Early Autumn

CHAPTER 7

Patty Giacomin called me in April on a Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock. I hadn’t heard from her in three months.

“Could you come to the house right now,” she said.

I had been sitting in my office with my feet up on the desk and the window open sniffing the spring air and reading A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman. I kept my finger in my place while I talked on the phone.

“I’m fairly busy,” I said.

“You have to come,” she said. “Please.”

“Your husband got the kid again?”

“No. He’s not my husband anymore. No. But Paul was almost hurt. Please, they might come back. Please, come now.”

“You in danger?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. You’ve got to come.”

“Okay,” I said. “If there’s any danger, call the cops. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

I hung up and put my book down and headed for Lexington.

When I got there Patty Giacomin was standing in the front doorway looking out. She had on a white headband and a green silk shirt, a beige plaid skirt and tan Frye boots. Around her waist was a wide brown belt and her lipstick was glossy and nearly brown. Probably just got through scrubbing the tub.

I said, “The kid okay?”

She nodded. “Come in,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

We went into the hall and up the three steps to the living room. Outside the picture window at the far end of the living room things were beginning to bloom.

“Would you like a drink?” she said.

“Same as last time,” I said. “I’ll take a beer if you have one.”

She went to the kitchen and brought me back a can of Budweiser and a beer mug.

“I don’t need the mug,” I said. “I’d just as soon drink from the can.”

Somewhere in the house there was a television set playing. It meant Paul was probably in residence.

Patty poured herself a glass of sherry. “Sit down,” she said.

I sat on the couch. She sat across from me in an armchair and arranged her legs. I looked at her knees. She sipped her sherry. I drank some beer.

She said, “Was the traffic bad?”

I said, “Mrs. Giacomin, I galloped out here to your rescue. Don’t sit around and talk at me about traffic conditions.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, now that you’re here, I feel a little foolish. Maybe I overreacted.” She sipped some more of her sherry. “But, dammit, someone did try to take Paul again.”

“Your husband?”

“It wasn’t him, but I’m sure he was behind it.”

“What happened?”

“A strange man stopped Paul on his way home from school and told him that his father wanted to see him. Paul wouldn’t go with him, so the man got out of the car and started after him, but there was a policeman at the school crossing and when Paul ran back toward him the man got back into his car and drove away.”

“And Paul came home.”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t say anything to the cop.”

“No.”

“He didn’t-I know it’s corny, but I used to be a cop-get a license number, did he?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t say anything about it.”

“And he didn’t know the man.”

“No.”

We were quiet I finished the beer. She sipped some more sherry. I looked at her knees.

“Have you told the cops?” I said.

“No.”

“You figure he had some friend of his try to pick the kid up? And the friend was overzealous?”

“I don’t know,” she said. There was a little thigh beginning to show along with the knees. “He knows some terrible people. In his business he knew some very thuggy-looking people. I’m sure it was one of them.”

“Wide lapels? Dark shirts? White ties? Big hats?”

“I’m serious,” she said. “I think he knew some people on the wrong side of the law. Maybe he was on the wrong side sometimes himself.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Oh, I don’t know, just a sense. The kind of people he was with. How secretive he sometimes was.” She spread her hands. “Just a sense. Would you like another beer?”

“Sure.”

She went to the kitchen and got me one and popped the top for me and brought it to me. Then she poured herself another glass of sherry.

“Do you have a plan?” I said.

She was standing now with her legs apart and one hand on her hip looking at me. Vogue magazine.

“A plan?”

“You know, for me. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stay here with us,” she said.

“Damn,” I said. “You’re the fifth beautiful woman today to ask me that”

“I want you to guard Paul and, the truth, me too. I don’t know what Mel might do.”

“Are you suggesting that he’s capable of anything?”

“Yes. He is. I know you’re laughing at me, but you don’t know him. I’m afraid.”

She sat on the edge of the chair, her knees pressed together, her hands, one of them holding the sherry, were pressed together on top of her knees. She leaned forward toward me and moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. Vulnerable.

“You want me to move right in here and spend the night and all?”

She lowered her eyes. “Yes,” she said.

“That’s quite expensive. That means you pay me twenty-four hours a day.”

“That’s all right, I have money. I don’t care. I need someone here.”

“For how long?” I said.

She looked startled. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“I can’t stay here till the boy’s twenty-one. Guarding is a temporary measure, you know. You’ll have to find a better solution in the long run.”

“I will,” she said. “I will. But just for a little while. I’m frightened. Paul is frightened. We need a man here.”

I looked past her and at the head of the stairs, in shadow, Paul stood listening. We looked at each other. Then he turned and disappeared. I looked back at his mother.

She raised her eyes. “Will you stay?” she said.

“Sure. I’ll have to go home and pack a bag.”

“We’ll come with you,” she said. She was smiling. “Paul and I will ride along. I’d love to see where you live anyway.”

“Well, I’ve got a sports car. There’s only room for two in it.”

“We’ll take my car,” she said. “That way we’ll be safe with you. And we can stop and get dinner on the way back. Or would you like a home-cooked meal? Poor man, you probably eat out all the time. Are you married? No, you’re not, are you. I think I knew that.” She called up the stairs. “Paul. Paul, come down. Mr. Spenser is going to stay with us.” She drank the rest of her sherry.

“We can get a sandwich or something on the way,” I said.

“No. When we get back I’ll cook supper for you. No argument… Paul, come on, we’re going to get some of Mr. Spenser’s things so he can stay.”

Paul came down the few steps from his bedroom to the living room. He had on a long-sleeved shirt with pastel flowers all over it, black corduroy pants, and the Top-Sider moccasins. If anything, he’d gotten thinner since January.

I nodded at him. He didn’t say anything. His mother said, “Get your coat, we’re going to drive Mr. Spenser home to get his suitcase.”

Paul put on the same pea coat he’d had in January. There were two buttons missing. But it was too warm to button it anyway. We climbed into Patty Giacomin’s stick-shift Audi Fox and cruised into Boston. We went into my apartment, where Paul sat down with his hands in the pockets of his pea coat and put on my television. His mother told me the apartment was beautiful and referred to it as a bachelor pad. She looked at Susan’s picture on the bookcase and asked about her. She remarked that the kitchen was spotless. I put some extra clothes and a shaving kit and a box of.38 ammunition in my suitcase and said I was ready. Patty asked if I didn’t get lonely living alone. I said sometimes I did. Paul stared at a rerun of My Three Sons. She said she supposed it was easier for a man, living alone. I said I wasn’t sure that it was, but that I had friends and I was often busy. I didn’t try to explain about Susan.

On the way back to Lexington we stopped at a Star Market and Patty Giacomin cashed a check at the courtesy booth and bought some groceries. Then we went back to her house and she cooked us dinner. Steak, peas, and baked potato, and a bottle of Portuguese rose. Innovative.

After dinner Paul returned to the tube and Patty Giacomin cleared the table. I offered to help.

“Oh, no,” she said. “You sit right there. It’s a pleasure to wait on a man again.”

I looked at my watch. It wasn’t ten o’clock yet.