Part 17 (1/2)
”You make it sound like therapy.”
”That's it! That's exactly what it is.”
”But that means you're using whatever-his-name-is.”
”Don't call him that. You know d.a.m.n well what his name is. You're jealous. I can hear it in your voice. I may be your younger sister, but you should listen to me. I'm experienced in these things. Cam is treating you p.o.o.py. You know it, and I know it. You've been b.i.t.c.hing around about it for the past six months. If it wasn't for his son you would have left him by now ”
”That's not ”
”Don't interrupt. Admit it: You're more in love with the son than you are with the father! You think that's something new? It's because you would make such a good mother. You come to it naturally unlike some of us. Maybe you should take over with Eric and the kids and I'll go back to being single. I like it out there. I like it when someone notices what I'm wearing and how I smell. Can I help it?”
Carrie wanted to protest, but who could protest the truth?
Anne filled any silence handed her, including this. ”Listen, even if you don't do anything, if you just got someone interested, you wouldn't believe how much better you would feel about yourself. I know that sounds backward, but it's true. And you could use that with Cam. Believe me, you could. You let it slip. You drop a few hints. And then you find out what he's made of. If it's real between you two, then you're going to see a major att.i.tude change. If it isn't, well, then it isn't. Right?”
”I hate talking to you.”
”Then why do we do it every morning?”
”Because I love it.”
”I thought so.”
”d.a.m.n. Then I suppose I'll call again tomorrow.”
”No you won't. I'll call you. It's my turn.”
”I thought Eric was upset about the phone bills.”
”He was. He was upset about everything. But I'm happy. And when I'm happy, I put out. And when I put out, Eric's happy. And when Eric's happy he doesn't mention anything about phone bills or milk going sour or the kid's school plays. I'm telling you, kiddo make yourself happy. It's extremely contagious.”
”So you'll call me.”
”Absolutely. Besides, I want to hear how this flashy dress works out.”
”The reception! Oh, G.o.d, I'd forgotten about it.”
”No you hadn't. You couldn't possibly have. You spent a week picking out that dress.”
”What are you, my conscience?”
”I try. I'd give a million bucks to see you in that dress. To see him see you. If I were you, I'd play it up all the way. And don't talk yourself out of the high heels. They're half the outfit. And you shouldn't stop there, for that matter. What goes on, comes off it's a rule of physics like what goes up, comes down. You've got to be thinking ahead, to later in the evening. Do you have a garter belt? A nice frilly teddy and a garter belt? That works every time.”
”Are you happy?” Carrie asked, interrupting. ”I mean, do you think you're really happy, or is this all some kind of justification thing?”
”Don't criticize that which you have not tried.”
”Now you sound like Mom.”
”Speaking of whom? You think she's all lily white? Don't tell me you never saw through that bridge-club-on-Thursday-afternoons business .. .”
”You're awful! That's disgusting! I don't believe that for a minute!” She heard laughing at the other end, as only Anne could laugh, and Carrie wondered what she would do without these daily calls. ”Don't get pregnant,” she said into the receiver, and Anne laughed all the louder. ”I love you,” she added as she gently placed the phone down.
She studied the way the suns.h.i.+ne played on her nakedness, the way the tiny hairs caught the light, giving her skin a kind of glow. It had been ages since Cam had said anything nice about her body. Ages, since she had been honestly happy. Tears blurred her vision. She felt a hopeless bundle of confusion. Anne, with answers for everything. What to do about it? How to get there from here?
She stuffed her face into the pillow and sobbed. For her, answers came hardest of all.
On his desk, in the bullpen, a small stack of pink message slips awaited Daggett. On the top was Lynn Greene's name and a Was.h.i.+ngton number. He didn't look at any of the others. He had hoped for a call, just as he thought about making a call, but had never expected to find her here in Was.h.i.+ngton. He dialed. This had trouble written all over it, and yet he felt the excitement of antic.i.p.ation as the phone at the other end rang. Seconds later, he heard her voice. ”Lynn?”
”Speaking.”
”It's me. What are you ”
”We need to talk,” she said harshly, cutting him off. ”In private. Can you come downtown?”
The urgency in her voice intrigued him. Everything about her intrigued him. ”Where?” he asked. ”When?”
”You know the cafeteria at the National Gallery?”
”I thought you said private.”
”About an hour?”
”I'll be there.”
Daggett sat in the dining area of the National Gallery's subterranean cafeteria, facing the waterfall that flowed from outside in, mesmerized by it, hypnotized by its relentless song. A thin sheet of silver water flowed over the corrugated cement and collected in a small rectangular pool no wider than a flower box. It was at this moment he realized that his hearing was indeed improving, for it seemed to him he could hear all the frequencies, the percussive drumming of the body of water, the sparkling delicacy of the tiny droplets as they danced to their death. Three overhead triangular skylights admitted natural light, which explained the thriving existence of the abundance of potted plants. He pulled out his date book to make some notes, astonished to see it had been four weeks since Bernard and Backman had been killed in the explosion at National Airport. He shut the book just as quickly. Day after tomorrow was his last day to bring Pullman and Mumford evidence, or lose the case. He didn't need any reminders.
He drank some iced tea and watched the parade of tourists with their squeaky-clean running shoes and dogeared guidebooks. She was right: For such a public place, this was indeed a private spot. Like so much to do with Lynn, it seemed an excellent choice.
He saw her then: a lot of leg, linen, and a bouncing white cotton blouse. She acknowledged him with a wave and joined the beverage line. He rose for her when she approached a few minutes later, but she signaled him back into his chair. He wanted to kiss her h.e.l.lo, but she failed to offer him the chance. She took the chair opposite him and sat down.
”You look upset,” she said.
”Surprised, is more like it.”
”With my being here in Was.h.i.+ngton,” she stated. She was like that: She knew what he was thinking before he did.
”You look good to me.”
”Stick to the subject.”
”What is the subject?”
”AmAirXpress flight sixty-four.”
”What are you doing in Was.h.i.+ngton?”
”That's not the subject.”
”It is to me,” he said.