Laura Lippman - Another Thing to Fall

In the bedroom, Marie was snoring. He picked up the phone, called his contact.

“Have you seen the call sheet for tomorrow?”

“Yes, only – look, I’m not sure I should be doing this anymore. Someone was killed. There’s a lot more attention.”

“I know,” he said. “But that has nothing to do with us, does it?”

A short silence, as if the question was being considered. “You had the code, to get into the building. I gave that to you weeks ago.”

“I never used it,” he said swiftly. “As you pointed out to me, access to the building wasn’t worth anything, if I couldn’t get into the offices, and you said they were always locked tighter than a drum.”

“Of course, yeah, but – you can see why I’m creeped out. What if they find out I’m the one who gives you the information about the call sheet?”

“You told me the list is set up on a bcc, so they don’t even see the addresses. Even if someone goes looking for it, they’ll just think it was a mistake, an oversight.”

“I suppose…”

He turned off the video player, and watched the CNN crawl on mute, relying on silence to get him what he wanted, an old teacher’s trick. He could bring his classes to order simply by staring at the students, back in the day, although that had gotten more difficult toward the end of his time in the classroom. The children became so hard, so mean.

A resigned sigh. “They’re going to be at Green Mount Cemetery most of the day. With both Mann and Betsy.”

“Thank you-”

“Also, there’s something else, something extra.”

“You already told me they’ll be shooting Saturday to make up for the missed day. But I don’t think I’m going to worry about that.” It was hard for him to get away on weekends. Besides, the person he needed was dead now.

“No, not shooting. Something else.”

“Yes?”

“You see, it’s extra. Outside our agreement, which covers only the information on the call sheets and other production-related e-mails. So…”

A childhood taunt came back to him – greedy guts . “How much do you want?”

“Fifty?”

The matter was open to negotiation, but he was too tired to barter. The fact was, when you were going broke, small sums became less urgent, paradoxical as that might seem. With only a few months between him and an abyss of debt, he couldn’t worry about the stray fifty here or there, especially if it led to his windfall. “Fifty it is.”

“There’s a memorial service Sunday, on the soundstage. For Greer. Everyone will be there. There’s going to be security – they don’t want any press – but I don’t think they’ll question anyone who claims to be family, and she’s got some uncles and cousins. You could blend right in.”

This was good information, although not in the way she thought. He could definitely use this. “Okay, look for an extra fifty in your pay envelope Monday.”

“I’ve been thinking – what will you do now? Without Greer, I mean. Didn’t everything depend on her?”

“You let me worry about that.”

“I might figure out a solution to your problem. I might be able to help.”

The impudence! So now it was to be a partnership – and he didn’t need or want a partner. He might not resent an extra fifty dollars here or there, but he wasn’t sharing the jackpot with anyone.

“I really don’t want you to worry. Good night, and look for your bonus, come Monday.”

The Starbucks barista seemed to know Ben Marcus, at least by sight and coffee preference, calling out his order before he reached the cash register. Hidden in a corner, Tess watched him, happy for the chance to observe an unwary Ben. He was always so on during their encounters – picking even his most sarcastic words with care. But maybe that was Ben’s way of speaking to everyone. Although she couldn’t hear what he was saying to the peppy young barista, Tess could tell from his expression that he was his usual arch self. If he was nervous about this meeting, it wasn’t apparent. Last night, when Tess had called him on her own phone for a more substantive conversation, he had been caught off guard and had even stammered in a place or two. But in the intervening nine hours since he agreed to this meeting, he would have had time to think about what he wanted to say, to shape his story. He was, after all, a professional storyteller.

He doctored his mocha with extra sugar, then plopped down in the upholstered chair opposite Tess.

“Thanks,” he said, although neither his tone nor his expression indicated gratitude. “For meeting me here, instead of the office. There’s not much privacy there.”

“Is that how Greer found out you were sleeping with Selene?”

He seemed surprised that she was so direct – and a little relieved. Ben was probably used to meetings that began with more smoke blowing and ass kissing.

“I suppose so,” he said, after a beat. “I never really knew how Greer found out. She was sneaky that way.”

“And she used the information to force you to get her – well, which job? She was promoted twice, first to the production assistant’s job in the writers’ office, then to Flip’s assistant. At what point did she play the Selene card?”

“Greer wasn’t that direct.” Ben’s characterization surprised Tess; she thought the girl had bordered on tactlessly blunt at times. Perhaps she was different with her bosses. “She asked for my help, yes, but it was never a strict quid pro quo. Look, no one cares who Selene sleeps with.”

“If that’s so, then who’s keeping the tabloids in business?”

That earned a wan smile from Ben. “I mean, no one on the production cares about Selene’s love life, as long as she shows up for work on time. Underage drinking, breaking the drug laws of this country? That makes us nervous, because if she gets busted, we’re not insured for that. But she can fuck anyone she wants to.” His own words seemed to give him pause. “As long as it’s someone or something that can give informed consent.”

Tess allowed herself the luxury of thought, of not coming back at Ben too quickly with another question. She had the same sensation that she had when speaking with Flip. She was being tricked, diverted – but from what? Alicia had suggested that Ben was Greer’s protector, and Tess was curious about that dynamic. But the fact that Ben was sleeping with Selene was of interest to her because it meant he might have information that would confirm whether Selene was the source of the problems on the set. Why hadn’t Flip asked his old friend what he knew about Selene, tried to use him as a double agent? Certainly, Ben’s loyalties to Flip and the production had to trump this – Tess groped for a noun but found none. Relationship? Fling? Soulless carnal encounter? She settled, in her head, for thing .

“No one cares who Selene sleeps with,” she repeated. “Does anyone care who Ben sleeps with?”

Bingo. He flushed, dropped his eyes to his coffee, began jiggling his foot as he had the other day.

“I would be really grateful,” he said, “if you didn’t mention this to Flip. Or Lottie, but only because she would tattle to Flip. I could give a fuck what Lottie thinks about my extracurricular activities.”

“But you don’t want Flip to know? I thought guys talked freely about such things.”

“We’ve been friends a long time, since grade school. It gets complicated. Do you have friends like that?”

Tess shrugged. Of course she did, everyone did. But she wanted Ben to keep talking, building up enough momentum to run into some inadvertent truths.

“I love the guy. Love . We’ve been there for each other all our lives. Look, he has the name, the connections, and no one can match him when it comes to the big picture for a show. But he can’t match me on the line-by-line writing. That’s just the way it is. Flip has never envied my ability to write, and I’ve never wanted to be the son of Phil Tumulty – God knows, I saw how that fucker neglected Flip through much of his childhood. I mean, yeah, I took a summer job from him when I was twenty-one – I wasn’t going to turn down my best connection in the business – but I was never blind to his flaws. Even so, it bugged Flip, that summer I worked on his dad’s last movie here in Baltimore. He considered it a betrayal. That was the last serious fight we ever had. The only one.”