“Who’s telling you that?” I demanded.
“Helen. And Sarah. Cheryl says Pete says he just jumped in the water when no one was looking. No Wojcik ever killed himself. But the Warshawskis … Those Jews. I warned Marie over and over.”
I pried her fingers from my arm. The smoke and noise and the sour cabbage smell were filling my brain. I put my head down to look her in the eyes, started to say something rude, then thought better of it. I fought my way through the smog, tripping over babies, and found the men hovering around a table filled with sausages and sauerkraut in one corner. If their minds had been as full as their stomachs they could have saved America.
“Who are you telling that Boom Boom jumped off the wharf? And how the hell do you know, anyway?”
Cheryl’s husband Pete looked at me with stupid blue eyes. “Hey, don’t lose your pants, Vic. I heard it down at the dock.”
“What trouble was he in at the elevator? Grandma Wojcik says you’re telling everyone he was in trouble down there.”
Pete shifted a glass of beer from one hand to the other. “It’s just talk, Vic. He didn’t get along with his boss. Someone said he stole some papers. I don’t believe it. Boom Boom didn’t need to steal.”
My eyes fogged and I felt my head buzzing. “It’s not true, goddamn you! Boom Boom never did anything cheap in his life, even when he was poor.”
The others stared at me uneasily. “Take it easy, Vic,” one said. “We all liked Boom Boom. Pete said he didn’t believe it. Don’t get so wild over it.”
He was right. What was I doing, anyway, starting a scene at the funeral? I shook my head, like a dog coming out of water, and pushed back through the crowd to the living room. I made my way past a Bleeding Heart of Mary tastefully adorning the front door and went out into the chilly spring air.
I opened my jacket to let the cool air flow through me and cleanse me. I wanted to go home, but my car was at my apartment on Chicago’s North Side. I scanned the street: as I’d feared, Cuthbert and Mallory had long since disappeared. While I looked doubtfully around me, wondering whether I could find a cab or possibly walk to a train station in high heels, a young woman joined me. She was small and tidy, with dark hair falling straight just below her ears, and honey-colored eyes. She wore a pale gray silk shantung suit with a full skirt and a bolero jacket fastened by large mother-of-pearl buttons. She looked elegant, perfect, and vaguely familiar.
“Wherever Boom Boom is, I’m sure he’d rather be there than here.” She jerked her head toward the house and gave a quick, sardonic smile.
“Me too.”
“You’re his cousin, aren’t you … I’m Paige Carrington.”
“I thought I recognized you. I’ve seen you a few times, but only onstage.” Carrington was a dancer who had created a comic one-woman show with the Windy City Balletworks.
She gave the triangular smile audiences loved. “I’ve been seeing a lot of your cousin the last few months. We kept it quiet because we didn’t want Herguth or Greta splashing it around the gossip columns—your cousin was news even when he stopped skating.”
She was right. I was always seeing my cousin’s name in print. It’s funny being close to someone famous. You read a lot about them, but the person in print’s never the one you know.
“I think Boom Boom cared more for you than anyone.” She frowned, thinking about the statement. Even her frown was perfect, giving her an absorbed, considering look. Then she smiled, a bit wistfully. “I think we were in love, but I don’t know. I’ll never be sure now.”
I mumbled something soothing.
“I wanted to meet you. Boom Boom talked about you all the time. He loved you very much. I’m sorry he never introduced us.”
“Yes. I hadn’t seen him for several months.… Are you driving back to the city? Can I beg a ride? I had to come out with the procession and my car is on the North Side.”
She pushed the white silk cuff emerging from her jacket sleeve and looked at her watch. “I have to be at a rehearsal in an hour. Okay if I drop you downtown?”
“That’d be great. I feel like Br’er Rabbit out here in suburbia—I need to get back to my brier patch.”
She laughed at that. “I know what you mean. I grew up in Lake Bluff myself. But now when I go out there to visit I feel like my oxygen’s been cut off.”
I looked at the house, wondering if I should make a formal farewell. Good manners certainly dictated it, but I didn’t want a fifteen-minute lecture on why I should clean up both the dishes and my life. I shrugged and followed Paige Carrington down the street.