At one point, Ken and Barbie made what some might consider a mistake. They had tortured a filthy young man-he had sneaked into a girl’s cabin and defiled someone’s brassiere-but they didn’t realize that the filthy young man’s father was a leading mobster from New York City. When his father learned what happened-tormenting his son until he spilled the beans-he sent his two best soldiers to “take care” of Ken and Barbie. But Ken and Barbie were no slack amateurs anymore. When the two mobsters came for them, Ken and Barbie were ready. They turned the tables on them. Ken killed one of them with his bare hands. The other had been captured and taken into the woods. Barbie took her time with him. She was more thorough than ever. Eventually they had let the other soldier live, though in his case, it probably would have been kinder to have put him down.
When word got back to the father-mobster who had put out the original hit, he had been duly impressed-and maybe scared. Instead of sending out more soldiers, he offered them both peace and work. Ken and Barbie agreed. These were, they realized, bad guys hurting other bad guys. It felt to them like destiny. When camp ended, they left their respective families, telling their loved ones that they would be traveling missionaries, which, in some sense, was true.
The cell phone rang. Ken picked it up and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Goldberg!”
When he finished the call, Barbie moved toward him. “We have another lead?”
“We do.”
“Tell me.”
“An attorney named Harry Sutton. He represents whores.”
Barbie nodded.
They both knelt down next to Tawny. Tawny began to cry.
“You get it now,” Ken said to her. “How wrong this life is for you.”
Tawny continued to cry.
“We will give you a chance,” Barbie said, her smile beatific. She reached into her handbag and pulled something out. “This is a bus ticket out of here.”
“You’ll use it?” Ken asked.
Tawny nodded vigorously.
“When you first saw us,” Barbie said, “you thought we were angels sent to save you.”
“Maybe,” Ken added, “you were right.”
Megan had planned to go straight home.
That would have been the prudent course to take. She had done her bit-or as much of it as she could-and now it was time to slip back into her safe cocoon.
Instead she headed over to La Creme.
She sat now at the bar, the one in the far back dark corner. Her old friend Lorraine was working it. When she first entered, Lorraine had said, “Am I supposed to be surprised?”
“I guess not.”
“What can I get you?”
Megan pointed at the bottle behind Lorraine. “Grey Goose on the rocks with four limes.”
Lorraine frowned. “Instead of Grey Goose, how about Brand X watered down and poured from a Grey Goose bottle?”
“Even better.”
While Megan, like most adults, bemoaned e-mails and texting, here was where it came in handy: She’d texted Dave that she’d be home late tonight, knowing, of course, that he wouldn’t be able to hear the lie in her tone or follow up with too many questions.
She nursed the drink and told Lorraine about her visit with Broome.
“Do you remember him?” Megan asked.
“Broome? Sure. I still see him on occasion. Good guy. I threw him a one-timer, what, nine, ten years ago.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Love me for my generosity of heart.” Lorraine cleaned a glass with an old rag and offered up that smile. “Actually I liked him.”
“You like everybody.”
“Generosity of heart.”
“Not to mention body.”
Lorraine spread her arms. “Be a shame to let this go to waste.”
“Truer words.”
“So,” Lorraine said, stretching out the word, “did you tell Broome about my maybe seeing Stewart Green?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”
“Could be important,” Lorraine said.
“Could be.”
Lorraine kept cleaning the same glass. Then: “It probably wasn’t Stewart I saw.”
Megan said nothing.
“I mean, it probably just looked like him. Now that I hear your story, I mean, you saw him dead, right?”
“Maybe.”
“So if you saw him dead, then I couldn’t have seen him alive.” Lorraine shook her head. “Man, did I just say that? I need a drink. Either way, I was probably wrong.”
“Hell of a thing to be wrong about,” Megan said.
“Yeah, well.” Lorraine put the glass down. “But for the sake of argument, let’s say I did see Stewart Green.”
“Okay.”
“Where has he been for the past seventeen years? What’s he been doing all that time?”
“And,” Megan added, “why come back now?”
“Exactly,” Lorraine said.
“Maybe we should tell Broome.”
Lorraine thought about it. “Maybe.”
“I mean, if he’s back…”
“Yeah, tell him,” Lorraine said, snapping the rag across the bar. “But don’t tell him who you heard it from, okay?”
“You will remain uninvolved.”
“The way I like it.”
“Despite your generosity of heart.”
Lorraine was cleaning a glass with too much intensity. “So now what, sweetheart?”
Megan shrugged. “I go home.”
“Just like that?”
“If Stewart Green really is back…” The thought made her shudder.
“You’d be in serious danger,” Lorraine said.
“Right.”
Lorraine leaned on the bar. Her perfume smelled of jasmine. “Did Broome ask why you came back?”
“Yep.”
“And you gave him all that talk about needing to find the truth.”
“Talk?”
“Yeah,” Lorraine said, “talk. You’ve been gone for seventeen years. All of a sudden you need to find the truth?”
“Whoa, what are you talking about? You came to me, remember?”
“That’s not what I mean,” Lorraine said. Her voice grew gentle. “You were coming down here already, right?”
Megan shifted on the barstool. “One time.”
“Fine, one time. Why?”
A patron came over and placed an order. Lorraine served up a drink and a double entendre. The patron laughed and took his drink back to his table.
“Lorraine?”
“What, sugar?”
“What’s the secret of happiness?”
“The little things.”
“Like?”
“Change the drapes. You won’t believe how far that goes.”
Megan looked doubtful.
“Oh, honey, I’m as messed up as the rest. I just learned not to care so much. You know? We fight wars for freedom, right, and then what do we do with that freedom? We tie ourselves down with possessions and debt and, well, other people. If I seem happy, it’s because I do what I want when I want.”
Megan finished the drink and signaled for another. “I’m happy,” Megan said. “I’m just feeling antsy.”
“That’s normal. I mean, who doesn’t? You got good kids, right?”
“The best,” Megan said, feeling herself light up despite herself. “I love them so much it hurts.”
“See? That’s great, but it wouldn’t be for me.”
Megan eyed the drink, enjoying the warmth of it. “You know what sucks about being a mother?”
“Diapers?”
“Well, yes. But I mean now. Now that they are older and more or less real human beings.”
“What?”
“You live for their smile.”
Lorraine waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, Lorraine said, “Care to elaborate?”
“When something goes well for them-like with Kaylie, if she scores in her soccer game-I mean, when your child smiles, you well up. You are so damned happy, but then, well, see, when they don’t…”
“You’re unhappy,” Lorraine said.
“It’s a little more complicated, but yes. That’s what I hate: My happiness is totally dependent on their smiles. And I’m not one of those parents who live vicariously through their kids’ accomplishments. I just want them happy. But I used to be a functioning adult with my own emotions. Now, as a mother, my happiness seems solely dependent on their smiles. They know it too.”