Smart vs. Pretty (16 page)

The younger sister looked at Matt. He held up his hands to say, “What now?” Amanda smiled at him warmly. He sincerely wanted to help. Clarissa drank her coffee. She looked unlined and clear of conscience. Amanda suspected her regret had gone underground until she could face it.

After another minute of crying, Frank lifted her head and wiped her eyes. She said, “I guess I’ll make some calls.”

Amanda said, “One toss.”

“What?” asked Frank.

“One toss. That’s all I ask. To see how our energy’s flowing. If there’s any change, I want another day before you bail. Give me one toss, and if that looks good, one day.”

Frank said, “Dreaming, as always.”

“Anything wrong with that?” Amanda had no idea what she’d do with the day, but she had to think of some way to stall Frank. Her older sister might feel differently in a few hours.

Frank wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and said, “Throw your pennies.”

Amanda dug into her pocket and came up with six copper coins. She offered them to Frank. “I want you to do it, Frank,” Amanda prompted. “It’s important to me that you make this toss.”

“Just throw the fucking pennies,” Frank said.

Amanda threw the fucking pennies. They spun and fell. Amanda arranged them top to bottom in a line on the coffee table and examined the coins. She made some
hmmm, ohhh, ahhh
sounds.

Frank said, “Well? What’s it mean?”

Amanda said, “It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t you know? The I Ching is a load of bullshit.”

Frank actually laughed. “Okay,” she said. “One more day.”

A
fter showering, dressing, and having a third cup of Brazilian blend, Frank was positively perky. She knew her sister didn’t have a specific plan of action. Amanda wouldn’t know where to start. Frank had a few ideas, though. She was glad Amanda had convinced her to try again.

The double whammy of Walter’s and Clarissa’s betrayal was brutal, but not as devastating as some losses Frank had dealt with in the past. If anything, she felt a bit of pride because surrendering to Walter’s and Clarissa’s charms meant only that she had socialized enough to care. Zorn must have hatched his revenge plot a year ago, when her review panned his book. His timing was perfect for maximum devastation. How could he have known that Frank had been on the brink when Clarissa walked in their door? There was one glitch in his plan, thought Frank: exposing the guilt she had about her parents was actually relieving it. When she’d mentioned it to Walter, her guilt had been eased. With the whole city reading about it, she felt lighter by the moment.

But there had been the initial shock to get over. The crying. Worst of all, Frank felt stupid. Matt had been right all along: her catering to Clarissa had blinded her to the obvious. To think, she’d been worried about dating Walter because it might hurt Clarissa. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d never trusted the blonde.

Walter had fooled her completely. He’d been so compassionate. She couldn’t imagine why he had had sex with her. She’d given him grist for his story before then. Was it lust? Was it some kind of sick power trip? Frank had fallen asleep in his arms (when had he sneaked out?), believing that it would be the first night of many with him.

Of course, Walter would have to be killed. Frank wondered if Matt would take him out for a fee. As Frank and Matt finished the pot in the living room of the Greenfield apartment, she asked, “You ever killed a man?”

“You’re not serious?”

“Forget it.” It was a nice fantasy, but probably a bad long-term scheme.

Matt said, “Just for the record, I have never killed a man. I’m a pacifist. If you’d like me to vandalize someone’s home or place of business, I’d be honored.”

Frank said, “Maybe.”

“I can see it now, in big red letters: ‘Walter Robbins voted for Perot.’ Something like that.”

“You’d do that for me?” asked Frank.

“For the cost of supplies,” said Matt.

Amanda was out of the shower and dressed. Just finishing some “touch-ups,” she said, which included half an hour of blow-drying her hair. (Clarissa was in the kitchen making a series of phone calls.) Frank was frustrated by her sister’s leisurely approach to the day. Maybe she was stalling, trying to come up with an idea of what to do next. It was already 10:00
A.M
.

Amanda finally emerged from her room, fluffed and polished, ready to begin the day. She sat down on the couch. “Your turn in the shower, Matt,” she said.

“If you want me to leave the room, just say so,” he replied.

“It’s not that I want you to leave the room,” said Amanda. “I want you to take a shower.” Matt got up, walked to the bathroom, and slammed the door.

Frank laughed. “You’re blunt today.”

Her sister said, “I have you to thank, Frank.”

“And poetic.”

“I think your directness is beginning to rub off on me. And I’m beginning to rub off on you.”

Frank weighed Amanda’s theory. There was no denying that she’d opened herself up to the world of emotions, the place Amanda called home.

Amanda continued, “It’s just like the yinyang symbol. Your pinpoint of yin is spreading on your field of yang. And my yang circle is growing on my field of yin.”

“If you say so.” Frank pictured a white circle spreading like a drop of paint on a black canvas. White rivulets stretched out from the splotch like spokes.

“The image of a zebra just popped into my brain,” said Amanda. “I wonder where that came from.”

Clarissa called out to the sisters from the kitchen. “Amanda! You’ve got call-waiting.”

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Benji Morton,” Clarissa said. “Do you want to call him back?”

“She doesn’t want to get off the phone—at
our
house. Who’s she talking to anyway?” whispered Frank to Amanda. “Take the call.”

Amanda yelled, “Coming.”

The sisters walked into the kitchen. Frank immediately zeroed in on the wineglass on the table—a reminder of her night with Walter. She recoiled from the body blow of memory and breathed deeply in and out, as Amanda habitually prescribed. Frank had to admit, it helped. She continued to breathe in and out while Amanda took her call.

“Benji?” asked Amanda into the phone. “Are you calling me from jail? Oh, great. I’m happy to…I know, I’m sorry about that. I was reacting to…Yes, a moment of haste.”

“What?” asked Frank.

Amanda waved her off. “I called Bert Tierney on your office phone. Yes. Yes. I know. You should ask yourself why you feel you have to lie about your…Because you know a lie doesn’t…Okay, okay. We’ll be right over.”

She hung up the phone. Clarissa and Frank waited for her to speak. “We’ve been invited to Benji’s apartment for coffee and scones,” she said.

“Me?” asked Clarissa.

“Just Frank and me.”

Frank said, “Why would Morton want to see us?”

“He needs our help,” said Amanda.

“And he expects us to give it to him?” asked Frank.

“Remember your yin,” said Amanda.

Frank might need Benji if they were forced to rent their space to Moonburst. It could be the only way to hang on to the apartment. She said, “Okay, let’s go.”

Clarissa asked, “What about me?”

Frank said, “You weren’t invited.”

The blonde said, “What should I do?” Without her evil puppeteers pulling the strings, Clarissa was aimless. A trifle.

Frank said, “Don’t you have homework?”

Amanda said, “Clarissa, please stay here and take any calls. And tell Matt we stepped out for a few minutes.”

The blonde nodded. Frank marveled at her sister’s generosity. The two sisters put on their coats and left the apartment. Outside, they noticed that Moonburst was still closed. The line for coffee at the bagel place next door to Romancing the Bean was around the block.

When they’d reached Benji’s brownstone on Joralemon Street, Amanda pointed out that the police tape was gone. That had to mean the police had finished the forensics and crime-scene analysis. Frank pushed Benji’s buzzer—apartment two. He popped the front door without even asking who it was. The sisters went upstairs. Benji opened his apartment door wearing gray sweatpants and a stretched-out Moonburst T-shirt, no shoes.

“Don’t get dressed on our account,” said Frank.

“They released me an hour ago,” said Benji. “I’m free on a hundred-thousand-dollar bond.”

In the day since his arrest, Benji seemed to have dropped ten pounds. His usually ruddy face was as gray as his sweats. He invited them to sit on a red velvet love seat with tassels on the cushions. Frank wondered if he had bought it at a bordello rummage sale. All of his furniture seemed to be plucked from different, equally gaudy sets from a porn movie. Nothing matched, but there was a harmony of tackiness to the odd collection of pieces.

Benji took a seat on a big black leather captain’s chair facing them. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.” Raking back his red hair, he continued, “I always thought, maybe one day I’ll get cancer. Or I’ll get mugged and cut with a knife. Or I’ll be hit by a bus. No one ever thinks that he’ll be falsely accused of murder.”

Amanda said, “You poor thing! What can I do?”

Benji said, “Would you mind getting the coffee? It’s in the kitchen. Around the corner.” He pointed toward the back of the apartment. Amanda sprang off the couch, energized by a purpose.

Frank sat quietly. Benji looked at her, and then stared at his hairy toes. Embarrassed for him, Frank broke the silence. “There’s a witness?” she asked.

Benji nodded. “Yeah, some woman. I don’t know who she is. She was walking her dog when saw me and Chick arguing in front of the building. And we were. He buzzed me at two in the morning, wanting to spend the night. I told him to get lost, so he leaned on the buzzer for five solid minutes. I came down, told him off, and came back up here. The next thing I know, an ambulance siren is blaring in my window. I look outside and EMS guys are loading Chick’s body onto a stretcher.”

Frank asked, “Why was a woman walking her dog at two in the morning?”

“I have no idea,” Benji whined. “Maybe the dog ate some Ex-Lax.”

Frank raised her eyebrows. Benji said, “If this were happening to you, you’d be coming up with some weird theories, too. Whoever she was, whatever she was doing, she told the cops she saw me hit Chick over the head with a garbage can. She showed them a dent. There were fifty dents in each one of those cans. My fingerprints were on the handle. I live here, for Christ’s sake! This is surreal. It’s ridiculous. It’s simply inconceivable that I’d kill a man, in plain view of all my neighbors, and then leave him on my own stoop. These cops don’t seem to care if the story makes sense. They just want an arrest. Why would this woman lie?”

Frank said, “The police must have a motive.”

“They don’t need one if they have an eyewitness,” he claimed. “She picked me out of a lineup.”

Amanda returned with the coffeepot and three Moonburst mugs. She poured, served, and sat. Once they’d all had a bit to drink, Frank said, “It’s impossible to taste where this coffee came from. It’s burned beyond recognition.”

Benji said, “I’m not up for a coffee debate, Francesca.”

Amanda put her mug on the oversize ottoman/table. “I feel terrible for everything that’s happened to you, Benji, but I’m not sure what Frank and I can do to help your case.”

“The only way to get me off is to find the person who did it,” he said.

“And you think we know who killed Chick?” asked Frank.

“I’m not implying that you’re involved,” he said. “The last thing I want to do is make you angry. I can’t believe you agreed to come over here, considering how we’ve treated each other over the last year. I’m sorry, Francesca. I’m truly, deeply sorry about what Moonburst has done to your store. I know this isn’t the time to get into it, but I’ve always felt that our jobs have kept us from having a personal relationship.”

Was he talking to me? Frank wondered. “You see Moonburst as a job, but Barney Greenfield’s—Romancing the Bean—is my legacy,” she said.

Amanda said, “Frank, I think Benji is trying to tell you that he has feelings for you.”

“I don’t know how to respond to that.”

Benji looked nervous. “I don’t expect you to. Being arrested has made me realize a few things, and I wanted to say what I had to say. Think about it. If you want to date me, I’m interested.”

“How romantic,” whispered Frank to her sister. Frank was so uninterested, she wasn’t even flattered. But it did go to prove to her that if you chose to ignore an entire area, you’d miss a lot.

Amanda said to Benji, “I’m still not sure why we’re here.”

“You were friends with Chick. I spent some time with him. If we put our heads together, we might be able to figure this out.”

Frank said, “This does present a fact-finding opportunity for you, Amanda.”

The younger sister nodded. To Benji, she said, “The truth is, I don’t know Chick at all. I want to know more about him, out of respect, out of love. I’m not sure. I’d like to hear about how you know him.”

Benji said, “You want me to just talk?”

“Please,” urged Amanda.

The Moonburst manager fidgeted uncertainly with the leathery arm of his chair. “Well, the story starts before I ever met Chick Peterson. So should I start with Chick or give you the whole back story?”

“It’s all relevant, don’t you think?” said Amanda gently, drawing him out.

Benji nodded. “It starts in college. Bert Tierney and I went to school together—he’s the man you spoke to in Vietnam, Amanda. We had a competitive friendship. After graduation, he went to Harvard Business School. I went to Fordham.”

“Fordham is an excellent school,” said Amanda.

He brushed off the compliment like lint. “It isn’t Harvard. After we both got our M.B.A.s, he went off to seek his fortune in the world. I did, too, and I got as far as my backyard. Six years out of school, I’m the manager of a Brooklyn café.

“A few weeks ago,” Benji continued, “Tierney called me at home. Totally out of the blue. He said he was in Vietnam, launching a resort hotel on some beach. The Vietnamese government is desperate to get tourism trade going, and they were helping the American from Harvard in whatever way they could. He’d already sunk millions of private investors’ money into his resort in Buon Mathot—somewhere down south. He said the country’s other resorts were run by locals who didn’t know the first thing about what Western tourists wanted. He was going to make his resort a huge success, and then sit back and watch the money roll in. I listened to him brag, pretended to be excited for him, but I was burning with jealousy.

“So I blurted out that I was the vice president of global sales for Moonburst,” said Benji. “I thought that sounded international enough to impress him. He wanted to know why I wasn’t in Seattle. I told him that the organization had made me their man in New York. I told him I spend most of my time traveling, brokering deals for coffee with plantation owners all over the world. And Tierney believed me! Not only that, he wanted to do business. He knew about a coffee plantation nearby. The locals who harvested the coffee had to give eighty percent of their crop and profits to the government, but he said he’d use his ties to help me get a deal for the remaining twenty percent.

“That was when I started to freak,” Benji said. “I made some noncommittal noises. Tierney said he knew an American who’d been working with the montagnards—the native hill tribesmen—to create a hybrid robusta/liberica tree that yielded beans with twice the natural caffeine of Indonesian plants. Tierney thought the beans would be a huge hit in America.”

Tierney was right, Frank thought. How many Americans drank coffee for the caffeine alone?