Bonnie Jo rolls her naked self back over to me. “Hey, love, why don’t you just stay here tonight, with me? I really don’t want you to go.”
“Neither do I.” She’s absolutely irresistible. “It’s almost eight o’clock. Let me see. I’ll be right back.”
I grab my cell phone and step into the kitchen to call home, without a stitch of clothes on.
“Not again,” Jean answers.
“Afraid so, honey. We are totally jammed on this new business pitch. I’m not going to get out of here until who knows when. I’m afraid I won’t even get to leave until two a.m. or something, so I’m going to grab a room at that bed and breakfast down the street.”
“Oh, dear. Good thing they’re paying you the big bucks.”
“Thanks for understanding, baby. I hope. Anyway, kiss the kids good night for me—tell them tomorrow night we’ll have dinner at that place they love, Pizza Pizazz.”
“Okay. Be careful. We’ll be here. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye for now,” and on the way back into the bedroom I get a text from Barb Lundquist, the recruiter—she’s sure no nine-to-fiver.
Hey Tim—Linda wants to see you again, 8 AM tomorrow! Possible? Landmark Diner, Grand/Lafayette. Let me know ASAP when you get this.
Can’t say it’s perfect timing. But I tap a quick response.…
Count on it. Thanks.
By midnight Bonnie Jo and I are spent, physically, emotionally. No more weed. We climb in the shower together and hold each other there for a good while, close and soapy under the steaming hot water.
She gets out first and is drying herself when I absolutely blow it: “Hey Tiff—Bonnie!—hand me a towel, baby?”
“What the hell did you just call me? Fucking Tiffany?”
She totally loses it, shrieking, with fire in her eyes.
“You two-timing asshole!”
Now I’ve blown it. How do I tell Bonnie Jo that she’s not the only other woman?
“Jesus, baby…we were just talking about her, it was a slip of the tongue.”
“Bullshit!!” She’s not buying it. “You goddamned psycho!”
It takes everything I’ve got to calm her down. And now I’m stuck here the rest of the night.
I sleep on the couch. Doesn’t help.
Chapter 28
My iPhone alarm buzzes at six thirty. Set on vibrate. No sound.
I slip off the couch, headed for the shower, trying not to make any noise. I see through the cracked open bedroom door that Bonnie hasn’t moved a muscle since I left her in bed last night.
Showered and shaved, I put on a fresh shirt and underwear out of the hall closet, where I keep a few things for just such occasions.
Normally I’d leave a note or something. But after the blow-up last night we are by no means normal, so I slip out the front door and take the elevator down to the lobby.
The Landmark Diner is back downtown, below the agency. I take a cab to save time and Linda’s already there, waiting for me. We have another great chat over breakfast and I insist on picking up the check this time.
At least, I feel like it was great. But truth is I don’t remember a whole lot about our conversation. My fight with Bonnie Jo is weighing heavily on me; we’ve never had that kind of trouble before.
To think that I could possibly lose her hurts like hell.
Chapter 29
I get to the agency by nine thirty, close enough, but not before I go by the bank, again.
Up on the third floor Mo greets me. “Morning, Tim. Paul wants to see you right away. He’s in his office.” The president is after me early.
“Hey, Paul, good morning,” I greet him, sliding open the glass door.
“C’mon in, Tim, and close the door, okay? We need to talk. These murders are terrible, unbelievable. The only way we’re going to be able to deal with it is by being frank with each other.”
“Of course, man. What’s up?”
“I need to know what you know about Ramon. God rest his soul.”
Here’s a guy who founded and runs a successful, midsize New York ad agency, and he’s basically clueless about a lot of the people who work for him.
“Okay, look. You know some of our creatives use a little—”
“A little what?” he asks. Seriously? He doesn’t know?
“Marijuana, Paul. Weed. A lot of them smoke it. You know that, right?”
“Well, sure, I’ve heard there’s some grass around.…”
“So…” I tell him, “Ramon is the guy they were getting it from. And other stuff, too. Who knows?”
“Oh, my God. It’s worse than I thought. Much worse. Do you think that had anything to do with him getting killed?”
“Of course I do. And I think the cops do, too. Which is why they’re all over the agency. And Tiffany’s murder only makes it worse. Apparently she was getting her drugs from him, too.”
“My God—what has become of my agency? And I have to tell you, Tim—you’re making it worse yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Paul?”
“I know you’re looking for another job.”
Oh, shit. Should have known that kind of thing doesn’t stay secret.
“Paul…that was before all this. It’s not that I’m unhappy here.…”
“Look, we’ve worked too long and too close together to tiptoe around,” Paul says. “This happens in our business, but I like you and so does everybody else here. We’d hate to lose you. And the timing absolutely sucks.”
He pauses, then says, “So, how’s the search going?”
I fumble for a response and say, “Well, yeah, got a couple of possibilities…I…”
“Good! Glad to hear it,” he says. Really?
I take a deep breath. “Thanks for your understanding, Paul. And for your support.” What else can I say? Nothing, so I reach for the door handle.
“By the way, Tim,” Paul says, “Bonnie Jo’s not at work again. Any idea what’s going on with her?”
Chapter 30
Home, finally. Late again, near eleven o’clock. New business pitch is tomorrow. Of course the kids are asleep, and surely disappointed we didn’t get to Pizza Pizazz, as promised. What about Jean? I pour myself a glass of wine from the bottle of Signaterra from Monday and find her in the family room in her nightgown and robe, reading. Or acting as if.
“Hello, love. Can I get you anything?” and she finally looks up at me with an expression that is hard to read. It lingers somewhere between forced attention to the book in her lap and a question, probably about what the hell is going on with me.
“No, Tim, I’m fine. Well, not fine. But here I am, which is more than I can say for you lately.”
“I know, baby. What are you reading?”
“Jesus, Tim, who cares?”
“What’s the matter, love? Is something bothering you?”
“Hell, yes, something’s bothering me. Everything’s bothering me. Lately I’m with you like six hours a day, all of it after dark and most of it sound asleep. Or trying to be. That’s no life. At least not the life we planned on. Or I hoped for.
“And now another murder is all over the news. Another one—connected to your office! Did you know this woman?”