“I’ve been somewhat open with investigators; they can give me a ring-a-ding-ding any time they want, but I haven't seen the flash of a paparazzi camera yet, if that's what you mean. My cell phone has even run out of recording space with all the media calls I've been getting.”
“Answer any of them?”
“Nope. Josephine's orders.”
“Everyone's looking for you.” More Cosmopolitan. “It kind of makes me feel like Bonnie and Clyde, knowing we could be caught together at any moment.”
“Hopefully without the hundred rounds of ammunition that ended them.”
“Amazing how somebody can blend in like this, and right out in the open.”
“Apparently, since you've got a well-established crime family, with their business connections, and the entire police force simultaneously combing the continents for Alex, pulling all of their combined resources, and he still hasn't been found.”
“Neither have you, apparently.” Susan leveled the Cosmopolitan to her lips, but it was empty. She held her finger up for another. The waiter was attentive to her need. And while we were at it, I asked for a second Sam Adams, despite my glass not being empty.
“I wouldn't be so sure.” I looked out the window, with no trace of Sinatra to be found. Last I'd seen him was on Fifth Avenue while seated outside of the library.
“You're not being followed, are you?”
“Let's just say I've had a run in with Gracie's family... or two.”
“But they know you have absolutely nothing to do with this, don't they?”
“I'll be fine. My Great Uncle Jack has been informed.”
“Not that private eye. I thought he retired or something a decade ago.”
“Uh-huh. I'm sure he's already on the case in that golf cart he's driving now days.”
“Oh hell,” Susan tucked her head into a hand.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Joshua, I don't want to sound callous to Gracie, or you..... or the fact that it’s a miracle, your great uncle still being alive with all those bullets he dodged...”
“If you call getting shot in the ass dodging bullets.”
“But... there's something I've wanted to ask.”
I finished off the last of my Sam Adams, just in time for our waiter to deliver a second round.
“Sounds serious.”
She sipped from her second Cosmopolitan. “Who's the other girl?”
“There's no other girl, Susan.”
“Then let me rephrase the question. Whom are you staying with this weekend while you're on the run from Al Capone and Cirque Du Soleil?”
“Susan, I've photographed gigs and weddings in dozens of states. I'm constantly staying with different people. Yeah, so it's with a woman and her gay roommate. It's not like you caught me with my pants down or anything.”
“Not yet, anyways. But I haven’t exactly busted the door down either. I'm guessing she's the same woman who you were stalking on Facebook last weekend.”
“Please don't tell me you saw that too.”
“Women have amazing peripheral vision. It's a heightened sense of self-awareness after tens of thousands of years of Cro-Magnon men becoming erect simply so that they could stare at women's breasts instead of their own toes when they thought we weren't looking.”
I said: “Wow. So that's the collective beginning of civilization. And here I thought it was the brewing of beer.”
“Um, last I checked, beer-making wasn't the oldest profession.”
“You have to admit, the alternative is better than staring at one's toes.”
“Unless you've got a foot fetish.”
“Well, here we are, fully erect. So apparently the dawn of society says differently.”
“Let me guess. This Facebook deva you're staying with, she's a girl from your past.”
“Michael and I both knew her from high school.”
“Did Elise know her too?”
“Sort of.”
“What's sort of?”
“All three of us were in the same homeroom together.”
“Wow. Apparently you didn't only have eyes for one woman. Does this girl from home room have a name?”
“Leah.”
“Is it just Leah, like Adele, Duffy and Cher, or does she have a last name too?”
“Bishop.”
“Leah. Bishop…” She concentrated on the precise pronunciation of both words when properly aligned together. And then it hit her. “No.” She slapped my arm, eyes aglow. “She's not...” She leaned in to a whisper, “thee Leah Bishop.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I bet it's a common name. There's probably thousands of Leah Bishop's out there.”
“Broadway, REPUBLICAN BLUE. It's her, isn't it? The First Lady, and you're staying with her.”
I leaned back into my chair. “I cannot confirm or deny your unwarranted accusations. The burden of proof is on you, my dear Mrs. Holmes.”
“Well, I must say, you've done well for yourself, despite your current circumstances.” Her voice rolled back to a whisper. “Leah Bishop?” And then she slapped my arm again.
“Yes, but don't jump to any conclusions. You saw me last weekend in San Francisco with Elise. I'm a one-woman man. That's always the way it's been and how it has to be. You know how desperately I wanted to make my marriage work.”
“Stop it. You don't have to play the justification game with me. I've seen this high school homeroom friend of yours perform. She's magnificent, and oh my god, so beautiful.”
“An enigma is more like it.”
“Wait, say that again.” Her eyes and lips beamed with delight.
“What I just said?”
“Yes, what you just said. I said she's magnificent, and you said....”
“An enigma is more like it.”
“Oh my god,” her eyes and lips continued beaming, only brighter than before. “You have a thing for her, and it’s not just professional courtesy. Do I detect a hint of.....”
“Schoolboy crush…Maybe. But I don't want to get bogged down in emotion. A platonic friendship is what I'm after. And even that's not going so well.”
“If guys have ever been after anything in a woman, starting with the first Cro-Magnon to hire a chiropractor, let me tell you, it hasn't been platonic.”
“I'm not going to convince you any different, am I?”
“No.” She settled back into her chair, arms spread out. “You're not, especially since you're not wearing your wedding ring. And besides, you've got lots of platonic friends, Joshua. The last thing you need is another.”
“Her two roommates and I are supposed to meet her just after ten, back ally of the Cohan Theater. She's attending a party in Williamsburg, some famous artists studio slash apartment.”
“And she's bringing you along, to a public party.... the runaway who doesn't want to be found?”
“What are the chances of somebody recognizing me?”
“Why aren't you with her now?”
“She's got a performance every Friday night, and four more before the weekend's through.”
“No. That's not it. That's not why you called me up. You came here, to New York that is, hoping to spend time with her, every platonic moment with her, including performances. That is, when you weren't working yourself. But now you're out of a job. I'm your sympathy card, and I always have been. What happened?”
“I don't know. I guess she was just busy, or maybe altogether uninterested.”
“I doubt that. A girl doesn't call you up because she's uninterested.”
“Maybe that whole game of charade in the news changed her mind about being the next Nightingale Effect recipient.”
Susan thought on it. “It's possible. Maybe she's polite, and maybe she's hoping you'll take the hint. But tell me, why'd you do it? Why'd you really come all the way out here to stay with her? And don't give me this crap about how you needed a roof over your head.”
“You know how disastrous Josephine
's wedding was.”
“Of course, Michael and I were both there.”
“That's when she called me up, Sunday night, right out of the blue, when I desperately needed a shoulder to lean on.”
“Uh-huh. Go on.”
“Maybe I was just vulnerable. Maybe I thought we had something. There was an open window. At least, I thought there was. I guess I just needed to know. I guess I didn't want to go through the rest of my life asking the question, What if?”
“And I can appreciate that.”
“But I guess, more than anything, I really just needed a shoulder to lean on.”
“Hun, you can cry on my shoulder anytime.”
“I said lean, not cry.”
“That too; you get a splinter, a paper cut on your derriere, or the next time your wife leaves you for another man, anything, you let me know and I'll have two open shoulders. You can lean on one and cry on the other.”
“Thanks, Susan. You've always been good to me.”
“There's a lot of people out there who really love you. Hell, Michael would go to the ends of the Earth with you.”
“Yes, he's given me the whole Lord of the Rings analogy before. He warned me to stay away from Alex. He warned me about Leah too. And he was right every time. I don't think she wants anything to do with me.”
“You want to stay in my hotel tonight?”
“I already did that once. If I recall, Michael threatened to shoot me with a 22. No thanks.”
She slapped my arm. “And did anything happen?”
“Between us? No.”
“Thank God. I was on my best behavior, thank you very much. Joshua, listen to me, the fact that you got caught up in this business with Alex and the mob and Gracie's murder is unfortunate. And your wife's decisions are nothing short of tragic. And then there's that whole side-storyline with that homeless person who supposedly murdered Alex's father and is now stalking you, or something to those regards. It all sounds so crazy. And that guy with the Latin tattoo. I can't even keep up with your life anymore. Am I missing anything?”
“I've got this killer kink in my neck, but I think that's the gist of it.”
“Elise may be my best friend, but you need to set your boundaries. It's like you said, you have this window with Isla. You may never get it again. You need to know.”
“Michael doesn't seem to think so.”
“Well phooey on him.”
“I'm going to tell him you said that.”
“Joshua, you're not listening. She dialed your name, and you answered the call. But that's not enough. Go to that party and let her know how you feel.”
“Susan, I'm not so sure I.....”
“It's now or never. A girl like this, you've got to pursue her. I know, because if you don't, every other jerk on Long Island and this side of the Appalachians will.”
“Thanks Susan.”
“And if she's still foolish enough to shun you, like she's apparently been doing, then call me up. You can spend the night in my hotel. We'll order ice cream, catch some Full House reruns, keep to our Israel and West Bank boundaries when it comes to sleeping arrangements, and in the morning we'll have a little therapy session touring Frank McCormick.”
“Susan, I don't know; that whole Ground Zero thing. I still have nightmares about that place. The mannequins....” I shivered at the thought of one particular mannequin that had recently dominated my dream life.
“Joshua, you promised me last time we were here, at this very restaurant. At the risk of sounding insensitive, you said next time you were here you'd put that whole September Eleventh tragedy behind you and walk into my store.”
“Last time I wandered into that store, or anywhere near Ground Zero, it was an ugly day. I've had enough of New York City, 10048.”
“Hey, the World Trade Center and Frank McCormick did not share the same area code, despite being directly across the street. I’d even put my money on the likelihood that there won’t be any airliners smashing into buildings tomorrow.”
Once more around the block, honey.
“I may just take you up on that offer.”
“No,” she said, rather sternly. “I don't think you will.”
“Susan, I'm not that far-gone. A promise is a promise. How late is too late to call?”
“And you haven't been listening to anything I've said. You're going to that party in Williamsburg, and you're going to tell that girl exactly how you feel about her.”
“And when she laughs the thought of me away?”
“Then you can stay in my room tonight.”
“I guess I'll be seeing you later then.”
“No,” she said. “That's what I've been trying to tell you. You won't. You're going to spend the night in the platonic company of another woman, and it's not going to be me.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
“Joshua,” she said. “I've got the bill. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
That time I didn't argue.
25
TURNING THE CORNER down the back alley of the George M. Cohan Theater, ten minutes before our scheduled meeting time, Richie's presence put to rest any fears I might have had about showing up at the wrong place or at the wrong time. It was one of those back alleys like you'd imagine in the movies, grungy brick paneling, various trash cans and stacks of disposed boxes that homeless people likely constructed into cardboard forts, a stray cat or two, and a hissing steam vent to complete the ensemble. Miranda appeared only moments later, fresh off the shift of her latest job (in-between acting gigs, she assured me), waitressing food and cleaning up a nightly disposal of baby puke at T.G.I.F. She said some couple with a screaming baby was visiting from Los Angeles, which kept her at the usual quota of puke. I considered the husband and wife from my plane ride over as likely candidates, if Mahoney’s movie was any indicator.
I said: “So, rumor has it there's a bear on the loose in the city.”
Richie frowned. “Don't even get me started. If that bear thinks it can show its ugly mug at Brownstone again, it’s got another thing coming.”
“No, Joshua.” Miranda stopped me. “Really, don't get him started.”
I opened my mouth to retaliate.
“No, Joshua. Don't.”
Another topic for another time then….
Not a second late Leah was the first cast member out the back door, freshly dressed in attractive but casual attire, with a blue hoodie utilized as a temporary measure, I suspected so as not to be recognized by theater attendees. What followed was a swift operation, the four of us maneuvering towards the 7th and Broadway Station. Nobody recognized her, or if they did, kept passive in their recognition. Unlike Southern California culture, with its endless gauntlet of paparazzi, New York seemed to relish in its open-air privacy. I recalled my trip to Manhattan only two weeks earlier when I stood on that very 7th and Broadway platform with Cousin Joe and his date, a tall Russian supermodel named Natalia, watching several REPUBLICAN BLUE cast members sweep discreetly into the station. Leah was one of them. And it was right there, in the number 1 train, that I watched her kissing another man.
“You’ll have to forgive me over last night’s performance,” Miranda explained as soon as we plopped down into the train. There were several open seats available. She chose the real estate at my side while Leah and Richie remained just across the aisle next to an orthodox rabbi and an old black woman reading from her bible. Train doors closed the second our cabooses hit their marks, and we were whisked away into the underworld with screeches and flickering lights. “I’m not used to strange men climbing into my bed.”
Leah and Richie made absolutely no effort in containing their laughter as it spilled out from their noses. The old woman eyed us uncomfortably over the pages of her Bible.
“Okay, fine.” Miranda found their recognition of her bedtime behavior to be far more amusing than unkind. “But at least I know who they are when they climb into it.”
Leah and Richie turned th
eir glances back on each other. Again, more laughter; if either of the two tried to hold it together, they failed miserably.
“Don’t pay any attention to them.” Miranda leaned against my shoulder. “Let’s just say, if I had to do it over again, I would have ditched the dumbbell and gone for a completely different form of protection.”
Speaking of the inability to contain oneself, I blushed. Leah stared at me now, emotionless and without any stage presence.
“Finally, some truth,” said Richie. “Let’s just not let your latest boyfriend hear what comes out of your mouth. What was his name again? I never can keep up with them all.”
“Ken,” she said, more-so annoyed now.
“Oh, Ken. You um, you break up with Ken again?”
“We’ve agreed to see other people.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like a classic Miranda break-up to me. No more Barbie’s Dream-house for Ken. Let me tell you something, Joshua. This girl has some serious daddy issues.”
“I do not.”
“Yes you do. Admit it. It’s one of those Freudian things.” He twirled his finger in a circle of some sort as an attempted illustration of all things Freudian, which also happened to be the same universal sign as coo-coo.
“Just because my father was a lying, cheating bastard does not mean I have daddy issues.”
“Here, here.” Leah presented a toasting gesture with one hand. “Why must everyone think we women repeatedly trip over their mistakes?”
“Technically, everybody has daddy issues.” The words slipped right out of my mouth.
Leah turned to me, blank-faced again. I had absolutely no clue what was going through that woman's head, but at least for once I had her attention.
'“Do tell.” Richie grinned.
“Yes,” said Leah, perhaps to be polite, “let's hear this.”
“Freud believed there's a reactivation of childhood struggles against paternal authority in the heart of each individual. It might be good, it might be bad, but its impossible not to respond. A century ago, in Freud's time, the father complex modeled itself after the Victorian patriarch, whereas in the new millennium psychologists point to the absence of the father and the negative effects that follows.”
“Stop describing my adolescence,” Richie said, thoroughly amused.
Goodnight Sometimes Means Goodbye (Wrong Flight Home, #2) Page 18