Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 07 (4 page)

A few
clumps of people stood around talking, not wishing to head into the melee
below. Freeman kept looking at them to make sure he couldn’t be overheard and
finally changed the subject abruptly.

“My
daughter’s here someplace, along with her boyfriend. I don’t know if I’ll ever
see them again.”

“Yeah,
I was wondering the same about the couple I came with. They’re not very
tall—I’ll never find them if I head into the scrimmage.

“I
wondered what brought Dick here. I’d have put refugees down near the bottom of
the list of people he’d shell out for, kind of near women with AIDS. But if the
firm is pushing Chicago Settlement I suppose he’s out in front leading the
cheers.”

Freeman
smiled. “I’m not going to comment on that one, Warshawski. He and I are still
partners, after all.”

“He’s
not the one bringing in the business you don’t like, is he?”

“Don’t
sound so hopeful. Dick’s done a lot to revitalize Crawford, Mead.” He held up a
hand. “I know you hate the kind of law he practices. I know you love driving a
beater and sneering at his German sports cars—”

“I no
longer drive a beater,” I said with dignity. “I have an ‘89 Trans Am whose body
still gleams despite my having to keep it on the street instead of in a six-car
garage in Oak Brook.”

“Believe
it or not, there are days when Dick wonders if he made a mistake—if you’re
doing things the right way, not him.”

“I
know you haven’t been drinking, because I can’t smell it on your breath—so it
must be something you put up your nose.”

Freeman
smiled. “It doesn’t happen often, but the guy did think enough about you to
marry you once.”

“Don’t
get all sentimental on me, Freeman. Or are you thinking there are days when I
wonder if he’s doing it right, ‘stead of me? How many women are partners at
Crawford now? Three, isn’t it, out of a roster of ninety-eight? There are days
when I wish I made Dick’s money, but there’s never a time when I wish I’d put
myself through what a woman has to do to make it in your kind of firm.”

Freeman
gave a placatory smile and tucked my hand under his arm. “I didn’t come here to
alienate my feistiest client. Come on, Saint Joan. I’ll clear a path to the bar
for you and get you a glass of champagne.”

In
the few minutes we’d been talking the shrimp mountains had disappeared and most
of the strawberries were gone. The haunches of beef seemed to be holding their
own. I scanned the crowd as we strolled downstairs but couldn’t make out Lotty
or Max. Teri’s bronze dress had disappeared too.

I
tried staying close to Freeman, but as we hit the ground floor this proved
impossible. Someone cutting between us got my arm separated from his. After
that I followed the close-cut gold hairs along his neck for a few twistings
through the mob, but a woman in pink satin with trailing butterfly wings needed
a yard’s clearance and

I
lost him.

I
moved with the eddies for a bit. The noise was intense, echoing off the marble
pillars and floor. The sound filled my head with a white roaring. It became
impossible to concentrate on any outside goal, such as looking for Lotty; all
my energy had to go to protecting my brain from the swells of noise. No one
could possibly carry on a conversation in this lion’s den—they all must be
shouting simply for the pleasure of adding to the uproar.

At
one point the jostling moved me close to the food tables. The men behind the
haunches stood expressionless in their little island, only their hands moving
as they sliced and served. The shrimp had vanished, as had all the hot food.
All that was left besides the meat—now close to the bone—was the picked-over
salads.

I
dove back into the tide and began fighting my way across the current to the
theater. Some fancy elbow work brought me to the columns separating the aisle
doors from the foyer. The crowd thinned there; people who were trying to talk
could get their heads close enough together to hear one another. Michael and
Or‘ were huddled with five or six serious-looking people. I moved past without
speaking in case these were major donors, and escaped into the body of the
theater.

Dick
was standing immediately inside the door on my right, talking to a man of sixty
or so. Even though I knew he was here, seeing him so close made my heart skip a
beat. Not romantic enthusiasm, just a jolt—kind of like losing your footing on
a glassy floor. Dick seemed jolted too—he broke off a smooth phrase mid-word
and gaped at me.

“Hi,
Dick,” I said weakly. “I never knew you were a cello enthusiast.”

“What
are you doing here?” he demanded. “I’ve been hired to sweep the theater. I have
to take what work I can get these days.”

The
sixtyish man looked at me with blank impatience. He didn’t care who I was or
what I did as long as I got out of there fast. He was also oblivious of the
children’s choir: free from the responsibility of looking angelic they were chasing
each other through the seats, shrieking wildly, throwing rolls and bits of cake
at each other.

“Yes,
well, I’m in the middle of something, so why don’t you start work on the far
side.” Dick wasn’t above a little humor as long as it wasn’t at his own expense.

“Are
you wheeling and dealing?” I tried to infuse my voice with humble admiration.
“Maybe I could watch you and get a few pointers, move up to toilet scrubbing or
something.”

A
flush rose in Dick’s closely shaven cheeks. On the verge of spitting out a curt
insult, he turned it into a bark of laughter. “It’s been what—thirteen years?
fourteen?— and you still know the shortest distance from your mouth to my
goat.”

He
grabbed my shoulder and moved me toward his partner. “This is Victoria
Warshawski. She and I made a big mistake in law school by thinking we were in
love. Teri’s and my kids are all going to have to work for five years before
I’ll let them think about marriage. Vic, Peter Felitti, chairman of Amalgamated
Portage.”

Felitti
held out a reluctant hand—because I was his daughter’s predecessor? Or because
he didn’t want me interrupting high-level finance? “I don’t remember the
details of your settlement. You been paying ever since for your sins,
Yarborough?”

I
squeezed Felitti’s fingers with enough force to make him wince. “Not at all. It
was my alimony that bought Dick his stake in Crawford, Mead. Now that he’s
launched on his own, though, I’m trying to get the court to let me off the
hook.”

Dick
made a face. “Must you, Vic? I’ll be happy to swear all over town that you
never asked for a dime. She’s a lawyer,” he added to Felitti, “but works as a
detective.”

Turning
back to me, he said plaintively, “Are you happy now? Can Pete and I finish our
conversation?”

I was
extricating myself—from Dick’s arm as well as the conversation—with what grace
I could when Teri came in, the woman in beaded blue satin close on her heels.

“There
you are,” the woman in blue said gaily. “Harmon Lessner wants to talk with you
two especially. You can’t sneak off and do business now.”

Teri
eyed me narrowly, trying to decide if I was a business encounter or a sexual
competitor. Champagne had added a rosy glow beneath her foundation, but late as
it was her makeup was still perfect: the eyeshadow on the lids where it
belonged instead of meandering around her face; her lipstick, a subdued bronze
that was an understated version of her dress, fresh and glossy. Her chestnut
hair, pulled into a complicated knot, looked as though she had just left her
hairdresser’s. No frizz, no stray strands creeping down her neck, marred the
effect.

By
this time of night, without looking in a mirror, I knew that my lipstick had
vanished and that such styling as I had given my short curls was long gone. I
wanted to think I had the more interesting personality, but Dick wasn’t
interested in women with personality. I felt like telling Teri not to worry,
that she had looks and they would win the day for her, but I sketched a wave at
the four of them and moved on to the far door without speaking.

When
I finally found Lotty it was past midnight. She was alone shivering in a corner
of the outer lobby, her arms hugging her.

“Where’s
Max?” I said sharply, pulling her close to me. “You need to get home, get to
bed. I’ll find him and go get the car.”

“He
left with Or‘ and Michael. They’re staying with him, you know. I’m all right,
Vic, really. It’s merely that the concert stirred up old memories. They started
to haunt me while I waited. I’ll walk with you to the car. The fresh air will
do me good.”

“Are
you and Max having a fight?” I hadn’t meant to ask, and the words came out
abruptly.

Lotty
made a face. “Max thinks I’m behaving badly about Carol. And maybe I am.”

I
shepherded her through the revolving door. “What about her?”

“You
didn’t know? She’s quitting. It’s not that I mind that. Well, of course I mind
it—we’ve worked together for eight years. I feel bereft, but I wouldn’t try to
stop her moving on, trying new opportunities. But it’s why she’s quitting. It
drives me mad that she lets that family of hers run her life—and now—and Max
says I have no empathy! I ask you!”

During
the drive home she spoke determinedly about the concert, and what pungent
remarks Theresz would have made over the collection of nonmusical parvenus who
had flocked to her memorial concert. It was only when I dropped her at her door
that she let me get the conversation back to Carol.

“What
is she doing? You don’t know? She’s going to stay home and nurse some damned
cousin of that morbid mother of hers. He’s got AIDS and Carol feels it her duty
to look after him.”

She
slammed the door with a snap and swirled through her front door. I felt the
chill fingers of depression creep into my shoulders. Poor Carol. Poor Lotty.
And poor me: I didn’t want to be caught between them. I waited until the lights
came on in Lotty’s living room and put the Trans Am back into gear.

I
slept badly that night. The thought of Lotty, shivering in the dark over her
dead family, brought back the nightmares of my mother’s final illness. I would
approach Gabriella’s bed through the maze of tubes and oxygen that shrouded her
only to see Lotty’s face propped against the pillows. She stared at me blankly,
then turned away. I felt wrapped in gauze, unable to move or speak. When the
doorbell rang, forcing me back to consciousness, it was a relief to wake up.

I had
been crying in my sleep. The tears glued my lids together and I moved
unsteadily to the door as the buzzer shrilled again. It was the upper bell, the
one right on my door, not in the outer lobby. I couldn’t see clearly enough to
make out the person on the other side of the peephole.

“Who
is it?” I called hoarsely through the edge of the door.

I put
my ear against the jamb. At first all I could make out was senseless gabbling,
but finally I realized it was Mr. Contreras.

I
undid the bolts and opened the door a crack. “Just a minute,” I croaked. “I
need to put on some clothes.”

“Sorry
to wake you, doll, I mean it’s nine-thirty and all and usually you’re up and
about by now, but you must’ve got in late and of course I turned in early,
being done in by getting Her Highness through—”

I
slammed the door on him and stomped off to the bathroom. I took my time in the
shower. If something had gone seriously wrong with Peppy he would have come
right out with it. This was doubtless by way of a minor emergency: one of the
pups wasn’t nursing or she’d rejected the old man’s offering of ham and eggs.

Before
going down I made myself a cup of strong coffee and swallowed it in great
scalding gulps. It didn’t make me feel rested and refreshed, but at least I
could navigate the stairs.

Mr.
Contreras bounded out as I rang his bell. “Oh, there you are. I was beginning
to think you’d gone back to bed and I didn’t want to bother you none. I thought
being as how you was out with the doc last night it wouldn’t be such a late
evening, but you must’ve run into someone else you knew.”

His
incessant burrowing into my love life sometimes brought me to the screaming
point. Lack of sleep moved me to irritability faster than usual.

“Just
once, as a noble experiment, could you pretend my private life is private? Tell
me how Peppy is and why you had to come wake me up.”

He
threw up placatory hands. “No need to get your tail in a knot, doll. I know you
got a private life. That’s why I waited till nine-thirty. But I wanted to make
sure I had a chance to talk to you before you took off for the day, that’s all.
Don’t be so shirty.”

“Okay,
I’m not shirty.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “Tell me how Her Serene
Doggedness is doing. And how are the little ones?”

“Everyone’s
a-okay. The princess is a champ, you don’t need me to tell you that. You wanna
see her? Your hands are clean, ain’t they?”

“I
just scrubbed myself squeaky clean inside and out and these are fresh jeans,” I
said solemnly.