Part 29 (1/2)
FORTY-FOUR.
They had gone to the Old Hotel for dinner to celebrate the fact that both Ned and Saul had finished their novels. Sally insisted this was a cause for celebration. Saul had added, ”Or cause for alarm.”
”Saul, Saul, Saul, don't be ridiculous.”
”Sally, Sally, Sally, you haven't read the ma.n.u.script.”
”You look about as hopeful as my last romance,” said Jamie, stabbing the tiny fork toward Sally that she'd received with her clams and refused to surrender to the waiter when he'd cleared the plates away.
Jamie meant, of course, her last Mardi Gras Publications romance, but Sally thought the phrase quite lovely. ”My Last Romance.” Had it been a popular song at some point? Then Sally started thinking about Jamie's books and felt the alarm Saul had hardly been serious about. Sally didn't feel up to being the only person at the table who wasn't even working on a book, much less finis.h.i.+ng one, much less about to publish one.
”Haven't you finished another book?” Sally asked.
Jamie answered, ”No. G.o.d, but I only wish I had. It's one of the mysteries. I can't solve it.”
Sally frowned. ”Don't you know the solution when you start, though?”
”You mean, how it ends? Christ, no. It's boring enough as it is, but at least I have the advantage of not knowing what's going to happen so I can surprise myself.”
”But . . . how's that an advantage? I'd think you'd be on tenterhooks.” For some reason, Jamie's not knowing worried Sally. ”And what about all those loose ends?”
Jamie shrugged. ”Life's full of loose ends. Every day looks like it's been through a paper shredder. And not knowing what's going to happen is an advantage because you don't have to do all that thinking and making up family charts-you know, who belongs where and when; and you don't have to make up character descriptions and that sort of junk.”
”But, Jamie, you've got to do all that sometime.”
”Yes, but you can keep putting it off. You look shocked,” Jamie said and laughed. ”Look: you should write a book and see where it goes. You just keep writing and writing and try not to think too much. Half the writers in Manhattan have writer's block because they don't hew to that simple rule.”
”What rule? The way you put it there is no rule.”
”Well, not if you're looking at it in some Henry Jamesian way.”
Sally looked at her, utterly perplexed.
Ned came out of the stupor brought on by Nathalie, a stupor augmented by two bourbons and two bottles of wine, not to mention the grilled clams, the duck, and now this dessert of baked figs Grand Marnier, asking, ”Why Henry James? What Jamesian way?”
Jamie said, ”Don't you think he had his books all plotted out and drowning in detail before he started? All of those perfectly carved paragraphs, all of those sentences as taut as piano wire. Pluck one and it resonates, right?”
”Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean his plot was set before he started.” Ned took a bite of fig lathered in whipped cream and thought what a comfort food was, and why all of those diet books failed.
”Anyway, Sally,” Jamie went on, ”you've been around writers long enough you surely can't think there's some mysterious something about book writing. Some trick, some trick to it that maybe Saul or Ned could tell you and then you could do it, too?”
Sally's face flamed up. She had to admit to herself that that's exactly what she'd been thinking. Of course, she got defensive. ”Talent. You have to have talent.”
”Whatever the h.e.l.l that is. This dessert-wow!” Jamie went on, ”You take out your yellow legal pad and pen and just start.” Her hand scribbled in air.
”Oh, come on, Jamie.” Anxiety was building in Sally. ”A person has at least to have some idea.”
Jamie chewed her figs Grand Marnier while she looked at Sally, swallowed, and said, ”About what? I never started a book with an idea in my life. If you want to write a mystery, just start with a body draped over a gate. If it's set in England, make it a dry stone wall.”
”You make it sound so d.a.m.ned easy.”
”I didn't say it was easy, for G.o.d's sakes. Try describing a body thrown over a dry stone wall and you'll see it isn't easy. My new one begins with a dismembered body in a rowboat. Only I'm afraid I might have stolen that from P. D. James. That would be a b.u.mmer.”
”What's up with you? Or down?” Saul said to Ned, who'd slipped back into his fugue state.
”Nothing.”
”Ned can't stand ending a book. Unlike you-” Jamie pointed the little devil's fork toward Saul.
Saul just gave her a look and turned to look down into the Lobby. His chair was closest to the railing. ”I'll be d.a.m.ned,” he said. ”Guess who's here?”
”Who?”
”Who?”
”The two suits. Well, I guess that description doesn't fit anymore. They were here the other night, too. Maybe they come every night, who knows? The moving business must be lucrative.”
Ned got out of his chair to have a look at the Lobby. ”You know you live your entire life without seeing a person, and then he's everywhere. What the h.e.l.l were they doing in Pittsburgh? And there's that other guy, too. What was his name? Alfred?”
”Arthur,” said Saul, who was leaning farther over the black iron railing. ”Yeah, that's him. He's a friend, isn't he?”
Now Sally and Jamie were out of their chairs, leaning over the railing.
Jamie frowned. ”Do I know them?”
”You weren't in Pittsburgh or you would.”
”Thank G.o.d I wasn't.”
”You saw them in Swill's. In the last couple of weeks they seem always to be there.”
Now, Candy and Karl looked up, and then Arthur did. The three of them waved to the ones on the mezzanine.
”Oh, yeah,” said Jamie. ”The two goons.”
Three pairs of eyes stared at her. ”You know, hit men.”
The other three burst out laughing. Saul said, ”In the Old Hotel? Hit men? Somehow I don't think that exactly meets the Duffian criteria, do you?”
Ned sat down and ate his dessert. ”I told you yesterday, didn't I tell you, I had this feeling I was being watched, I mean all the while in Shadyside and Schenley Park. And that whole business going on in the street, the guns, the red Porsche?”
Sally and Saul had returned to their figs.
Jamie asked, ”What whole business? Wait! Are you talking about what's been on the news? Are you talking about the missing baby? You mean you were actually there?”