Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland

by Lara Reznik

  Like she gives a shit whether a guy is married.

  She rambles on about spending fifteen years in vice before venturing out into private investigation. “I don’t have much time for men. My career is everything.”

  So you’re not interested in Eduardo?

  Her cell lights up ding-a-linging the Hank Williams tune, “Hey, Good Looking.” She flips the phone open. I can hear a deep voice on the other end but can’t make out the Spanish.

  Juanita chews her lip as she listens. Sí, está aquí. Estamos en mi casa en Austin.” She turns to me. “It’s Agent Lopez. He’s offered to drive here to meet with you.”

  AN HOUR LATER a thin Latino dressed in khaki pants and a navy sports jacket arrives at the house. Memories of the secret service so many years ago in the Albuquerque airport race through my head. I was scared shitless then, and I’m scared shitless now.

  Lopez enters the living room, flashes his badge then introduces himself.

  Ed whispers in my ear, “I’ll call Steve Berman.” Steve is a prominent Austin labor attorney and one of our best friends. I figure if Ed cares enough to call Steve, maybe there’s still a chance for our marriage.

  Eduardo takes charge. He tells Agent Lopez I won’t speak to him without an attorney present and proceeds to call Steve, who says he’ll be here as soon as possible.

  Juanita and Lopez chat in Spanish in the kitchen while Ed and I sit in agonizing silence in the living room as we await Steve’s arrival. Fifteen minutes later, Steve arrives dressed in white tennis shorts. He shakes hands with Agent Lopez and Juanita and confirms his representation of me.

  Lopez responds that he’s gathering evidence to reopen a missing person’s case on one Joey Costello that’s over forty years old.

  “There should be a statute of limitations on that,” Steve says.

  Lopez raises his bushy brows. “Not on murder, there isn’t.”

  “There was no murder,” I say, but I’m no longer certain of that.

  “Can I speak with my client in private for a moment?” Steve says.

  Agent Lopez and Juanita retreat back to the kitchen.

  After they’re gone, Steve tells me to sit down. “Answer his questions as honestly as you can. The worst thing you can do is commit perjury. If a question is controversial, I can help you respond, or we can plead the fifth.”

  When Agent Lopez returns, he pulls out an iPad and a small cassette player from his briefcase. He clicks on the tape player after asking Steve’s permission to do so. Juanita hands him her black notebook opened to a specific page containing yellow highlighted sections. He checks out her notes before asking, “So Ms. Levin, can you tell us how you knew Joey Costello back in 1970?”

  “He was my roommate’s boyfriend.”

  Lopez flips through Juanita’s notebook. “The night before Kent State, were you at a party with Joey Costello?”

  Did Chris tell this to Juanita? So much for the pact.

  Steve nods at me, affirming it’s okay to answer the question. “We were at the same get-together that night,” I finally say.

  Lopez’s eyes open wide. “Were you in love with him?”

  I almost fall off the couch. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” Lopez says in a gruff voice.

  “He was my friend, nothing more.”

  Lopez turns the pages of Juanita’s notebook and checks out more of her highlights before asking the next question. “How do you know Chris Reynolds and Ben Franklin Jones?”

  Ed’s whole body stiffens. Once again I pause before responding. “I briefly dated Chris Reynolds when I was a freshman in college. Ben was his friend.”

  Lopez types something into his iPad. “Can you tell us what you said to Mr. Franklin Jones at Denise’s funeral?”

  Jesus, who told Juanita about that? Who even knew Ben was there besides Katie and me? For a brief second I think that Katie… No, of course. It was Chris. It’s clear to me now that he’s spilled his guts to Juanita. The hell with anyone else. Chris is out for himself.

  Lopez blinks hard before asking, “Did you push Joey Costello out the window of a third story building on the evening of May 3, 1970?”

  I shudder in shock. What the ef is going on? Why on God’s earth would he think that? My lips part but no sound comes out.

  Lopez looks solemn. “Ms. Levin, answer the question, please.”

  Steve starts to speak but I interrupt him and shriek, “I wasn’t even there when he fell out of that window.”

  “So you admit you know when and how Joey Costello died?” Lopez asks.

  Juanita smiles slyly. I immediately realize my colossal screw up. Steve says, “My client is going to plead the fifth at this time.”

  Lopez clicks off the recorder and zips up his iPad in a leather case. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I turn to Ed, who is standing with his arms folded in the back of the living room with a blank expression on his face. At my husband’s suggestion, Steve and I join him at the rental across the street. Ed’s current house. Lopez’s car screeches out of Juanita’s driveway and motors down the road.

  Ed brings out a few bottles of Dos Equis and hands one to each of us. He looks at Steve. “How do you think it went just now?”

  Steve clears his throat. “What I gathered from Lopez’s questions is that after forty years, there appears to be some new evidence this Costello guy was murdered. The bad news, y’all, is that Laila is a suspect.” He turns to me. “As your friend and acting attorney, you must tell me what really happened that night. If need be, I’ll recommend a good criminal lawyer.”

  Ed paces back and forth in the room as I gather my thoughts. I don’t understand how it has come to this. Why is Chris trying to pin this on me? Did Ben push Joey out the window in self-defense like Chris said at the Margaritaville?

  Ed grabs my arm. “For crissakes, Laila. What did you do?”

  I lower my head. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Steve says.

  I steal a look at Eduardo. His mouth is twisted, his hands folded like he’s preparing himself for the worst. I start by explaining about Bridgeport, Denise, and Joey.

  Ed starts pacing again. “Who are these Ben and Chris characters?”

  Why can’t he sit down next to me on the couch and hold my hand? I launch into how I got involved with Chris, who then introduced me to the family. I see no reason to mention my one-night-stand with Ben. What difference does it make in the scheme of things? It is challenging to describe what my life was like all those years ago. How I got tangled up in the family’s web of deceit. How I wanted to leave, but kept getting in deeper.

  After telling them about Joey and the missing suitcase, I pause before confessing that I, too, flew cross-country to New Mexico to retrieve a second suitcase for them. I know Ed will find this part despicable. His nephew has a serious cocaine addiction. It has cost his family a lot of pain and suffering. Not to mention money.

  The color drains from his face. “You flew across the country with a suitcase of grass?”

  “I thought so back then.” I bite my lip. “Chris recently told me it was PCP.”

  Steve shakes his head. “Wow. That’s powerful shit.”

  Ed glares at me. “Is Chris the guy on the phone that you told ‘a part of me always loved you’?”

  How do I answer him? What will he think of me? “No, that was his friend Ben.”

  Ed looks at Steve, who shrugs. “Let me get this straight. You were dating Chris but were in love with Ben?”

  Oy vey. “Something like that.”

  Steve says, “What happened when you got home from New Mexico?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Affair

  Connecticut, 1970

  It was after midnight when my plane landed at Bradley International airport in Hartford. While I felt relieved the Secret Service hadn’t been waiting in Albuquerque for me, I still had to pick up the suitcase from baggage claim.
I tried to focus on sharing the details of my adventure with Denise. No doubt she’d think it was totally far out. It certainly had been a roller coaster ride of adrenalin I’d never forget. And then there was the matter of Joey’s toes.

  One more hurdle to overcome now, and I’d be home free. Ben had said that far more people get busted getting off the plane than getting on. I headed to baggage claim, inhaling and exhaling like a Yogi. My stomach felt like a family of rattlesnakes had taken up residence. When I reached the carousel, I had worked myself into such a state of panic, I nearly fainted.

  Were narcs posing as fellow passengers waiting for luggage? The man in the three-piece suit across the way had a weird eye twitch. Was he signaling his partner in a bomber jacket on the other side of the room? An old woman with a mole the size of a nickel glared at me. Maybe I should leave the suitcase and head back to the dorm. To hell with the family. What could they do to me?

  But there’d be Angel to reckon with.

  One by one, the baggage slid down the conveyor belt. Finally, the plaid suitcase and my pink overnight bag flew out of the shoot. They circled around once, then twice. As they orbited past me for the third time, I gripped them both with two hands and staggered toward a row of phone booths in the distance. The worst was finally over.

  Then someone tapped my shoulder.

  When I turned around, I met the glare of a black security guard as massive as Wilt Chamberlain. He glanced at my suitcases then back up at my face.

  I tried to smile but my lips felt like they’d been Super-Glued together. Things tripped into slow motion like I was back on LSD.

  I heard, “Excuuusemeeemissss, I neeeed your claaaaaaim…” His lips were moving but I couldn’t understand the words spilling out.

  A line of people hauling luggage formed behind me. An old lady dropped her overstuffed valise and it burst open. White bloomers, polyester pants, a tube of toothpaste, and a hodgepodge of cosmetics spilled all over the floor.

  The security dude clicked on his walkie-talkie and held it to his mouth. “I need some help at carousel three.”

  I stifled a shriek. Surely this is the end. “I’m only seventeen.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And I’m forty-seven. Hand me your claim ticket, young lady.” He snatched my boarding pass from my hand and checked that the numbers matched the ones on the plaid suitcase and the pink bag. “Okay, move along now.”

  I was panting by the time I reached the ladies room. Mission accomplished. I threw cold water on my face. Should I call Chris to pick me up? Or surprise everyone with an early return. It didn’t take but a minute to decide I would show them that Laila Levin was one independent chick. Despite all obstacles, I had succeeded by myself. I dragged the luggage outside the arrival area and stood in line to catch a cab.

  IT WAS SUCH A RELIEF to be back in Bridgeport safe and sound. Using the key Chris had given me, I unlocked the front door of the family house. I hauled the suitcase and my overnight bag up the flight of stairs to the family’s apartment then unlocked the door using the second key on the ring labeled Apt. B.

  The place was dark and silent. What did I expect at three in the morning? Should I check in with Ben before heading up to Chris in the attic? He’d want to know I’d arrived home safely with the suitcase. No, Chris is my boyfriend, not Ben. I should go to him first. This fantasy of Ben must end right NOW.

  I left my peacoat and the luggage on the couch in the living room, tiptoed up the stairs and pushed the door open. Chris will be so happy see me. Perhaps I’ll just slip under the covers and make love to him.

  The dark attic room smelled moldy. Chris must be asleep. I started to unzip my jeans when I heard stirring in the bed.

  “Who’s there?” Chris said in a husky voice.

  “It’s me, honey. I caught an earlier flight to Hartford.” I fumbled to find the lamp and pressed the switch.

  Chris’s face was beet-red. “Shit.”

  “Are you glad to see—?”

  A blouse, bra and lace panties lay in a trail on the floor. A big lump in the bed told the rest of the story.

  My mouth fell open. “What the ef—Who is in there?”

  The protuberance burrowed itself in the blankets like a box turtle in its shell.

  I grabbed the covers and started to pull them down when someone seized my arm.

  “You don’t wanna do this,” said a somber-faced Ben from behind me.

  I let go of the quilt and searched his eyes.

  “Come downstairs with me, sweetheart,” he said.

  Chris said nothing but stood and slid into his jeans.

  I was furious as I followed Ben down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Ben told me to sit at the table as he filled the teakettle. “Would you like a Quaalude?”

  “Are you ef-in crazy?”

  He held his hands up to his face in a protective gesture. “Okay, don’t bite my head off.”

  “I just risked my life for you guys, and this is the thanks I get?”

  “I’ve checked out the suitcase. Everything seems to be in order.” He reached in his pocket, retrieved a wad of bills, and handed them to me. “There’s five hundred dollars there.”

  I threw the money in his face. “I don’t want your dough.”

  “You’re making too big a deal of this. Chris just got lonely,” he said.

  “It’s Ivy, isn’t it?”

  “What difference does it make who he’s with? I can assure you this means nothing to him.”

  “You’re right. None of this means anything to anyone. Except to me,” I said with conviction.

  “Sex, drugs and rock and roll. That’s what it’s all about, honey. I thought you got the drift.” Ben said.

  “You’ve gotten what you wanted from me,” I yelled. “May you all rot in hell. I’m out of here.”

  I RACED THE FOUR BLOCKS to Bodine, oblivious of the wind in my face and the snow falling in clumps on my bare head. I was so upset I had forgotten to retrieve my coat and the pink bag with my clothes from the living room.

  It was 3:36 a.m. on the Bodine lobby clock when I entered the elevator. Minutes later, I stepped off on the fourth floor. Sounds of a guitar filtered through the hall from someone’s room. A girl in Bugs Bunny pajamas was pulling an all-nighter in the lounge. I couldn’t wait to see Denise and share the insanity of the last few days, confident she would not mind if I woke her up.

  When I opened the door to our room, I called her name.

  No answer.

  I flipped on the light switch and noticed her bed had not been slept in. Had she found a new boyfriend since I’d left for New Mexico? Joey would be so bummed out. If I had ever needed a friend to talk to, it was now.

  It dawned on me how few Bodine girls I felt close to since I’d joined the family. Who could I confide in besides Denise? Katie Birnbaum perhaps? She and Denise had become good friends in my absence from the dorm. Katie treated me differently since I’d started seeing Chris. She had asked me to introduce her to Ben. I’d ignored that request for obvious reasons. How hypercritical was it for me to be jealous of Chris with another woman when I still had feelings for his best friend?

  I rushed down the hall to Katie’s room and knocked on the door.

  She opened the door yawning in a long U.B. T-shirt. Her hair was wrapped around an orange juice can on the top of her head. It was how we all kept our curly hair straight.

  “What’s up?” she said in a sleepy voice.

  “I’m sorry to wake you but I really need a friend to talk to. Denise is gone.”

  “Have a seat on the bed,” she said. “I’ll fire up a dube.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” I said.

  Now that Katie had opened the door for a heart-to-heart, I didn’t know where to begin. Could she be trusted? She lit a joint. After two tokes I confessed I had just gotten back from a trip to New Mexico with a suitcase of weed. I didn’t mention I’d seen Joey or the trauma that ensued.

  “Were you scared? I woul
d have pissed my pants.”

  “Are you kidding? I was totally freaked out. Then I got back to my boyfriend Chris’s and caught him in bed with someone else.”

  “Oh my God. Would you like a Quaalude?”

  “That’s what Ben offered me. I’m not interested in zoning this out. I feel like I’ve been played.”

  “That Ben is so cute. Did you ever find out if he was available?”

  I laughed. “Don’t you see? They’re all available. Doesn’t make a difference if they have a girlfriend or not.”

  “So who was Chris sleeping with?”

  “She stayed buried under the covers but I’d bet my bottom dollar it was this woman Ivy that lives with them,” I said. “She sleeps with all the dudes.”

  “Ivy, the astrologer chick?”

  “You know her?”

  Katie shook her head. “She did my chart a few months ago. Said I’d be famous someday.”

  The sound of a loud knock interrupted our conversation. Katie took a last toke of the joint, opened the window, and tossed it out. Then she sprayed the room with Secret deodorant. “Who’s there at this ungodly hour?” Her voice sounded angry.

  “It’s me, Denise.”

  Katie unlocked the door and Denise entered. The whites of her eyes were laced with red lines. She gave me a hug. “How was the trip?”

  “Really, really strange. Like insane.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “I guess you could say I’d entered a modern world version of Sodom and Gomorrah.” I filled her in on the details including finding Chris in bed with someone else. I didn’t mention Joey, however. He’d made me promise not to tell her.

  “Why are you so surprised?” Denise said. “They’re not monogamous type of dudes.”

  Katie smiled. “Bad boys. It’s part of their charm.”

  “You’re both right, of course. But I’m not sure I fit in with that crowd.”

  Katie rolled another joint and passed it to Denise. “So where were you tonight?”

  “Cramming for my sociology exam with a couple guys at North Hall,” Denise replied. “Can’t afford another incomplete.”

  “Well, I’m done with Chris.” I said. “And that whole damn family.”