Authors: KATHY
Simon wasn't accustomed to being snubbed with such courteous finality. His brows drew together and he committed the outrageous rudeness of rising, to signal that the visit was at an end. "Very well. I'll be in touch with you as soon as I have the requisite information."
He helped them on with their coats and ushered them out the door.
Karen had so many questions and comments, she could not decide what to say first. As soon as the shop door had closed behind them, she burst out, "I didn't ask you for financial backing. When did you—"
"Save it." Peggy took her arm and started walking. "First things first. Let's get away from the shop. As soon as we're out of sight we'll put on our disguises and sneak back."
"What disguises? I didn't bring—"
"I've got one of those rainbonnets for you. Our coats are conveniently generic, in color and cut. I'll remove my glasses—"
"You're blind as a bat without them," Karen protested.
"Just till we're in position. You can lead me. The main thing is this scarf. Why do you think I wore such a garish article of attire? Once I take it off and put on my hat, I'll be unrecognizable."
She looked so pleased with herself, Karen hadn't the heart to point out the flaws in her plan. Peggy's most distinctive characteristic—her height, or lack thereof—couldn't easily be disguised. Karen decided not to mention it, for fear Peggy would rush off in search of a shoestore and a pair of four-inch heels.
They turned the corner and sought refuge from the thickening rain in a doorway. Peggy rummaged in her purse, fished out an amorphous wad of fabric and punched it into shape. It looked more like a decaying tan pyramid than a hat. Peggy replaced her scarf with this object and smirked complacently. "See? Now where did I put the . . . ah, here it is."
The plastic strip unfolded into a headcovering of sorts. It was printed with bright-red balloons. Resignedly Karen allowed her friend to arrange it over her damp hair.
"What position did you have in mind?" she asked. "This isn't the sort of neighborhood where it's safe to stand on a street corner."
"There's a bar practically across the street from the shop." Before Karen could object, Peggy went on, "And we'd better hurry. He was getting fidgety; his client must be due soon."
She was right, and Karen gave her credit for spotting Simon's impatience. She wouldn't have noticed it herself if she hadn't known him so well.
If she had been alone, Karen would have preferred the perils of a street corner to the ambiguous ambience Peggy had selected. Peggy did not share her qualms. "A nice, typical neighborhood bar," she proclaimed happily. "I hope they serve sandwiches. I'm starved."
The menu reminded Karen of a classic "Saturday Night Live" routine: hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and—as a concession to health-conscious customers—cheese sandwiches. It took Peggy less than five minutes to get them established at a table next to the window, where they could peer out between the dusty cafe curtains covering the lower half of that aperture. It took Karen a little longer to regain her composure.
"My God, Peggy! Did you have to tell him that pack of lies?" she whispered.
"Certainly I did. It accomplished two things. First, my story eliminated any suspicion that we're lesbians. People who practice alternate life-styles aren't popular in places like—"
"Why would he think that?" Karen exclaimed.
"Two women enjoying one another's company are automatically suspect," Peggy said cynically. "Especially in blue-collar bars; especially when one of them is a tough-looking old broad and the other is young and pretty. Second, I had to think of an excuse for requesting a table next to the window and sitting here half the afternoon. There's nothing like a cheating husband to arouse chivalrous sympathy. Try to remember to call me Mom."
"I don't think I can do it," Karen gasped. "Peggy, this isn't going to work! I'm not even wearing a wedding ring!"
"Hell," said Peggy. "I forgot. Here." She slipped a ring from her finger and passed it to Karen under the table. It was a tight fit, but Karen managed to force it on. She turned it so that the glittering stones were hidden and only the plain gold shank showed. The central stone was very green and rather large. An emerald? If so, it suggested more affluence than she had suspected Peggy possessed. Which reminded her . . .
"I appreciate your offer of financial assistance, Peggy, but I can't accept it."
"We'll discuss that after Simon has settled on a price." Peggy took a long swallow of beer. "He's divine, Karen. I absolutely adore him. Fortunately he's too old for you."
"Peggy, you ..." Karen shook her head. "I never knew you were like this."
"Neither did I. What a vast wasteland my life has been! I've had more fun in the last two hours than in the past ten years. Hey, look! Someone's going in the shop."
Karen pulled back the curtain and looked out. "It's nobody I know. Probably a regular customer."
Visibly disappointed, Peggy settled back. "You might not recognize all the potential buyers."
"I know most of the people who'd be interested. There are only two or three who really worry me."
Their hamburgers, complete with potato chips and a slice of limp pickle, had been delivered before the first of the two or three appeared.
"That's her!" Karen exclaimed, squeezing her greasy sandwich till mustard oozed out the sides. "Angelo."
"Really?" They bumped heads trying to look out. Peggy said incredulously, "That's a woman?"
The question was understandable. The figure approaching the bookstore was almost six feet tall and proportionately broad. Dark pants and flat shoes added to the androgynous look, and its head was hidden under a large black umbrella.
"That's her," Karen insisted. "Now what do we do?"
"She'll be a while," Peggy said. She popped the last of her hamburger into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and wiped her mouth daintily on a paper napkin.
It was almost an hour before Angelo's massive form reappeared. She stood in the doorway struggling with her umbrella, and Peggy, face pressed against the window, exclaimed, "And I thought I was a tough-looking old broad! The meeting must not have gone well, to judge by that horrible scowl."
"That's her normal expression. The only time I've seen her smile was when she was harassing some helpless underling." Karen stared as intently as her friend. "She'd resent your description, though. She thinks she's irresistible to men."
Peggy was working on her second hamburger. "It's only one-thirty. Shall we hang around awhile longer? He may have scheduled two appointments this afternoon." Without waiting for an answer, she hailed the barman. "Hey, Dennis—how about a couple more beers?"
Dennis promptly obliged. "Any luck?" he asked solicitously.
"Not yet. The son of a bitch works a half day on Saturday, so he may not get here till mid-afternoon. I sure appreciate this, Dennis."
"So long as I don't get called as a witness."
Peggy winked at him. "I never told you a thing."
Dennis returned to his regulars at the bar. Karen decided any comment whatever would be futile.
Promptly at two o'clock the next suspect appeared, emerging from a taxi that halted in front of the shop. Karen pressed her face to the filthy glass.
"That's him!"
"Your grammar is deteriorating badly," Peggy remarked. "The bastard Bill, is it? He looks familiar. Have I seen him somewhere?"
"Oh, he's great at getting his face before the public," Karen said sourly. "He's hosted several public-television productions and written a couple of books on pop culture, with his photo splashed all over the back cover."
"Hmmm. He's not bad."
So far as Karen was concerned, the situation was too tense for misplaced humor. "How can you tell? You barely saw him."
"Tall, good shoulders, nice healthy head of hair ..."
"He's losing it."
"No, he's not. That's just a noble, lofty intellectual brow. Is he married?"
"Honest to God, Peggy, I don't know what's come over you."
"I'm just considering all the possibilities. Maybe you can vamp him."
"He's not vampable," Karen said, unable to restrain a smile. "He's too damned conceited. God's gift to the frustrated females of the Modern Language Association. Peggy, he was carrying a briefcase."
"There's no law against it. Why are you so down on the guy?"
"He patronizes me. In print and in person. Once he actually patted me on the head."
"I suppose you kneed him in the groin?"
"I wouldn't do anything so vulgar. I called him a rude name and walked away." Karen smiled complacently. "He's been known as Bill the Bastard in academic circles ever since."
Peggy's calm was the only thing that kept Karen in her chair. As the minutes dragged on, her impatience mounted; she didn't know what she wanted to do, but she felt a frantic need for action of some kind. When Meyer reappeared, after less than forty-five minutes, she couldn't stand it any longer. She jumped to her feet.
"He's got something in that briefcase! It's bulging more than it did."
"Follow him." Peggy's eyes gleamed.
"I can't!"
"What were you planning to do, grab his briefcase and run? He's looking for a cab," Peggy went on, as the tall figure with the good shoulders and nice healthy head of dark hair glanced up and down the street. "He won't find one in a hurry on a day like this. For God's sake, don't just stand there! Get to your car. Here, take my hat. We'll meet at the Sheraton. The first one to arrive books a room."
She tugged the hat down over Karen's forehead and gave her a shove.
"Is that him?" Dennis called. The other customers at the bar turned interested faces toward them. Karen decided it was time to go ... somewhere. Anywhere.
Face averted, she hurried toward her car. Meyer didn't notice her, he was too intent on flagging down a taxi. He was still standing in front of the bookstore, a look of exasperation tightening his long, thin face, when she drove onto Charles Street. She found an open space in the next block and pulled into the curb, ignoring the signs that prohibited parking, standing, and every other vehicular activity, and sat staring fixedly into the rearview mirror until Meyer finally succeeded in capturing a cab. After it had passed, she pulled out and followed it.
Meyer's ensuing activities gave her ample time to regret the insane impulse that had prompted her to fly into such frustrating and futile activity. She collected one ticket and a lot of invective from other drivers; there must be some trick to the business of following a suspect, and it was one she had yet to learn. Meyer visited two other bookstores and an antique shop before he ended up at a downtown hotel. When he paid off his cab at the door of the Holiday Inn, she decided the time had come to abandon him. He was not carrying a suitcase; he must have checked in and left his luggage earlier.
Which is what she should have done, Karen realized. She was in luck, however; the clerk at the Sheraton graciously admitted he had a room available. No, Dr. Finneyfrock had not checked in.
Karen cooled her heels for another half hour before Peggy appeared— long enough to arouse a considerable degree of apprehension on her friend's behalf. Peggy ought to have been there before her. Wild visions flooded Karen's imagination: Peggy getting happily drunk with Dennis, Peggy mugged and beaten as she tried to find a taxi, Peggy under arrest for lurking . . . When she heard the sound of a key in the lock, she flew to the door.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Peggy was wearing the rainbonnet. The balloons had run; pink streaks ran down her weathered cheeks. She yanked it off, dropped her coat, overnight bag and purse onto the floor, and collapsed onto a chair. Pushing her straggling hair away from her face, she grinned at Karen.
"Having tea with Simon. Is that a liquor cabinet I see before me? Thank God. Break out a bottle—I don't care what it is, so long as it's alcoholic. I need a drink."
"Having tea with ..."
With a martyred sigh Peggy heaved herself to her feet. "You don't even have any ice. That's the first thing you do after you check in, get ice. Here." She shoved the plastic bucket into Karen's limp grasp. "The ice machine's next to the elevator."
When Karen returned, Peggy had invaded the cabinet and opened a bottle. Settling herself, she began her narrative, recapitulating, as any trained lecturer would do: "Having tea with Simon. He caught me in flagrante. Like the gent he is, he invited me in instead of calling the cops. Or the men in the white coats."
"I think I need a drink," Karen muttered, acting upon the idea. "Tell me."
"Well, after you left, it occurred to me that I didn't know any of the other suspects, so I decided I would take pictures of everyone who went into the shop." Peggy hooked another chair with her toes and pulled it close, so she could use it as a footstool. "I had to go outside and stand in the doorway, of course. I hadn't been there ten minutes when Simon opened his door and headed straight across the street toward me. He was carrying an umbrella, which he politely offered me, if I was determined
to stand there in the rain, but he suggested that I might prefer a more comfortable and convenient ambience. Naturally, I accepted the invitation."