by Clea Simon
“Krakow.” This time, I heard something in his voice. A lack of energy. A deflation.
“I was thinking of the Allston Onramps, but there’s also going to be a series of benefit concerts—”
“Krakow!” He was angry. That was more like it. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Sorry, boss.” Could this be about the job?
“Theda, I’ve got some news.” Uh oh, where was this coming from? “I talked to some of my colleagues here and told them what you told me.” He paused. As I waited, I tried to remember if I’d ever heard him use my first name before. “And the consensus is not good. If you were on staff, we’d stand by you. We’d have an obligation to support you.” His voice had taken on a peculiar flat tone, as if he were reading or reciting something he’d memorized. “But as a freelancer, you’re an independent contractor. However, since you are associated with the Morning Mail, in many ways the public identifies you with us. And so, until the current situation is resolved, I’m afraid we cannot continue to use you as a freelancer. You will, of course, be paid for any outstanding pieces.” He rushed through that last bit.
“Tim, what are you talking about? What does some legal mistake have to do with my column?”
“Freestanding feature, Krakow.” Emotion had crept back into his voice, but it was sadness. “And it’s not yours, not anymore.”
***
I got the wine. I managed that. Not my usual, but a bottle of Chilean that had the double bonus of not only costing half what I’d usually pay while also offering absolutely no temptation. Not that I’d been in the habit of downing a bottle of wine alone on an afternoon. But as Musetta eyed me, sitting once more on the sofa as the light faded and I made no move to turn on either a lamp or music, the idea did cross my mind.
Maybe I should have. By the time Bill showed up, pizza in hand, my mood had disintegrated from shock to something close to despair. “Bill!” I ran into his arms even before he’d put the pizza box down, getting a one-armed hug and some worried laughter in response.
“I’m happy to see you, too, babe. Or is it the Petruccio’s?”
“It’s not funny.” I sniffed and turned away as he put the pie on the table and went to hang up his coat.
“Oh no, what’s happened now?” I had his full attention. “Did you hear from that lawyer? Did something happen with your bail?”
“No, it’s not that.” I heard the peevishness in my tone. I couldn’t help it. “I’ve been fired from the Mail. Fired!”
“But you’re a freelancer.” He slid by me to fetch plates from my cabinet and saw the Chilean red. “Hmm, interesting.” I didn’t respond and he grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew.
“Well, you know what I mean.” He was looking at me, waiting for me to continue. It was hard to say. “They’ve cut me loose. ‘Clubland.’ It’s gone.”
Bill was suitably affronted. “That’s ridiculous! You made that column, and they need that column. There must be some mistake.”
I shook my head, my eyes filling with tears. “No. I told Tim about my arrest. I had to. He wanted me to write about Rachel. And then he called me back. I’m out. They’ve dumped me.” If he would be angry for me, I could relax. I sniffed. Loudly, and waited for him to notice and take me in his arms.
He did, but he also kept talking. “I guess I can see it. I’m sorry, babe, but it might be a liability issue. I mean, you know you’re innocent and I know you’re innocent. But if they’re employing someone who is under investigation, well, no, someone who has actually been arrested and there’s an incident—”
I pulled away, furious. “Whose side are you on, Bill? They dumped me!” Being angry kept the tears at bay. “I mean, this is what I do. Who I am. Not that you’d know. You’ve got so much going on I don’t even know if you read my column anymore.”
“Oh, Theda, that’s not fair. You know I’m still struggling to get the club launched, and I do read your column.” He released me to lay out the plates. “I thought when I saw how upset you were, it was something serious.”
“It is serious. I’m losing everything.” Suddenly, I flashed back to our last big fight. I thought of how easy it had been for him to make the switch, from outsider to ready-made player. This was my world, and now he was on the inside. And I was out.
“It’s not everything, babe. It’s not, as you like to say, ‘your life.’ What happened with Rachel was about life, and you getting picked up, well, that’s a big deal. The column is a gig, and you always find a new gig.” He must have seen how those words hit me, how memories of Rachel came rushing back. “Come on, I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”
He opened the box and separated a slice, holding it up as the strings of cheese stretched down. It smelled magnificent; that burger had been hours ago.
“Theda,” he smiled, his voice taking on a singsong tone. “Come here. You know how you get when your blood sugar is low.”
He was right, my stomach was growling. He must have heard it and I turned toward him, expecting a hug once he’d deposited the slice on my plate. But he had turned back to the pie, his mind already moving on, as he asked, “Now, isn’t that better?”
Maybe if he hadn’t been chuckling. Maybe if it hadn’t been my column. Maybe we were just not fated to have pizza together, in peace, ever again. But that was the wrong question and suddenly my tears turned to anger. I’m not even sure what I said, but I know that it was pointed, petty and mean. All I’d wanted was another hug. A “there, there.” A promise, no matter how empty, that everything would turn out all right.
What I got was a cold pizza and a bottle of cheap wine all for myself when Bill finally stormed out. He’d tried to comfort me, I knew that, but it was too little, too late. I’d rejected his attempts at reconciliation and he’d grown frustrated, leaving right before it all turned into a full-fledged fight. Hungry as I was, once he was gone, I couldn’t stomach more than half a slice. I could barely shove the box into the fridge before collapsing into bed. I needed to retreat.
It couldn’t have been ten minutes later that the phone rang. I ignored it, waiting for the answering machine to pick up. I heard my own voice, speaking with a cheeriness that sounded foreign, and I heard the click. I lay there, willing it to be Bill. But it wasn’t. Not until the caller identified himself did I place the voice as my colleague—my former colleague—the Mail’s staff critic.
“Hey, Theda. I’m sorry to call so late. Is this late? Maybe not for us club rats, heh, heh. This is Ralph. I, uh, well, I’ll talk to you when I see you around.” Click. Was I so low that I was now considered fair game by the likes of Ralph? I buried my head under my pillow to cry. Musetta jumped onto the bed, and I felt her wet nose sniffing at my hands. But when I reached out to hold her, she drew back, settling finally at the foot of the bed, near my feet and out of reach.
***
Musetta, with her clear conscience, never has problems going right to sleep. But I lay there, going over and over that last scene with Bill. He’d wanted to make up after the morning’s squabble, I knew that. But I’d felt so tender and raw that I’d been, yes, I’d been prickly.
I sat up. I should call him. Make a few jokes about how difficult it is to love a porcupine. Invite him to come over. Only this was the second fight of the day. And he wouldn’t be at home, he’d be at the Last Stand, with loud patrons and other women competing for his attention.
This called for direct action. I washed my face and put on some nicer underwear for luck before heading out to the club. But the odds of a private conversation looked slim as I pushed open the heavy bar door and found myself in a mob scene. The night, hovering around freezing outside, was hot and sweaty in here, the mood rowdy. Friday night, the first of the weekend amateur marathon. Usually, I’d be at a rock club and I’d be able to sneak into whatever passed for a backstage to get some breathing room. Usually, I’d be working.
I saw Piers behind the bar and waved. He didn’t see me, what with all the shouting, and I had to mov
e sideways to get through the crowd.
“Hey, Piers.” He looked up, his eyes heavy and ringed under that mop of hair. “I’m so sorry.” He looked down and I wondered if he was hiding tears. After Tim’s bombshell, I’d forgotten all about calling him and now I was glad. The phone could be impersonal, and he was grieving. I reached to touch him, just to make contact, but he moved away. It must be miserable, feeling this way and having to work.
“Hey, Theda.” I looked up and saw Francesca coming toward me, holding two longnecks. “Want one?”
“Thanks.” Were these now health food, too? “Crazy tonight, huh?”
She nodded, taking a swig of her own beer. “Weekends. But it’s good, right? Keeps the place in business.”
“Who’s playing?” The line to the back room filled what should have been an aisle between the bar and the booths. A fat guy with red hair was working the door, and I didn’t know if he’d know me. Know to let me walk in.
“Reed!” Francesca was beaming. “I figured that’s why you came. Isn’t this usually a rock night for you?”
I nodded, not wanting to get into it. “Is he on now?”
“Next set. Hey, I’ve got to run, but I’ll catch you later.” With a smile, she was off, weaving her way through the crowd. I looked around. No Bill, and I needed a little more reinforcement before I went in search of him.
“So how are you doing?” I’d found a space by the bar, where Piers was squirting soda into highball glasses.
He shrugged. “I get by.” Eager hands took the glasses and he leaned past me to take another order.
“I’m just so sorry. I know you were close.” He bent over the bar, fishing bottles out of the ice.
“You knew we were close.” He looked up, his face unreadable. “Well, that explains some things.”
“What?”
“I got a phone call, from some investigator this afternoon.”
“Piers, that wasn’t me.” I rushed to explain. “That’s my lawyer, and he’s just looking for anything.” Even as I said it, I found myself remembering the night I’d dropped Musetta off. Someone had been in Rachel’s office. “But, hey, did you see her Wednesday night? I mean, maybe you saw something.”
If he realized I was fishing, he didn’t respond. “No.” He looked down at the bar. “I wish. Rach told me not to come over. Said she was busy. Said she had some old business to clean up.”
“Old business?” That sounded awfully convenient. “Nothing else, Piers?”
“Nothing.” The eyes that met mine were large with tears. “That was the last—” He dashed his arm over his face. “Well, at least now I know. Thanks. Thanks for everything.” His eyes were dry now, all business. “So what are you having?”
“Jameson?” I found myself forcing a smile. “No ice.” He was under pressure; this wasn’t the time for questions. He poured two fingers in a heavy glass and put it down in front of me, already walking off to see to another customer. “Thanks.” I put down a five, and backed into the crowd.
“Tess!” I saw my friend up in the line. She turned at the sound of her name and looked around, then continued walking. “Tess!”
“Theda, it looked like you were busy back there.” There was something about her smile I didn’t like.
“Piers had been questioned.” I mentally smacked Andy Pilchard for getting him into this. “And, well, I felt bad for him.”
“So you had to console him?”
I opened my mouth to respond and shut it again. Was I letting Piers off the hook too easily? I looked back at the bar and when I turned back to Tess, she was gone. I took a big swallow of my drink, and reminded myself that I was in a weird mood. It wasn’t necessarily my friends. I got in line for the music room.
“Oh, you’re okay.” The big redhead nodded to me and reached to stamp my hand. I felt an absurd flush of gratitude as I stepped through the doorway. Reed was standing by the soundboard and greeted me with the warmest smile of the night.
“Hello, gorgeous. Come to hear me play?” He slipped an arm around me.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I was tearing up. If anyone gave me a full-fledged hug, I’d probably start bawling. I swallowed hard. “You seen Bill?”
“He’s in the back.” Reed nodded toward the tiny storeroom that served as a backstage dressing room. “Go get him.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what he had heard, but with that, he gave me a quick squeeze and started to walk toward the corner stage. I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath and turned toward the back.
“Bill!” There he was, emerging from the backstage room, looking as harried as I’ve ever seen him. “Everything okay?”
“Theda! Yeah, it’s nothing.” He started to walk past me, but I put my hands on his arm.
“Bill, I’m so sorry. Everything’s just—”
“Theda, I can’t talk right now. There’s equipment missing.” He kept walking, talking first to Reed and then doubling back to the sound board. Reed’s smile had disappeared while they were talking, but the big guy on the door had already started lowering the lights so when his drummer started a soft pattern with the brushes, the sax man’s smile came back, taking in the crowd before he lifted the instrument to his lips.
“Hey.” Bill was deep in conversation with Neil, the sound guy, but I leaned into him, threading my arm around his waist. His arm settled around me and I felt myself relax. This wasn’t beyond repair. We were still a couple. I closed my eyes.
And nearly fell over when he stepped away. I must have yelped because he spun around. “Sorry.” I felt myself forcing a smile. “It’s just been a day.” He blinked and I wondered if I was speaking in English. It was up to me, I knew, to try again. “Bill, can we talk? I know you’ve been trying to help me. I do, and I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve found out someone’s been questioning Piers.”
That caught his attention. “But didn’t you say he couldn’t have been involved? He has an alibi, right?”
“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think he could have done it. I mean, he says he didn’t see her that morning.”
Bill snapped. “He says. Uh huh, I get it. You’ll take my help if it helps Piers, because you don’t want to believe Piers could have been involved.”
“Bill, it’s not that!” I needed to explain how I felt, that I’d dragged Piers into this.
But Bill wasn’t listening. “No.” He shook his head, backing away. “Not now, Theda. I’ve got business to take care of.”
I couldn’t stop the tears this time and ducking my head I made a run for the back room. If there had been another band in there, readying for the next set, I didn’t know what I’d do, but the small room was empty, except for some shelves, an out-of-tune upright piano, and the ratty couch up against the far wall. I headed for the couch, telling myself that since this was a jazz joint the odds were good that the upholstery was vermin free. But as I walked up, I saw a movement. An oversized black cat darted out from under the sofa and looked up at me.
“Ellis, right?” I sank into a squat, the better to communicate on cat level “And how are you?” The sight of the club cat cheered me immensely and I held out my hand for him to sniff.
Hiss! In an instant the big feline had reared back, mouth open, and before I could withdraw my hand he had swiped at me. I fell back onto my butt as the line of blood appeared on my hand, running along the length of my thumb.
“I’m so sorry!” A friendly voice behind me. Francesca must have come in seconds before. I put my hand to my mouth. Ellis glared, ears back. “At the shelter, he’s what we’d call a ‘nipper.’ ‘Not immediately pet ready.’” She sat down besides me on the floor and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. In front of us, Ellis opened his mouth and hissed again as I started to sob.
Chapter Sixteen
Bill wasn’t a brute, but he was working. By the time I emerged, blurry eyed, he’d been looking for me.
“I’m sorry, babe. Things are just crazy tonight.” He held my face in his hand
s and brushed away a stray hair with his thumbs. I knew he could see that I’d been crying. “For both of us, I guess.” I nodded and tried to smile. He was trying, too. Behind him, I saw the doorman walking up.
“You’d better get back to work.” I sniffed, but my smile was stronger now. “Can we get together later, though? I mean, I’m sorry about today. Sorry about everything.”
“Me, too.” He held up a hand to stop the burly redhead from interrupting. “Hey, do you want to go back to my place tonight?” I couldn’t remember seeing him look this tentative. “I probably won’t get off here till late, but then…”
“It’s a date.” I wiped my face on my sleeve. The tears were gone, and I had to let Bill go, too.
Reed played well, probably. At least the crowd responded. I found a piece of wall by the corner and clapped when everyone else did, not that I heard anything. As soon as the set was over, I waved and caught a nod from Reed, then made my way through to the front room. I still hadn’t been able to really talk to Piers, and I knew that I needed to. Not just to apologize for getting him involved but to understand anything about Rachel. But he was busy, pulling two drafts while two other pints—Guinness, it looked like—waited to settle on the mat. Besides, I couldn’t deal with any more rejection. I walked home and hugged Musetta for courage, then drove over to Bill’s to wait.
It had to have been three by the time I finally gave up and went to sleep, worn down by the emotions of the day. I know he came home, because I was dreaming of him, and half woke as he slid into bed next to me. “Bill?” I asked, for confirmation that he was real.
“You expecting someone else?” he asked, his voice softer than his words. He put an arm over me and we spooned close, but the rest of my dreams were evil, and when I woke up, he was already gone.
***
It was after ten by the time I got back to my own place, but I was as tired as if I hadn’t slept at all.
“Wow!” Someone missed me. “Mrow-wow!” I could hear her clawing at the door as I fumbled with my key.