The Spellman Files (18 page)

I threw her into the hallway and reminded her of the level of retribution I was capable of. But I knew she wouldn’t be able to control herself. I braced myself for what I knew would be a disastrous night, although I never could have anticipated how disastrous.

Petra met me for drinks the following day. I briefed her on all the Spellman news, hoping for some sympathy.

“You should tell the dentist the truth before it’s too late,” Petra said.

“I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“That would require time travel.”

“Very funny.”

“You’re jumping through a lot of hoops just for some guy.”

“That’s because I like this one.”

“But what’s the attraction? I mean, falling for a handsome doctor is, frankly, a bit clichéd for you.”

I had to think about it: “He’s everything I’m not.”

“Guatemalan with a medical degree? True.”

“How about highly educated, bilingual, and capable of tanning,” I replied.

“Do you have anything in common?”

“As a matter of fact, we have lots of things in common.”

“Like what?”

“
Get Smart.
He’s a fanatic. Has seen every episode at least three times.”

“I’m not sure a thirty-five-year-old sitcom is enough of a foundation to build a relationship on.”

“It worked for you and me.”

“Anything else?”

“He has the entire series on DVD. Bootleg, no less.”

“And?”

“As you are aware, there are one hundred and thirty-eight episodes.”

“I repeat the question: Do you have anything else in common?”

“We both like drinking on rooftops.”

“Who doesn’t?” Petra replied, not buying any of it. “The fact remains that he is a dentist and you know what that will do to your mother. So it still kind of feels like teenage rebellion. You know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t,” I said. But I did.

Petra shrugged her shoulders dismissively and took off her jacket to rack the balls. I noticed a large bandage on her bicep.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I just got a tattoo removed,” she casually replied.

I gasped dramatically and said, “No, not Puff?” already in mourning.

Petra got Puff the Magic Dragon one foggy night after drinking nine shots of whiskey in two hours. She claimed to have wanted a fire-breathing dragon—the meanest you could find—but in the morning, when she woke, it was the upside-down, child-friendly smile of Puff that stared back at her. She returned to the parlor the following day, a hangover firing her sloppy speech, and demanded an explanation for the inexplicable, yet permanent, artwork on her shoulder. The owner of the establishment remembered Petra, mostly because she tried to order French fries from him on three separate occasions, but also because she provided her own artwork for the tattoo.

The owner showed Petra the bar napkin with the picture of Puff and Petra’s initials by its side. Petra, confused by her drunken rendering, accepted fault for the previous night’s misstep and left the tattoo parlor without another word. Eventually, Puff grew on her and was often mentioned fondly, like a distant cousin or a long-deceased pet.

“I’m going to miss Puff,” I said.

“Well, I’m not going to miss a daily reminder of the worst hangover I ever had.”

“I asked you ages ago if you ever considered removing it and you said no.”

“A girl can change her mind, can’t she?”

“Sure, but you usually don’t.”

Petra made a clean break without sinking any balls.

After I cleared two stripes, I turned to her and asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” she answered unconvincingly.

“Are you sure?”

“Izzy, are we playing pool or what?”

I
greet Daniel outside as he walks up the driveway to 1799 Clay Street.

“No matter what happens tonight, you can’t break up with me.”

“They can’t possibly be that bad.”

“Promise.”

Daniel kisses me and promises that he won’t break up with me tonight, although he tacks on a friendly reminder that the moratorium will end in twenty-four hours. He is joking. I am not.

We enter the house and my parents descend upon us. I use the brief introductory phase to leave Daniel and get him the drink I know he will require. My mom invites him into the living room, while I pour double shots of whiskey into two glasses. Then I consider the fact that if the meeting goes as badly as it has potential to, I might require evidence of my parents’ indiscretions. So I rush into the office, grab my digital recorder, slip it into my pocket, and join the others in the living room.

But I don’t need a voice recording to remember the events of that night. They are as clear as yesterday to me.

I hand Daniel his drink as he sits down on the couch. “You’ll need this,” I say.

My mother, ignoring me, gushes, “I’m just so happy to finally meet you, Daniel. Or should I call you ‘Doctor’?”

“No. Daniel is fine, Mrs. Spellman,” Daniel politely replies.

“Please, call me Livy. Everybody calls me Livy.”

“I don’t,” I remind her.

“Behave yourself, Isabel,” Daniel reminds me.

“Thank you, Daniel,” my mother says with a healthy grin forming on her face. “So, Daniel, tell me, were you born in California?”

“No. Guatemala. My family moved here when I was nine.”

“Where do your parents live?”

“San Jose.”

“Do they go by Castillo, as well?”

Not even minutes have passed and the investigation has begun.

“Don’t answer that question,” I interrupt, like a public defender.

But Daniel ignores me. “Yes, they do.”

“Same spelling?” asks my dad.

“Of course,” Daniel replies, his eyebrow rising, along with his suspicion.

“That’s wonderful,” my father chimes in.

When Rae enters the room, I’m almost pleased to see her, which indicates how far my spirits have dropped. She walks right up to Daniel and holds out her hand.

“Hi. I’m Rae, Izzy’s sister. Should I call you Dr. Castillo?”

“Nice to meet you, Rae. Please call me Daniel.” Daniel smiles at Rae and I can tell that briefly, at least, he’s bought her charming schoolgirl act.

Then Uncle Ray lumbers downstairs, shouting, “Kid, I got your little note.”

I had a feeling it would come to this, but I had hoped that it would wait one more day.

My uncle hands my father a folded piece of charcoal-gray craft paper.

“Al, look at this,” he says, then turns to Rae and continues, “If you think I’m gonna be your patsy, you got another think coming.”

I watch my father as he unfolds the paper. Superhuman efforts are required to stifle the laugh he so desperately wants to release.

Rae replies to her uncle, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” with impressive acting skills.

“You’re going down for this. Mark my words,” Uncle Ray says with a force that would have scared even me.

My mother chooses to ignore the entire episode, which comes off as even more absurd than her pointed interrogatives.

“So, Daniel, how old are you?”

“That’s none of your business,” I tell her.

“It’s okay. I’m thirty-seven.”

I sigh, frustrated.

“That’s a nice age,” says my mom. “So you were born in, what? 1970?”

“Mom.” I say it as a threat.

“What is your birthday, Daniel?”

“Don’t answer that question.”

“February fifteenth,” Daniel says, probably wanting to flip a coin to decide which one, my mother or me, is the most unbalanced.

“I told you not to answer her,” I say, frustrated.

“Relax, Isabel.”

My mother jots down the results from her investigation. “February fifteenth, nineteen-seventy. I hate to forget a birthday.”

Meanwhile, my dad is mediating the conflict on the other side of the room.

“Rae, give your uncle his shirt back,” he says, handing me the craft paper for my own perusal.

“What makes you think I have it?” Rae protests.

“The ransom note, pumpkin.”

I unfold the paper, while Daniel looks over my shoulder. In letters cut out and glued from newspaper and magazine print, the note reads:

I HaVe yOUr ShIRt.
iF YoU eveR WaNt 2 SeE it AgaIN,
YoU wILL meET mY DeMaNDS.

Rae persists with her “anyone could have written that note” defense.

“Rae, give him the damn shirt,” I say, offering up my most threatening stare.

“Dust it for prints if you want,” she confidently replies, then walks up to Daniel to finish pleading her case. “They suspect me immediately because I had a drug habit a while back. I’ve been clean for six months now, but that doesn’t matter. You have to rebuild the trust.”

I was expecting that part and, frankly, it was the least of my worries. Uncle Ray approaches Daniel, genuinely apologetic.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Ray, Izzy’s uncle.”

“Two Rays. That could get confusing.”

“She was named after me. When Olivia was pregnant with the kid, I had cancer. It didn’t look like I was gonna make it, so they decided to give her my name.”

“But then he didn’t die like he was supposed to,” Rae says, as if she’s revealing the surprise ending to a whodunit.

“Rae, five bucks if you get out of here now,” I offer.

“Make it ten and you’ve got a deal.”

Money exchanges hands and I realize that we better make our escape before it is too late.

“Nice meeting you, Daniel. You’re nothing like I expected,” Rae says upon leaving the room.

Uncle Ray stays close on her heels. “This isn’t over, kid.”

I try to explain. “They’re in the middle of a thing.”

“They’re at war,” says my mother, still with that awful grin.

“So you’re a dentist?” my father says, trying to hide the edge in his voice.

“Yes,” Daniel replies cheerily.

“How is that?” Dad asks.

“I like it. My father’s a dentist, so was my grandfather. It runs in the family, you could say.”

“Isn’t that nice,” my mother says in a voice that doesn’t match her statement.

“So how long have you been a teacher?” Daniel inquires.

“Twenty years or something,” Mom tosses out.

“You must be very dedicated.”

“Not really.”

“We should be going,” I say, feeling the barometer in the room dip.

“It wasn’t really our calling,” my dad, continuing the act, says. “Frankly, we don’t like children,” he whispers as if he’s revealing a dark secret.

“Okay. We are leaving,” I say and stand to bring the point home. But it’s too late.

“Do you find it difficult staying off the drugs?” my mother asks, the friendly grin dropping from her face.

“Excuse me?” Daniel replies, his grin fading as well.

“You people do seem to have drug problems more than most,” she continues.

I take Daniel’s arm, but he’s already on his feet. “I cannot speak for all of ‘my’ people, but I have never had a drug problem.”

“She didn’t mean it the way it came out,” I say.

“I’m glad to hear that Daniel is clean,” my mother says.

“This is unbelievable,” Daniel says directly to my mother.

“Would you look at the time,” is my only response.

“Nice meeting you, Daniel,” my dad says, still hanging on to his “nothing is unusual here” smile.

“Come again,” adds my mom in the same tone in which one might say,
I’ll see you in hell.

Daniel walks out. I turn to my parents, betrayed. “You said you’d behave.”

“Have a nice evening, sweetie,” my dad shouts to me as I chase Daniel outside.

“I told you they were weird,” I say, hoping for a sympathetic response. I mean, I had to be raised by them. All he had to endure was ten minutes of conversation.

“Forgive me, but I’d like to take a rain check on dinner tonight,” Daniel says.

I watch Daniel get into his car and start the engine. I’m about to let him leave, thinking that it’s taken me years to process having those people as family, so why not give him a night? But then I change my mind and jump into my Buick.

I catch up with Daniel’s BMW as he turns north on Van Ness Avenue. I remain on his tail for two blocks before my cell phone rings.

“Isabel, is that you behind me?”

“Daniel, please stop the car.” I notice that he’s speeding up. “You want to put your foot on the left pedal, not the right.”

“I know how to drive, Isabel.”

“I just need five minutes to explain. Actually, it will take about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. But that’s all.”

Daniel makes a sharp right on Broadway.

“I should warn you, Daniel, if you’re trying to shake me, that is not going to happen.”

“But my car is faster than your car.”

“Trust me. It’s not that simple.”

Daniel disconnects the call and speeds through a yellow light. I speed through a red light. I want to call him back and explain that what we are doing now is simply a ritual. Daniel is a responsible citizen. He is a man who obeys the laws of society and the laws of traffic. I obey neither, which means there’s no way he can lose me in a car chase.

Daniel cuts a maze through the city, driving with no discernible design or direction, at thirty-five mph or less. I consistently maintain a distance short enough to remind him that I’m there, but not close enough to frighten him. I’m not going to lose him, is all I can think.

Daniel takes Franklin Street down the hill to Bay, makes a left, and continues on until he hits Fillmore, where he makes a sharp right and then a left on Marina Boulevard. He speeds up a bit, but still with the pace of traffic, and pulls onto the Golden Gate Bridge. I can see him looking for me in his rearview mirror and then shaking his head in disappointment. He turns on his right blinker and slows at the end of the bridge, looking for a place to pull off the road. The chase is about to come to an end.

Daniel slows to a halt at the first turnaround off the bridge. He gets out of his car and waits for me to park.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks as he approaches my car.

I ignore the hyperbolic response to the slowest car chase known to man.

“Daniel, you misunderstood.”

“Did I? You’re dating a ‘spic’ to rebel against your parents.”

“I had a feeling you’d take it the wrong way.”

“Did you hear what she said to me? ‘You people.’”

“Yes. Dentists. My mother hates dentists.”

“People may not like going to the dentist, but generally, they don’t hate us as a people.”

“Daniel, it’s a long story, but I have too many others to tell you right now to focus on that one. Keep in mind that a lot of what was said tonight was not true.”

“Were those your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad.”

“I’m not a teacher. My parents aren’t teachers.”

“Finally, some good news.”

“They’re private investigators. So am I. It’s the family business. The day I met you, I was surveilling your tennis partner, Jake Peters. His wife was under the impression that he was gay and you were his lover.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Yeah, I know. When I saw you play that second game I got suspicious, so I waited for you in the bar. I would have told you the truth then, but it sounded so strange and I couldn’t divulge any client information.”

“You told me you were a teacher.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Because it sounded normal. I just wanted to pretend for a while. See how the other half lives. Something like that. Later, there never seemed to be a good time to come clean, although I probably should have done that before you met my family.”

Daniel stares back at me with an expression of betrayal that I’ve seen only a handful of times from my parents. It’s interesting how the same emotions on different people often have a photographic similarity.

“I want to go home now,” he says. “I don’t want to be chased. I want to quietly get into my car and drive away. Can I do that?”

“Yes,” I say quietly and let him go. But as I watch him get into his car and drive off, I’ve already decided that I’m going to get him back no matter what it takes.

But first, I have a score to settle.

I get out of bed after a sleepless night, walk down two flights of stairs into my parents’ kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee, cross the hall to the Spellman offices, and break the news.