The Wedding Party (10 page)

“You decide,” Pam replied. “We have a client, a very tiny twenty-six-year-old divorcée with an eleven-year-old daughter. The ex was forced to marry her as a minor, when she may have loosely resembled an eleven-year-old child. He abandoned her and the child almost immediately, never paid support and has returned to her life to sue for custody. It's our concern that—”

Maxie cut her off. “You don't have to explain. I did the math.”

“There's also a chance he's a good guy who wants to do the right thing. He's forty-one, married, has a child from the second marriage…. The only hiccup in that theory is that, according to our client, he slugged her.”

“Yeah,” Maxie said. “I'll bet he's a peach.”

“You know what Charlene wants? Pay records, work history, et cetera.”

“Et cetera meaning kinky habits. Fine. I'll need the usual retainer, a workable timetable—say, at least a week, preferably three—and I'll have to interview the woman. I can go see her at work. Tell her I'm coming.”

“The usual retainer?” Pam asked.

“Four hundred. Cashier's check. I'm going to be working not far from your office tonight. I should be wrapping up at around eight. That too late for you?”

“No, I'll be here,” Pam said, fully expecting Maxie to offer to stop by and pick up her check.

“Good. Swing by Romeo's. I'll meet you in the ladies' room.”

“The ladies' room?”

“I'm working the bar. Nice gentleman whose wife keeps finding lipstick on his collar. But hey, a girl's gotta pee, huh?”

“Oh, Jesus.”

Maxie laughed loudly, then honked the horn and yelled, “Nice signal, dipshit! So, Pam, shall we say eightish, in the ladies'? I'll be the one wearing the provocative décolletage.”

“See you then,” Pam sighed, hanging up quickly. What was it Charlene always said of this private investigator—
she got the job done.

Charlene left the office at six for a dinner meeting, leaving Pam to clear away the remnants of the day and lock up. Pam didn't mind the task. In fact, she quite liked it. It gave her a sense of completion to be the last one in the office at night, and often the first one to arrive in the morning. And tonight she had time to kill before meeting Maxie. There were still people about in the building, in the law offices—associates, paralegals, clerks, until late at night, sometimes midnight. They were tucked away in offices, cubicles, conference rooms and the centrally located law library.

After filing some case books back in the office's central law library, Pam returned to her desk—and found a long-stemmed red rose. She touched it suspiciously and lifted it gingerly. Then she lay it back down on her desk and began to gather her things together. A few days before, she had found a note on
her calendar, wishing her a good day. Then there was a scribbled invitation to meet him in the evening for a beer at a quiet little neighborhood sports bar. She had put both in her purse, unwilling to have them found in the trash by even the janitor. He should not be doing things like this, she thought. He had absolutely no guarantee she wouldn't go to his supervisor and complain, insist he be sent looking for work elsewhere.

Unless he had seen some kind of sparkle in her eyes that suggested he was on safe ground. She'd have to check that, make sure she offered him no encouragement.

She went into Charlene's bathroom, dug around under the sink and found a bud vase. She'd make sure she offered him no encouragement tomorrow, but for now she'd enjoy the rose. Then she thought better of it, returned the vase to its storage place and went back to her desk where she pitched the rose into the trash can.

But there was something she couldn't hide even from herself. It felt very nice to be pursued, even if there was no possibility of an eventual relationship. And she knew, even if no one else noticed, that she was dressing differently. She chose the silkier dresses over the wool, opted for the shorter skirts, sheerer blouses, and took pains with her hair and makeup.

Pam packed her tote and briefcase, slung her raincoat over her arm and headed out the door, snapping off the lights. The dead bolt turned, the office lay still. Ninety seconds later the dead bolt turned back, the
lights flashed on and Pam plucked the rose out of the trash can and slipped it delicately into her tote.

 

Romeo's was an upscale steak house attached to a large downtown hotel. It was frequented by businessmen and women who traveled to Sacramento and those who worked in the downtown area. The bar and restaurant were furnished in dark woods and leathers, a motif that lent itself to wealth, secrecy and warmth.

Pam didn't see Maxie so she settled into a chair at the bar not very far from the hallway to the rest rooms. She decided a glass of wine while she waited wouldn't kill her. A glance at her watch told her she had at least twenty minutes, and the place was not crowded. There were a couple of women across the room engaged in deep conversation, a group of young men on the other side of the bar standing around a high table and a couple snuggling in a booth in the corner.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Just a glass of Merlot, thanks.”

He brought it back in moments and she had a five-dollar bill on the bar. “You're taken care of. The gentleman.” He inclined his head, and Pam followed the direction to a gentleman of about forty-five on the other side of the bar. He lifted his glass and gave her a smile.

“Oh,” she said. “Listen. Thank him, but please, tell him I'm…that is, I…I'm meeting my fiancé.”

“I'm sure he'll understand perfectly,” the bartender said. But he left her five on the bar.

Fiancé? Hah!

She sipped her wine and tried not to look at the snuggling couple in the booth across from her. The raven-haired beauty was all over her date. Pam wasn't sure where the woman's hands were, but it gave her a shiver just to consider. She looked instead at the group of young men. But when she noticed that one of them resembled Ray just slightly, that shiver was back—personalized.

Ever since Charlene had announced that she was getting married, Pam's perspective on her own romantic life had gone berserk. She found herself thinking obsessively about a certain young security guard, even thinking she saw him when he was nowhere near. The temptation grew daily, even though she hadn't seen him in a while. There were times her fantasy life was so rich and deep that if he should come upon her suddenly, she might faint into his arms and beg him to—She was clearly out of control.

She risked her tender, neglected libido and stole a look at the passionate couple only to find the woman looking at her. It was just a glance, but the woman gave her head a little, almost imperceptible toss in the direction of the rest rooms. Then she gave her gentleman friend a little nuzzle. The woman slid out of the booth, gave her short leather skirt a little tug and walked to the rest rooms. There was something about that walk and the low-cut sweater that struck Pam. She glanced at her watch. Eightish. She lifted her glass and carried it with her.

“Right on time,” Maxie said as she pulled the lush
black wig off her head and gave her blond hair a healthy ruffle to bring it back to life.

Pam availed herself of one of the lounge chairs in the rest room to watch the show and enjoy the rest of her wine. The ladies' room was deserted except for the private detective and the paralegal, but something told Pam that the presence of other women wouldn't have much effect on Maxie. “Amazing,” she said. “So, this means…?”

“It means I'm done for the night.” She pulled the pink sweater over her head and revealed a tiny microphone in her push-up bra with a threadlike cord that snaked around her torso and into her skirt. “He wanted to get a room. He said he's separated, which will come as a surprise to his wife.” She picked up her purse, turned it inside out—which made it a completely different article and much larger—and put her wig and sweater inside. Off came the leather skirt, inside of which was a neatly folded brown silk blouse. Tucked into her panty hose was a slim, flat recording device. “We were barely past the introductions before he was trying to slide his hand up my leg. Imagine his surprise if he'd run into this?” She laughed, tapping the recorder.

Maxie turned her black leather skirt inside out so that it became brown leather, shrugged into her blouse, freshened her lipstick and was ready to go.

“Miraculous,” Pam said.

“Check please?”

“Check?” Pam asked.

“Your reason for meeting me here. The retainer!”

“Oh!” Pam put down her wine and retrieved an envelope with the check and some vital information about the people involved. “You know, what you were doing with that man…”

“Look, my job isn't seducing perfectly innocent men, getting them into trouble. My job is responding. If they're not screwing around, they're perfectly safe.”

“You were responding a lot,” Pam said.

“I was sealing the deal. My client needs to get out of that relationship before he gives her something bad. But you know what? Ninety percent of them don't.”

“Come on!”

“Seriously.”

“Then why hire you for this? If they don't intend to—”

“They want the goods, but they don't want to be alone.” Pam's mouth hung open slightly. Was being alone so bad that you had to put up with something like that? “I don't think we should leave together,” Maxie said. “It might draw attention to me. Enjoy your wine for about three more minutes.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” she said, then winked and slipped out the door.

It took Pam a little more than three minutes to recover. She just wasn't sure about Maxie's methods, and had voiced her concerns to Charlene many times. She found Maxie deceptive and treading a fine legal line, but Charlene insisted that Maxie only brought subtle troubles into specific relief.

Back in the bar Pam noticed that the man who had bought her the wine had moved on and was sitting at a table with two young women; he didn't even notice her as she passed. Maxie's mark was waiting impatiently, fidgeting in the booth. Shortly he would know he'd been shafted, but he might not know the degree for a while. Then she discovered that the young man she thought vaguely resembled Ray actually
was
Ray.

“I didn't think I could be this lucky,” he said. “I was about to leave and I thought I saw your car, so I came back in to see if you were in the bar or restaurant.”

She was unable to not smile. “What if I'd been on a date?” she asked.

“Well, I'd have had to beat him up and abduct you,” he said, then continued more seriously. “Really, Ms. London. Don't you think I have any manners? I'd have nodded and left quietly and you would have explained that you knew me from work.”

He seemed to have lovely manners, actually.

“What do you think? Can I buy you a drink? A cup of coffee?”

She slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Ray. Not tonight. I really have to get home. I was here meeting a client. I've had my limit and it's been a very long day.”

“I'm a little on the used-up side myself, so I won't argue. But I will take you to your car.”

“You really don't have to,” she said, but she walked alongside him just the same.

“You say that whenever I offer, and I think you'd be secretly disappointed if I didn't.”

More like secretly devastated, she thought. “I remember this about you young guys. You're cocky.”

“Is that right?” He laughed. “Know what I remember about you older women?”

They arrived at her car. “What?”

He leaned so close to her that she could feel his warm breath on her face when he talked. And his breath was sweet with the fragrance of something vanilla. “Nothing. You'll have to teach me.”

That she could teach him anything scared her. Pam had not been without men in her adult life, but she didn't consider herself either experienced or especially talented. There was hardly a waiting list.

“Ms. London, I peeked in your car,” he said, close enough so that if she leaned ever so slightly, she would be touching him. “To make sure it was yours, you know?” She nodded, but weakly. “Is that my rose you're taking home?” he asked. Again she nodded, the bones in her legs turning to rubber. “That makes me happy,” he whispered, and his lips brushed against her cheek so gently she wondered if she had imagined it. Then, with a knuckle, he stroked the place lightly.

“Here,” he said, taking her keys from her and opening the car door. “You're tired, remember?”

It was a good thing he did that, she thought. Because she couldn't speak or move and she was that close to suggesting something she remembered from high school, something that had to do with the back seat of a car.

She slid behind the wheel. “Good night, Ray,” she whispered. “Another time?”

“Absolutely,” he said, closing her into her vehicle.