“You saw her name in the paper this past Tuesday,” Sammy continued. “Remember?”
Arty paused, running his fingers through his thick white hair.
“Oh yeah. Jeez. That Maggie Edwards. She’s the one who wrote that stuff about killing the guy—” He stopped mid-sentence, glancing at her picture again. “No, I don’t remember seeing her in here. Or the others.”
He handed the sheet of pictures back to Glaser.
“Well, I can tell you definitely,” Sammy said. “Maggie Edwards has never been in this diner, although I would welcome her anytime—her and that Diana woman who cut Jack’s balls off and did the whole world a favor.”
Arty grinned.
“My Sammy is as tough as they come when she makes up her mind about something. She even wants to go to that photography show this week.”
“You’re going too,” Sammy said.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’m going too. You think Diana will actually show up, Detective? You heard she was invited, right?”
“I did hear that. I guess I’ll probably be there too.”
That morning Smalley had been called by a woman who identified herself as Ariel Fields, the publicist for WPW and for the exhibit. She had invited Smalley to come—him and his wife. Emily would be staying home, but Glaser would have to go. Undercover officers would be there to mix with the crowd, also. The possibility of Diana attending was not something he would ignore.
“Maybe we’ll see you there,” Sammy said.
For a moment, Glaser’s mind went again to the mounds of flesh beneath her shirt.
“Maybe so.”
As he got up, he placed his card on the counter.
“If you think of Colleen’s hometown, you can give me a call any time.”
Sammy glared at him as he walked out the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday brought a new controversy when it became known that Ellen had arranged to have the Dr. Suzy Show broadcast from the Iphigenia Gallery on Tuesday night. The main topic was to be violence against women and the steps a woman could take to remedy her situation. Jane was going to be a panelist. But they were also hoping to field some calls regarding Diana. As Ari Fields had said, it was fitting that Susan Hempten should go on the air from the gallery since the show’s theme aligned perfectly with WPW’s general mandate to protect women and it would serve to publicize the exhibit as well. If Diana could be used to further those two aims, what harm could come?
Still, no one was especially surprised when Sheila voiced her outrage at what she called the further commercialization of WPW—Ellen’s use of the WPW exhibit to promote her gallery, and now the Dr. Suzy Show on top of that. Sheila was only partially mollified when Jane told her the whole idea to have Iphigenia host the show had come from Ari, who was concerned that the interest level in the WPW fundraiser so far was not as high as in previous years. Nonetheless, the personal animosity that had flared during the conference call on Saturday was again evident on Monday, when Jane, Susan and Ellen had telephoned Sheila from Jane’s office to try to resolve the dispute. After several minutes of harsh debate, Sheila had suggested that her opposition would be lessened if an additional point of view could be represented among Dr. Suzy’s guests.
“Do you have someone in mind?” Jane had asked.
“I think we all know who she wants to be on the show,” Ellen said. Her face hardened into an angry frown. Susan put her hand on Ellen’s arm to calm her.
“If you want Judith, that would be fine,” Susan said pleasantly, squeezing the flesh on Ellen’s arm to quiet her while Ellen mouthed the words, ‘No, damn it! No!’
* * * *
“It’s a deal with the Devil as far as I’m concerned,” Ellen said after the call ended. She got up and headed for the door, her limbs stiff with anger.
“But one we had to make,” Susan replied. She spoke calmly, as though soothing a patient, but it had little effect on Ellen. “This is no time for a dispute within WPW. We need Sheila to bring people to the exhibit and fundraiser, not to drive them away.”
“She’s been doing next to nothing to help so far,” Ellen said. “All she does is give a platform to the lunatic.”
“I think we’re all rather painfully aware of that,” Susan said.
Ellen hesitated for a moment with her hand on the doorknob. She looked at Jane. Her expression softened.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. “Around four, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be here.”
The door closed behind her, a bit harder than necessary, and Susan glanced at Jane, raising her eyebrows.
“Judith certainly gets under her skin, doesn’t she?” Susan asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.
Jane shrugged.
“I guess she has her reasons.”
“Of course,” Susan said smiling. “But what exactly those reasons are is where things get interesting. You’ve heard the expression, ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much?’”
“Come on, Susan. You think Ellen has some sort of a secret longing for Judith?”
“I’m just saying ... Sometimes the most vehement are the most repressed.”
“And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, right?”
Susan’s smile broadened.
“Sometimes. That can be interesting too. I’m sorry, Jane. I guess a shrink just can’t keep from doing the shrink thing.”
“You’ll be doing me next, I guess.”
“Never. Every time I see you, I realize how much you resemble your mother in certain ways. You may be even more inscrutable than she was, God bless her. And she was a sphinx.”
“I’m a lawyer, I have to be.”
“For your clients, of course; you keep everything close to the vest. And then, like Ellen, they let it all out anyway. Right?”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me again, Susan,” Jane replied.
Susan laughed softly.
“I’m being naughty, I know. Lawyer-client confidentiality and all that. But I don’t think Ellen is coming back later this afternoon to discuss the weather. Given your specialty, and the well-known fact that she and her husband have been at loggerheads over the gallery, I think it is a simple deduction that she is seeking matrimonial advice. Not that I would expect you to comment on that, or do anything but give me your stone face. Which I admire. If I were married today, I would come to you in a heartbeat for help, as I came to your mother in times past. But as I told her, it will be a cold day in Hell before I tie the knot again. Like Ari, I prefer my men in small doses.”
“I do practice other kinds of law, you know.”
“Of course you do. You do a wonderful job with WPW. And you’re representing Maggie with her book. In fact, I’m surprised Maggie didn’t want your help when she met with Detective Smalley this morning. I know I would have wanted you with me if I were in her position. But of course, Detective Glaser may not have been telling me the truth about that. Who knows?”
The barest flicker of a reaction crossed Jane’s eyes. But she said nothing.
Susan checked her watch to break the momentary tension.
“I think I should be getting back to work,” Susan said.
“And I as well,” Jane replied.
“I hope you will send me a bill for hosting this telephone meeting today. I really did want to do that show from Iphigenia, and your time and help should be reimbursed.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Jane said curtly. “But the show is a benefit for me as well. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“As you wish.”
* * * *
When Susan had gone, Jane went back to the research of a legal memorandum that was due later in the week. Certainly, no one could say she didn’t have enough matrimonial work to do without appearing as a panelist on the Dr. Suzy Show. In fact, she would have turned the offer down but for the knowledge that, as Martha’s daughter, she would not be an objectionable presence to Sheila and Judith and thus would be a
ble to keep the peace among the WPW board members. The truth was that Jane preferred to lessen the amount of family law work she handled, since she had found it tedious after only a few weeks. As Martha had always reminded her in confidence, it was a rare divorce in which only one party was at fault, although telling a client that she was partially to blame would soon result in having no clients at all. Martha had made the representation of women her life’s work, and while Jane wanted to honor that, as she had promised her dying mother, she also wanted to use that core business to branch out into other areas. In that respect, having Maggie as a client in this increasingly public matter could be very helpful to her future. Why hadn’t she called?
Then Jane noticed an envelope on the front corner of her desk with her name written on it in her cleaning lady’s round script. Inside were a note and the key to the file room in the basement. “I found this while I was sweeping,” the note said.
Jane replaced it on the hook inside the bottom right-hand drawer where Martha had kept it for years. It reminded Jane of the fact that she had to clear out some space down there to move some of the more recent files. More drudge work that she could have assistants do if she were still at a large firm.
After lunch, Jane spoke to Mariana over the telephone about Jose and the Order of Protection. Mariana had been sheepish about Jose coming over on Friday night, but told Jane that he had not returned either on Saturday or Sunday. Indeed, she seemed to be a little concerned that the Order was working too well. Perhaps Jose would never return. But Jane encouraged Mariana to hold him to the strict terms of the Order and to call the police precinct if he did not obey. There was no telling how Mariana would react when her moment of truth came, though. A lawyer never knew what a client was going to do.
With that task completed, her mind returned to the only bit of news from Susan that held any significance for her. What could it mean that Maggie had talked to the police without her? Jane had thought they had hit it off well. Certainly she had gotten Maggie a very good deal with Harry Lesdock. Was there something she had done that Maggie hadn’t liked? She thought back to the night on the pond when Maggie had started crying, and Jane had placed her arm around her. Maggie had said she was happy to have Jane as her friend, but maybe that was not true. Maybe it was only said to be nice and to get past an awkward moment. Jane remembered that timeless interval following; how Maggie had stood and dove into the water, her body arched over the surface, lit by the moon, crisp as an alabaster statue.
She dialed Maggie’s number, then disconnected before it could ring. What would she say that wouldn’t sound like a whine? “Please be my client?” “Please be my friend?”
She knew Maggie had been somewhat less than candid when she’d said that Martha had represented her on Getting There. Martha never represented anyone except in family-related matters. The simplest things were referred out to other lawyers: co-op closings, wills and leases. So Maggie had almost surely not told Jane the truth about that, and she had definitely lied to Smalley by not telling him about the Diana calls. Maybe Maggie had been lying to Jane about her friendship with that other person. Maybe Jane couldn’t measure up to the person from Maggie’s past whose memory had apparently made Maggie cry.
Jane worked late into the evening, taking a break only to buy a salad at a deli on Third Avenue before circling home again and eating at her desk, fueling her lagging energy with bites of food. As she finally closed the office down for the night and climbed the stairs to her apartment, she realized that she had been avoiding the place as much as she could over the past couple of days. The rooms seemed empty without David—not that she missed him. He hadn’t been there most of the time anyway, lately. And it would not be long, she was convinced, before she would allow herself the luxury of stretching out across the entire bed again.
David called around ten o’clock and started to repeat what had become his litany to her—that it was all a misunderstanding and they should try to pick up the pieces—but she cut him off almost immediately. She was still too angry to talk to him rationally. Why couldn’t he understand that once trust is lost, everything is lost?
She hung up, and when the phone rang a minute later she shouted, “Leave me the fuck alone!”
She heard Maggie’s voice saying her name as she started to hang up.
“Jane? Is that you?”
“Oh my God, Maggie, I’m sorry. I thought it was David again. He’s been bothering me.”
“I was hoping you weren’t talking to me,” Maggie said.
“Well of course not,” Jane said. “Why would you even think that?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said quietly. “Yesterday, I thought you said you would call me and when you didn’t, I began to worry that maybe I had said or done something.”
Jane hesitated. She wanted to tell Maggie that she had been feeling the same anxiety herself for most of the day, but she held back.
“Strangely enough, I was ... waiting for you to call me. And then I heard you had met with Smalley without me—”
“I just didn’t want to bother you. It was nothing.”
“Nothing? Really?”
“Okay, I had other reasons for not involving you. I didn’t want to tell Smalley about the calls from Diana, and I knew you would be angry with me. But it’s over now.”
“I hope so. In any case, it’s your decision.”
“Oh, Jane, you are angry with me. I can hear it in your voice. You’ve done so much for me, and then I ignored your advice. But please don’t be angry. Please.”
Jane felt an enormous surge of relief at what Maggie was saying, but she held back once more.
“Of course I won’t be angry, Maggie. But I think you should tell me what he asked you.”
“I will. How about tomorrow night? I hear you’re going to be at the Iphigenia Gallery. I told Ellen I would stop by to help her. Maybe we could go out for a drink afterward?”
“Yes, that sounds good. Very good.”
“See you then.”
Jane hung up the phone, unable to shake the nagging sense that something peculiar was happening. She had been acting like an adolescent all day it seemed, worrying if Maggie was upset with her. She didn’t quite know what to make of the pleasantly unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. But as she lay in bed alone, Jane couldn’t sleep at first, wondering happily what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter Seventeen
On Monday night around 9:00, Mariana Morales came into her living room and sat down in a chair to relax, finally, with a few minutes to herself. It was the biggest room in the apartment. Two large windows faced onto the street. In the corner near the door there was a card table decorated with a floral-patterned vinyl tablecloth. On the opposite side of the room was a crib filled with baby toys. The former occupant had grown up enough to sleep in a bed of his own in her room. Soon she would start sleeping on the sofa, maybe on a convertible if she could find one cheap.
A pair of mismatched easy chairs and a dilapidated sofa formed a rough circle. She had found the chairs in various thrift stores and covered them with colorful fabrics to hide the stains. The sofa was Jose’s contribution. It was practically brand-new except that one leg had been broken off. Two bricks were just the right height to prop it up evenly. They had made love on it the same afternoon that he and his buddies from the precinct had carried it up the stairs. She had been embarrassed that he had kissed her so passionately in front of his friends, even as they were leaving. But he loved her so much.
Mariana had gone to Mass on Sunday morning and again this morning to pray for Jose and for herself. It seemed that he was changing. When he came by on Friday night, he had not even asked to come in the apartment. He just talked to her sweetly through the door, reminding her how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her.
She only hoped and prayed that going to court would prove to Jose that she was serious, that he had to change. He had to stop hitting her whenever he was in a bad mood, and had to stop treating her so me
anly in other ways also, doing weird, painful things she couldn’t even talk about with Rosita.
If this continued much longer, their little boy, Jose Jr., would understand what was going on and think it was all right to act like that to women when he got older and became a man. He was only a toddler, just two years old, but Mariana knew he was already taking in everything he saw and heard. She had to save herself, and save him too. At least she had to try.
JJ, as they called him, was a handful already, very much like Jose must have been at that age and with his father’s brown hair and lashes—full of energy, full of the devil, with a twinkle in his eye that could charm every mother in the neighborhood. But he was asleep now and the dishes were washed and she could think about going to bed herself after a shower and a few TV shows. She had had her hair cut short just so she could be in and out of the shower quickly and still keep an ear out for JJ. God bless him, but it was hard being a single mother.
She’d been on welfare for a while but had plans to get off. She was skilled with a needle and thread and had begun to get overflow work from a local tailor that she could do at home in her spare time while JJ was taking a nap or watching television. At this point, he didn’t pay her much, but word was getting around that she was good. People in her building had started to bring her things to shorten or lengthen, and lately others from the housing project across the street brought in their clothing for repairs as well. But what she wanted to do most was to make clothes. She’d been sewing simple skirts and tops since high school, using the latest patterns available, but altering them by broadening the shoulders or flaring the bottom or lowering the neck, then adding sequins or embroidered flowers and other designs. She had even given some to friends. During her senior year in high school, she had attracted the attention of an art teacher who encouraged her to go to design school after she graduated. But then Jose came along and the next thing she knew she was pregnant.
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