Creepy
The next morning, on the subway, leaning over a man reading the New York Times, I learned that the police were looking for Charlene Miller. She was not a suspect. They just needed her to answer a couple of questions. The article also said that a search of the victim’s home had turned up some interesting leads.
The dog run was buzzing when I arrived. All the ladies came hurrying over to me. “Did you see the paper?” Fiona asked.
“Yeah. It’s crazy.”
“Do you know where Charlene is?” Marcia asked.
“I wish. I only met her right before I took over the route. I don’t know anything about her. Have you guys heard from her?” I asked.
“None of us were that close to her,” Marcia said. Fiona nodded. I turned to Elaine but she just shrugged.
“What’s her deal? Charlene’s I mean. None of you knew her at all?”
“She didn’t really hang out with the likes of us,” Fiona said.
“What do you mean?”
“All I’m going to say is that I guess membership in the Biltmore Club can’t protect you from everything.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“All I’m saying is that being the newest member of the Biltmore Club didn’t do her much good did it?”
“I didn’t know she was the ‘newest member.’ Are you a member?”
Fiona cast her eyes away. “I wouldn’t join them if they begged me. They are all snobs, think they run the city don’t they?”
“Oh stop it Fiona,” Marcia said.
“I’m really lost, what is the Biltmore Club?”
Fiona opened her mouth to answer, but Marcia cut her off. “It’s a private New York Club with some very influential members.”
“They only let women become members in the mid-90s,” Elaine said.
“Another reason I would never join,” Fiona interjected.
“You know that gorgeous townhouse in the Mews covered in ivy?” Elaine asked, her eyes wide with admiration.
I thought for a moment and remembered a townhouse right across from the park that was coated in a large green vine. The plant looked like some giant green mumpet that was eating the roof and would eventually get at all the inhabitants. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Elaine asked.
“Easily impressed,” Fiona muttered.
“Charlene was a member. Isn’t it hard to join?”
Marcia answered me, “She must have some friends in some pretty high up places. You have to be sponsored by a member and then voted in or some such nonsense.”
I left the run, thoughts of the Biltmore Club floating in my mind.
The Sapersteins door flew open as soon as I knocked. “Where is Charlene, and what does she have to do with this?” Jackie demanded. Her hair looked like it had been slept on wet.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? How could you not know?”
“You’d be surprised how much I don’t know.” She glared at my attempt at a joke. I laughed uncomfortably. It echoed in the hall. “Would you like me to walk Snaffles?” I smiled.
“Come in.” She moved aside, and I walked into the apartment. The dark blue drapes were drawn, but the sunlight managed to shoot through creating shafts of bright light in the otherwise dark room. Mrs. Saperstein walked to the kitchen. Snaffles was curled up in a ball in the corner, asleep.
“He looks tired,” I said because I didn’t know what else to say.
“I’ve been walking him a lot. We’ve been walking a lot.” Her eyes shone through the half-light.
“Have you given him his lunch?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“OK, then I’ll take him out.”
“OK.”
“Come on, Snaffles. Come.” He didn’t move. I walked over to him. The corner was dark, and I stepped on a squeaky toy. The sound made me jump. Snaffles didn’t even twitch.
“Maybe you should just go,” Mrs. Saperstein said.
“Whatever you want.” I started to back away from Snaffles.
Mrs. Saperstein stood in the doorway of the kitchen silhouetted against the strange light of the living room. I walked toward her, but she didn’t move. “Tell your friend Charlene I’m on to her,” she hissed at me.
“She's not my friend,” I protested. A tense silence bulged in the space between us. Finally, she moved aside, and I squeezed past her.
What was the f was that, I wondered as the elevator took me back down to street level. Snaffles had looked really dead. I mean dead. Did she kill her dog? Excuse me—her cheating husband’s dog? As I stepped out into the warm light of the day I felt goose bumps rise on my flesh.
Oh, Toby
At the Maxims’ I gave Toby his lunch, and then we headed out for a walk. Halfway through the marble-encased lobby, a tall gentleman with jet-black hair and gray temples wearing a tailored pinstriped suit intercepted us.
“Ms. Joy?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“I am a friend of Marcia’s.”
This must be the famous Philip, I thought. “How do you do?”
“Marcia told me that you were wondering if anyone had seen anything on the early morning of your former employer’s departure from this world and his unpleasant ascent to the next.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“May I suggest that you talk to Gregory Chamers? He works at Eighty-Eight East End Avenue.”
“Why?” Instead of answering me, he floated off to the front desk, where a woman in her early sixties wearing a pink velour jumpsuit and carrying a gold lamé purse was talking in increasingly higher-pitched tones to a distressed-looking bellboy. I watched Philip soothe the woman, place his hand on her elbow, and lead her to the elevator banks.
Toby and I left the building and turned uptown. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves caused Toby to turn. When he saw the giant beasts approaching, Toby ran to me and squeezed himself between my legs. I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and looked up at Doyle and O’Conner. “Hello, officers.”
“Hello Ms. Humbolt,” they said in unison which I thought was pretty darn cute. Two strapping police officers on horseback was really quite a sight, I decided.
“How’s the investigation going?” I asked.
Doyle frowned. “I’m sorry I don’t know. Unfortunately, I knew the victim personally so have no access to the case.” He saw the look on my face and continued. “It’s fine,” he said. “I didn’t know him well. We just belong to the same social club.” He threw a glance at O’Conner who tipped his helmet at me and rode off down the street. Doyle shifted in his saddle and leaned down toward me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No, no,” he smiled. “I just wanted to know if you’d be interested in going out with me some time.” He smiled with big white, straight teeth. “I’m not involved in the case in any way so there is no ethical reason why I shouldn’t ask you out.”
I laughed. Doyle leaned back and touched his hand to her heart. “She laughs at me?” he said in mock shock.
“No, I’m sorry. I just never had a guy mention ethics while asking me out.”
“Maybe the wrong kinda guy’s been asking you out.”
“Ouch.”
“Are you free Saturday night?”
I thought about fake checking my phone to see if I was booked but instead I laughed. “Yeah, I’m free.”
“Great,” he grinned at me. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” I said. He trotted to catch up with his partner. I watched them as they turned toward the park, a huge grin on my face. What fun, I thought. Toby stayed cowering between my legs.
Night Walk
I did not give Snaffles his evening walk. I paced outside his building and decided the whole thing was too creepy. It was Friday, and Mrs. Saperstein owed me for the week. My other clients had paid—cash in white envelopes with my name on them—so I decided I was justified in waiting until Monday. But looking up at the 20-story building as the sun was just starting to slip down the west side of the world, I worried about Snaffles and his mistress.
A soft orange glow lit the building’s brick facade. Lamplight glowed from several apartments. In others, I could see the eerie blue flicker of the TV. A warm breeze blew my hair around my face. I left, walking toward the subway, feeling sick to my stomach and alone.
Blue waited for me on the other side of my door. He jumped around, desperate to be petted but too excited to stay still. I rubbed his back and he tapped his feet. I moved down the hall, and he followed, bumping his long snout into my hand. “No, Blue,” I said, and lifted my hand out of his reach. He whined, spun in a circle and sat. I laughed and couldn’t help but rub his ears. He leaned into me and looked up with eyes so filled with devotion it seemed unreasonable.
I ordered General Tso’s chicken and settled myself on what was left of my couch (I’d duct- taped it together as best as I could). I turned on the TV and watched 30 seconds of Seinfeld, then clicked over to Friends, click, Everybody Loves Raymond, click, Pastor Bill Tells It Like It Is. I watched my stepfather behind his podium, his hair big and full.
“Life’s trials,” Bill was saying, “especially poverty, are a result of sin.” He licked his lips and slapped the podium in front of him. “Do you hear me, Lord!” His voice quieted. “Can you hear me, Lord? Because, you know, He’s speaking to you every day.”
He moved from behind his podium and out onto the stage in front of his attentive choir. His voice rose up again. “The good man brings good things out of the good stored in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart, his mouth speaks. Luke 6:45.”
Bill nodded, and the camera showed an audience of hundreds nodding back at him. As the camera panned the crowd, I could see some of their faces wet with tears. Other people held their arms in the air, their eyes closed.
“Now, I want you all to make a vow.” Bill’s voice spoke over the image of all those people undulating, weeping, and shaking for salvation. “A vow to yourselves, to God, to Faith Foundation. A vow that you will not be poor anymore.” His voice rose. “That you will not be a sinner anymore. That you will give, from your own pocket, from your sinful earnings, $1,000."
The camera cut back to him. He was standing at the edge of his stage, sweat sprinkling his face. As he walked along the edge, his tone turned conversational. “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Bill, that’s a lot of money.’ But if poverty comes from sin, then how do we free ourselves from poverty?” He paused and looked out at his audience. “We atone. We make a vow. We free ourselves.” A phone number and Internet address appeared at the bottom of the screen. I changed the channel, the taste of bile in my mouth.
The last time I saw my mom she was alone. I had lunch with her near Madison Square Garden where Bill was preaching later that evening. We fought viscously about my lack of direction, churchgoing, and general usefulness to the world. I called her a drunk (which she hasn’t been for years), and she called me a sinner (which if you read the Bible, most people are). I left, and neither of us called.
I picked at my takeout chicken, and in the time it took me to go pee, Blue had scarfed up the rest. I laughed at the sight of him sitting bolt upright on the deflated couch with the cardboard cartons licked to a sparkle, pretending he didn’t know what had happened to all that food.
Laughing, I said, “alright, boy, time for your walk.” He bounded off the couch and bolted for the door.
A white fog hung in the dark sky. The mist dulled the glare of the streetlights. Beads of dew covered the parked cars and sparkled in the soft yellow light. Blue led the way into Prospect Park.
As soon as I let him off leash, he bounced down the paved path. The gently rolling lawn glowed a silver green. The man-made forest was a wall of blackness. The fog hung low above us. We wandered onto smaller trails and roamed through the trees, up steps to the top of the biggest hill, then down and around the lake that glimmered in the night’s light.
Three men sat on a bench. They wore rags and suckled on bottles in brown paper bags. One stood up, unsteady. He opened his mouth to speak, a naughty smile playing in his rummy eyes. Blue stepped out of the shadows, where he had been investigating an interesting smell, and moved to my side, falling in step with me. Fear twisted the man’s smirk into a grimace. He stumbled back to his friends, whispering, “Devil.” The three men cowered on the bench as Blue and I passed. We walked home with our heads held high, afraid of nothing and nobody.
The Black Widow Saperstein
The next morning Blue and I headed to the bodega for a cup of coffee and the paper. I tied Blue up out front (hoping that he would not attack any douche bags while I was inside) and walked through the flaps of plastic that keep the cool air in and the hot air out. “Morning,” I said to the woman behind the counter. She smiled and waved, her long nails were painted in glitter and shown under the florescent lights. Making my way over to the coffee machine, I poured a fresh cup, added two creamers and a packet of sugar, then yawned.
The headline of the Post: “Black Widow Arrested in Upper East Side Slaying” was a slap in my sleepy face. I grabbed up the paper dumbfounded. There was a photograph of Jacquelyn being escorted by Mulberry out of her building, her eyes down, her hair falling in strings around her face. I could make out a blurry Julen in the background looking, well, he looked f*cking broken.
The Detective’s jaw was set in a hard line and he wasn’t looking at the camera either. He seemed to be concentrating real hard on where his feet were headed. I paid for the paper, the coffee, and one of the slices of banana bread they keep by the register for suckers like me.
I read the paper walking down the street. Blue barked, and I looked up to see that I was about to walk gut first into a parking meter. “Good dog,” I said and ruffled his ears. I folded the paper under my arm until I got back to my stoop.
“The Black Widow claims to be innocent but the police refused to be caught up in her web of lies,” the Post intoned. A woman matching Mrs. Saperstein’s description was seen leaving the scene of the crime during the early hours that the murder occurred. Mrs. Saperstein was the only beneficiary on his life insurance. She did not have an alibi and her husband’s infidelity gave her a classic motive. They didn’t even mention the possibility of the dead dog. But somehow, some way, I just didn’t think she did it. Sick, I thought.
That’s Sexy
There are two mirrors at my place. Both came with the apartment. One’s full-length and can be found in any dollar store throughout the city. The other’s in my bathroom; it shows only from my waist up and is very high quality. The full-length mirror’s closest light source is an exposed bulb that once had a shade but now just sticks out of the wall. The bathroom mirror is lit by vanity lights all the way around it. I looked completely different in these two mirrors.
The full length makes my hips look funny, and I often find myself contemplating what not to eat while examining my reflected image. The other makes my face look great, but I constantly wonder if my shoes really match my outfit. Sometimes I try and lift my foot up to my waist to see if they match but it never helps. Before going out, I usually run between these two mirrors attempting to decide whether I am presentable to the world. But I always look great in one and ridiculous in the other. That’s exactly what I was doing when James called.
“Did you see the paper,” he asked.
“Yeah, crazy right?” I walked into my kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.
“Do you think she did it?”
“No,” I said without hesitation.
“Really? Because she looks awfully guilty. Did you read the Post?”
“Come on, you don’t believe the Post do you?” I said.
James laughed. “No, I do like f*cking with you though. But seriously, why don’t you think she did it.”
“I don’t know. I get that she looks really guilty, but I just don’t think she did it.” I finished my water and put the empty glass in the sink.
“What are you up to tonight?” James asked.
“I’m going out on a date.”
“Oooh, with who?”
“That cop, Officer Doyle.”
“Shut up!”
I walked back into my bedroom and examined my closet. It was a mess. “I know, but I don’t have anything to wear.”
“What’s his first name?” James asked.
“Ha, you know what? I don’t know.”
“You don’t know his first name?”
“Nope,” I said.
“How mysterious.”
I laughed. “It’s pretty funny.”
“Funny and sexy,” James said.
“Shut up.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“I don’t know yet.” I pulled a pair of jeans out of my closet, then threw them back because I knew they made my thighs look wide.
“What about that seafood place you love?”
“I’m waiting to see if he has any ideas.” I looked in the full-length mirror at me wearing a T-Shirt and my underwear. “Will you come over and help me pick out an outfit.”
James laughed. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to get work done.”
“But it’s Saturday,” I whined.
“I know that. Hugh is out to brunch with Pat and Chris, and here I am surrounded by moving boxes, trying to figure out how to convince people to buy more shit.”
“When will you be done?”
“Never.”
“Come on, I need your help. I hate all my clothes.” I pulled out a pair of shorts I hadn’t worn since the early oughts. “I should really throw some of this stuff away.”
“What time is your date?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’m guessing around seven.” I picked up a black shirt. It was covered in Blue’s hair. “Shit.”
“What?”
“This damn dog has covered everything I own in hair.” I looked over at Blue snoring on my bed.
“Welcome to the wonderful world of animal companionship.”
“Come over.”
“I’ll try to get there by six.”
“But—”
“Have several outfits ready, so I just have to choose. I am not rooting through your closet. That is your job.”
“Fine.” I hung up the phone and returned to the disaster I lovingly called my wardrobe.
Doyle texted that he’d pick me up at 7:15. At 6:15 James showed up. He took one look at the outfits I’d laid out on the bed and sighed. “Will you never learn,” he muttered and then headed to the closet. He pulled out a blue and white sundress that made me look just sweet as pie. “Put this on,” he said.
“You don’t think it’s too cutesy for a first date?”
James rolled his eyes. “No such thing.”
He was right. The dress looked perfect; it pushed up my boobs and stayed tight to my waist, where it flared out into a full and bouncy skirt. And it was covered in little white flowers. Who doesn’t like small white flowers? By the time we managed to duct tape all of Blue’s hair off me and do my hair and makeup, we had 15 minutes to spare.
“OK, you have to leave now,” I said to James. “Before he gets here.”
James laughed. “The only reason I agreed to come over was to meet this cute cop.”
“But I don’t want him to think that—”
“What is he going to think?”
“That you’re here to check him out.”
“That is why I’m here. You got anything to drink?” James asked moving toward the kitchen. Blue hopped off the bed and followed him.
“I’m not giving you a drink. I want you to leave,” I said following them.
James found a half bottle of wine on the counter. “How old is this?”
“Too old. You don’t want it. Now leave.”
He pulled out the cork and smelled it. “Oh, this is fine. Joy, you should not lie.” He clucked his tongue and pulled two glasses out of the cabinet. I gave up and accepted the glass of wine he offered me. “To your date,” James said, then clinked his glass against mine. I took a sip, and the doorbell rang. I jumped and spilled wine on the floor as Blue started barking and scampered out of the kitchen. “I’ll get it,” James said and dashed into the hall before I had a chance to recover.
“Hi, I’m Joy’s brother, James,” I heard him yell over the barking. “Shut up Blue.”
“Declan Doyle. That’s a big dog.”
I took a deep breath and came out from the kitchen. James was bent over using his free hand to hold Blue back. Doyle was looking down at my dog, concern resting above his eyebrows. Blue was no longer barking, but a deep rumble was emanating through his closed mouth. A mouth that it appeared James was holding shut.
“Hi,” I said.
Doyle looked up and smiled. “You look gorgeous,” he said. His big warm eyes were making me melt just a little bit.
“Please come in,” James said, moving aside and dragging Blue with him. Declan didn’t move as he watched Blue’s hackles raise.
“We should really go,” I said.
“Well, if you must,” James said, struggling to keep his wine from spilling and at the same time look casual holding Blue’s muzzle shut. I grabbed my purse off the hall table and moved past them.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” James said motioning toward Blue.
“Thanks,” I said. James mouthed “He is super cute,” as the door closed. I turned to Declan and we both smiled.