“Thanks. I wonder, though. Based on your definition, did we, uh, engage in reality shifting?”
“No. You had me dig up honest information. No entrapment. Yes, I used my looks to extract the truth. But there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I agree,” I said.
“Wow. We should leave on that note then.”
I laced my hands at the fingers and put them behind my head. “MVD must miss you.”
“I hear they got a new hottie. Supposedly she’s very good.”
“I’m sure she’s not you.”
“Don’t count on it. Anyway, I might try to steal her from them. I could use a second hottie, and she appeals to a slightly different demographic.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m a blonde. MVD’s new girl is dark skinned.”
“African-American?”
“No.”
And then I felt the floor underneath me give way as Cingle Shaker added, “I think she’s from India.”
CHAPTER 31
I CALLED RAYA SINGH’S CELL PHONE. CINGLE SHAKER WAS gone, but Muse had stayed behind.
Raya picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said to her.
“Mr. Copeland?”
That accent was so phony. How did I buy into it—or had part of me known all along?
“Call me Cope,” I said.
“Okay, uh, Cope.” The voice was warm. I heard that knowing tease. “What am I maybe right about?”
“How do I know you’re not the one? How do I know you wouldn’t make me deliriously happy?”
Muse rolled her eyes. Then she mimed sticking her index finger down her throat and vomiting violently.
I tried to make a date for tonight, but Raya would have none of it. I didn’t push it. If I pushed, she might get suspicious. We set up a time to meet in the morning.
I hung up and looked at Muse. Muse shook her head at me.
“Don’t start.”
“Did she really use that phrase? ‘Deliriously happy’?”
“I said, don’t start.”
She shook her head again.
I checked the clock. Eight-thirty P.M.
“I better get home,” I said.
“Okay.”
“How about you, Muse?”
“I got some stuff to do.”
“It’s late. Go home.”
She ignored that. “Jenrette and Marantz,” Muse said. “They are really going after you hard.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can. But it’s amazing what parents will do to protect their children.”
I was going to comment that I understood, that I had a daughter, that I would do anything to keep her safe from harm. But it sounded too patronizing.
“Nothing amazes me, Muse. You work here every day. You see what people are capable of doing.”
“That’s my point.”
“What is?’
“Jenrette and Marantz hear that you’re looking to seek higher office. They figure it’s a weak spot. So they go after you, do all they can to intimidate you. It was smart. Lots of guys would have caved. Your case was only half-assed anyway. They figured you’d see the information and settle.”
“They thought wrong. So?”
“So do you think they’re just going to give up? Do you think they’d just go after you? Or do you think there is a reason Judge Pierce wants to see you in chambers tomorrow afternoon?”
When I got home there was an e-mail from Lucy.
Remember how we used to make each other listen to certain songs? I don’t know if you’ve heard this one, but here. I won’t be forward enough to say think of me when you listen to it.
But I hope you do.
Love,
Lucy.
I downloaded the attached song. It was a fairly rare classic from Bruce Springsteen called “Back In Your Arms.” I sat there at my computer and listened to it. Bruce sang about indifference and regrets, about all he’s thrown away and lost and longs for again and then he achingly begs to be back in her arms again.
I started to cry.
Sitting there, alone, listening to this song, thinking about Lucy, about that night, I actually cried for the first time since my wife died.
I loaded the song on my iPod and brought it into the bedroom. I played it again. And then once more. And after a while, sleep finally found me.
The next morning Raya was waiting for me in front of Bistro Janice in Ho-Ho-Kus, a small town in northeast New Jersey. No one is sure if the name is Hohokus or Ho Ho Kus or HoHoKus. Some people say that the name comes from a Native American word used by the Lenni Lenape, who controlled this parcel until the Dutch started settling in 1698. But there is no definitive proof one way or the other, though that never stops the old-timers from arguing about it.
Raya wore dark jeans and a white blouse open at the throat. A killer. A total killer. Beauty has such an effect, even though I now knew what she was about. I was angry and had been conned and yet I couldn’t help feeling an attraction and hating myself for it.
On the other hand, as beautiful and young as she was, I couldn’t help thinking that she wasn’t in Lucy’s league. I liked feeling that. I held on to it. I thought about Lucy and a funny smile crept onto my face. My breathing grew a little shallow. It always had around Lucy. It was again.
Try to figure love.
“I’m so glad you called,” Raya said.
“Me too.”
Raya bussed my cheek. A subtle whiff of lavender came off her. We moved toward a booth in the back of the bistro. A striking mural of life-size diners, painted by the owners’ daughter, took up one entire wall. All the painted eyes seemed to follow us. Our booth was the last one, under a giant clock. I had been eating at Bistro Janice for the past four years. I have never seen that clock set on the correct time. The owners’ little joke, I guess.
We sat down. Raya gave me her best melt-’em smile. I thought about Lucy. It knocked away the effect.
“So,” I said, “you’re a private eye.”
Subtlety wasn’t going to work here. I didn’t have the time or the patience for it. I kept going before she could start with the denials.
“You work for Most Valuable Detection of Newark, New Jersey. You don’t really work for that Indian restaurant. I should have picked up on that when the woman at the desk didn’t know who you were.”
Her smile flickered but it stayed full wattage. She shrugged. “How did you figure me out?”
“I’ll tell you later. How much of what you said to me was a lie?”