Authors: Kerry Reichs
“And what about the neighbors?”
That amused spark again. “I am the neighbors. This is my place of business. My home is next door.”
Wyatt considered his options. He could continue down this alarming path in hopes of catching Garner in compromising penitence. He could skulk around outside and photograph him leaving, hoping circumstantial evidence would be sufficient. Or he could tell the truth. The risk was that once his cover was blown, he wouldn’t get another bite at the communion wafer.
Wyatt had always been a fan of the truth. Sister Heavenly Body listened without expression.
“I cannot confirm the identity of any of our clientele, no matter the circumstances.”
“I would testify as much in the unlikely event that my knowledge of the situation came to light. You are unassailably discreet.”
“I don’t get involved in politics, or make character judgments about my clients.” She paused. “No matter how unpopular they are with the Sisters.”
Wyatt saw the crack and went for it.
“My concern is with the well-being of an innocent victim. She’s pregnant, and she has breast cancer. Her life is rotten enough without being targeted for abuse by a cruel man. It’s a bonus to society at large if this villain also happens to be prevented from achieving higher public office.”
“I would not judge any man for his enjoyment of my services.”
“Nor I. His corruption of character comes from his use of people as capital to serve his own ends.” They were speaking in the hybrid language pervading the place, tongue both modern and ancient.
Sister Heavenly Body was silent for a moment. “She has breast cancer?”
“Second time. She’s refusing treatment until the baby is born. It’s been incredibly tough on her.”
“My mother had breast cancer.” Fine lines tightened around her mouth.
They both waited.
“I’m afraid I could never violate the privacy of one of my clients.” She sat back. Wyatt’s heart sank. “It was very upsetting last year when one client inadvertently witnessed the private session of another client because he stumbled into an observation room without my awareness.”
She looked directly at him.
“Now, would you like to engage in a session?”
“I would like that very much.” He did not break her gaze. “I’ll tithe in advance if you’ll tell me the amount.”
“Very well. If you think you can manage, I don’t believe you’ll need an escort to find your way. You should exit the office and go up one level. Proceed down the hallway to the room labeled Vestal Virgin. Please go directly there, and under no circumstances open any other doors or enter any other rooms. Be particularly careful not to enter the unmarked door just past the room labeled Pandora’s Box.”
“I’m looking forward to this experience, Sister,” Wyatt said as he took out his wallet.
She laughed. “Funnily enough, so am I.”
“You are a blessed vessel.” Wyatt stood to leave.
Sister Heavenly Body said, “I don’t know if I believe in divine retribution, but I do know karma is a bitch.”
The photos turned out great.
“I didn’t know you were a religious man, Webb,” Wyatt said now, admiring them scattered across Garner’s desk.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with!” Garner gritted out.
“It
is
rather hard to tell with those rubber gas masks. Nun the less . . .” Wyatt drew out the pause. “I think audiences will recognize those familiar cheeks. And your less familiar ones . . .” He dropped all joviality. “So we’re going to do things my way, or KCAL Channel 9 news has a wet dream.”
Garner swallowed.
“Now that,” Wyatt gestured at a photo, “is one bad habit. Nun too holy, I’d say.” He really was enjoying himself too much.
“I’m going to mop the floor with your face.” Garner tried to sound menacing.
“You won’t be able to get into the corners very well.”
“Do you know who you’re dealing with?” He was apoplectic.
“The worst cliché ever.” Wyatt grinned. “Bar nun.”
The vein on Garner’s temple throbbed. “Shut your fucking mouth!”
“Nun of that foul language,” Wyatt reprimanded. “Here’s how it’s going to be. You will never, ever contact Maryn Windsor or in any way cause her so much as a whisper of distress. You’re going to withdraw from the City Council election effective immediately. As it turns out, you think Knox is a capable public servant, and you desire to spend more time with your family. However, you’re going to oppose Proposition 11. Are you getting all this or do you need a pencil?”
Wyatt’s stern principal’s voice broke Garner. He slumped and nodded.
“Good,” Wyatt continued. “For the duration of your tenure on the School Board, you’ll maintain a low profile. You will not introduce proposals, curriculum changes, budget cuts, or two strangers. At the end of your term, you’ll retire. Just can’t get enough of that family. You will fade out of Santa Monica politics entirely, not organizing so much as a clambake. In return, my memory will fade over time. I’ll forget things, and I’ll misplace things. As long as you keep your end of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.” He winked. “The world will be nun the wiser.”
Wyatt hoped he wouldn’t get winged when Garner’s eyeballs blew out of their sockets.
“You hate the local news,” Maryn protested.
“I’m inclined to watch it tonight.”
“Your headache.” Maryn shrugged, and switched on the TV.
Webb Garner filled the screen.
“It is with regret yet conviction that I cede the race for City Council to Andrew Knox. After deep deliberation, I believe that I am called to remain focused on our schools. I have three children of my own, and they need me to speak for them”
—he looked directly into the camera—
“to speak for you, on the most important factor in the future of our great country. Education. I cannot in good conscience abandon the School Board at this critical time. The time isn’t right for Proposition 11. We must focus on today’s children, not tomorrow’s. I look forward to this duty in my role as President of the Unified School Board.”
Reporters clamored with questions, surging toward him, but he waved them off, fleeing into the School Board building.
It wasn’t everything Wyatt wanted, but it was enough.
“How did you know?” Maryn demanded.
“He won’t bother you again.” Wyatt was satisfied.
“Did you do something?”
“It turns out Garner’s desire to see his name in the paper had limits.”
“Don’t play. Tell me what happened.”
“Behind every successful man is a woman. Behind the fall of every successful man is usually another woman.”
“Oh god.”
“Something like that.”
W
elcome!”
The straw-haired woman with pale lipstick was vaguely familiar to Eva. It took a minute to place her as the weather girl.
“We’re so glad you came!” She held out her hand.
I’ll bet, thought Eva. There were a lot of zeros on that check.
“Eva Lytton.” She shook.
“Summer Knox. My husband Andrew is the Democratic candidate for City Council.”
The woman became mildly interesting to Eva, and in barbaric society she might have asked what she really thought about destroying a cancer survivor’s embryos. This was polite society, however, so she said, “Glad to be here.”
She
was
. A reliable source had assured her Julian Wales was attending.
“Garner may be out of the race, but Prop 11 is a live threat,” Summer continued. “For every donor to Stop the Prop, a postcard is sent to Donnie Brownlow of Fragile Voices, notifying him that a donation was made in his name to support efforts to defeat Proposition 11,” Summer Knox chirped.
“Wonderful.” Eva started edging past.
“There are three bars,” her eager hostess indicated. “Enjoy the party!”
Eva was already gone. She was here to work. She was tired of being harassed by Daisy, and the sooner she put this
Cora
deal to bed, the sooner she could focus on clients she liked.
She circled the large room. It was crowded, a muted hum of conversation, clinking glassware, and a jazz combo in the air. The crowd was upscale, with a fair smattering of celebrities and a larger dollop of reality stars seeking limelight with a side of cause. Eva recognized a number of faces, but waved and looked away, hunting intently for one she didn’t yet see.
A bald head bobbed above the crowd. The man was so tall, it had to be Julian. The head was on the move. Eva started after it.
“Excuse me, pardon me.” She navigated the crowd. He was outpacing her, but she wasn’t worried. They were in a ballroom, where could he go?
She broke through the crowd, and spotted Julian disappearing into the foyer. She hurried across the lobby, reaching him as he slipped into the men’s bathroom.
Frustrated, she stared at the closed door with the little man on it.
“Not likely.” Eva would not be “popping out of a urinal” as Daisy had urged.
“Excuse me?” The man behind her eyed her curiously.
“Sorry.” She stepped away from the door.
It was fine. She had all night. She might as well talk to a Disney producer she’d spotted about her new preteen talent. First, she needed a drink.
“Grey Goose and tonic,” Eva ordered when she reached the bar.
The bartender nodded. “And for you?” He nodded to a woman on her right.
“Club soda and lime, please,” a familiar voice answered.
Eva turned. “Dimple!”
Dimple Bledsoe looked up and smiled. “Eva?” It was there again. That radiance.
“Right in one.” Eva noted Dimple’s drink. “Unleaded?” Eva nodded toward the club soda.
“Is it totally dorky that I wanted a Shirley Temple but was too embarrassed to ask?” Dimple sipped. “I should’ve at least gotten a cherry.”
Eva grinned. “I recently came out of the closet about loving hot dogs.”
“Fast, cheap, and tasty. There’s no shame in it. Everyone’s got their Trekkie thing, an unabashed love of something decidedly nerdy.”
“What’s yours?”
“Broadway musicals. Love ’em. Sing ’em in the shower, in my car, in my trailer. Billy Joel too. The Billy Joel musical was my mother ship.”
Eva thought for a moment. “Headbands. The
Alice in Wonderland
kind. They make my button nose look adorable. And sugar cereals. I had a date who opened my cabinets and asked if I had a kid—Cap’n Crunch, Cocoa Puffs, Fruity Pebbles, Honey Smacks, Lucky Charms. I eat the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms because I’m a selfish bitch.”
“Got kids?”
“Only my clients.” It slipped out before Eva thought. She didn’t want to lie to Dimple, so she changed the subject. “How’s work going for you?”
“Interesting! I’m getting some really good material.”
“It’s good to see your current troubles aren’t weighing you down.”
“Troubles?” Dimple was confused.
“Drinking problem? Passing out while baking and setting your house on fire?” Eva prompted.
“Oh,
Roxy
!” Dimple seemed surprised herself to have forgotten. “Yeah, she’s hoeing a rough row right now. But, you know, next week she’ll save someone in rehab or cure Alz-heimer’s.”
Eva wondered what work Dimple had been thinking about.
“Look at all this fabulous food.” Dimple eyed the buffet. “I’m starving.”
A peek at Dimple’s abdomen was unrevealing.
“I always think I should bring my old lunch box to these events and fill it up for tomorrow. Mine was Herself the Elf.” It was never appropriate to ask a person their age, but knowing their lunch box gave Eva about a four-year guesstimate. Josie and the Pussycats was hot in 1972, while Strawberry Shortcake peaked in ’84. Eva was increasingly curious about how old Dimple was. “How about you?”
“Brown paper sacks.” Dimple laughed. “My PBJs all got smushed by the apple.”
As Dimple grazed, Eva eyed the room.
“It’s quite a turnout.”
“I’m thrilled. I think Prop 11 is scary. No one should control embryos but the parents.”
“Are you very involved?” Eva wondered if Dimple had a personal stake in this.
“No. With the exception of that Feel Your Boobies breast cancer PSA, I haven’t done anything political. Most of the time I’m so overwhelmed by all the things I want to change, I do nothing. Like if you started caring, it would crush you to death. But I met Maryn Windsor and it really affected me. If people insist on putting me in magazines, it should be for something good, not eating lunch.”
Eva felt a little guilty. Maryn was Wyatt’s friend and she hadn’t given the issue much thought. She resolved to talk to him about it later.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure, but that’s why I came. Showing up’s a good start.” She laughed. “Let me tell you, I’m already working for it. I had to arm-wrestle Julian here.”
Eva was careful not to react. “Julian Wales?”
“Mm-hm.” The actress didn’t meet her eyes. “We had a dinner meeting scheduled, but I dragged him here instead.”
“Is he campaigning?”
“Lord no. For Julian PSA is a professional sports affinity. He’ll tell you ad nauseam that he’s here under duress. He doesn’t like being political offscreen.”
“It’s funny because his films are unafraid to be controversial.”
Dimple pondered this. “I wouldn’t say he’s afraid to be controversial. I think he’s horrified at being unoriginal. If he’s going to stir the pot, it has to be his recipe. Me, I don’t mind being the player, not the coach.”
“I wonder what Julian’s Trekkie thing would be.” Eva was curious how well Dimple knew him.
She grinned. “Late-model hatchbacks.”
“Is he hiding in the bathroom? I haven’t seen him.” Eva scanned the crowd.
“If there’s an old lady in the room, he’s talking to her.” Dimple looked around. “See? He’s over there with that woman who looks like Betty White.”
Eva squinted. “That is Betty White.”
Julian looked up and saw them watching. Eva tensed, but he only had eyes for Dimple. His smile was bright as he excused himself and headed their way.
Eva was trapped. Her night’s mission was cornering Julian Wales, and he was coming right to her. But she couldn’t discuss
Cora
in front of Dimple. It was Eva’s preference, for the moment, that Dimple not realize she was Daisy Carmichael’s agent.
“Is that really the time?” Eva feigned consternation. “I’m sorry, Dimple, I’ve got a strict policy on leaving before the speeches. I’ve so enjoyed our chat, but I can’t stay. I hope I’ll see you again soon.”
“Likewise.” Eva was nonplussed when Dimple gave her a quick, warm hug. It was not unpleasant. “Shoo. That perky woman’s heading for the microphone.”
Eva hurried away. She’d meant what she’d said about seeing Dimple again. She liked her. She didn’t, however, like Dimple’s effortless familiarity with Julian. Eva stopped at the edge of the room and looked back. Julian had reached Dimple’s side, and stood close, bent to catch what she was saying. He threw his head back and laughed, arm slung over her shoulder, pulling her closer as he whispered into her temple and Dimple blushed.
It didn’t look like a professional acquaintance at all.