“You’re willing to overlook our last…discussion?”
He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, dipping his sleeve in blue cheese dressing. “Forgive and forget, I always say. Let bygones be bygones, that’s my motto. Isn’t it, Lydia?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling as she lied.
Just then Michael brought our main courses. I noticed Lydia’s portion seemed substantially larger than Wrigley’s or mine. In fact, mine left me no doubt that Crystal did indeed eat here. A piece of reddish-orange chicken, about the size of the sole of a baby’s shoe, graced one side of a white plate, with two halves of a potato too small to have left its mother on the other; they were fenced off from each other by what looked like something that had been weeded from between the bromeliads.
Wrigley’s pasta looked so weird, I was glad there wasn’t too much of it to look at.
Queen Lydia continued to reign as Michael asked her if everything was satisfactory and left right after she told him it was great. I didn’t begrudge her all her fun-she deserved it, and I owed her big time for working Wrigley into such a fervor for me.
As he ate, Wrigley continually dropped bits and pieces of his food on his clothing. In the space of about five minutes, you could have figured out what he ordered by looking at his lapels. Early on he captured a peppercorn between his front teeth, making it very hard not to look at his teeth while he talked.
And talk he did. On and on about how he had visions for the Express and how I was a part of those visions. How the newsroom just wasn’t the same without me.
I told him I’d need a fairly free rein to follow up on O’Connor’s stories.
No problem.
I told him I’d like access to whatever the police hadn’t hauled off from O’Connor’s desk.
No problem.
I told him I wanted more pay.
Problem. These difficult times, the need to stay competitive, and so on.
Michael came by again, insisting that Lydia order dessert. She went for the chocolate-mousse pie. I ordered crиme brыlйe and Wrigley ordered profiteroles. When they came, I realized how this place stayed in business-from now on, people would have to invite me out for dessert if they wanted to meet me here.
Wrigley finally agreed to a very slight increase in my former pay, and I felt that after hoodwinking him into buying us dinner and begging me to do everything I wanted to do, I should be satisfied. We shook on it. I had to wipe sauce off my hand afterward.
Lydia excused herself for a moment and I got a little panicked that with her gone, Wrigley would wax romantic to seal the deal.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Lydia, but you have a peppercorn stuck in your front teeth.”
“Why, thanks for letting me know,” he said. “That’s so embarrassing.”
He then took out a slim silver object which I first took to be a cigarette case. He opened it and took out a length of dental floss, and using the polished lid as a mirror, proceeded to floss his teeth at the table.
“Nothing beats good dental hygiene, I always say,” he said between teeth.
Let bygones be bygones, I thought to myself, trying not to watch.
Lydia finally got back. She had missed the demonstration of Wrigley’s table manners completely. Michael brought our check and told Lydia he hoped she had enjoyed her evening and would return soon, and left the check. I was sure Wrigley would stiff him his tip.
AS WE CROSSED the parking lot, I could see that Lydia was dying to tell me something. As soon as we were in the car, she revealed that Michael had asked for her phone number.
“He said he’d call when he got off work tonight, about eleven.” She frowned for a moment. “I suppose I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He’s quite a bit younger than I am. He might not call.”
“Don’t talk yourself into or out of anything yet, kiddo. Enjoy it.”
“You’re right. I’m not going to spoil it.”
I thanked her for paving the way for my getting everything I could hope for out of Wrigley, and she laughed so hard at my description of Wrigley’s flossing that I didn’t even think about her driving.
10
WHEN WE GOT HOME, there was a message for me from Frank on the answering machine, asking me to call him. He sounded weary on the tape. He wasn’t in at headquarters, but they said he was expecting my call, so they would contact him out in the field.
About fifteen minutes went by, and the phone rang. It was Michael. He was still at the restaurant, but was calling Lydia to ask if she’d like to go out Thursday night. He worked Fridays and weekends, so that was his next night off. She said yes, hung up and was bouncing off the walls in excitement for the next half hour. Cody, whose affections for Lydia had been won with lasagna, got in the act and started tearing through the house as if he were being chased by a pack of wild dogs.
Sometime around twelve o’clock Lydia and Cody finally wound down. We were sitting together on the couch, scratching Cody’s ears and catching up on newsroom gossip, when Frank called. Lydia handed the phone to me.
“Hi, Frank.”
“Hello, Irene. Do you have a few minutes?” That weary tone again.
“Lately I haven’t been booked at midnight. What’s up? You sound kind of down.”
“Do I? I’m okay, just tired. Can’t keep the hours I did when I was twenty-three. Anyway, I need your help with something. We’ve got copies of O’Connor’s handwritten notes and you were right-they’re in some kind of code. Do you know how to read it, or am I going to have to hire a cryptographer?”
“I can usually make out most of it.”
“Great.”
“Can you get copies of what you have to me?”
“Yeah. You going to be up for a little while?”
“Yeah, probably. Lydia’s catching me up on the latest rumors at the Express. Did you want to drop them by on your way home?”
“If you don’t mind…”
“See you soon.”
We hung up and I let Lydia know what was up.
It took Frank about thirty minutes to get over to the house. Lydia had fallen asleep on the couch by then, but woke with a start when he knocked on the door. After making sure who it was, she let him in. I introduced them to each other, and watched them quickly appraise one another.
“I’ll leave you two sleuths to do your work,” she said, adding, “Are you going to give Kevin any notice, Irene? I thought we could ride in together tomorrow, if you’d like.”
The thought of another car ride with Lydia, and my uncertainty over how things would go with Kevin when I told him my plans, led me to decline politely. She said goodnight and went off to bed. To my dismay, my two-timing cat followed her into her room.
“So, you’ve got your job back already?” Frank asked casually.
“Yes. I’ve got to let my boss at the PR firm know what’s up, though. I’m probably going to take a leave-this doesn’t seem like a good time to make decisions about my career-I’m too emotional.”
“All things considered, you’re doing great.”
We went into the kitchen, where we would be least likely to keep Lydia awake with the noise of our conversation. We sat on stools at the counter. He was carrying a bulky clasp envelope, from which he pulled out a five-inch-thick sheaf of photocopied pages from one of O’Connor’s notebooks.
“Your pal O’Connor must have never thrown a piece of paper away in his life. The guys who went through his desk told me every drawer was stuffed with notebooks, scraps of paper, you name it.”
“He was something of a pack rat, I’ll admit,” I said.
“Well, these copies are from the notebooks. I’ve had someone trying to put them in order all day today. These seem to be the most recent; at least, they are if these dates aren’t in some kind of code, too.”