Laura Lippman - Another Thing to Fall

“Locust Point isn’t exactly murder central. I won’t speak to your Oedipal issues.”

“Thanks,” Flip said. “That puts you in the minority, unfortunately. Everyone else feels very free to speculate on my ‘issues’ – Ben, Lottie, columnists for Variety . Anyway, I talked the network down. For now. We’ve agreed we’ll put up a reward for information leading to Greer’s killer and we’ll have a memorial service Sunday. By the way, when that rolls around, make sure Selene wears something appropriate.”

Tess hadn’t expected this. “I’m still on that detail? After what happened?”

“I’ve got no issue with your job performance, I just wish you could dial the sarcasm down a notch. The way I see it, I set you up by not telling you what a devious little bitch she is. I should have been straight with you, not try to play you. Besides, someone on the production was killed. Now we have even more reason to guard our precious little Selene, right?”

Tess grinned. She liked Flip’s conniving streak when it wasn’t directed toward her.

“I hate her, I wish I didn’t have to work with her, but she may be my only hope for getting a pickup. From now on, don’t eat or drink anything that she’s had access to. In fact, if she offers you an aspirin from a sealed bottle, be skeptical. She’s evil.”

“She’s twenty . And not exactly a criminal mastermind.”

“She’s precocious, and she’s got great instincts. Probably what makes her such a good actress.”

“Actor, I thought. We’re supposed to call them actors.”

“You’re a quick study, Monaghan.” He raised his water glass in salute, and Tess was almost flattered – until she realized that was his intention. He was still playing her. Then again, she wasn’t being completely honest when she told him she wasn’t interested in Greer’s death. Oh, she wouldn’t interfere in the homicide investigation. But, as she interpreted her role, she now had free rein to figure out what was happening on set – and whether it was a coincidence that Selene was in New York the night that Greer was killed. She would need backup, of course. But at the prices she was charging Hollywood, she could more than afford it.

That got out of hand fast.

What was that from? Something, something recent, seen on the cable with Marie, the two of them drowsing on the sofa together, too tired to stay awake, yet not wanting to retreat to the bedroom. It was like that game he and Bob had once played, dropping a line of dialogue into conversation – something deceptively ordinary, no smell-of-napalm-in-the-morning, no offers-you-can’t-refuse, nothing instantly recognizable. Anyone would know those lines. That got out of hand fast. Did anything about that strike you as unusual? This shit just got serious .

He thought he was doing pretty well, all things considered, until he reached for his coffee and the cup slipped from his hand and into the saucer – not enough of a fall to break the heavy cup, but coffee sloshed everywhere, irritating the waitress who had to mop up the spill.

“I shouldn’t be drinking caffeine so late in the day,” he said, hoping to make a joke of it.

“You’re having decaf,” she pointed out.

“So I am. May I have a refill?”

She stood over him, holding the orange handle that signified the decaf pot, looking as if she wasn’t sure she was going to grant his wish, as if he had no standing to ask for anything, even something as small as a refill, and he was reminded of the very person, the very thing, he did not want to remember.

“Please,” he said at last. It was several minutes before he trusted himself to raise the cup to his lips.

She had been so young. It had been easy to lose sight of the fact when she was a disembodied voice – on an answering machine, picking up the phone in the production office. She was young, not that much older than the teenagers he used to teach. He should have been able to bully her, use his age and gravitas to his advantage. And for all her bluster, she was scared of him, at first. Then something had switched, and she had the upper hand. How had he betrayed his uncertainty, his desperation?

You have to pay attention to me, he had said. You have to acknowledge me. A small word, a small thing. But she had shaken her head. “You’re wrong, it never happened. I’ll swear you’re lying. Besides, it doesn’t work that way.” Kept repeating these things, in fact, over and over again. It doesn’t work that way. In that moment, she reminded him of every customer service representative with whom he had ever quarreled, every bureaucrat on North Avenue, every medical professional and insurance company employee who had refused to authorize certain treatments for Marie. It doesn’t work that way. As if they were talking about immutable laws of nature, instead of man-made rules and systems. Didn’t this girl see that her very existence was proof that things did work that way? If there was room for her – young, barely out of school, with no discernible talent for anything – then there must be room for anyone. He said as much. She continued to shake her head, increasingly sure of herself, smug. The power had shifted. It doesn’t work that way.

And she had pushed him. Don’t forget that. She had pushed him, tried to rush past him, and he had grabbed her arm.

Later, standing at the water’s edge, he regarded the bloody bat in his hand. It was no ordinary bat, but one inscribed TO FLIP JR., A “FLIP” OFF THE OLD BLOCK – BARRY. Oh dear, it must be from The Natural, a gift from Levinson to a little boy, probably no more than ten at the time. Had Redford held this bat? Or, at the very least, Joe Don Baker?

He had stood at the water’s edge longer than he should, summoning the will to toss the storied bat, something he would have loved to own, once upon a time, even twenty-four hours ago. He had to tell himself that no one of note had touched it, that it was probably just a leftover prop, something that otherwise would have been thrown away. Why, he wouldn’t be surprised if the bat had never been in the movie at all. They had probably purchased them in bulk and given them away, telling the same lie over and over.

Still, he clutched it, realizing that his cynicism about the business had come too late to save him. Too late to turn back now. Was that a line of dialogue? It should be.

He threw the bat as far as he could, surrendering his piece of Hollywood history, with absolutely no regret.

Would someone please tell Selene Waites that girls-gone-wild is so five minutes ago? The very wobbly demi-star was glimpsed leaving the SoHo Grand in what she obviously considered the middle of the night – that’s 11 A.M. to you poor slobs with normal jobs. Clutching a Starbucks cup that was almost larger than she was, she jumped the cab line without an apology – or a tip for the doorman who hailed it for her, unless you consider a glimpse of lime green La Perla undies a tip. Hotel types insist that she wasn’t registered, and we believe them. But we also know that Derek Nichole, who has taken a very proprietary interest in the rising star – all professional, of course – is staying at the SoHo Grand and was seen with Selene just last night in the hotel’s bar. Of course, the semilegal blonde was drinking Shirley Temples. (Ginger ale, cherry grenadine, and a shot of vodka chased by Red Bull – that is the traditional recipe for a Shirley Temple, right?)

– From an Internet gossip column

“Gawker Stalker”

Selene Waites, lurching around Penn Station, trying to find the first-class waiting room. Very pretty in person, but scary thin, and her clothes looked as if she had slept in them, assuming she had slept at all. Shot video of her on my cell and posted it to YouTube.