He sighed ostentatiously. “I might have known better than to try to do you a good turn.”
“You should have known better than to think calling up to lay down the law would sound like a good turn to me,” I corrected.
“I’d like you to come to my office tomorrow. I’m free around ten.”
“Which means I’d kick my heels in your waiting room until eleven or twelve. No, thanks. I’ve got a very tight day scheduled. Why don’t you stop here on your way into the Loop? It’s just a hop, skip, and jump off the Eisenhower to Belmont.”
He didn’t like it, mostly because he wasn’t controlling the program. He tried to make me come downtown to the Enterprise Club, the favorite embalming center for Chicago’s top lawyers and bankers. I wanted to start my day in the neighborhood, at the Bank of Lake View. He finally consented to meet me at the Belmont Diner, but it had to be seven o’clock: his important meetings started at eight-thirty. Since Dick knows early mornings and I aren’t on speaking terms, it enabled him to salvage a small triumph from the conversation.
Before going to bed I checked in with my answering service. Sure enough, there were two messages from Dick, both stressing the urgency of my calling him immediately. Detective Finchley had phoned, as had Luke Edwards and Sergeant Rawlings. I was glad I’d missed Luke. I wasn’t in the humor for a long, lugubrious account of the Trans Am’s woes. I unplugged the phone and went to bed.
Chapter 34 - Postmarital Upset
My dreams were tormented by images of my mother. She appeared at the gym where I was playing basketball. I dropped the ball and ran from the court to her side, but just as I held out a hand to her, she turned her back on me and walked away. I felt myself crying in my sleep as I followed her down Halsted, begging her to turn and look at me. Behind me the Buddha was saying in Gabriella’s heavily accented English, “You’re on your own now, Victoria.”
When the alarm woke me at six, it was a welcome release from the trap of dreams. My eyes were gummy with the tears I’d shed in the night. I felt so sorry for myself that I hiccuped back another crying bout as I brushed my teeth.
“What’s wrong with you?” I said derisively to the face in the mirror. “Feel deprived over losing Dick Yarborough’s love?”
I turned the cold water on in the shower and held my head under it. The shock cleaned my eyelids and cleared my head. I did a complete workout in the living room, including a full set of weight exercises. At the end my arms and legs were trembling, but I felt purged of my nightmare.
I dressed with a care that made me feel a little annoyed with myself, in a soft gold top with a charcoal pantsuit. I didn’t think I wanted to show off for Dick, at least not in a sexual way. I just wanted to seem cool and prosperous. Big earrings and a chunky necklace added a touch of modernity. The jacket was cut full enough to hide my shoulder holster.
It had been almost four days since I’d gone into the drink. I was beginning to feel nervous about the peace my pals were leaving me in. No threatening calls, no firebombs through the window. That wasn’t all due to the watchful eye of Conrad’s minions. I couldn’t help thinking they were saving up for some huge, ugly surprise.
I studied the street carefully from my living room window before leaving. It was hard to tell from this angle whether anyone was staking me out from the cars out front, but the Subaru that had dogged me last week wasn’t there. No one shot at me when I came out. Always a welcome beginning to the day.
I took a long way around to the Belmont Diner, in keeping with the first rule for terrorist targets: vary your route. Although it was a few minutes after seven when I got to the diner, Dick hadn’t arrived yet. In my eagerness to remember the rules for terrorism I’d forgotten those for power breakfasting: make the other person wait.
Barbara and Helen greeted me enthusiastically. Business was heavy, but they managed to give me the details of what had happened to my tail after I left Friday.
“Honey, you should have been here,” Barbara called over her shoulder, depositing a short stack and fried eggs at the table behind me. “Helen here practically undressed the poor slob, sobbing all over his trouser legs how sorry she was about the tea. And then—well, I’ll tell you in a minute… You want your usual, don’t you, Jack? And how ‘bout you, Chuck—two over easy, hon? And hash browns?” She whisked back to the kitchen.