“Well, this is me. I feel good here.” Brenda laughed ruefully, letting the bruises from a difficult second marriage that she had expected to be heaven show for just a second.
“You know how I never could stand all those woods and trees. So closed in. Wait till you see my house. It’s everything I like—decks and sun and sky everywhere. Funny-shaped rooms with light streaming in from above.”
Jason smiled at her pleasure. No, he had no idea she didn’t like Charles’s stone house with a fireplace in every room, very little light, buried deep in a heavily wooded area. What was this, revenge? The harbinger of the end of the marriage?
He hoped for both of them that they could work it out. Brenda was perfect for Charles, wealthy herself, independent, lively, thoughtful, deeply caring of his two children, and certainly at least as clever as he. Her eyes hardened with her awareness that he was studying her.
“Sorry, I’ll stop.” It was an occupational hazard. He constantly evaluated everyone. Emma used to say every time he looked at her she felt as though he were taking her emotional temperature. Ever the shrink, checking for sanity.
“It’s okay. I like you, too. If you ever want an ear, I’ll listen.”
Touched, Jason smiled. “The same to you.”
“Listen,” Brenda said. “I won’t go with you to the house. Take a look at it on your own, and don’t mind Charles’s matchmaking. Milicia’s an interesting person, quite talented, I think. But after Em—” She paused, confirming Jason’s own personal view that his estranged wife, should she ultimately decide not to return to him, would not be easy to replace.
Brenda looked over at her husband, leaning against his car, deep in conversation with the beautiful architect, and shook her head as if she were truly puzzled.
“It always amazes me how a really good shrink like Charles could be such a jerk about women,” she said.
Jason wondered if she were speaking about him as well. He had had everything he thought he wanted in a woman, and was too busy healing other people to make her happy. From three thousand miles away, Emma twisted the knife a little more and pain shot through him.
He couldn’t get over the irony. How often had he heard his patients describe the black hole, the bottomless pit of agony they felt when they failed at love, were left behind in the empty apartment, with the empty bed, and the days stretching out into an eternity of aloneness. Countless times. How many times had he empathized, never for a second thinking it could happen to him.
“Here we are.” Milicia bundled the plans under her arm and hurried up to them, flashing Jason a brilliant smile that, lovely as it was, failed to warm him.
Again Charles put his hand on Jason’s shoulder as if to say, Come on, old man. Get back in the saddle again.
Jason shook his head. Thanks anyway, he had other fish to fry and had no interest in getting to know any new people.
Still, several hours later, after they had looked over the house three or four times, taken a walk on the beach with Brenda, and had the requisite barbecued steak ritual, Jason was feeling better in spite of himself. When Milicia offered to drive him back to the city just as dusk was falling, he nodded, grateful to accept.
3
Span of control, unity of command, delegation of authority, positive discipline, negative discipline, lost time management.
Detective April Woo, Detective Squad, 20th Precinct, New York City Police Department, gathered up the pile of index cards she had made of the management aspect of being a Sergeant. She zipped them into a pocket of the looseleaf notebook she had created over the last three months as a study guide for her police Sergeant promotion test, which was coming up in less than two weeks. The notebook contained hundreds of notes on job tasks associated with being a sergeant, as well as procedures and investigation techniques, department rules and regulations. The notebook was open to the section on leadership styles. Theory X and Theory Y management behavior, autocratic leaders, free-rein leaders (laissez faire). April didn’t know any leaders in the last category. She closed the book.
The clock beside her bed read 6:01 and already the sunlight streaked halfway across the room. She could tell summer was on the wane by the fact that only a few weeks earlier the patch of brilliance had been in the same place nearly an hour earlier. In a month or so the light wouldn’t be waking her up early enough to study before work at all, but by then it wouldn’t matter. She will have taken the test, and her fate would be decided. On the sergeant’s score anyway.
April knew she’d have to have an overall score of 95 or 96 to get it. One of her professors at John Jay had told her she had to want it bad. She knew that already. The same professor had also quoted an old Chinese proverb. “Learning is like rowing upstream; not to advance is to drop back.” She already knew that, too. Also, that she would not have another chance at promotion for five years. That was a scary thought. She was determined to be Sergeant Woo. And maybe even Lieutenant Woo someday. She shook herself a little to get going, and didn’t get anywhere.
Downstairs, April could hear her mother and father already squabbling in Chinese in their half of the two-family house they shared. They had financed the house with their combined incomes for different reasons. Woo parents said they wanted house so they could live Chinese-American style, together-apart in great happiness someday soon when April came to senses, left the police, married a Chinese doctor with a good practice, and had many babies.
April knew they said they’d be happy only if every one of their ten thousand most-wanted blessings were granted, but in fact their most important dreams had already been fulfilled. April had helped them buy the house so they could live well, period. Never mind who she married. Or even if she married, which most days she was pretty sure she wouldn’t.
The beam of sunlight inched over, pressuring her to get moving. She slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom. It had green ceramic tiles and a white curtain blowing in the open window. She was glad no one ever had to see the bathroom shelves loaded with cosmetics, moisturizers, bath oils, and small, shiny objects of decoration.
In fact, her own home was the only place she didn’t have to convince herself she was glad to be single. She liked not having to fight over who got the sink, or who was going to break down and wash it out afterward. As she began her exercises, she thought it would be terrible for someone to see her doing her hundred and fifty sit-ups, her squats and leg lifts, the work on her upper body with the free weights, and the grip exercises she did to keep her .38 as light as chopsticks in her hand.
She began to sweat after the thirty-fourth crunch. She was five foot five, which was not as bad genetically as it could have been, but slender as a reed, like her father, a cook in one of the better Chinese restaurants, who ate all the time and never gained an ounce of flesh. She took a break for three minutes to wash her face and assess herself critically in the mirror. It was hard to tell an Asian’s age, she knew.
At nearly thirty, April looked ten years younger. She had a perfect oval face, and a well-defined but not too pointed chin, small mouth, long, delicate neck, and a short layered haircut that had been singed pretty badly in the explosion but was nearly grown out now. In the mirror her eyes looked calm and determined, protected by their mongolian folds and years of training. As a cop she was supposed to feel normal no matter what terrible things she saw, or happened to her. But it was no secret that the police had a very high suicide rate, a lot of alcoholics, and multiple marriages with bitter endings.