The buzzer sounded, and I pushed the door open and climbed the narrow flight of stairs. The air was redolent of chili-an aroma that in the past would have made me cringe, because Hank's secret recipe was one he should have carried untried to the grave. But the previous winter Anne-Marie had critiqued it in a fit of anger, I had backed up her damning judgment, and since then Hank had made a concerted and moderately successful effort to improve it. Not that it mattered: nobody went to Hank's for the food. We went for the good talk and company.
I hung my coat and bag on the hall tree and walked to the rear of the flat. Hank had reversed the typical order of the rooms, turning the front parlor into his bedroom and merging the remaining ones into a big space for entertaining that opened off the kitchen. It was back there that I found him and his three remaining dinner guests, scattered on the sectional sofa, coffee or wine to hand.
Anne-Marie sat closest to the door. I went over and plunked the fuchsia and card on her lap. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you! I'm glad you could make it." She examined the plant, then ripped open the envelope. Since I'd last seen her, she'd cut her long blond hair, and the pert new style enhanced the delicacy of her elegant nose and sculpted cheekbones. The haircut was the latest in a series of changes in her life, the most startling of which was taking an extended leave of absence from All Souls to act as consulting attorney to a large coalition of environmentalists. I wondered what had prompted the move, but so far had not found the right opportunity to ask. Anne-Marie laughed at the card-which likened our lives to the fast lane at the supermarket checkout-and passed it to Hank. He nodded in agreement and handed it to Rae, who sat on the other section of the sofa. Willie Whelan, dressed in his usual leather vest and western wear, sprawled next to her, his head lolling against her shoulder. I noticed there was something wrong with his face-it looked puffy. He raised a listless hand to me, then let it drop back onto the couch.
Before I could ask what his problem was, Hank stood, insisting I come to the kitchen for some chili. I followed him out there, where a big pot of the stuff still simmered on the stove. While he dished it up I went to the cupboard for a wineglass and looked in the fridge, sighing when I found a mediocre brand of wine-in-a-box that Hank favors because of the convenience factor. As I pressed the rubber spigot and waited for my glass to fill, I said, "I need to discuss the Hilderly case with you."
"Now?"
"Tomorrow morning will do."
"I'll be in court until noon."
"Then I'll catch you afterward-"I broke off as Rae entered the room.
Looking at my assistant tonight, I had to admit that this new liaison with Willie was doing her wonders. Her round, freckled face glowed and her manner was relaxed and easy. When she'd come to work for me the previous year, she'd been a bundle of insecurities; shedding an immature and demanding husband, some therapy, and a new romantic relationship had made her blossom. She'd even begun dressing better-although her everyday wardrobe still ran to thrift-shop jeans and ratty sweaters. Tonight she had on a pair of corduroy slacks whose color exactly matched her auburn hair, and her shirt was a Liz Claiborne.
She noticed my admiring glance and said, "Macy's. I charged it. Willie has convinced me of the ease of living on credit."
"Just so long as he doesn't convince you of the ease of going into bankruptcy. But, really, you look great."
"Thanks. Listen, I started those skip traces."
"Hank said you have something on Heikkinen."
"Yes. I haven't gotten a response from your friend at the DMV yet-she was swamped, and their computers were down for part of the day. But I went by Vital Statistics and came up with a marriage for Heikkinen-to a Glen A. Ross in nineteen seventy-eight. I passed the married name along to your friend, and she said she'd try to have the info by noon tomorrow."
"Good. Nothing on David Arlen Taylor?"
"No. If the DMV files don't show anything, do you want me to widen the search to Vital Statistics in other counties?"
"Yes. Try Alameda, Marin, Contra Costa, and San Mateo for openers. I know that'll mean a lot of travel time for you, but I'll cover at the office."
"I don't think you'll need to, much. My desk is clear, and we seem to be into a slow period. You may have to cover for me with Willie, though."
Hank handed me my bowl of chili and grinned evilly- because it was extra hot, or because of what Rae had just said, I couldn't tell. "What does that mean? What's wrong with Willie, anyway? He looks funny."
Now Rae grinned, too. "Willie had all four wisdom teeth pulled this morning. He called me every hour on the hour all day to whine, and I suspect he'll do the same tomorrow. He's not talking much tonight, though; he couldn't eat his dinner, so he drank it."
"Does that mean he's too sedated to do his renditions of the latest Jewelry Mart commercials?"
"You got it."
"Thank God." Willie gets a bit frenetic on the subject of his television stardom, and has frequently been known to reenact his commercials for captive audiences.
We went back to the living room and I took up my favorite position on the floor by the coffee table, bowl of chili (Hank had done something unfortunate to it-too much Tabasco, I thought) and glass of wine in front of me. I noticed an empty espresso cup to one side, recalled that Jack Stuart, our specialist in criminal law, was a fan of the vile brew, and asked, "Why'd Jack leave so early?"
Hank said, "He had to go to the Hall of Justice. That Iranian client of his got arrested again, shot at a kid who he claims was trying to steal beer from his store. Fortunately, he missed."
"Poor Jack. But what about Ted? Didn't you say he was coming?"
All four faces clouded. Anne-Marie said, "Ted couldn't make it. His friend Harry died."
"Oh, no." I set down my spoon, what little appetite I'd had completely gone. Harry had been our secretary's childhood friend; like Ted, he'd been gay, and he'd died of AIDS. As always when confronted with the horror of the disease, I felt overwhelmed with helplessness and anger. "How's Ted handling it?"
Rae said, "I had a drink with him right after he got the news this afternoon. He's bearing up all right; it wasn't as if it was unexpected. But still… You know what he told me? He said he felt disconnected, that Harry's dying was the first major break with his youth. He said it made him feel like he was straddling the gap between the beginning and the end of his life."
"I know what he means," Hank said. "This client of mine, the one whose heirs Shar's trying to locate, makes me feel that way. Perry wasn't that close a friend, but he was a symbol of an era to me."
"Like Abbie Hoffman," Anne-Marie added. "I couldn't believe it when he killed himself. The clown prince of the student revolution, ending up dead in middle age of booze and anti depression drugs. When I heard about Abbie, I knew the sixties were dead, too."
Willie mumbled wistfully, "I missed the sixties, was in 'Nam trying to stay alive. Missed the seventies, too, trying to stay out of jail. Come to think of it, I might of missed the eighties."
Rae said, "I did, too-the sixties, I mean. Unless being born then counts. Those must have been the days, huh?"
Hank shrugged. "They were, if you judge from all the nostalgia that's being wallowed in lately. They had a reunion of aging militants at Stanford last May. All the folks who sat in at the Applied Electronics Lab in nineteen sixty-nine got together to talk over old times with current campus radicals."
"My God!" I said. "Did you go?"
"Are you kidding? In nineteen sixty-nine-because I'd stupidly joined ROTC, thinking the war would be over before I graduated-I was sitting around with Willie in an army supply depot in Cam Ranh Bay. Besides, even if I'd been in on the protests, the idea of sipping white wine and nibbling on crudites with a bunch of affluent people worried about wrinkles and hair loss turns my stomach."