The Job by Douglas Kennedy

Author:Douglas Kennedy [Kennedy, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9783404144938
Google: hroLGwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0736642471
Publisher: Hyperion
Published: 1998-07-01T16:00:00+00:00

SIX

It was pointless to return to Manhattan that night. Anyway, after that scene in Duane Hellman’s office, I needed several stiff drinks-and Kaster, now officially off duty, was only too happy to keep me company.

Which is how we ended up at an old-style steak joint called Kappy’s in a residential corner of West Hartford-where, over the next four hours, Kaster and I bought each other rounds of bourbon and beer, devoured a London broil apiece, and eventually started trading secrets. Hers was a biggie: Just last month, after over twenty-five years in the closet, she had come out as a lesbian.

“It kind of surprised me how everyone in the department took it in their stride. Especially when I showed up at a departmental party with my squeeze, Beth Anne

“What’s she do?”

“A plumber.”

Having shared this revelation with me, it was my turn (according to the unwritten rules of “strangers drinking together”) to divulge a confidence or two. So I told Kaster about the business with Kreplin, and my assorted professional and marital troubles since then.

“You’re lucky you didn’t slug that nerd Hellman,” she said, tossing back her bourbon, ” ‘cause this time you would’ve been booked for assault. Have you always been a hair-trigger kind of guy?”

“Only since all this shit started.”

“Well, I’d stop it. Like now. And since I’m handing out loads of free advice tonight”-she gave me a tipsy smile-“here’s another pearl of wisdom from the dyke detective. I’d give your wife as much space as she needs right now. Know what women hate more than anything in guys? Neediness. You come across desperate to her, you can forget about winning her back.”

I kept that advice in mind when I checked into a nearby Marriott motel, which the detective recommended. It was 10:00 P.M. I slumped on the bed and checked my messages at home. No word from Lizzie. So I called her office in L.A. Her secretary, Juliet, was working late.

“I passed on your message from Friday, Mr. Allen. But Lizzie never returned to L.A. yesterday-she had to go straight from Carmel to San Francisco today for a last-minute business thing. Now she’s caught up there in a dinner, so we don’t expect her back in L.A. until tomorrow. Another message?”

“That’s okay.”

Instead, I called the Mondrian and asked to be put through to Lizzie’s voice mail. I left a simple, straightforward message, in which I explained about Ivan’s suicide, how I had ended up identifying the body and arranging the funeral, and wouldn’t be back in the city until late Tuesday night. I didn’t get emotional. I didn’t leave a number in Hartford where she could reach me. I didn’t come across as beseeching. As Kaster recommended, I played it cool and sounded very much in control. Whereas I was feeling anything but controlled. And I wanted to scream into the phone, I’m going crazy…. I miss you…. Please, please, let me jump a plane to the Coast and try to sort things out.

Why is it that, if

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