I'm Glad I Did (20 page)

“More than okay,” I responded sheepishly. “Thanks.”

I CALLED MARLA AS
soon as Rona took off. The office was deserted at lunchtime. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” she sniffled hoarsely. I barely recognized her voice.

“Marla? It's JJ Green. Are you okay?”

“JJ, I'm so glad you called.” She let out a shaky sigh. “Bernie's a mess. He's so sad about the way things ended between you yesterday. I've never seen him like this, sweetheart. He doesn't even want to go in to the office. It's scaring me. Please, just come for dinner so you two can continue to talk.”

I stood there, clutching the phone and staring at Bobby Goodman's closed door, a bad feeling in my gut. In all my delirium over Luke, I'd never considered that Bernie might actually be hurt that I'd walked out on him. I'd seen his face; I knew he cared, but I'd just assumed he'd go on with life, taking bets and making money. I wasn't ready to see him, but there was no way I could
refuse Marla. She was begging me on behalf of someone she loved.

“Listen, Marla, you knew George Silver, right?” I asked.

“Of course. He and Bernie were partners for years. We were so sorry when he finally passed away.” She sniffled again. “Why do you ask?”

“I met his son, and we became friends. He's been here in the building a lot, cleaning out his dad's office. Could I bring him to dinner?”

The idea hadn't even fully formed until I posed the question. But Luke deserved to hear the truth from his father's former partner, too. He deserved to hear whatever Uncle Bernie knew about his mother as well. Bernie was complicit in the cover-up. He could have told Luke the truth any time. And I guess I felt I needed support facing Bernie again. There was no better support than Luke.

“Of course you can bring him,” Marla said. “Bernie hasn't seen him since George's memorial service. Tonight at seven, okay?”

“Okay.” I answered as cheerfully as I could. But familiar dread crept back over me—dread of plunging once more into that unresolved conversation about ethics, morals, and music business behavior. And it wasn't as if I were exactly blameless either. Janny still didn't know about my secret relationship with Bernie and Marla. None of the Greens did. If I were completely honest with myself, it hadn't weighed very heavily on my conscience. Mostly I'd been focused on proving them wrong. Now I had another secret relationship, too—another relationship I
wasn't ready to share with anyone. Not until Luke figured out for himself how he was going to address his past and who he really was.

I dropped the phone on the hook, then dialed the phone number Rona had left me for Frank McGrath. It must have been some sort of private number because nobody answered. After ten rings, I hung up. Honestly, I was relieved. With Rona's warning about Bobby and my guilt over Uncle Bernie, I wasn't sure if I could handle whatever news Detective McGrath wanted to tell me. Besides, chances were I couldn't answer the questions he wanted to ask.

I needed a break from Dulcie Brown's death. The problem was every single part of my life was tied to it.

LUKE HAD SPENT THE
day moving into his new apartment. When I'd finally disentangled myself from his arms the previous night, we'd agreed to meet at his dad's office at 6
P.M
. Needless to say, I'd been hoping for another long night of being back in those arms. I could tell that he felt the same way. At the very least, he couldn't hide that he wasn't thrilled about a surprise dinner at Uncle Bernie's. But he understood both why I needed to go and why I'd invited him.

“Lucky for Uncle Bernie, I showered and changed to impress you,” he joked quietly.

He did look devastatingly handsome, his tight curls wet and combed. He wore a tweed blazer, a pressed shirt, and a skinny black tie. We didn't say much after we left the building beyond muttering relief that Antonio was our elevator man on the way down. Neither of us was in the
mood for Nick's chatter or questions. We walked the few blocks to Bernie and Marla's apartment holding hands. It felt like the most natural thing in the world; a few people even smiled our way to see young love in bloom.

Then I thought of Dulcie and George walking together through hostile streets. I couldn't help but wonder if we would be on the receiving end of that same hatred if Luke looked more like his mother.

UNCLE BERNIE GREETED ME
with a bear hug and Luke with a warm embrace. “So my favorite teenagers found each other. I can't tell you how happy that makes me.”

I wasn't sure if he sensed the truth, or if he just figured we were friends. It seemed like the former, which made me nervous. Marla fluttered around, making sure we were all comfortable, bringing Bernie a martini and Luke and me Cokes. I could see how relieved she was that we were there. I didn't want this to turn out bad for her. I wanted to get any bad part of the discussion over and done before dinner.

“Uncle Bernie, I wonder if you can tell me something about Dulcie?” I asked quietly, once we were all sitting down.

He took a sip of his drink. “Depends what it is, Justice, baby.”

“When I was working with her, she wore a really beautiful necklace. It was a gold note on a chain. She told me it was a gift from a friend. She was going to ask her friend where they got it, but then …” My voice faded, then picked up. “I know you hadn't seen her in a while, but I wondered
if she wore it when you and George managed her. I guess I just want to know if you knew where it came from?”

“I'm not exactly the kind of guy who notices women's jewelry unless I give it to them,” Bernie pointed out, smiling at Marla. “I have no idea if Dulcie Brown wore a necklace.”

I nodded. “It just struck me that it looked a bit like Marla's diamond musical note, so I thought I'd ask.”

“Everybody in the music biz gives their girlfriend a music note of some kind,” Marla chimed in proudly. “But not many have one as gorgeous as mine.”

“Keep that in mind, Luke,” Bernie said with a wink. “I'll remind you when JJ's birthday comes around.”

I was so embarrassed and flustered that I lost my train of thought. Time to change the subject. “What's for dinner?” I asked. “I'm starved.”

But before we could even get up, the doorbell rang.

“Who else did you invite, babe?” Bernie asked Marla.

“Not a soul,” she replied, puzzled. She stood and headed for the door. We all peered after her.

To everyone's surprise, she returned an instant later accompanied by Detective Frank McGrath and another uniformed cop. A fleeting shadow passed over Bernie's face, but he quickly covered it with one of his winning grins. He was a master of the grin.

“Hey, Frank, what's going on?” he said amiably. “Got no place to go for dinner?”

Frank acknowledged me with a nod and turned his attention to Bernie. “Sorry to disturb your get-together, Bernie, but I have to ask you to come downtown with me.”

“And why is that, may I ask?” Marla asked curtly.

“Mr. Rubin's name has come up in an investigation involving the illegal promotion of records,” McGrath said as the other cop moved toward Uncle Bernie. “We have some questions to ask him. Unfortunately, they can't wait.”

“What else is new?” Bernie wanted to know. He stood up.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Luke asked. “Maybe I can help.”

Bernie smiled at him. “You wanna help? Stay here with Marla, see she doesn't run out of tissues and help finish off that roast she slaved over.”

I glanced at Marla. Sure enough, she'd already begun to sob silently.

Bernie sidestepped the second cop and slipped his arm through McGrath's. “ ‘Round up the usual suspects,' ” he quoted from
Casablanca
, his favorite movie. “No hard feelings, Frank. I understand. It's what they pay you for.”

Marla lurched over and threw her arms around her husband, tossing McGrath a dirty look. “Just remember, Detective,” she said, “this man has a family waiting for him.”

“Don't worry, babe,” Bernie told her. “I'll be back before dessert.”

We sat in the living room silently for ten awful endless minutes—Marla, Luke, and me. At least Marla had finally stopped crying. Then she suggested we go in and start on the salad, because Bernie never liked salad.

“Does anyone want to bet on whether he'll
really
be back in time for dessert?” she asked, almost setting off her own tears again.

Luke and I looked at each other. We hadn't signed up for this, but there was no way out. Marla ushered us into the dining room, and we plodded after her, taking our seats. She began to dole out the salad from a large crystal bowl.

The conversation that followed was supremely uncomfortable, and yet in some way I got to know Marla better in those forty-five minutes than in all the time since we'd met. She spilled everything. How she could never get used to Bernie being hauled in by the police for some illegal action, even though they could never make anything stick. How she had to get used to being regarded as a trophy wife, who
had maried for money, even though the truth was that she was madly in love with him. How her father had died when she was very young, and she'd never had a reliable man in her life until Bernie.

I tried not to squirm. She was totally charmed by his music biz smarts. Even his underhanded behavior was seductive to her. I guess when you love someone, you see them as who you want them to be. She saw Bernie as a sexy, lovable rogue. She was still wowed by his good looks. It was clear Bernie was both a father figure as well as a husband to her, although she didn't seem to realize it.

The phone rang. Marla ran to get it.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was afraid that Marla's rant might be taking us into more graphic details about her attraction to my uncle.

Luke leaned toward me. “Don't be embarrassed,” he whispered. “George got hauled down a few times. It's part of who they are, or in George's case, who he was.”

“What?” Marla shrieked from the other room. “This is crazy! They can't do this to you!”

Luke's eyes met mine again. We both dropped our silverware onto our plates and pushed back from the table, but Marla was already storming back into the dining room. Her face was ashen. She had a hard time walking to a chair to sit down.

“What is it?” I asked. “Did something happen to Bernie?”

She just sat there without saying a word, almost as if she were in shock.

“Marla?” I took her hand and kneeled next to her. “Tell me what happened.”

After a few seconds, she turned to me and spoke in a choked voice. “The payola thing was just a trick to get Bernie to go with them. When they got down there, they started questioning him about Dulcie Brown's death.”

Oh
,
my God
. I felt a stab of guilt. Was this my fault somehow? Had my call pushed McGrath into homicide mode? Was Bernie paying the price of my meddling? Or was this only the way to find out the truth? The guilt grew, but wasn't the truth what I wanted, no matter where it would take me?

“But he hadn't seen her in years,” I murmured, answering my own unspoken question.

“What exactly do the police have on him?” Luke asked Marla.

She buried her mascara-stained face in her hands for a minute, then looked up. “The painters working for the new tenant came across a gold toothpick that they turned over to the police. Bernie and those stupid toothpicks. The cops want to know how it got there. He used his one phone call to tell me to call his lawyer.” Marla stood up on shaky legs. “I can't even think of the guy's name,” she whispered.

“What kind of lawyer is he?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Marla murmured in a daze. “A music business lawyer, I guess.” All of a sudden she turned to me, her face twisted in anger and sadness. “JJ, how could Bernie's toothpick show up in that woman's apartment? He told us he hadn't seen her in years.”

I tried my best to sound calm, even though my heart was beating double-time. “I'm sure there's an explanation,
and he'll give it to us. But right now Bernie doesn't need a music lawyer. He needs a criminal attorney. I glanced at Luke. “I hate to do this but would you mind staying with her?”

“I was going to offer anyway,” he answered. “Is that all right with you, Mrs. Rubin? I'd prefer you not be alone right now, and I know it would make JJ feel better.”

She nodded vacantly. I wondered if she'd even heard him. Luke gently led her back into the living room. I wanted to sweep him into my arms. I owed him for this and so much more. But I would have to thank him later.

I flew out of the door, and less than a minute later, was in a taxi and headed for home. Bernie was many things, but he was no murderer. With my mom's help, we'd prove it.