Laura Lippman - The Sugar House

“But if it’s not a bar…”

“Then you’ve lost about twenty minutes out of your life. And it’s all on the clock, right? You’re getting paid, what do you care?”

The fajitas arrived. They always reminded Tess of a magic act, the way smoke poured from the hot skillet as the meat sizzled. Once the waiter was gone, Patrick looked helplessly at the little dishes arrayed in front of him, the basket of flour tortillas.

“How do I do this, anyway?” he asked Tess.

“You must be the last person in America to eat a fajita,” Tess said, showing him how to assemble the skirt steak, pico de gallo , and guacamole in a tortilla, feeling a surge of affection. She had a sudden image of sitting opposite her father in some nursing home, pouring his Sanka and cutting his meat. It was unbearably sad to think of him that way. She was glad her father was still young, that those days were far away. She liked the relative irresponsibility of being a daughter.

“Yeah, I may never have eaten a fajita-” Patrick hit the j hard, “but there’s plenty of other things I’ve done.”

She decided not to ask for details. Maybe she didn’t want to know everything about her parents after all.

HER FATHER’S IDEA OF CHECKING THE BAR FILES WAS AS good as any she had, which was to say not very. Certainly, it didn’t seem particularly urgent when Tess rose the next morning, not as urgent as her desire for a specific kind of rush, a rush found only in one place. She hurried Esskay through their morning walk, then headed to a small, perfectly kept rowhouse not even 500 feet from where she lived.

“I need a Laylah fix,” she told Jackie Weir when she answered the lacquered goldenrod door on Shakespeare Street. “Has she eaten breakfast yet? May I take her to Jimmy’s with me?”

“She’s not eaten breakfast, but that’s not my fault,” Jackie said drily. “The kitchen is knee-deep in Cheerios and bananas. Please take her with you. Keep her for a little while, why don’t you? You can bring her back when she has a college degree.”

“Right,” Tess said. She’d hate to see what happened to anyone who dared to get between Jackie Weir and her toddler daughter, Laylah. She followed Jackie into the kitchen, noting with great glee the disorder that Laylah brought to what otherwise would be a too orderly house. She had wrought the same transformation on her just-so mother, softening the grim perfection that had been her trademark. If anything, Jackie was more beautiful these days, lipstick forgotten as often as not, her clothes decorated with juice stains and smashed banana bits.

“What brought on today’s sudden urging?” Jackie asked, wiping down Laylah’s face and then lifting her from her booster seat. They were both still in their night clothes-a pale pink sleep suit for Laylah, a red cashmere robe over what appeared to be silk pajamas for Jackie. “Did the biological clock go off in the middle of the night? Did Crow try that ‘I-want-to-have-a-baby-with-you’ crap that some men think is so sexy?”

“Please-I don’t have generic baby needs. I have Laylah needs, pure and simple. Morning, sweetie.”

“Sssser. Sssser.” Laylah held out her arms to Tess and chugged her feet, as if she could run through the air. Tess thought she might be able to. She looked like more of a person as she grew, but she still had her Puckish features, her endless delight at the world around her. People who didn’t know better were always commenting on the resemblance between mother and daughter. Their skin was the same color, a velvety dark brown that was richer, lusher than the prosaic comparisons it inspired. But Jackie’s features brought to mind Nefertiti, while Tess never looked at Laylah without thinking of an African-American Harpo in full googly mode.

And never failed to feel better for it.

“What does Laylah want for Christmas?” She asked her question sotto voce, as if Laylah might know what was going on.

“ Nothing ,” Jackie said, her voice sharp, her smile fond. “Between your mother and you, this girl is already spoiled rotten. It won’t be long before she’s presenting me with a careful list of her material needs, with links to Internet toy sites, and a cc of her e-mail to Santa. Let’s enjoy this part while it lasts.”

Laylah pulled at Tess’s braid with warm, sticky palms. She liked to pull on Esskay’s tail, too, but the dog wasn’t as easygoing.

“Whatever you say, Mom. What do you want for Christmas, by the way? You’re terrifying to shop for, your taste is so good.”

“I’d like a four-year plan that will put Baltimore schools on track before I have to start paying $10,000 a year for Laylah to go to private school, or give her a crash course in Catholicism so she can attend the parish school. I’d also like a boyfriend who’s not a spoiled momma’s boy, and peace on earth, goodwill to men. But I’ll settle for a scarf with some green in it, to go with my new suit. You?”

“Same, except for the green scarf. I could use some earrings that make me look like a grown-up.”

“Can’t be done, child,” Jackie said. “Much as it pains me to say it, some things are beyond the power of accessorizing.”

They smiled at each other over Laylah’s curly head. Tess and Jackie were relatively new friends, and the relationship had almost the same tang as two lovers might have at this six-month mark. To make it more complicated, they had met through Tess’s business, only to find out they had more in common than Tess had ever dreamed. They were still courting each other, with Tess being the one who had to pursue a little harder. Jackie had a natural reserve, she kept most people at arm’s length. She was not unlike Whitney that way. Right now, for example, Tess would have liked to make some physical contact, to squeeze Jackie’s arm or give her a hug. But it was unthinkable. So she kissed the top of Laylah’s head, hoping Jackie knew the kiss was for her as well.

“I’ll drop her off before I go to work,” Tess said. “What times does the babysitter get here?”

“Nine,” Jackie said, holding out her hand and letting Laylah grab it. “Try to keep her hat and mittens on, even if it is only two blocks from here to Jimmy’s. It’s raw this morning.”

“Okay, mommy.”

“Mommy,” Laylah said suddenly, as if it were a wildly original thought, a concept of her own invention. “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy.”

And Tess knew whatever she got Jackie for Christmas, it could never match the gifts that Laylah gave her every day.

Take Your Daughter to Work Day was still twenty years in the future the last time Tess had visited the sad little downtown midrise that housed the liquor board inspectors. It hadn’t changed at all, which was mildly disheartening. Perhaps it was simply too ugly to tamper with. Employee’s daughter or no, she followed the procedure required of all visitors, calling from the lobby and waiting for an escort upstairs.

“Your father’s out, but he told us what you wanted,” said the secretary, Marley, who greeted her. A new face to Tess, but she acted as if they were old friends. If this had been her mother’s office, Tess would have worried that her life was the office soap opera, a tale told in exhaustive detail over every lunch hour and coffee break, until everyone felt as if he or she knew her. But her father wasn’t as inclined to babble about his life.

“I have to say, from what Pat says you’re looking at, it sounds like kind of a wild goose chase.”

“You’re telling me,” Tess muttered. How many bars did Baltimore have anyway? Given the size of the files before her, it appeared there was one tavern for every one hundred citizens.