“Thomas!” Berkowitz says heartily, grabbing Lombardo’s hand and pumping it. “Thanks for all you’ve done.”
“It’s nothin’, Sam.” Lombardo can’t tear his eyes off of Delia.
“Mary,” Berkowitz says, “I’m sorry about your secretary.”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t you take a couple days off? I’ll cover your desk.”
Delia purses her glossy pink lips.
I’m surprised by the offer. Covering someone’s desk is strictly associate work. “Uh, thanks. I’ll see.”
“You let me know if you need me, Mary. It’s your call.”
“Sure.”
Berkowitz turns to go. “Thomas, thanks again.”
“No problem.”
Berkowitz strides off, his heavy trenchcoat flapping, and pauses to light a cigarette in a cupped hand. The flame from the lighter illuminates the contours of his face and Delia’s.
Lombardo jerks his head in Berkowitz’s direction. “He’s an all right guy, for a big shot. He thinks the notes are nothin’ too, Mary.”
“You told him?”
“Sure, we talked a coupla times over the weekend. He was very interested in the investigation.”
“Let’s go, Mary.” Ned squeezes my arm.
I feel tired, suddenly. I’m getting nowhere with Lombardo, I can see that. I know I’m right; I can just feel it. It all makes sense, but there’s nothing I can do about it tonight. Wearily, I give in. “Okay.”
“Call me, Mary,” Lombardo says.
I nod, and Ned steers me home. Neither of us says anything on the short walk to my apartment. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but my thoughts are muffled by a thick blanket of fatigue and sorrow. As we get closer to my building, I feel a distance between Ned and me. I want to be alone with my memories of Brent, and of Mike. I’m in mourning, and it’s déjà vu all over again. We reach the door to my building, near where Ned kissed me for the first time. A lot has happened since that first kiss. Brent was alive then.
“You want to pick up some clothes, Mary?”
“Actually, I think I should get some sleep tonight.”
“You mean you want to stay here? By yourself?” He frowns, causing his freckles to converge at the bridge of his nose.
I nod.
“I’m worried, honey. I don’t know what’s going on, and I have no confidence in that detective. I don’t think you’re safe.”
“Maybe I can call Judy or something.”
“You don’t want me to stay?” He looks confused.
“Ned, it’s not that it wasn’t wonderful…”
His green eyes harden. “Oh, is that it? Was it wonderful for you? Because it was wonderful for me too.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I got to you this weekend, Mary. I know I did. So don’t pull away from me, not now.”
“I’m not, but we’re only a part of what happened this weekend. I keep thinking about Brent.”
“Okay,” he says quickly. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“I just want to be alone for a while.”
“But call me, will you? Call me if you need anything, no matter how late it is. Call me.”
“Okay.”
“Lock the door.”
“Okay.”
“Eat your vegetables. And wear your muffler.”
“Thanks.” I give him a quick kiss and let myself into the front door of my building. I wave to him through the leaded glass in the outer door, and I think he waves back, but I can’t see him clearly. The bumpy glass transforms his silhouette into a wavy shadow.
I gather the mail and check each letter as I stack it up. I never thought I would be relieved to see a pile of junk mail addressed to Dee Nunzone, but I am. I climb up to my floor, regretting that I didn’t ask Ned to check the apartment. I reach the door, which still says LASSITER-DINUNZIO, and peek vainly through the peephole. I take a deep breath and unlock the door slowly. I open it a bit, then wider. The apartment is dark. I snap on the light with a finger and stick my head in the door. It looks just the way I left it. And it’s silent. No ringing telephone. No other sound. I walk slowly inside, then shut and lock the door behind me.
“Alice?” The window blinds rustle slightly. She’s on the windowsill. I walk nervously into the kitchen, refill Alice’s bowl, and take Mike’s samurai knife from the rack. I head into the bedroom, brandishing the knife. I figure I must look scary; I’m scaring myself. The bedroom looks absolutely normal. I take a deep breath and look under the bed. Dustballs as big as sagebrush, mounds of pink Kleenex, and a tortoiseshell barrette I’d been looking for. I grab the barrette and put it on my bed.
I leave the bedroom and walk into the bathroom. The makeup shelf, which I leave in a secret configuration now-moisturizer, foundation, eye pencil, lipstick-is still in its secret configuration. And the smell of the ripe cat box confirms that at least one other thing remains undisturbed.
I relax slightly and return to the living room.
“Alice?”
The window blinds move in reply, but Alice doesn’t leave her post.
“He’s not coming back, Alice,” I say. I’m not sure whether I mean Mike or Brent, but Alice doesn’t ask for a clarification.
I fall into a chair with my killer knife and close my eyes.
20
The next sound I hear is the ear-splitting buzz of my downstairs doorbell. I glance at my watch. It’s ten o’clock. I must have fallen asleep. Groggy, I get up and press the intercom button, still holding the chef’s knife. “Who is it?”
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” shouts a strong voice. Judy’s.
“Hold on.” I buzz her in and she arrives in seconds, having taken the stairs two by two, like she always does. She bangs into the apartment wearing a reinforced backpack and toting a rolled-up sleeping bag. She gasps when she sees the knife. “What the hell is that for?” she asks.
“Bad guys. Are you terrified?”
“Of you?”
“Yes, of me. Of me and my big no-joke knife.” I wave it around and she backs away.
“Watch it with that thing.”
“You ought to see what this knife can do to a piece of celery. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Is this what we’ve come to? You running around with a machete?” She kicks the door closed with the back of her running shoe and tosses the sleeping bag onto the floor, where it rolls into the couch. Alice arches her back.
“Who are you, Nanook of the North?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yeah?”
“Okay as I can be.”
“I thought so,” Judy says, frowning like a doctor confirming a child’s case of tonsillitis. “I brought something to make us feel better.” She swings the backpack off her shoulder and tugs its zipper open, walking into the kitchen. I follow her in and watch her unpack a bag of sugar, two sticks of butter, and a cellophane pack of chocolate chips.
“You left Kurt to come here and bake stuff?” I stick the knife back onto the rack.
“Not exactly. Your new boyfriend called and said you needed protection. You did use protection, didn’t you?”
I feel terrible all of a sudden. It reminds me of Brent. I flash on him that day in my office, cleaning up the coffee stain. He was so worried about me.
“What’s the matter?” Judy asks, alarmed.
“Brent, Judy. Brent.” I feel myself sag and Judy gathers me up in her strong arms. I burrow into her fuzzy Patagonia pullover, with its fresh soapy smell, and start to cry.
“I know, Mare,” she says, her voice sounding unusually small. “He was a good man. He loved you.” She hugs me closer, and I try not to feel funny about the fact that we’re two women hugging breast to breast. In fact, Judy’s squeezing me so tightly that I stumble backward, to the sound of a loudreeaow!
We both jump. I’ve crunched Alice’s tail underfoot. She hisses at me fiercely.
Judy laughs, wiping her eyes. “Fuck the cookies. Let’s bake Alice.”