I could wrangle metaphors too: “Lift the rug and show the filth hidden underneath?”
Annie grinned my way. The third margarita had unleashed her tangy, loose side. “Exactly right, SJ. Not everything written about our industry has been on the up-and-up. A lot is fraud. Fake people dealing cover-ups and lies. But we know all the good stuff. The truth. We’ll expose the dirt tomorrow afternoon. You ought to stop by. It should be quite a show.”
Echoing her own words, Annie sounded pleased with herself, proud and defiant in anticipation of the trouble she intended to cause. This was the sexy, confident girl who’d fascinated me from day one. Gerry and Sally again exchanged glances of concern. Annie’s mysterious boast worried them. Or maybe they were just baffled by her pronouncements.
Luna spoke for all of us: “Oh, come on, Annie.” He looked around the table for support. “You can’t leave us hanging like that. It’s cruel. I’ve got to go to make a business call right now. Can’t you give us a little hint?”
Annie smirked like a cat and darted her tongue across her lips. “Nope, you get nothing from me now. Make it to the presentation tomorrow and you’ll hear enough to blow your minds.” She curled her fingers into a fist, then thrust them wide like an explosion. Her high peals were the only laughter at the table.
A few minutes later, with handshakes all around, Rick Luna scurried to his errand. As he stood from the table, he said he hoped to be gone a few hours at most. He promised to catch up with Annie for dessert in the hotel restaurant. “And we’re still on for breakfast at seven, right?” A wink, a kiss on her temple, and Rick disappeared.
Maybe the red-headed dynamic duo would quit too, go get dinner somewhere else. Find a jungle tribe to harass. Leave us the hell alone. Instead, Keith ordered another round of drinks. I declined; I had a long train ride to Harlem ahead.
But Annie seemed determined to match them glass for glass. “One of the few benefits of staying at the over-decorated, overpriced conference hotel is you don’t have to worry about driving home drunk.” She downed a gulp then lapped the pink salt from the cup’s rim.
Keith roared as if Annie had uttered a profound observation. “That’s why I decided to book a room at the Continental for the night. It was pretty easy to persuade the department to foot the bill.” Another laugh, louder than the first.
When I frowned, Anastos explained: “Gerry’s the chair of anthropology, that’s why the department approved the expense.” She chuckled and wiped the corners of her mouth with a thumb. “He only had to persuade himself.”
“Must be nice.” I shook my head. Who knew being a tenured faculty member at a major university was such a cushy job? No one but God and an oblivious dean to look over your shoulder. “In my second life, I’m coming back as a full professor.”
Red curls bristled on Sally’s crown as she defended her chosen profession: “It’s more hard work and grief than you’d imagine, Rook. They don’t hand anything to you. Nothing. In academia, you’ve got to fight and scratch for every last thing you get. Fellowships, publications, grants, promotions, awards, recognitions. No handouts or free lunches anywhere.”
Sally wasn’t three sheets to the wind yet, but she was zipping past sail number two. Rather than dulling her senses, wallowing in the alcoholic slush sharpened her tongue. “You know what the motto of any academic is?” She didn’t wait for my prompt, offering her own Cosmo-fueled answer: “‘What’s in it for me?’ That’s the guiding principle behind every faculty member’s decision or action. Five little words: ‘What’s. In. It. For. Me?’”
That slogan was more cynical than anything I’d encountered as a private investigator. Hard-boiled or not, we dealt in solving problems and rescuing hope. Maybe in my next life I’d stick with the Ross Agency.
Keith tossed a smarmy smile at his top fan. “Oh, Sally, dear Sally. You’re giving our new friend here a jaundiced view of the ivy tower… I mean, Ivory Tower.” A slurp from his Tom Collins lubricated Keith’s words. “Don’t believe a word she says, Rook.”
I’d had a snout full of intellectual posturing. “I’ll try not to, Prof.”
With that, I was out of there. I shook hands with Gerry Keith and Sally Anastos. I promised to look for them if I made it to the conference the next morning. That chance hovered midway between fat and none, but I didn’t tell them that. They didn’t know and I didn’t care.
Maneuvering through the clutch of tables to reach the exit took extra concentration after three bourbons, but I had help. Annie walked me to the door of the bar, her hand in the crook of my elbow.
Alone again, I let loose: “They’re pure horse crap, Annie. How can you stomach them?”
“Oh, they’re not all bad. Selfish, maybe. Stuck-up bigots, sure. But they’re smart and connected. Amusing.”
“Conceited shits, is what they are.” I stubbed my foot against a chair and Annie squeezed my arm. My unsteadiness was due to the alcohol, but my wobbly gait reminded her of other infirmities.
“How’s your foot, SJ? I meant to ask earlier, but didn’t get the chance.”
“Still there. Some days worse, some days better.”
As we passed the piano, I stuck a rolled twenty-dollar bill in the brandy glass on its ebony surface. Brother piano man nodded thanks. In farewell, he tickled a few bars of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” Caution, jeer, or empathy? Who knows what he meant?
Annie had escorted me through the hotel entrance to the street. Our evening had ended there. That’s all Archie Lin needed to know and that’s all I told him. The rest of the story was private, buried forever inside my heart’s deepest chamber.
When Annie and I’d reached the sidewalk, we paused, our eyes raised to the pink-frosted gray clouds rushing overhead. The bent wand of the crescent moon cast its pale beams between the mid-town spires. Traffic rumbled in a dark tide around us. Taxis dropped clients; bellboys hustled brass luggage carts from the curb through the revolving doors. We stood in the surging flood of pedestrians, oblivious to their grumbling. Someone bumped Annie and I caught her shoulder. Her skin was supple and firm under my fingers, muscles yielding to my grip.
Then she surprised me. We’d used all our words, so she did the only thing left. She ran her hand along the back of my neck, pulling me down for a kiss. Her lips were warm and soft under mine, the way they always had been. Deepening the kiss beyond a token embrace wasn’t my idea. But my head wasn’t in charge and it happened. Her mouth tasted salty tart from the margaritas. And sweet from all the past we shared. Her tongue stroked mine, sending sparks from ears to groin. I raised my hands to angle her face in the old style. Any objections I had, any thoughts pleading for attention, everything evaporated in the familiar sensation of returning to her body. Returning home. Kissing her promised everything. I wanted more. More of everything we’d shared. Everything I’d lost.
Annie pulled back, laying a hand against my cheek, her fingers cool on my heated skin.
“I… Annie, I mean…” The jumble of sounds bumped against my teeth.
A tiny twitch of her mouth replaced a smile. Her simple interruption stopped me from crushing the moment with foolish words. “Thanks for meeting me, SJ. See you tomorrow. Think about what I said about Miami.”
Then she vanished. And I was lost.
The burst of fresh Harlem air as I emerged from the subway cleared my head. The moon shone grand and clean between the project towers as I walked home. No need to rush; casing the past, plotting my future took time. One kiss had changed my mind: attending the conference was essential now. It might have changed the direction of my life too. Was I ready for another ride on the rollercoaster?
Chapter
Five
I blinked, the muted stripes of the hotel corridor wavering before my tear-clouded eyes. I rubbed a thumb under my lower lip. I swallowed to capture the sigh bubbling in my chest.
Archie Lin bumped his thick shoulder into mine. The
bench trembled under his weight. A uniformed officer fiddling with an iPad raised an eyebrow at Archie, then slipped along the quiet hall and into Annie’s room.
Wrinkles flared near Archie’s eyes. “Yeah, I get it: crowded hotel lobby, dizzy subway ride home.” He slid a pudgy hand across his mouth, tugging it into a frown. “So, go on, what happened this morning?”
If he found my recap casual or spotty, Archie wasn’t saying. Not yet. He knew better than to interrupt a crime scene witness, even a friend, in mid-testimony. I swiped a finger under my nose, and continued.
Carting a jumbo-sized hangover, I had rattled in the morning train to mid-town. I’d traded my black shirt for a light blue number straight from the dry cleaners. I’d dragged a brush through my hair, patting down the curls on top, touching a bud of pomade to smooth the edges above my ears. I slapped two drops of cologne on my chest. The warm scent smelled clean, like driftwood I collected on long-ago beach vacations with my uncle Luis at South Padre Island. My mirror said I looked okay, but I ran a cloth over my belt and shoes to make sure they shone.
No point in arriving at seven to interrupt Annie’s breakfast with Rick Luna. Whatever they’d done together the previous night was none of my business. Yet. The possibilities writhed in my imagination; I’d handle the Rick situation if needed. Ten o’clock was early enough for my purpose.
In the bright sunlight, the Continental Regent sparkled, as if a power-washing had cleaned the structure of last night’s grime. Buzzing with good cheer, convention delegates swarmed through the halls of the hotel. The lobby seemed bigger than it was last night; crossing required my full attention. Bell boys seemed half the age of their teammates from last night; their wolf eyes assessed how much folding money I might have in my pocket. I trooped under crystal chandeliers that seemed shinier than before. I shivered past air conditioners on full blast in the long halls. I plowed wide corridors flanking Cinderella ballrooms; the halls led to a hive of smaller conference rooms divided by temporary partitions. Simultaneous sessions with hyphenated titles demanded my attention, but I tramped past.
I trudged through this maze for eleven minutes before finding the room I wanted. Gerry Keith’s name was printed in large red letters on a signboard at the entrance. Five minutes late for the start of the presentation, I pressed into a corner near the exit. He’d attracted an overflow crowd of female admirers. Sally Anastos might be the head priestess, but she wasn’t the only member of the Keith cult.
His talk was informal but lofty, full of magnificent ideas for how business could intersect with academia. He outlined the prospect of sexy profits all around. The audience tittered and clapped in appreciation of his insights and worldly quips. People took notes and snapped photos for the insatiable Internet. His knack with words was inspiring and alluring. He lightened the burden of the theorizing that was his claim to fame. Keith brought a large rolling briefcase stuffed with books. When the session was over, he spent thirty minutes autographing copies of The Dirty and The Clean for his gushing fans.
“See, I told you he’s a rock star.” Sally Anastos slipped next to me, her shoulder against the wall.
We watched the line snaking toward Keith’s table. She wore black again, this time a thin t-shirt, skin-tight jeans, and flat sandals. Little silver disks replaced the coral hoop earrings of the night before. In daylight, the springy red curls framed her bright eyes in an appealing way. I looked for tell-tale purple shadows along her lids, but saw none. She was a better drinker than me.
Bouncy, almost bubbly, Sally pulsed with nervous energy. Maybe I really was getting old, if the arrival of a keen young woman with nice breasts could scatter the remnants of my hangover. A veil of perspiration shone on her upper lip and her pink nostrils twitched around heavy sniffs. She seemed excited, and satisfied, like she’d accomplished something big. A secret thing of great significance. Four times her eyes darted from my face, scouring the room for a glimpse of her mentor. Gerry Keith was the reason for her vital delight, not me.
Giving in to her was my only move. “Sure, Sally. Gerry’s a star.”
Had she spent the night in Keith’s room at the Continental? Was she glittering like this because of him? Maybe she got her kicks some other way, but her satisfied vibe murmured sex. It wouldn’t be the first time a professor extended his collaboration with an eager grad student from the classroom to the bedroom.
Sally studied me with an indulgent air, combining youthful pity with amusement. “Come on, you look like you could use another cup of coffee. Gerry’ll meet us at the snack station at the end of the hall.”
She took my elbow the way Annie had the night before. With a firm grip, she steered me through Keith’s fan club. By the time we’d tapped the coffee urns and selected strawberry Danishes from the mountain of pastries at the snack bar, Gerry arrived.
“Rook, my man! I’m delighted you could make it this morning.” Keith pumped my arm like a handle on a rusty faucet. If the coffee didn’t wake me, his assault would. “I saw you at the back of the room, amigo. You got the last square foot of space on the floor. Lucky man!”
Gerry was preening like a peacock in mating season; having me witness his latest triumph brought a glow to his already ruddy cheeks. He’d traded the desert explorer garb for a sharp charcoal suit with a tweed vest in shades of blue and green. He looked smug, confident his place in the universe was secure. The crowd’s applause, the acclaimed book, the attention of the beautiful Sally Anastos, everything fit. The man who stared at him in the mirror each morning was indeed as powerful and deserving as he thought.
“You were right, Sally, I could have sold twice as many books. I should have brought more copies like you said.”
She smiled and leaned toward her mentor, picking an invisible speck of dust from his sapphire-striped tie, then straightened it to lie flat below his throat. The veil of sex draped over them. If they weren’t lovers, then the world was truly turned upside down.
I ate lunch with Gerry and Sally in the hotel’s sleek restaurant. High ceilings dotted with starburst light fixtures, yellow-and-gray checkerboard wallpaper, caramel upholstery on the tufted chairs, silver embossing splashed across the heavy menus. The room was casual posh, the guests were elegant in bleached jeans, jewel-toned silk shirts, and four-inch heels. In my off-brand look, I didn’t fit at all, but I could play my role: audience for the triumph of Gerry and Sally.
Our conversation, an expanded lecture by Gerry footnoted by Sally, was interrupted several times by fawning women. If they owned copies of The Dirty and The Clean, Gerry signed them with good cheer. If they asked for selfies with the superstar, he obliged with a show of auburn eyelash fluttering to indicate modesty. I was irritated with the performances, but happy to let the prof cover the tab. The Alexander University anthropology department could afford my bacon cheeseburger.
I only wanted one thing: to find Annie. In answer to my question, Gerry and Sally said they hadn’t spotted her that morning. Rick Luna was also a no show. They didn’t display any worry about these absences.
Gerry rolled his shoulders in a broad shrug. “I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually, Rook.”
“Yeah, she had a long night, like the rest of us,” Sally chimed in. Her voice was casual, the notes tripping along the scale like a carefree melody as she glanced toward the roving waitress. “Don’t worry about it, Rook. She’ll be along later.”
Gerry topped Sally’s idea with professional clarification. “She’s probably in her room preparing for her presentation. Collecting her thoughts, reviewing her notes, practicing in front of the mirror, rehearsing her best lines.”
Sally squinted as she recalled the previous night’s conversation. “When she left the bar, Anniesha said she wanted to go over her PowerPoint slides with Rick last night, didn’t she, Gerry? Or was it this morning?”
I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a flinch.
“Yes, she sure did.”
They didn’t shrug, but their shared body language suggested disdain and indifference were their chief emotions. Neither academic planned to attend Annie’s panel at three.
“I promised a colleague from NYU I’d look over his draft grant application this afternoon,” Sally said, sounding preoccupied but determined. She glanced at Gerry. “You remember Colin Spiegel, don’t you?”
“Colin Spiegel? No, you absolutely cannot snub him, Sally. Despite what they say, it isn’t love but professional courtesy makes the academic world go ‘round.”
“You know it. Colin will scream bloody murder if I don’t show in his office this afternoon. He’d kill me.” She topped this cheery complaint with a violent eye roll. “And where are you going, Gerry?”
“I’ve got an appointment with one of the deans at Alexander this afternoon. Galaxy Pindar is dim as a foggy mirror, poor thing. But she has a big budget and limited imagination about how to spend it. I promised to lend the tragic girl a few of my ideas.”
This pledge sent showers of laughter across the table. Their chummy self-absorption tore my last nerve. I crumpled the cloth napkin and stuffed it between the sweating glass of diluted cola and my plate. When I stood from the table, both academics widened their eyes. I thanked Gerry for the lunch, shook hands with two quick pumps, then turned for the exit before they finished their showy farewells. The lunch felt oppressive and I needed a break.
To escape, I stretched my legs with a walk around the neighborhood beyond the Continental Regent. In the dense August heat, I angled my shoulders to plow through the crowds.
I’d left Brina a quick phone message as I waited on the train platform for the ride to mid-town. I wondered what she made of my vague phrases. Was she peeved or worried? Without mentioning Annie, I’d said I was returning to the conference hotel. Had that caused yesterday’s jealousy to flare again? A murmur of guilt brushed my mind. I pictured her in the reception area of our office, staring at invoices from creditors. Or shouting over the clanking air conditioner to pry details from a potential new client. Or rolling her eyes at another long surveillance tale from her father. Or blowing sweaty curls from her forehead as she reviewed my latest razor-thin case report. Brina made our agency work. More than just function, she made it prosper. And she did the same for me.
Murder My Past Page 5