The blonde hollered down the hallway, “Woody, get up. Company.”
Groggy and disheveled, Woody emerged two minutes later from the bedroom, wearing a robe whose belt trailed behind him like a tail. His T-shirt and boxers were exposed by the open robe. The little dog wagged its tail furiously and leapt from the blonde’s arms to run to its master.
“Sherry, baby, what is it?” And as he asked, he saw Phil standing near the doorway. “Hey, man, it’s you. From the street.”
Phil waved a halfhearted hello. From behind him out popped Bunny, and she was more effusive in her greetings, flashing a big smile and ogling him. Woody gathered in his robe.
“Would you be a dear?” Bunny asked. “Could you give us a hand bringing down a trunk? My husband wants to ship it, but wouldn’t you know, he’s stuck late at work and can’t lend us a hand.”
“Sure, Mrs. G. I’d be happy to. Let me throw on some pants.”
A few minutes later on the sixth floor landing, they heaved the chest. Phil needed a breather after the first flight of stairs, and on the fourth floor, Woody stopped and set down their burden. “Whatcha got in here, a body?” They made it to the car in twenty minutes, and Phil had laid down the backseat so that the trunk could rest in the bed of the wagon. Sweat dripped from the tips of their noses, and they sat on the front stoop, toweling off and smoking cigarettes. New Yorkers were not interested in their efforts, but hurried by to get out of the heat. Phil offered him a five-dollar bill for his help, but Woody refused all payment. “No problem. I’d do anything in the world for Bunny.” He corrected himself. “For Mrs. G.”
All the way out to Canarsie, Phil wondered how well Woody knew her, and how, and what about the blonde with the chihuahua. He drove the Nash to the piers and with a small bribe to a Negro man sitting on the docks, they managed to dump the trunk into the deep and silent waters. As he slid the body over the edge, he almost went in himself, and later thought of that moment as the last chance he had to save himself from misery. Around eleven, he finally made it home and slept till noon. The rest of the day he spent reliving the horrors of Jerry’s murder and the madness involved in getting rid of the body. Even Claire, who usually paid no attention to his comings and goings, remarked at dinner as to how pale and tired Phil looked, as if something was heavy on his mind. “You’ll be all right by yourself tomorrow? It’s Saturday, so you can sleep late again if you like, though I wouldn’t make it a habit. I’ll be going out for lunch.”
He muttered his approval.
The next morning she bent over him in his bed and kissed him on the forehead. “Good-bye, sweetheart,” Claire said. She was in a new sundress, a gold chain delicate at her throat, and her hair was newly cut and styled. “I’ll be at Moran’s. Back by three, I should think. Try to make yourself presentable, won’t you, darling?”
With a groan, he rolled over and buried his head beneath the pillow. Fifty minutes later, he woke in a panic. Moran’s? Wasn’t that the place Bunny had arranged for their lunch? The poisoned seafood? He slapped some water on his face, jumped into an old suit, and took a cab across town, arriving well past the appointed hour. The ma?tre d’ tried to stop him, and the waiters and patrons stared at Phil as he burst into the dining room, searching the tables for his wife and mistress. In the back corner, farthest from the door, sat Claire, a small grin turning the corners of her mouth. She was all alone, but another place had been set, and the appetizer had been served. No murderess sat in the empty chair. Perhaps she had gone to poison the main course. Phil rushed in like a madman. “Where’s Bunny?”
“Phil, you look a fright. Please sit down, you’re making a scene.” She nodded to the waiter, who held out a chair. “Have something to eat, you’ll feel better. Try the oysters Rockefeller. They’re to die for.”
Taking the seat next to her, Phil stared at his wife as though he had no idea who she was. A few seconds later, a fat man in a seersucker suit joined them at the table. Claire introduced him as Mr. Rosen, and the two men shook hands.
“Bunny couldn’t make it, dear,” Claire said. “So I invited Mr. Rosen instead. He’s been doing a little work for me. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat, Philip? They have other choices besides seafood. How about a nice steak?”