The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel (18 page)

“Esther?” said a voice behind me.

“Aaagh!
” My cell phone flew up in the air as I flinched in surprise and whirled around.

Lopez had good reflexes; though startled by my reaction to his greeting, he caught the phone before it fell to the pavement.

“Esther!
Esther!
” Lucky was shouting. “ESTHER!”

“Are you okay?” Lopez asked me.

“Fine.” I seized the cell, not wanting Lopez to recognize my caller’s voice. My heart was pounding as I put the phone to my ear and said loudly to Lucky, “I’m fine! Just
fine.
Someone startled me, that’s all. Everything’s okay. No worries. I have to go now. I’ll see you later.”

Dog

The zodiac sign of the Dog represents loyalty, integrity, and bravery. Physical vigor and inner power make the Dog, who is always ready for action, a valuable ally to have.

I
ended the call and fumbled to put the phone in my pocket. But my hands were stiff with cold, and my nerves were jangled by Lucky’s warnings—and by Lopez coming so close to discovering that I was talking to Lucky. So I dropped the cell. Lopez missed his catch this time, and it hit the pavement.

Another man picked it up, examined it briefly, and handed it to me. “Here. I think it’s okay.”

I recognized him as the redheaded cop from the night I’d been arrested.

Lopez said to me, “Are you all right? You seem kind of jumpy.”

“Stress,” I said breathlessly. “I’m a little stressed, that’s all.”

“You should try working with
this
guy,” said the redhead. “Then you’d know about
stress.
”

Lopez gave him a quelling look, then introduced us. “Esther Diamond, Detective Andrew Quinn.”

“We’ve met before. You may remember?” Quinn grinned at me. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Diamond.”

“Uh-huh,” I said without enthusiasm.

“So what’s this problem you need help with?” Quinn asked.

We both looked at him.

“Ah.” He nodded. “You two probably want a moment alone.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay. I’ll go inside where it’s warm.”

“Good idea,” said Lopez.

Quinn turned toward the restaurant—then did a double take. “Whoa! There’s a guy in there with a
sword.
”

I peered through the window. Inside, I could see that Archie was on his feet now, demonstrating a few moves for Ted, probably for the scene we’d intended to shoot today. But to the uninitiated, I realized, Archie’s pose as he held his elaborate sword poised directly above Officer Novak’s head, while the patrolman watched him with riveted interest—well, it probably looked pretty menacing.

Quinn barreled into the restaurant shouting, “NYPD! Put
down
your weapon! Police!”

But Lopez, who was more accustomed to the kind of company I kept, looked at me for an explanation.

“Costume,” I said. “Fake sword.”

He peered into the restaurant and said judiciously, “It looks pretty convincing from this distance.”

“It’s pretty convincing up close, too,” I said. “Quality workmanship. But it’s made of rubber. You know, safety on the film set, and all that.”

He looked at me. “Hey, does this mean you’ve got work?”

I nodded. “I’ve been cast in an indie film that’s set in Chinatown.”

“That’s great.” He smiled at me. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” I looked through the window again. “See the skinny guy in the rumpled clothes who’s standing up to talk to Detective Quinn? That’s Ted Yee, the writer-director-producer.”

“Looks like Andy’s calming down now,” Lopez commented as we watched the scene unfold. “And who’s that guy?”

“Officer Novak.”

“You mean he’s a real cop? Not an actor?”

“Uh-huh. Local patrolman.”

Novak had risen to introduce himself to Quinn. Then Archie offered his sword to the detective, who took it and waved it around a bit, more relaxed now that he understood how harmless it was. After a moment, he smiled at Archie, and they started chatting.

“Crisis averted.” Lopez turned back to me and looked at my costume, which was revealed by the open flaps of my winter coat. “Are you playing a hooker?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I said, looking down at my outfit. Then I started zipping and buttoning my coat so I could talk to him without freezing to death. “But, no, I’m playing an uptown girl who never feels the cold.”

“Well, I’m really glad you found something,” he said. “A job, I mean. An acting job.”

“And that’s where you come in. You see, Ted forgot—” I stopped speaking when his phone rang.

“Shit.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Esther. If I don’t take this call, I’ll never hear the end of it.” I gathered from his long-suffering expression that the ringtone had warned him who his caller was. Lopez pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered the call without bothering to check the LCD screen. He said tersely, “This isn’t a good time, Mom.”

Ah.

A second later, he winced and held the phone a little way away from his ear. I could hear his mother’s voice from here. She was obviously mad about something—which didn’t surprise me at all, now that I’d met her. She was a beautiful woman with a temper that would have frightened the Mongol hordes into retreating.

He let her rant for a while, listening patiently until she wound down a little. Then, without bringing the phone closer to his ear, he said, “Yeah, well, since you kept calling just to tell me you’re still not speaking to me, I didn’t really see the point in answering.”

Her reaction caused him to move the phone a little further away from his head. While Lopez waited for his mother to wind down again, another harsh gust of wind whipped down Doyers, ruffling his black hair and creeping under my tiny skirt.

“You’re right,” he said at last into the phone. “I’m a bad son. You know what would be a good punishment? Don’t call me for a while. Now I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m in the middle of something here.”

His expression was dark as he put the phone back in his pocket. “Sorry. There comes a point where her voicemails get so long, it’s quicker just to take the call.”

I was surprised by his obvious tension. For all that his mother was a volatile woman, I knew she was close to her youngest son (Lopez had two older brothers). He and she argued a lot, and they could be sharp with each other; but they talked regularly, and the flare-ups between them were usually brief—often lasting only a few minutes. This sounded more serious. Like they’d had a big fight and still weren’t over it.

I also noticed that Lopez still looked stressed and tired, as he had on New Year’s Eve. His skin was flushed from the cold wind right now and his dark hair was shining healthily in today’s shifting light, but there were hollows under his blue eyes and signs of sustained tension in his face. He usually looked better than this. Even so, though, he looked so good to me after too long an absence. I wanted to drown in him.

I stared at him, trying to remember why I had asked him to come here today . . . and, at the moment, only able to remember what it was like to kiss him. When his gaze dropped to my mouth, I had a feeling he was thinking of the same thing . . . And my mind was flooded with memories of the way his lush, full lips had felt against my mouth, my neck, my—

Andy Quinn stuck his head out of the restaurant door to ask, “Are we going to be here a while?”

We both jumped.

“Huh?” said Lopez, blinking.

“I could eat.” Quinn looked at me. “Whatever you want him to do, is it going to take long enough for me to have lunch?”

“Oh! Um . . .” I blinked, too, starting to remember why I’d asked Lopez to come here. “I guess so.”

“Great,” said Quinn. “Archie says the dumplings here are first-rate.”

“Who’s Archie?” Lopez asked.

But Quinn had already gone back inside.

So I said, “He’s the guy with the sword.”

“That guy? He doesn’t really look like an Archie.”

“Well, certainly not in his warrior-poet costume,” I agreed.

Our gazes held as we fell silent, and I felt myself flushing. So I quickly rushed into a muddled explanation about Ted, our lack of location permits, Officer Novak, and my fervent desire to keep working.

“That’s all?” Lopez looked through the window, to where Officer Novak was now playing with Archie’s sword. “Sure, I’ll talk to the rookie for you, Esther. It doesn’t exactly look like it’ll be a tough conversation.”

“I guess the situation seemed more dire before Novak was full of dumplings and chitchat,” I admitted.

Lopez smiled, then said, “This guy Ted sounds like a flake, though.”

“He is,” I said morosely.

“Like maybe you’ll have this problem again.”

“I have a feeling we will.”

“I might be able to help with that, too.”

“How?” I asked in surprise.

“The guy who was my first partner on the force is with the NYPD Movie/TV Unit these days. I could ask him to expedite Ted’s location application for Doyers Street. A little grease ought to get your filming schedule back on track sooner rather than later.”

“Really? Oh, that would be great.”

Lopez added tentatively, “But you won’t be able to continue filming here
today
. I’m afraid I’ve got to go along with Officer Novak on that, Esther. So if you were hoping I could arrange it for you . . .”

“No, no, I understand,” I assured him. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Lopez could help expedite Ted’s application, and I certainly hadn’t entertained any hope that we could resume filming on Doyers today. “I just didn’t want our director-producer to get arrested. Or for the city to impose heavy fines on Ted for filming here without a permit this morning. Or for this problem to go any further than a stern talking-to, really. We’re on a tight budget here, and Ted’s lost his backer and is trying to get another one before the money runs out. So it wouldn’t take much for this production to go belly-up. And I really want to keep working.”

“In that case, are there other city locations Ted wants to use that he hasn’t applied for?” Lopez’s nose was getting red. It made him look a little boyish. “I could make sure we get this all sorted out at the same time, so that a problem like today’s doesn’t happen again.”

“You’ll do that for him?” I asked appreciatively.

“Of course not.” Lopez stomped his feet against the cold. “I don’t even know the guy. I’m doing it for
you.
”

“Oh.” I had asked him here to do me a favor, but this caught me by surprise, even so. It wasn’t exactly as if the two of us were on the most amicable terms lately.

He noticed my bemusement. “Of
course
I’m doing it for you, Esther. It’s not as if I’ve forgotten how you lost your last job. And it’s certainly not as if I don’t know who you blame for that.”

“Well . . .”

“Look, I’m glad you’ve got this job. Really glad. I know you need to keep earning. And this is a much better job for you, anyhow. You
should
be acting, not waiting on wiseguys.” Lopez shivered a little inside his dark blue overcoat. “So if you need my help to keep this production rolling forward, then I want to help.”

“Oh. Okay.” I stared at him, feeling grateful, relieved, and pleased—and thinking
this
was the guy I had always thought he was. Not the guy who slept with me and then didn’t call. And although I was still upset about that (also still angry, hurt, and humiliated), for the first time since late on Christmas Day, when I had started to suspect that he wasn’t going to call me . . . I didn’t want to talk about it. It was such a relief, for the first time in nearly three weeks, not to be
furious
with him, I just wanted to stay in this peaceful neutral territory for a little while.

Besides, I
did
need his help, and I had vowed to stay focused today, rather than revisit my grievances against him.

So I said, “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I’m sure we need your help. Ted’s about as organized as a tropical storm.”

“Don’t say the word
tropical
right now. You’ll make me cry,” Lopez said as another wall of icy air hit us. “On days like this, I keep wishing I’d been born in Havana, despite everything my dad has ever said about Castro.”

His father, I knew, had emigrated here from Cuba many years ago. In his sixties now, with three grown sons, he and his Irish-American wife still lived in the family home in Nyack, across the Hudson River from the city, and they craved grandchildren with zealous fervor.

“How is your father?” I asked politely, stomping my feet as they started to turn into blocks of ice.

“Not speaking to me,” Lopez said. “Pretty much like my mother. Only her way of not speaking to me is much noisier.”

So there
had
been a big family fight. I wondered if it had somehow involved Lopez’s relationship with me, but I was reluctant to ask. That question could wind up being one of the worms in the can that I didn’t want to reopen today.

So I just said, rather lamely, “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged. “It’ll pass.” After a moment, he added, darkly, “Eventually.”

I was sure he was right about that. His family was volatile (I still felt like I needed to lie down every time I recalled meeting his parents), but they were devoted to each other. It seemed very much in keeping with their family dynamics that his mother kept calling him to
tell
him she wasn’t talking to him. She wouldn’t want to be out of touch just because they weren’t on speaking terms.

“So how’s your family?” Lopez asked politely.

“Oh, same as always.”

“I’m sorry.” He caught himself. “Um, I mean . . .”

“No, that’s all right,” I assured him with a wry smile. I loved them in my way, but I wouldn’t want to live any closer to them than the eight hundred miles that currently separated us.

He smiled, too. Our gazes locked again. And for a moment, I forgot all the heartache and misery he’d caused me and only recalled how much I liked his company. How much I
missed
his company . . .