"It's going to be muddy."<br />
<br />
"Did you see any other places? How far is it to where Ursula Docet lives?"<br />
<br />
"Pretty far," Brent admitted. "It's at least another two miles after turning down that street we passed."<br />
<br />
"And that street was half a mile back, if it's even the right one." Joe crossed the street, leaped the ditch, and inspected the barbed wire fence. Calmly, he pulled one wire up, and the other down, bent over and slipped through. His jacket caught on the tendrils of a dead vine but he reached behind and pulled it free. <br />
<br />
Brent had been standing on the edge of the ditch, gauging the distance and the slipperiness of his shoes. With Joe watching, he got a running start and cleared the ditch easily. His coat became tangled on the barbed wire fence though, and Joe was compelled to come back and hold the top wire. Once on the other side, Brent straightened his coat, useless against the cold in its sodden state, and the two men set off in the direction of the small frame house Joe had seen from the road. <br />
<br />
They tramped along in silence, dripping hair plastered to their skulls, shoes squelching in the mud. After what seemed like miles they arrived at the house, which turned out to be just a drab little shack. Joe pounded on the door. Nothing. Brent tried to peer in a window but could see no light or movement from within. "Give it up," he said as Joe began banging on the door again. "There's no one home."<br />
<br />
Joe slammed his fist into the door, then grabbed the knob and rattled it, to no avail. He looked around wildly, all composure gone. "Don't tell me I'm stuck out here, soaking wet, freezing my ass off in the goddamn rain because of you!" <br />
<br />
"Hey, I didn't say we should come here," Brent said. "I wanted to stay in the truck until the rain let up, but you--"<br />
<br />
"Shut up, damn you! Just shut the fuck up!" Joe stomped around in the mud, splashing muck up to his knees, then took another swipe at the door, bruising his knuckles this time. "If you'd have looked at the map or wiped off the goddamn window like I told you to, or better yet if you'd have just left my wife alone--" Joe stepped back and took a powerful kick at the door, throwing his weight into it with a fury that splintered the wooden frame around the lock. There was a loud popping sound as the door gave way. Joe stumbled, made a grab for the doorknob, leaned into it for support and stumbled again as the door swung inward. He stopped uncertainly in the doorway. <br />
<br />
"Now you've done it," Brent said.<br />
<br />
"It was an accident." His anger suddenly spent, Joe gazed in shock at the place where the frame had splintered. "Damn cheap wood."<br />
<br />
"Right."<br />
<br />
"It is! What the hell kind of idiot uses yellow pine on their front door?"<br />
<br />
"Look, will you just let me in?"<br />
<br />
Joe gave Brent a sanity-questioning stare. "What do you mean, let you in? We're closing this door and getting the hell out of Dodge, before whoever lives here comes home."<br />
<br />
"Oh, come on. Let's at least wait it out, now that we're in. We can use their phone. We'll leave as soon as it lets up."<br />
<br />
"Man, now I know you're nuts."<br />
<br />
Brent pushed past him and stood dripping in the shelter of abbreviated entryway. "I'm not crazy," he said. "Just cold and wet. Now will you please shut the door?"<br />
<br />
"Look, I know we've done a lot of shady things since we got into this whole mess, but this is going too far. Get back on this side of the door. I'll close it as well as I can, we'll go back to the truck and hope for the best."<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged out of his coat, dropping it to the floor with a splat. "You'll be standing there waiting on me for a long time because I'm staying here until it lets up." He glanced around the quiet, dusty room. "It doesn't look like anyone really lives here, anyway. It's probably someone's second home, for when they want to get away for a little bit. I bet no one's been here in months."<br />
<br />
"That doesn't make it right."<br />
<br />
"What's the problem? You didn't hesitate to break into Perry's place."<br />
<br />
"He was a crook. If he'd caught us, the worst that would've happened is we would've had to fight him. Whoever lives here is probably an honest man who'll call the cops as soon as he'd look at us."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure if the owner was here he'd let us in, with this rain. And besides," Brent ran his fingers through his dripping hair, "to be quite honest, I really don't care anymore. Let them come and arrest me if that's what they want to do, but I'm not going back out there until I'm warm and dry and the rain has stopped."<br />
<br />
Joe considered. "I guess if we don't mess anything up, it can't hurt to hang out here until it clears. When we leave, we'll put some money on the kitchen counter to pay for the door."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-7389392321597227492013-01-22T22:24:00.000-08:002013-01-23T06:27:17.825-08:00Chapter Forty-OneThey drove in silence, winding through the local streets. "Any luck from that phone call to Selene?" Joe finally asked.<br />
<br />
"No." Brent sighed in frustration. "She was polite about it, but she says she spent hours on the phone and couldn't find anything under the new name and passport number. I told her to throw all that stuff away and give it a try under her real name. We should know something more by tomorrow afternoon."<br />
<br />
Joe stopped for a light. "Well, that'll be good, in case Ursula is another dead end."<br />
<br />
The light changed and Joe hit the gas. The truck sped forward, sending up a spray of water as he turned onto the access road. After entering the freeway and settling into his lane, Joe said, "I don't know if I can take much more of this running around and her always being one jump ahead of us."<br />
<br />
Brent settled back in his seat and adjusted the lapels of his damp coat. "I think I'm just about worn out, too."<br />
<br />
"You know, what really gets me is that we've been gone for the better part of a week and I feel like we're no closer to finding her than we were at the beginning. I don't understand why everyone is trying to cover for her. I don't mean to brag, but isn't it pretty obvious I'm trying to help?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know," Brent said. "It's always surprised me how loyal people are to Elise. It seems like no matter what she's done, she can always charm someone into giving her what she needs. Lord knows she didn't do anything to deserve the way I helped her over the years."<br />
<br />
"Then why did you do it?"<br />
<br />
"I could ask the same of you."<br />
<br />
"What do you mean?"<br />
<br />
"Why are you persisting in this? A lot of men would've said good riddance by this point, knowing what you know."<br />
<br />
Joe didn't answer right away. He continued to drive, staring intently at the road ahead, tiny workings in the muscles around his eyes and mouth the only clues that he was deep in thought. <br />
<br />
"And don't say it's because you love her," Brent added. <br />
<br />
"But I do love her."<br />
<br />
"Love has its limits."<br />
<br />
"Does it?" Joe asked. "Seems a shame if it does."<br />
<br />
Brent said nothing and stared at his hands. <br />
<br />
They drove for the next hour in silence as the sky grew darker and the rain continued to fall. Joe turned on his headlights but they didn't help much. "It's going to be fun, trying to find this place off a farm road in the dark, in the rain."<br />
<br />
"Well, we can't wait until morning. We've lost too much time already."<br />
<br />
"I know. Just help me out with the directions, will you? That way I can focus on the road. I think I see our exit up ahead." <br />
<br />
They pulled off the freeway and turned onto a farm road. Without the benefit of street lights, they had to slow almost to a crawl in order to see. Joe turned on his brights and squinted.<br />
<br />
"You're going to want to keep to the left at that fork up there," Brent said. <br />
<br />
"Looks like we're going pretty far out into the country." <br />
<br />
"Just wait. I think the next turn will be onto a one-lane road, if this map is any indication." <br />
<br />
As they turned onto the left fork of the road, the rain, which had been slackening, began coming down harder as if making up for lost time. Joe slowed again and increased the speed of the wipers, to little effect. "Are you going to be able to see where we need to turn?" <br />
<br />
"I think it's right up here a little ways. See that stop sign by the tree?"<br />
<br />
Joe eased onto the narrow road, his brows drawing together in concentration. "This is a dangerous street in this weather. No lines, no curbs, nothing."<br />
<br />
Brent agreed. "They should develop out here. Get one of those rural improvement grants or something. It would improve their property values."<br />
<br />
"Do we have to stay on this road for very long?"<br />
<br />
Brent glanced at the map. "No, it looks like we'll be turning again soon."<br />
<br />
"I wonder if Ursula keeps horses," Joe said, gesturing toward a stable set back from the road. <br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. "She could do anything, for all we know."<br />
<br />
"And we know nothing," Joe's voice took on an edge. "I hate feeling this way, like everything I thought I knew was wrong."<br />
<br />
Suddenly Brent leaned forward, straining to see the road through the rain. "Oh, hell."<br />
<br />
"Don't tell me we passed it."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I think we did."<br />
<br />
"How can you tell?"<br />
<br />
"Didn't we just pass a cross-street?"<br />
<br />
"If you can call it that. It was just a little gravel path."<br />
<br />
"Well, I think maybe we went too far. Turn around and go back. We haven't passed it by much."<br />
<br />
"Turn around where?" Joe gestured at the road, empty of cross streets or driveways.<br />
<br />
"Just turn around here in the road. There's no traffic."<br />
<br />
Joe looked around doubtfully, then stopped the truck, threw it into reverse, cut the wheel and started to back up. "Reach back there and wipe off the rear window. I'm not getting a clear picture of where I'm going."<br />
<br />
Brent twisted around in his seat. "It's okay. You're miles away from the ditch."<br />
<br />
Joe released the brake and began inching backward, casting occasional glances behind him, but trusting Brent's reassuring words to "keep going, keep going," until suddenly the left rear wheel hit slippery gravel, and the back end of the truck lurched to one side. Before he could get his foot on the brake, the right wheel slipped backward, too, and the truck slid neatly into the ditch, with only the right front tire remaining at road level.<br />
<br />
Cursing, Joe turned on the four-wheel drive. He hit the gas and the tires spun, but nothing happened. The rear wheels embedded themselves in the mud, the left front wheel spinning on open air, clipping a few weeds, the right front tire unable to find a hold in the slippery gravel of the shoulder. After gunning the engine a few times, Joe stomped on the brake and put the truck into park. He turned around in his seat and fixed Brent with an icy glare. "Get out and find something to put under the wheels." <br />
<br />
Brent sucked in his breath but didn't argue. He opened the door and jumped into ankle-deep mud. He winced at the cold rain beating on his face and dribbling down the back of his neck as he walked to the edge of the ditch. The wheels were buried almost to the axle. Since there was no point trying to help from that end, he went around to the front. The left front wheel had a few inches of space between it and the side of the ditch, and after assessing the situation, Brent looked around, finding a few small rocks and branches, but nothing substantial to fill the gap between tire and ground. After a few minutes, he returned to the truck and climbed in. "I couldn't find anything."<br />
<br />
"You must not have looked hard enough. Look again."<br />
<br />
"Man, I'm telling you, it's hopeless. Those rear wheels are in too deep. Even if I could find something big enough to put under the front one, I don't think it would give enough leverage to pull the back end out. We're going to need a tow truck."<br />
<br />
"If you can't find something to put under the wheels, I suggest you get out and push, since you're the one that got us into this mess in the first place."<br />
<br />
Brent shoved his dripping hair off his forehead. "Look, you don't have to tell me, okay? I feel like an idiot, and if I thought wading in mud up to my knees to push this truck would do any good, I'd be doing it. Go look for yourself if you don't believe me."<br />
<br />
Joe gazed steadily at Brent long enough for the drumming of the rain on the roof to grow louder, the curtains of rain nearly opaque, until it seemed the entire gray, deafening world had closed in around them and they were in the last dry place on earth. Brent picked at his soaking pants and examined the toes of his muddy shoes, then he raised his head and met Joe's eyes.<br />
<br />
"Move over and let me out," Joe said. <br />
<br />
Brent moved as far back in the seat as he could so Joe could climb over him and get out on the passenger side, since getting out on the driver's side was out of the question. Joe jumped down and slammed the door behind him, leaving Brent alone, dripping and shivering. <br />
<br />
After a few minutes, Joe climbed back in, soaked to the skin. He crawled over to the driver's seat, started the engine and turned on the heater. He stretched his hands toward an air vent, flexing his fingers in the warm air. Brent leaned forward and did the same. "What do you think?" Brent finally asked.<br />
<br />
"I think we're screwed."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-66135324987376256762013-01-15T22:22:00.000-08:002013-01-16T07:30:57.350-08:00Chapter FortyJoe slumped against the elevator wall. "That was a waste of time." <br />
<br />
"Not really," Brent said. "At least we know where Ursula Docet isn't."<br />
<br />
"That doesn't tell us where she is, though."<br />
<br />
"Maybe I can find her on the internet."<br />
<br />
"She's retired. Why do you think she'd be easy to find on the web? Sylvia Lobo is young and actively engaged in...business, and she wasn't online."<br />
<br />
"Well, if we can't find her on an internet search, we can still find out if Elise is leaving the country. I still have a lead with Selene, you know."<br />
<br />
"How long do you think it will take her to find something?"<br />
<br />
"Who knows?" The elevator had reached their floor and they stepped off. "She has connections, but they're pretty high up. It'll take her at least the better part of today to work her way down to the flunkies who actually access the data, and that's if she puts her mind to this and doesn't waffle or get bored and go out drinking."<br />
<br />
Joe glanced at his watch. "Well, it's late afternoon now."<br />
<br />
"As soon as we get out of this garage and have a good signal, I'll give her a call."<br />
<br />
They climbed into the truck and Joe started backing out of the parking space. "Where to, now?"<br />
<br />
"A library, I guess, or any place with public computers or a good wi-fi signal so I can do a search on Ursula."<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Joe drove to the nearest library he knew, which also happened to be in his old neighborhood in the shadow of the cathedral. The library was a Greek Revival affair of gray stone and imposing columns. It had once served a middle-class community but over the years had become a haven for immigrants eager to improve their uncertain English. "Why are we coming to this dismal place?" Brent said. "A library in a poor neighborhood won't do us any good."<br />
<br />
"Hey, the neighborhood may be poor, but that doesn't mean the libraries are," Joe said. "I keep up with what's going on in the old 'hood. They got one of those government grants."<br />
<br />
Brent followed Joe inside skeptically and was reassured when he spotted several computers for public use. "Not bad," he admitted, opening a browser. "A shame they had to put security bars on the window to keep people from stealing them, though."<br />
<br />
"You always have to diss something, don't you?"<br />
<br />
"You diss the rich, I diss the poor. What's the problem?"<br />
<br />
"Nothing, except the rich guys get that way by taking advantage of us poor people, not the other way around." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "How long will this take?"<br />
<br />
"Hard telling. Luckily we're not looking for a real common name."<br />
<br />
"I'm going to look around a bit, then." <br />
<br />
"Suit yourself." Brent leaned over the screen, scanning the results of his first search. Impatiently, he went from site to site, finding a name on a class reunion roster, a couple mentions on a message board, and a review of a show featuring one of Ursula's protégés. Everything seemed to point toward a dead end. Finally, though, he clicked on a link that took him to a website that made him smile. He found a stack of note paper and some yellow pencil stubs and scribbled an address. Then he opened a second browser window and did a map search. <br />
<br />
Satisfied, he went in search of Joe, who he found in the art section, poring over a book of glossy photos. Joe looked up at his approach. "Anything?"<br />
<br />
Brent showed him the map printout. "Unless she's moved in the last couple of years, this should be it."<br />
<br />
"No way." Joe took the map and examined it. "Man, that's clear outside of town, almost to the county line."<br />
<br />
"It shouldn't be too hard to find, though, should it?"<br />
<br />
"Well, those farm roads can be tricky with lots of little dirt roads connecting into them that don't show up on maps. Signage is usually bad. And then there's driveways that look like roads until you've actually gone about a quarter of a mile, and then you realize you're pulling up in front of someone's house… but that doesn't really matter. As long as we have a general idea where to look, we'll find her."<br />
<br />
"Good." <br />
<br />
"How'd you find this, by the way?"<br />
<br />
Brent grinned. "A roster, of all things. Ursula Docet is still on a few consulting committees for the ballet and some of its associated charities. She's secretary of one of them, and her address showed up on the roster's mailing list. A really stupid thing for them to post online, but lucky for us."<br />
<br />
"I'll say."<br />
<br />
The book Joe had left open on the table caught Brent's eye. "Hey, I didn't know you were featured in a book."<br />
<br />
"'Modern American Woodcarving.' Kind of cool, isn't it?"<br />
<br />
"I'll say." He examined the picture Joe had been looking at. "She's been your muse, hasn't she?" <br />
<br />
Joe gazed at the wooden angel with Elise's luscious, doe-like eyes and pouting lips. "I guess you could say that."<br />
<br />
"You think she ever minded?" <br />
<br />
"Why would she?"<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. "I would think it would get old, always being a goddess and never being a real person."<br />
<br />
Joe closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "Don't be stupid. What woman doesn't want to be a goddess?"<br />
<br />
"Maybe someone like Elise?"<br />
<br />
Joe glared at him silently, then reached in his pocket for his keys. "We've got a long drive, and I don't want to be trying to find this place in the dark. Plus, I need to make a quick stop along the way."<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
The quick stop turned out to be at the cathedral. "What are we doing here?" Brent said. "There's no one here who can help us."<br />
<br />
"Maybe, maybe not." Joe killed the engine and put a hand on the door handle. "You coming?"<br />
<br />
"No, I'll wait out here and try to call Selene."<br />
<br />
"Good idea. I won't be long."<br />
<br />
The church was empty and nearly dark except for a few dim lights and votives. Joe dipped his fingers in the holy water, crossed himself and stepped into the Virgin's chapel. He fumbled for an unused votive, lit it and placed it with the others. Then he knelt in silence for several minutes. Finally, after a quick look around to make sure he was unwatched, he slipped off his gold wedding band and pinned it to a fold of the Virgin's skirt. When he stood to leave he noticed Brent framed in chapel doorway.<br />
<br />
"Couldn't wait outside, could you?" he muttered, brushing past him into the vestibule.<br />
<br />
"I just wondered what was taking so long."<br />
<br />
"You should learn to mind your own business once in awhile."<br />
<br />
Brent followed him to the heavy double doors in silence. Once they were in the truck, though, he said, "I really didn't mean to pry."<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged and started the engine.<br />
<br />
"We've been to a lot dumber places for help," Brent went on. "Anything's worth a try at this point."<br />
<br />
"That's what I figured."<br />
<br />
"If it works, maybe I'll convert."<br />
<br />
"She doesn't need you to be a Catholic," Joe said. "She just needs you to believe."<br />
<br />
Brent considered. "I guess you could say a lot of women are like that."<br />
<br />
"Maybe so." Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-63154831575315336512013-01-08T22:54:00.000-08:002013-01-09T06:24:20.248-08:00Chapter Thirty-NineJoe paused under the canopy outside the club. "When did the weatherman say we were going to get rain? I thought it was supposed to stay clear."<br />
<br />
Brent shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was on weather.com."<br />
<br />
"Well that's really helpful to someone without a computer or a smart phone."<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. "Cece had computers and TVs, you know. Several, in fact."<br />
<br />
Joe frowned at the rain. "I guess we're just going to get wet." He stepped from under the canopy and Brent followed, his coat pulled over his head.<br />
<br />
Once they were inside the truck, Brent looked at his wet shoes in dismay. "I bet they're ruined now. They're Bruno Maglis, too."<br />
<br />
"I'm glad to see nothing we've been through has changed your priorities," Joe said. "So how are we going to find this Docet woman?"<br />
<br />
"Let's go to the ballet. While we're driving, I'll call information and see if Ursula is listed."<br />
<br />
Joe pulled onto the feeder road. "I’m assuming you know how to get there," he said as he entered the freeway. "It's downtown, right?"<br />
<br />
Brent nodded. "When we get closer, I'll give you directions." <br />
<br />
They drove a long time in silence, once Brent gave up on his attempts to get a phone listing for Ursula Docet. Settling back in his seat, he gave in to the mesmerizing rhythm of the rain beating on the roof and the pumping of the windshield wipers. <br />
<br />
Finally Joe muttered, "Damn dirty trick of that girl back there, putting Lamia's drinks on our tab."<br />
<br />
"They all do that," Brent said. "It's assumed that if a dancer is at your table, you're buying her drinks."<br />
<br />
"Well, I didn't appreciate it. And I wouldn't have had so many if she hadn't kept ordering them."<br />
<br />
"Too late now." They were nearing downtown and Brent pointed to the exit up ahead. "Let's get off here. It's not as close, but it will keep us from getting stuck in that traffic up ahead."<br />
<br />
Joe pulled off the freeway, turned onto a side street and following it toward the anonymous towers ahead. Under Brent's guidance, he navigated the broad one-way streets of the city's center, dodging office-workers and lumbering city buses that cut him off when they didn't stop directly in front of him to admit or disgorge passengers. "I knew there was a reason I hated driving downtown."<br />
<br />
"Park in that garage up ahead," Brent said, ignoring Joe's complaints. "The one two blocks up, on the left.<br />
<br />
"Now you tell me." Joe wove through the chaos to get from the far right to the far left lane, darting in front of a red Hyundai just in time to make the garage entrance. He found a vacant parking space then twisted around to look behind the seat. "Are we going to need an umbrella? I have one here somewhere, I think."<br />
<br />
"No, if we take the elevator to the basement level, there's a tunnel that we can use to get over to the ballet building. This is all part of the fine arts center." He stepped out of the truck and did a quick assessment of his clothes. Then he examined Joe with the same critical eye. "We're going to have to get into some drier things. We need to look nice."<br />
<br />
"What for?"<br />
<br />
"Trust me." Brent reached behind his seat for his overnight bag and took out a few things. "See anyone who'll notice if I change my pants?"<br />
<br />
"Are you insane? This isn't your bedroom."<br />
<br />
"You're right. I'll go in the stairwell." He slung a pair of slacks and fresh sweater over his arm and headed toward the steel exit door. With a glance over his shoulder at Joe, he called, "Pick something dry for yourself. Something that looks professional."<br />
<br />
Grumbling, Joe dug in his bag, but the best he could come up with was a pair of dry jeans and a sweater. He followed Brent to the stairwell, meeting him as he was coming out. "Is that the best you've got?" Brent asked.<br />
<br />
"Yes, it is," Joe said irritably. "Unlike you, I didn't take any of that stuff from Cece's."<br />
<br />
Brent frowned. "Well, I guess it will have to do."<br />
<br />
"Have to do for what?"<br />
<br />
"Just get dressed. I'll tell you the plan in the elevator."<br />
<br />
A few minutes later they were riding the elevator into the depths of the building. Joe fidgeted in one of Brent's cashmere sweaters and asked, "So what's all this about?"<br />
<br />
Brent was focused on something in his wallet and didn't look up.<br />
<br />
"What are you doing?" <br />
<br />
"Putting a few business cards on top so I can get to them quickly. When we get there, let me do the talking. I'm going to make like I'm doing a little cold-calling, seeing if they'd like me to handle their advertising."<br />
<br />
"Aren't you a little high up the food chain to be doing your own cold-calling?"<br />
<br />
Brent smiled. "I'll wing it. I can be very convincing."<br />
<br />
"No argument there." Joe examined the cuffs of his sweater. "So who am I?"<br />
<br />
Brent considered. "I think you'll be my photographer. You know enough about art and lighting to be believable."<br />
<br />
"Just so long as I don't have to take any actual pictures."<br />
<br />
The elevator doors slid open on a dim winding tunnel that meandered into the murky distance under the dim blue lighting. They followed its twists and turns for several minutes, the bare concrete walls occasionally relieved by framed ballet and theater posters whose bright colors nevertheless managed to look sad and drained of energy in the claustrophobic tunnel.<br />
<br />
"How far is it?" Joe finally asked. "I'm starting to feel a little hemmed in, here."<br />
<br />
"We're almost there. These tunnels go on for miles, though. You can get lost if you don't know what you're doing." A few moments later, they found themselves at a glass double door with the words "St. Argent Ballet" neatly calligraphed on the glass. "Just remember to keep quiet. And try to look artistic." Brent opened the door and they went inside.<br />
<br />
They found themselves in a small lobby decorated in soothing tones of gray and blue. No one was immediately in sight, and Brent took the opportunity to pick up a schedule of performances lying on a small table. He scanned it briefly, taking note of the dates. Finding a few programs on the table as well, he flipped through one, memorizing the names of a few directors and principals. Suddenly a woman burst into the room, brisk and athletic in leotard, baggy pants and a windbreaker. Brent ran after her. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you direct me to the business office?"<br />
<br />
"Down the hall, third door on the left," she said as she brushed past him and hurried out the door.<br />
<br />
"Nice lady," Joe remarked.<br />
<br />
Brent was unconcerned and headed down the hall, Joe following close behind. When he got to the office he was looking for, he paused to compose himself then pulled out a business card and strode confidently up to the reception desk. "Good afternoon." He handed his card to the young woman at the desk. "My name's Brent Conner, and this is one of my associates, Joe Gonzales."<br />
<br />
Joe offered a polite nod of agreement.<br />
<br />
"I was wondering if I could see Claire Fournier."<br />
<br />
"Do you have an appointment?"<br />
<br />
"Uh, no. I saw the performance of Giselle last night and was very impressed. As you see from my card, I'm in marketing, and I think I can help get the word out about what a great collection of talent you have." He leaned forward. "I have a client with a small area magazine he's putting together, and maybe we could collaborate with him-- get him to run a story about the work you're doing here." He pulled out another business card from his wallet. "So is Ms. Fournier available this afternoon? I don't need much of her time. I just want to introduce myself and see if she'd interested in setting up a formal appointment for a later date."<br />
<br />
The receptionist reached for the phone. "I'll see if she's available," she said. "Have a seat while I page her office."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-89277980401497188112013-01-01T22:54:00.000-08:002013-01-02T06:56:39.193-08:00Chapter Thirty-EightJoe stretched his feet out under the table and looked Veronica steadily in the eye. “Okay, so you think we’re fools. That’s fine. Just tell us where Elise went and we’ll leave you alone.”<br />
<br />
“I told you I have pretty strong feelings about that. She doesn’t want you, she doesn’t need you...if I knew anything, why would I betray her confidence?”<br />
<br />
“The fact that we love her makes no difference to you?” Brent demanded, leaning forward so suddenly he startled her. “Don’t tell me you’ve worked in places like this so long you don’t have any faith in love.”<br />
<br />
Veronica leaned forward too, displaying a mound of surgically enhanced cleavage. “What makes you think I don’t love Elise myself?”<br />
<br />
Brent’s mouth fell open as if this was a possibility he had never considered.<br />
<br />
Joe recovered more quickly. “She obviously doesn't love you, or she'd still be at your place. If she doesn’t want you any more than she wants us, why not tell us where she went? We’ll let you go back to whatever you were doing, and that will be the end of it.”<br />
<br />
Veronica idly twirled a lock of hair while pretending to consider this. “I thought there was something you were going to give me if I talked. You don’t think I’d betray a friend for nothing, do you?”<br />
<br />
“I can pay you the same way I paid to get you to this table.” <br />
<br />
“How much?”<br />
<br />
“I’ve got two more.”<br />
<br />
Veronica frowned into her drink. “The last thing I want is for Elise to hate me. I lost track of her for years. We used to be roommates, danced together, hung out together. We dated some of the same guys back when I still dated guys. And even though she stayed straight and I didn't, I kept hoping one of those jerks would be the last and she'd see who her real friends were. When she started acting like she wanted to settle down, I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Then all of a sudden she looks me up and needs a favor—a place to stay and for me to keep my mouth shut. Two simple things. It just doesn’t seem right to tattle over a little blow.”<br />
<br />
“What else do you want?” Brent asked.<br />
<br />
“What makes you so sure my information has a price?”<br />
<br />
“All information has a price.”<br />
<br />
“Not necessarily,” Veronica said, finishing her drink and indicating to the waitress that they wanted another round. “Just because I work in a place like this doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.”<br />
<br />
“No one said you didn’t,” Joe told her. “But you’re not ratting on Elise. She’s scared and needs our help.”<br />
<br />
Veronica shook her head. “She may be scared, but if you think she needs help from you, you don’t know her very well. Besides, you can't keep pace with her. She’s probably not even in the country any more. You guys are wasting your time.”<br />
<br />
Joe pushed his empty beer bottle aside. “Where is she going?”<br />
<br />
“She told me she didn’t feel safe here. She was worried you’d find her, even after she changed her name and bleached her hair.”<br />
<br />
“She colored her hair, too?” Brent asked.<br />
<br />
“You didn’t know? She makes a delicious blonde.”<br />
<br />
“Fine, whatever,” Joe said. “So where was she talking about going? Did she already have her plane tickets? What about a visa?”<br />
<br />
"I don't know. She got a passport from that guy she bought her new name from, but I got the feeling that it made her a little nervous. I think if she goes through with her plan to leave the country, she may do it under her own name."<br />
<br />
"Where was she thinking about going? And how was she going to get there?"<br />
<br />
"I really don't know," Veronica admitted. "She said something about wanting to catch a flight to the Virgin Islands or someplace like that, and then go from there to some larger country where it's not too hard to get a work permit. I told her that was stupid and she should catch one of those Mexican express buses to Veracruz and relocate from there under her phony name. There's lots of shady characters in Mexico who could help her out, and their prices are cheaper than dirt."<br />
<br />
"So what did she decide?"<br />
<br />
"I said I don't know." Veronica looked around for the waitress. "Where's that other round I ordered?" <br />
<br />
"You sure you should be drinking so much?" Brent asked, toying with a napkin from under his empty martini glass.<br />
<br />
"Who are you, my mother? At least I'm not driving."<br />
<br />
Brent opened his mouth to say something, but Joe flashed him a silencing look, and at that moment the waitress arrived with a tray full of drinks. "It's about time," Veronica told her. "What took you so long?"<br />
<br />
The waitress ignored Veronica's nagging and began setting drinks in front of them. "Some of your other customers are wondering when you're going to go see them." <br />
<br />
Veronica craned her neck and a group of men in electrician's uniforms waved at her. She turned back to Joe. "If we're going to do business, we need to cut the bullshit and get down to it. I've got some regulars waiting to see me, and they're my bread and butter."<br />
<br />
Joe reached for his fresh beer. "I'm just waiting on you. I made you an offer: two more of what I gave you earlier if you tell me who Elise was going to see after she left you."<br />
<br />
"Is that the best you can do?"<br />
<br />
"It's a pretty good offer, I think," Joe said. "What else do you want?"<br />
<br />
Veronica considered. "How about the phone number of the person you got this stuff from? That's better shit than what my contact I have now is getting me."<br />
<br />
"We got it from Sylvia Lobo," Brent said. "You remember her."<br />
<br />
Veronica smiled. "I sure as hell remember Sylvia. Man, I haven't talked to her in forever. I had no idea she was still in the business." She drained half her Jack and coke, then darted a look at her table of electricians and indicated she would only be a minute more. "How can I get in touch with her?"<br />
<br />
Brent had pulled out his wallet by this point and was copying the phone number onto a cocktail napkin from the blue post-it they had found in Elise's office a few days before. "Don't mention us, okay?"<br />
<br />
Veronica folded the napkin and slipped it into a pocket of her jacket. Then she turned to Joe. "Well?" <br />
<br />
Joe searched his jacket pockets, removed a few pieces of paper, then took the jacket off and slipped it around her shoulders. "Left inside pocket." <br />
<br />
Veronica fumbled a bit, then shrugged off Joe's jacket and handed it back. "Ursula Docet." <br />
<br />
"What?"<br />
<br />
"Ursula Docet. That's who Elise went to stay with. She's one of the women from the ballet. We did a lot of our training with her."<br />
<br />
"Do you have a phone number or an address for her?" Joe asked.<br />
<br />
"Sorry." <br />
<br />
"Is she still with the ballet?"<br />
<br />
"I have no idea."<br />
<br />
"That's okay," Brent said. "If she's not at the ballet, there will be some kind of record at the academy or on the internet. Ballet is pretty incestuous. We ought to be able to track her down."<br />
<br />
"Well that's good," Joe said. "Otherwise that would've been a pretty high price just for a name."<br />
<br />
Veronica drained the last of her drink and got to her feet, "That's all you asked for, remember?" She tossed her heavy hair over her shoulder and straightened her jacket. "Just remember, if you find her, you didn't get anything out of me."<br />
<br />
"Of course not."<br />
<br />
"You won't find her, though."<br />
<br />
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-32531546320494493272012-12-25T22:06:00.000-08:002012-12-26T08:09:08.267-08:00Chapter Thirty-SevenThe men picked at their food, waiting for Veronica to finish dancing. Finally her music ended and she exited the stage to the sound of whistles and catcalls. As she came down the steps, the girl waiting to go next threw her a contemptuous look and muttered something, but Veronica brushed past as if she was invisible. Joe and Brent’s waitress hurried up to her and yelled something in her ear in order to be heard over the sound of the next girl's song. Veronica looked toward the men’s table, frowned and said something to the waitress, who shrugged. Then she headed across the room to a table of men near the stage who had been particularly raucous during her act. With limber grace, she sat in the offered chair and contorted herself so the man next to her could massage one of her feet. <br />
<br />
Joe turned to Brent. “Doesn’t look like it worked."<br />
<br />
“Maybe she’d already promised those guys before she heard we wanted her. Maybe she’ll come over here next.”<br />
<br />
“I hope so,” Joe said, “I don’t want to have to spend the entire afternoon here.”<br />
<br />
“We'll wait until she’s finished, then I’ll go see what I can do.”<br />
<br />
After several minutes, Veronica finished with her customers, but instead of coming over to Joe and Brent’s table, she disappeared through a set of double doors.<br />
<br />
Brent waved the waitress over. “Where did Veronica go? Didn't you tell her we wanted to see her?”<br />
<br />
“I told her,” the girl said. “She said she needed to see her regulars first. If she gets done with them and you’re still here, she’ll come over.”<br />
<br />
“Where is she now?”<br />
<br />
The girl shrugged. “She probably just went into the back to change her costume and powder her nose. She’ll be back out in a minute.”<br />
<br />
“Powder her nose, huh?” Joe eyed the double doors suspiciously, and sure enough, Veronica came back out rubbing her nose thoughtfully. Joe got up from his seat. “I think Veronica will want to see us.” He wove his way through the tables to where she was talking to a customer. Brent watched as he interrupted her conversation. Appearing to talk to her casually, Joe grabbed Veronica’s hand and held it. The girl's eyes took on a suspicious cast, but when he released her, she darted her hand into a jacket pocket, flipped her hair over her shoulder and went back through the double doors without a word. Joe came back to the table, grinning. “Give her five minutes,” he said. “She’ll be here.”<br />
<br />
Brent frowned. “Did you give her what I think you did?”<br />
<br />
“Don't worry about it.” <br />
<br />
“Dammit,” Brent said, shoving his half-eaten plate of food out of the way. “Do you realize you could get us arrested?”<br />
<br />
Joe turned a condescending glance on him. “Are you a part-time narc or something?”<br />
<br />
“No, but a few probably work here.”<br />
<br />
“You're such a tedious poser sometimes, you know that? I may not go to these kinds of places, but I know they pay off the cops. My cousin is a cop and he told me about the racket these places have.”<br />
<br />
“Well, I still think it was a dumb thing to do.”<br />
<br />
“Think all you want,” Joe said. “But look, she’s heading over here. That stuff works better than cash sometimes.”<br />
<br />
"Yeah, like it worked really great with Perry," Brent mumbled. <br />
<br />
Before Joe could answer, Veronica sauntered up to their table in her leather tap pants and bolero jacket. She glanced at Brent and her eyes widened in recognition, but then her features went blank and she turned to Joe. “You want to see me about something, and you obviously want it pretty bad.” She pulled up a chair, her eyes still wary. “That’s pretty good stuff. I wouldn’t mind knowing where you got it.”<br />
<br />
“There’s more where it came from if you’re willing to help us out,” Joe said.<br />
<br />
Veronica raised her eyebrows, but her cynical expression remained unchanged. “I don’t fuck customers, if that’s what you’re after.” <br />
<br />
“Don’t worry,” Joe said, “I’m madly in love with my wife.”<br />
<br />
“So is every man in this room,” Veronica said with a shrug. She waved the waitress over. “Married men are worse than dogs.” When the waitress appeared, Veronica ordered a Jack and coke and sent her away. “If you don’t want to fuck, and you don’t want me to dance for you, what do you want?”<br />
<br />
“I want to know where Elise Riddisee is,” Joe said.<br />
<br />
Veronica darted a glance at Brent, but her face and voice remained neutral. “I haven't seen Elise in years. Why do you think I would know where she is?”<br />
<br />
Brent spoke up. “Come on, Lamia. Don't you remember me?"<br />
<br />
"I remember you," she said coolly. "I just don't like you. Now what's this about Elise? I said I don't know what you guys are talking about, so maybe you should leave."<br />
<br />
"Stop lying. A woman named Cece Kirk dropped her off at your place two nights ago,” Brent said. <br />
<br />
Veronica turned on him. “Okay, maybe I did see her recently. But why should I tell either of you anything about it?”<br />
<br />
“Because she’s my wife and I need to find her.”<br />
<br />
Veronica grinned. “So you’re the artist. You don’t look artistic.”<br />
<br />
Joe rubbed his forehead as if he had a sudden headache. “I’m not artistic,” he said wearily. “I just enjoy what I do, okay? And for some reason, other people seem to like it and are willing to pay for it.”<br />
<br />
The waitress appeared at Veronica’s elbow with her drink and set it on the table in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie,” Veronica told her. "You look hot tonight." The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away. Veronica turned back to the men. “Bet you didn’t know a lot of us are lesbians, did you?”<br />
<br />
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Brent said.<br />
<br />
Veronica turned on him. “Why do you say that?” <br />
<br />
“Because look at what you deal with every day. If I was hanging around guys like this, I wouldn’t think much of men, either.” He took a sip of his martini. “Besides,” he added, “Where else can a lesbian meet so many attractive half-naked women?”<br />
<br />
Veronica turned back to Joe with a smirk. “I forgot he can be pretty smart when he wants to be.” She took a sip of her drink. “Where’d you pick him up?”<br />
<br />
“He tagged along.”<br />
<br />
“Why would you do that?” she asked, turning back to Brent. "Unless--"<br />
<br />
“Unless what?”<br />
<br />
Veronica grinned like a cat. “Unless you’re the cause of all this mess.” She looked from one man to another, then laughed. “This is actually pretty funny.”<br />
<br />
“Glad we can entertain you,” Joe said. “So where is Elise?”<br />
<br />
Veronica’s eyes widened in innocence. “Hey, I already told you I don't know.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, come on,” Joe said. “She was at your place as recently as two nights ago. Is she still there?”<br />
<br />
“No,” Veronica said, jiggling her ice cubes. <br />
<br />
“We figured as much,” Joe said. He turned to Brent. “I could just kill Cece.”<br />
<br />
“It’s our own fault in a way,” Brent reminded him. “We should’ve pinned her to the wall and threatened her a lot sooner.”<br />
<br />
“You did what?” Veronica's eyes lit up. “Don’t tell me you got violent with that poor woman.” <br />
<br />
“It's not like we used a gun or threatened to detonate a bomb,” Brent pointed out. “It was all a lot of bluff.”<br />
<br />
Veronica shrieked with laughter, causing the men at one of the other tables to turn around and look. “I can’t believe it, you two threatening that sweet woman with bodily harm. She should’ve called the police if she had any sense at all.”<br />
<br />
“Well, apparently she doesn’t have any sense,” Joe said. “And how do you know Cece, by the way? She says she just dropped Elise off in the parking lot and never actually met you.”<br />
<br />
“That is such bullshit." Veronica motioned the waitress back to the table and ordered a round for all three of them. “She came in with Elise, they sat on my sofa, we had a couple of drinks – not Elise, of course, because of the baby. You do know about the baby, right?”<br />
<br />
“Yes,” Joe and Brent both said simultaneously. Then they looked at each other. Brent turned away first. “I don’t suppose you know any more about that situation than we do?” Joe asked. <br />
<br />
“What do you mean?”<br />
<br />
“You know.”<br />
<br />
“Oh.” Veronica grinned. “I haven’t a clue, and believe me, I asked. I don’t think Elise is sure, herself.”<br />
<br />
The waitress appeared with their drinks, and Veronica enthusiastically grabbed hers off the tray before it could be set in front of her. “So you guys really don’t know which one of you is the father of Elise’s baby? And you don’t care?”<br />
<br />
The men looked at each other. “We care,” Joe said. <br />
<br />
“It's just that there isn't a whole lot we can do about it,” Brent added.<br />
<br />
“I guess that’s true,” she said, suddenly engrossed in her drink. “I told her to get an abortion. That would make the most sense. She doesn't want to be a single mother." She waved a hand in the direction of the stage. "A lot of these girls are single mothers, and it's a bitch." <br />
<br />
"Is she planning on taking your advice?" Joe asked, his face blank but his hand clenched tightly around his beer.<br />
<br />
Veronica shrugged. "Who knows? I hope she does, because she'd be a lousy mother, but you can never tell with her. She was never one to let on what she was planning to do." She sighed in apparent unconcern. "I have to hand it to you both. You seem to be handling this pretty well. I guess I’ve been around guys like these so long that I forget there’s other kinds of men in the world.” She leaned back in her chair. “Not that I have much use for men, but they do pay the bills.”<br />
<br />
“Glad you think so highly of us,” Brent said.<br />
<br />
“Hey, no offense.”<br />
<br />
“None taken,” Joe said. “So where is Elise now?”<br />
<br />
Veronica had been leaning back in her chair, but now she leaned forward. “I keep telling you I don't know. And even if I did, why should I tell you?” <br />
<br />
“Because I’m her husband and I love her.”<br />
<br />
“So?” Veronica examined her drink carefully. “I don’t believe all this crap about the sanctity of marriage, and the importance of having a man in one’s life. No matter what Elise decides to do, she doesn't need either one of you chasing after her, harassing her about it.”<br />
<br />
“We’re not trying to harass her,” Joe said. "We just want to make sure she isn’t running away for the wrong reasons. I want her to know that I love her no matter what she’s done, and I want her to come home. If she tells me she still doesn’t want to come home after that, fine. But I want to be sure.”<br />
<br />
“How noble of you.” She turned to Brent. “And what’s your story?”<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. “I’m helping him.” He indicated Joe with a jerk of his chin. “I want Elise to be happy, and I think she would be happiest with Joe.”<br />
<br />
Veronica choked and set her glass on the table as she alternated between hacking and laughing. Joe patted her on the back, but she waved him away and tried to pull herself together. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever encountered in my life,” she said when she finally caught her breath.<br />
<br />
“Thanks,” Brent said sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.<br />
<br />
Veronica waved the waitress over again. The girl came over wearily, just dodging Veronica’s attempt to pinch her on the ass. “Another round?” she asked.<br />
<br />
“Yes, please,” Veronica told her. “And hurry. These men are talking like fools.”Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-13483360925657546682012-12-18T23:22:00.000-08:002012-12-19T06:47:03.528-08:00Chapter Thirty-SixJoe and Brent stepped into the dimly lit entryway. The walls were encrusted with shells, nets, and paintings of bare-breasted women with bodies that merged into fish tails. A fountain sent water down a tiny stream bed where carp swam lethargically to the echo of the music thumping in the next room. A brown-haired girl in a green bikini top and mini-skirt smiled at them from behind a podium designed to resemble a giant scallop shell. “Two for lunch?”<br />
<br />
Joe and Brent looked at each other. “Actually,” Joe said, “We were wondering if Lamia is working today.”<br />
<br />
A wary expression crossed the girl’s face. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.” <br />
<br />
Brent spoke up. “Lamia’s her real name. We don’t know her stage name. We’re old friends of hers, not clients.”<br />
<br />
The girl eyed both men critically and appeared to find them trustworthy. “She goes by Veronica.” She checked her roster. “Yeah, she’s working. Will you guys want a table, or were you just going to the bar?”<br />
<br />
“We’ll get a table,” Joe said, darting a suspicious glance at Brent. After they were seated, he leaned over, shouting to be heard over the din of the stage music. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about on the way up here. I'd completely forgotten these girls use phony names. I’ve been inside one of these places only one other time, and it was only because it was my buddy’s bachelor party, but you act like you're an old pro.”<br />
<br />
Brent frowned. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a man of the world. Everyone goes to these places.”<br />
<br />
“I don't,” Joe said, “I never saw the point. I don’t think much of a woman who’ll be your best friend for twenty minutes, if you've got enough money.”<br />
<br />
“Well, I didn’t say it was my cup of tea, either. My frat brothers liked to come to these places, and I have clients at some companies where this is what passes for lunchtime entertainment for the guys. Sometimes I have to go with them to network.”<br />
<br />
“I’m sure it's a great hardship for you.” Joe looked up as the waitress approached—a frizzy blonde in the same green bikini and miniskirt combination that the girl at the hostess podium had been wearing. He nodded as the girl introduced herself and asked to take their drink order. “Do you have Dos Equis?”<br />
<br />
“Sure do.”<br />
<br />
“That’ll be fine, then.”<br />
<br />
The girl turned to Brent.<br />
<br />
“Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”<br />
<br />
“Will you be having the buffet?” She gestured toward the steam table. “It’s free with your drink order.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, why not?” Joe said.<br />
<br />
“Help yourselves, then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”<br />
<br />
After the waitress left, the men hesitated, looking around the room as if they had only just now noticed it. The walls were covered in mermaid murals, with waves, rocks, mermaid hair and mermaid breasts picked out in neon. Most of the tables were small and packed closely together, but in a dimly lit back corner were a few booths that seemed too far out of the action to be as popular as they appeared to be. The mystery was solved when a dancer darted under the table to service a man sitting alone in a booth drinking beer from a pilsner. Joe shook his head and turned his attention to the stage, a blue affair framed with plastic palms and draped in fishing nets. An Asian girl was strutting to a recent hip-hop hit swinging her long black hair as she shrugged out of her tight bolero jacket to reveal a sequined bustier. At the other end of the room, a pale blonde leaned over a man, rubbing her bare breasts inches from his nose. Joe turned to Brent in disgust. “Where on earth did Elise get friends like these?” he asked. <br />
<br />
Brent sighed. “Hell, I don't know. That was one thing I never could figure out about her. She seems to attract all types. For what it's worth though, Lamia was in the chorus of the ballet, like Elise when I first met her. It's not like she was involved with this kind of stuff back then."<br />
<br />
"So how do you figure she ended up in this business?"<br />
<br />
"Who knows?" Brent said. "She was struggling when I knew her. Diet pills, then amphetamines. Dancers have to keep their weight down you know. She probably never got off the pills. For a girl strung out on drugs and without the kind of education to get a good job behind a desk somewhere, I suppose this is a pretty decent gig." He looked around the room, then honed in on the buffet. “Let’s get some food. She'll probably be out in a minute.”<br />
<br />
Joe followed Brent to the buffet, where they loaded their plates with pasta, chicken wings, mini-pizzas and tortilla chips. On their way back to the table, a skinny girl with lots of dark curly hair approached them. “Can I dance for you?”<br />
<br />
Joe was about to tell her no, but Brent interrupted. “Maybe. What’s your name?”<br />
<br />
“Denise.”<br />
<br />
“Do you know a girl named Veronica?”<br />
<br />
“What do you want with her?” She untied the top lace of her jacket, revealing the tops of her high, firm breasts. “Mine are bigger.”<br />
<br />
“Actually, she’s a friend of someone I know,” Joe told her, setting his plate down and trying not to stare at the girl’s chest.<br />
<br />
Denise jerked her head in the direction of the stage. “She’s up in a few minutes. After that, maybe you can get her to come over and talk to you." She turned her full attention on Brent. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” she asked, stroking his calf with the toe of her stiletto sandal.<br />
<br />
Brent shook his head. “Maybe later. We just want to eat right now, and talk to Veronica.”<br />
<br />
Denise sauntered away in disgust and went in search of a more appreciative audience. A moment later, the waitress reappeared and set Joe and Brent’s drinks in front of them. Brent slid his credit card across the table and told her to open a tab. <br />
<br />
"I hope this doesn't turn out to be another false lead," Joe said, biting into a chicken wing. "I'm getting tired of everywhere we go, people won't talk to us."<br />
<br />
"It probably won't be much different here," Brent said. "I can't imagine why Lamia would be any more forthcoming than anyone else has been. We weren't that great of friends. She actively despised me, in fact." He pushed the overdone ziti around his plate, then gingerly picked up a piece and tasted it. "But I could be wrong. If Cece really did drop Elise off at Lamia's a couple nights ago, she's probably not there any more, so maybe she won't mind talking." Brent looked up at the stage, where a curvy redhead had slipped out of a turquoise dress and was wiggling her thong-clad rump in front of a group of men in blue warehouse uniforms. He raised his eyebrows, then directed his attention back to his food, which he pushed around on his plate some more before nibbling a mini-pizza. “Maybe she'll be up next.” <br />
<br />
“So what’s the plan?” Joe asked. “When she finishes, do we go up to her, wave her over, or what? Do we tell her we want a lap dance, or tell her the truth straight up?”<br />
<br />
“I think we should tell her we want a dance,” Brent said. “In fact, I think I’ll ask our waitress to tell her we want her after she’s done. That way none of these oafs will get to her first.”<br />
<br />
“Good idea.” Joe caught the waitress's eye and waved her over. “Tell Veronica we’d like to see her after she gets off stage."<br />
<br />
The girl hesitated. Noting her reluctance, Brent pulled out his wallet and slipped her a bill. “Thanks.” The girl grinned and sauntered away with a swish of her tiny green skirt. Brent turned to Joe with a mildly patronizing look. “You're expected to pay for everything in these places.”<br />
<br />
“So I see.”<br />
<br />
Just then the DJ announced Veronica, who strutted onstage. She was a tall girl, rangy and muscular, with wavy dark hair that she tossed around as she pranced across the stage in her ankle-strap spikes. She seemed to be a favorite with the regular crowd, because they cheered as she started to remove pieces of her tap pants, bustier and jacket ensemble. When she was down to nothing but her thong, she moved to the edge of the stage, teasing the men with her body as they stuffed bills down the front of her g-string. A few of them called comments and questions to her, and she winked, teased and answered some of them.<br />
<br />
“I hope she’s not so popular we can’t get her over here,” Joe remarked.<br />
<br />
Brent cursed softly to himself and pushed his plate of inedible food aside. “I'm beginning to think it'll take a little more money than I’d counted on us having to spend.”Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-70738731674316733122012-12-11T22:47:00.000-08:002012-12-12T08:55:07.088-08:00Chapter Thirty-Five"What do you think?" Joe asked. "Should we try the apartments first, or the club?"<br />
<br />
Brent looked at his watch. "It's lunchtime, so let's try the club. Those topless bars usually have free buffet and I don't know if I trust eating anything from Cece after what you found out last night. Besides, I don't want to go through another scene like we did trying to get in to see Sylvia."<br />
<br />
"Why not? Are you running low on pants?" <br />
<br />
"Just running low on patience. Petra was able to do a pretty good patch job on the pants, by the way. You'd hardly know I ripped them."<br />
<br />
"That's good, since you felt ethically bound to return the ones Cece gave you."<br />
<br />
"Actually," Brent said, "I figured since I was keeping the sweater..."<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head. "No wonder you were able to justify sleeping with my wife, if that's your attitude about things."<br />
<br />
Brent's ears flushed red. "I don't know what you're talking about." <br />
<br />
"Yes you do," Joe said. "It's okay, by the way. I'm getting used to it. I don't want to kill you any more, just maybe knock some sense into you, or at least call you on your bullshit until you learn to cut the crap."<br />
<br />
Brent folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window.<br />
<br />
"You know, you'd be a real interesting character if you weren't such a hypocrite," Joe went on.<br />
<br />
"Just go on and insult me. You've done it so often, it doesn't even bother me any more."<br />
<br />
"What I'm talking about," Joe said with exaggerated patience, "Is the act you put on. Always trying to come off like you're Mr. Straight-Arrow or something. But it turns out you've got all kinds of abnormal skeletons in your closet. Your friend Sylvia, for instance. I think you like having slummy friends. You figure it gives you bragging rights that you're really not the spoiled rich kid you are. Too bad you're too high and mighty to admit it."<br />
<br />
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Sylvia and Gerry are hardly friends of mine, in case you didn't notice how they treated me back there."<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh. And the way you got us in there was something else, confusing the guard, jumping the fence, threatening Sylvia..."<br />
<br />
"I didn't hear you trying to stop me." <br />
<br />
"And how about the way you treated Cece? I didn't know what to think when you started threatening to tie her up and gag her. You scared that poor lady to death."<br />
<br />
"You know I wasn't going to actually do it," Brent said. "Scaring her was the whole point. It was the only way we were going to get her to talk. It's not like you weren't willing to play along."<br />
<br />
"It seemed to be working."<br />
<br />
"So you admit you're no saint yourself." Brent scowled. "Besides, you're the one who stole all that cocaine and broke into that apartment. Talk about calling the kettle black."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but at least I don't claim to be anything other than what I am." Joe slowed down for a red light. "I'm just an inner-city kid who went to juvie for a few years and managed to make good in spite of it." The light changed and he hit the gas. "You, on the other hand, try to bill yourself as some kind of holy martyr." Joe turned in his seat. "I don't buy it, you know. Not for a minute."<br />
<br />
"Don't buy what?" Brent waved an arm. "Why does everyone think I put on some kind of martyr act? I love Elise, okay? I know she's your wife, and I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really care about her happiness. Why is that so hard to believe?"<br />
<br />
"Maybe because it's so obvious you just wanted to go to bed with her," Joe said, turning back around and moving forward again into traffic. "Don't tell me you would've had the same feelings for her if she'd been ugly."<br />
<br />
Brent opened his mouth to reply, but then clamped his jaw shut and threw himself back against the seat cushion. "Look, I won't deny I wanted her that way, because I did. But I would've loved her for herself no matter what she looked like."<br />
<br />
Joe let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think you're kidding? You wanted to get into her pants, and that was it. She was probably the only girl you wanted in school but couldn't have, so you couldn't let yourself give up." Joe slowed down for another light. "The only thing worse than someone who lies to other people is someone who lies to himself."<br />
<br />
"Look, will you just drive? When are we going to get to this Sirens place, anyway?"<br />
Joe started. "You know, I don't even know where we're going. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea, but I'm not sure."<br />
<br />
"Well this has been a waste of our time," Brent said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on it. "We're not too far away," he finally said. "It used to be a legit nightclub called Vitus. It's off the interstate feeder near Genesius Street."<br />
<br />
Joe nodded, made the block and rejoined traffic going the other way. After a little while, he said, "I'm sorry I jumped your shit back there."<br />
<br />
"Anything you have to say to me, I probably deserve. I think you've got me pegged wrong, though."<br />
<br />
"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "I've got no business dogging you about it, though."<br />
<br />
"Whatever." Brent leaned forward in his seat, scanning the road. "There it is," he finally said, pointing. "Kinda sleazy looking, don't you think?"<br />
<br />
"What'd you expect from a topless joint?"<br />
<br />
"Well, you know, some are more upscale than others."<br />
<br />
"They're all just titty bars to me."<br />
<br />
"Looks like they're going after the working class or worse at this place," Brent said, gazing in revulsion at the profusion of neon and dangling, blinking lights. "Too bad. Lamia could be a little rough around the edges back in the day, but at least she had class. If she's working at a place like this, the drugs must've taken over."<br />
<br />
They pulled into a parking spot and Brent jumped out, slammed the door hard and stood for a moment gazing at the neon sign of a buxom mermaid. “I can’t believe we’ve come to this.” <br />
<br />
Joe snorted. “It’s no worse than Sylvia’s place, or the waiting room at St. Jude’s.” He dropped his keys in his pocket and began walking toward the door. “You really can’t handle the seamier side of life, can you? You like things lavish, all nice and pretty, like at Cece’s.”<br />
<br />
“Nothing wrong with liking nice things,” Brent countered. “So what if I have good taste?”<br />
<br />
“There’s nothing wrong with having good taste, as you call it,” Joe said. “There is something wrong with getting on your high horse about it, though. People do the best they can.”Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-40607084046146013302012-12-04T22:34:00.000-08:002012-12-05T06:34:10.670-08:00Chapter Thirty-FourThe men hurried into their rooms and began throwing clothes, combs, socks and razors into their bags. Joe finished first and went to get Brent. "Aren't you done yet?" <br />
<br />
Brent looked up from putting his computer in its case. "I've got more than you, remember?"<br />
<br />
Joe dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the floor. "Just hurry, okay? I want to get out of here before Cece decides to call the cops on us, or comes up with some new excuse why we have to stay."<br />
<br />
"I've just about got it," Brent said. He zipped his laptop case and returned to his leather overnight bag. He frowned, then went to the closet and began removing slacks, shirts and sweaters from hangers. A few of these he put into the bag, others he folded neatly and laid on the bed. There was one sweater, though, that he didn't appear to know what to do with. "Do you think it would be unethical to take this cashmere sweater Cece gave me? I'm leaving all the other stuff, but I really like this one, and she did keep us here under false pretenses."<br />
<br />
"In case you haven't noticed, ethics isn't your strong suit. Or hers, either. If you want it, take it. Take the whole goddamn room if you want to. But whatever you do, don't just stand there rationalizing."<br />
<br />
Brent put the sweater in his bag along with his other clothes. Noticing that Joe was looking the other direction, he threw a few more items of clothing in there as well. After one last look around, he slung both bags over his shoulder in a single fluid motion and headed out the door. <br />
<br />
At the bottom of the stairs Lupe ran up to them. "Are you leaving now?"<br />
<br />
"Yes," Joe said. "We've stayed too long already."<br />
<br />
The maid cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen. "Cece says to wait a minute." <br />
<br />
"We can't wait," Brent told her. <br />
<br />
Just then Petra and Cece burst out of the kitchen and hurried toward them, loaded down with bags, thermoses and a small cooler. "You can't leave without provisions," Cece said.<br />
<br />
Joe and Brent exchanged incredulous looks. "Thank you," Joe told her cautiously, "But we really don't need anything else from you."<br />
<br />
"You'll get hungry." <br />
<br />
"We're not going into the wilderness," Brent pointed out.<br />
<br />
"But..." Cece looked helplessly from Joe to Brent and back again.<br />
<br />
"Oh, all right," Joe said. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. "I'm not going to do battle with you over this. If this is what it takes, fine."<br />
<br />
"I really do feel bad about what happened," Cece said, following them to the truck with Petra in tow. "I want to do something."<br />
<br />
"There's not much you can do at this point," Joe told her. "You've probably ruined whatever small chance we had. Feeding us isn't going to fix a damn thing."<br />
<br />
Brent stood aside while Petra crammed a season harvest's worth of bags and coolers into the space behind the seat and on the floor of the passenger side of the cab. "You've done more than enough," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.<br />
<br />
"There is one thing I didn't mention before that might help," Cece said hesitantly. "This girl Lamia, she doesn't do professional dance any more. Or I guess you could say she does, but not that kind. She works as a dancer at someplace called Sirens. I don't know where the place is, or what shifts she works, or anything, but if you can't find her at the Mariner apartments, you might find her there."<br />
<br />
"That's very helpful," Joe said. "Thanks."<br />
<br />
"You know you're always welcome here, if you change your mind. I'm not mad at you, and I meant what I said earlier. If you don't find Elise, or even if you do, you can always consider this place home."<br />
<br />
"I'll keep that in mind," Joe said. He glanced at Brent. "Ready?<br />
<br />
Brent got into the truck, not bothering to say goodbye as he slammed the door.<br />
<br />
Joe climbed in and started the engine. As they pulled out of the circular driveway, Joe looked in his rearview mirror, watching as the image of Cece and her maids got smaller and smaller. She lifted a hand and waved, but Joe merely shook his head and punched the gas.Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-593792382476827522012-11-27T21:50:00.000-08:002012-11-28T06:36:42.300-08:00Chapter Thirty-ThreeAt breakfast, Cece was nowhere to be found. Joe prodded Petra for information but got only noncommittal responses. They went to Cece's empty studio, paced amid the paintings of roses, irises and sacred mountaintops, then returned to the main house. While Petra was occupied kneading bread dough, they searched room by room, going through the formal dining room with its heavy dark furniture, the dim, imposing library, the black and white formal parlor and the den full of antique vases and figurines.<br />
<br />
Giving up on finding Cece on the first floor, they started up the stairs. "Think she's in her room?" <br />
<br />
"Don't know where else she'd be."<br />
<br />
"Should we just walk in on her?"<br />
<br />
"I don't like it, but I don't see that we've got other options at this point."<br />
<br />
At the end of the hall was Cece's closed door, and Joe put a hand on the knob. He tried to turn it, but found it locked.<br />
<br />
"Knock," Brent said, but then grabbed him by the sleeve. "Wait. Maybe it would be better if you acted like you want to apologize for last night."<br />
<br />
"I'm not an actor," Joe whispered.<br />
<br />
"Just try."<br />
<br />
Joe composed himself then tapped at the door. "Cece, I know you're in there." <br />
<br />
A muffled voice answered.<br />
<br />
"I can't hear you. Why don't you let me in so I can talk to you?"<br />
<br />
"Go away. I'm not feeling well today."<br />
<br />
Brent rolled his eyes and indicated that Joe should continue. <br />
<br />
"I wanted to tell you I'm not mad about last night." He glanced at Brent and took a deep breath. "I guess you just surprised me. I can be a little shy sometimes. Anyway, I came to apologize."<br />
<br />
"You don't have to lie to me, Joe." Cece's voice was directly on the other side of the door now. <br />
<br />
"Can I come in and talk to you, please?"<br />
<br />
There was a long silence, then they heard Cece fumbling with the lock. As soon as the door was open, both men both pushed their way into the room and Brent shut the door behind him. Cece scowled. "What's this all about?" <br />
<br />
"We want you to call Elise," Joe said. "Now."<br />
<br />
"I already did. She wasn't there."<br />
<br />
"Maybe she's back," Brent said. "Why don't you call again?"<br />
<br />
"And do it on the land line this time so I can listen on the other end." Joe added.<br />
<br />
"I can't let you do that." Cece backed toward her nightstand. "Elise might hear you and--"<br />
<br />
"You let me worry about that."<br />
<br />
Cece shook her head. "Either I call alone, or I don't call at all."<br />
<br />
Joe had her trapped against the nightstand now. He grabbed her by the wrist so she couldn't get away, and reached around her for the phone. "If you won't let me listen on the other line, then you're going to call with me standing right here. What's the number? I'll dial it for you."<br />
<br />
"I'm not giving you that number, and I don't have it memorized. It's in my contacts list on my cell phone."<br />
<br />
"Where's your cell phone?" Brent asked. "I'll get it for you."<br />
<br />
Cece's eyes widened in panic. "I don't remember."<br />
<br />
Joe grabbed Cece by both shoulders and steered her to the wall. "Why don't you just admit it? You've been stringing us along. You don't have Elise's phone number, or if you do, you haven't been calling. You just want to keep us here for your own personal reasons, and you don't care if I find my wife or not."<br />
<br />
"Why should I care?" Cece blurted. "She told me she was never going back to you." She turned to Brent. "Or you, either." She looked up at Joe, her eyes wide and pleading. "What's so wrong with wanting you for myself? I can make sure you never have to work for money again. You'll have nothing to worry about except your art. Wouldn't you like that?"<br />
<br />
"You don't get it, do you?" Joe's grip on her shoulders tightened and Cece winced. "This isn't about money or art. This isn't something you can buy. This is about me needing to see my wife and hear her tell me to my face that she doesn't love me and isn't coming home with me. Then, and only then, will I leave her alone." He gave Cece a shake. "Now, are you going to tell me where she is?"<br />
<br />
Cece shook her head, cringing as Joe's fingers dug deeper into her shoulders.<br />
<br />
Joe shook her again, harder. "I'm going to ask you again. Where is she?"<br />
<br />
Brent leaned over Cece, too. "We can do this all day, you know. I don't have a job any more. Elise is probably long gone from wherever you took her to. We have nothing better to do than hold you against this wall. We can even take turns."<br />
<br />
"I'll scream. My girls will call the police."<br />
<br />
Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at Joe. "Think we should gag her until she's ready to talk? Maybe we could tie her to a chair or something while we look for her cell phone."<br />
<br />
"You can't do that!" Cece said. "I get panic attacks-- I could die."<br />
<br />
"You won't die," Brent stripped a bed pillow of its case. "Think this would work for a gag?"<br />
<br />
"I'm serious, you can't do this," Cece stammered. "I won't be able to breathe. I'll faint."<br />
<br />
"Then why don't you tell us how to find Elise?" Joe said through clenched teeth.<br />
<br />
Cece bit her lower lip. "I took her to stay with her friend from the ballet-- Lamia Scopuli. North side of town."<br />
<br />
"Oh, hell," Brent said. "I should've guessed she'd look her up."<br />
<br />
"Who is she?" Joe asked.<br />
<br />
"A friend of hers. They were roommates for awhile." He turned back to Cece. "What's the address?" He fumbled on the nightstand for a pen and something to write with.<br />
<br />
"I don't remember," Cece said. "It's the Mariner apartments off the interstate, though, near the beltway."<br />
<br />
"Apartment number?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know. I dropped her off in the parking lot. I think it's upstairs, though, on the left."<br />
<br />
"That's not very helpful. Phone number?"<br />
<br />
Cece looked away. "I don't know."<br />
<br />
"You mean all this time you didn't even have her number?"<br />
<br />
"You say you knew I wasn't calling anyway."<br />
<br />
Joe let her go but the intensity of his scowl kept her cowering against the wall. "It's bad enough you lied about calling, but you didn't even have the number so you could." <br />
<br />
He moved to grab her again, but Brent put a hand on his arm. "Come on, this may be enough. Let's not waste any more time."<br />
<br />
"If it's too late," Joe warned Cece, "I'm holding you responsible. Do you understand?"<br />
<br />
Cece nodded.<br />
<br />
"Come on," Brent said again. "Yelling at her may make you feel better, but it's not like we didn't suspect this anyway. Let's get out of here."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-47152235982693743732012-11-20T21:51:00.000-08:002012-11-21T07:48:13.715-08:00Chapter Thirty-TwoJoe was sitting at the kitchen table, peacefully eating a ham sandwich, when he heard Cece come home and go upstairs to her room. A few minutes later, she wandered into the kitchen wearing a red velvet robe. "Don't you like to eat regular meals? I would've been happy to have Petra cook you a proper dinner this evening, but you and your friend took off again, like last night." She frowned at Joe's sandwich. "At least Brent said he was going out to eat. From the looks of things, I'd say you haven't eaten since lunch."<br />
<br />
"I haven't." Joe crunched a potato chip, then reached for his glass of coke. "I got in early, but I wasn't hungry until now."<br />
<br />
Cece called for Lupe. "Bring me a glass of the Margherita di Cascia Pinot Noir. And bring one for Joe, too. In fact, just bring us the bottle."<br />
<br />
Joe tried to protest but Cece silenced him with a motion of her hand. "This is an excellent vintage, and if I don't share it with you, who will I share it with? They say it's not good for a person to drink alone."<br />
<br />
Joe sighed. "You know, Cece, for all your talk about how lonely you are, I find it hard to believe you couldn't get plenty of company if you wanted it."<br />
<br />
Cece ran a hand through her curls. "You flatter me. I know how you men are, though. You like the young ones."<br />
<br />
"You're hardly old," Joe pointed out.<br />
<br />
Cece fussed with the collar of her robe, exposing her cleavage. Before she could speak again though, the maid set a glass in front of her. She set a glass in front of Joe too, opened the wine and poured a little for each of them. Cece took a sip. "Thank you, Lupe. You can leave the bottle on the table." After Lupe left, Cece leaned toward Joe. "This is an excellent vintage that I picked up in France on my last vacation. I brought home several bottles, much to the dismay of the customs agent." <br />
<br />
Joe took a sip of his wine, then set the glass back on the table. "It's fine, but it doesn't go with my potato chips."<br />
<br />
Cece put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "So tell me why it is you think I should have no trouble finding a man," she said, returning to their previous topic. "You think I'm still pretty?"<br />
<br />
Joe looked down at his plate. "I'm sure there are plenty of men who find you attractive."<br />
<br />
"Do you find me attractive?"<br />
<br />
"That's not the point." Joe pushed the remainder of his sandwich and chips away and stood up. "I'm tired. If you'll excuse me--"<br />
<br />
"Don't go," Cece said, jumping to her feet. "We won't talk about me any more. That was completely inappropriate, and I'm sorry. Please sit down." <br />
<br />
"I'm not mad at you. I'm just tired. I've had a busy day." <br />
<br />
"Well, you could at least tell me how your search for Elise is going. Have some more wine. Please."<br />
<br />
Reluctantly, Joe sat down and reached for his glass. "My 'search,' as you call it, isn't going anywhere. You're the only lead I've got, and you aren't talking."<br />
<br />
Cece's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Am I really your only lead? I thought with all your comings and goings, you must have other clues."<br />
<br />
"No, we don't. Brent and I have been visiting old friends to pass the time. Other than that, we're waiting on you."<br />
<br />
"I'm doing all I can."<br />
<br />
Joe tossed back the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle. "No you aren't Cece. In fact, you've been about as unhelpful as you could possibly be, stringing us along, making us think you're going to get us in touch with Elise, when day after day nothing happens."<br />
<br />
"Can I help it if she refuses to see you?"<br />
<br />
"Why don't you just tell me where she is and let me see for myself if she'll talk to me or not?"<br />
<br />
Cece held out her glass for Joe to top it off. "I can't do that. A promise is a promise."<br />
<br />
"Maybe so," Joe said. "But what are any of us really gaining by all this? You're stuck with two extra mouths to feed and the disruption to your household. Brent's about to lose his job, and I'm climbing the walls." He leaned across the table. "You're doing no one any favors by keeping this stupid promise of yours, if you even made one at all."<br />
<br />
Cece sipped some wine to keep from having to speak for a moment. "I think that's the most words I've heard out of you since you arrived. And maybe you're right-- maybe I could be doing more to help. But we women have to stick together, especially since she was there to give me her emotional support when I was going through my own difficulties."<br />
<br />
"Like when your husband died? Kind of unusual circumstances, don't you think? I mean, the man had never been sick a day in his life."<br />
<br />
"Some people drop dead just like that, you know. Aneurysms, heart problems, things like that."<br />
<br />
"Except that no one ever could find evidence of any 'things like that.' Odd."<br />
<br />
"Yes, it was." Cece met Joe's eyes steadily.<br />
<br />
Joe sucked down the rest of his wine. "This has been an interesting conversation, as always. I'm going to bed now." He headed toward the stairs, but heard the patter of Cece's footsteps behind him. "What do you want?" <br />
<br />
Cece paused, one foot on the bottom step. "I just wanted to make sure Lupe got your room ready for you."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure it's fine." He started back up the steps.<br />
<br />
Cece hurried after him. "Why are you mad at me?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not mad at you, Cece," Joe said, turning down the hallway toward his room. <br />
<br />
"You are too mad at me," she said, chasing him to his doorway. "Surely you don't believe those awful rumors about me?"<br />
<br />
"What happened between you and your husband is none of my business. I just want you to quit interfering between me and my wife." Joe stepped inside the room, turned around and placed a hand on the door. "Good night, and thank you for your hospitality."<br />
<br />
"You're certainly welcome. May I come in and make sure you've got enough towels?"<br />
<br />
"I'm sure I have plenty."<br />
<br />
"I'd feel better if I checked. I want to make sure my maids are doing their job." She pushed past Joe before he could protest again and disappeared into the bathroom. When she reappeared, she had taken off her robe, revealing a red silk nightgown. She walked across the room and then sat on the edge of the bed. "So tell me," she said, leaning back a little and gazing up at Joe, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded across his chest. "Has this room been okay for you? Not too cold or too hot, is it? Have you had everything you needed? Enough pillows, blankets, things like that?"<br />
<br />
"Everything's fine."<br />
<br />
"Oh, good. I worry, you know, since I don't have many guests and my maids aren't used to it." She looked around the room, as if she hadn't ever examined it closely before. "Kind of a big room. Don't you get lonely?"<br />
<br />
"Not really. Now, if it's all right with you, I'd like to get some sleep."<br />
<br />
Cece stood up and put her arms around his neck. "Let's you and me quit playing games. You must be lonely without your wife, and I've been lonely, too." She grasped a loose lock of his hair and twined it around a finger. "Let me take your mind off things for awhile."<br />
<br />
Joe reached grabbed Cece by the shoulders and pushed her away. When she tried to move toward him again, he held her at arm's length. "Stop this. You're making a fool of yourself."<br />
<br />
"Don't be such a prude. Elise left you. You aren't obligated to her now."<br />
<br />
"This isn't about Elise," Joe said. "I just don't want to."<br />
<br />
Cece paused, a hurt expression on her face. "I thought you liked me."<br />
<br />
"I do, but not that way."<br />
<br />
"Maybe if you just gave me a chance..." she made to put her arms around him again.<br />
<br />
Joe took a step back, caught his ankle on the bed and fell onto the mattress. "You have got to be the most persistent woman I've ever met." He tried to push her off him as she attempted to seat herself on his lap. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you no?"<br />
<br />
Just then there was a tap at the door and Cece jumped to her feet as Brent pushed open the door and stepped into the room. He looked from Joe to Cece and back again. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." <br />
<br />
Before Cece could speak, Joe jumped up. "Cece was just saying good night."<br />
<br />
Cece smiled primly at Brent. "Yes, and good night to you, too."<br />
<br />
Brent took in Cece's slinky attire. "Looks like you might get cold running around in that."<br />
<br />
Without a word, Cece went into the bathroom, then stormed back out, pulling her velvet robe about her as she hurried away down the hall. <br />
<br />
Brent went to the door, peeked into the hallway, then came back in and shut the door behind him. "Can I say 'I told you so' now?"<br />
<br />
Joe sat on the bed and ran a hand across the top of his head. "If you must." <br />
<br />
Brent hesitated a minute, then pulled up the desk chair and sat down. "I don't think I will. You seem traumatized enough as it is."<br />
<br />
"I knew she was pushy, but not like that."<br />
<br />
"Kind of a cute getup she had on," Brent observed. "I can envision the two of you together, you know. I'm surprised you were able to resist."<br />
<br />
Joe was about to make a smart remark, then realized Brent was teasing him. "Why don't you go knock on her door and tell her how attractive you think she is? Make her evening."<br />
<br />
"No, I don't do much for her, I'm afraid."<br />
<br />
"Maybe now that I've turned her down, she'll reconsider."<br />
<br />
"I hope not." Brent loosened his tie. "What have you been up to tonight, besides fending off our hostess?"<br />
<br />
"I went to see an old friend. My old probation officer, actually."<br />
<br />
"What for?"<br />
<br />
Joe gave an embarrassed shrug. "Guilt, I guess. Here I've been a model member of the community all these years and now in two days I've been guilty of assault, trespassing, theft, drug possession, and breaking and entering. I needed to talk to someone about it, get it off my chest."<br />
<br />
"Maybe you should've gone to see a priest instead."<br />
<br />
"I thought about it, but Ott understood where I was coming from. I didn't have a real dad around when I was growing up, and Ott was like a father to me. It's because of him I didn't end up dead or in prison. He straightened my head out. Not too many guys like that out there, especially working as probation officers."<br />
<br />
"So you feel better now?"<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged. "I guess so. Not that he did me any good."<br />
<br />
"What do you mean?"<br />
<br />
"After I saw him, I came back here and broke into Cece's study."<br />
<br />
Brent let out a whoop. "Go forth and sin no more."<br />
<br />
"I don't suppose you want to know what I found out."<br />
<br />
"Did you find out where she is?"<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
Brent turned away with a small shrug, as if to say that anything else was beneath his concern.<br />
<br />
"Cece was once suspected of murder."<br />
<br />
Brent leaned forward in his chair, suddenly all attention. "Her husband?"<br />
<br />
Joe nodded. "Very mysterious circumstances. And he left everything to her, cutting out his mother, sister, and a child from a previous marriage."<br />
<br />
"I thought something wasn't right around here."<br />
<br />
"Doesn't relate to our case of course," Joe went on, "But it gives us an idea what kind of woman we're dealing with."<br />
<br />
Brent nodded. "We were wrong to trust her for even a minute."<br />
<br />
"I think she's harmless enough, but she was obviously lying through her teeth when she said she was a lousy actress. Judging from her little performance with us, I'd say she's Academy Award material."<br />
<br />
"We'll put a stop to that," Brent said, standing up. "Maybe she can get away with murder, but she's not getting away with this. We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to insist that she let you listen on the other line when she calls Elise?"<br />
<br />
"That's still the plan," Joe agreed. "I'm not sure what I’m going to do when she tells me I can't, but one way or another, we're going to get this resolved."<br />
<br />
"It'll work out," Brent said. "Even if we get nothing out of her, at least we'll be able to cross this lead off our list and move on." He took a few steps toward the door. "Well, good night. I just wanted to drop in and check we were on the same page."<br />
<br />
"Glad you did, or I might never have gotten Cece off of me."<br />
<br />
"Happy to be of service."<br />
<br />
"I know it's none of my business, but where were you tonight, anyway?"<br />
<br />
"I met with an old friend. She has some good connections and she's going to try and find out if Elise has any travel plans coming up."<br />
<br />
"How soon do you think we'll know something?"<br />
<br />
"That depends," Brent said with a small look of annoyance. <br />
<br />
"Depends on what?"<br />
<br />
"On whether or not she remembers anything in the morning. Selene is a sweet girl, but she's become a drunk."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-66196449775898732322012-11-13T22:19:00.000-08:002012-11-14T09:42:16.016-08:00Chapter Thirty-OneAlone in Cece's house, Joe moved silently through the empty rooms. At the kitchen door he paused and listened. Hearing nothing, he stepped inside, adopting the brisk attitude of a man merely looking for a snack or glass of water. Seeing that there was no one to impress with his study in casualness, he stopped and listened again. Down a short hallway to the right came a faint noise. Quietly, he followed it, moving down the hall as the sound clarified into singing-- an off-key Spanish song in the high, thin voice of one of Cece's maids. Joe peeked around the corner and found Lupe sorting and folding laundry as she took it from the dryer. An ironing board nearby suggested she would be in the utility room for awhile. <br />
<br />
With a satisfied smile, Joe returned to the kitchen as silently as he had come. After making a quick tour of all the downstairs rooms, he headed up the stairs, then did checked each guest room as he moved down the hall. Finally he found himself outside Cece's room. He placed a hand on the knob and turned, breathing a sigh of relief to find it unlocked.<br />
<br />
It was a large room with high ceilings and heavy, red-upholstered furniture. A small claw-footed lamp on the bedside table had been left on, casting black shadows off Cece's high-backed easy chair, ornately carved vanity and hulking four-poster bed with its tapestry curtains. A light from another room drew Joe into the bathroom, but after a quick look around at the marble, mirrors and deep jacuzzi tub, he lost interest. <br />
<br />
The next door to catch his eye was the closet-- an enormous walk-in, full to the ceiling with clothes, shoes and handbags. This wasn't what Joe was looking for either, and he returned to the main room. Almost as an afterthought, he opened the nightstand drawers and rifled through their contents, but found nothing more interesting than an inspirational book, some aspirin and a box of throat lozenges. He was on the point of leaving when he noticed yet another door. This one locked.<br />
<br />
He hurried back to his room, returning a few moments later with a thin metal wire on a wooden handle-- a lock picker's tool. After jiggling it patiently in the lock and fiddling with the knob, the door finally swung open. He put the tool in his back pocket and after checking that the blinds and curtains were drawn, he turned on the light. <br />
<br />
The room was small and intimate, made smaller by the presence of a heavy roll-top desk along one wall and two wing-back chairs with ottomans on the other. One wall held a painting of a much younger Cece, dolled up for an evening on the town. The fourth wall was a solid mass of bookshelves. Joe's main interest though, was the desk. It opened easily with his lock pick, revealing a desk calendar, ledgers, pens and notepads in front of an array of pigeonholes stuffed with papers and envelopes. Most of it was the ordinary bills and records of running a large home, along with dues and meeting reminders for a few clubs and charities that Cece was involved with. Nothing here implicated Cece in anything worse than a bad spending habit. With a sigh, Joe closed the desk and locked it, then started on the side drawers. He had just unlocked the first one when he heard a sound in the bedroom and jumped to turn off the light.<br />
<br />
In the darkness, he inched his way to the door and silently turned the lock, keeping his ear pressed against the door and listening to the footsteps as they moved across the room. They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom and closet, and Joe wrestled with the urge to bolt. But before he could make a decision, the steps came back, this time accompanied by a voice humming a little tune-- the tune he had heard downstairs in the utility room. It was just the maid, putting clothes away. Relieved, Joe waited in the darkness for minutes that felt like hours, stretching the limits of his patience until he finally felt certain she wasn't coming back. Then he turned the light back on and returned to the desk.<br />
<br />
The first two drawers revealed nothing more interesting than what had been in the desk, but the deeper bottom drawer was more intriguing. With growing interest, Joe flipped through a few albums of newspaper clippings about Cece's life. A few of them were reviews of plays she had been in with Elise. What interested him more though, were a series of later articles, all dealing with the death of Cece's husband, the fight over his inheritance, and the lingering mystery of just what had caused his death in the first place.Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-61006545627323235242012-11-06T22:44:00.000-08:002012-11-07T06:55:27.950-08:00Chapter ThirtyDinner over, Selene leaned her head on Brent's shoulder, picking with her fork at her dessert-- a <i>torta de kore</i> made with lemon, pomegranate, and other fruits. She had moved her chair next to his after they finished their second bottle of wine and just before she ordered a snifter of Benedictine. When Brent asked if she wouldn't prefer a cup of coffee, she ordered coffee, too, but still insisted on getting her liqueur. <br />
<br />
"Aren't you going to drink your coffee?" Brent asked.<br />
<br />
Selene's sleepy eyes searched the table for the cup, but failed to find it. "Won't do me any good anyway."<br />
<br />
"I told you not to drink so much."<br />
<br />
"What are you, my mother?" Selene turned an unfocused gaze on him. "It's no wonder Elise ran away from you, if this is how you treat a girl these days. Always saying what to do and what not to do, never letting a girl make any decisions of her own..." She settled herself back on his shoulder. "Good thing I broke up with you. I would've gotten bored." <br />
<br />
"I didn't bore you as a friend."<br />
<br />
"Friendship is different. Besides, I wanted you for more than that. You knew it, too."<br />
<br />
Brent took her hand. "I guess I did. It was wrong of me to pretend like I didn't."<br />
<br />
Selene shrugged and reached for her snifter. Finding it empty, she looked around for the waiter.<br />
<br />
"Can you take you mind off the liquor long enough to listen to me for a minute? I need to ask you a favor."<br />
<br />
Selene struggled to sit up. "So we finally get to the real business of this evening's entertainment."<br />
<br />
"I wanted to see you for your sake, not just your connections."<br />
<br />
She adopted a look of tipsy unconcern. "I don't know why you think I'd believe that, but whatever. Let's get to the truth of the matter."<br />
<br />
"I was hoping you could help me out. Elise got her identity changed and if I give you the data I have on her, I was wondering if you could find out if she's planning to go anywhere. In particular if she's planning to leave the country."<br />
<br />
"How would I know something like that?<br />
<br />
"Your husband is a consul and your father used to be the CEO of a major airline and is still a principal shareholder. Are you saying you don't know anyone who could find out if she's bought a plane ticket or arranged for a visa?"<br />
<br />
Selene brooded in silence for a few minutes. "I suppose I could make a few phone calls, but I really couldn't care less if you found this girl or not. It's obvious she doesn't give a damn about you."<br />
<br />
"Maybe not, but I give a damn about her." <br />
<br />
"Must be nice to have someone who cares," Selene sniffed.<br />
<br />
"As if you don't," Brent pointed out. "Your husband adores you, by your own admission. You say you have other men who like you pretty well, too. You don't sound like you're hurting for men who care."<br />
<br />
"Do you?"<br />
<br />
"Do I what?"<br />
<br />
Selene met his eyes unsteadily. "Do you still care about me?"<br />
<br />
Brent smiled. "I think you've had too much to drink. Would you like me to take you home? You know I can't let you drive in this condition."<br />
<br />
She shook her head. "What would my husband think if I came home late with a strange man? Have the waiter call a cab."<br />
<br />
Brent spotted the waiter and motioned him over. Selene looked up and tried to order another Benedictine, but Brent stopped her. "She doesn't need anything else."<br />
<br />
After he had given the waiter his card and they were alone again, Selene turned a sullen pout on him. "Spoilsport."<br />
<br />
"I don't want to be here all night watching you drink. Go home and drink, if that's what you want to do."<br />
<br />
"I probably will. Nothing else to do around there."<br />
<br />
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until the waiter reappeared with the receipt. Brent signed then helped Selene to her unsteady feet. He guided her to the waiting area near the front door where they would be able to see the cab when it arrived. "Thank you for agreeing to help me," he said, adjusting her coat and guiding her to an upholstered bench by the window. "I know I'm putting you in a potentially compromising situation. And thank you for your company."<br />
<br />
"Oh, sure," Selene said. "You got what you what you wanted." She gave a drunken imitation of her most seductive sidelong look. "But I haven't gotten what I want yet. If my husband wasn't at home tonight, I'd invite you over. You're acting uptight, but I bet you're still a lot of fun once a girl gets you alone."<br />
<br />
"You've had way too much to drink, or you wouldn't be talking like that."<br />
<br />
"How do you know? I've always thought you were fun in bed. If I knew where Elise is, I'd tell the lucky bitch what a good thing she's giving up. Too bad she was only using you." <br />
<br />
"She wasn't using me, Selene."<br />
<br />
"Oh, wasn't she?" Seeing the cab pull up in front of the restaurant, she tried to stand and Brent jumped to his feet to assist her. "I don't need your help," Selene assured him, pushing his arm away.<br />
<br />
"Well, I'm walking out there with you anyway, since that's where my car is." He guided her down the walkway toward the curb. Just as they neared the cab, Brent stopped her with a tug on her elbow. "Here's the information you'll need." He slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "Call me as soon as you find out something. And thanks for meeting me tonight. I really needed to talk to someone, and you're still a great listener."<br />
<br />
"Thanks for the crumbs from your table." The cool air seemed to have sobered Selene up a bit, and leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Call me sometime, since you don't seem to mind being a girl's toy. Maybe my husband will be out of town and we can have some fun."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-13894238052263789072012-10-31T00:01:00.076-07:002012-10-31T06:42:48.753-07:00Chapter Twenty-NineSeveral hours after stealing Elise's new identity from Perry's apartment, Brent pushed open the door of the Giardino di Ade restaurant and stood for a moment in the atmospheric gloom. Not seeing who he was looking for, he went to the bar; a black marble affair, lit by candles in red globes. Brent settled himself onto a stool and ordered a glass of Chianti. He was sipping his wine and ignoring the inexplicable glower of a fat, tuxedoed man at the other end of the bar when the woman he was waiting for walked in the door. He set down his glass and went to meet her.<br />
<br />
"Brent, so good to see you." The elegantly dressed woman reached out both hands to take his.<br />
<br />
Brent pulled her close in a quick embrace then took a step back, taking in her sallow skin, unlined face and smooth blonde hair. She was dressed in black and pearls, and Brent nodded approvingly. "You look great Selene. Still the prettiest girl in the Little Sisters, and still the best dressed."<br />
<br />
"And you're still the worst flatterer I ever met." Selene took Brent by the arm. "I'm sorry I'm late. I hate to keep people waiting, but I ran into some delays."<br />
<br />
"Oh?"<br />
<br />
Selene shrugged. "I'm a married woman, you know. But let's not talk about depressing things."<br />
<br />
The hostess led them to a corner table by a window overlooking a garden of creeping vegetation and pale statuary. Selene barely glanced at her menu before craning her neck for a waiter. After a moment a young man in a white uniform approached. Selene started to order a glass of Chianti, but Brent stopped her and ordered a bottle instead. After the waiter left he said, "So how have you been? I wasn't kidding that you still look as pretty as our college days."<br />
<br />
Selene ducked her head but appeared pleased. "I manage okay."<br />
<br />
"You make it sound like things aren't what they could be."<br />
<br />
"Are they for anyone?"<br />
<br />
"Such cynicism." He took her hand and squeezed it, causing her rings to bite into her flesh. "I appreciate you meeting me like this on such short notice."<br />
<br />
"It's my pleasure." Selene pulled her hand away. "I'm always looking for an excuse to get out of the house. Getting to see an old friend in the bargain is a treat, although knowing you, I'm sure you have other motives besides just wanting my company for a few hours." <br />
<br />
"I hope I'm not just an excuse to get out of the house."<br />
<br />
One of Selene's eyebrows went up. "You're not arguing with my assertion that you have ulterior motives. Why am I not surprised?" <br />
<br />
Before Brent could answer, the waiter appeared at their table and set glasses in front of them both. He presented the wine and uncorked it with practiced ease. After he poured them each a glass, Brent turned back to Selene. "What have you been doing with yourself? I don't think we've corresponded more than once or twice since your wedding."<br />
<br />
"I've been doing what all trophy wives do: shopping, charity balls, facials at the salon...don't tell me there's other things I could be doing with my college education."<br />
<br />
"I can't think of any better way to use a psychology degree."<br />
<br />
"Well, I can." Selene sighed. "Being an old man's doll pays the bills, though, and keeps me in designer labels."<br />
<br />
"If that's what you want."<br />
<br />
Selene reached for her wineglass. "Let's not talk about me. I'm always interested to hear what my ex-boyfriends are up to, especially when they call me out of the blue. You must have a favor to ask."<br />
<br />
Brent looked up as a busboy set bread and herbed olive oil in front of them. "Why would you think that?"<br />
<br />
"Because I know you so well? You're right, though. It's gauche for old friends to jump straight into shop talk. Why don't you tell me what brings you to St. Argent? I heard you moved."<br />
<br />
Brent reached for a piece of bread. "You know my father had a few companies."<br />
<br />
"Who could forget? You were always the guy with the fat wallet, thanks to Daddy."<br />
<br />
"There were plenty of guys who had it better than me. My education wasn't for show; it was so I could work."<br />
<br />
"And do you work?"<br />
<br />
"Of course. It's not a daddy's boy job, either. I'm expected to pull my weight."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure you are," Selene said with a disbelieving smile.<br />
<br />
"In fact, I'm probably going to be out of a job as of tomorrow. I walked out."<br />
<br />
Selene shook her head. "So typical. You had a lot of anger toward your father. It sounds like you still do."<br />
<br />
Brent reached for his wine. "You've got it all wrong, but why shouldn't I be angry at him? He used to beat the crap out of me."<br />
<br />
"A lot of us were treated like accessories, and when we didn't measure up..."<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. "The toys were good, at any rate."<br />
<br />
"Guilty parents give the best presents," she agreed.<br />
<br />
They both sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes. "So if you didn't walk away from your job to spite your father, what's this all about? And why are you in St. Argent?" <br />
<br />
"Remember Elise Riddissee?"<br />
<br />
Selene frowned. "Your little ballerina friend? Something of a charity case, as I recall."<br />
<br />
"She had to earn her own money, but she never needed any handouts."<br />
<br />
"Other than jobs." Selene played with the stem of her glass. "What does she have to do with anything?"<br />
<br />
"She was working for me in Troy as a graphic illustrator."<br />
<br />
"Still looking for handouts, I see."<br />
<br />
Brent ignored Selene's cattiness. "She left her husband two days ago. He and I are here trying to find her."<br />
<br />
Selene's eyes narrowed. "Why does this concern you? Don't tell me you want to become a detective now."<br />
<br />
"I'm learning how to be a detective, but I'm not very good at it. Every time we get close, she slips away."<br />
<br />
"That doesn't tell me why you're involved in the first place."<br />
<br />
"I think she might be pregnant with my child." Brent picked up his bread and began tearing it into pieces.<br />
<br />
Selene drained the rest of her Chianti and allowed Brent to refill her glass before speaking. "I guess that's a pretty good reason. The husband doesn't mind having you along?"<br />
<br />
"He minds," Brent admitted. "But I think he realizes we're more likely to find her by working together than at cross-purposes."<br />
<br />
"What a noble guy." <br />
<br />
The waiter reappeared at their table. "Are you ready to order?"<br />
<br />
A guilty expression flitted across Brent's face and he reached for the menu. "Can you come back in five minutes?"<br />
<br />
"How about an appetizer while you decide? Some baked mozzarella, perhaps? Calamari?"<br />
<br />
"How about the portabella mushrooms?" Selene said. <br />
<br />
The waiter hurried away to place the order.<br />
<br />
"So." Selene glanced at the menu, then set it aside. "Tell me about this saint that your little friend is married to, and how you managed to steal her away from him."<br />
<br />
"Joe's an artist," Brent explained. "You've probably heard of him. He does those religious statues you find in a lot of the churches around here and some of the other cities around the state. He does other things, too, but he's got a national reputation for angels and things like that."<br />
<br />
Selene nodded. "Appropriate work for a saint. He sounds pretty different from the guy she was seeing when she used to come to some of your parties. Wasn't he in some two-bit thrash band?"<br />
<br />
Brent waved a hand, as if trying to dismiss that particular memory. "Joe isn't much like your typical artist. To meet him, you'd think he was just an ordinary guy; a plumber or construction worker maybe. But then you see his woodwork and it's like a revelation. Hard to believe such beautiful things can come from the hands of someone so..."<br />
<br />
"Common?"<br />
<br />
"Maybe I would've called him that a few months ago, but now I'm not so sure."<br />
<br />
Selene picked up a slice of bread and dunked it in the olive oil. "So how did Elise end up with you?"<br />
<br />
Brent sighed. "She'd been working for me for nearly a year. During most of that time she was friendly, but professional. Then about six months ago she started working late when I worked late, came in early when I came in early, made up excuses to spend time alone with me. She even volunteered for a project she hated because she knew it was one I was personally involved in."<br />
<br />
"Sounds like trouble."<br />
<br />
"It was, but I never stopped wanting her just because I married someone else. We never seemed to catch each other between relationships. That's the only thing that stopped me then, you know."<br />
<br />
"No, I didn't know. I always thought it was because she didn't care for you that way." Selene reached for her wine. "Not much seemed to stop you seeing any of the other girls at school, even while you were supposedly involved with me."<br />
<br />
Brent's face reddened. "I'm sorry."<br />
<br />
"Don't worry about it." Selene shredded a piece of bread into crumbs. "I got over that long ago."<br />
<br />
Brent opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter arrived with their appetizers, and set the plates in front of them. "Would you like to order your entrees now?" <br />
<br />
Brent gestured for Selene to order first. Selene ordered a salmon dish, and Brent pointed to the first pasta entrée on the list without bothering to read the description. After the waiter went away, Brent turned back to her. "You know, of all the women I've known, you're the one I most regret having treated badly."<br />
<br />
Selene rolled her eyes. "We've been doing just fine without your famous flattery." She brushed a few bread crumbs off her lap. "Let's stick to your story, okay? Why do you think this girl started coming on to you all of a sudden? Doesn't make any sense to me." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you sure you weren't hitting on her? That seems a more likely scenario."<br />
<br />
Brent rubbed his forehead. "There have been so many times I deserved the shit people gave me for the way I collected other people's girlfriends, but for once I'm completely innocent, and everyone acts like it's just another falsehood."<br />
<br />
Selene reached for the Chianti bottle. "Karma is a bitch."<br />
<br />
Brent opened his eyes. "Do you believe me? Just this once?"<br />
<br />
"I'm trying, but I can't imagine why this girl would go doing such a thing. You don't think maybe her husband fooled around on her and she was trying to get even?"<br />
<br />
Brent shook his head. "If it was any other man, I'd say you were probably right. But Joe? No way."<br />
<br />
"Any chance she could've been seeing someone else? Someone who dumped her, so she was looking for an easy conquest to gratify her ego?"<br />
<br />
Brent started to shake his head, but stopped and considered. While he was thinking, the waiter stopped by again. He picked up the bottle of Ruffino to top off their glasses, but found it empty. Before he could ask the obvious question, Brent waved a hand for him to bring another. After he was gone, Brent frowned again. "Elise was always a bit of a runaround," he said, picking up where he left off. "That's one of the things I liked about her back in school. She was like me."<br />
<br />
"Maybe she's more like you than you realize."<br />
<br />
"I don't even want to consider that possibility." Brent cut his portabella into pieces and pushed them around his plate. "Besides, it's not like she needs another man. Joe is completely devoted to her. She's his whole world." He put down his fork and leaned across the table. "Do you know that even after Joe found out about us, he still forgave her? Elise didn't lack for love, and she knew it."<br />
<br />
Selene was smiling now. "There's your answer. A woman doesn't want to feel like a goddess."<br />
<br />
"What are you talking about?"<br />
<br />
"I'm saying love isn't about being put on a pedestal. It's about friendship, not worship." Selene waved a hand. "Look at me. My husband would do anything I asked; go anywhere, buy me anything, but that doesn't keep me faithful."<br />
<br />
"I didn't know you were having an affair," Brent said.<br />
<br />
Selene laughed. "Not one affair. Many." She took another sip of wine. "Not all at the same time, of course. One after the other."<br />
<br />
"But why? I mean, if your husband is so good to you..."<br />
<br />
"Come on, Brent, he's old. I want a man who knows how to have a good time and who can satisfy me in bed. I want--"<br />
<br />
"I get the picture. Spare me the details." <br />
<br />
Selene's lips curled down in a smirk. "For a man who got another man's wife pregnant, you sure are squeamish on the subject of affairs. Kind of hypocritical, don't you think? Do I detect some guilt?"<br />
<br />
Brent pretended sudden interest in his food. "None of us is perfect, and besides, you're talking about a different scenario entirely."<br />
<br />
Selene gave a skeptical smile. "Am I really?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. Joe isn't some old guy. He's older than her, but not like that ancient consul you married. Elise always said the sex with Joe was fine, when she could tear him away from his work."<br />
<br />
"Well, this is starting to fit together, don't you think? When a man is working all the time, a woman gets lonely."<br />
<br />
"How could she get lonely? She was in the same studio with him. She was his model."<br />
<br />
"She was his muse, but it sounds like she wasn't his companion. Being an object of worship can be fun for awhile, but in the long run, it's cold comfort to a woman who wants real love."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-57390888681067603532012-10-17T00:01:00.262-07:002012-10-24T06:43:46.721-07:00Chapter Twenty-Eight"That was a pretty slick move back there at the bar," Joe said, once they were in the truck and on their way again. "What have you got in mind for when we find Perry?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know." Brent sighed. "I'm sure we'll think of something."<br />
<br />
"Since it doesn't sound like he's a particular friend of Elise, he might be susceptible to a little persuasion."<br />
<br />
"Violence?"<br />
<br />
"No, a bribe."<br />
<br />
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "We could stop at an ATM, I guess."<br />
<br />
"Actually, I wasn't thinking money. I've known a few people who work off the books like that, and they usually have enough cash."<br />
<br />
"Well, if you don't think he'll want money, then what?"<br />
<br />
Joe grinned. "Don't worry. I know how bartenders and people with shady business operations think. I've got it covered."<br />
<br />
"But that's ridiculous. We're in this together, and I insist--"<br />
<br />
"No, I insist." Joe cut over to the left lane and started looking for Jupiter Street. "I think I have something he'll want more than money; something I helped myself to back at Sylvia's place."<br />
<br />
"Back at Sylvia's..." Brent turned and stared. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged. "That'll teach them to leave valuable stuff like that unattended."<br />
<br />
"I can't believe this. I thought criminal activities were a thing of your past."<br />
<br />
"Once a crook, always a crook, I guess," Joe said. "Don't worry, though. I was never into anything big-time. Petty larceny at best."<br />
<br />
"Oh, hell, it's not the stealing I care about. What if we get pulled over and searched?"<br />
<br />
Joe's face clouded into annoyance. "Why would anyone want to search us? Even if a cop did pull me over for something, as long as I say 'yes sir' and 'no sir,' he'll just write me a ticket and let us go." Seeing the Bona Dea apartments ahead, he slowed down. "I swear you prep school boys watch too many episodes of 'Cops.'"<br />
<br />
He pulled into the small visitors' lot. "That might be him over there." He pointed to where a small black pickup sat reversed in a parking spot, its rear wheels against the curb, the tailgate lowered in front of an open door. A futon and a few boxes were in the back.<br />
<br />
"Can't be too many people moving in or out of here today," Brent agreed.<br />
<br />
"Well," Joe said, cutting the engine. "Let's give it a try."<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Twenty minutes later, Brent and Joe sat gloomily on the curb, watching the loaded black pickup until it was out of sight. "That was a fiasco," Brent muttered.<br />
<br />
"You're telling me," Joe agreed. "And to think he took that gram of blow, too. Bastard."<br />
<br />
"I told you that shit was trouble."<br />
<br />
"That has nothing to do with it. He's just an asshole, is all. At least we're not out any money."<br />
<br />
"Maybe not, but he threatened to call the cops on us."<br />
<br />
"He won't do it."<br />
<br />
"What makes you so sure?"<br />
<br />
"If you were running a counterfeit ID operation and you had accepted a gram of cocaine from two people who knew all about it, would you go putting the cops on them?"<br />
<br />
Brent considered. "I guess you're right. I noticed his computer is still in there. He sure wouldn't want anyone snooping around that."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I bet has all kinds of stuff on there. Probably keeps one of those databases or something."<br />
<br />
Brent nodded. "A shame we couldn't have pissed him off enough to make him forget to lock the door." <br />
<br />
Joe started, as if he hadn't considered this. "Are you suggesting that if you could get in there, you could get onto that computer and maybe find what we're looking for?"<br />
<br />
"Depends on how easy a password he's got, but that's a moot point. I saw him lock the door."<br />
<br />
Joe flexed his hands. "If it's only a door that's keeping us from finding her, that's a problem I can fix."<br />
<br />
Brent said nothing as Joe walked to the heavy door and jiggled the knob. After scrutinizing the lock, he went to his truck and removed a long metal object from his toolbox. Brent jumped to his feet. "What do you think you're going to do?" <br />
<br />
"I'm going to get you into that apartment."<br />
<br />
"But--"<br />
<br />
Joe stopped in front of the door and turned around. "You said this is what you needed, right?"<br />
<br />
"Not like this."<br />
<br />
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Don't go getting weird on me. Keep a lookout, will you? This won't take long."<br />
<br />
Reluctantly, Brent took up a post a few feet away where he had a clear view of the parking lot and street. <br />
<br />
Joe set the end of the rod against the lock and slid the bolt forward. Then he released it and pulled back hard, ripping out the core. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and scrabbled inside the empty lock, releasing the bolt. In a matter of minutes, he swung the front door open. "The old boy still has it in him." <br />
<br />
Brent hurried over. "I don't know if that's such a good thing."<br />
<br />
"Neither do I."<br />
<br />
"Good job, anyway." <br />
<br />
Both men went inside. "You do whatever you have to do," Joe said. "I'll keep an eye out for Perry."<br />
<br />
Brent headed toward the dining nook, which had been converted into a study. Finding no chair, he stood hunched over the computer as he booted it up and began earnestly tapping keys. <br />
<br />
"You're going to want to wipe that keyboard off good when you're done," Joe pointed out. "And try not to touch anything else. Finger prints, you know."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I just thought of that."<br />
<br />
Joe took up position by one of the front windows, peeking through a crack in the blinds. There was the sound of the occasional car passing, and more than once a car pulled into the lot and someone got out and headed toward one of the apartments. One man walked right past Perry's apartment, but was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the damaged door. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and Joe began pacing. "Haven't you found anything yet? He probably won't be gone much longer."<br />
<br />
Brent was staring at the screen, his face ashen in the blue light. "In one way he made it easy for me. He didn't password protect anything, although I can't for the life of me figure out why not. But he's got so many files on here, and they've all got such illogical names, I'm having trouble finding the right one. I mean, come on. Mickeymouse.dat?"<br />
<br />
"Well, just hurry it up, would you?"<br />
<br />
"I'm doing the best I can."<br />
<br />
A few more minutes followed, silent except for the sound of Brent tapping on the keyboard and the occasional obscure thump from the upstairs apartment. Another tenant walked past. She noticed the ripped out locks on the door and stopped. Joe waved to Brent and he turned off the computer monitor and ducked into the bedroom. Slowly the front door opened and Joe backed out of the way, temporarily out of sight. The door closed again and Joe heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.<br />
<br />
"She's gone, but she'll be back. How much more time do you think you need?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know. A minute or two, maybe?"<br />
<br />
"Go, then. But if the next file isn't it, wipe off that keyboard and give it up."<br />
<br />
Brent turned on the monitor while Joe ran to the window and peeked outside. Seeing no signs of trouble for the moment, he found a rag and opened the bedroom window. There was a screen, but he gave it a shove and it fell neatly into the grass below. Then he returned to the front room and checked outside again.<br />
<br />
"Bingo. Now I need something to write this down with."<br />
<br />
"Can't you just memorize it?"<br />
<br />
"Man, this is a complete history here. Social security number, driver's license, everything. We can use it all."<br />
<br />
"Well find something, quick! But don't--"<br />
<br />
"I know, I know." Brent was opening the desk drawer, using his coat to keep from leaving prints.<br />
<br />
Joe looked around and saw what he was doing. "Oh hell, that's going to leave fibers. Don't you know anything?" He ran to the back room and found the rag he had used earlier. "Use this."<br />
<br />
Brent opened the desk drawer and found a blunt pencil stub. He found an old gas bill, too, and began scribbling information.<br />
<br />
"Shit, here they come," Joe said from the window. "Looks like she's got the apartment manager with her."<br />
<br />
"I've almost got it."<br />
<br />
Joe turned away from the window. "Almost is too late. Shut it down and get out that back window."<br />
<br />
"Wait, there's just--"<br />
<br />
"No waiting. Do it."<br />
<br />
"Just one more second--" Brent was scrawling frantically now.<br />
<br />
"Have you got the full name?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"Social?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"That's it, then." He hit the power switch with his knuckle and the screen went black. "Now get in that other room, and get out the window. Take the pencil with you, don't drop anything, and try not to leave any prints."<br />
<br />
Brent stuffed the paper and pencil into a pocket and made a run for the other room, not noticing that Joe wasn't following him. He scrambled onto the windowsill, dangled his feet hesitantly over the ledge for a moment, then jumped out. When Joe didn't follow, he paced anxiously, trampling weeds and the window screen that Joe had pushed out. Suddenly he heard a sound and moved away as Joe propelled himself out the window, landing gracefully for a man his size.<br />
<br />
"What are you waiting for?" Joe demanded.<br />
<br />
"I'm waiting for you!"<br />
<br />
"You wouldn't have lasted half an hour where I grew up," Joe muttered. He motioned toward an alleyway and they took off running.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Brent strolled around the corner in front of Bona Dea, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his face a study in unconcern. He noted a scurry of activity in front of Perry's apartment, but didn't stop. He glanced around the parking lot to make sure the black pickup was nowhere in sight, then let himself into Joe's truck. As he started the engine, a young woman turned from where she was staring at Perry's empty door. She gave Brent a long steady look, but he smiled and waved and she ducked her head with a shy smile.<br />
<br />
After a few twists and turns through the narrow side streets Brent pulled the truck in front of a dilapidated laundromat. Joe emerged from inside, and jumped in. Brent hit the gas and they took off toward Delphi Grove.<br />
<br />
"Anyone see you?" Joe asked.<br />
<br />
"Just the girl," Brent said. "She didn't seem to think I was important."<br />
<br />
"No one ever thinks a blond, well-dressed man is guilty of anything, unless it's insider trading."<br />
<br />
"That's not true."<br />
<br />
"Sure it's true. How would you know?" Joe didn't wait for an answer. "You didn't see Perry's truck, I guess?"<br />
<br />
Brent shook his head. "If he caught our license plate number earlier, we're for sure going to be in deep shit. He's going to know who did this and why."<br />
<br />
"That's okay. He's also going to know we've got enough dirt on him to do him a lot worse than anything he can do to us. Breaking and entering with no actual theft of goods will get us probation at worst, with our clean records."<br />
<br />
"But you don't have a clean record."<br />
<br />
"Sure I do. I may have been a thief, but I was also a juvenile. They wipe that stuff off your record. I've got a clean slate."<br />
<br />
"So this is the first time you've done this kind of thing in, what, over twenty years?"<br />
<br />
"Nearly thirty." Joe allowed himself a wry grin. "Makes me feel kind of old."<br />
<br />
"I wouldn't have guessed you weren't a pro, the way you handled that door. What are you doing with tools like that, if you don't mind my asking."<br />
<br />
Joe looked surprised. "What, my slide-daddy?" He had hidden the tool under his coat and now he took it out and studied it. "It's a legitimate tool. It's used for pulling dents. I'm a welder by trade, remember?"<br />
<br />
"I'd just never seen one before."<br />
<br />
"Of course not. When have you ever had to pull your own dents? Or do any kind of manual labor, for that matter?"<br />
<br />
"Well, excuse me for living," Brent mumbled.<br />
<br />
"Hey," Joe said, "I didn't mean that as a way of giving you shit. You were actually pretty good back there, for an amateur."<br />
<br />
Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I only wish I could've done it faster. I got as much as I could, though." He handed over the paper.<br />
<br />
Joe took a look. "Allison Alonia Grennaker?"<br />
<br />
"The name she used at the hospital was just a front. I get the impression Perry pulls the legit records of dead people of approximately the same age and race as the ones needing fake ID and just reuses them. The real Allison probably died as a kid or something."<br />
<br />
Joe made a face. "That's kind of sick. I don't know if I'd want to be running around with a dead person's name. Sounds like asking for trouble."<br />
<br />
"As long as you don't run into any of the dead person's friends or family members, it's probably safe enough," Brent pointed out. <br />
<br />
"It sounds like bad luck to me."<br />
<br />
"I think it's pretty clever, actually."<br />
<br />
"You would."<br />
<br />
Brent pulled into Delphi Grove. "We're almost there," he said needlessly. <br />
<br />
"A good thing, too. I could really go for one of Petra's roast beef sandwiches."<br />
<br />
"You aren't going to say anything to Cece about this, are you?"<br />
<br />
Joe frowned. "I got the impression we wouldn't be seeing her tonight, but even if we do, I'm not telling her anything. Much as I hate to admit it, I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about us getting closer to finding Elise."<br />
<br />
"We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to make sure she calls this time?"<br />
<br />
"I guess so."<br />
<br />
"Well," Brent said, turning onto Cece's street. "After we eat, I'll do an internet search on Allison Grennaker and see if I turn up anything. I doubt I will. It'll mainly be useful for finding her later on at jobs, hospitals, airports and stuff."<br />
<br />
"She better not be going near any airports."<br />
<br />
"She got a passport. Didn't you notice?"<br />
<br />
Joe looked at the paper again. "Damn," he muttered. "You don't think--"<br />
<br />
"The only thing I think is that we may be running out of time."Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-13060321427847031452012-10-09T22:25:00.002-07:002012-10-10T09:55:15.827-07:00Chapter Twenty-SevenThey pushed open the door of the Bellona Grill and were struck by the warm aroma of garlic, tomato sauce and fresh pesto. A nondescript girl in black reached inside her podium for a couple of menus. "Table for two?" <br />
<br />
"No, thank you," Brent said. "We're just going to the bar."<br />
<br />
Joe was already making his way toward the long mahogany bar, and Brent paused a moment to admire its baroque scrollwork. "I wonder where they got this antique," he murmured to Joe as they pulled up bar stools. "It's gorgeous."<br />
<br />
Joe glanced around but was unimpressed. "Nice craftsmanship," he acknowledged, "But it would look a damn sight better if there was a bartender back there."<br />
<br />
Before Brent could answer, a gnome-like man, hair and mustache defiantly red, pushed through the kitchen door, ducked under the service counter and hurried over. "Hello, gentlemen." He briskly slapped a cocktail napkin in front of each of them. "What can I get you?"<br />
<br />
"Well, actually--" Joe started, but clamped his mouth shut when Brent kicked his stool.<br />
<br />
"How about a Bombay on the rocks," Brent said. <br />
<br />
"You got it." The bartender turned to Joe. "You, sir?"<br />
<br />
Joe begrudgingly ordered a Budweiser. When the bartender went to get their drinks, Joe turned on Brent. "I thought we were going to ask about Perry and get the hell out of here."<br />
<br />
"We've got to be social," Brent said patiently. "He might get suspicious."<br />
<br />
Joe picked up his cocktail napkin and began shredding it. "We don't have all day."<br />
<br />
"And what else are we going to do without knowing how to find this guy?"<br />
<br />
Before Joe could answer, the bartender returned and set their drinks in front of them. "How about some menus?"<br />
<br />
Brent started to accept, but Joe cut him off. "We already had lunch, thanks."<br />
<br />
"So would you like to keep the tab open, or will this be all?"<br />
<br />
While Joe reached for his wallet, Brent took a sip of his drink and pretended to look around the room. "I guess this will be all," he said, seeing that Joe had taken out a twenty and set it on the bar. "But actually we were hoping to see Perry. I guess he's not working today?"<br />
<br />
"Nope," the bartender said. "He's on vacation for a few days. He should be back next week. Tuesday, I think."<br />
<br />
Joe grabbed his beer and took a long desperate pull at it.<br />
<br />
"That's too bad," Brent said. "I needed to talk to him."<br />
<br />
"Friend of his?"<br />
<br />
"Just an acquaintance. I'm actually a friend of John and Julie who were in town visiting not too long ago. But I wanted to see him because I have some good news for him."<br />
<br />
"Why don't you just call him?" <br />
<br />
"I hate to bother the guy, if you say he's on vacation."<br />
<br />
"He's not going anywhere. Not out of town, at any rate. He's taking some time off so he can move."<br />
<br />
Brent sat a little straighter. "How nice for him. Where to?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, nearby." Just then a waitress called to him from the end of the bar. "Gotta go do some work, I guess. I'll be right back."<br />
<br />
After a few minutes the bartender returned. By now the men's drinks were low. "Another round?" <br />
<br />
Joe and Brent exchanged glances. "We really ought to go find Perry," Brent said cautiously. "Where did you say he was moving to?"<br />
<br />
"Around here." The bartender picked up Joe's twenty. "But you can probably still catch him at his old place."<br />
<br />
"And where is that?" Brent jiggled the ice in his glass tried to appear detached. "I mean, I went there once for a party, but that was awhile back and I don't remember exactly."<br />
<br />
"Bona Dea." The man handed Joe his change.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry?"<br />
<br />
"Bona Dea," he said again. "You know, that small complex on Jupiter Street near the freeway." His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. "You ought to remember it if you've been there before," he said. "Hard to forget that miserable rat-trap."<br />
<br />
"Oh, right. I do remember now. I remember thinking that place was kind of... small for someone making such good money."<br />
<br />
The bartender laughed. "I know that's right, but the place he's moving to is real nice. It's one of those townhouses over near the museum. You know, the new brick ones they just built. The three-story ones."<br />
<br />
"Hey, those are nice," Brent said appreciatively. "Staying at Bona Dea and saving his money sure paid off."<br />
<br />
"I'll say it did." Two more waitresses waved to him from the end of the bar. "What do they want now?"<br />
<br />
Joe and Brent jumped to their feet. "Don't let us keep you from your work," Joe told him. <br />
<br />
"Thanks a lot for your time, though." Brent added.<br />
<br />
"Hey, no prob." The bartender started to head toward the service well, then stopped. "When I see Perry again, should I tell him you came by?"<br />
<br />
"No need," Brent called over his shoulder as he and Joe headed toward the door. "I'm sure we'll see him before you do."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://points-of-departure.blogspot.com/2012/10/chapter-twenty-six.html"><< Previous Chapter </a>Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-64039047246632283112012-10-02T22:29:00.001-07:002012-10-09T22:29:58.205-07:00Chapter Twenty-SixJoe walked into Brent's room and watched for a moment while he tapped on his laptop. "Did you find anything on Ellen James or on that guy Clyman, who gave her the fake ID?"<br />
<br />
Brent didn't look up. "Not yet. Being stalled like this is driving me crazy. We haven't had a new lead in over twenty four hours."<br />
<br />
"I know," Joe said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I wish I could think of something."<br />
<br />
"Relying on Cece is starting to feel useless." <br />
<br />
"She might still turn out to be playing straight with us."<br />
<br />
"And if she's not?"<br />
<br />
"We're screwed." Joe rested his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the carpet.<br />
<br />
Brent turned back to the computer and began tapping again. Suddenly he cursed. "This is just what I don't need right now."<br />
<br />
Joe craned his neck to see. "What?"<br />
<br />
"My job. I was supposed to have a meeting with a major client yesterday and I forgot all about it. Now they're bitching to the CEO, who called my dad. He wants me back at the end of the week or else."<br />
<br />
"End of the week is when? Tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
"Yes." Brent composed a response to the email. "But what's worse is what isn't in my inbox."<br />
<br />
"No word from the wife," Joe guessed.<br />
<br />
"This isn't like her. I haven't written or called since I told her I had to go on an emergency business trip. If she's not trying to contact me, something's really wrong. She must've talked to my dad and found out this isn't a business trip."<br />
<br />
"What are you going to do?"<br />
<br />
"There's nothing I can do. I can't stop looking now."<br />
<br />
"You just said we're stuck." Joe stood and began pacing the room. "Maybe you can do more from home than you can here. I suppose I could give you the key to my house and--"<br />
<br />
Brent shook his head. "You aren't getting rid of me that easy. I promised I was going to find her and that's what I intend to do."<br />
<br />
Joe stopped pacing. "Suit yourself, but I'm beginning to wonder what your real motives are."<br />
<br />
"My real motives?" Brent stopped typing and turned around in his seat. "What are you talking about?'"<br />
<br />
"You know, why you're tagging along, acting like you want to help. No other man would've done it."<br />
<br />
"Don't be so sure. I told you I feel bad about what happened and this is the closest I can come to putting things right. If you want to read something into that, go ahead."<br />
<br />
"What about your job, though? What about your wife? A guy doesn't walk away from all that unless there's something in it for him."<br />
<br />
"As far as the job is concerned, it's only my dad. He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, screw the job. I have other means of income, and things were kind of ripe for a change, anyway."<br />
<br />
"And your wife?"<br />
<br />
Brent sighed. "It's not like we were getting along so great, you know."<br />
<br />
"Well, either you're crazy, or you're lying about not being up to anything, because no one gives up a wife and a good job to chase after a woman he has no intention of keeping."<br />
<br />
"I thought I already explained all that to you," Brent said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Last night I was told I'm a martyr and today I find out I'm crazy. Thanks a lot."<br />
<br />
"What would you think if you were me?"<br />
<br />
Brent looked away. "I guess I'd think what you're thinking. All I can tell you is it isn't true, and you'll have to take my word for it."<br />
<br />
"Why should I do that?"<br />
<br />
"For the same reason you're giving Cece a chance. What else are you going to do? You can send me away, but I think we've been pretty effective together so far. If we start working at cross purposes, what then?"<br />
<br />
Joe turned away and feigned great interest in the cuffs of his flannel shirt. "Okay," he said. "I'll pretend to take your word for it, since I don't seem to have a choice. But we've got to do something soon about this situation with Cece. I'm feeling real uncomfortable with all the stuff she's doing for us. The rooms, the maids and having the run of the house were one thing, but now clothes? I'm thinking she doesn't want us to leave and she's just stringing us along."<br />
<br />
"I've been thinking the same thing," Brent admitted. "Why don't we insist she call on the land line next time?"<br />
<br />
Joe's eyebrows went up. "We should've thought of that before. I can say I want to listen on the other line, and we'll see what kind of reaction we get."<br />
<br />
"If she refuses or gets weird about it, that means for sure she's lying to us," Brent added.<br />
<br />
"That's a good plan, but what if it turns out she <i>is</i> lying to us? We have no other leads."<br />
<br />
"We could try going back to Sylvia's."<br />
<br />
Joe dropped his gaze. "I don't think so." <br />
<br />
"Why not? It's a long shot, but at least it's a plan."<br />
<br />
Joe shook his head adamantly. "Maybe you can go back there, but I can't." When Brent gave him a quizzical look, he added, "Just trust me on this, okay?" <br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Half an hour later Brent burst into Joe's room, waking him from a nap. "I found something."<br />
<br />
Joe jumped to his feet, all drowsiness gone. "You found her?"<br />
<br />
"No, of course not. I've got something almost as good, though." <br />
<br />
Joe followed Brent into his room. <br />
<br />
"Check it out." Brent waved Joe into the leather desk chair then leaned over and tapped a few keys. "What do you see?" <br />
<br />
"It says John and Julie's St. Argent anniversary trip." He looked at Brent. "Who's John and Julie?"<br />
<br />
"Doesn't matter. Scroll down and take a look at the pictures. Be sure to read the captions."<br />
<br />
Joe did as he was told. "They stayed at a B&B somewhere around here, they rode bikes on the rail trail and John fell and had to be treated for road rash and a laceration on his arm.... dammit, will you just tell me what I'm looking for?"<br />
<br />
"You'll know it when you see it."<br />
<br />
With a frown of annoyance, Joe returned to the computer. "They went to a coffee shop, a few museums... they had a barbecue with some old high school buddies...."<br />
<br />
"What are the names of the friends?"<br />
<br />
Joe squinted at the screen, then sucked in his breath. "Well, I'll be god-damned." <br />
<br />
"Scroll down two more frames." Brent reached to do it himself, but Joe shoved his hand away. "You'll want to click on the picture and get a bigger view."<br />
<br />
Joe's eyes widened in surprise when he found the photo in question. It seemed an ordinary enough photo of a dark-haired young man in a starched white shirt and black tie, shaking martinis. He expanded it so he could take a closer look and read the caption out loud. "Our friend, Perry Clyman in his element as bartender at the Bellona Grill." His face lit up in a grin and he cuffed him playfully on the arm. "Good work. Now all we have to do is find this place and go over there." His face suddenly clouded over. "You think he still works there? How old is this information?"<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. "It was posted about two months ago, so that's good. Of course the pictures could've been taken years ago, but I have a feeling it's all pretty recent. It looks like these people were here over the summer, so I'd say there's an excellent chance Perry is still at Bellona's."<br />
<br />
"Well, let's go." Joe jumped up and glanced at his watch. "It's 1:00, though. I wonder..."<br />
<br />
Brent took a seat and began shutting down the computer. "Yeah, it's a long shot. I've never seen a restaurant have more than one bartender at lunch, and knowing our luck, it won't be him. But we can at least find out if he still works there and when his next shift is." The screen went dark and he snapped the case shut. "And who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. We know what he looks like now, so that will help."<br />
<br />
"I'll say." Joe headed toward the door. "I'll go get my keys and jacket and meet you downstairs."<br />
<a href="http://points-of-departure.blogspot.com/2012/09/chapter-twenty-five.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://points-of-departure.blogspot.com/2012/09/chapter-twenty-five.html"><< Previous Chapter</a> <br />
<a href="http://points-of-departure.blogspot.com/2012/10/chapter-twenty-seven.html">Next Chapter >> </a>Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-15069593632586606132012-09-25T21:37:00.000-07:002012-10-09T22:32:27.349-07:00Chapter Twenty-FiveBrent walked down the stairs to the breakfast table, cringing at the jolt of each footstep. He squinted at the bright light of the kitchen and at the bedraggled figure of Joe slouched over a cup of coffee. Brent slumped into a chair and accepted a cup of coffee from Petra. "Hell of a night."<br />
<br />
Joe grunted in reply. <br />
<br />
The two men lapsed into silence, broken after a few minutes by a cheerful Cece who bounced into the room, barely visible behind her load of shopping bags. "Good afternoon, boys," she said. "Nice to see you're finally up. It's a beautiful day."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure it is," Joe mumbled into his coffee. <br />
<br />
"Is that any way to act?" Cece dumped her bags on the table. She picked out one with an Eddie Bauer logo and set it in front of him. Then she took a Neiman's bag out of the jumble and set it in front of Brent. She continued distributing shopping bags back and forth until only one was left. Like a magician performing a special trick, she pulled out a strappy, black stiletto encrusted with rhinestones. "And look what I found for me. Aren't they just the cutest things? <i>Tres sexy</i>."<br />
<br />
"Very," Brent agreed absently, staring in bewilderment at the bags in front of him. <br />
<br />
Cece turned to Joe, who hadn't said a word. "What do you think?"<br />
<br />
"Looks like you could break an ankle in those."<br />
<br />
Cece sighed and dropped the shoe back in the bag. "You men. So little appreciation of fashion." She noticed that neither man had opened his gifts. "What are you waiting for?"<br />
<br />
Reluctantly, Joe and Brent began pulling garments out of the paper shopping bags: shirts, slacks, sweaters, socks, a cap for Joe, a wool scarf for Brent, belts, and even underwear. They darted nervous glances at each other, then Joe lifted his gaze to Cece's expectant eyes. "We can't accept this." <br />
<br />
"Don't be silly." Cece settled herself into a chair and motioned for Petra to bring her a cup of coffee. "You can't keep hanging around St. Argent looking for Elise with only a single change of clothes apiece."<br />
<br />
"Lupe washed everything while we were asleep," Brent pointed out.<br />
<br />
"But these are new."<br />
<br />
Joe looked into Cece's face. "What I want to know," he said, "Is why you think I'm going to be in St. Argent long enough to need four shirts, two sweaters, two pairs of jeans and a pair of khakis. Is there something you're not telling us?"<br />
<br />
Cece's features went still. Then just as quickly, she recovered herself and adopted a sorrowful expression. "I had hoped to wait until you guys looked to be feeling a little better before I brought it up, but I called Elise this morning, and she still refuses to see you."<br />
<br />
Brent leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.<br />
<br />
"Why do I not believe you?" Joe asked, shoving his gifts aside and leaning his heavy forearms on the table. "Why do I feel like you're trying to keep us here for some reason?"<br />
<br />
Cece laughed and got to her feet. "You flatter yourself. I enjoy your company and you're welcome to stay as long as you like, but I have no intention of enticing you to stay if you don't want to. I thought I could be of some use to you. I've given you a place to rest, food to eat, a car to drive, clothes to wear... I call Elise every day begging her to reconsider her actions. But if you don't appreciate my efforts on your behalf, please go. The last thing I want to do is keep you from finding her." Cece had started walking toward the door, but now she stopped in the doorway and looked at them. "In fact," she said, "I'm insulted you think I'm such a poor friend to Elise that I would do anything that would run counter to her best interests. I'm going upstairs to take a nap because I intend to be out late with some friends from the Junior League tonight. If there's anything you need, ask Petra."<br />
<br />
After she was gone, Joe and Brent looked at each other. "What do you make of that little speech?" Brent asked. <br />
<br />
"I'm not impressed."<br />
<br />
"I’m glad I'm not the only one." Brent frowned as he ran his hands over the clothes Cece gave him. "'Methinks she doth protest too much.'"<br />
<br />
Joe darted Brent a quick look of annoyance, but then returned to his own musings. "I hate to lean on her. No matter how much she stalls us, she's still our best lead. I don't want to screw it up."<br />
<br />
"That's a chance we might have to take. We sure aren't getting anywhere like this." Brent rubbed the yarn of a gray sweater between his fingers, savoring its silky texture. "She picked out some nice things, though. This is pure cashmere."<br />
<br />
"Have you got nothing better to worry about than what your sweater is made of?"<br />
<br />
"Hey, cashmere is good stuff. She must've known it's my favorite."<br />
<br />
"She seems to know a lot about what we like, because she even got the kind of underwear I always wear."<br />
<br />
Brent smirked. "I told you she likes you."<br />
<br />
"At least she didn't get me anything made out of fancy goat hair."<br />
<br />
Brent was still examining the sweater, checking the weight of it, reading the label. "You know, maybe she'd let me reimburse her for some of this. It would be nice to have something different to wear. I'm starting to feel like a bum."<br />
<br />
"As if she'd take your money, Mr. GQ."<br />
<br />
"I just don't want to feel indebted to her, is all."<br />
<br />
"So don't. It's not like you have a reputation for ethics."<br />
<br />
The men were still arguing over the matter when Petra came over with bowls of beef stew and thick slices of homemade bread. She set the food in front of them and stacked their packages on the empty chairs without a word.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://points-of-departure.blogspot.com/2012/09/chapter-twenty-four.html"><< Previous Chapter</a><br />
<a href="http://points-of-departure.blogspot.com/2012/10/chapter-twenty-six.html">Next Chapter >></a> Ann (bunnygirl)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04938134750150653386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4307085631797721644.post-71280376933531694502012-09-18T22:14:00.007-07:002012-10-09T22:33:21.050-07:00Chapter Twenty-FourBrent took a sip of his martini as he watched the man beside him chat up the bartender. <br />
<br />
"So what do you think?" Si asked. "There's plenty of places around here we can go for breakfast. We'll have you home before sunrise."<br />
<br />
The girl shook her auburn curls and went to make him another Bombay martini. "I don't think so." <br />
<br />
"Why not?" When he didn't get an answer, he turned to Brent with a grin. "She'll go with us. She's saying no right now because it's still early. Trust me, by the time we close this place, she'll be ready."<br />
<br />
Brent changed the subject. "You still haven't told me what you think about my situation. I could really use your advice."<br />
<br />
The bartender set Si's fresh martini in front of him. He took out the olive and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Do you want my personal advice?" he asked. "Or legal?"<br />
<br />
"Both."<br />
<br />
"The legal will cost you." <br />
<br />
"I'll buy you your next martini."<br />
<br />
"The martini is the price of my personal advice."<br />
<br />
"I'll take whatever I can get." <br />
<br />
Si toyed with the stem of his glass. "Let me see if I have this straight. After years of pining away from unrequited love for the lovely Elise Riddisee--"<br />
<br />
"I liked her, yeah."<br />
<br />
"Liked her? I started college on a four year plan and had to bump it up to three just to get away from your constant talking about her. If you'd hung around the house any more than you did, we'd have had to kick you out of the frat. I don't know what you saw in her."<br />
<br />
"She's a very pretty girl," Brent said, as if that answered everything. <br />
<br />
Si gave a shrug. "There were lots of pretty women hanging around. What was so special about one whose idea of a good time was to dance ballet and read Proust?"<br />
<br />
"So she has brains and talent. What's wrong with that?"<br />
<br />
"Nothing, I guess, if you're into that kind of thing, but I always liked the girls you actually slept with better."<br />
<br />
"So I recall."<br />
<br />
"Maybe she's all right once you get her in bed."<br />
<br />
"As if you'd know."<br />
<br />
"You're right, I don't know. But that's the only reason I can see for such...what should I call it, devotion?"<br />
<br />
Brent scowled. "Whatever, man. Just get to your point."<br />
<br />
Si took a sip of his martini. "What was my point? Oh, yes. So after years of unrequited love, she showed up in the same little burg you moved to. She just happened to need a job, and you just happened to have an opening. What a coincidence." He grinned like a well-fed cat. "You gave her the job and within a year, she's in your office after hours, taking her clothes off. Naturally you can't resist."<br />
<br />
"Could you?"<br />
<br />
Si raised his eyebrows. "Probably, but who's to say? I don't like to pass on opportunities, so maybe I would've enjoyed a little overtime with her, but it wouldn't have meant that much to me. The world is full of pretty girls who want to get laid. You know that, or at least you used to."<br />
<br />
"This one meant something to me."<br />
<br />
"Obviously."<br />
<br />
"It got complicated faster than I thought it would, though."<br />
<br />
"Sounds like it." Si traced a bead of condensation down the outside of his glass. "So let me finish up the scenario here. One day after you'd been getting it on with her in your office for about a year, the cuckolded husband shows up, knocking things around and demanding to know what you did with his wife, who has skipped town. Right?"<br />
<br />
"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yeah."<br />
<br />
"Turns out she left the both of you without telling anyone. Screwed you both. I like that."<br />
<br />
"You would."<br />
<br />
"I always did give the girl credit for having spunk. Kind of reminds me of-- well, remind me to tell you about the time I was doing two sisters, story's kind of similar. So anyway, you somehow convince this fool of a husband of hers to take you along so you can help him look for her, and after various misadventures, you find out that she's pregnant."<br />
<br />
"That's right." <br />
<br />
"And now here you are, with barely a 'see you later' to your wife, hanging around a guy who'd probably just as soon kill you as look at you, chasing after a girl who may be about to be the mother of someone else's brat." Si sat back on his bar stool and folded his arms across his chest. "Have I got it right?"<br />
<br />
"In your inimitably crude fashion, yes." Brent said sullenly. He picked up his martini. "So what's your advice?"<br />
<br />
"It's way too late for any advice of mine to do any good." Seeing Brent's face cloud over, he attempted to rearrange his features into seriousness. "Okay, let's see what we've got here. Job abandonment, for one. How much do you like or need your job? Will Daddy fire you if you don't get back pronto?"<br />
<br />
Brent shrugged. "I doubt it. Besides, I'm good at what I do. I have a whole portfolio of references and I can get other work, no problem."<br />
<br />
"Good. We won't worry too much about that one. Next, spousal abandonment. What's the situation with your wife?"<br />
<br />
"Hard to say," Brent said. "She can be jealous, but here lately I get the impression she really doesn't want me around much. I feel like I'm in her way. She seemed happy enough to get me out of her hair. Still, once she finds out this isn't a business trip, I'm probably in for it."<br />
<br />
"Naturally, then, if she knew all the dirty details, you'd be in even deeper shit."<br />
<br />
"Absolutely. I'd probably be looking at a divorce."<br />
<br />
"Got any property she can get her hands on? House? Land? Stocks or bank accounts? Did you have a pre-nup, by any chance?"<br />
<br />
Brent shook his head. "Didn't think I'd ever need one."<br />
<br />
"And what do you think now?"<br />
<br />
"I think I'll need a good lawyer."<br />
<br />
"Sounds like you understand the implications of that one, then." He motioned to the bartender to bring him another drink. "Now, here's a trickier one. Alienation of affection. Any chance Elise's husband might sue?"<br />
<br />
"He doesn't strike me as the litigious type."<br />
<br />
"You never know. Your divorce lawyer, if it turns out you need one, will probably be on the lookout for that. It's pretty standard in these types of cases. And finally we've got the issue of the kid. That's the big one. You know, even if you never find Elise, if that kid is yours, you're legally obligated to pay child support."<br />
<br />
"How can I pay if I don't know where she is, or even if it's my child?"<br />
<br />
"Don't worry, if she gets to wanting the money, the courts will find you. Be sure to insist on DNA testing, and be prepared to cough up some dough if it's yours."<br />
<br />
"If it's my kid, of course I'll pay. I'll want to be able to be able to see him, though. Don't I have rights, too? What about visitation?"<br />
<br />
Si shrugged. "Depends on the state where the suit is filed. Some states make it easy on the dad, others won't let you come anywhere near without documents signed in blood, if the mother doesn't want you around."<br />
<br />
"Why wouldn't Elise want me around, though? That's what I don't understand. She knows how much I love her, and I know she must care for me too. I can understand why she might leave Joe, since she feels guilty about fooling around on him. She probably can't face him." Brent shrugged. "But what I don't get is why she would abandon me, too. It makes sense in one way, since the whole paternity issue is in doubt, but I'm her friend, aside from everything else. I could've helped her, made things easier for her."<br />
<br />
Si took his fresh drink from the bartender and winked at her, getting nothing but a perfunctory smile for his efforts. He turned back to Brent. "Sounds to me like what you're really after is my personal advice."<br />
<br />
Brent nodded and picked at his damp cocktail napkin. <br />
<br />
"If you really like this girl, and it's obvious you've fallen hard for her, give up this stupid idea of finding her so you can give her back to her husband. If she loved him so damn much then why did she fool around on him and then run away? If you're determined to find her, in spite of the fact that I think it's a dumb thing to do, get her back for yourself. If she's hot to skip town, get a new identity, leave the country and live under an assumed name in Bolivia, then for Christ's sake go with her. Whatever you do, though, cut this martyr crap."<br />
<br />
"I'm no martyr," Brent said.<br />
<br />
"Like hell you aren't. As much as I make fun of you for having spent most of your life in love with a woman you spent years not even sleeping with, I admire your persistence. You really seem to care for her. Not to mention the fact you can't seem to keep your pants up when she's around."<br />
<br />
"Thanks for making it sound so chivalrous." <br />
<br />
Hey, those knights and ladies weren't as pure as the poets would have you believe. Where's the thrill of the chase if it doesn't eventually lead to the fun of the f--"<br />
<br />
"I get your point."<br />
<br />
The bartender had placed a fresh martini in front of Brent without asking and he gave her a tight smile. Her smile in return was genuine and she flipped her hair as she walked to the other end of the bar to dunk his empty glass in soapy water.<br />
<br />
Si noticed the way the bartender had looked at him. "Don't you go moving in on my girl."<br />
<br />
Brent frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"<br />
<br />
"The bartender. Didn't you see the way she looked at you?"<br />
<br />
"No, I didn't." <br />
<br />
"You've got it bad, then, if you can't even notice other chicks. You were never like this when we were in school. We've either got to get you laid or you've got to find Elise and keep her, if you can."<br />
<br />
"I think I can find her," Brent said. "She's never gotten away from me for very long. But I don't think I'll be able to keep her. That's why I want to help Joe. He's good to her, and I think she can be happy with him. If she can't be happy with me, then I want to know she's happy with someone."<br />
<br />
Si tossed back the remainder of his martini, and waved the bartender over. "Have you decided to have breakfast with me?"<br />
<br />
She shook her head, but glanced tellingly at Brent.<br />
<br />
"He'll be there, too," Si said.<br />
<br />
The girl searched Brent's face for a sign but he caught the look and reached for his wallet. "No breakfast for me, thanks. I've got to get going."<br />
<br />
The bartender shrugged in apparent unconcern and went to pull Brent's tab from where it was nestled with a stack of others near the computer. Si stared after her a moment. "Come on," he told Brent. Just have one cup of coffee, then you can split. She'll come if she thinks you're going to be there."<br />
<br />
"Sorry, Si. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm already putting my hostess out enough, borrowing her car and making her maid wait up for me." He glanced at his check and handed the bartender his credit card. "I appreciate you meeting me here on such short notice, though. And thanks for all your advice."<br />
<br />
"My bill will be in the mail."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure it will."<br />
<br />
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