Name Dropping

by Jane Heller

  “I love you.”

  “What?” I stopped crying.

  “I love you. Does that help?”

  “Not if you’re just saying it, because you think you’ve been manipulated into saying it.”

  He kissed my cheek. “I love you. I should have told you before, but I held back.”

  “But why, Bill? I love you too.” There. My mother would be happy. He said it first and then I said it.

  Bill got up and began to pace. He seemed unnerved by his admission. Maybe he had wanted to wait a while before telling me.

  “Is it because of your divorce that you held back?” I asked tentatively. “Because of how your ex-wife betrayed you? Because you’re afraid to be vulnerable to another woman?”

  “That’s it.” He nodded. “That’s the reason.”

  He wasn’t especially convincing, but what other reason could there be? “Well, then I understand perfectly,” I said, “having been hurt myself.”

  Bill rejoined me on the sofa and clasped my hands in his. “I do love you, Nancy Stern.”

  “And I love you, Bill Harris.”

  “But I’d like you to make me a promise.”

  “All right.”

  “That you won’t forget that you love me. No matter what.”

  I squeezed his hand, poor baby. He really must have been stung when his ex dumped him for another guy. It was as if he wanted me to guarantee him that I’d never do the same thing.

  “I won’t forget that I love you,” I said. “No matter what.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The investigation into the other Nancy Stern’s murder was continuing, according to the newspapers, but the police still hadn’t made any arrests. The lab reports were either inconclusive or incomplete, and the Manhattan D.A. was unwilling to proceed without hard evidence. The only new development as far as I could tell was that Detective Reynolds and his team had completed their interviews with the tenants and finished scouring Nancy’s penthouse for clues. As a result, there were no longer any cops hanging around the building, which was both a relief (who needed constant reminders of the murder?) and a source of anxiety (who wanted to be left at the mercy of our useless doormen?). Oh, and the other piece of news regarding Nancy was that she died without a will and that the daughter she hadn’t seen since birth was claiming she should be the beneficiary. The nerve.

  Bill was extremely busy at the store, as Valentine’s Day was fast approaching and men were rushing in on their lunch hour to buy something—anything—for the women in their lives.

  At school, we, too, were preparing for Valentine’s Day. Each child was assigned the task of making a Valentine for another child in the class. The Valentines would then be placed in a shoebox covered with red paper, and on Valentine’s Day Janice and I would take turns handing out the cards. We would also be baking cookies in the shape of hearts and coating them with red sprinkles, as well as reading a story about a magic cat who brings lonely men and women together in true love.

  “I’d like to get my hands on that magic cat,” Janice growled as we were setting up the classroom and discussing our lesson plan for the upcoming V-Day. She had hit a particularly bad patch in the romance department. The last two men who’d shown an interest in her at Barnes & Noble turned out to be married, but what was even more grotesque about them was that their wives were right there in the store at the time, blithely browsing in other sections!

  “I have some news that will cheer you up,” I said. “Bill is coming in today. He should be here any minute.” I offered this information tentatively. Janice was extremely fond of Bill, but acting lovey-dovey with your boyfriend when your best friend is feeling witchy-bitchy because she doesn’t have one isn’t always smart.

  “He is?” She looked glad about it, thank goodness.

  “Yes. He’s been saying how much he wants to see the school and the kids, and since he doesn’t have to be at work until ten this morning, today’s the day.”

  “Great. We’ll make him sing the ‘Good Morning Song.’”

  We were laughing, picturing Bill and his six-foot-four-inches splayed out on the rug next to the children, when into the classroom he walked.

  “Is this the hotbed of learning that I’ve been hearing about?” he said, grinning.

  I jumped up to hug him. Janice did too. We showed him around and explained how the day was structured. A few minutes later, the kids started trickling in. I greeted them and got them settled in the activity areas while Janice gave Bill thumbnail sketches of each child. He seemed to be enjoying himself, because he stayed through the play time and he stayed through the “Good Morning Song” and he stayed through the recitations by the week’s designated calendar person and the week’s designated attendance person and the week’s designated weather person. He even stayed through the little spat that broke out between Fischer Levin and Todd Delafield over which of them was standing next to me during “Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.”

  “You can take turns,” I told them. “Fischer, you stand next to me during ‘Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,’ and Todd, you sit next to me during show-and-tell.”

  As I was mediating, I glanced over at Bill and Janice and guessed that she was giving him the lowdown about Fischer. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was telling him, but his smile faded as she talked and his expression grew serious, pensive, preoccupied—as if he were reliving special moments when his own sons were preschool age. Yes, that must be it, I thought, as he gave her a quick hug and motioned to me, pointing at his watch.

  I told the children I’d be right back and hurried over to him. “Gotta go?”

  He nodded. “Thanks for letting me observe. It was fun.”

  Thanks. Fun. The words were fine, but the tone was off; there was definitely something distant about it, about Bill. It occurred to me that maybe he missed his children so much that the visit to my class wasn’t the best idea.

  I whispered that I loved him, he whispered that he loved me, and we said we’d see each other later, at my place.

  It wasn’t until an hour or so after he left, during snack, that I asked Janice if she had noticed a change in his demeanor.

  “Did I ever,” she said. “I adore Bill, but he’s a lot more controlling than I thought.”

  “Controlling? What do you mean?”

  “Controlling. Possessive. You know.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific, Janice. How is he controlling?”

  “Well, we were standing in the corner of the room, watching you interact with the kids, when Fischer and Todd had their run-in. I said, nodding at Fischer, ‘He’s the one who gave Nancy that pin for Christmas.’ Bill stared at me and said, ‘That little boy gave Nancy the brooch?’ I said, ‘Yeah. Didn’t she tell you?’ Obviously, you didn’t tell him, Nance. What’s more, you didn’t tell me that you didn’t tell him. I don’t understand why you didn’t tell him, but the bottom line is, I don’t think he believes that Fischer gave you the pin, for some bizarre reason.”

  “Oh, Janice.” I sighed, ashamed of myself. “The bizarre reason is that I wasn’t completely honest with Bill the day I brought the pin to his store to have it appraised. I was nervous and insecure, because I wasn’t sure if he still cared about me, so when I explained that I’d gotten the pin as a Christmas gift, I sort of let him assume that a man had bought it for me.”

  “A man as opposed to a four-year-old boy.”

  “Yes.”

  “To make him jealous.”

  “Right. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, especially after the way I’d lied to him about being the other Nancy Stern. He probably doesn’t know what to believe about me now.”

  “I’ll tell you what he believes about you: He believes you might be cheating on him.”

  “Come on.”

  “I swear. He was pumping me for information, asking a million questions like when Fischer gave you the pin and whether he’d ever given you jewelry in the past. It was almost as if he was testing me,
trying to trip me up, trying to catch me in a lie so I’d have to break down and tell him the truth.”

  “But Fischer did give me the pin. That is the truth.”

  She shrugged. “All I can say is, if you wanted to know if Bill’s the jealous type, the answer’s yes. I felt like I was being interrogated.”

  “I’m sorry, Janice. I’ll talk to him tonight and straighten everything out.”

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to straighten everything out with Bill that night—at least, not right away—because there was another, more pressing matter with which I had to deal. When I entered my apartment just after three o’clock, I discovered that it had been burglarized.

  At first, I wasn’t exactly sure it had been burglarized. Yes, the door was open when I got home, but I often forgot to lock it, even after the awful business with the other Nancy Stern. And yes, the apartment had been messed up, but I wasn’t a particularly good housekeeper and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that I might have left clothes, magazines, or papers strewn about the place before rushing off to school.

  But when I stepped inside and looked around, there wasn’t any doubt that someone had been there—someone who ransacked my drawers and threw their contents everywhere and made off with the few decent pieces of jewelry I owned.

  I was terribly shaken, naturally, and I called Bill immediately after dialing 911. He arrived at the apartment in a flash—management has its privileges, I thought—and took complete charge of the situation, making sure I was safe, making sure the cops did this or that, making sure we got a guy over to change the locks on my door. What was especially comforting—a happy coincidence, it turned out—was that he actually knew one of the police officers, the balding one who had shown up to dust for fingerprints. The man was a friend of his brother’s, he explained, reminding me that his father and two brothers were both cops. Whatever. I was just glad to have him to rely on, glad that he wasn’t letting his suspicions that I might be cheating on him prevent him from coming to my aid.

  Later that night, we learned that three other apartments in the building had been hit while their occupants were at work, their jewelry stolen as mine had been. In a strange way, this knowledge made me feel better. For one thing, misery loves company. For another, it proved that I, alone, hadn’t been the target of some premeditated caper; the crooks had simply gone tearing through the halls, trying all the doors in search of those that were unlocked, and pounced.

  “So you’ll lock your door from now on?” Bill warned after we’d finally climbed into bed, exhausted from the day’s drama.

  “I promise,” I said, cuddling up next to him.

  He reached under the covers and began to touch me in all the right places. I returned the favor. Before we knew it, we were groping each other like teenagers, our exhaustion giving way to excitement.

  “I never thought we’d have sex tonight,” I said afterwards, marveling at our stamina. “Did you, honey?”

  Bill didn’t answer. His eyes were closed.

  “Bill?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Before you fall asleep, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” I remembered about straightening him out on the subject of Fischer and the pin.

  “Can’t it wait till tomorrow?” he said, opening one eye.

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He opened the other eye. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “It’s about what happened when you came to school this morning.”

  “Oh. You’re upset because I never got a chance to tell you how terrific you were with those kids.”

  “As a matter of fact you didn’t tell me, but that’s not—”

  “You were terrific, Nancy,” he interrupted. “So natural with them.”

  “Thanks, Bill. That means a lot. But I was referring to the questions you asked Janice about one of the boys in the class, Fischer Levin. Apparently, she told you that he was the person who gave me the pin for Christmas and you didn’t believe her.”

  He didn’t respond, didn’t make eye contact either.

  “The thing is, I don’t blame you for not believing her, for not believing me. See, I didn’t come out and tell you Fischer gave me the pin that day I came to your office because I—” I stopped. This was embarrassing.

  “You what?” Bill prodded.

  “I wanted you to think I had men lining up at my door.”

  He sat up in bed, was studying my face now. “Go on.”

  “Janice always says that men are like sheep; that they find you irresistible if other men find you irresistible. I wanted you to find me irresistible, Bill. That’s the long and short of it.”

  “I already did find you irresistible,” he said. “Without the games.” He seemed disappointed in me, annoyed with me, but he didn’t bolt out of the room, thank God.

  “Look, I’m sorry about the deception. I feel horrible about it. Give me another chance to show you that I’m an honest person; that the way I’ve behaved recently is a total aberration.”

  “Well, I suppose it was only a white lie,” he conceded.

  “Not even a white lie,” I maintained. “It was an off-white lie. An ecru lie.”

  He smiled as he lay back down next to me. “So there’s no other man in the picture?”

  “None.”

  “And the boy—Fischer Levin—really did give you the brooch?”

  “He did, bless his little heart.”

  Bill looked relieved. “Janice indicated that he’s been a troublemaker at school and that you’ve tried to communicate this to the parents with no success. Why don’t you tell me about it.”

  “Now?” Only a few minutes earlier, he’d preferred sleep to talk.

  “Sure. If you’re not too tired.” He kissed me. “I love you, Nancy. That means I have a vested interest in everything you do, including dealing with difficult four-year-olds. I may not have a degree in education, but I have two sons. Maybe I can help.” He kissed me again. “Why don’t you start by filling me in on the boy’s parents.”

  “His parents?”

  “Yes. My guess is that they’re the types who keep their child on a short leash, always insinuating themselves into his daily activities, then he rebels against their authority by making a nuisance of himself at school. Am I right?”

  “Sorry, Dr. Freud. It’s the opposite. Bob and Gretchen Levin don’t spend enough time with Fischer, and the reason he makes a nuisance of himself at school is because he’s starving for attention.”

  “Poor kid. What does the father do?”

  “He’s a big shot on Wall Street with an aggressive personality to match. Very new money.”

  “And Mrs. Levin?”

  “Very happy to spend the new money. She’s not as unpleasant as her husband—more ditsy than nasty—and I think she loves Fischer, deep down. He’s just not a priority. She delegates everything to the caregiver.”

  “No wonder he’s so attached to you, Nancy.”

  “I do try to be demonstrative with him, give him hugs, positive reinforcement when he earns it, that sort of thing.”

  “And the brooch was his way of thanking you.”

  “Right. That’s why I wish it hadn’t fallen apart during those tests you did on it. Fischer asks me practically on a daily basis why I’m not wearing it.”

  “What do you tell him?”

  “Oh, I say that it means so much to me that I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

  “Another ecru lie?”

  “You bet. It would break Fischer’s heart if he knew his present was in some Dumpster. In his mind, he’s a pirate who stole the pin from a buried treasure chest to give to his teacher. He lives in a fantasy world.”

  “I suppose the director at your school isn’t much help.”

  “Penelope?” I scoffed. Bill had already heard an earful about my battles with her. Still, he asked whether I’d tried this or that with her, suggested ways I might approach her the ne
xt time, shared a story about a former boss he’d tangled with.

  As he spoke, I gazed at him with absolute adoration. Here was a man who was not only intelligent and handsome and trustworthy, not to mention gifted in the bedroom; he was willing to stay up on a weeknight, listening to his girlfriend’s career problems.

  I didn’t know what I had done in my life to deserve Bill Harris, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Valentine’s Day brought highs and lows, but not in that order, since the lows came first.

  At school, the handing out of cards went well until Fischer swiped the pretty, lacy one that Alexis Shuler had made for Todd Delafield, insisting that Todd shouldn’t be allowed to have a Valentine because he was a baby.

  After I took Fischer out in the hall to chat with him about why it wasn’t nice to call other people names and how the giving of cards and gifts was even more rewarding than the getting of them, he asked me for the hundredth time why I wasn’t wearing the pin.

  “If giving is so great, how come you’re not rewarding me?” he demanded, twisting what I’d said but not entirely.

  I knelt down and tussled his hair. “I already explained to you about the pin, honey. It’s such a beautiful piece of jewelry that I only wear it on special occasions.”

  “Isn’t Valentine’s Day a special occasion, Miss Stern?” he asked.

  He had me there. “It is a special occasion,” I said, “and I am going to wear it, but not in school, because we’re baking cookies today and it might get damaged.”

  “You mean it might melt in the oven?” he said.

  “Maybe,” I said, spotting the irony. The pin had melted and then disintegrated, according to Bill. “Instead, I’m going to wear it tonight when my boyfriend takes me out for dinner to a fancy restaurant.”

  Fischer’s face lit up. “It’s so big and shiny that everyone in the restaurant will see it,” he said excitedly.