by Joseph Souza
“And a license to kill when the circumstance calls for it.” He laughs. “So don’t tempt me.”
“No way I’m gonna piss you off. Not when I got a bucket list of things to cross off in the next twenty-four hours.”
* * *
The Maine landscape speeds past us as we barrel toward New York City. At one point I notice the speedometer hitting 100, and I fear the prospect of a moose jumping out in front of our car and smashing through the windshield. I picture our mangled bodies torn to pieces, blood spattering over the leather seats. Then the medics arrive and find my battered body, and everyone in town will learn Iggy’s true identity.
Dalton drives with a grim determination, making me wonder if he’s curious about the attack on those girls or merely excited to see Lucy. What will he say to her once they’re sitting across from one another and staring into each other’s eyes? Will he bring up that kiss?
It isn’t until Connecticut that he speaks. I have to admit that I’m half asleep when he pipes up, my head leaning against the cold passenger window. I didn’t want to sleep, too afraid of what I might say if I slipped into a dream state. I raise my head and blink, noticing that we’re zipping along quite nicely in the left lane. It’s a miracle that we haven’t gotten pulled over by a state trooper.
“I have to admit, Iggy, I was shocked by how much you drank the other night.”
“I told you, it’s these hollow legs of mine.”
“Jesus! How’d you manage to get home from the bar?”
“I crashed at your place after I drove you home and then drove your truck back to the bar the next morning.”
“Really? I never even noticed you were there.”
“No offense, but you didn’t notice much after a certain hour.”
“My head reminded me of that the next morning.”
“So you going to tell me the real reason we’re headed to New York City?”
“Two girls were attacked in Robinson Woods yesterday. One of them is claiming that Lucy Abbott assaulted her.”
“The Lucy Abbott?”
“Yeah, the chef at The Galaxy you replaced.”
“The same girl they found buried in those woods?”
“One and the same.”
“The girl you have a major thing for?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I laugh. “You were drunk that night and told me how much you loved her.”
“That was the booze talking.”
“So you don’t love her?”
“Love is a strong word.” He looks sheepish. “Okay, so I like her some. There was definitely chemistry between us.”
“You get lucky?” I elbow him in the arm.
“Don’t be crude, asshole,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “And don’t even think about coming with me to meet her. This is strictly police business.”
“Sure, I get it, you’re all business.”
“I’m serious. Go see a movie or something until it’s time to go home.”
“Relax. I’m getting my own hotel room. Then I’m gonna pig out at one those delis that sell those big-ass sandwiches.”
“Katz.”
“No Broadway shows for me. They’re too expensive.”
Dalton laughs. “You’re a real piece of work, Iggy. Katz is the name of the deli that serves those sandwiches. I saw it on one of those cooking shows. Corned beef and pastrami.”
“That’s the one.”
“You can crash on the floor of my room if you like. Save a few bucks.”
“No, thanks. I’m getting my own pad with a big, comfy bed.”
“It’ll cost you an arm and a leg in that city.”
“Might never get there again, so I figure I’ll treat myself.”
It’s eleven o’clock by the time we arrive in the city. The vitality of Manhattan still amazes me as we drive down Park Avenue. New Yorkers are out and about, hitting the bars and restaurants, waving down taxis, and walking arm-in-arm down the street. It makes me realize how much I both love and loathe this town. In my current incarnation as Iggy, I feel completely out of my element here, and it embarrasses me. I feel like a tourist in my own city, which is essentially what I am. Lucy Abbott, as sophisticated and worldly as she deigns to be, is in reality a country bumpkin from Maine.
I know Manhattan like the back of my hand, having partied in nearly every club and bar on the island. But tonight it feels foreign to me after living in Fawn Grove. It takes living outside of New York to realize how hard it is to actually survive in this crazy city. It’s ridiculously expensive and overcrowded. The pace is so competitive that even the rats have stopped racing.
But then I remember the energy and the explosion of ethnic foods, the intellectual vigor of the bookshops and cafés, the driving ambition of the A-type personalities who handle the reins of finance and industry, especially the ones who work in the culinary realm. There’s no better place in the world to make one’s reputation than in New York.
Dalton parks alongside a hotel in midtown. A valet resembling a tin soldier comes out and takes the wheel of the unmarked cruiser. I can’t imagine how much the town of Fawn Grove will be charged for the luxury of Dalton staying here for the night. Five hundred bucks? And fifty bucks for the use of valet parking? Food and drink as well? I stand warily on the sidewalk next to him as the valet driver zips down the boulevard and disappears from sight. It takes a few seconds for me to realize how much Dalton towers over me, and how tiny these prosthetics make me appear.
“You wanna go grab a drink before we hit the hay?” he asks, holding up his credit card. “Courtesy of the Fawn Grove PD.”
“Nah, I read that that deli is open twenty-four seven. Enjoy your fifteen-dollar cocktail, Detective.”
“Some drinking pal you are. Meet me back here tomorrow at one sharp.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” I start off down the boulevard, looking for a taxi to flag down.
“Oh, and Iggy?”
I turn to face him.
“Enjoy your corned beef sandwich.”
I give him two thumbs-up, throw my suitcase over my shoulder, and then wave down a cab. When I look over at the hotel, I notice that Dalton’s gone.
The driver asks where I want to go, and I give him an address on the Upper East Side—a one-bedroom on Second Avenue that a good friend of mine sublets for cheap money. I met Ethan when he was Jessica at a support group for transgender people. We hit it off immediately and became best buds. When he lost his apartment, I let him crash at my pad until he found something more reasonable. I figure he owes me a favor, although I know he’ll be more than happy to put me up for the night. I text him, and he agrees to leave work early and meet me in front of his apartment.
I dig into my bag with frenzied economy as the cab cruises toward the Upper East Side. I remove my brown contact lenses, put on the wig, and then make my face up in the compact mirror, knowing how disappointed Ethan would be to see me like this—a sad little man who is a throwback from a sad little mill town.
By the time we reach the ornate brownstone on Second Avenue, I’m done up as good as I’ll be. Ethan’s sitting on the stoop and looks amazing as he rises to greet me. He’s been lifting weights and now sports a rugged beard that puts the final cap on his path to masculinity. Because of our busy lives, it’s been six months since we’ve seen each other.
“Lucy, it’s so wonderful to see you.”
“Thanks for bailing me out, Ethan,” I say as we embrace. Looking up at my friend, I realize that I forgot something important.
“Damn, girl! Did you shrink while living up there with the polar bears?”
“You know there’s no polar bears in Maine, smart-ass.” I laugh at this. “I’m wearing my old prosthetics.”
“Shortness looks cute on you,” Ethan says. “But what happened to your voice?”
“Fighting off a cold.”
“Does that mean you can’t join me for a beer?”
“I really wish I could
, but I have to get up early and meet someone for coffee tomorrow.”
“Ooooooh! Anyone special?”
“I’m sure he’d like it to be.”
“But you don’t like him in that way and so you’re letting him down easy.”
“That’s the problem with me. I have no idea what I like or dislike these days. I’m still a work in progress.”
“Fortunately for me, I was never confused about my preference for hot babes.”
“That’s the advantage to being a butch lesbian.”
“Besides short haircuts and having good taste in flannel shirts?” He laughs.
“You’d fit right in in Maine wearing flannel,” I say. “Are you seeing anyone new?”
“Little hottie at the gym named Caitlyn. Works at Goldman Sachs.”
“A fit Wall Street girl who’s good with money? Nice!”
“Wish we could catch up, Luce. I have the day off tomorrow.”
“How about when I get back from Maine we’ll go out and get drinks at Earl’s? My treat.”
“Sounds like a plan. Come on upstairs and make yourself at home. And whatever you do, don’t wake me up while you’re making yourself pretty.”
“Creating this stunning appearance takes focus and a steady hand. Quietly is the only way I can do it.”
“You know I’d do anything for you, girl.”
“I know,” I say, kissing his cheek. “Would you do me another big fave? If anyone calls you asking about me, would you mind telling them that I’ve been staying with you for the last few weeks? Oh, and that we were hanging out yesterday.”
“You in trouble?”
“Not with the law. But it will be a cop who contacts you.”
“Of course, Luce. I’ll always vouch for a girl like you.”
* * *
I push myself up off the couch two full hours before I’m to meet Dalton. He texted me late last night with the name of a coffee shop where I should meet him. I know exactly where it is. I stagger into the bathroom and stare at my tired, frazzled face. The sight of a wrinkle often sends me into a tizzy, reminding me of my age. I reach for the anti-aging cream in an attempt to stave off mortality. It’s going to take at least an hour to get rid of the teabags under my eyes and the creases around my mouth. Being gorgeous doesn’t come naturally to me, nor does it come quickly, although once I’m fully made up and dressed to the nines, I know I’ll feel beautiful again.
I think back to my time serving in Afghanistan and how the children would run up to us on the streets, begging for a coin or a sweet treat. Many of them were homeless, their parents either killed in the war or imprisoned by warlords. They would plead for us to take them back to America whenever we left that godforsaken land. Recalling those days, it makes me feel fortunate to have been born in such a great country and to have survived that disastrous war mostly intact. Survival, to me, has always meant pursuing the life I was meant to live and being the best woman I can be. I think of all the injured and dying soldiers I tended to on the battlefield, and how it pained me to know that many would never come home to fulfill their own hopes and dreams.
Tears threaten my mascara, and I must wipe away what I’ve painted and start again. Lipstick. Eyeshadow. Eyelashes. Rouge applied carefully along the high cheekbones like Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Doing this makes them look more elongated and prominent. False eyelashes that equaled my own. Then the red wig gets applied meticulously so that it will stay in place in the event of a midtown gust. I attach the prosthetics, and like that I’m tall and graceful once again. Square green ankle pants that fit me to a T and accentuate my lean figure. Leather boots with three-inch heels that, with the aid of my prosthetics, lift me to a stately height of five foot nine. Last, I adorn myself with a black Ralph Lauren wool wrap coat. Once I’m done, I check myself in the full-length mirror tacked to the back of Ethan’s bathroom door. Drop-dead gorgeous! I actually feel sorry for Dalton. Poor lovestruck Dalton having to deal with me on my turf. It must hurt to be pitted against a woman like me, knowing that he’s doomed to live the rest of his life in Fawn Grove.
I move quietly throughout the apartment, trying not to make any noise that might wake Ethan. Chefs don’t get much sleep, so when we’re allowed the opportunity, we take it to the hilt. I scrawl a thank-you note for him, brand it with a kiss, and then tiptoe down the stairs.
New York is alive at this hour, and the burst of early morning energy lends itself to optimism and endless possibilities. I move to the curb, luxuriating in my gorgeous identity but knowing that I’ll hardly stand out in this town of beauty queens and supermodels. Making myself up in such a startling manner compensates for my many insecurities in life. The weight of those two dead kids falls easily from my shoulders like a distant memory. I know this feeling is fleeting, and that I will eventually return to Fawn Grove and grieve for them, but for now fabulous feels liberating.
The physical act of hailing down a taxi never fails to enthrall me. I snag one almost immediately and park myself in the backseat, drawing frantic looks in the rearview mirror from the obese immigrant sitting behind the wheel. He’s Indian or Pakistani and happy to oblige my starved ego by ogling me. I give him directions to the coffee shop, and we arrive in less than five minutes. I stride nervously toward the cafe after leaving the cabbie a ridiculous tip. A quick glance in the compact assures me of my exquisiteness. I practice speaking so that I’ll sound more like Lucy, although with a slight case of laryngitis. My heels click loudly on the pavement as I approach the front door.
As soon as I enter, I see Dalton sitting off in the corner, looking like a lost soul in a faraway land. I take a deep breath to keep my heartbeat steady. He stands as soon as he sees me, his mouth agape, his black hair plastered in Mad Men style to one side. I have to admit that he looks rather dashing today, and in the right clothes he might actually appear fashionable. I walk over and sit across from him, my heart pounding, remembering that amazing kiss we shared at the bus station. A confident smile is etched over my caked face. Dalton asks what I’d like to drink, and I order the priciest coffee on the menu. A few minutes later he returns clutching two mugs, his eyes glued to me.
“Compliments of Fawn Grove’s finest,” he says, placing the cup down in front of me.
“Salud,” I say, toasting him.
“I must say, Lucy, you look stunning. This town seems to bring out the best in you.”
“Why, thank you, Dalton,” I say rather sweetly. “But I thought you said this visit was all business.”
“Am I not allowed to compliment you?”
“Knock yourself out, then.” I laugh and cross my legs.
“I know this is awkward, me coming all the way to interview you about this silly allegation.”
“Not in the least. Okay, maybe it’s a little weird, but it’s still nice to see you. The fact that you don’t trust me has nothing to do with our friendship.”
“Trusting you is not the issue. The chief ordered me to come down here and confirm your physical presence. This case is so messed up that we have to follow every lead possible.”
“So these idiotic teenage girls claimed that I attacked them in Robinson Woods?” I make a show of laughing. “That’s so bizarre, Dalton, that I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Kids, right?”
“But why make up something so outlandish?”
“That’s what I want to know. These two seemed convinced that you were the one who attacked them.”
“I bet they did, despite the fact everyone in town knows that I’ve been living in Manhattan the entire time.”
“Please don’t be offended at the questions I’m about to ask.”
“I’ll certainly try not to.”
“Where were you yesterday?”
“Hanging out at Ethan’s apartment on the Upper East Side.”
“Ethan a close friend of yours?”
“If you’re asking if he’s my boyfriend, the answer is no.”
He appears
relieved at this answer. “Would you mind giving me his contact information so I can check everything out?”
“Of course.” I scribble Ethan’s name and number down. “How are you holding up, Dalton? You don’t look so well.”
“I’ve had better days.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“You, on the other hand, sound like shit.”
“Laryngitis, so don’t get too close to me unless you want a souvenir to bring home.”
He shrugs and then stares at his notebook.
“What’s new in Fawn Grove? Yanni find another cook?”
He glances up at me and laughs. “You’re not going to believe this, but he hired this little troll named Iggy. You should see this chump.”
“Is he a decent chef?”
“The worst ever. But beggars can’t be choosy. Ever since the Denny’s burnt down, The Galaxy’s been busier than it has been in years.”
“The Denny’s burnt down?”
“They think it’s arson.”
“The crowds won’t stay long once they get a taste of Yanni’s food.”
“Not once Denny’s is rebuilt.”
“Damn shame they’re wasting such a golden opportunity to win over new customers.”
“So tell me how you’re doing.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Dalton. Being buried in those woods really messed me up. There’s been more than a few sleepless nights. I’ve actually been thinking about seeing a therapist.”
“That’s funny you say that, because I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing. Seeing a therapist, I mean.”
“Because you’re so depressed that I’m gone?”
He laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got my own issues to deal with.”
“You? The great Detective Dalton from the Fawn Grove PD?” I say. “What issues could you possibly have?”
“For starters, my life’s a mess. I’ve got a delinquent daughter who’s been brainwashed by her mother and refuses to have anything to do with me unless she needs money. Then there’s the image of these two dead kids that keeps replaying in my head. One with her face smashed in and the other with his head nearly decapitated. I’ve also been hitting the bottle more than I should.”