Amanda Matetsky - Dial Me for Murder

When I went next door to return Otto, Abby was sitting at her kitchen table in her red negligee, long black hair fanned out over her shoulders, drinking coffee, and smoking a Pall Mall. Jimmy was still sleeping upstairs. “Hey, babe,” she said when I stepped inside. “You’re looking pretty slick this morning. Pearls and pumps, no less. Just like a married lady.”

I let out a goofy giggle, walked over to the stove to pour myself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table with her. I had thought Abby was happy for me, but when I took a good look at her face, I saw I was mistaken. She had a sulk the size of Kentucky on her kisser.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said with an overly dramatic sigh. “I’m just losing my best friend, that’s all. She’s getting married and moving away, you dig? I’ll probably never see her again.” If her lips had been any poutier, they’d have been drooping down over her chin.

“That’s nuts!” I said, hurrying to reassure her. “I may be getting married, but I’m not moving away. No way, Doris Day! I like it here.” I really hadn’t given this matter much thought before, but now that I was, I felt a very strong desire to stay put. “Dan will move in with me!” I declared, hoping my words would turn out to be true. “I couldn’t live anywhere else but here. And we could fix the place up a lot-carpet the living room, buy a real couch, plant a garden in the courtyard. The apartment’s small, but it’s fine for two people… even three,” I added, thinking ahead, imagining how I could turn my office into a neat little nursery.

“Absolutely not, Dot!” Abby cried, pounding her fist like a gavel on the tabletop. “That’s a big fat no, Flo! I refuse to live next door to a screaming baby! I think you and Dan better move to Levittown.” It was obvious that she was joking. Her sulk had turned into a smile so wide you could slide a ruler through it sideways.

Crisis over, we laughed and chatted together for a while, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, feeling good about the future. Then it was time for me to go. “Gotta split, Ab,” I said, standing up and walking to the door. “I’m meeting Dan and Katy uptown for lunch.”

“Later, gator,” she chirped, tying her hair up in a pony and waving bye-bye with the tail.

The minute I got back to my place the phone started ringing.

Thinking it was Dan calling to make sure I got his note and would be leaving on time, I picked up the receiver and cooed, “Don’t worry, baby cakes. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“No rush,” Mr. Crockett said. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

“Huh?” I was a tad confused.

“Tomorrow is Monday,” Crockett grunted. “Be in the office at the usual time. Sort the mail, clip the papers, make the coffee.”

I finally got the message. “You mean I haven’t been fired? I’ve still got a job?”

“Right. Harrington wants you to come back to work. And he wants to see you in his office tomorrow at eleven.”

I was too stunned to speak. What was this all about? Did Harrington want to apologize for the way he kicked me out before, or did he just want to do it again?

“So?” Crockett asked.

“So what?” I replied.

“So are you coming in?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” I mumbled, knowing I wanted to keep my job, but also knowing that Dan wouldn’t want me to.

“Good. See ya tomorrow.”

Click.

I stood there for a few seconds, holding the dead receiver to my ear like a dope, trying to figure out how I should deal with this new development. Then, realizing I couldn’t make an informed decision until I spoke with Crockett and Harrington again, I gave up trying. I slammed down the phone, put on my jacket and beret, stuffed my ciggies in my purse, and took off for Schrafft’s.

THE POPULAR BUT DIGNIFIED RESTAURANT WAS packed, as it always was on Sunday. All the seats at the long wood and marble counter near the entrance were occupied- mostly by middle-aged women in furs and hats, their purses and white gloves nestled securely in their laps. They were sipping martinis or manhattans or hot tea, and savoring their creamed chicken on toast or lobster pie or tomato surprise. A couple of men were sitting at the counter, too, but in their dark suits and fedoras, and with their platters of steak and potatoes, they looked out of place.

I made my way through the crowd to the doorway of the dining room, hung my jacket and beret on the nearby coatrack, and looked around for Dan and Katy. They were sitting at a table for four in the corner, lost in an intimate but animated conversation, looking very happy to be together. I felt like an intruder as I walked toward them, but the minute they saw me approaching, both of their faces lit up.

“Hi, Paige!” Katy said, as Dan jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair for me. “You look so pretty today.”

“Thanks!” I said. “I appreciate the compliment, but if anybody looks pretty, it’s you.” I wasn’t just being polite. With her pale blonde hair, perfectly proportioned features, porcelain complexion, and bright blue eyes, Katy is a portrait painter’s dream. She’s fifteen years young, fresh as a flower, and so poised she makes other girls her age seem gawky and rude- which is a flat miracle when you consider the fact that her beautiful mother is a bitch and a tramp. (Hey, don’t blame me! Those are Dan’s words, not mine. I’ve never even met the woman, so I certainly wouldn’t presume to categorize or condemn her behavior-no matter how bitchy and trampy it is.)

Dan sat back down and put his hand on my arm. “I was just telling my daughter about us,” he said, with an earnest wink. “She knows that I’ve asked you to be my wife. And she’s very happy about it, aren’t you, Katy?” He turned and put his other hand on her arm, encouraging her to speak.

I held my breath and crossed my fingers. Had Katy given Dan her honest opinion? Did she really approve of our engagement? Was she truly okay with the thought of me being her stepmother, or was she just trying to please her dad?

“Are you kidding?” she said, beaming at me across the table. “I’m crazy about the idea! I like you so much, Paige, and it’s fun when we’re all three together, and I love seeing my father so happy. He was sad for a long, long time, and I knew that he was lonely, and I was always worried about him. Now I won’t have to worry anymore!”

So, I ask you, who was the most parental person at our table? (I’ll give you one guess.)

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to hear that, Katy,” I said, stretching my free arm across the table and putting my hand on hers. “I love your father, and I love you, and I think our collective future is going to be great.”

“Cool!” she said, giving me and Dan a cheerful nod, then gently removing her arm and hand from our grasp. She picked up her menu and scanned it. “I’m starving! I want a bacon, avocado, and tomato sandwich on cheese bread, and a hot fudge sundae for dessert.” Her bright blue eyes were twinkling in anticipation.

I placed the same order (well, it sounded really good), and Dan ordered-yep!-a platter of steak and potatoes. And then we relaxed and proceeded to have a wonderful time-laughing, chatting, eating, telling jokes-enjoying each other’s company to the hilt. We could have posed for a Norman Rockwell illustration.

After lunch we went to see the new movie Oklahoma!, starring Gordon MacRae and Shirley Jones. It was a fabulous, wide-screen, Technicolor production, with gorgeous scenery and great Rodgers and Hammerstein music. Katy loved it. I probably would have loved it, too, if every time MacRae came on screen I hadn’t been reminded of the previous Friday night at the Copa, when Abby spotted him sitting with the other celebrities up in the mezzanine, and we were all waiting for a Mafia-connected murderer to come out and sing to us.