Colin Harrison - The Havana Room

Mrs. Hallock uttered this last word as if she were unexpectedly tasting a small bitter object on her tongue. "The accident must have just unnerved her, see. That night… she lost her bearings. The husband"- that tone again-"was no good, didn't stand up, just drank himself away."

"The accident-?"

Martha looked at me hawkishly. "Known Jay long?" she asked.

"No. Just a short time." Three days, I didn't say.

"Oh, I see."

"You mentioned an accident?"

"I shouldn't have. I'm not the one to discuss that. It's his business." She dropped her hands to the arms of her chair and gripped them. "It was very nice of you to visit me, Mr. Wyeth. And I'm sure things will get resolved smoothly. That piece of land's got nothing but three feet of loam over who knows how many hundred feet of beautiful sand below that. It's perfect acreage and I'll give the new owner a call to remind him of that."

But I wasn't quite ready to evaporate. "You seem to know Jay and his family pretty well, Martha," I said. "And it appears you were the agent on the sale of his property. As such, you have a responsibility to the buyer as well as to the seller. I think you know this even better than I do. The buyer has contacted me with the accusation that something was covered up out there, right before the sale went through. Hours before, Martha. As it turns out, there's good reason to think that. The buyer is a busy guy. Making frivolous complaints is not worth his time. He's going to pursue this until he has satisfaction. As it is, he's probably going to sue Jay to get compliance. Let's hope you're not named, either."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Wyeth."

"I'm going to call you tomorrow to see if you have more insight into how this problem can get fixed."

"Maybe I'll still be alive to take your call."

I don't like getting mad at old women- generally they have enough problems- but she hadn't been much help. We glared at each other, and then I left.

On the way out of the offices, I saw Pamela. "Thank you," I called behind me.

She glanced over her shoulder. "I doubt you mean that."

"A tough case."

"Anyway, see any properties that interest you?" She pulled off her headset. "But I guess that's not why you're here."

"No." I put my hand on the door to go. "Any advice?"

"You could try finding her nephew, he usually knows what's going on."

This didn't much interest me. But I'd be polite. "Who's that?"

Pamela wrinkled her nose. "A nasty little man. Gives me the creeps. Everybody calls him Poppy."

Back in the city, I returned the van, and on my way to the steakhouse passed some guy hawking cell phone deals. I walked in the shop and signed up for the cheapest deal they had.

"I heard these things give you brain cancer," I joked, fondling the little device.

The clerk, a short black guy with sad eyes, considered the statement. "I believe that's true," he said. "I think they'll find that out, eventually."

"You're probably not supposed to tell me that."

"They want me to lie, they should pay me more."

The steakhouse was slow, the lunch rush done, the staff vacuuming the carpeting. As ever, Table 17 stood empty.

"Allison around?" I asked my waitress.

"She left you a note in case you came."

Which I opened. It said, Meet me in Havana Room.

I declined to order some food and instead got up and found the little door next to the foyer unlocked. The curved stairwell was dark.

"Hello?" I called. "Allison?"

The long room was dim, the smell of cigars lingering. No natural light fell upon the paintings, the black-and-white tile floor. A rack of dirty glasses stood on the bar. Allison sat in the farthest booth.

"Hey Bill," came her voice.

A stack of restaurant paperwork lay to one side of her, a shot glass and bottle of Maker's Mark to the other. Allison gave me an uneasy smile, embarrassed at her vulnerability. "You working or drinking?" I said.

"Drinking."

"And in private, too."

"Didn't see you last night," she ventured.

I thought about telling her about the previous evening, about Jay's appearance at the basketball game, about the lawsuit. "I was detained."

Allison smiled. "Against your will?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

But she didn't believe me. "Well, I think I've been stupid," she announced. "Silly and stupid."

"Jay?"

"Yes. I mean, I probably hoped too much, you know?" She pushed at her shot glass. "He came over last night- I said I'd make a late dinner, like ten-thirty- have a nice evening. So I left here about nine. And he showed up, just what you'd expect."

This meant, I realized, that Jay had left the basketball game straight for Allison's apartment, and maybe not because he'd seen me or H.J.'s men looking for him.

"He stayed in the living room while I made dinner and I saw he left his briefcase in the kitchen with me, and-" She shrugged. "It had papers in it, you know, interesting stuff."

"You couldn't help yourself."

"I know it was wrong. But I sort of saw his date book in there, his schedule, and I opened it." She lifted the shot glass and knocked back the last half inch of whiskey. "I was just curious, hoping to kind of know him better, that's all. He never tells me anything."

"Unlike the other guys."

Allison nodded. "They tell me too much."

"Every human relationship has its power structure."

"Well, Jay has too much power."

"You like that?"

"It bugs me."

"And excites you."

"How did you know?"

"How could I not?"

Allison nodded. "Well, it bugs me mostly. Now, I mean."

"What does he want from you?"

This stopped her. She looked up. "I have no idea."

"Does Jay ask you questions? Does he want to know things about you?"

"Like what?"

"Well, Allison, if I were romantically involved with you-"

"Which would really not be in your best interests."

"— I'd ask why is it that you work so hard when you don't have to, and why you actually live in the same place where your father lived, and why is it that you never mention your mother, or where you grew up, or if your father remarried, or why you are so loyal to Lipper even though you pretend to be annoyed by him, and let's seethose are just the ones off my head- and all right, why are you so chronically dissatisfied when actually it might be that it's yourself you are hardest on, and-"

"Stop."

"— and then I'd ask isn't it true that you want to be known and yet are afraid as to what will happen if you are, afraid someone will reject you when they see the truth, so you fill your head with the exhausting swirl of people and work so that you never-"

"Stop! Please. Please, Bill!"

"Okay."

"That was a little bit cruel."

I couldn't disagree.

"But it shows something…" she mused, pouring another glass.

"It shows I interrupted your story."

"What was I- oh, the date book! I wasn't suspicious or anything. But okay, it was sneaky and wrong. He was watching the news, didn't notice at all. I spent five minutes looking at the thing. Shameless." Allison's eyes brightened wickedly. "Practically memorized it."

"Was it busy?"

"Well, it had all the usual stuff, like going to the dentist, take car to garage, that kind of thing, plus some other stuff…" Allison looked up, eyes brimming. "He's got another woman!"

"Nah, I don't believe that."

"He does! He's got dates with her, regular dates." She pressed a fingernail against her eyelashes. "Here I have to beg to see him and it's because- of course, hello! — he's got a regular girlfriend. He's got dates with her going back months! I flipped through every week, every single one this year!"

"What's her name?"

"I don't know! And that bothers me, too! It starts with O. He doesn't write her whole name down, just O to remind himself. Olivia or Olympia or Orgasmia or something, fuck. "