Invasion of Privacy (31 page)

32

"BOB WAS IN THE TRUCK. HE NEVER CAME INTO THE studio. I’m telling you what happened!" Matt paced around the kitchen. Nina stood with her back to the sink, leaning against it for support. Andrea still sat at the table, watching them, her eyes stricken.

"His hat just floated off his head and into Terry’s studio," Nina said. "He never goes anywhere without that hat. How can I believe you?"

"He took mine in the dark. I put his on because it was cold and I wasn’t going out without a hat."

"I’m sorry," Nina said. "I just don’t believe you. You’re protecting him. You’re both lying."

"How could he lie about something like this? Didn’t he tell you he barely made it past the gate before I got him?"

Nina thought back. Bobby had spoken quickly, pouring it out, blurting, trying to explain. She allowed herself a small, frail hope. She hoped Matt left the hat in Terry’s studio. She hoped Matt killed Terry, because Matt was a man and Bobby was still a boy. Matt might survive this. Bobby wouldn’t.

"I’m going to get Bob up," Nina said. "Ask him. This can’t wait."

"Hang on," Andrea said. "You can’t just drag him in here and start cross-examining him."

Nina said. "I have to know, Andrea. How can we do this?"

"Let me get him," Andrea said, moving toward the door. "And both of you keep your mouths shut when I get back."

"I’m not lying," Matt said to Nina. "You’ll see."

But Nina had nothing to say to him. She pulled out a chair and put her head in her hands.

A moment later Andrea came out gently guiding Bob, who blinked and rubbed his eyes. Andrea said, in a voice so soft it would fit right into his dream, "Now let’s get that glass of water." She went to the sink and got him some water, while Bob sat down on the chair next to Nina, half awake, half asleep, in a state of unreality, a child in pajamas in the alien light of a late-night kitchen.

"I’ll take you right back to bed," Andrea said, her voice soothing as a lullaby. "Oh, sweetie, where’s your hat? Did you forget your black hat?"

He yawned and half closed his eyes, reaching a hand up to his head. "I lost it," he said.

"Do you remember where you lost it?"

"I put it on the hat rack. Then it was gone," he said, and took a sip of water. "I need a new hat," he added. The water was reviving him.

"We’ll get you one," said Andrea. "What kind do you want?" She took his arm, easing him out of the chair.

"Another No Fear. Mom knows the store that sells it." He leaned over his mother, falling groggily into her arms. "G’night, Mom." He kissed her on the cheek and Andrea led him back to bed.

"Satisfied?" Matt said.

Andrea came back. The clock in the living room chimed one o’clock. She said, "Tomorrow’s another day. We’ll decide what to do then."

"I’ve got a trial starting up in one week, and now I know my client didn’t do it," Nina said. "Ethically, I have to talk to the district attorney’s office right away. They’ll dismiss the case—"

"And arrest Matt," Andrea said, as if Matt wasn’t sitting there, listening.

"It was self-defense! Matt can explain—"

"He doesn’t have any corroboration," Andrea said. "He didn’t come forward. They won’t believe him. They’ll arrest him. He’ll go to jail."

"I can get him out on bail—"

"Like Kurt, right? What if he’s convicted of manslaughter? Sent off to some penitentiary?"

"We can’t leave Kurt in prison either. You have no idea what it’s like for him!"

"You’d rather Matt was in there than him?" Nina had never seen Andrea like this. She was still wearing the soft flowery dress she had worn to dinner, but there was nothing soft about her now. She was standing behind Matt, her hand on his shoulder. Nina had the feeling that she wouldn’t hesitate to do anything necessary to defend Matt.

"Of course not! Jesus, Andrea!" she said.

"They’ll call Bob as a witness. Maybe they’ll look at the hat thing too. Maybe they won’t believe him. You didn’t. And you’re his own mother." Her voice rose. "Don’t you dare hurt Matt!" she cried.

"Stop," Matt said, squeezing her arm, his eyes on Nina. "No more," he said. "Nina is going to have to decide what to do."

Andrea put her head down close to Matt’s. She began to sob.

"I’ll help you, Matt, defend you...." Nina said, ready to break down herself

He reached over and stroked his wife’s head. "I never meant to keep it from anybody. It’s just that—I feel like the same person. The one from before I killed someone. Every day that went by with Scott in jail in my place—believe me, Nina, I’ve suffered too. I planned to tell you before he took a plea or went down. You believe that much, don’t you?"

"Of course."

"I’m ready to face whatever has to happen next."

"What do we do, Matt? Help me. Don’t give me this responsibility."

"I don’t know," he said. "I thought of packing up Andrea and the kids and going away to some new place. But they’d probably find me, and we’d be afraid all the time. I thought about killing myself. I don’t want to do that to my kids. I’m in your hands. I know I can trust you, Nina."

"Let’s go to bed, Matt," Andrea said, tugging a little at his sleeve. Nina thought, she wants to get away from me. I don’t blame her. He got up without another word and went to the door. Nina saw the look of melancholy resignation on his face before he turned away.

As soon as Matt had left, Andrea went over to Nina and whispered, her face white, "It’s your fault. You got him into this, by not telling Bob about his father in the first place. You made Bob vulnerable, and Matt was only trying to help you when he followed him. Now you take care of it. Whatever it takes, do you understand?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Nina said again.

"You’re the big-shot lawyer. You figure it out," Andrea said. "Family comes first. You hear me? Protect your family, like Matt protected Bob."

By one A.M., "Hollywood Hijinks," the midnight show at Caesars, had hit its stride. Paul had slept so much at the hospital that he couldn’t lie down in his room, so he’d come down to see what was shaking in the main ballroom.

About thirty girls were shakin’ right now, all flounce and feathers and sequins, most of the costume on their heads. They were all young, thin, and enthusiastic, with small, naked breasts. A lounge lizard fronting the dancers sang "At the Copa ... Copacabana ..." Paul was fairly sure the Copacabana was far from Hollywood, but it was a fine song for the girls to strut their stuff, and he had a table close to the scenery.

The third girl from the left was giving him a special smile—he was sure of it—and she was a knockout, with legs like long, tan carrots—no, not carrots, that didn’t do them justice—like the slender glass vases that held a single rose—that was better, but still not very good, he was lousy at similes ... She definitely was trying to catch his eye. He held his hand on his heart, then pointed to his watch, gesturing the message that he’d wait for her after the show.

Another blinding smile, while she made a kind of hula move with the other girls. The loud music, the shifting lights, the dancing girls, and the Jack Daniel’s made him feel almost like his old self. He rubbed his head gingerly where Nina had beaned him with that rock.

Lately he had been feeling somewhat insecure, wondering if Nina was in love with her killer client. He’d seen Scott kissing her, and her willing welcome of it up there on the trail; Nina’s head fallen back with the satiny hair almost touching the ground, her eyes closed, her white throat offered, her full soft lips murmuring sweet nothings, or case citations, who the hell knew....

The show ended. Paul made his way backstage, thinking the last time he went backstage he’d gotten into a lot of trouble. The bouncer at the dressing room door gave him the evil eye, but he said, "I’m expected," and the guy let him peek inside so he could wave at her.

Thirty sumptuous women chattered and laughed, getting dressed, combing their hair, flesh, flesh, divine female flesh ... without the blue headdress he would never find her—

"Hello, Paul," Doreen Ordway said, back in her miniskirt, with a delicious smile that thrust her rosebud lips his way. "Remember me?"

"Uma Thurman," Paul said. "Nicole Kidman." Streaked hair, low-slung ... oh, yes, he remembered her well ... "Great show."

"Silly," she said, patting her hair, pleased. "I’m dying for a drink. Shall we go?"

"I’ll have a double kamikaze," Doreen said when they were settled at the small glass-topped table in the bar next to the casino area. "No time to waste."

"A margarita," Paul told the waiter. "No salt."

"Marnagrita," Doreen said, and giggled. "That’s what they’re called after midnight."

"Ha, ha. So ... your husband around?"

"Of course not!" she said. "He disapproves of my dancing. But the money’s good, and we need it. My friend Ginny lives in Minden, not far from the ranch. She’s driving tonight. She’s over at the blackjack tables. She loses as much as she makes. Anyway, we go home at two-thirty. Are you staying at Caesars?"

"Right upstairs," Paul said. She looked up at him, flapping her lashes, flirting like any woman with an hour left to get drunk and laid before she had to get home. "Hard work, dancing."

"It is hard. Try kicking your leg higher than your head while wearing a pair of high heels. I take ballet lessons and lift weights twice a week."

"Does your husband mind, you know, the costume?"

"He’s never seen a show," Doreen said. "He doesn’t know I go topless. He’d never leave the ranch if he didn’t have to go to the cattle shows."

Their drinks arrived. Doreen’s glass was a black-and-red volcano. His glass looked big enough to dive into. She drank as if straight off a parched desert, and said, "So you liked the show, darlin’?"

"You were great. To be honest, I couldn’t take my eyes off you."

"I noticed." A little late, Paul held up his glass and said, "To beautiful dancers," winning another melting smile. "So you don’t mind having to earn a second paycheck for the family?"

"Oh, I love it. I get out of the house, away from the little ones, come up here three times a week where it’s so exciting, and I get to dance—I don’t mind it at all."

"It’s kind of surprising, the ranch not being all that profitable. Mike has a fine reputation as a rancher, I’ve heard—"

"Michael. We’re damn near bankrupt, Paul. He overpays the hands and refuses to take any risks. He’s got us so deep in debt we’ll never climb out." Her foxy little face turned sullen. She upended her volcano again.

"Could he sell out, do something else?"

"Are you kidding? It’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do, and he’s lousy at it. Paul, there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did your associate take anything with him when you left our house?"

"Why, that would be theft," Paul said.

"I’m just curious," Doreen said. "Some of my little things are missing."

"The handcuffs?" Paul said. "Do you like cuffing, or getting cuffed?"

"Would you like to find out, darlin’?" Paul considered this proposition. She finished off the drink and ordered another one.

"It’s a thought," he said at last. "My associate shouldn’t have taken anything. I have them up in my room. Perhaps I should just run up and get them. But on the other hand, I like having them. I can picture them on you, and you’re not wearing as much as you do in the show, either. Or maybe I should give them to your husband," he said. "I mean, if he doesn’t already, maybe he ought to know just how naughty you are."

"Don’t tease me, Paul. What is it you want? To go upstairs?" She lowered her voice, leaned forward to give him a good look down her shirt, and said, "Let’s go, then. I still have an hour."

"In a minute," Paul said. "I want to know about the night Tam disappeared."

"God, you’re starting to bore me. I’m sick of talking about her. She’s been gone forever. It doesn’t change anything, that they found her."

"What’s the harm in telling me what really happened?" he said. "Then we can move on to other things." He put his hand on her leg under the table and moved it upward, until she giggled.

"Well, hurry up," she said. "What do you want to know?"

"You were with Mike and Tamara at Manny’s. It was cold and snowy outside. She threw a drink in Mike’s face—"

"Michael," she said. "He deserved it, in a way. He called her a nasty name, knowing she was already in a bad mood. She’d already had a fight with her parents. We were all pretty drunk. Like we are now." She looked at her empty glass. "He was"—a hiccup— "jealous. He still wanted her, and she knew it. It was disgusting, how she played with him. She said she was gonna go get high, and he didn’t want her to go. She got up to make her phone call, and he grabbed her arm and wouldn’t let her go. She had her drink in her hand an’ she let him have it."

"Who’d she call?" Paul said as casually as he could.

"Her connection. The new dude. She said he gave her all she wanted. I mean, I didn’t hear her, but who else could it have been? She called and then she whiffed. Michael was cryin’, so I took him out to his car and made it up to him. It was our first time. He wasn’t very good. I got out and got in my old bomber of a car and went home."

"So you didn’t stay after for two hours? Like you said in the film and in your statement?"

"Two hours! It was more like two minutes. Are we gonna go upstairs or not, baby?"

"She never mentioned who her new friend was?"

"No. Michael might have called the cops on him. She was poppin’ pills, uppers and Quaaludes to mellow out after, she told us."

Paul said, "If it was me, I wouldn’t have been able to resist going along sometime. Just to experiment."

"I never did. And neither did Michael. We weren’t invited, and we weren’t interested. We were potheads, that’s all."

"So many loose ends," Paul mused. "Another?"

"Just a single this time," Doreen said. She put her small white hand with its sharp little nails on his arm, and said, "Then take me upstairs." She hiccuped again. "Don’ you want me, Paul?" She took his hand and put it back on her thigh. She was hot as an oven down there.

"Of course I do," Paul said.