Spinning (20 page)

“Look, D-Man, Spring is a great kid, but she’s a little too real, if you know what I mean.”

“I can honestly say that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Billie wrinkled her nose. “Kiddie movies, bedtime stories and eyes under the table are entertaining every once in a while.”

“I’m still not with you.”

“Let’s be honest, D-Man. You and I didn’t hook up the last time I came over because Spring was in the other room, right?”

It took me a second to replay the scenario. “We didn’t hook up because you were wasted.”

“Like that’s stopped you before.”

I felt offended. “It has never been like that with you and me.”

“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it, huh?”

I looked at her as though she were speaking in reverse.

She shook her head quickly. “That’s all beside the point, anyway. Listen, D-Man, I don’t do domestic and things are pretty damned domestic at your place these days.”

“Am I supposed to be apologizing?”

“No apology necessary. It’s just that things were getting kind of regular with you, me, and the kid, and I’m just saying that you shouldn’t count me in. I can help out, bring you guys food or movies, or…I don’t know, toys. But you can’t count on me to…”

“To what?”

“To do
anything
. You just can’t count on me.”

By our having this conversation, we were giving the subject more attention than it needed. “I understand. And I don’t know how long this is going to last anyway. I have a new clue in the mystery, though I haven’t figured out what to do with it yet.”

There was a knock on the door. I thought it might be Mason. “Yes?”

“Hey.” It was Laurel. “I have to get my hair done after work and since I have to be in your area, maybe I could bring some food by? Maybe seven-ish? This way you don’t have to worry about a sitter…”

“Sure.”

“See you tonight.” Laurel smiled and closed the door.

Billie waited a beat just to let me know that she’d noticed and then continued.

“You’re still looking for clues?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know that I can do this for the long run. There are times when I think I can and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that Spring has gotten to me. But really, me and a kid… forever? I need to get to work on finding somebody for Spring.”

Billie nodded. She didn’t seem convinced. Or maybe it was me who wasn’t convinced. Anyway, this wasn’t her primary concern.

“So we’re cool about this?” she said.

“Utterly cool.”

“Good. By the way, Spring showed me your prairie dog impression. Cute. Do it for me?”

“Right.”

The rest of the day brought attention I had never anticipated. I’d planned to keep my door closed all day just trying to dig my way out of the pile had there been one and staring out the window for breaks. But instead, as soon as my door would close, I would receive a knock followed by another female visitor, volunteering to bring by food or help if she could with Spring. Billie came by three times to update me on something, but I wondered if she was just curious about the other women. Laurel stuck her head in once just to wink. Other than this, nothing at work was any different.

When I arrived at the daycare, Spring was already seated on the desk laughing with Mr. Barnes, who carried his coat and briefcase, and Stephanie.

“Did I get here too late?” I said, making my way to Mr. Barnes and shaking his hand.

“Dylan, good to see you. It looks like little Spring is doing well. She’s been imitating a penguin. Said you like to take her to the zoo.”

Spring pulled her arms in, smiled at me, and then waddled around the room. Her performance was oddly reminiscent of my best prairie dog impression: first sticking her tongue out, then twisting her head from side to side. With her eyes half closed, she resembled a sleepy penguin waking up and looking for his
New York Times
. When she imitated me, she was funny.

Mr. Barnes smiled. “Dylan, you have a wonderful little girl. Yes, you are,” he said, addressing Spring and then growling like a high-pitched penguin. “Rrrrrruff. What kind of noises do penguins make?”

Stephanie interrupted. She wasn’t smiling. “Mr. Hunter, Spring says you let her draw on the walls at home. Is this true?”

I felt as though I was about to be grounded. “Not really. I have paper on the walls in various parts of the apartment, so Spring can express her creativity when the mood calls. If you know artists, then you understand how persnickety creativity can be. Look at Salvador Dali…”

“Mr. Hunter, I respect your appreciation of Mr. Dali’s art. However, we are not talking about Mr. Dali. We are talking about the discipline of a young girl armed with crayons.”

“Dylan, you and Mrs. Eckleburg need to talk, and I have an appointment,” Mr. Barnes said. “Goodbye. Bye, Spring.” He slipped out.

Spring waved goodbye to Mr. Barnes, leaving me alone and unarmed.

“As I was saying,” Stephanie continued, “Spring is too young to distinguish between drawing on the paper at home and drawing on our walls here. It will take at least an hour to remove a certain young lady’s artwork from our foyer.”

“But…”

“Mr. Hunter, she is too young to discriminate between walls with or without paper. If you would please remove the paper at home, or at least confine it to a specified area, that would be a big help.”

“Yes…”

“Is this agreeable?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I reached my hand out for Spring. “Say bye, Spring.”

Spring waved at the stern woman. Stephanie waved back, but her eyes narrowed when she looked up at me again.

We slipped outside. It didn’t dawn on me to tell Stephanie that she had no right to talk to me this way until we were already on the street. It was probably just as well. At Mason Brand, I could get pretty surly when a client tried to intimidate me and it wouldn’t be in Spring’s best interests for me to act that way here.

“Is she always like that?” I asked Spring as we started walking.

“No. Sometimes she eats peanuts.”

“Peanuts?”

She nodded.

“Now we know what to get her for Christmas.”

I wondered if I bought them now, if they would go slightly rancid by the time Stephanie ate them; not rancid enough that she could tell, but just enough that they wouldn’t go down particularly well. It was good to see that I was maturing.

Spring was obviously thinking something else entirely.

“D, how many days to Christmas?”

“I don’t know, Spring. How about if we count them when we get home?”

“D, will Mom…” Spring stopped. “Will Santa find me since I’m in New York?”

When Spring changed from Mom to Santa, I realized that, although I had experienced a day filled with activity and a semblance of normalcy, she had not. Of course she still wondered about Diane and why her mother hadn’t
come home. She had all the time in the day and night to wonder about her mother.

“Santa knows where you are. I hear he vacations just along the coast in Cape Cod. He knows the area really well.”

“Cape Cod…?”

“You’d like it. Maybe we’ll go sometime?”

“D?”

“Yes.”

“If Santa knows where I live, does he know where Mommy is?”

Tough question. Logic says yes, he knows where Diane is. But how do I address the follow-up question? “I think so, Spring.”

She reflected on the subject. “I bet she’s at the zoo. She likes the zoo. Can we go to the zoo, D?”

“Not tonight. But we can go soon. It’s just about time for snow. Would you like to see the zoo when it snows?”

“Yeah.”

She wasn’t satisfied, but I needed to change the subject in order to prepare her for this evening.

“Spring, tonight we have dinner company.”

“Billie?”

“No, not Billie, but another friend of mine. Her name is Laurel.”

Spring frowned.

“When is Billie going to come over?”

“I’m not sure. Billie is a busy woman. She works a lot. Tonight, Laurel is coming by.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her. You met her before, at the office. Do you remember?”

“No.”

“She wants to come by to see us. And she’s bringing food.”

“She’ll probably bring squid.”

“She won’t bring squid. Spring, Laurel is a good friend of mine.”

“What about Billie?”

“She’s a good friend, too.”

“Why doesn’t she come over tonight?”

“She has to work.”

“Why?”

“Please, Spring? Will you be good to Laurel?”

She wouldn’t commit.

“Please?”

I didn’t get much out of her on the way home, but I hadn’t expected much. Once she heard that Billie was not the intended dinner partner, disappointment spoiled the trip. In one way, it was good to hear that Spring liked Billie. But in another way, I didn’t want her to get attached to someone who had expressed what Billie had expressed to me earlier. Not to mention that I still had no idea how long this situation was going to last. I had managed to put off any further detective work for yet another day, but I was committed to doing it. I had to figure out what the key in the thermos did.

When Laurel knocked at the door, Spring took particular interest in answering.

“Hello.”

Spring tipped her head and stood in the doorway.

“May I come in?”

“Why?”

She had answered the door wearing her Groucho nose and glasses, and stood there staring at Laurel. I hadn’t noticed the disguise until after Laurel followed her inside.

“Hi, wow, you look great, like usual,” I said, taking Laurel’s jacket. “Do you remember Groucho from the office?”

Laurel handed a bag to me and looked down at Spring. “Hello, Groucho. Do you remember me? We met at Dylan’s office.”

Spring raised an eyebrow and waved
come on
to Laurel, leading both of us to the kitchen. Laurel did look great. She could wear duct tape and look sexy. When she leaned to kiss my cheek, I could feel her breasts press into my arm and I backed away.

“What’s in the bag? It smells great.”

“Spring, Dylan said you love squid…”

Spring mouthed the word “squid” and made a disgusted face under the nose and glasses.

“Well, I didn’t believe him. Do you like chicken gyro sandwiches?”

“If she doesn’t,” I said, “I can make her something. Do you want some wine?”

“Another Côte de Beaune?”

“How did you guess?” I said. It was not the ‘69 bottle, of course.

“I’m lucky. I’m always lucky.”

Laurel leaned against the countertop in front of me. This was a critical signal in the world of dating. While a little ambiguous between
come and get it
and simple exhibitionism, the trick for the man is to stare deep into the cleavage without becoming mesmerized and perceived as a pervert. Men figure if a woman is going to wear a cleavage-bearing shirt, then we are supposed to stare to a degree. This was the difference between a 22-year-old and me: years of experience had allowed me to perfect my technique.

“Spring,” I said, “would you…” She was gone and I looked around the place. “She can’t go far and we’d have heard if she ran out the door.”

“Maybe we should let her play for a while? Hmm?”

“Okay,” I said, removing two glasses and a corkscrew. “It’s been a long day for Spring. This was her first time back to daycare.”

Laurel tucked her elbows closer, as she leaned in. She wasn’t interested in Spring’s day. “It’s been too long, Dylan.”

I looked away. “A lot has happened.”

“Maybe we can try this again?” she said. She reached over the counter and ran a finger down my tie. “This is kind of formal, isn’t it?”

“I came from work and picked Spring up on the way. We just got…”

To Laurel, it didn’t matter where we were, what I was wearing, or what planet I was on. I saw little eyes watching, as I headed to the opposite side of the counter.

“I didn’t take you for a Gyro girl. You look like more of a Szechwan chicken girl.”

“Sometimes I do both.”

“Both?”

She whispered, “Yes, both.”

“Both, yes.” I checked the countertop for the corkscrew. “May I pour you some wine?”

The corkscrew was missing.

I checked where I thought I had put it, and then by the glasses. But with Laurel at my controls, it was possible that I had forgotten it altogether and I checked the drawer again. About the same time I completed the rotation, I saw a little hand reach onto the countertop and swipe the
one remaining wineglass. I pointed to the little hand to show Laurel.

“I don’t know where the corkscrew went… or the wineglasses. Did you see where I put them?”

“No,” Laurel said, winking.

“Well, we could always go over to the squid place. They have great wine.”