“But I didn’t mean to!” she cried, getting defensive. “I was just trying to help.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, next time you want to help me, please do me a favor and
don’t.” I pushed myself up from the floor, turned on the table lamp, and plopped down on the couch in a huff. “How did you think you were going to help me anyway?”
She made a petulant face. “Well, I know what Blackie looks like, you know! I saw him in Stewart’s Cafeteria the same day you did. So I wanted to see if he’s the one who’s been following you.”
“And
did you?” I asked, dashed hopes rising again. “Did you get a good look at the guy’s face?”
“Not really,” she said, bowing her head in embarrassment. “You can’t see very much through these sunglasses.” She took the dark specs off her nose and meekly folded them in her hand.
That was when I started laughing.
It wasn’t normal laughter, you should know-not the bubbly, congenial kind brought on by a funny joke or a humorous situation. It was crazy laughter-the fierce, frenetic kind that comes from a place of deep trouble and pain (i.e., more of a howl than a hoot). It was the kind of laughter that, after a brief spell of hysterical cackling, turns into an all-out crying jag.
When I stopped laughing and started sobbing Abby jumped up from the floor and sat next to me on the couch. She threw her arms around me and squeezed hard. “Go ahead, Paige,” she cooed, still hugging me tight, “let it all out. Under circumstances like these, crying is the best release. Maybe the only release.”
“Willy told you what happened?” I yowled. “Do you know about-”
“Yes,” she broke in, “I know all about it.” She took a deep breath and squeezed me even harder. “I still don’t believe it, though. I’m in shock. I never thought Dan would behave this way.”
“M-m-me neither,” I blubbered, shoulders shaking so violently I felt they would collapse. “Oh, Abby! I’m so hurt… so devastated… I’ll never get over this!”
“Oh, yes you will,” she said, releasing her hold and patting me on the back. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but it isn’t. There are worse things than losing a man.” Abby meant her assurances to be soothing, but they weren’t. How could I take comfort in her words when I knew she didn’t believe them herself? “And besides,” she added, standing up from the couch and pacing around the living room, petticoats swishing with every step, “how do you know that kiss was real?”
“Because I
saw it, that’s how!” I screeched. “I saw them mashing their lips and bodies together like two halves of a goddamn sandwich. Jesus, Abby! How could you ask me that question and make me relive that horrible scene? Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?” All of a sudden I wasn’t crying anymore. Now I was just ranting.
“Things aren’t always as they seem,” Abby said, still pacing. “You’re the one who taught me that! And how many times have you told me not to jump to hasty conclusions? At least a thousand, I bet!” She stomped over to the kitchen table, snatched a cigarette out of the pack in her purse, stuck it between her lips and lit it. (No holder, thank God. I wasn’t in the mood to watch another act in
that silly show.)
“I wasn’t jumping to conclusions,” I insisted, wiping my eyes with a tissue and blowing my nose. “I was just facing the facts.”
Abby refused to back down. “Maybe you were, and maybe you weren’t,” she said, scowling. “All I know is, when I saw Dan and that redhead having dinner together, they didn’t look the least bit amorous to me. The woman’s infatuated with herself, not Dan. She’s a raving exhibitionist. She looked flashy, wild, and demanding; Dan just looked bored.”
“They had dinner together?” I whimpered, diving into a fresh pool of pain.
“Yes, but he wasn’t having a good time.”
“Now who’s jumping to conclusions?” I said. “I’ll give you a hint: It isn’t me.”
“Oh, hush, Paige! You’re always so negative. I had a very good view of their table, and I could see that Dan was miserable. He looked trapped and exhausted. And that’s the truth, Ruth.”
“Did he see you?”
“No, I don’t think so. I thought of going over and saying something to him, but I didn’t. I figured you wouldn’t want me to.”
I heaved a huge sigh of relief and gave her a grateful nod. “You get a gold star for that one, Ab.”
“You mean I finally did something right?” Her tone was sarcastic, but her posture was proud. “I was beginning to think you were going to kick me off the case.”
I laughed (for real this time). “How could I kick you
off the case when neither one of us has a right to be on it at all? Except for the negligible fact that I’m now working on a story assignment, this is a totally illegitimate investigation. So it’s every girl for herself! Speaking of which, how did you make out at Kazan’s table tonight? Did you find out anything interesting?”
“A couple of things,” she said, eyes twinkling.
“Like what?” I yelped, tail wagging. (Call me a ghoul, but I felt much better discussing the murder than I did talking about Dan.)
“I discovered that Ben Gazzara is a real dreamboat!” she exclaimed. “He’s my kind of man, Fran! He’s so yummy and clever you could just
plotz. I’m not kidding. For Ben, I would convert to Italian. Elia Kazan, on the other hand, is-”
“Abby!” I screeched. “Gazzara and Kazan aren’t suspects! They’re of no concern to me. And I certainly don’t need to know how yummy they are-or aren’t, as the case may be. I only want to know about Binky and Baldy. Remember them? They were the
other two guys at the table-the ones who are under suspicion-the ones you were supposed to observe. Did you, by some remote chance or accident, happen to discover anything about them?!” To say that I was exasperated would be like calling a hurricane breezy.
“Cool it, Paige!” Abby said, crushing her cigarette in the ashtray and shooting me a nasty look. “Why do you have to make such a
tsimmis out of everything?”
“A what?”
“A
tsimmis,” she said. “It’s a stew, a mess-oh, never mind!” She crossed her arms over her chest and stamped her foot on the floor. “The point is I did learn some things about Binky and Baldy, and I was getting around to that, but you wouldn’t give me a chance. Instead of listening to my story, you had to kick up a big fuss and make me feel like a fool. That wasn’t very nice, you dig? And it was a big dumb waste of time, too.”
Abby was right. I was a jerk, a shrew, a total
tsimmis-maker. “I’m sorry, Ab,” I said. “I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat the way I did. I’ve had a hard day. Please forgive me.”
“Okay!” she chirped, mood changing on a dime. “Now, where was I?” She lowered her gaze to the floor and began pacing around the living room again. “Oh, yeah, now I remember,” she said, curling her blood red lips in a sardonic (make that satanic) smile. “I was telling you about Ben and Elia…”
Chapter 31
I DIDN’T INTERRUPT HER THIS TIME. I just let her talk until she got it all out of her system. (It was either that or sit through another speech about how impatient and critical I am.) I endured a long dissertation about Gazzara’s strong, extra-wide shoulders, and his powerful chest, and his beautiful hands, and his wry sense of humor, and the way his deep, lusty voice made Abby’s insides quiver. I was told that Kazan was brilliant and insightful and tender and adorable-and so what if he informed McCarthy’s goons that a bunch of his old friends were commies? That didn’t make him a stoolie-it just showed he was honest. And you have to be honest to be a good director, you know!