About Face (16 page)

Wes got excited. “I
loved
James Bond. I had a 007 lunch-box and—” He stopped short as it dawned on him he was dating himself. “You know what else, Austin Powers is really funny.”

“Yeah!” Noela agreed. “That's why I started watching the old Bonds. Austin cracks me up. He's such a barney.”

“We could shoot a groovy episode in this place.” Wes gestured to the other room. “It's the right era, right?”

“It'd be perfect!” Noela said.

“I thought that updated
Romeo and Juliet
movie was good,” Erika said. “You know, the one by the guy who did
Moulin Rouge
?”

“It was pretty interesting—the camera angles, the editing,” I agreed, then realized I sounded like a film geek. “How about actors—who's your favorite?”

“I had the hugest crush on Leonardo when I was a teenager,” she went on. “Now I think Vin Diesel is pretty hot.”

“Right on,” Noela agreed. “And Wesley Snipes.”

The half hour passed and then some. Our dinner came, surf and turf, and I heard about the relative merits of young movie stars: which one was too seedy and which one too pretty, which too full of himself and which just right. There was a brief detour into music. Noela and Erika had their differences on hip-hop; Erika was more into the new loud bands. Again Wes and I dated ourselves by recalling their forebears, who themselves had been inspired by an earlier generation. We were in the era of third-degree retro.

On the whole I considered the diversion a success, since our dates seemed to have forgotten their job for a little while. Erika caught my quietness, though, and asked me, “What's your favorite movie, Bill? And why?”

I thought about what she'd relate to, or what would impress her, and then decided the hell with it. She'd proven herself good at seeing through bullshit. “There's an old Hitchcock film that always gets me. I've lost track of how many times I've seen it.
Shadow of a Doubt
.” I tried to explain how what got me was the way this teenage girl named Charlie has a big, though innocent, crush on her uncle, played by Joseph Cotten. She's unwilling, right up until the last moment, to believe he's a murderer who would betray her.

“I'd like to see it,” Erika said.

“I've never heard of those people,” Noela said. “It sounds creepy.”

The table was quiet for a moment. Dinner was done and the band in the lounge was tuning up. Wes extended a hand to Noela. “Let's dance.”

I waited to catch Erika's eyes again. They were clear as a Sierra lake. I said, “I'm sorry if I startled you earlier when I mentioned Rod.”

“Isn't Rod dead?” Her voice was neutral.

“Yes. Someone put a knife into his neck. I want to find Alissa. I'm concerned about her.”

“She told me not to worry. That was two or three weeks ago. I didn't know what she meant at the time.” Erika watched me, wary. “What's going on?”

“This date isn't purely social,” I admitted.

“Don't worry about it. Guys schedule dates for all kinds of reasons. We don't get many filmmakers. I figured you had an agenda.”

“I need your help, Erika. I need to know about Alissa.”

She sat back, then smiled unexpectedly, her lips forming a sensuous curl. “Let's dance,” she said. “I can tell a lot about a man by how he dances.”

“Great,” I said, getting to my feet. “That helps me feel real loose and relaxed.”

The dance floor was not large. A Latin jazz combo was playing and the room was alive with sinuous motion. It was a nicely mixed crowd, old and young, chic and traditional. The young men were in form-fitting black T-shirts, the women in tight jeans, while the men with white hair wore suits and the women flared dresses. The older couples were slower but more elegant in their moves, a look of serene contemplation on their faces.

Erika and I plunged into the writhing crowd. Noela was teaching Wes how to samba. I laughed at his attempts to make
his hips move like hers. Then I tried it myself and found out how hard it was. Erika didn't seem to mind. Her skirt swung in a nice counterpoint to her waist. We were carried along by the music, caught up in the motion. With each number we got a little closer, touched a little more often, until together we were making up our own version of the rhumba or whichever style was being played. The longer I danced, the less it seemed to matter whether I was following the rules.

When the band went into a slower number, I put my arm behind her back and we fell into an easy two-step. “It's fun to dance with you,” she said.

“The only problem is the messages between my brain and my hips go astray. What does that tell you about me?”

“You dance from the heart. You don't pretend like you know it all. It's not your fault your hips are tight. That's how you were raised.”

I moved in a little closer. “So there's hope for me?”

She threw in a little twist, and our thighs brushed. “It's never too late. You just need a few lessons.”

We came closer yet. I felt the heat of her body through her clothes, the dampness of her back, her shape undulating with mine. Her head rested on my shoulder and I drifted with the music until I realized that might be just what she intended, leaving the question of Alissa to go unanswered. I started to speak but then took in a whiff of her hair and put it off a little longer.

When the number was over, she pulled back and checked her wrist. She must have an internal clock, I thought, because it was five minutes to twelve. The date was scheduled to end at midnight.

“You're about to turn into a pumpkin,” I said. She gave a nod. I pulled her closer as the music began again. “What about Alissa?”

“Not here.” Erika nodded at Noela, who was still dancing with Wes. “She wouldn't rat on me, but I have to be careful about this.
Really
careful.” She moved a little closer. “I
am
worried about Alissa, though.”

“Can we meet tomorrow?”

Erika made some mental calculations and said, “I'll be shopping in Union Square in San Francisco. Meet me at the Rotunda Restaurant at the top of Neiman Marcus. You know it?”

“I've heard of it.”

“Come at noon. I'll get a table. But we have to have some signal I can give you in case it's not okay.”

I thought for a second. “How about a scarf? Put it on if it's not okay.”

“All right. All right, that's good. It'll be a red scarf.” She put her eyes in front of mine and added, “I'm taking a big chance, Bill. If I'm wearing the scarf, leave.”

The song ended. We clapped, then I bowed and kissed Erika's hand. She laughed and clicked back into associate mode. She found Noela, hooked arms with her, and thanked Wes for a wonderful evening.

“Can't we buy you a nightcap?” he said, scrambling to keep the date going. Midnight had snuck up on him. “How about a ride home?”

“We have our own car,” Noela said. “Good night. Thank you.”

We stood at the edge of the dance floor, waving good-bye. The only thing left was to repair to the bar for one last drink.

“Damn, Billy,” Wes complained. “I was making progress.”

“You mean with the dancing or the dating?”

“Both, I'd say. Noela was warming up.”

“She timed it that way. I hope you didn't ask her about Alissa.”

“No, I just tried to find out about the agency. She said she likes her job.”

“They're both good at it. I wonder if Erika's really going to meet me for lunch tomorrow or if she's just setting me up.”

Wes narrowed his eyes at the news, then broke out into a grin. “You
dog
. Did she say whether you have to pay for it?”

I looked into my glass. “I'm sure I'll pay for it. One way or another, I'll pay for it.”

The elevator took its time
rising to the fourth floor of Neiman Marcus on Union Square. I half expected to find Gary at the top, ready to teach me a lesson. The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Rupert and Trisha hadn't known about the date last night. They'd been ahead of me every step so far, especially in putting their spin on Rod to the police. My jaw clamped as the elevator opened. If Erika showed up, it was probably only to lure me on.

The restaurant was near the top of the store's grand multi-tiered rotunda, with fluted columns rising to a lavishly decorated glass dome. Great windows looked out over the city. A small circular bar, set a few steps higher than the restaurant, was the first stop. The bar was jammed with people waiting for tables. I heard some Texas drawls and noticed a number of well-coiffed older men trolling for new catches.

I didn't catch sight of Erika's straw-blond hair until I turned the corner of the bar. She stood stiff and straight, letting the trollers know she wasn't available. Her neck was bare except for a small locket. She was fingering the scarf near her waist. I moved in quickly before she decided to put it on.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“Whatever you do, don't act like we're on a date.”

“You got it. This is a business meeting.”

“Could you tell the hostess we're ready for our table? It's under my name.”

We were taken to a small table hidden behind a column. The hostess smiled at Erika and said, “Is this is the one you wanted?”

She nodded. The table was hidden from the entrance and from most of the restaurant. A bowl of consommé was placed before us. After a few discreet glances, Erika settled a little more at ease into her chair. She opened the menu and said, “I always start with a champagne cocktail.”

Her voice was different than last night. It was faster, sharper, carrying a hint of disdain. She wore a close-fitting sleeveless top that stopped just above her belly button, and low-riding, hip-hugging pants. Her eyes seemed oddly luminous, and then I realized they were a different color than last night. She was wearing blue-tinted contacts. Her lipstick today was strawberry; last night it had been clear. The nature-girl image had been replaced by an air of glamorous caprice.

A waitress came to take our order. Erika got the lobster club on brioche. On her recommendation, I started with the lobster bisque. My plan was to continue ordering as needed to keep her at the table.

“This room is amazing,” I said. “I've never been to Needless Markup before.”

She pressed her lips together: She took the place seriously and didn't appreciate the nickname. I myself had never presumed to shop here. I corrected my error by raving a little more about the rotunda, then got down to business. I described my relationship
with Rod, our first discovery that Alissa was missing, and Rod's eventual revelation that she worked for Silicon Glamour. Erika said she'd never met Rod.

The waitress came with my bisque and a basket of popovers. “Would you like to try some?” I asked.

“Oh, I have,” she said. “Keep going. I want to hear more before I say anything.”

I mentioned that Rod liked Alissa, but didn't mention his suspicions about her. I described Wendy's stunt at the dinner. Finally I told Erika how I found Rod in his house that night. She stopped sipping her champagne. “That's horrible,” she whispered.

I let the silence stretch. One by one the bubbles broke from the side of her glass and rose to the surface. “I come here once a month,” Erika said at last. “I do my shopping. SG gives us a generous allowance. I buy a few things for myself. The rest are for the persona, that crunchy girl you dated last night. Alissa had lunch with me here once. She liked the food, but it's not her kind of place. She's no droop, she does have her own style, but . . . I don't think she fits in very well at SG.”

“How does she not fit in?”

Erika shook her hair, then fluffed it with her fingers. Her strawberry lips, her small nose, her pencil-lined eyes were defined perfectly on her face. “I don't think she fully realized what the work was about . . . dates. She talked about how she wanted to move to the business side, but she'd just started. She had a long way to go to earn out her contract.”

“It's a four-year contract, right? And she has three left?”

“At least. She hasn't even been working for a year yet. It takes that long to learn the ropes and groom your identity. Rupert's a genius. He can look at you and draw out a character
you didn't even know you had inside. It's not you, but it's like your cousin or something, it totally makes sense that you could have been that person. He shows you what to wear, how to move your hands, how to lift your head, how to walk. He gives you certain words to use.”

Erika's hands were inscribing arabesques. The direct, economical motions of last night were gone. I imagined each gesture, item of clothing, posture, and word selection as an element in a cipher. Each SG persona came with a grammar and syntax of its own.

“It allows you to keep your personal life personal. It's like being an actress,” I said.

“Kind of, only better paying. It's a sort of disguise, but at the same time it comes so natural that it doesn't feel like work after a while. When you come home you can take it off and put it away in your closet.”

“I do something similar in my job. Take an ordinary scene and put the right lenses, lighting, angles, filters in front of it and you've got magic.”

“I like the magic.” She smiled.

I smiled back. “Anyway, you said Alissa was unhappy at SG. The dating part bugged her.”

“She could do it, she just didn't like it. She kept going on about moving over to the business side. I finally told her to shut up and enjoy the perks. I mean, my life is so much more comfortable than it was before. They give you an apartment, a car, good pay, special bonuses.”

“But the bonuses don't involve sex?” I was double-checking.