Promise?
Promise.
You wouldn’t skip out on me, Art, would you?
No.
Not over this? I can live with this.
Baby I’m going out to get champagne so we can fix this. Or if not fix it, just sit and have a little champagne. I’ll be back. Promise.
Thank you, Art. Seriously. I thank you.
It’s good we found each other.
Yes.
OK. Bye.
Bye.
I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.
Fifteen. I’m counting the minutes.
So long…
I took the elevator down. The lobby of the hotel was packed with business people just in from meetings at a convention. They were making dinner plans. Outside the hotel, cabs cruised the streets like sharks. I crossed the street and went up the elevator to my office on the fifteenth floor. This was where I had found her, three months before. Before that, my office had meant other things, but now it will always mean that, in addition to those things.
?
I found her in my office, on the floor. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but she was there. There wasn’t a part of her body that was spared a bullet.
I don’t want to tell you where she was shot but her body, from her head down to her feet, was riddled with bullet holes. He shot her hands—was she blocking herself with them, and he shot right through them? He shot her feet—why her feet? Did he tell her dance, and take aim at them? He shot her in her private parts and he hit her belly and he unloaded several shots into her side and into her core—the bullets breaking ribs, shredding the spine, shattering femur and shin bone and shoulder blade. There was a graze wound to her throat and a point-blank shot to her forehead…two more shots to her face…a missing eyeball…
There wasn’t a place on her body—my wife’s body—without an entry or an exit wound. Bullets ricocheting all over the place through her body…
And my hand…I touched every one of those holes: soft, the heat mostly disappeared from her body, the sticky blood coagulating. I touched gingerly, unable to believe what I touched, unable to get my mind to slip forward into a comprehension of what had happened, unable, practically, to move—except for my finger, which traced a slow circle around each of her wounds.
When the police came, they asked me to step aside. Get outside the perimeter, they said. One of the police actually pushed me so I almost stumbled backwards. Step outside the perimeter. He was wearing blue surgical gloves.
Another officer stood next to me. He said something into his radio mouthpiece, which was firmly attached to a strap on his torso. He said: Victim. Female. 42 years old. Gunshot wound to temple. Gunshot wound to forehead. Two gunshot wounds to face. Gunshot wound to neck. Three gunshot wounds to abdomen. Two gunshot wounds to pelvis. One gunshot wound to kidney. Gunshot wounds to both hands—left and right. Gunshot wounds to legs—shattering femurs. Gunshot wounds to left foot and to right foot. Seventeen 9mm casings at site of shooting.
He turned and asked me:
Who was the dead body?
I told him it was Adeleine Topp.
Did you know the dead body?
She was my wife.
Did you touch or disturb the dead body?
Yes. I touched her wounds. I fell on her.
Did anyone else touch or disturb the dead body when the dead body fell?
No.
As far as you know, did anyone else touch or observe the dead body when the dead body fell?
No.
Was the dead body dead when the dead body fell?
I don’t know.
And on the questions went, and so too the investigation into her death, until it all stopped, and then I found myself alone and wandering.
?
I crossed the street and went up the elevator to my office on the fifteenth floor and said: Good afternoon, Wanda.
Hello, Art.
How goes it?
She was bent over a crossword puzzle.
Where’ve you been? Out searching for business?
Sort of…
Any luck?
Sort of.
How ‘bout here, Wanda? Any calls I need to be made aware of?
Finnegan’s Wake wife?
What?
The crossword puzzle. Three down. Finnegan’s Wake wife?
Who’s Finnegan?
That’s what I want to know.
Sounds like an Irishman.
Fin. Finnegan. Think of an Irish name for a woman.
Mary?
Mary. I’ll try Mary.
Any calls?
Cal called.
What did he want?
He didn’t say.
Any others?
Three calls. All wrong numbers. I really think we ought to change the number around here. We keep getting confused with Triple AAA Plumbing.
I should have been a plumber.
Well, you’d certainly get more calls if you had been.
If I had been…had been.
Where are the champagne glasses?
There—on the shelf in the closet where you keep your extra clothes.
I met this woman…
Oh, Art! I’m so happy you’re moving on!
Not moving on yet.
But a woman? Who is she?
I don’t know really. Some lady I met at the…Get this, I met her at the cemetery.
Better to meet someone at the cemetery, Art, than at the…
At the what?
Oh, Art…I’m just so happy you’re getting out and meeting people.
I was putting flowers on my wife’s grave is all. And then this woman…
Is she pretty Art?
I don’t know, Wanda. I’ve forgotten what pretty is. I’ve been in love too long with my wife to know pretty.
You’ve never been in love too long to know pretty.
You’re pretty, Wanda.
Thank you, Art. But be careful what you say. It can get you into trouble. Harassment.
Are you going to sue me now, Wanda?
No. Not you Art. You’re too nice to sue—though I might get you in trouble for all the useless clues you give me on my crossword puzzle.
I said Mary.
It’s not Mary.
Where are the champagne glasses?
What do you want those for?
She’s in the hotel waiting for me.
She…
This woman I met in the cemetery.
What’s her name?
I don’t have time to talk about her now. She’s waiting for me in the hotel room. At least I think she’s waiting for me. She may be gone by now.
She’s waiting for you in the hotel room? Art, what did you go and get a hotel room for?
I don’t know, Wanda. I met her at the cemetery and we had lunch at Giovanni’s, and before I knew it one thing led to another.
Were you drinking?
We had a few.
A what?
We had some wine.
Oh, Art…
She’s in grieving mode too. Grief. We both are. She wears a veil.
Her husband?
No, her mom.
What about her husband?
Her husband—I don’t know that she has a husband.
Can you think of a word for ‘handy’ that starts with a ‘k’?
No. Can you?
It’s five letters.
I can’t think. Where are the glasses?
Over there, Art, on the shelf in the closet where you keep your clothes, like I said.
Sorry Wanda. I’m a bit confused today.
I imagine so.
Thanks for being here.
It’s my job to be here.
No it isn’t. Or yes it is. But thank you all the same. I’m going to be going.
What’s her name, Art? You must remember her name. That’s so important for a woman—to remember her name.
Thanks for asking. As a matter of fact I almost forgot.
What is it?
It’s a four-letter word that starts with R.
Rena?
No. Close.
Give me a clue.