Dopplegangster (13 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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The news seller studied me for another moment, then concluded, “Yeah, I’ll go along with that. Good cheekbones.” He waved the tabloid at me. “It’s a bad photo, no denying that. But the headline—SINGING SERVER SEES SLAYING!—that’s some lovely alliteration, don’t you think?”
“Lovely. In fact, I hope it’s what they put on my tombstone.” I turned my back on him, eager to go home.
“Hey, don’t you want any of these papers?” the news seller called after me. “This is your fifteen minutes of fame!”
I felt depressed.
As I was walking home, my cell phone rang. I saw that the call was from Lopez, and I flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I was surprised at the urgency in his voice. “Why?”
There was a pause. “I guess I got a little . . . I’m outside your apartment—”
“You are?” I was less than a block from there, so I started walking faster.
Lopez said, “When you didn’t answer your buzzer or your home phone . . . Well, I couldn’t think of where else you’d be this morning. I got worried.”
“You thought I might be sleeping with the fishes?”
“That’s not funny.” He sounded exhausted. “Where are you?”
I rounded the corner and could see him sitting on the steps of my building. “Look to your right,” I said.
He did—and I saw his whole body sag with relief when he spotted me. I realized then how seriously he believed that witnessing Charlie’s death had put me in danger.
He folded his cell phone and put it in his pocket as he stood up. He had removed his tie, and he held his jacket slung over his shoulder. I dropped my cell phone into my purse and met him in front of my building. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked tense and tired.
His gaze roamed over my face, and he reached up to touch my cheek. I thought it was a gesture of affection until he frowned and asked, “Why are you all blue and scratched?”
“Oh! That damn dog.” I turned my head and brushed self-consciously at my face.
“What dog?” He took my chin and gently lifted it so he could see the scratches Nelli had left on my cheek and forehead.
“Max got a dog. So to speak.” I was longing for my bed by now.
Lopez went very still for a moment, then dropped his hand. I realized belatedly that I should have guarded my words.
“You’ve been to see Max?” His voice was flat.
“Yes.” I didn’t want to argue about it, so I pulled my keys out of my pocket and started up the steps of my building. “And his dog pummeled me.”
He followed me. As we entered the building, he said, “Max got a vicious dog?”
“No, just a big one. Nelli is, um, exuberant.”
“Why did you go to see him?” Lopez asked tersely, following me upstairs to the second floor.
“I needed to ask him something.”
“About last night?” He was trudging heavily up the steps behind me.
“Yes.” I got to the door of my apartment and unlocked it.
“Esther.”
The exasperation in his voice got on my last nerve.
“What?” I snapped. I turned around and confronted him as he followed me inside and closed the door. When he didn’t answer, I said, “Well,
what?
”
He hesitated, evidently realizing I was in no mood to be told how to choose my friends. As I held his gaze, I realized that his eyes were bloodshot.
I took a breath and said in a more mild tone, “You haven’t had any sleep, have you?”
“Not yet,” he grumbled. “I came straight here from work.”
“That was quite a long shift,” I said, realizing he must be running on fumes.
“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Does Napoli know where you are?”
“What do you think?” he said irritably.
“I think he grilled you about how we know each other—”
“ ‘Grilled’ is too nice a word for it.”
“—and would handcuff you to your desk if he knew you were here right now.”
“Good guess.” He tossed his jacket on the couch and said to me, “We have to talk.”
I was sure that would be a big mistake, in more ways than one. I was tired and slow-witted, and he was exhausted and cranky. So I said, “No. Not now.”
“Yes,
now
.”
“Later,” I said, reaching for his hand.
He frowned. “This can’t wait, Esther.” But he followed me as I tugged him across the floor and out of the living room.
When we got to the door of my bedroom, though, he balked. “What are you doing?”
“Going to bed,” I said wearily, pulling him into my bedroom—and not at all flattered by the way he dragged his heels and tried to tug out of my grasp.
“Whoa! Even if this were a good idea right now, which it’s
not,
I am honestly in no condition to—”
“Yes, that much is obvious,” I said. “You look like last week’s leftovers.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “I suppose I do.”
“And I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a subway train.” I pushed him toward my bed. “My head is pounding. My stomach hurts.” I pushed him again, and he sat down abruptly as his legs encountered the mattress. “And I don’t think I had as much as three hours sleep last night.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his expression softening. “I should’ve realized you wouldn’t be able to sleep after what you saw.”
“So I refuse to talk about
anything
until I’ve had a nap.” I kicked off my shoes while he watched, and then I crawled onto the mattress beside him. “What you do is up to you, but I think you should get some shut-eye before you take another step. You look ready to drop. And there’s room for both of us.” I plumped up a pillow and lay down. “Either way, I’m going to sleep now.”
I closed my eyes and sighed, nestling into my bed. After a moment of stillness, Lopez shifted his weight to kick off his shoes, which hit the floor with a couple of soft thuds. Then I heard the click of his belt buckle and the whisper of the leather sliding through his belt loops as he took it off.
I opened one eye and saw him removing his gun and holster. He set them on the bedside table, along with his wallet. Then he lay back on the mattress, sighing as his head sank into the pillow next to mine. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his head to meet my one-eyed gaze.
“I’ve been fantasizing for weeks about getting into your bed,” he said, his voice more relaxed than it had been before. “In my head, it was never quite like this.”
I snuggled against him and murmured, “This’ll do for now.
“Yeah.” He slid his arm around me and rested his cheek on my hair. “It will.”
A minute later, he broke the contented silence. “Esther?”
“Hmm?”
“How did the dog get your face all blue?”
“Shhh,” I said.
Within minutes, the even sound of his breathing soothed me to sleep.
 
A shrill ringing woke me up.
I sat bolt upright, looking around the room in a bleary daze.
Another shrill ring!
Hoping to stifle the noise, I reached for the alarm clock. Clumsy in my sleepiness, I missed it and knocked over the lamp on my nightstand. It fell to the floor with a clatter, which was when Lopez sat bolt upright, too, looking around in obvious confusion before he realized where he was.
The ringing continued, so I reached for the bedside phone next. When I picked up the receiver, all I heard was a dial tone. So then I picked up the silent alarm clock and stared at it stupidly.
Lopez lay back down and squinted at me in the afternoon light sliding through the Venetian blinds. “What are you
doing
?” he asked sleepily.
“Did we set the alarm?” I asked in a scratchy voice, not remembering why he was there, but not that surprised to find him in my bed. I had, after all, thought often about him being there.
“Huh?” He rubbed his eyes as the shrill ringing continued. “Oh, wait . . .” A five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw. “Sorry.” Still lying prone, he fumbled in his pockets. After a moment, he held up his cell phone. “I turned the . . .” He cleared his throat. “I turned the ringer way up last night so I could hear Napoli and my captain phoning me. The crime scene was so noisy . . .”
“Answer your phone,” I said tersely as it rang again.
“Huh? Oh. Right.” Still half asleep, he flipped open the phone and mumbled, “Hello?” He stiffened and looked a little more wakeful as he said, “Hi, Mom.”
I stiffened, too. We were both fully clothed and had done nothing in this bed but
sleep
. Even so, I started straightening my clothing and trying to smooth my hair.
Lopez glanced at me and started to smile. “Yeah, I was taking a nap.”
Feeling groggy, I was about to rub my hands over my face but then I noticed they were dirty with tabloid ink.
“Because I was tired,” he said into the receiver. “I worked a long shift last night.” After another moment, “I’m not sure. I lost count after I’d been on the clock for fourteen hours . . . I’m fine. Just tired.”
When I started to slide off the bed, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down into the pillows. I looked pointedly at the phone in his hand and shook my head. He grinned and, despite my squirming, pulled me closer while he listened to his mother’s next question.
“No, I didn’t have time,” he said. “Okay, I’ll go to Mass later. Yes, I promise.” He slid his arm around my waist and continued, “Yeah, it was the shooting at Bella Stella. We were on it all night.” He nuzzled my neck, his hair tickling my cheek. “Mom, I need to go, can I call you back la . . . What?” He froze in midcuddle and his tone changed. “The tabloids?”
Startled, I stopped wriggling.
He shifted position so that our gazes met, and he said to his mom, “Yeah, that would be the same Esther Diamond.”
Great.
Resisting the urge to curl up into a fetal position, I sighed and rolled away from Lopez. He didn’t wrestle me when I slid out of bed this time.
I looked over my shoulder at him and whispered, “I’ll make coffee.” He nodded and sat up. I headed for the bedroom door.
On my way out of the room, I heard him make a brief, doomed effort to go on the offensive. “Never mind that! What are
you
doing reading
tabloids,
Mom?”
It wouldn’t work, of course. I went into the kitchen and started brewing some strong coffee.
I knew Lopez had told his parents he was interested in someone, but I didn’t know he had told them my name. I wondered if they had dragged the information out of him during his father’s birthday weekend, or if he had told them voluntarily at some point. I knew he was close to his family. He might roll his eyes when his mom phoned, but he spoke with her often, and they seemed to have a very open, frank relationship and lots to talk about. And his affection for his father was obvious when he spoke about him. He was also clearly fond of his brothers.
By contrast, I only talked to my parents in Wisconsin about once a month, and I talked to Ruth, my married sister in Chicago, much less than that. There was no hostility between me and my family, we just didn’t have that much to say to each other. None of them had ever
disapproved
of my becoming an actress and moving to New York, but they didn’t understand it, and I knew they thought of it as a madcap phase I’d recover from when I matured.
One of the many things I liked about Lopez was that he wasn’t an actor. (I like working with actors, but dating them is an exercise in masochism.) But something else I really liked about him was that he seemed to understand that acting was my vocation, it was who I was and always would be. In the same way that I could see that being a cop was more than just a job to him—it was who he was.
I frowned as I thought about Max’s doppelgänger theory and wondered how much to say to Lopez about last night.
“
No,
I’m not going to stop seeing her.” I heard his raised voice in the bedroom as he got exasperated with his mother. “Oh, really? Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have brought me up on all those stories about how you defied the family to date Pop!” After a moment, he said, “
I
don’t see how it’s different . . . Yeah? And what makes you so sure I’m
not
going to marry her and raise three ungrateful sons who won’t give me grandchildren?”
“Oh, I was
so
right not to attend his father’s birthday party,” I muttered in the kitchen.
I gathered from Lopez that the desire for grandchildren had dominated his parents’ agenda lately. His two brothers had each come up with creative ways of getting their folks off their backs. The eldest had told his parents he was gay, and the middle brother announced he was becoming a priest. They were both lying, but it took the subject of marriage off the table for a while.

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