Around midnight there was a flurry at the door. I hoped it was Lacey making her dramatic appearance so that I could collect Emily and leave, but it was only a couple of Bulls players—bore–rine to Emily Messenger and her friends. As the crowds shifted for them I made out Mary Louise and Emily, stationed where Emily could get an autograph as soon as Lacey cleared the entrance. Emily was in Mad Virgin uniform: the black tank top, stretch pants, and platform shoes that were sold through the Virginwear label Global owned.
Mary Louise must have worked something out with one of the officers assigned to cover the event. She had been a cop herself for ten years, and when she quit the force two years ago she’d done it in a way that didn’t lose her any friends. The guy on duty tonight had placed Emily behind the velvet ropes set up to create the illusion of an entrance hall. He’d even found a barstool for Emily to perch on. I was envious—my calves were aching from hours of standing.
“Are you waiting for Lacey, too?”
I turned to find a stranger addressing me, a compactly built man several years younger than me, with curly brown hair and the hint of a mustache.
“I’m a friend of the groom,” I said, “but I have a young guest who won’t leave until she gets Lacey’s autograph.”
“A friend of—oh.” His eyes twinkled in appreciation. “And I’m a friend of the bride. At least, we grew up in the same building, and she squeaked with excitement when she told me she was coming back to Chicago.”
“Is she really from here? When actors say they’re from Chicago, they usually mean Winnetka and New Trier, not the city.”
“Oh, no. We grew up in Humboldt Park. Until we were twelve we hung out together, the only nerds in our building, so that the bigger kids wouldn’t pick on us. Then she got a role on television and whoosh, off she went like a rocket. Now all those kids who used to corner her in the stairwell are trying to pretend they were her buddies, but she’s not a fool.”
“She remembered you?” I wasn’t really interested, but even idle talk would help get me through the evening.
“Oh, sure, she sent me one of her fancy cards to this event. But she won’t meet with me alone.” He reached across the bar for a bottle of beer and shook himself, as if shaking off a train of thought. “And why should she? Which groom are you a friend of? Do you work for the television station?”
“No, no. I know Murray Ryerson, that’s all.”
“You work for him?” He grabbed a plate of tiny sandwiches from a passing waiter and offered it to me.
I don’t like to tell people I’m a private investigator—it’s almost as bad as being a doctor at a party. Everyone has some scam or some time that they’ve been robbed or cheated that they think you’ll sort out for them on the spot. Tonight was no exception. When I admitted to my occupation, my companion said maybe I could help him. Something rather curious had been happening in his plant lately.
I stifled a sigh and dug in my evening bag for a business card. “Give me a call if you want to talk about it in a place where I can give you my full attention.”
“V. I. Warshawski?” He pronounced my name carefully. “You’re on Leavitt and North? That’s not so far from me.”
Before he could say anything else there was another stir at the entrance. This time it was Lacey herself. The waters parted: Edmund Trant extricated himself from his crowd and appeared at the door to kiss Lacey’s hands as the cameras began to whir again. Murray used his bulk to barrel his way next to Trant in time for Lacey to kiss him for the cameras. The policeman at the door greeted Lacey and directed her to Emily. I watched while she hugged Emily, signed her book, and flung herself into the arms of another Global actor on hand for the event.
While I worked my way along the wall to the front to collect Mary Louise and Emily, Lacey moved her entourage to the center of the room. The guy I’d just been speaking to managed to position himself behind the waiter bringing her a drink. I stopped to watch. Lacey greeted him with enthusiasm, so he must have been telling the truth about their childhood. But he seemed to be trying to talk to her seriously about something—a mistake in a gathering this public. Even under the soft rainbows of Sal’s Tiffany lamps I could see Lacey’s color rise. She turned away from him in hauteur and he made the mistake of grabbing her shoulders. The off–duty cop who’d gotten Emily her seat muscled his way through the crowd and hustled him out the door. When we followed a few minutes later, the man was standing across the street staring at the Golden Glow. As we came out he hunched his hands down in his pockets and walked away.
“Vic, you’ve made me blissfully happy,” Emily sighed as we walked past the line of Lacey’s fans. “There they are, waiting for hours just to get sight of her, and she actually kissed me and signed my book, maybe I’ll even be on TV. If someone told me two years ago that every girl in Chicago would be jealous of me, I’d never have believed them in a million years. But it’s come true.”
2 The Woman in the Road
Emily chattered with excitement all the way to the car, then fell deeply asleep in the backseat. Mary Louise leaned back on the passenger side and slipped out of her high heels.