A Meeting In The Ladies' Room

by Anita Doreen Diggs

  Paul caressed my face. “Do you think I don’t know that? I love you in spite of this terrible mess, but I need to know how you feel about me.”

  “I love you, too, but . . .”

  I was about to add that I didn’t have the kind of heat for him that makes a woman think about a man day and night. His feelings for me were a lot stronger than mine were for him. Before I could say all that, he placed his finger over my lips.

  “Ssshhh. That’s all I needed to hear.” He pressed my body close to his and our lips met. Then our tongues. It turned into a strong and leisurely kiss. We helped each other out of our clothes and he gently ran his hands and lips over my face, breasts, and thighs. “You are the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen.”

  My heart beat fast. My fingers, as I wrapped them around his thick, solid manhood, trembled slightly.

  Paul took his time with my nipples. He played with each one gently . . . sucking and nibbling until I was soaking wet and begging for him to fulfill me.

  And then it was on.

  His ride started out slow, then it escalated until my nails were digging into his strong back before he shifted into a deliberate, steady stroke that made silent tears of pleasure course down my cheeks.

  “Are you my woman?” he whispered.

  “Yes, Paul.”

  We moaned, flowed, and created our own dance that tore down the last walls of our platonic friendship.

  26

  REASONABLE DOUBT

  Paul shook me awake. My eyes opened to find him fully dressed and smiling down at me.

  “I have to get going, baby,” he said.

  “What time is it?”

  “Just a little before six.”

  Why are you leaving for work so early?”

  He sat down and stroked my naked back. “I need to go home and change clothes. Plus I have to pack some of my things so I don’t have to run to Brooklyn every other day.” He groaned. “Jackie, I . . . uh . . . never mind.”

  There was something deep going on. I could smell it. “What’s the matter?”

  “I have something to do right after work but I’ll get here as soon as I can. Will you be okay here alone?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to move in, Paul. We need time to adjust to our relationship and trying to live together right now would be way too much.”

  “But your life could be in danger,” he protested.

  I sat up and stretched. “Paul, let’s take this thing slowly, okay?”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. What are your plans for the day?”

  “Keith will be here at nine to discuss the case and then I have an important phone call to make. After that, I’m going to see Mama, if he’ll allow it.”

  Paul stood up and glanced at his watch. “Okay, but keep in touch and let me know what’s going on. I’ll get back here this evening as quickly as possible.”

  His forehead creased into a frown and there was a sudden emotion in his eyes that I couldn’t read.

  “Paul, where are you going after work?”

  He kissed me on the lips. “There is something I have to take care of, but nothing for you to worry about. Now, get up and come lock up after me.”

  I couldn’t go back to sleep, so six in the morning found me unpacking boxes and hanging my suits, dresses, pants, and blouses in Keith’s bedroom closet, which only contained empty hangers. My shoes and boots lined up nicely on the floor of it with plenty of room to spare. It found me packing away my nightgowns, panties, bras, slips, jeans, and sweaters in the nine drawers of a beautiful white, mirror-topped dresser that faced the king-sized bed. Perfume, makeup, nail polish, jewelry box, and the manicure set now dwelled on the top of the dresser. My CD player and two dozen CDs went on the floor beside the bed because there was no other surface to place them on. I left the boxes of books downstairs on the living room floor.

  Since the bedroom and kitchen were the only furnished rooms in the entire house, I didn’t have a lot of options.

  Where should I put the giant piggy bank? Videotapes? Teddy bear? Hair scrunchies? Board games? Top shelf of the closet! The blow dryer and curling iron went up there, too, and it was over.

  Keith showed up shortly after nine with orange juice and donuts.

  We set up shop at the kitchen table. The crisp morning daylight streamed in through the bay windows and illuminated our tense faces. I was supposed to be at my desk right now, taking calls from agents and writers. When I looked at Keith, eating breakfast and secure in his job, it made me angry and scared. What kind of work would I find when this was all over?

  I fastened my gaze on him. “Well, has your detective turned up anything useful?”

  Even though my tone was nasty, Keith’s expression did not change when he answered. “There have been some revelations.”

  “Like?”

  “Joe Long doesn’t like you.”

  My brain struggled to seize and accept the notion as Keith licked jelly from the inside of a donut—his features unreadable.

  I finally managed to squeak out a meek-sounding “Why not?”

  He wiped his hands on a napkin. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  “Jealousy, perhaps?”

  “I can’t think of any reason for Joe to be jealous of me. We were both senior editors at our firms. I may have earned a little more than he does, but not enough for him to hate me for it.”

  “Did you have more power than he does?”

  I had to snicker. “Everyone in the Black Pack has more power than Joe does. Why is he singling me out for his bitterness?”

  I had spoken the truth. Joe was simply Black window dressing at the place where he worked and his opinion didn’t count for much.

  Keith checked his notes. “Would you describe Joe Long as a mentally stable person?”

  “Yes. I’ve only seen him get angry once in the five years I’ve known him. Why do you ask?”

  He ignored my question. “Tell me about it.”

  I told him about the night Dallas told us that Victor had been coming out of Victoria’s Secret and might have made a new “love connection.”

  “Joe went nuts,” I concluded. “Maybe they were both in love with the same woman or something.”

  “I’ll have one of my private investigators look into it.”

  “Why is that important?”

  Keith said, “Right now, everything is important.”

  “Dallas also told me that she thinks Joe is a closet homosexual with a crush on Victor. Have you heard anything like that?”

  “I’m not willing to say right now, Jackie.”

  “Fine. What else?”

  “Annabelle was having an affair,” said Keith.

  For some reason, I wasn’t surprised. “Who is the other man?”

  “That’s what we don’t know yet,” Keith said with a frown. “Apparently it’s been going on for quite some time. Her friends know that the man exists but she never revealed his identity. “Have you seen this bullshit?” He waved a copy of Time magazine in my face. “According to these folks, Annabelle Welburn Murray was an alabaster saint. Not a woman who paid her household help worse than anyone else at The Dakota, and was fucking around on her husband.”

  “Do you think the other man killed her?”

  Keith’s eyes met mine. “Not unless he was already in that apartment when you stopped by for the book. Is there any chance of that?”

  “She had been crying, so it is possible.”

  He was staring at me.

  “What is it?” I was not in the mood for any more puzzles.

  “I’ve reviewed all the videotape for that morning, starting at five A.M. If her lover was in the apartment, then he had to live in her building. Every other man who came in or out has been accounted for. Unfortunately, I cannot subpoena every single male who lives in that building without cause.”

  “What about Craig? Have you ruled him out?”

&nb
sp; “Craig Murray was faithful to this Jezebel and there is absolutely no way he could have killed her, either.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I have accounted for every single second of his time during the crucial period.”

  “Where was he?”

  “At his sister’s home. He and Annabelle had a fight and he left, taking the kid with him.”

  “Break it down for me, Keith. What does this mean?”

  “It means that I’ve never had a case with more holes in it than this one.” Keith was clearly delighted. “It has ‘reasonable doubt’ written all over it. Jackie, you’re gonna walk. Take my word for it.”

  “In other words, you may not find out who killed her.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I cannot live my life under a cloud of suspicion, Keith.”

  “My people will keep trying, but I just wanted you to know that it may not be possible.” He patted my arm. “Let’s talk about the computer and disks that the police took away. “Is there anything incriminating on those disks or the hard drive?”

  It was time to tell him the story of Victor Bell.

  “. . . uh . . . um . . .”

  “Jackie, you can’t let me get blindsided in that courtroom. I’ve got to know.”

  My hands flew up to cover my face. “It’s all just so embarrassing.”

  “Not half as unsettling as what goes on in a women’s prison.”

  Damn, he was blunt!

  I hung my head in shame and stared down at the kitchen table and never took my eyes off its wooden surface as I poured out my pathetic saga of lust, obsession, and humiliation.

  When I got to the part where Paul fled down the stairs after seeing me in my slip, Keith made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked-back snicker.

  He sucked in his breath when I described the sound of Victor retching in my bathroom.

  “That’s it,” I said finally.

  He tapped his pen on the table and it was clear he was thinking out loud. “I’ve been told that Victor and Joe Long are good friends. Is that true?”

  “Yes, but I can tell you right now that no one in the Black Pack had a reason to kill Annabelle.”

  “You’re probably right, but I’m going to have a talk with Victor anyway.”

  “About what?”

  He neatly sidestepped the question. “Maybe I just want to get a real good look at this brother. I’m wondering what he has that would make a smart, good-looking woman like you go to such lengths to get him.”

  I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling as though Keith was full of shit, but he was making me feel good inside.

  “I also want to look into the eyes of a man who had you alone and willing in a bedroom and ran out. I can’t imagine what such a fool would look like.”

  He winked at me and I smiled back at him.

  “Perhaps,” Keith continued, “the poor man needs to be in a hospital for the criminally insane. I can arrange that, you know.”

  Victor in a straitjacket! The image struck me as funny and I got a bad case of the giggles. Soon Keith was laughing, too.

  I chose a vanilla-frosted donut and poured myself some juice.

  “Let’s talk about little Dora Murray.”

  “Did you find out what was wrong with her?” I asked.

  “There was nothing wrong with the child.”

  “But she said that the doctor gave her a needle.”

  “The doctor wasn’t putting medicine into her body,” Keith replied. “He was taking blood out.”

  “Why?”

  Keith grinned. “For DNA testing.”

  I jumped up and started waving my arms around like I’d just won a race. “I knew that child wasn’t Craig’s. Both her parents are blond but she looks Hispanic. Have you seen her yet?”

  He waited until I had calmed down. “No, but that can wait.”

  I slumped back into my seat.

  “Poor Craig. This is awful. Is there any way to keep Craig from finding out about this DNA business? He adores that kid.”

  Keith leaned forward. “Jackie, I need you to understand something. Look at me.”

  I looked.

  “I’m going to find out what those test results are and when we walk into that courtroom, the gloves are off. There is nothing I won’t do, no reputation that will go untarnished, no secret unrevealed, in my effort to win. I intend to get a ‘not guilty’ verdict in this case.”

  I said nothing.

  Keith cleared his throat. “All right, let’s start making a list of people to call as character witnesses. Folks who will say under oath that you are the greatest thing since sliced bread and couldn’t kill a fly.”

  “Well, forget Joe,” I said bitterly. “What about the rest of the group?”

  “Rachel, Alyssa, and Paul are totally on your side. I’m not sure about Victor yet.”

  “Rachel?” I couldn’t have been more astonished if he had said Batman.

  “Yeah. She is really pissed off about what has happened to you and blames Tiffany Nixon and her column for pushing this thing forward so fast.”

  “Are we talking about Rachel Edwards from the Black Pack?”

  Keith seemed amused. “Yes. Why are you so surprised?”

  “Because Rachel only cares about getting a rich husband.”

  “You’re very wrong about her,” Keith said softly. “Besides, I don’t just want a list of publishing folks.” He pushed some paper and a pen in my direction. “Write down the names of everyone you have a good relationship with. Neighbors, your local dry cleaner . . . don’t leave anyone out.”

  After Keith left, I called Elaine Garner. Even though she had not put up my bail, I still wanted to do the book. The money would go to Mama, who had been pinching pennies all her life. Elaine didn’t want to talk on the phone but agreed to come over for a long lunch. I warned her not to tell anyone about my location. The last thing I needed was a horde of reporters camped outside the brownstone.

  Elaine drank Bailey’s over ice. I’d have to find a liquor store and then stop by the supermarket to pick up some kind of finger food.

  She arrived promptly at noon with a basket of fruit and a bouquet of flowers. “Jackie, it is such a relief to see you in person.”

  I took the gifts and her coat and spoke over my shoulder as I went in search of a hanger and a vase. “I don’t know how to thank you, Elaine.”

  When I came back she was thumbing through a copy of Winner. There was a smile on her face. “This is a big fish, Jackie. I hope you’re trying to reel him in.”

  “Not at all,” I replied crisply. “I have far more important things on my mind.”

  She put the book down. “I’m not saying he should be the only item on your ‘Things to Do’ list, but he should definitely be in one of the top three slots.”

  I had to laugh at that. “Come on. We have to sit in the kitchen.”

  “Why isn’t there any furniture in the living room?”

  I told her about the upstairs bedroom and my idea about Keith’s way of handling one-night stands as I bustled about the kitchen, fixing drinks and putting food on the table.

  Elaine got a kick out of my theory. “Imagine being rich enough to indulge those kind of whims,” she sighed.

  I sat down and we sipped our alcohol quietly for a moment. “Tell me what is going on, Elaine. I’m completely out of the loop.”

  “Jackie, you are the only topic of conversation when I’m at work—then I watch every bit of the newscast when I’m at home.”

  “So, what is the verdict?”

  She shrugged. “No one really knows what to believe.”

  I gazed at her intently. “What do you believe, Elaine?”

  She took a deep breath. “The motive doesn’t work for me or anyone else in the book business, Jackie. Nobody in their right mind would literally kill to become executive editor. This isn’t Wall Street! We are the most underpaid people in the world. To be frank, many people think you were having an
affair with Craig Murray and things got out of hand.”

  Elaine was being honest with me, but her response wasn’t what I’d expected. She was supposed to say that I was not capable of taking a human life. How could I feel so insecure inside and appear so severe on the outside?

  “Well, they’re wrong,” I said sternly. “Let’s talk about our project.”

  Elaine and I ate buffalo wings, nachos and cheese, chips and dip while we discussed the memoir which would keep Mama financially safe if I went to prison. The book would easily be worth half a million dollars. We decided that Elaine would rent a post office box and I would send daily updates on the case to her there. She would start searching for a superstar crime writer to cover the trial. If I were convicted, New York’s Son of Sam law would prevent me from making money, so it would then become my mother’s story “as told to” the superstar writer. Elaine would walk Mama through the publishing process until the money was safe in the bank. Although I asked her to report any news she heard on the case back to me, Elaine made it clear that she would not do it.

  “I won’t become part of the story,” she said, “unless I overhear the real killer confess to the crime.”

  In the end, we handwrote an agreement that I would not take the project to another editor.

  I kissed her cheek at the door.

  She winked at me and walked out.

  I had forgotten to ask Keith about going to see my mama but I needed to do it, no matter how many reporters were perched on her stoop. There was no one outside when the cab pulled up in front of her building—perhaps the interview she’d given was enough to feed them for a while.

  She hugged me like I’d just been released from Leavenworth before snatching Elaine’s fruit basket from my hand. “Oh, Jackie, you spent too much money!”

  I hung my coat up in the living room closet, “No, I didn’t. A friend of mine gave it to me.”

  Mama placed the basket on her kitchen countertop and ripped the plastic covering off it. “Look at this! My, ain’t this somethin’,” she crowed.

  “I brought you some money, too. It should be time to fill your prescriptions again, right?”

  She hesitated in a way I didn’t like. “Jackie, you can’t afford to do that anymore. I’ll be okay.”