merely pointed out that what she’d done might be viewed as an obstruction of justice, maybe worse. Then I really zinged her. “Has it occurred to you that the police already may know the clothing was in your dressing room?”
“How could they?”
“You can bet they searched the studio from roof to basement What makes you imagine a team of professionals would miss something you saw immediately?”
“They told the public—”
“Just what they intend the public to know, nothing more. Maybe they wanted to see what you’d do with the clothing.”
“Oh, God!” Her went white. She raised her hands histrionically and pressed knuckles to temples, wincing. “Oh, my God! It was not her most impressive performance.
Up to then, Lara hadn’t said a word, but now she stood up and asked me to join her in the hall. McKinley was too caught up in her private angst to object.
I followed Lara into the corridor. When we were out of earshot she turned so suddenly I almost bumped into her. “Gene,” she snapped, “I asked you to help me calm her down. You’re upsetting her worse than ever.”
“Look, this whole business is poison. I can lose my license if I don’t report what she did with his clothes.”
“Surely you won’t get in any trouble if you don’t report it tonight?” In her anger, her resemblance to Hilary was more pronounced than ever.
“I’d love to let it rest. I’m worn out and hungry as hell.”
Her manner softened at once. “Why? Didn’t you eat?”
“I didn’t have time. After you called, I showered and shaved and hopped in the car.”
“Poor baby!” She touched my cheek gently. “All to please Hilary’s cousin.”
“Correction—as a favor to you.”
“All right, let me atone. Say something comforting to Florence, then come home with me and I’ll fix you a light supper.”
The stuff of fantasy...a quiet tête-à-tête with a dream girl. Except I couldn’t. “Lara, that’s the best offer I’ve had all month, but I’ve still got to drive back to Philly tonight.”
“Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it, I can see you’re exhausted. If you had an accident on the road, I’d never forgive myself. And neither would Hilary.”
“But—”
“Hush, no arguments! You can use my sofa bed.”
I tried to convince myself that going home with Lara would solve nothing, but at that moment, my common sense decided to take a leave of absence.
I eased Florence’s mind on the subject of the police knowing about the clothes. No talk now about what I’d charge, she insisted I take her on as my client. I hedged on committing myself, but promised I’d at least look into the matter on her behalf.
“One condition, though...I want to see your dressing room immediately.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
The sooner the better. And while I’m there, I need to ask a few discreet questions around the studio.”
“I’ll make arrangements so you can,” Florence assured me, suddenly seized with the spirit of cooperation.
I waited at the hall entry while Lara fussed over her friend, plumping up the pillows of the armchair nearest the aquarium, turning off the air pump for the night—presumably to save Florence a few pennies in electricity—tuning in WQXR , bringing her enough Valium to sedate a horse.
“That’s how she gets ready for bed,” Lara explained. We said good night and left Florence McKinley staring peacefully at her fish while the strains of “The Perfect Fool” played over her FM .
S TARLIGHT AND CHAMPAGNE CAN’T hide an insult to the stomach. I’m quoting Hilary. A lot of men would have been glaucous with envy at the prospect of my late supper with Lara in her Riverside Drive penthouse, but the reality of thawed quiche, wilted salad and stale croissants only would have been marginally palatable if washed down with large drafts of Veuve Clicquot or at the very least, a few pints of Watney’s Red Barrel. I got mineral water, uncarbonated.
Lara’s apartment was lofty and
“How could they?”
“You can bet they searched the studio from roof to basement What makes you imagine a team of professionals would miss something you saw immediately?”
“They told the public—”
“Just what they intend the public to know, nothing more. Maybe they wanted to see what you’d do with the clothing.”
“Oh, God!” Her went white. She raised her hands histrionically and pressed knuckles to temples, wincing. “Oh, my God! It was not her most impressive performance.
Up to then, Lara hadn’t said a word, but now she stood up and asked me to join her in the hall. McKinley was too caught up in her private angst to object.
I followed Lara into the corridor. When we were out of earshot she turned so suddenly I almost bumped into her. “Gene,” she snapped, “I asked you to help me calm her down. You’re upsetting her worse than ever.”
“Look, this whole business is poison. I can lose my license if I don’t report what she did with his clothes.”
“Surely you won’t get in any trouble if you don’t report it tonight?” In her anger, her resemblance to Hilary was more pronounced than ever.
“I’d love to let it rest. I’m worn out and hungry as hell.”
Her manner softened at once. “Why? Didn’t you eat?”
“I didn’t have time. After you called, I showered and shaved and hopped in the car.”
“Poor baby!” She touched my cheek gently. “All to please Hilary’s cousin.”
“Correction—as a favor to you.”
“All right, let me atone. Say something comforting to Florence, then come home with me and I’ll fix you a light supper.”
The stuff of fantasy...a quiet tête-à-tête with a dream girl. Except I couldn’t. “Lara, that’s the best offer I’ve had all month, but I’ve still got to drive back to Philly tonight.”
“Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it, I can see you’re exhausted. If you had an accident on the road, I’d never forgive myself. And neither would Hilary.”
“But—”
“Hush, no arguments! You can use my sofa bed.”
I tried to convince myself that going home with Lara would solve nothing, but at that moment, my common sense decided to take a leave of absence.
I eased Florence’s mind on the subject of the police knowing about the clothes. No talk now about what I’d charge, she insisted I take her on as my client. I hedged on committing myself, but promised I’d at least look into the matter on her behalf.
“One condition, though...I want to see your dressing room immediately.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
The sooner the better. And while I’m there, I need to ask a few discreet questions around the studio.”
“I’ll make arrangements so you can,” Florence assured me, suddenly seized with the spirit of cooperation.
I waited at the hall entry while Lara fussed over her friend, plumping up the pillows of the armchair nearest the aquarium, turning off the air pump for the night—presumably to save Florence a few pennies in electricity—tuning in WQXR , bringing her enough Valium to sedate a horse.
“That’s how she gets ready for bed,” Lara explained. We said good night and left Florence McKinley staring peacefully at her fish while the strains of “The Perfect Fool” played over her FM .
S TARLIGHT AND CHAMPAGNE CAN’T hide an insult to the stomach. I’m quoting Hilary. A lot of men would have been glaucous with envy at the prospect of my late supper with Lara in her Riverside Drive penthouse, but the reality of thawed quiche, wilted salad and stale croissants only would have been marginally palatable if washed down with large drafts of Veuve Clicquot or at the very least, a few pints of Watney’s Red Barrel. I got mineral water, uncarbonated.
Lara’s apartment was lofty and
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