The Rooftop Party

by Ellen Meister

  Dana laughed, derisively. “Anna! Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?”

  “If there’s no one else who can corroborate this—” Megan said.

  “There is!” Sherry said, her nostrils flaring. “That woman bartender. She was standing right there. She heard the whole thing. So if anyone is under suspicion for killing Ivan in a fit of anger, it’s you.”

  At that, the door opened and Charles Honeycutt appeared. They all fell silent as the familiar scent of his expensive cologne wafted into the room.

  “So,” he said, “did you ladies get everything squared away?”

  21

  Dana slammed the door of her dressing room. “Could it be true?” she said to Megan. “Do you really think I said that to Ivan?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You didn’t kill him.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “Dana, please.”

  She paced the dressing room, barely connected to her own body. It was as if some invisible force propelled her forward and back.

  “What am I going to tell Ari?”

  “You don’t have to tell him anything,” Megan said. “Just accept that Sherry probably made up the whole thing to piss you off.”

  “What about the bartender? If Sherry is telling the truth, she heard me tell Ivan if he didn’t get his hands off me he’d regret it. Maybe she even saw me push him.”

  Megan grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, stood on her toes and brought her face right up to Dana’s. “Listen. To. Me. You did not kill Ivan Dennison.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you, and I know you wouldn’t kill someone. Even drugged, you wouldn’t do it. It’s not who you are.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Dana dropped into a cushioned chair, and tried once again to remember what happened at the party. She couldn’t recall any conversations with Ivan after she sipped that drink. There was one hazy memory of a man grabbing her arm. Could that have been Ivan? Maybe. But her sense was that someone else was right there, aiding her. The specifics were like vapor, but the emotional memory felt solid. She had been rescued. Maybe that was the fight Sherry overheard. And if that were true, Dana couldn’t have pushed Ivan, because someone pulled her away.

  “I didn’t kill Ivan,” she said, looking into her friend’s dark eyes for confirmation.

  “Of course not.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re not going to do anything. You’re just going to trust Ari to solve the case and find out who the real killer is.”

  “But what if he doesn’t? Do you know how many cold cases there are in New York? Not every murder gets solved.” Dana thought she might go crazy, spending her whole life wondering if she could have done it.

  “This one will,” Megan assured her. “There were dozens of people at that party. Even with the lights out, somebody saw something. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Ari already knows who did it.”

  Dana nodded. She understood this could be true. If Ari knew who the killer was, he would likely be playing his cards close to the vest until he had enough evidence to indict, and maybe even get a confession.

  Then again, he might still be following several leads...one of which could bring him straight to her.

  “He’d better solve this soon,” Dana said. “If he doesn’t, I’ll lose my mind.”

  “Concentrate on your Shopping Channel show,” Megan said. “It’ll help keep you centered.”

  The thought of it brought Dana back to what Sherry had said about needing her to focus, as if her involvement in Sweat City could compromise her Shopping Channel efforts.

  “Can you believe that bitch tried to use my work ethic to justify her bullshit decision? As if I ever gave less than one hundred percent!” She felt her blood pressure rising with anger, and Megan sensed it.

  “I know you’re mad,” she said. “But you’ll need to put it on hold. You have purses to sell today.”

  “She knows damned well I can do this!” Dana said, thinking about all the effort she had put into making her Shopping Channel show a success. She got up and resumed pacing. “I’ve never been anything but professional here.”

  “Of course,” Megan said. She went to the counter and opened the spigot on the Poland Spring jug to fill a glass of water. She held it toward Dana, who ignored it.

  “And she dragged Honeycutt into it! So now I’ll be under a microscope. Every time I leave at a reasonable hour to make rehearsals, I’ll be scrutinized.”

  Megan put down the glass. “Wait a second,” she said. “You’re not still considering doing the play?”

  Dana stopped pacing and stared at her. “Of course I am.”

  “But you can’t.”

  Dana’s heart went cold and brittle. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “My friend, it’s game over. You asked permission, it was denied. If you do the play, it’s a clear breach of contract.”

  “Oh, come on. If I’m their best-selling host—they wouldn’t dare fire me.”

  “And what if you’re not?” Megan said.

  “You’ve seen the way I’ve been selling,” Dana said. “I can’t believe I have to defend myself to you.”

  “Everyone has an off day once in a while, even you. And sometimes it’s not even your fault. What if they saddle you with some shit no one will buy? If Sherry decides to scapegoat you—and trust me, she’d do it in a heartbeat—I cannot protect you.”

  “Maybe I’m willing to take that chance.”

  “You just signed a new lease,” Megan said, her voice rising. “If you lost this job, what would you do?”

  “I thought you believed in me.”

  “Oh, don’t go there. You know damned well what I think of your talents. But we have to be pragmatic. This is your life.”

  “You need to support me on this!” Dana could feel herself shattering. There was so little to hold her together now.

  “Dana, be reasonable.”

  “You know what Sweat City means to me.” Dana tried to hold back tears, to stem the flow that would fill her face with mucus, swell her nose and cheeks, make her eyes look like little red slits on the air.

  “Of course I do,” Megan said. She grabbed the tissue box and held it toward Dana.

  “You really think they would fire me?” she said, taking a tissue.

  “It’s a ruthless business.”

  Dana lowered herself onto the couch and blew her nose. Megan sat next to her.

  “I know I’m making this hard for you,” Dana said, wishing she didn’t have to drag Megan down with her.

  Her friend waved it away. “It’s not about me.”

  “Sherry is such a bitch.”

  “Of course she is,” Megan agreed.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, and there was a knock at the door. Ashlee poked her head in.

  “They’re ready for you in makeup.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Dana said, dismissing her. When the door closed she turned back to Megan. “I have to get ready for my show.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Dana shook her head.

  “I’ll stick around if you like,” Megan said.

  “I’ll be fine,” she lied.

  Megan leaned in and hugged her. “I know this is a bitter pill, but there will be other plays.”

  Dana wiped her nose and stared at her friend. “I don’t think you understand,” she said. “I’m doing the play.”

  22

  “Sit still,” Jo said, as she slapped Dana’s fingers. “And relax your hands.”

  Dana tried telling herself she wasn’t rattled by either of Sherry’s revelations, but here she was in the makeup chair, still struggling to g
et herself into the right frame of mind for her show.

  “What did you do to yourself?” Felicia said as she stared into Dana’s face. “Everything is swollen.”

  “I’m an ugly crier.”

  Felicia thought for a moment, then disappeared into the bathroom. She returned holding a wet washcloth. “Lean back,” she ordered.

  Dana did as she asked, expecting a warm, soothing compress that would help her relax. Instead, she was assaulted with an ice-water-drenched cloth.

  “What the hell!”

  “We need to get down the swelling,” Felicia insisted.

  “What were you crying about, anyway?” Jo asked.

  Dana wanted to rip the torturous rag off her face, but she knew she looked like a grown-up Cabbage Patch doll, so she balled her fists to help withstand the cold. “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered into the damp terry cloth.

  “What did she say?” Felicia asked.

  “I have no idea,” Jo said. “But if Ari broke up with her, I’m available.”

  “It’s not about Ari,” Dana said.

  “What?” Jo asked.

  “I think she said she’s going to a party,” Felicia translated.

  “A party?” Jo said. “What party? The Christmas party?”

  “That’s not until next month,” Felicia said.

  Jo clucked. “I heard they was going to cancel it because of...you know, Ivan.”

  “No, they’re just moving it to Studio E. No more rooftop parties—at least for a while.”

  “Is that what you was talking about?” Jo asked Dana. “The Christmas party?”

  Dana took the towel off her face. “I didn’t say anything about a party. I said it’s not about Ari.”

  Felicia looked thoughtful as she took that in. “Well, thank god,” she finally said. “But do me a favor—don’t do no more crying, at least until after the show. I’m going to have a hell of a job making you presentable.”

  “The swelling usually goes down pretty fast,” Dana said.

  “Not fast enough,” Felicia said, frowning. “It’ll probably go away while you’re on the air. And you know what’ll happen? The foundation will stick into the fine lines on your face and make you look like a hag.”

  “Fine lines?” Dana said. She was aware she had them—everybody did. But she didn’t think hers would be an issue for several years.

  “High-def can be a nightmare. But don’t worry. I know what to do. I’ll airbrush your makeup today. It’s a lighter coating and will give us less problems when your normal face comes back.”

  For the next few minutes, Dana held still while Felicia applied a fine mist of foundation to her face. When she was done, the two experts stood back and assessed her.

  “What do you think?” Felicia asked.

  “Not too bad,” Jo said.

  Felicia clucked. “But not great.”

  “Can I see?” Dana asked.

  “Shh, don’t talk,” Felicia said. “And don’t open your eyes for a few minutes. I need it to set.”

  While Dana was waiting for her face to dry, the women launched into the latest company gossip, starting with the morning host’s new Botox treatment, and circling back to Ivan’s murder.

  “For what it’s worth,” Jo said, “I don’t think it was Honeycutt that pushed him.”

  “I don’t think it was Honeycutt neither.”

  “Last week you said you thought it was Honeycutt.”

  Felicia tsked. “Well, I don’t think that no more. I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I? He’s just too mellow. And he’s got those cute girls. The little one is to die for. He wouldn’t risk that.”

  “You seen Sherry Zidel this morning? She looked like she could kill somebody for breathing wrong.”

  “She always looks like that,” Felicia said.

  The women went quiet for a few moments as they worked on Dana’s face and nails.

  “I keep staring at that picture on my phone,” Jo said, “looking for a clue.”

  At that, Dana could no longer contain herself. Pictures. She hadn’t considered that anyone had taken a photo she could examine.

  “Can I talk yet?” she asked.

  “Yeah, you’re good,” Felicia said with a nod.

  Dana turned to Jo, who was running a buffer across one of her nails. “You said you have a picture?”

  “Took it with my phone.” She laughed. “It wasn’t like he was going nowhere.”

  “You mean you have a picture of the body?” Dana asked.

  “You want to see?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Jo put down the instrument and began rummaging through her oversized purse, an activity that took far too long. At last she extracted a phone in a glittery rose gold case, and scrolled to an image. She handed it to Dana.

  A few people had described the scene to her, but Dana still wasn’t prepared for what she saw. It was so real—Ivan’s lifeless body illuminated by a streetlamp. His torso seemed to be bent in half. Only one leg was visible; the other must have been under his body at a strange angle. His arms were over his head and his suit jacket was splayed open. His red striped tie pointed away from his body, as if it were trying to get away. She put her fingers on the picture and spread them open to get a closer look at his face, and was horrified to discover that his eyes were open. Worst of all, she was able to see a pool of dark blood running over the sidewalk from the back of his head, and a gray oozing mass near his skull. She put her finger on the screen to move the picture around, searching for clues. His shoe was off, but that probably meant nothing. There was something silver near his head—a piece of metal or possibly a broken mirror. On the right, near his hand, there was something whitish. Hard to tell if he was holding it, or if it was sidewalk debris. She showed it to the girls.

  “I think that’s just litter,” Felicia said.

  “A strip of fabric or something,” Jo offered. “It looks like he’s holding it.”

  She pointed out the triangle of silver near his head, and they couldn’t agree on that, either. Dana asked Jo to forward her the picture so she could study it. If any of these things were clues, she damned well wanted to know what they were. In the meantime, she would try to track down Margaux, the dancer/bartender, who might be able to tell Dana that she had been nowhere near Ivan when the lights went out.

  * * *

  When Dana got to the set and stood behind a display of Barlow and Ricci pebble leather tassel totes, she had to call upon all her training to focus. She was not going to let Sherry’s cruelty get under her skin.

  Everything is going to be fine, she told herself. You will do your play, you will not get in trouble. You’ll perform under the name Kayla Bean and no one will find out.

  You did not kill Ivan Dennison.

  The last bit rattled her so badly that that when the camera light came on, Dana froze. She’d been far away, trying to recapture that memory from the roof. For a split second, she didn’t even know where she was. And then, there was Jessalyn’s voice in her ear: Dana! You’re on the air!

  And just like that, she snapped out of it. “Welcome!” she gushed, her carefully honed skills kicking in. “You’re just in time for this newest line of impeccable, scratch-resistant leather totes from my favorite handbag designer!”

  She went right into the zone, marveling at the workmanship, the quality of the leather, the convenience of the interior, the stylishness of the hardware, the comfort of the straps and the beauty of the colors. Oh, the colors! Dana displayed them one by one, falling more in love with each selection: midnight blue, caramel, charcoal, rose blush, tobacco, dove gray, warm red, sky blue and classic black. Her delight was breathless, excited, nearly sexual, and the viewers reacted by going crazy with orders. And then the first style was sold out, and she moved on to the next and then the next. She was on the final prod
uct and almost done with her show when a narrow figure appeared on set and moved into her field of vision. It was Sherry. Damn her. She almost never came down during airtime, and it knocked Dana off her game.

  Jessalyn whispered something into Dana’s earpiece about the dove gray, and she panicked. Was her concentration so interrupted she had left out a color? She looked down at the current display. They were structured satchels with a detachable shoulder strap, and she had her hands on the warm red. She put it down and picked up the dove gray.

  “Of course, the dove gray is great with basic black,” she said, “but I personally love it with denim.” She punched the word love like her tongue had never tasted anything so intensely satisfying.

  No, no! Jessalyn whispered. I said the dove gray is sold out.

  Shit! Dana exhaled and tried to regain her footing.

  “Oh! I just got word this one’s gone,” she chirped, and tucked it under the table. “But the sky blue is a crisp choice for any denim shade.”

  She was rattled, but the show was winding down, and she managed to get through the final moments—cooing that any woman would love getting this handbag as a holiday gift—without another screw-up. She introduced the next host, Vanessa Valdes, and waited for the camera light to go dark. She took a glance at the monitor to make sure she was off the air, and pulled out her earpiece.

  “What the hell happened with the dove gray?” Sherry demanded, storming toward her.

  “Since when do you walk around on set during airtime?” Dana asked.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “You threw me for a loop,” Dana said. “I can’t concentrate with you pacing the floor.”

  “Do I need to remind you that concentration is your job?”

  “Talk to Jessalyn about my numbers today, and you’ll get a good idea of my concentration.” She unclipped her mike and started to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” Sherry demanded.

  Dana knew what she was getting at. Sherry wanted to make sure Dana wasn’t rushing off to rehearsals. In fact, that was probably the reason for her unexpected visit.