Name Dropping

by Jane Heller

  “Miss Stern?” said Gretchen Levin. She was surprised to see me. She was equally surprised to see her filthy carpet. I wondered if she’d call Penelope and have me fired. I wondered if she’d tell her husband and have me killed. I wondered if I could disappear.

  “I stopped by to return Fischer’s lunch box,” I said, backing up at this juncture, edging toward the door. “I’m so, so sorry about the carpet. I’m sure the footprints will come out.” I reached for the doorknob and turned it. “Those industrial-strength cleansers they sell nowadays can take out any stains, even blood. Well, not that you people have to worry about blood. I don’t even know why I said blood. It just popped out of my mouth, the way words do when you’re not thinking clearly. I should be more mindful of my words, since I’m a teacher. Which reminds me: I’ve got a staff meeting to attend to and I really have to be going. Have a nice afternoon.” And I was out the door.

  I was perspiring heavily by the time I got to Bill’s car.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked as I slid onto the seat.

  “I stunk,” I said.

  Bill squeezed my hand. “It was only your first assignment. You’ll improve.”

  “No. I stunk,” I said. “I left shit all over the place.”

  “Oh. You mean you recovered more stolen jewelry and then left it out in the open, where Levin could see it?”

  “No.”

  “Then what, Nancy?”

  I took off one of my shoes, turned it over, and showed the sole to Bill. “The Levins have white wall-to-wall carpet. I went snooping around in Bob Levin’s office figuring he’d never find out.”

  He nodded, getting the point as well as the smell. “You weren’t his favorite person anyway,” he said.

  “I suppose not,” I agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I was determined to do a better job of helping Bill catch Bob Levin and his gang, but mostly I was just eager to see the bad guys get punished as soon as possible. I was uneasy knowing they were out there, in my city, contemplating their next move. I was also haunted by the now-irrevocable link between the other Nancy Stern and me. Even though she turned out not to be the shining example I’d thought she was, I felt guilty that she was murdered because of me. Well, not because of me, really; instead of me. The notion that she wouldn’t have been killed if her apartment hadn’t been mistaken for mine weighed on me, and as the days passed I couldn’t shake it. I mean, if you had to guess which of us was more likely to die young, given her lifestyle, which involved drug use and multiple sex partners and a liaison with at least one married man, and my lifestyle, which involved reminding four-year-olds to say “please,” there would be no contest. And yet, as risky as my lifestyle wasn’t, I would have been the one to die young if Levin’s goons hadn’t been so sloppy.

  “Hey, you,” said Bill, waving his hand in front of my eyes. We were stretched out on his bed. He’d been reading. I’d been thinking. “You’ve got that faraway look.”

  “It’s not a faraway look. It’s a pensive look.”

  He put down his book, another Sue Grafton. I Is for Indigestion this time. “What’s on your mind?”

  I told him. “I want to get the case solved for obvious reasons,” I summed up. “But I especially want to get it solved for Nancy. As a way of saying I’m sorry.”

  Bill smiled. “I want to get the case solved too, you know that.”

  “Then what can we do to hurry things along?”

  “Actually, I do have an idea. But it’s risky. Especially for you. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.”

  “Whatever it is, I can handle it,” I said enthusiastically.

  “Well, our objective remains the same: We want to manipulate a meeting between Levin and the other members of his group in order to catch them in the act, photograph them together, get hard evidence against them. Right now, they know Levin’s being watched, so they’re staying away from him and each other. What we’ve got to do is provoke them into having to meet, to scare them into meeting.”

  “Great, but you still haven’t told me your plan.”

  “My plan is to use you as bait.”

  “Ah.” I attempted to look nonchalant.

  “I said it was risky.”

  I nodded. There were risks and there was risks. “Could you be more specific about how we would use me as bait?”

  “Sure. You’ve been talking about the spring fund-raiser coming up, the one you’re going to at your school.”

  “Right. It’s a black-tie dinner dance in the gym at Small Blessings. Gretchen Levin is on the decorating committee.”

  “And her husband will be there too.”

  “I would assume so. All the parents are invited.”

  “Good. I want Levin to see what you’re wearing.”

  I laughed. “I doubt he’ll be impressed by my black velvet dress. It’s seen better days.”

  “He’ll be impressed by the brooch that’ll be pinned to the dress.”

  I stared at him. “You want me to wear Denham and Villier’s five-hundred-thousand-dollar brooch to the Small Blessings spring benefit?”

  “I can’t think of a more appropriate place to wear it.”

  “But what if Levin grabs me, drags me out to the street, and kills me, so he can have the brooch back?”

  “I’ll be your date for the party, and I’ll stick close to you. The idea is for you to walk into that room and parade around in the brooch as if you don’t have a care in the world. It’ll be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Levin will go berserk when he sees it, because you’ll not only be surprising him with it, you’ll be flaunting it in his face. He’ll be crazed enough about it that he’ll have to convene a meeting with his guys, so they can decide what to do next.”

  “I get it,” I said, nodding. “We’ll be flushing them out.”

  “Trying to, yes.”

  “Oh, Bill. You’re a genius. And you’re not bad-looking, either.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “What are you gonna do about it?”

  “This.” I picked his book up off the bed and placed it on the floor, then rolled over onto him, pressing my body against his and giving him a couple of bumps and grinds. He was all smiles as I unbuttoned his shirt, unzipped his pants. “You know, I wasn’t always like this,” I said, stripping off the man’s clothes. “I used to be sort of apathetic about sex.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Bill, who then watched with anticipatory glee as I stripped off my own clothes.

  “It’s true. You’ve put me in touch with my inner slut.”

  “Show me.”

  I did.

  I was a nervous wreck the night of the fund-raiser, even before I put on the brooch. While Bill looked like a fashion model in his Ralph Lauren tuxedo, I looked like a fashion mistake. I had sprouted a run in my only pair of pantyhose, my blow dryer died, leaving my hair damp as well as unruly, and my dress didn’t fit me as well as it used to, my having lost a few pounds since I’d moved into Bill’s apartment and could no longer pig out on Vienna Fingers in the privacy of my own home.

  But when he pinned the brooch just to the left of the buttons going down the center of the dress, my blood pressure really shot up. For one thing, I felt ridiculous that I had originally mistaken the piece of jewelry for a piece of crap. Now that I was seeing it again for the first time in months, I couldn’t imagine how I’d thought it was a fake, and it was only Bill’s reminding me for the tenth time what a blind item jewelry is—“Anyone in your position would have made the same mistake” was how he put it—that allowed me not to seem like a complete fool.

  For another thing, I felt as if I were an impostor wearing such an expensive brooch, like a commoner prancing around with a crown on her head. I wasn’t used to having a half-million-dollars’ worth of diamonds affixed to my bosom, didn’t have the posture for it. The other Nancy Stern could have carried if off with ease, but not this Nancy Stern.

  And then,
of course, there was the uncertainty of what Bob Levin might do when he saw the brooch, of what he might do to me. I had read enough crime novels to know that plans such as the one Bill had come up with often backfired, leaving the bait—in this case, me—dead.

  Still, armed with numerous assurances from Bill that everything would be all right, combined with my own determination to do a better job as his investigative partner than I had previously, off I went to the party.

  We arrived at school to find that the gym had been transformed into an African jungle, thanks to Gretchen Levin and her enthusiastic committee members. As the theme of the party was Safari Night at Small Blessings and the grand prize to be won in a silent auction was a two-week trip to the wilds of Africa, the room was decorated with mosquito netting as well as lions and tigers and bears—oh, my—all constructed out of papier-mâché especially for the event. There was also a band playing African music, which wasn’t African music at all but rather Peter Duchin music that was heavier than normal on the bongo drums. And there were black waiters in loincloths and black waitresses in nose rings. If you ask me, the whole affair was as tasteless, never mind politically incorrect, as it gets—the very antithesis of the sort of curriculum we taught at school.

  “This is typical Penelope,” I whispered to Bill as I surveyed the sea of people milling about, decked out in the latest designer formalwear. “She’d sell her soul to raise a buck.”

  And speaking of Penelope, she and Deebo were talking to Janice and her date, a creator of crossword puzzles whom she had met at—where else?—Barnes & Noble in—where else?—the bookstore’s crossword puzzle section.

  “Should we go over and say hello?” I asked Bill, since he was running our little undercover operation.

  “Okay, but keep your shawl tied across the dress. I don’t want anyone to see the brooch until Levin does—it’s the element of surprise we’re looking for, don’t forget—and I don’t think the guy’s here yet.”

  We made our way through the crowd to Janice and the others, exchanged greetings, then were quickly sidetracked by some of the parents of the kids in my class. At some point, Bill asked if he could get me a drink at the bar. “Yes,” I said. “And make it a double.” I had always wanted to use that expression and now I had.

  “Make what a double?” said Bill. “You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

  “Oh. I’ll have some white wine,” I said.

  Bill smiled and went off to the bar. He was away from my side for exactly two seconds when Mr. and Mrs. Levin entered the room and headed in my direction.

  So much for sticking close, I thought, willing myself not to move a muscle. I was going to stand my ground, deal with Levin with or without Bill.

  “Hello, Miss Stern,” said Gretchen Levin when she reached me a minute or two before her husband did. Her tone was cool, distant. She was still upset about the doody on the carpet, I figured.

  “Hello to you too, Mrs. Levin,” I said, determined to project a thoroughly pleasant and carefree demeanor. “You look lovely,” I added. And she did—if your idea of lovely is a potato stick.

  “Thank you.”

  “And what a terrific job you and your committee did on the decorations.”

  “Thank you again,” she said. “It was hard work, I must admit. I’ve never decorated a gymnasium before, and the project presented its share of challenges.”

  I smiled, thinking this chick was in for some real challenges, once hubby was behind bars. Speaking of whom…

  “And here’s Mr. Levin,” I said as Bob Levin swaggered over to us. “How are you this evening?”

  “Fine. Just fine,” he said, as if he didn’t know that I knew that he knew what I knew. “You by yourself tonight, Miss Stern?”

  “No,” I said. “I brought a guest, but he’s over by the bar at the moment.” We all glanced at the crush of people waiting in line for cocktails. Bill was somewhere among them. I tied the shawl tighter around my shoulders, as I was not supposed to expose the brooch while Gretchen Levin was looking on.

  And so I made chitchat with the two of them for a few minutes, tried to engage them in conversation until Bill came back. But they grew bored with me eventually and drifted off to talk with the other, more socially important revelers. When Bill finally brought our drinks, I told him what happened. “So much for springing the brooch on him,” I said.

  “Not to worry. It’s going to be a long night,” said Bill. “There’ll be other opportunities.”

  “Yeah, but who wants to keep this dopey shawl on?” I complained. “It’s hot in here.”

  “You’ll survive.”

  “That’s a given, isn’t it?”

  He took my arm. We mingled, we nibbled, we waited for another shot at Bob Levin. But then Penelope stepped to the microphone, and all eyes were on her.

  “First, let me thank every one of you for coming tonight,” she said. “This benefit is our only major fund-raising event of the year and I couldn’t be more pleased with the turnout.” Applause. “As you know, the proceeds from this grand evening are vital to Small Blessings, providing funds for scholarships, program enrichment, new equipment, and teacher endowments. Due to your support, Small Blessings will remain the premier nursery school in New York.” More applause, then Penelope invited us to take our seats at our assigned tables so dinner could be served.

  Bill and I sat at the teachers’ table. He was on my right, Janice on my left. We were munching on salad greens when she asked, “What’s with the shawl? You’re getting the fringe full of dressing.”

  I raised my arm. Sure enough, the black fringe of the shawl was soaked with balsamic vinaigrette.

  “I’m chilly,” I said, as I wiped the fabric with my napkin. “I’m keeping it on until I warm up.”

  “Chilly? It’s a thousand degrees in here,” she said. “They wanted it to feel steamy, like Africa, so they’ve turned the thermostat way up.”

  “Whatever,” I said. Yes, Janice knew about Levin and the brooch, but I hadn’t tipped her off about the plan for the party. Bill had advised against it.

  Dinner went along. Then there was dancing. When I noticed that Bob and Gretchen Levin had taken to the dance floor, I turned to Bill and whispered, “We’re running out of time. After the dancing comes the auction, and after the auction everybody goes home. Bob Levin has to see the brooch and he has to see it now.”

  “What are you thinking?” said Bill.

  “That we should dance—and then we should switch partners.”

  Bill nodded, understanding. I grabbed his hand and led him onto the dance floor. I felt giddy suddenly, secure in the knowledge that Bob Levin was not about to hurt me in front of a gym full of people. Besides, I loved to dance and hadn’t done nearly enough of it in recent months.

  “What kind of half-assed music is this?” Bill grumbled, “and how are you supposed to dance to it?”

  The band was playing a little ditty with what I assumed was an African beat.

  “Let’s try the samba,” I said.

  “I never learned how to do the samba,” he said.

  “Neither did I,” I said. “Just follow the others.”

  We observed the couples around us, dipping and bumping and gyrating, and then launched into a pretty good imitation of whatever they were doing. Da da dah. Da da da dah. “This is fun,” I said, moving to the beat, kicking my foot out to the side every once in a while. Da da dah. Da da da dah.

  “You ready?” said Bill as he maneuvered us right next to the Levins.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

  He released me. I sambaed over to our targets.

  “May I have this dance, Mr. Levin?” I trilled. “I make it a practice of dancing with all the fathers of the children in my class. You don’t mind, do you, Mrs. Levin?”

  She looked dubious at first, and Bob Levin looked just plain pissed off, but then Bill swooped down on the conversation, introduced himself, and whisked Gretchen Levin off. Da da dah. Da da da dah
.

  “Now, isn’t this nice,” I said after we had swapped partners and Bobby baby and I were tripping the light fantastic.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re up to,” he said, gripping me tightly around the waist, “but maybe we should go outside and talk.”

  “Talk?” I said as we danced. “What on earth would we have to talk about?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me, kiddo. I know you have that damn brooch. Either you have it or your boyfriend has it.”

  “You were right the first time,” I said. “I have it.”

  He smirked. “Are you gonna tell me where you have it or do I have to send my friends to find it?”

  “I’m gonna show you where I have it. Right now, in fact.”

  Emboldened by how well things were going, I untied the shawl and let it slide off my shoulders, exposing the goods. Before Bob Levin knew what had hit him, the brooch was in his face.

  His eyes bugged out.

  “Surprised?” I grinned. “I thought you’d be. So. I was wondering how you’d react if I showed the brooch to your wife. She’d be interested in seeing it, don’t you agree? Interested in hearing how I got it too. Actually, I’ll bet everybody at the party would be interested in that story.”

  “You don’t have the balls,” he said, his words tough but his expression one of a man genuinely caught off-guard.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I goaded him, flashing the diamonds at him, enjoying myself immensely. “Because I’m thinking about walking up to that microphone and telling every single person in this room what I know. Would you like that, Mr. Levin?”

  He didn’t respond this time. I really had ambushed him. Da da dah. Da da da dah.

  “What’s the matter?” I chuckled. “Cat burglar got your tongue?”

  He was breathing heavily all of a sudden and his color wasn’t good. But he kept moving to the music. Da da dah. Da da da dah.

  “Okay, so I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, huffing and puffing as we danced. “You give me back the brooch, I’ll have my people lay off you.”