Death Before Facebook (32 page)

Skip said, “You came back and didn’t call me.”

“Well, frankly, you wouldn’t have been glad to see me. I came back with a little drug problem.”

“You?” Tricia hadn’t been very adventurous in high school.

She shrugged. “Disappointment. Poverty. Despair. It’ll get you if you aren’t careful. That and the wrong kind of boyfriend.”

Skip was too amazed to say a word.

“I’ll be back. I have to get to work.”

When she was gone, Darryl appeared and refilled Skip’s glass without being asked. “Glad to see Tricia?”

“A lot of water under the bridge.”

He nodded. “She’s been through a lot.” His face was as solemn as she’d ever seen it, except when Sheila was missing.

Is he in love with her?

I don’t think so, but on the other hand, why not? Why is he content to be just her friend?

He said, “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Drugs? Recovery?

“A lot of what?”

He waved a hand, indicating his kingdom. “Oh, three nights a week at this place. Life where there is no life. Adventures among the soulless.”

“You love your job, I see.”

A blonde who’d just arrived reached over Skip’s shoulder. “Hey, Darryl.” She pushed past Skip to kiss him.

“Hey, Gigi.”

“Could I have an Abita?”

“You sure can.” He looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Hey, did I ever tell you how my interview came out?”

“No. I bet you did great.”

The woman was literally elbowing Skip out of the way.

It’s his job, she thought. He’s probably a pal to these people.

Yeah, and who knows what else?

She wasn’t jealous so much as uncomfortable. Why didn’t Darryl introduce her and include her?

She thought she knew the answer—he wanted the blonde to go away, didn’t want to prolong the encounter—but still, it didn’t feel good.

Tricia came by again. “Sorry. It’s a madhouse in here. In about an hour it’ll let up, probably.”

“I think I better go. Can I have your phone number?”

“Sure. Would you mind getting it from Darryl? I don’t even have time to find a pen.” She was off before Skip had time to answer. Skip felt oddly snubbed.

“Darryl, I think I better go.”

He turned away from the blonde. “Awww. You just got here.”

“Yeah, but it’s not my kind of place.”

“Hey, I’ll walk you to your car.” He signaled the other bartender. “Roy! Mind if I take five?”

Roy slammed down two beers, nodding as he did so, not even looking Darryl’s way. Darryl turned to Gigi: “Back in a flash.”

Skip said, “You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

“Of course you’re fine. I know you’re packing heat in that.” He touched her purse. Gigi’s blue eyes got big.

He leaned over and whispered. “I just want to see you a minute.” His breath was hot on Skip’s neck.

As soon as they were outside, he took her hand. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate your coming down here.”

“You do? Really?”

“You don’t know what purgatory that place is.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I told you—the money.”

“You really need it that bad?”

“Skip, I’ve got a kid.”

“You said you didn’t!”

“Uh-uh. I hedged. I don’t usually tell people until I get to know them a little.”

“Well, I see the point of that.” She paused, taking it in. “You were married?”

“Nothing resembling it. I was in high school.” He gave her a look at his dental wonderland. “The Boucrees nearly shat. I think it’s the real reason they sent me off to New Haven. For years and years, I didn’t even think about it. Then out of the clear blue, Kimmie looked me up, brought over the kid.

“She’d just gotten divorced. She was trying to get through beauty school, and there I was with an Ivy League education I wasn’t even using. Talk about feeling shitty.” He let her hand go and spread his palms. “So I had to do something. She gets all the Monkey Bar money.”

The man’s a saint.

No, wait—only the devil could be so handsome. Therefore he’s lying.

But she couldn’t convince herself. She said the first thing that popped into her head: “Darryl Boucree, you are one nice dude.”

They’d gotten to her car.

He kissed her, pushing her up against it. It wasn’t a long kiss, or a particularly serious kiss, but it enabled her to feel his chest and take in his scent. “Good night,” he said, and though she had a hand on the back of his neck, he pulled away and went back.

She thought it strange that he hadn’t waited till she was in the car, but if the kiss had affected him as it had her, it was just as well. She realized she was shaking a little.

Oh, shit,
she thought as she released her emergency brake,
I am really attracted to this man.

He’s got a kid, has he?

Is there no end to his little stories of helping out the human race? He’s got to be lying. Cindy Lou’s right—he’s way too good to be true.

But once again she couldn’t convince herself. She floated into her house and flung herself on the bed, engrossed in fantasies run amok.

She was imagining the child she was going to have with him, a little girl, half black, half white, with long, long legs and a probable career as a movie star, when Steve called.

“Skip. I’m so glad I got you.”

“Oh. Steve.”

“Is this a bad time?”

Why should it be?
she thought. She was in a great mood. “It’s fine.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“A phrase I’ve always hated, Steve Steinman—as if it’s my fault. Oh, sure, just give her a little time, she’ll be all right. You just don’t get it, do you?”

“A phrase
I’ve
always hated. It kind of leaves you without an answer.”

I could try to explain to him what’s wrong, but what would be the point? He really doesn’t get it. He’s not coming here and so there’s no point arguing.

“Look, you’re not coming and that’s the end of it. Let’s not prolong this; it didn’t work out. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” He sounded utterly bewildered. “What about all our plans? I thought we were committed to each other.”

An icy calm had come over her. Now that she was actually talking to him, telling him how she felt, she could feel nothing, was all detached observer. “You keep stealing my lines,” she said.

“What?”

“Yes, I thought we were committed to each other. What
about
all our plans?”

“I told you. They’re just being delayed a little while.”

“On the other hand, they were
our
plans. That’s
your
decision. If you want the truth, that takes my breath away.”

“What, I was supposed to consult you on this? Skip, we’re not married.”

“Look, what’s done is done. I’m going to get on with my life now. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me anymore.”

“What? You’re breaking up with me?”

How can you be so thick? Who wouldn’t break up with you?
She said, “I’m seeing someone else.”

Silence. A long silence. And then he repeated it. “You’re seeing someone else?”

“Yes.” She felt her teeth clench.

“You’re really breaking up with me?”

“Frankly, I don’t look at it that way. I think you broke up with me.”

A noise like a sob came over the phone. But it couldn’t be.

Men don’t cry.

They especially don’t cry over me.

“Skip, I’m so sorry.” He was definitely sobbing. She didn’t know what to say. She sat there, teeth still clenched, more or less in shock, trying to think what to do next.

Finally, he said, “What can I do to change your mind?”

“I think you know.”

“You mean give this up? You can’t ask me to do that.”

“We’re at an impasse, aren’t we?” It would have been a good time to end the conversation, but she found herself reluctant to do that, wanted to hold on to it. “I guess so,” he said.

“Good-bye.”

He gasped, apparently stifling another sob. “Good-bye.”

He hung up, leaving her with the odd sensation of being garroted, of her windpipe being squeezed by an unseen hand.

* * *

Pearce hadn’t called. Caitlin was home today and Lenore still had her job. Far from firing her, her boss at the bead shop had been solicitous. Lenore had mentioned Mrs. Julian when she called in. Her death on top of Geoff’s would be hard for anybody to take, her boss had said, and wanted to know if Lenore needed even more time.

She probably doesn’t think she could ever get anyone else to work so cheap.

Nonetheless, it was a relief to know her life was still intact after two days in the Twilight Zone.

Except that it wasn’t. Pearce had bitten a big chunk out of it.

Why in hell did she sleep with him? Was she nuts?

Yes. And needy. Maybe that was worse.

She hated being needy—and face it, she was needy again tonight. She had a big hole in her after all the things that had happened, and a night with Pearce couldn’t fill it up. Instead, it had opened a new abyss of longing and loneliness.

For a long time Geoff had taken care of her, had met a lot of her needs. But he hadn’t been a romantic partner or even, finally, a sex partner. Just a good friend.

Pearce awed her. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t had a crush on him all the time she’d known him; probably she had, deep down, but it had simply never occurred to her that someone like him could be interested in someone like her.

Now Pandora’s box had been opened.

All the troubles of the world, all the creepy-crawly insecurities, all the jagged-edged terrors, all the foul forms self-loathing could take, were beginning to ooze in Lenore’s psyche, and to overflow.

She was panicked.

How the hell am I going to make it?

Call Kit.

No. I can’t call Kit—I can’t let her see me like this, I can’t let anyone see me. They’d never let me keep Caitlin.

I could call Pearce….

No, if he wanted to see me, he’d call.

Get Caitlin to bed—at least do that.

The child was slightly fussy, but glad to be home, Lenore thought. Once she had had her bath, she dropped off quickly.

Leaving Lenore with a terrible sense of aloneness and dread.

Should she have a drink?

What could it hurt?
she thought.

She had dropped by Winn-Dixie on the way home from work and stocked up. Pearce liked bourbon, she thought, or maybe Scotch, so she’d gotten both. She’d have to drink something with him, so she’d bought some wine for herself. And she’d gotten some beer in case he was in a beer mood.

She needed a jolt. She crushed some ice, poured some bourbon over it, and tossed it down as soon as it was cold. The taste was so medicinal she poured herself a glass of wine before she sat down at the computer.

Pearce wasn’t on the TOWN.

She was amazed to realize she hadn’t logged on herself for days and days—when Geoff was around, she’d spent part of every day on the TOWN.

She went to a few conferences and realized she was just killing time. Finally, she called Pearce.

He wasn’t home.

She was starting to get a headache, yet she was far too anxious to go to bed. She poured herself another shot of bourbon, then another glass of wine. She went back to the TOWN.

She E-mailed Pearce—“Love to see you if you don’t get home too late.”

To her amazement, he got back to her in less than an hour: “Still up for a visitor?”

“Couldn’t be more delighted,” she answered, not even worrying about her typos. He was there in fifteen minutes.

In the meantime, she had managed to change into a floor-length sea-green robe that she had made for a Beltane ritual last spring. It was some kind of chiffon stuff that was more or less transparent, and really pretty intriguing, she thought. Especially with what she wore under it—a black garter belt and whorey mesh stockings. She had pulled her hair up into a kind of Grecian ponytail—what she thought of as a Helen of Troy look.

When the bell rang, she didn’t even bother to look out the peephole—simply tore open the door and flung out her arms.

THERE WAS AN earthquake somewhere.

Here. In Skip’s apartment.

Her bed was shaking. In a minute, the ceiling would crack and fall on her.

She sat up, trying to orient herself, and realized it was only a pounding, a great crashing somewhere outside.

The pounding was followed by the shrillness of her doorbell—apparently she had a visitor who was alternately trying both wake-up methods.

Maybe the building was on fire.

What else could be so urgent?
she wondered as she sniffed for smoke.

The air was not only pristine, she thought she could see her breath.

A little fire could only be a good thing.

She struggled over to her intercom. “This better be good.”

“Skip. It’s Pearce Randolph.”

“What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? How do you even know where I live, for Christ’s sake?”

The aftereffects of her evening were coming out in her mood.

“Lenore’s dead.”

“What?”

“Lenore Marquer has been murdered.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw her. I was just at her house. She’s floating in her swimming pool.”

Skip was already pulling on clothes.

“Did you call the police?”

“What the hell do you think I’m doing now?”

“Where’s Caitlin?”

“Caitlin?”

“Her baby, goddammit. Where is she?”

“How the hell would I know that?”

“Stay there, Pearce. I’ll be down as soon as I call it in.” She heard the fury in her voice. Didn’t this man have a brain in his head?

She called for backup, saying there was probably a young child in the house and asking for at least two officers.

The gate with the intercom, a high wooden one, was on the side of the house. She couldn’t see through it and for all she knew Pearce was standing on the other side with an AK-47.