Lorraine shrugged. “You want a drink?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
Lorraine poured herself a glass of white wine from the open bottle on the table, then grabbed a bottle of beer out of the mini-bar. She walked over to the long, white overstuffed couch that faced Central Park. The whole suite was decorated in white, including the carpeting, walls, furniture, and knickknacks. The hotel’s decorator was obviously a proponent of white’s purity, which undoubtedly would end up driving the cleaning staff crazy. Lorraine handed Clay his drink, and they both sat.
Clay gratefully sipped the cold brew. “That tastes good. So Lorraine, to what do I owe this honor? You just got off a plane from England and you call me? Where’s the Candy Man?”
Lorraine sat back, propping up a fluffy pillow behind her. “He filed for divorce.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Clay said tenderly, always at work on that sensitive streak.
“That’s not my problem.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” Lorraine curled her manicured toes around the plush, white carpeting. “Remember how Wendall told us that if we had a problem with someone we should write them a letter and tell them exactly how we feel?”
“Of course. Get everything off your chest in the letter but never mail it. It’s great therapy and a lot cheaper than paying a shrink.”
Lorraine nodded. “I guess I really wanted to heal myself because I wrote letters to almost everyone in my life. Personal and professional. But then I carried it even further. Not only did I write to every casting director, producer, and director who hadn’t hired me but I wrote nasty letters to everyone in the business, even people I hadn’t met yet. I didn’t mean what I wrote—some of the letters are pretty vicious—but I thought the whole exercise would make me feel more confident.”
“Whoa!” Clay exclaimed. He shook his head in disbelief, then looked at her questioningly. “When did you have time to write all these letters? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have to work to pay the rent.” He paused. “Did you write one to me?”
“Do you think I’d be telling you this if I did?”
“I guess not. Why are you telling me now?”
Lorraine swallowed hard. “I had a safe installed in the loft that Conrad didn’t know about. It’s hidden behind a cabinet in the front closet. Those letters are in the safe. If someone finds them, I’m dead. My career is over.”
“That’s for sure,” Clay said quickly. “People in our business hold grudges.”
Lorraine winced.
Clay leaned forward. “Don’t you think your neighbors will give the letters back? If they even find them?”
“They might mail them! I went so far as to address the envelopes and put stamps on them. And if they did give them back, they’d give them to Conrad. He was the sole owner of the loft.”
“You were really committed to this project, weren’t you?”
“Wendall always told us to be committed to achieving our dream. So I was! But if Conrad gets his hands on those letters he’ll read them, then run straight to the post office to mail them himself! I know he will.”
“Is there a letter to him?”
Lorraine nodded. “It’s ten pages long.” She sighed and tightened her grip on her wine glass. “I handwrote every single letter in my beautiful penmanship. So I can’t deny I wrote them. I have to get the letters back and I need your help.”
“My help? I’m sick of playing criminals and now you’re asking me to be one in real life. What was that commercial? ‘I’m not a doctor but I play one on TV.’ Well, I’m not a criminal even though I play one much too often!”
“This would be so easy for you. You work as a handyman on the side. You could figure out a way to get in the loft. I’m not asking you to steal anything that isn’t mine. Those letters belong to me!”
“Is there any cash in the safe?”
“Yes, and it’s all yours! I put some away here and there because Conrad could be so stingy. Somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand dollars. I’m not exactly sure how much.”
Clay’s jaw dropped. “You’re not sure if it’s twenty or thirty thousand dollars?”
“No, I’m not. If you do this for me, the money is all yours. Please, Clay, my whole career is at stake. I’m on my way to being famous—the British critics said so—and those letters would end it all.”
“I could go on a game show and win at least twenty thousand dollars,” Clay protested. “And I wouldn’t be risking jail time.”
“But you haven’t, have you?” Lorraine asked. “Besides, most of them are taped in Los Angeles.” On the coffee table, Lorraine’s cell phone began to ring. Quickly she answered. It was Edwin, the producer of the play in England.
“Darling Lorraine, I couldn’t sleep and turned on the telly. I understand it’s a bit dark over there now. My goodness!”
“Yes, Edwin,” Lorraine cooed. “We’re coping as best as we can. Oh, how I already miss doing the play. It’s as if I have a big hole in my heart. I feel such a sense of loss. I miss being with you and the cast—”
“You too, darling,” Edwin interrupted. “Now listen, I was going to call you tomorrow anyway. My friend Charles, the director from Hollywood who came to the play on closing night, really found you to be a delightful actress—”
Lorraine’s heart sank. Charles Dryden was a well-known, well-respected director. The letter she’d written to him had been particularly brutal. In it she’d said his films were unwatchable and she wouldn’t be caught dead appearing in one.
“—he just signed on to direct a big important picture and he has a lovely role in it for you. I want you to call him in the morning…”
When Lorraine hung up the phone, she was on the verge of hysteria. “Clay, there is also valuable jewelry in the safe. You can have it all. I just want the letters. Please!”
Clay, knowing full well that the money he’d make in one night was a lot more than he’d make in a year of poking around people’s apartments fixing their clogged sinks, placed his beer down on the table and paused. “All right, Lorraine, I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the world of your talents.”
Lorraine threw her arms around him. “Wendall said we worked well together. I know we can do it again!”
“This is reality, Lorraine,” Clay said solemnly, “not a scene from class. If it doesn’t work out we’ll both end up behind bars at Riker’s Island. And I do mean both of us. You’re coming up with me to the apartment.”
“Of course,” Lorraine said. “We’re in this together.” Nervously she picked up her drink. No use telling him who owns the apartment, she thought. If he found out it was the head of the Major Case Squad, he’d never do it. No matter how much money was involved.
9
Back at Larry’s Laughs, Regan, Kit, and Billy sat down at a candlelit table with Becky, the young hostess who had only been working there for two weeks. Just twenty-one, she was between her junior and senior year of college, and had been hired for the summer. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a short skirt and sleeveless top. She exuded a youthful exuberance and was clearly awed by the excitement. Billy made the introductions.
The room was so dark, it felt like a cave. But it was the only place where they could all sit together and talk. Becky’s hostess stand was at the entrance to the back room, facing the front area with its small bar and big glass window overlooking the street.
“Becky, you know why we’re here,” Regan began.
Becky nodded. “I can’t believe it.”
“Can you please tell us what you saw?”
“I’ve been trying to remember everything. When that woman and Kit came in we gave them the front table by the stage because Kit was on crutches. I showed them to the table myself and made sure Kit was okay. This place was crowded, especially for a Monday night. But when it’s hot people don’t like to stay home. We finally got everyone seated, and then…Georgina?”
“Yes,
that’s her name,” Regan answered.
“Georgina came hurrying past me, heading for the front door. I wanted to tell her that the show was about to start and she should go back to her seat but there was something strange and intimidating about her—”
“You got that right,” Kit said. “Something strange.”
“I saw her quickly light a cigarette as soon as she got outside. I figured she’d take a few puffs and be right back.” Becky paused, then frowned. “I watched her take her first puff. It wasn’t really a puff. It was a long, hard drag.”
“She told me she was trying to quit,” Kit said sarcastically.
“Then what happened?” Regan asked.
“Then someone came up to me and asked if they could change their table. They said they couldn’t see very well. We were just about full. I came back here with them and moved them to a table that I didn’t think was any good, but they liked it better. When I went back to my post I looked out and saw this really tall blond guy asking Georgina for a cigarette.”
“Had he been in here?” Regan asked.
Becky shook her head. “I don’t think so. The bar was empty by this time, and everyone had been seated. The only one out front was the bartender who was busy filling the waitress’s orders for the back tables. Clear as day, I could see Georgina’s face all lit up and smiling when she handed him the cigarette. I definitely remember that. You know that look a girl can get when a cute guy pays attention to them?”
“I somehow remember having that look myself,” Kit commented. “It was a long time ago.”
“Well, suddenly she seemed like a different person. All smiles. She hit him on the arm, playfully, and they laughed about something.”
“She hit me on the arm in the cab,” Kit grunted. “I’m pretty sure it’s now black and blue.”
Becky nodded at Kit, then continued. “Then I had to look at our reservations list and count the number of people we had seated. So my head was down for a few minutes. When I looked up they were getting in a cab.”
“What kind of cab?” Regan asked.
“Just a regular four-door sedan. It looked old. He opened the door, she hopped in, and he got in behind her. Then they were off. I have to say I was surprised. I was wondering if Kit, whose name I didn’t know then, was sitting all alone.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about the guy Georgina left with?” Regan asked.
Becky folded her hands. “The first thing you notice about him is how tall he is. At least six four. Tall and thin. Blond. He had the kind of haircut most guys seem to have—parted on the side. It curled a little on the ends. I saw his profile. My impression was that he was cute…and a few years younger. He had a baby face.”
“What was he wearing?” Regan asked.
“Jeans and a short sleeve shirt.”
“What color shirt?”
“I’m not sure. It might have been green or blue.”
“Is there anything unusual at all you can remember about him or the way they interacted?” Regan asked intently. “Anything at all that might seem insignificant?”
“I’m trying to think…oh…when she was getting in the cab he looked at his watch. But there was something else. I’m trying to think of what it was. This is so frustrating—I know!”
“What?” Regan, Kit, and Billy asked in unison.
“He was a lefty! His watch was on his right hand. I could tell he was left-handed.”
“Well, that could help,” Regan said encouragingly. She’d been hoping for more descriptive information but how much could she expect? “If you would, just keep thinking about it. I know the bartender is cleaning up, but could you ask him to join us for a minute.”
“Sure,” Becky said cheerfully. “As my grandma used to say, two heads are better than one.”
10
“Hey, you’re a lot of fun.”
Georgina smiled at Chip, the young man she’d met outside Larry’s Laughs. After leaving the comedy club, they’d been on their way to hear a jazz band down in the East Village when the lights went out. Immediately changing their plans, they got out of the cab at one of the popular bars on Second Avenue in the Fifties where large glass doors opened out onto sidewalk tables. Patrons, most of whom were in their twenties, were standing outside, drinking, enjoying the excitement of the blackout. “You’re a lot of fun, too,” Georgina replied with a smile. “I love people who are spontaneous.”
“This place has a great bar on the roof. Let’s go.” As they started up the dimly lit stairs, people coming down were squeezing past the ones headed up. No one seemed to mind. Chip grabbed her hand. So far so good, Georgina thought.
Upstairs, the bar was to the left. If there were any tables, they couldn’t be seen. It was a giant, noisy cocktail party. “What can I get you to drink?” Chip asked. “If you stand over by the wall, I’ll make my way over to the bar.”
“Normally I’d love a margarita. But I think with all the confusion a glass of white wine would be fine.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
While Georgina waited, she observed all the young people around her. Everyone seemed so happy and carefree. I never had the chance to be like that, she thought. I never felt comfortable in these big groups. Why is it so easy for everybody else? The three months she’d been with Huck she’d been happy, but then he’d dumped her for her roommate at college. Georgina spotted a young couple. He was blond. He put his arm around his girlfriend and kissed her. The girl giggled and threw her arms around him. Georgina felt her anger building. That’s the way Huck and I once were. You’re going to be sorry, Huck, she thought. I’m going to get you. I’m going to find out where you disappeared to and you’ll be sorry.
“Where did you go?” Chip asked. “It’s like you’re a million miles away.”
Georgina turned. He was holding two margaritas. That’s what Huck would have done for her when they were happy together. “I knew you were a nice guy,” Georgina said with a laugh.
They clinked glasses. “Welcome to New York City,” he said. “You picked some night to be here.”
“I’m glad I picked this night,” she said flirtatiously. “I met you, didn’t I?”
Chip smiled broadly. “That you did. I’ve never connected with someone so fast. Wow! You were going to that comedy club by yourself?”
“Yes. I’m here on business, and no one else wanted to join me. I wanted to get out of the hotel and I love comedy clubs.”
“We could have stayed there.”
Georgina sipped her drink. “Sure. But when you said you liked jazz it just seemed like a better idea to head downtown.”
“You’re here for work?” he asked, moving closer to her.
“Yes. I buy clothes for a boutique in California. I enjoy it but now I’m ready for a change. I’d like to do something where I really help people.” She smiled up at him.
“I know what you mean. I work in finance down on Wall Street but I don’t think it’s for me. I was going into Larry’s tonight because I’m thinking of trying my hand at stand-up comedy.”
“Did you make a reservation?”
“Nah. Sometimes I just wander into a comedy club to see what the comedians are doing. I’m getting up the courage to take a class at night. I figure it’ll be fun no matter what happens. Except when my father hears about it, of course.” Mimicking his dad, Chip said, “I paid for your education and you want to do what?”
Georgina laughed. “That is so great you want to do stand-up!” As they sipped their drinks and chatted, the bar was getting louder and more crowded. Chip bought them each a second margarita. Finally, Georgina looked around and said, “Why don’t we take a walk? People are out on the streets. Maybe you’ll get some good stories for your future stand-up act. At your first performance, I want a front row seat.”
Chip’s eyes lit up. “Some girls I talk to about this think I’m crazy. Not you.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“It’s great to be with someo
ne supportive,” Chip said as he took her hand and led her down the crowded staircase. Outside, they turned left and strolled up Second Avenue.
“Where would you like to go?” Chip asked.
“Let’s just walk for a little while. Later I’d like to take a stroll down by the river. With all the lights out I’m sure the skyline of New York will be just breathtaking.”
“Anything you want,” Chip said, his words slightly slurred. “My lady Rose, the night is yours.”
Georgina smiled. She was glad to see the drinks were hitting him. He hadn’t even realized she’d been pouring her drinks into his cup.
“Rose is such a pretty name,” Chip continued. “Were you named after anyone in your family?”
“No.” Georgina shrugged. “Were you?”
“My dad. But Chip isn’t my real name.”
And Rose isn’t mine, Georgina thought wickedly. We have so much in common.
11
Conrad’s conversation with his ex-wife Penny was thoroughly agitating. She knew how to get under his skin, push all his buttons, and needle him with seemingly innocent remarks.
The worst part was, he knew he deserved it. Penny was a very attractive woman, and they’d had a wonderful marriage. A wonderful marriage until Conrad suffered a midlife crisis and fell into the vixen Lorraine’s clutches.
“She certainly chose a luxurious new hotel to stay in now that the loft has been sold,” Penny said softly. “I hear they charge a fortune for a room. Will she be there until she finds a new place to live?”
“No, she won’t,” Conrad answered firmly.
“Do you think she’ll apartment hunt in Greenwich? There are some lovely—”
“You know she prefers the city,” Conrad interrupted.
Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1 Page 4