About Face (28 page)

“So it's true what Wendy said. She started in Vegas and moved the business here.”

“Actually, she was a little smarter than that. She saw an opportunity for a more legitimate venture in Silicon Valley. SG may do plenty that's underhanded, but the associates always stay just this side of legal. She's a viper, Bill, but I have to give her credit. She did it all on her own. Trisha and Rupert live very, very well, each in their own mansion in Morgan Hill.”

“Did you know that SG associates gather inside information from their dates and pass it along to Rupert and Trisha, who then pass it along to Sylvain?” I said.

Connie paused. “Our mutual friend did tell me something about it. I wish we could introduce her to investigative authorities. But that would be too dangerous for her. I'd be glad to help you nail them for that in other ways.”

“What about Erika?”

Connie looked away. “I felt very bad about that. It was hard to send her away, Bill, but I had no choice. Trisha was watching. I couldn't do anything that might give away our other friend. I also knew that the damage was temporary; skin cells are a marvel of rebirth, you know, they turn over every month when you're young. In the meantime, I think we better leave Erika out of it.”

“All right. Are you pretty sure Trisha's the one running the show at Sylvain?”

“I have no proof, but I'd be shocked if she wasn't. There's nothing illegal about that, of course, unless we can get them on the spying and insider-information charges.”

I got up to leave. “Or murder. Thanks for your help, Connie.” Connie put out her hand. “If I see Trisha at the Silicon Ball, I'll have a little chat.”

I checked my watch and went across the building to make arrangements with Ellen. I'd have to hurry. It was close to two, and Kim was coming to my flat at three. I wanted to be sure I was there well before her.

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Kim gave me a jaunty greeting. I could have sworn she was genuinely happy to see me and in a more cheerful mood than she'd been since I met her. She looked that way even before she saw my face. I'd observed her approach from my Scout, down the block, to make sure she was alone, then had surprised her on my doorstep.

We sat at my kitchen table. I cleared it of clutter and brewed her a cup of tea. Since she'd taken up smoking, she said, she'd given up coffee. She picked up her apology about last night where she'd left off. I wanted to know who the guy was.

“Just someone I met. In a bar, okay? Two nights ago. His name's Travis. I told him some people had been bothering me and I might need his help. I was planning for Mike to be there when I went to the apartment, but you messed that up. So I called Travis on my way over. He was just going to sit outside and make sure no one hurt me. When you left—so much had happened—I forgot to call him and tell him you were okay.”

“He didn't do a very good job. He should've caught me on the way in. What do you have going with this guy?”

“
Nothing
, Bill. I don't even know his last name. He's just a harmless gentleman who was helping me out. He knows nothing about me.”

I shook my head skeptically, and then she lit into me. “
You
don't have people hunting for you, killing your lover, maybe
wanting to kill you. So I met Travis in a bar, so what? I take help wherever I can get it. You have no right to judge me.”

“Fair enough,” I said. It was vaguely possible she was telling the truth. Certainly she was adept at playing the diva in distress; Connie's manner had inched me toward believing the distress was real. “Let's drop it for now. I have some other things to show you.”

I went down the hall and found the folder with the pictures of Rod and Alissa that Rupert had given me, along with Alissa's letter to her mother. It was the letter I wanted to ask her about, but Kim picked up one of the pictures first.

It was the telephoto shot of Rod and her kissing. Her eyes went shiny and she said, “Oh my God, I remember this so well. I found out how much passion Rod had in him.”

“What made you go for Rod?” I asked. “I'm sure you had other options.”

“Plenty of guys
wanted
me, Bill,” she replied with disdain, as if it had been too obvious to say. “But they didn't
know
me. Rod, when he focused on me with that intense concentration . . .” She shivered. “Where'd you get this picture, anyway?”

“Your friend Rupert was keeping an eye on you. I'm sure he'd say it was for your own protection.”

She wrinkled her nose, then picked up the picture in which Rod was trying to keep her from getting out of the Cabriolet. “This was a little act I put on. I figured SG was watching me by then. I wanted it to look like I was having a fight with Rod so they wouldn't think we eloped or something.”

I tossed the copy of the letter she'd written about Rod to Wendy across the table. “What about this?”

Kim actually laughed as she read it. “You must think I'm terrible! Talking about the Girlfriend Experience as if I was faking
it with Rod. Mom was so jealous of him, I had to invent an excuse to tell her. I also had to make her not worry if I disappeared. That's why I told her I had to go underground.”

“So you allowed your mother to think Rod might hurt you.”

“Well . . . yes. I don't know, maybe that was wrong. I didn't want to hurt
her
by saying I needed a break from her. So I let Rod take the blame.” She thought about it for a minute, picked up the car photo, and then said, “Oh no, you don't think she told Trisha that Rod kidnapped me, do you? I never thought they'd think that because it—well, it was unthinkable.”

It's hard to manufacture panic: The look on Kim's face seemed real. The picture in my own mind was taking shape. I couldn't bring myself to make her feel worse than she did, so I replied, “I'm sure they'd already made their plans, regardless of what Wendy said. I just have to ask you again about one other thing. How much information about Algoplex did you pass along to Rupert?”

Kim wrung her hands. “I honestly don't know. I only did it three or four times—I think that's right—the last one because I absolutely had to, to get Trisha off my back. You can't believe how she pressured me. I was terrified of her at the end: terrified of what she'd do if I kept seeing Rod, and what she'd do if I didn't. I didn't read what was in the files, I just copied them. I hoped the whole thing would go away.”

“When was that last time?”

“Four or five weeks ago. It's hard to remember because so much has happened. Do you think his company can be saved?”

I waited, held her eyes, and said, “Do you really want it to be?”

“Of course I do, Bill! It was his life's work. It was just starting to take off. When I think about how he's not here to see it . . . Oh, I can't stand it. It makes me so sad.”

She was choking up again. Either she was very good or very innocent.

Neither of us spoke for several minutes. She stared into her tea cup as if an answer would appear somewhere in the grounds. Finally I said, “Have you heard about this Wings of Silicon Charity Ball that's happening tomorrow night?”

Kim's face slowly hardened. It was not for lack of emotion, but to control it. “Rod and I were supposed to go. It was going to be our first big social event—I mean, an event that's not a conference or business dinner—together. It was going to be a sort of coming-out party.”

“Your mother says she can get me into it. Trisha, Rupert, and Sylvain will be there. So will Connie.”

“You should go. I'll go, too, if you want. Or whatever you need me to do.”

“No, it's too risky for you to come. You'll be found out.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Connie says skin color is still a big marker in this society. It makes people put you in a different category. I don't care anymore who finds out who I was, anyway. Let them do whatever they do to me.”

“Don't feel bad, Kim,” I said. The words came out before I thought about them. My gut was telling me to trust her, as Erika had trusted me. “I made mistakes, too. I never should have left Rod alone that night. If I'd been doing my job . . .”

Her head snapped up. The spirit came back into her voice. “Wait, Bill. Let's not do this. Let's just get them. We have the whole rest of our lives to feel bad.”

Getting ready for the Wings
of Silicon Charity Ball on Friday afternoon was like stepping into a fairy tale. Wendy took the lead role as Cinderella. She kept Brendon busy retrieving pins and fasteners for her outfit, a lace-up corset number with a layered ruffle skirt. We didn't know who'd play the role of the prince just yet, but judging by her anticipatory enthusiasm, Wendy planned to find him. When I asked about Mr. Pop-the-Question in Reno, she declared that absence would make his heart grow fonder. Call her butter because she was on a roll: Wendy had Eternaderm and the future was hers.

Ellen and I had brought the apparatus over that morning. Eternaderm was administered by a grid of superfine pins that delivered the transcription factor subcutaneously. Wendy got so distracted by the pins that she didn't ask whether the formula was the real thing or a placebo. That was a relief: It was a placebo. Ellen refused to dispense actual Eternaderm under these circumstances. The point became moot when Wendy decided her face could not be used as a pincushion the morning of the ball. Treatment would begin tomorrow instead. Brendon asked to receive it as well. Ellen told him that if he got any creamier, he'd turn into Twinkie filling.

At four o'clock Brendon ceased being Wendy's valet and said he and I had to get dressed. He knew the banquet manager at the hotel where the Ball was being held, and had secured waiting jobs for himself and a friend earlier in the week. I was taking the friend's place. For my uniform, I'd brought the black pants Erika had picked out and three of the many white cotton shirts I owned. Brendon declared the pants suitable but all three of the shirts lacking. He lent me one of his own to wear.

We had to be at the hotel in San Jose by five o'clock for setup. We left Wendy to her ruffles and drove down in the Scout. On the way, I mentioned to Brendon that I was impressed with his hotel connections.

He snorted. “Connections. Yeah, we ‘help' in the Valley know each other. I see them at these functions, and then later on at the clubs. The ones we can afford.”

“Are you sorry you had to leave behind the good life at SG?”

Another snort. “The good life. It was all right, I guess. Trisha liked me. But you get sick of it, you know? Being patted on the head. Behaving.” He grinned a private grin. “I did have her drooling for me. Even now, she's letting me keep the pad until I find a new one.”

“What about you and Wendy?”

He blew out a long stream of air. “I can't explain, dude. She's got her finger on my control key. Not my style. Once I find Alissa, we're out of there.”

“Alissa's special. I can tell from her picture. What did Trisha say about her?”

“Hands off, boy. She didn't care what happened to Alissa, as long as she did her job and I stayed away. Alissa was Rupert's project. That's why he killed Rod.”

“How do you suppose that knife got into Alissa's apartment?”

“Rupert, of course. He's trying to set her up.”

“And you're sure it was Rupert?”

He looked closely at me. “Aren't you?”

I gave a shrug: I wanted him to try to convince me. I pulled into the hotel's back parking lot and we went into the ballroom. The partitions that usually divided it into multiple spaces had been taken down; tonight it would officially qualify as a “grand ballroom.” Bare-branched trees strung with small white lights clustered in strategic spots along the wall. A pair of giant wings, carved from foam and painted gold, hung from the ceiling. A small stage for the musicians was on the right side and the dining room was off to the left. Portable bars and appetizer tables were being erected in the main room.

We found Cathy, the banquet manager. Brendon introduced me as “Dirk,” the friend he'd promised to bring. She looked pleased to see Brendon. He got a big kiss and I got a quick handshake. We both got black vests and white waiter aprons. Cathy told us to put them on and come into the dining room for the wait staff meeting.

The ball had sold out: Five hundred guests would begin arriving for cocktails at seven o'clock. Dinner would be served at eight-thirty. The theme of the event had to do with education soaring on the wings of technology. The featured drink was champagne and Chambord, which tonight would be called a Purple Eagle. Brendon and I would be two of the twenty wait-rons floating through the room with exclusively these drinks on a tray.

“Repeat the name every time you serve one,” Cathy said. “The Purple Eagle. Don't forget to give them the cocktail napkin with the embossed eagle. And smile.”

“That's the hard part,” Brendon said. Cathy responded with a mock pout, as if he was the most charming thing in the world.

We got to work polishing the dinner flatware and wine glasses. The florists made us hold on until each arrangement was properly fluffed before allowing us to set the table. At six-thirty a giant ice sculpture of a kid with wings sitting at a computer was wheeled through the double doors and positioned in the space between the dining room and ballroom. Purple pin lights were focused on it from the ceiling.

Brendon tugged on my sleeve to look at the sculpture up close. “These guys are wizards with a chainsaw.”

“Art that melts,” I said. “Cool.”

Brendon checked his watch. “We've got a few minutes. Let's go to the kitchen.”

I didn't know much about being a waiter, but I knew we weren't supposed to go any farther into the kitchen than was necessary to pick up trays. The prep crew was busy assembling them. Brendon breezed in, greeting the crew with familiar nods. He steered me away from the main hive to a counter where an eighteen-inch-long filet mignon sat on a butcher block. The ends had been trimmed and tossed back into a stainless steel bowl. Parts of the middle had been cut into paper-thin slices. Blood oozed from it.