Dorothy Parker Drank Here (21 page)

“I just wanted to make sure you spoke to Ted and got everything all lined up,” Norah said.

“Working on it,” Audrey said.

“What does that mean?”

“He said he would think about it.”

“What does he need to think about? He appears on the show and then I help you with your article. It's a pretty simple equation.”

“Nothing is ever simple with Ted.”

Norah's face burned hot. This had to come through. It
had
to. “When will he let you know for sure?” she asked.

“Hard to say. We had a short conversation and he said he needed to rest.”

Norah paused, contemplating her next move. She would put the pressure on. “The offer is only good for today,” she said.

“You never said that.”

“Well, I'm saying it now. So you call him back and tell him he has to make up his mind. He has until midnight tonight and then the door is slammed shut. Is that clear?”

“What if he needs more time?” Audrey said.

“Then you're both out of luck,” Norah said, and hung up.

N
orah's phone didn't ring until the next morning.

“Did I wake you?” Didi asked.

It was just past eight a.m., and Norah had had a restless night. She had stayed up late, waiting for a call from Audrey that never came. When she finally dozed off, her anxiety was too acute to let her get any restful sleep. She kept waking up, wondering if there was any chance Ted would agree to her proposal. At last she came to the realization that it was a ridiculous notion to entertain. He simply was not going to do it. The sun was still hidden when she gave up on sleep and made herself a cup of coffee.

“I've been up since five,” Norah said.

“Me, too,” said Didi. She took a deep, noisy breath, and Norah could swear she heard a smile.

“What's going on?”

“Don't make plans for Monday, sugar. We are unpacking boxes and making history.”

“What are you talking about?” Norah asked.

“Man named Pete Salzberg called me last night,” Didi said. “He seemed to think we had met. But it makes no never mind. Ted
Shriver is appearing on the show
tomorrow
. Simon canceled his Sunday golf game and is already locked in his office with the writers, preparing questions. We are shooting thirty-second promos. Kent is eating crow. And everyone is ready to kiss your sweet ass.”

“Seriously? I thought it was all over. I was so sure—”

“Don't sell yourself short, bubbeleh. You pulled off a miracle.”

“I'll come in right away.”

“No, you get some rest. You deserve it. Just be sure you get your tukhus here by seven tomorrow. It's going to be a hell of a day.”

Norah got off the phone and walked three laps around her living room, trying to collect her thoughts. Ted had actually agreed to do the show. And it was happening so fast.

Still, the live broadcast was over twenty-four hours away, which meant that anything could happen. Ted could change his mind for no reason at all. And of course, his health could take a turn for the worse any second. This dream could so easily turn into a nightmare.

Norah couldn't imagine how she would manage a single deep breath before airtime tomorrow. The only solution was to keep busy. She would go crazy if she stayed in this apartment, watching the dust fall. She decided she would get dressed as quickly as possible and head into Manhattan so she could tell Dorothy Parker what had happened.

Norah was just stepping out of the shower when her cell phone rang. She toweled her hair and answered it.

“He's doing it!” Audrey said, excited. “He's doing the
Simon Janey
show. He'll be on tomorrow.”

“So I heard.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were still okay with it.”

“Of course,” Norah said. “I'm better than okay with it.”

“I mean, I want to be one hundred percent sure you're going to bring the signature book to my editor's office. I told her you would come on Tuesday.”

“That's fine,” Norah said. “Tuesday is fine.”

“And you'll be able to get the book from the hotel?”

“That shouldn't be a problem.”

“And you'll be able to make her show herself?”

“Absolutely,” Norah lied. She wasn't going to risk Ted's appearance on the show by telling Audrey there was every reason to believe Dorothy Parker would refuse to show herself. Besides, after the way Ted and Audrey had deceived her, she owed them nothing.

Audrey gave Norah details about the office address and then asked, “So how do you do it? How do you conjure her? Do you have magic words?”

Norah laughed. “You mean like ‘Abracadabra, toil and trouble, Dorothy Parker, appear on the double'? I'm afraid not.”

“So you just call her? And she always comes?”

“Always.”

“What do you say, exactly?”

Norah hesitated. “Why do you want to know?”

“It's my job to know.”

Norah was tempted to ask if Audrey was thinking about sidestepping her, but she kept herself in check. No sense in giving the unpredictable woman any ideas. Besides, it was likely a perfectly innocent question.

“You'll find out on Tuesday,” Norah said.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and Norah sensed that Audrey was deciding whether to push the question further. At last she said, “Okay, I'll see you Tuesday,” and Norah sighed, relieved.

“That's right. I'll see you Tuesday.”

—

A
bout an hour later, Norah was at the Algonquin, nodding hello to the same doorman she had said good-bye to only the day before. She went straight to the Blue Bar, because she knew the guest
book was now back where it belonged, safely ensconced in its display case on the shelf.

When she reached the doorway to the bar, Norah saw a stooped man was pushing a vacuum cleaner back and forth. “Not open yet, miss,” he called over the noise.

“I . . . I think I left my cell phone in here yesterday,” Norah lied. “Can I just take a look?”

“Place has been cleaned out. We didn't find anything—sorry.”

Norah asked him when the bar would be open, and he gave her a pitiful look, as if she were someone who could barely wait until eleven thirty in the morning for a drink. She offered him a meek smile, and went back into the lobby to while away the twenty minutes. She positioned herself in a chair facing the entrance so that she could be the first person in the bar. The emptier it was, the greater the chance she had of summoning Mrs. Parker to appear.

She took out her cell phone and scrolled through her e-mail. There was one from Pamela Daniels, saying she went ahead and promised Beth Barbieri a recommendation. Norah was only halfway through the e-mail when something brushed against her leg and made her jump. For a moment, she expected to see Dorothy Parker, but Norah looked down and realized the culprit wasn't a ghostly presence but Matilda, the Algonquin's famous cat in residence. The enormous feline knocked against her, begging for a pat.

“Hey, you,” she said, gently stroking the cat's long fur. She wondered how the cat would react to being picked up. Before she could give it a try, though, Matilda lost interest and wandered away. Norah leaned back, drowsy. Her restless night was catching up with her and it was hard to keep her eyes open. Norah fought the urge to drift off, but the chair was so soft and deliciously comfortable that she ultimately lost the battle and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

By the time she awoke she could hear voices from within the bar. Damn. She had missed her opportunity to beat the crowd.

Norah stood and shook off the sleep, then went inside. There was a couple at one of the tables, and several people at the bar. Norah went to the table closest to the guest book, and took a seat with her back to it. She hoped Mrs. Parker would have the gumption to materialize in the seat opposite her, though she knew it was a long shot with so many people around.

Norah glanced toward the bar and saw an older man in aviator glasses trying to catch her eye. She took out her cell phone and pretended she didn't notice.

“Mrs. Parker,” she whispered into the phone, “if you can hear me, please make yourself known. I need to talk to you. It's urgent.”

She waited several moments and nothing happened.

“It's about Ted,” she continued. “Please, Mrs. Parker, we need to talk. Are you here?”

Norah scanned the room for floating dust particles. She stared at the seat opposite her and squinted, trying to determine if there were stray specks visible. She thought she saw something starting to swirl, but couldn't tell if it was merely wishful thinking.

After a few more minutes, the bartender approached with a drink on a tray and put it in front of her. It was a frothy white concoction with a slice of pineapple wedged onto the glass, and two small orange straws set at a jaunty angle.

“I didn't order anything,” Norah said.

“It's from that gentleman at the bar.”

Norah looked over and saw the man with the aviator glasses smiling at her. He was missing an incisor.

“Please take it back,” she said. “I don't want it.” Norah knew the man at the bar might be insulted, but she needed to send a strong message that she wasn't interested.

“I understand,” the waiter said, putting it back on his tray. “Can I get you something else?”

She didn't want anything, but felt compelled to order something since she was sitting in the bar. “I'll just have a Diet Coke,” she said.

When the waiter left, she pretended to talk into her cell phone again.

“Mrs. Parker, if you're hovering, please give me a sign.”

Nothing.

“I need to talk to you about Audrey and about the guest book. Are you there?” She waited a few more minutes and tried again. “Ted agreed to do the show. I know that must surprise you.”

She tilted her head right and left, staring hard at the space where she thought she saw something earlier. The waiter arrived with her soda.

“The gentleman at the bar insisted on paying,” he said.

“Please tell him I can't accept and I'm not interested.”

The waiter gave her an apologetic smile and said that he would relay the message.

Norah spoke into her cell phone again. “He's gone. You can come out now. Please!”

She leaned forward to see if the air was changing. She still couldn't tell, but she saw some dust and held her breath.

“Is that you?” she said.

Norah became aware of a presence nearby, but it wasn't Dorothy Parker. It was the big dolt in the glasses. He slid into the booth opposite her.

“I'm Russell,” he said. “You look lonely.”

“I don't mean to be rude, Russell, but I'm not lonely. Not at all.”

“Why don't we just talk for a moment?” he said. “No harm in that, is there?”

“Listen,” she said, “I'm expecting a very important . . . client.
Could you do me a huge favor and leave right this minute? I'm sorry to ask, but it's urgent. I'm sure you understand.”

“Why don't you give me your number, then?”

“I can't, Russell. I'm sorry.”

“What a bitch,” he said.

“Okay, fine. It was lovely chatting with you.”

“And you're not that good-looking anyway.”

“Well, my whole feeling of self-worth hangs on what you think of my appearance, so thank you for setting the record straight.”

At last, he got up to leave, but not without whispering a word under his breath that Norah hoped no woman would ever be called again. She watched as he approached the bar and said something to his friend that made them both laugh. The men paid their tab and left, but not before giving Norah the finger.

She was glad to be rid of him, but disappointed that she had come so close to summoning Dorothy Parker and failed. Now she doubted the spirit would risk trying to materialize in public again. There was another possibility, however. She could try to sneak the book out of the bar.

Norah stood and walked casually toward the display case as if she had just noticed it. The waiter had just gone into the back, and if the bartender looked down for even a moment, she would grab the book and saunter out as casually as she could.

When she got close, however, Norah noticed something that stopped her cold. The display case was empty.

The waiter came back into the room and she waylaid him. “What happened to the book?” she asked.

“The book?”

“There was a book of signatures in this case.”

“It's not there?” He approached and looked inside. “I'll be damned. It was missing for days, and yesterday we finally got it back.”

So those dust particles weren't her friend after all. “When did you last see it?” she asked.

“It was here last night.”

“Do you have any idea who might have it?”

“Beats me,” he said. “Sometimes I think this place is haunted. Can I get you another drink?”

She declined, and left the bar to ask the people at the front desk if they had seen the guest book. No one even realized it had disappeared again. She asked the maître d' at the Lounge and a few other staff members, but no one knew anything about it.

Dizzy, Norah let herself sink into the soft armchair again as she considered who might have taken the book. She wanted to believe it was that terrible Edie Coates, but as she replayed her last conversation with Audrey, she understood the truth. Audrey
had
been pumping her for information. In fact, she had probably meant to steal the book all along.

Norah put her head in her hands. If Audrey could manage to get Dorothy Parker to reveal herself before tomorrow's interview, there was nothing she would need from Norah, and Ted would back out of the interview.

She headed for the exit but stopped to talk to the doorman. “I'm wondering if you've seen my friend,” she said, and proceeded to describe Audrey.

“Lady with a big red purse,” he said. “I remember her—she seemed very nervous.”