“I said I was going to watch them on weekends when you were out,” objected Karp.
“You said, yeah, but that was before you started this trial. And after this trial there’ll be another one, or some other crisis. Face it, you don’t have any time either.”
“And Posie is the best solution to this we can find? Jesus, Marlene, we don’t know a damn thing about her. She’s just somebody you picked up off the street.”
“Who’s been looking after the babies perfectly since they were twelve weeks old,” Marlene replied with some heat. It was an old argument. “You want someone from an agency, with references? Well, let me tell you, bub, someone from an agency with references is not going to put up with us, or our hours, or what we can afford to pay, or walking up five floors, or pushing the stroller through this neighborhood, not when they can take care of little Tiffany and Lance on Central Park West. Be real!”
Karp grunted, fantasies of a Swedish au pair and a place on Central Park West, or Park Slope, at least, going glimmering. He did not have the energy for the seven millionth rep of this particular unwinnable argument, based as it was on his unshakable belief that a SoHo walk-up loft, however luxuriously appointed, was no place to raise a family. Nor did he think it the right time to raise the other possible solution, that Marlene stop running a half-assed security agency and take a respectable job with a law firm or a D.A. On the other hand, the less petulant part of him said, if she were someone who wanted such a job, she wouldn’t be Marlene, and you wouldn’t love her, so there! This set of thoughts flashed through his mind like a reflex, a kind of mental cramp. He wondered whether they would ever go away, or if he would continue to think them as long as he was with Marlene.
“This has to do with another of your waifs, I understand,” he said, to change the subject. “Lucy said you’ve got the noodle man living in Posie’s old room.”
“He’s not a waif and he’s not a noodle man,” said Marlene. “I think he was a policeman, or something like that, in Vietnam. I saw him face down four fairly nasty punks without breaking a sweat. He’s educated, he speaks a couple of languages-”
“Not including English, I gather.”
“So he’ll learn. Anyway, I’m going to feel a lot better with him in the place at night, especially when we’re taking care of runaway women. And I guarantee we’re both going to feel better with Posie here.” She poked him in the ribs. “Admit it! Don’t you feel better already? The twins are fed and p.j.’d and nestling in their cribs, in clouds of baby powder. We’re lounging at our ease.” To demonstrate ease of lounging, she moved closer to him on the sofa and nuzzled his neck. “And if, God forbid, we should want to fool around in the marital bed some night and the yelling starts, Posie will leap out and do her thing.”
“This, ah, you imagine is the clinching argument?” he asked, pulling her closer.
“It better be,” said Marlene.
The following morning, feeling better than she had in weeks by reason of a luxurious eight hours in the rack, Marlene skipped lightly off to work. Posie had indeed done her thing with the night screams, so Marlene was also enjoying that oily-jointed relaxation that follows upon uninterrupted conjugal delights. Lucy was markedly calmer during the morning’s preparation and ride to school; Marlene, observing this with satisfaction, reflected that the child’s equilibrium had been as much affected as her own by the nonnegotiable demands of the twins. Things would now improve; she even had hopes for long division.
“How do you like your new roommate?” she asked Sym as the girl handed over the steaming cup.
“He’s okay for a old guy,” said Sym. “He cook better-he cooks better than Posie, anyway. He ain’t got much to say, though.”
“That’s because he doesn’t speak much English. Try to talk to him and he’ll learn. You got your TV back there-watch shows, explain what’s going on. Any messages?”
“Dane called last night. Said he ran off that Monto guy from in front of Miller’s house.”
“Any trouble?”
“He didn’t say none. Guy drove by is all, saw Dane and got small.”
“Um. Be hard to get him on a violation for that. But he’ll be back. Harry in?”
“Yeah. He looked pissed off too.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he features the old guy.”
Harry’s emotional range was a narrow one, covering only a few degrees on either side of what in a normal person would have been suicidal depression, but Marlene had learned to read the subtle arrangement of the ridges on his stony face and was able to confirm Sym’s assessment.
“What’s wrong, Harry?”
A movement of the head in the direction of the living quarters.
“What’s the problem, Harry? He’s a good guy. He needs a place to stay and I need Posie at home. Besides, he’ll be security at night.”
Harry frowned more deeply and with his eyes and head indicated an easterly direction, where lay Chinatown. “What about …?”
“Not a problem. They put him out of business, which was what they wanted. They’re not going to pursue him all the way to regular New York.”
Harry grunted and turned to the window. The conversation was over. It would never have occurred to Marlene that Harry was jealous, that he considered himself the waif-in-chief, and wished not to share Marlene’s rescuing talents with other desperate males. After a few moments of studying the Walker Street traffic, he said, “I checked on Wolfe. He’s clean. He’ll be by today, later.”
Good, thought Marlene as she walked to the living quarters. That meant Harry had not been able to find any obvious lies or distortions in Jack Wolfe’s work history, or any criminal record in any of the states he had worked, which meant she had her extra full-time man. She found Tranh washing dishes in the little kitchen.
Tranh looked up and smiled. “Good morning. How you are?” he said in English.
“Good morning, and I’m fine, thank you,” replied Marlene in the same tongue, and then, in French, “I am impressed, sir, at your progress in our language. Recitations from Shakespeare cannot be far off. Meanwhile, I observe you have accomplished wonders of sanitation.”
The kitchen was indeed gleaming, the floor and surfaces still damp and bleach-scented, while on the small stove a pot bubbled, releasing a spicy, meaty aroma.
“It is only a little thing, Madame,” replied Tranh in French. “I am obliged to you.”
“There is no obligation, for I intend to take advantage of you, if you are willing. As I said the other day, I suspect you have talents beyond the kitchen, which I will liked to have employed-no, pardon, which I would like to employ. Is that correct? The subjunctive mode-”
“Perfectly correct, Madame. You are offering me employment, then?”
“Yes, surely.”
“Of what sort?”
“It would be in the nature of security. Often women and children, fleeing from violent men, must stay here. They require protection. Also, there is work of a similar sort outside, investigations and security …”
“But I am merely a cook,” said Tranh. He was no longer smiling.
“With respect, M. Tranh, you were not always a cook.”
Tranh dropped his eyes and scrubbed dry a spot on the already shining plate he was holding. “No, that is true. I was not always a cook. When I was younger, I was a teacher.”
“Nor always a teacher,” said Marlene. “You were, I suspect, a policeman or-”
“No, never! Not a flic!” Tranh replied curtly.
“Calm yourself, M. Tranh. I do not mean to pry. A soldier, then.”
“Yes, a soldier. Of a type,” Tranh agreed. “But you know, I do not believe I can accept your kind offer, Madame. My status in this country is … irregular. I would not wish for you to get into trouble with the authorities for employing me.”