Jay Giles (20 page)
I’d arranged to meet Tory at
Columbia
, a restaurant on St. Armand’s Circle. I was sitting at the bar with a really good glass of wine, making notations on my Blackberry, when she arrived. She took the stool next to mine, shook her head. “How can you drink before an A.A. meeting? Don’t you feel guilty?”
After what I’d dealt with that day, I felt I deserved a glass of wine. I gave her a big smile. “Not at all.”
The bartender arrived. “What can I bring you?”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, pointing to my glass.
“Very good,” he nodded and headed to the bar.
“Talk about two-faced,” I chided her.
“Yeah, whatever.” She shrugged off my criticism with a smile. “I’ve had a hard day. I looked at the financials of everyone at Merrill Lynch. Do you know how long that took?”
I shook my head.
“Eight tedious hours.” Our waiter arrived, placed her glass in front of her. She looked up. “Thank you.” To me, she said, “Do you know what I found?”
I shook my head again.
“Zip. Zero. Zilch.”
“Any luck connecting somebody to Nevitt?”
She took a sip of her wine, shook her head. “I’ve got a few things left I want to check. But so far—nada.” She took a deep breath, blew out. “Then there’s Frankie. The man’s a constant interruption. He wanted direction on what to do in every situation. If he takes her to dinner, where should he go, how should he pay?”
“Did you tell him to use the credit card?” I’d arranged for a credit card tied to the Merrill Lynch accounts he was supposed to have in
Detroit
.
“Yeah. But then he wanted to know if there was a limit on what he could spend. You know, don’t order an entrée over $12.00. That kind of thing.”
“What you’re telling me is Frank Ford the multi-millionaire is a tightwad. That plays, I guess.”
“Anally-retentive tightwad,” she corrected me.
“So is the anally-retentive tightwad primed to ask the loose woman out to dinner tonight?”
She laughed. “This is serious.”
“I know.”
She took another sip of wine. “She intimidates him. He is so off balance, he doesn’t know what to do.” She shook her head. “He ends up saying whatever pops into his head. So far that’s worked out okay. Will he ask her out to dinner? I think he’ll blurt it out at some point, yes.”
I shook my head. There was no telling what else he might blurt out either. “On that cheery note, I suggest we order another round so we’re fortified for this evening’s festivities, or lack thereof.” I held up my hand and signaled the bartender.
We ended up ordering another round of drinks and dinner. It turned out to be a very pleasant meal. We didn’t talk business, just made small talk. Movies.
Florida
. Sports. Likes. Dislikes. I don’t know whether it was the wine or thinking about something other than my sorry situation, but I actually relaxed for a few minutes. Still, one eye was on my watch. I made sure we got to the A.A. meeting on time.
Fish was in his usual seat in the front row. Janet was in her usual seat halfway back. However, there was a guy sitting next to Janet with his arm around her shoulder. Every so often, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear.
“Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,” Tory said quietly as we found seats in the back.
“It looks bad enough to scare Fish off. Romeo there is practically kissing her neck.”
As the meeting continued, he rubbed her shoulder, fiddled with her ear, hugged her to him. She didn’t return his attention, but she didn’t smack his hand, either. Fish may have known what was going on between the two of them. He didn’t get up to speak; he just sat there, hunched over, staring straight ahead. I sat slouched down, dejected, waiting for the meeting to end and Janet to jiggle and wiggle out with her new lothario. The end, mercifully, came quickly. The bearded guy closed the meeting.
People stood, milled about. A few headed for the door.
I watched Janet. She and lover boy stood. He was talking to her, a smirk on his face, his hand on her upper arm, guiding her down the aisle. That was it. I looked over at Fish. He was still sitting there motionless.
“‘Atta girl,” I heard Tory say under her breath.
I looked back to see what had happened. Janet had shaken off lothario’s hand, and they were having words. I couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but the annoyed expression on her face spoke volumes. He tried taking her arm again. She pulled it back angrily. There was another verbal exchange I couldn’t catch; Janet walked away from him. He went the other direction, toward the door. I did catch one word. “Bitch.”
As he passed where we were sitting, Tory leaned over to me and whispered, “Look at the comb-over on that guy. Yech.”
He was money, though. Neatly-tailored designer clothes. Kissy sandals. Flashy jewelry. Facelift. Should have spent a little more and joined the hair club for men.
I turned my attention to where Janet had headed, spotted her up front with Fish. She was talking, explaining probably. Fish was nodding. She finished. They both smiled.
“Yes,” Tory said as we watched them leave together.
We ducked out ahead of them and hurried to the car. As we got closer, something about the Saab looked wrong. I walked faster. The closer we got, the more apparent it became. The convertible top had been slashed, leaving a huge hole. Strips of canvas dangled into the passenger compartment.
“How awful,” Tory said.
I studied the damage, noticing the slashes were all at angles. That’s when the ah-ha hit. “Wilder did this,” I said angrily. “These slashes are in the shape of a “W.” He cut his initial so we’d know it was him.”
Tory shivered. “Let’s get out of here.”
I couldn’t drive with the strips blocking my vision. I had to put the top down. The torn top folded awkwardly. It took me three tries to get it so things weren’t hanging out, flopping around.
I raced to Starbucks, trying to make up lost time. When we arrived, I didn’t see the red Mercedes parked outside, Fish or Janet inside.
“They couldn’t have finished that fast,” Tory said, peering into the shop.
“Is there another coffee place around here?” I asked.
She shook her head. “There used to be. Starbucks put them out of business.”
I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. “Damn.”
She looked over at me. “Don’t get frustrated. Let’s think where else they might have gone.”
I pulled the car to the curb, put it in park. “Bar? Restaurant? His place? Her place? There aren’t that many places they can go.”
“There’s a restaurant two blocks down. We can see if they went there. The car should be easy to spot.”
I put the Saab in gear, pulled away from the curb. They weren’t at that restaurant, nor were they at any of the other six places we tried before we gave up and drove to the Sovereign to wait for Fish’s return.
Up in the condo, Tory got two beers from the refrigerator, handed one to me. “You look like you could use this.”
I handed it back to her. “I don’t like beer all that much.”
“I do,” she smiled and used a bottle opener to pop the top.
We waited in the living room. Tory got comfortable on the sofa, took off her shoes, surfed the TV. I paced. “Sit down,” she said. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m too wound up. I can’t sit.”
“Just ‘cause we don’t know where Frankie is?”
That and the convertible top and Wilder and the meeting tomorrow and—
“Look,” she said. “It’s only nine-thirty. He’s a grown adult. He might not come home until midnight. If he gets lucky he might not come home until morning. You can’t pace all that time.”
I continued to pace.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. Come here and sit down. Let me rub your shoulders.”
I stopped pacing. “I’m all nerves tonight.”
“Sit right here,” she pointed to a spot on the sofa.
I sat. She kneaded my shoulders. It felt good.
“Jeez, no wonder you were pacing. You’re one solid knot.”
I laughed.
Fish picked that moment to walk in. “Whoa,” he said and leered. “Don’t let me interrupt you; I’m just going to get a beer and go in the other room.”
I sprang up. “You’re not interrupting,” I told him. “We were waiting for you, couldn’t find you after the meeting.”
He sauntered into the kitchen and got a beer from the refrigerator. “She didn’t want to go for coffee. She wanted to get something to eat. We went to a place called Jewel’s. Not bad. Pricey. But not bad.”
“If you guys had dinner tonight, did you ask her out for tomorrow?” Tory asked.
Fish came out of the kitchen, chugged his beer, burped. “I’ll have you know we’re spending the afternoon together tomorrow. I’m picking her up at three o’clock; we’re going to go to Mote Marine Lab and look at the fish. Stupid, if you ask me. But that’s what she wanted to do. Then we’re going to get something to eat at the Chart House. They got a band.” He took a big drink. “She wants to stay and dance.”
“Dancing. Way to go, Frankie,” Tory said enthusiastically.
He shook his head sadly. “Her idea. Not mine. I told her I don’t dance.”
“
Lot
of holding and touching when you’re dancing,” Tory pointed out. “I think you’re going to enjoy it.”
“I’ll enjoy the holding and touching part,” Fish said, his sad sack expression betraying no emotion. “Not the rest of it.”
“What time are you going to get there for dinner?” I asked.
His shoulders twitched. A shrug. “How long can it take to look at a bunch of fish? Bet we eat early. Six, maybe.”
“You’re doing great—”