Part 4 (1/2)
”Aw, come on, Alex,” he said. ”You gotta start call-in' me Frank.”
”Would you mind if I call you Jakes? You just don't seem like a Frank to me,” I said. ”Okay . . . Jakes, from what I know and what I've heard, Jackson wasn't really into relations.h.i.+ps.”
”Do you know that for a fact?”
”Know what?”
”That this superstud didn't have a girlfriend.”
”Well . . . no, I don't know it. I suppose he could have had someone on a more steady basis, but if he did I never met her.”
”Which would make her a pretty good suspect,” he added, ”if she found out about these other women.” He finished his water. ”Coffee?”
”Sure, why not?” I wanted to ask some more questions of my own.
Over creme brulee and coffee-my creme brulee; his coffee-I asked, ”Who's claiming the body?”
”Why do you want to know?”
”Just curious.”
”Well, no one so far,” he said. ”We haven't been able to locate any family. We went through his apartment and found an address book.”
”A little black book?”
”Actually, it was green,” he said. ”We've got somebody calling all the numbers, trying to identify the people attached to them.”
”Isn't that a little cold?” I asked. ”There's bound to be a relative in there, and your somebody is just going to blurt it out that Jackson's dead.”
”Well, number one, no,” he said. ”We're just trying to find out who's who. n.o.body's going to be told anything about him being dead.”
”And number two?”
”Number two, somebody in that book is bound to have been watching TV yesterday.”
”So they'd already know.”
”And maybe they knew he was dead before the show,” Jakes said. ”We'll get around to questioning the likely suspects in person. Hey, maybe we'll even find a girlfriend in there.”
”You'll probably find a lot of girls in there.”
”Is your name among them, Alex?”
”What's that mean?”
”I was just wondering if you ever played a scene with Jackson.”
”A love scene, you mean?” I asked. ”On or off the screen?”
”Hey, Alex, I'm just askin'-”
”Okay,” I said, ”when I first joined the show, we had a scene together. Our characters were supposed to have a history, so in flashback they showed us . . .”
”Showed you what?”
”We had to do a bed scene.”
”A bed scene? And this is your job? Was there any tongue?”
”Of course there wasn't any ton-Oh, shut up.”
He smirked.
”So,” I went on, hating to have to say it, ”you're right that he hit on me once, and you're right that we had a scene together . . . once.”
”Was that so hard?” he asked.
”Yes,” I said, ”yes, it was.”
”In what way was it hard, exactly?” He could barely contain himself, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I just looked at his smug but handsome face.
We finished our dessert, he paid the bill and we went outside. I'd tried to chip in, but he would have none of it.
”Off to work?” he asked.
”No,” I said, ”we don't work on Sat.u.r.days.”
”So what will happen now?” he asked. ”Will the Emmys be rescheduled?”
”I don't know,” I said. ”That's up to the network- and I guess they'll consult with the producers from all the shows. They could just hold a press conference and announce the winners.”
”Seems to me if they broadcast the show another night, they'd get big ratings, with everybody tuning in to see if another body fell from the roof.”
”Sadly, you're probably right,” I said.
”Will you go back?” he asked. ”If they call and tell you they're gonna do that? Would you go and present the award you were supposed to present with Jackson?”
I paused before answering. Would I? And if I did, would I be able to resist looking up above me for another body?
”To tell you the truth, Jakes,” I said, ”I really don't know.”
We were walking toward our cars. He had been there when I pulled in and had waited for me to get out of my car so we could walk in together. Now we simply retraced our steps.
”Have you ever won?” he asked. ”I mean, an Emmy. I'm sorry, I'm not up on these things. . . .”
”Yes,” I said, ”I've won twice.”