“Don’t you be ragging on me too.”
“I’m not. I’d just like to know why you can’t get along with your family, why every conversation has to turn into a sniping match.”
“Always my bad, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to. Better stay on your own side the bed tonight.”
“So now it’s my turn to get chopped.”
“Tomorrow night, too.”
“Dammit, woman. Did you mean what you said to Claudia and your father?”
“Mean what?”
“We’re not really back together, all we’re doing is sharing a bed for the time being.”
“Well, duh. One day at a time, like you said.”
“I know what I said, but I keep hoping...”
“That I’ll change my mind? Marry you, move back east?”
“Marry me at least. Would that be so bad?”
“Wouldn’t be so good.”
“What about the promise you made me?”
“What promise?”
“At Claudia’s. That you won’t give up on us.”
“If I’d given up, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“But you won’t make any kind of commitment.”
“Like the one you went and made all by yourself?”
“Baby, it wasn’t a choice between you and my music—”
“No? You gonna leave your cello behind when you go?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Same way I feel about my job.”
“It doesn’t have to be us or our careers, one or the other, all or nothing. Why can’t you believe that?”
“ ’Cause I stopped believing in fairy tales when I was six years old.”
Tuesday morning.
Sad and lowdown when she got to the office. Still on edge, too, so it was a good thing the boss man was planning to be out most of the day, business interview and Emily’s school pageant, and Jake Runyon wasn’t back from Mono yet. She might’ve gone off on one of them for no good reason, the way she kept doing lately, make herself feel even worse.
Quiet in there, sitting at her desk. Gave her time to scrape around inside her head, take an objective look at what she found. Didn’t like it much, but there it was and might as well admit it. Person she was really upset with, person who’d needed bitch-slapping all along, was herself.
Pop, Ma, Claudia, Horace, Bill... they all cared about her, wanted good for her. So why did she keep fighting and ragging on them, keep turning into the angry smartmouth like some black-sister Jekyll and Hyde? Oh, they were always so sure they knew what was best, wouldn’t let her be her own woman, live her own life her own way. Only problem was, sometimes she ran a little scared. Felt insecure, vulnerable. Didn’t know what she should do, didn’t feel sure of herself, needed help figuring out what was best for her. Purely hated being dependent on anybody, but those times she just had to reach out. That was why she’d moved in with Claudia when she left Horace, why she’d let him take her to bed last Friday night, why she’d moved back in with him so quick and easy. Why she drove down to Redwood City every few weeks to spend time with the folks. What she partly was, like it or not, was a woman who didn’t want to be alone, needed somebody close to lean on. Only she couldn’t just lean, uh-uh, not her. The more dependent she became, the more she started hating herself, and blaming other people for her insecurity, and before she knew it she’d lapsed right back into her old ’tude.
No big insight here, she thought ruefully. She’d let herself see clearly before, made vows before to own up and change her ways. But just when she’d make a start in the right direction, something would happen and she’d handle it wrong, words coming out her mouth without going through her brain first, closing off and lashing out at the same time. Like the other day when Pop came to the office, Friday night at Claudia’s, the three conversations last night.
Better stop treating everybody like an enemy, girl. Hang on to family, friends, learn self-control, or else you’re really gonna end up independent one of these days — gonna end up all alone.
The little slap-talk with herself made her feel better. When Jake Runyon called a few minutes later, to let her know he was on the road and expected to be in the office around one o’clock, she made an effort to be nice to him. Told him again what a good job he’d done up in Mono County. The stroking didn’t have much effect; all he said was “Thanks” and “See you later.”
She did some work, managed to lose herself in it. But then, around ten, the phone rang a second time. And her mood went sour again.
Breathing. Heavy breathing.
Oh, yeah, that was all she needed now. A perv.
Still breathing. She didn’t wait for any more, didn’t say anything, just slammed the receiver down.
Phone rang again a few seconds later. She ground her teeth, made herself answer it cool and businesslike.
Same jerkoff chump, breathing like a pig at a trough. But then a raspy voice said, “Don’t hang up.”
“Well, don’t be panting in my ear. Something I can do for you?”
She expected an obscene answer and got ready to slam down even harder, bust his eardrum. But he surprised her. He said angrily, spewing the words, “What’s the idea siccing the cops on me?”
“Huh?”
“Can’t leave a man alone, always after him, never a minute’s peace. Everybody, my wife, the IRS, cops, you people, the bastards you’re working for. Who are they? Who hired you?”
Man! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, all right. Don’t give me that crap, I’m not taking any more bullshit from anybody.”
“Who is this?”
“You know who I am. Sicced the cops on me. All those years, nobody did anything about it, everything went to hell, whose fault is that? Not mine. Goddamn you people, not mine!”
“Robert Lightfoot? Thomas Valjean?”
“Smart bitch, don’t play games with me!”
That made her lose it. She said, “Drop dead, asshole,” and hammered the receiver into its cradle, damn near broke it. Next thing she did was open her purse, find the high-frequency whistle Pop had given her years ago. Chump called a third time, she’d huff and puff and really bust his eardrum for him.
But he didn’t call again. The phone stayed quiet.
Well, all right. Must’ve been Valjean; Lightfoot talked with a slur because of his stroke. Why hadn’t the cops arrested Valjean by now? Insufficient evidence, probably. Report the call? Not much point. He hadn’t said his name; she was just guessing and the police couldn’t act on guesswork. Boss man had drummed that into her head enough times, hadn’t he? But if he called again...
Meanwhile, back to work. She started preliminary work on a skip-trace for Abe Melikian, a hard-luck bondsman who called the agency whenever one of his lowlife clients jumped bail, which seemed often enough to put most bondsmen out of business or at least make them think twice about who they posted bond for. Routine stuff. Interesting when she was in the right mood, boring when she wasn’t. Boring today.
An hour’s worth of the routine was all she could stand. The only good thing about the hour was that the phone stayed silent. For no damn good reason, she surfed Philadelphia on the Net. Fifth largest city in the country, population 5.8 million... too many people in one place. City of Brotherly Love. Yeah, right. Well, they did have an African-American heritage museum, and Philly’s Quakers had been active in the abolitionist movement and the underground railroad, so the brotherly love thing had some history anyway. Liberty Bell and Freedom Hall. University of Pennsylvania. Home of the Eagles, Phillies, 76ers. And the Philly Cheesesteak sandwich, just what she needed to help keep her weight under control. Average winter temperature of 33 degrees... terrific.
Lots of stuff on the plus side, she supposed, but too many minuses if you were a West Coast woman, a San Francisco woman, a snow-and-freezing-cold-sucks woman. Yeah, and a 49er fan like Pop and Bill and everybody else she knew on this side of the Bay. Root for the Eagles? No way.