He had pale blue eyes that looked like they were always ready to cry. He was in his mid to late twenties and a full-fledged member of that new generation of young men and young women that you saw so often in the workplace-neat, clean, hard-working, politically correct, and so gender-neutral that you couldn’t tell the males from the females. The boys looked the same as the girls, they spoke the same way and they espoused the same philosophy. No one must ever be offended at whatever cost. Organically, ecologically, historically-correct, even though they had trouble reconciling that with their notion that history began on the day they were born.
“Why did he want to fire her?”
McCormack looked at Laura and then at me like he was giving out a deep, dark secret. “She was going to be fired because she offended one of the firm’s clients, a big real estate developer named Jergens. Alicia found out that the free cash flow on one of his buildings was artificially inflated and that made all of his other projections suspect. He was pissed off beyond belief. He went to Stallings and said if she wasn’t fired, he wasn’t going to float the new stock issue with us. And he said he was going to sue Stallings into bankruptcy court. Stallings panicked-he’s that kind of a guy,” he said with an ugly snicker.
He seemed to enjoy telling this tale. A small smile gave him a Peter Pan look, like an elderly teenager. “He fired Alicia. But then she came up with something to make him re-hire her.”
Laura looked at him in disbelief. Or maybe it was a look of hurt. “She never told me about this.”
A waiter came up and asked for our drink order. Laura ordered another martini and I seconded the motion-extra dry. McCormack pointed at the yellow-green concoction in his hand and wordlessly ordered a refill.
The violins had segued into a medley of Noel Coward songs and had picked up the tempo. Some delicious aromas were drifting out from the kitchen, curry and garlic and something else I couldn’t identify, and my stomach was starting to make rude noises.
I watched as a tall thin female sliced her way across the dance floor and stopped in front of us. I recognized her as Mrs. Chisolm, only older and more bitter than her photos. She was wearing a full-length red gown pulled in at the waist, and it was a tiny waist. Her hair was honey brown and fluffy. She had a small straight nose, a pinched mouth and smooth skin, except for some fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
She grabbed my hand with a cool grip and said to my face, “Laura, my dear. You didn’t tell me you were bringing such a good-looking date. Wherever did you find such a luscious specimen?”
Without waiting for an answer, she squeezed my good arm and edged me onto the hardwood floor.
“You poor baby,” she said, as she eyed my sling. “What happened to your arm?”
“I sprained it opening a beer bottle.”
She must have been well-oiled because she thought that was very funny. She gave me a big laugh, more like an extended snort.
“Do you like to dance real close, lover boy,” she hummed into my ear in time with the music.
“Only if I can lead.”
She stepped back and looked at me in mock horror. “My God, you’re so forceful..so eloquent.”
With a pronounced lack of subtlety, she snuggled up to me so tight her body had no secrets. I moved her around the dance floor to the beat of a fox trot. As we danced, she ground her crotch into mine like an eight-hour drill press operator on a four-hour shift.
Was this woman capable of murder? It all depended on how much she hated her husband. How many times had he betrayed her? How many times had she returned the favor? Maybe she didn’t give a good goddam.
There were a dozen couples dancing around us in various stages of inebriation. The band was good. They wanted to approximate the forties sound and they were doing a credible job of it.
Her relentless grinding was beginning to have an effect on me. I could see she noticed it too. She smiled the kind of smile that envelops you.
“Are you having a good time, lover boy?” she purred.
“You keep rubbing my crotch and you’ll find out.”
She laughed out loud.
I pulled out of her iron grip and stepped back about a quarter of a centimeter. “We have a lot in common, Mrs. Chisolm.”
“Is that so?” She raised her eyebrows. “What do we have between us?”
“Your husband and my wife.”
Her face darkened. She was no longer the cool seductress. Now she looked more like a wounded lamb.
“Who are you?” she asked in a more tentative voice.
“My name is Rogan.”
She still didn’t make the connection. But something in the dark recesses of her mind was telling her this was going to be unpleasant.
“Your husband was engaged in various and sundry sexual activities with my wife.”
“Who is your wife?” she asked.
“Was…”
Her eyes got it first before her mouth opened. “You’re…”
“That’s right, Mrs. Chisolm. Alicia’s husband.”
She was clearly shaken. “What right do you have coming here? You’re not welcome at this party.”
I gave her a ugly grin. “From the state of my member, I would say I was pretty welcome.”
She gritted her teeth. “Get out of here,” she said.
I grabbed her wrist so hard she winced. “Listen to me, sugar. First you tell me if you knew your husband was banging my wife.”
She tried to struggle out of my grip. The music was playing louder and louder. The band was back to Cole Porter.
Birds do it…bees do it…
Why don’t we do it?
She stopped resisting and went limp. I let her go.
“Yes, I knew,” she said, so low I could barely hear her. “But she wasn’t anything special. She was only the latest in a string of women. Michael is a man of prodigious appetites. One or two women could never satisfy him. He always keeps written records, to help him remember. She was just one insignificant notation among many. He showed me his records.”
“Damn considerate of him.”
I took her in my arms and started dancing again. I figured I could hear her better that way. She didn’t resist. She followed me like a dutiful wife, submitting graciously.
“At first I thought he might have killed your wife. That is, if she ditched him.” Her voice was still muffled, as if it was coming from a faraway place. I had to strain to hear her. “But then I realized he didn’t have the balls to do it. He just doesn’t have the pure hatred you need in your heart.”
I gave it to her. “Do you?”
She grimaced like I’d stepped on her toes and stared right into my eyes. Yeah, she had it. A long-smoldering anger from how many remembered betrayals. Her look said it all.
I let her go. No use dancing with a bitch long dead. She gave me a grim half-smile, so different from the come-on of a few minutes ago.
“What’s the matter, big boy? Lost your appetite?”
It was true. My hard-on was gone, replaced by a cool revulsion. One look, the wrong kind, was enough to dampen any guy’s interest.
The band had finished the set. The room was quiet except for some giggles and the clink of ice cubes.
“Yeah. I just remembered I have to feed my piranhas.”
I did an about-face and walked away.
CHAPTER XXV
Gene Black was waiting for me when I got home. John, the doorman, nodded at me and jerked his head at the hunched figure of the cop. It was 1:10 AM and he was sitting in the lobby on a sofa that was badly in need of reupholstering. He’d been deep into the sports pages of the News and his stubby fingers were black with ink.
When he saw me, he stood, grinned sheepishly and rubbed his hands together. “Nice tux. You just get off bartending?”
“Jesus,” I said. “The hours you keep. You should’ve been the madam in a cathouse. Sleep all day, play all night.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Black nodded in tired acquiescence. “Listen, Rogan. I’ve had a long day. Gimme a break, willya, buddy?”