by Steve Gannon
I shrugged, suddenly feeling dirty, tired, and out of place. “For the time being.”
“I would expect no less.” Arthur glanced at his watch. “Sorry, but Catheryn and I still have several tour matters to discuss. If you don’t mind?” Without awaiting a response, he took Catheryn’s arm and, with an easy familiarity not lost on me, began leading her away.
Deftly, Catheryn disengaged herself from Arthur’s grasp. “It can wait, Arthur. Dan, is there something…?”
“Please, Catheryn,” insisted Arthur. “This is the last time we’ll have together before leaving, and-”
“Arthur, it can wait,” Catheryn repeated firmly.
Just then Adele Washington, the young cellist whose maternity leave had provided Catheryn’s original inroad to the Philharmonic, ambled across the stage. The vivacious and talented young black woman and Catheryn had been friends for years, but since they’d started working together, their friendship had deepened. Quickly assessing the atmosphere of tension, Adele addressed me. “Dan, I thought I recognized that good-looking mug of yours. World treating you okay?”
“No complaints,” I answered, pleased to see Catheryn’s associate. “How’s that fat little baby of yours?”
“Still fat. Not so little anymore. She’s walking, pulling things off tables, and becoming a general pain in the butt, thank you.”
“It gets worse, honey. And once they start talking, it gets a lot worse. Speaking of family, what’s new with Pat?”
“Not much. He’s still working the swing shift at the hospital and playing Mr. Mom during the day. He keeps saying we should get down to the beach sometime and visit you and Kate.”
“Do that. Bring the kid.”
“We will.” Then turning to Catheryn, Adele asked, “Still need a lift?”
“I’ll give Kate a ride home,” I said. “Assuming she can break free from the clutches of the maestro here.”
“I think she’ll manage,” laughed Adele, filling the silence following my comment. “Come on, Arthur,” she added, slipping an arm through his. “Rehearsal’s over. Walk me out.”
“Really, Adele, Catheryn and I have to-”
“Goodnight, Arthur,” said Catheryn, cutting him off. “I’ll call tomorrow. ’Bye, Adele. See you at the airport.”
“Sure thing, hon. Goodnight, Dan.”
“’Night, doll.”
Catheryn and I watched as Adele, arm firmly linked through Arthur’s, left the stage. Then Catheryn turned to me. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “On occasion Arthur can be…”
“A raging hemorrhoid?”
“I was about to say overly insistent. Virtuoso performers of his stature are often demanding. He can also be very sweet.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s so typical of you to make snap judgments,” said Catheryn with a touch of irritation. “You’ve never even given him a chance.”
“It’s not exactly a snap judgment, sugar. I’ve seen plenty of Arthur. I don’t have to inspect a whole bucket of road apples to know where they came from.”
Catheryn sighed. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, apparently deciding not to pursue it. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing, maybe grab a bite to eat. Speaking of which, I made reservations for us at Patina,” I added, referring to an upscale restaurant in the Walt Disney Concert Hall that catered to a theater clientele. Getting short-notice seating at the exclusive establishment on a performance night was difficult, and I had pulled some strings to do it.
“I’m not dressed for dinner, Dan.”
“Hell, even in combat boots and battle fatigues you’d be the best looking woman in the place. C’mon, let’s get over there before the pretheater crowd shows up.”
Catheryn hesitated.
“Look, you have to eat,” I pushed on, realizing her reluctance stemmed more from our recent argument than her casual attire. “Plus, it’ll give us a chance to talk.”
“What about the kids?”
I shrugged. “They can talk, too.”
“You know what I mean,” said Catheryn with a fleeting smile.
“Don’t worry, Christy’s staying at the house till you get back. I ordered pizza, rented a movie, and made Allison promise not to kill Nate.”
“I planned on packing tonight for the trip. I have only one more day left before I leave.”
“One more day before you leave?” I said, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Kate, I’m not that dumb.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yesterday you said it was two days until you leave; the day before that it was three. What kind of scam are you trying to pull?”
Catheryn chuckled. “I should’ve known I couldn’t sneak one by on you.”
“Right. And don’t forget it.” Then, more seriously, “Please, Kate?”
At last she relented. “All right, Dan. Dinner at Patina. I swear, you never cease to amaze me.”
“Unpredictability’s part of my charm,” I said with a grin. “Drives women wild, inspiring female desire wherever I go.”
Catheryn smiled back. “Dan, over the years I’ve seen you inspire a whole spectrum of female reactions. Funny, I don’t recall desire being one of them.”
“That, my dear,” I said, assaying a passable Rhett Butler imitation, “is because you haven’t been looking.”
5
Following rehearsal, all of the Philharmonic’s larger instruments were being crated for shipment to Rome in time for the first engagement of the tour. While I waited in the performers’ lounge, Catheryn packed her cello in a specially designed trunk backstage, then freshened up in the dressing room downstairs. When she finally rejoined me, her long auburn hair down, mascara lightly reapplied, a trace of gloss on her lips, I let out a low whistle. “Damn, Kate. You sure clean up good.”
“Careful,” laughed Catheryn. “That kind of sweet-talking is liable to go to my head.”
“Plenty more where that came from, sugar.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Bidding goodnight to the guard at the registration desk, we exited onto Grand Avenue. Across the street, lights still burned in both the Administration Building and the Los Angeles County Courthouse, the latter a venue where, over the course of my years on the Force, I’d spent more frustrating hours than I cared to remember. To the north, over the roofs of the Ahmanson Theater and its smaller cousin, the Mark Taper Forum, I noticed the spotlights of Dodger Stadium were on, bathing the ridge above Chavez Ravine in a ghostly glow. RV show, maybe a rock concert, I thought as we walked a half-block south to the Walt Disney Concert Hall.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Catheryn remarked as she noticed me gazing up at the landmark structure’s stainless steel curves and soaring walls of gleaming metal that, to my eye, looked like sails unfurling above a hull-shaped foundation.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, thinking that the new entertainment center was a fitting addition to its three sister performing-arts venues to the north.
Moments later we arrived at Patina, which occupied a street-level corner section of the huge, 3.6 acre Disney Hall complex. As we entered the restaurant, I noticed that an evening-gowned and dinner-jacketed crowd had already begun filling Patina’s interior. I escorted Catheryn past an inviting bar to a nearby reception desk. After checking the reservation book, the maitre d’ showed us to an intimate table near the back. As we crossed the room, Catheryn nodded to a young woman playing a harp beside the entrance to an outdoor patio. Apparently recognizing Catheryn, the woman smiled warmly in return.
I stood to one side as the maitre d’ seated Catheryn. Around us, in an atmosphere of muted pastels understated elegance, a number of walls displayed works curated by the LA Museum of Contemporary Art across the street. After conferring briefly with the sommelier regarding a choice of wine, I sat across from Catheryn. Within moments an avuncular-looking waiter with silver hair and a comfortable paunch approached o
ur table. In one hand he carried a small wine stand, in the other a silver ice bucket containing a split of Louis Roederer “Cristal” champagne. “Mrs. Kane, Detective,” the waiter said pleasantly, peering over half-moon glasses as he set down the wine.
“How’s it going, Jose?” I asked. “Put on a few el-bees since we last saw you, eh?”
Jose nodded, patting his stomach. “It’s difficult not to with all the wonderful desserts we offer here,” he said, placing menus before us. Then, his face creasing in a conspiratorial smile, “Possibly we can tempt you with something for after dinner? There are still two unclaimed pieces of warm pistachio cake. If you want, I can hold them. Or maybe the chocolate terrine-”
“Thanks, but tempt us later,” I interrupted with a smile. “Right now, let’s start with some wine. For my wife only, though.”
Jose gave me a curious look but said nothing as he poured a single glass for Catheryn. Then, promising to return in a few minutes to take our order, he departed.
“Places like this used to make me uncomfortable, worrying about doing something embarrassing,” I joked. “At least since going on the wagon, I don’t have to remind myself not to drink directly from the bottle.” After Tommy’s accident and the dark time for me that followed, I had quit drinking. Occasionally I missed it. Mostly, I didn’t. Raising my water glass, I found Catheryn’s eyes with mine.
“Here’s to you, Kate.”
Catheryn lifted her champagne flute. “Here’s to us,” she replied.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said. Still holding her gaze, I touched the rim of her glass with mine.
With a surge of regret, I realized both of us were nervous. Over the years we had occasionally eaten at Patina, usually celebrating some special event. Happier times. Now a current of tension ran between us, an atmosphere of distrust remaining from the night before. We had things to discuss before Catheryn’s departure for Europe, but at the moment neither of us wanted to reopen recent wounds. Instead, for the next several minutes we perused our menus in silence. Catheryn decided to start with an appetizer of Ahi tuna; I chose the lobster bisque. For her main selection Catheryn ordered roasted halibut with sweet-potato puree and wild mushrooms. I fell back on my usual-loin of venison with porcini-foie gras polenta and quince chutney. After giving our dinner selections to Jose, we talked for several minutes with a waiter who was crisscrossing the room with a cart laden with a tantalizing variety of expensive cheeses.
When our appetizers arrived, Catheryn started on her Ahi. “You drove to the cemetery this morning?” she noted after several bites, regarding me across the table. “The kids said they saw you there.”
“Right,” I nodded, diving into my bisque. “I thought they were trying to duck out of going to church.”
“They went later.”
“Good. A little religion never hurt anybody.”
“That go for you, too?”
I hadn’t been to Mass since Tom’s funeral. “Maybe,” I said, concentrating on my soup. Then, pointedly changing the subject, “Sounded as though rehearsal went well. Ready for your trip?”
“About as ready as one can ever be for a tour of this length.”
“Six weeks is a long time.”
“Five and a half, not counting travel days,” Catheryn corrected, glancing over to judge my mood. Among other things, her projected absence had come up in our recent argument. Throughout she’d maintained that the trip wasn’t her idea, pointing out that she, like most members of the orchestra, had objected to the tour’s length-well past the usual twenty-eight-day limit allowed for traveling engagements. Nonetheless, the Philharmonic Committee had remained adamant, and after negotiating generous bonuses and weeklong residence stays in Vienna and London, a majority of musicians had eventually voted in favor of the extended tour. “Anyway, there’s a chance you’ll be joining me in Venice, right?” she went on when I didn’t reply. “Have you renewed your passport?”
I nodded, then looked away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be making the trip. Something’s come up.”
“Oh?”
“The case I caught today has all the earmarks of becoming a high profile investigation. I don’t think I’ll be seeing any vacation time till it’s over.”
“But can’t you-”
“You know I can’t. We’ve been through this before.”
Catheryn sighed, unable to hide her disappointment. Setting down her fork, she said, “Dan, there’s more to life than being a police officer.”
“Or a musician. With your new job, you’re gone as much or more than I am. And now you’re leaving for six weeks. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ll be the one staying home with the kids.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“What, then?”
“Come on, Dan. You spend more time chasing criminals than you do with your own children,” said Catheryn, her voice tightening. “Even when you are home, you’re thinking about your job.”
“I’m a cop. That’s what I do,” I said, realizing we were tumbling headlong into a reprise of last night’s argument. “You knew that from the start.”
“I knew. I just didn’t know all the things it would do to you. And for what? Do you actually think you’re doing any good? Arrest one criminal and two more spring up to take his place.”
“I just take them one at a time. As for the job affecting me, I can’t argue that. Unfortunately, it’s what happens when you’re on the street.”
“Exactly my point. You’re developing a slanted view of life, and it’s driving a wedge between us. Every time you go to work, you shut down part of yourself to get the job done. And it’s getting worse. Granted, someone has to do police work-”
“And that someone is me. Sure, it affects me some, maybe a lot, but you have absolutely no idea what goes on in the real world, Kate. There are people out there who think differently than you and I.”
“And some of them are cops. Read the papers.”
“Don’t trash the whole department because of a few mutts in the pack.”
“I’m not. Look, I know that most LAPD officers are honest, hardworking guys,” Catheryn continued stubbornly. “I didn’t mean to get off the subject. I’m simply saying that-”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s drop it, Kate.”
“And talk about it tomorrow?” Catheryn said curtly, referring to what she considered an irritating habit of mine of putting off important discussions until later. “Fine,” she continued, backing from the precipice. “I talked with my mother today. If you come to Venice, she’ll be available to stay at the beach while you’re gone.”
“I may have her come either way. I’m going to be busy.”
“Make time for the kids while I’m gone, Dan.”
“What do you want me to do? Quit my job and stay home with them while you’re out gallivanting?”
Catheryn brightened. “Yes, that would be great,” she said with a smile. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, Kate, the kids will be fine.”
Catheryn’s smile faded. “Are you that oblivious to what’s going on? They’re not fine now; how are they suddenly going to better in my absence?”
“I know we’ve all been going through a rough patch lately, but things will even out. Travis is doing well in school-”
“Trav is not doing well in school. I’ve already had two meetings with his advisor. And Nate is still having nightmares. His grades have dropped, and he’s been fighting again. And Allison hasn’t been the same since the break-in. She hardly sees her friends anymore. At first I thought it was a just phase, but now I’m not so sure.”
My thoughts traveled back to an evening two summers previous when Catheryn had been attending a performance at the Music Center. Tom and Travis had gone out together on a double date, and I had unexpectedly been called back to the station on a case-leaving Allison and Nate at home alone for several hours. During that time two men had broken
into our house. They’d demanded money, and in the course of the robbery Allison had been severely beaten. It could have been worse had it not been for the presence of my off-duty service revolver in the hall closet. The intruders hadn’t counted on a weapon being in the house, or the danger that it posed, even in the hands of a child. One of the men had fled. The other had bled to death with a. 38-caliber-sized hole in his femoral artery.
“Look, Kate,” I said patiently. “First off, concerning the break-in, we both know that Allison is still bothered by what happened. That’s natural, but the bottom line is she had every right to plug that dirtbag, and she has nothing to feel sorry about. She’ll get over it. She’s a tough kid.”
“Dan, it’s not that simple,” said Catheryn. “I-”
“Second,” I went on, cutting her off, “when it comes to Trav, you’re always telling me that it’s impossible to live people’s lives for them. Does ‘Let Travis be himself’ sound familiar? Take some of your own advice. Travis is nearly a man. He’ll find his own way.”
“But-”
“Third,” I continued, “ all kids have nightmares. Nate’s tough, too. He’ll grow out of them. As for his fighting in school, at least he’s sticking up for himself. Now, I know you would be a lot happier if he’d kiss any mean ol’ bullies who-”
“What about his grades?”
“Grades aren’t everything. Hell, look at me. If I hadn’t been able to snag a football, I’d have never made it through high school, let alone USC.”
“Don’t give me your ‘Aw, shucks, country-boy routine,’” said Catheryn impatiently. “Some of those you deal with at work may buy it-at least the ones who haven’t met you-but we both know you have a mind like a steel trap. Let me put this another way. I know how you feel about our children. You love them more than anything.”
I nodded. “We have the finest kids any parent could wish for, and that’s the God’s truth.”
“And you’ve always wanted what’s best for them.”
I nodded again. “Absolutely.”
“When was the last time you looked at your children?”