Goodnight, Irene

5

LYDIA WAS SOLICITOUS in the extreme. I was all for it at that point. After letting Cody out of his carrier to slink around exploring his new environs, she asked me if I was hungry. It dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten all day, and that I was quite hungry indeed. She sat me down at her kitchen counter and mixed a nice stiff Myers’s and OJ for me, then set about warming up some homemade lasagna, making garlic bread and tossing a salad. I offered to help.

“Oh, no, you just relax, kiddo. You’ve had a terrible day. You leave everything to me.”

The room was soon redolent with the aroma of honest-to-God Italian cooking. She still went by her ex-husband’s last name, but Lydia’s maiden name had been Pastorini. Mr. Ames had not left her because of her cooking.

I downed the drink a little faster than was probably advisable, and soon was feeling a slight buzz, my empty stomach transporting the good news straight to my brain.

Lydia paused in her salad-making dervish and looked up at me. “You know, Irene, this is the first time in a long time that you’ve let me do anything for you. I mean, I’ve done things for you, but you never turn to me when you need somebody. It makes me feel good that you called.”

I thought about this. It was probably true. O’Connor had long been my refuge.

“Well, Lydia, then I just didn’t know what I was missing. You’re the first friend who came to mind.”

She seemed immensely pleased by this. She cheerfully put a place setting before me and served the salad. It was a great mixture of vegetables-cucumbers, carrots, radishes, sprouts, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and more. Once again I was reminded that Lydia never did anything halfway. She poured a couple of glasses of a wonderful dry red wine and then pulled up a chair next to me and sat down.

“Glad to see you settle for a minute.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m turning into my mother. You hardly get Cody out of his cat carrier and I’m telling you, ‘Mangia!’”

“No complaints here.”

We clinked wineglasses in an unspoken toast to one another and drank a few sips in silence.

A few minutes later I was eating as if I still thought I’d grow taller. I paused just long enough between mouthfuls to ask Lydia how her own day had been.

“Well, I didn’t think it was so great until I talked to you about yours.” She stopped smiling for a moment, and I knew she was thinking about O’Connor. “Of course, you know how it began.”

I nodded.

“That creep Wrigley had no sympathy for anyone. We were all upset. His only concern was getting it into the headlines. Then he began to moan and groan about what was going to happen to ‘his story’-can you believe it? He was running around yelling, ‘What about my mayor’s race story?’ I loved old man Wrigley, but some days I wish to God that some outsider had bought the paper when he died. His son is such a loser.”

“So Wrigley’s worried about O’Connor’s stories?”

“Yeah. He’s going nuts about it.”

“Great!” I said. “Look, Lydia-I’ve got another favor to ask of you. I need you to drop a lot of hints to Wrigley about how I knew all about what O’Connor was working on. Then tell him I’m thinking about going to work for the Sacramento Bee. It’s all bullshit, but he won’t figure that out. If he gets nosy, I’ve got a friend at the Bee who’ll make it sound good. Anyway, don’t let him know I’m staying at your place, just tell him you might be seeing me tomorrow night. Make it sound like I’m dying to get back to reporting, but that I didn’t think I’d be welcomed at the Express, after our little, er, misunderstanding.”

At this Lydia hooted. “Misunderstanding!” She refilled our glasses, then asked, “You’re not seriously thinking of coming back to the Express, are you? I’d love it, but I figured you’d never come back. Not after the way he treated you.”

“Lydia, for a good enough reason, I’ll chew a little crow now and again.”

She studied me. “This is about O’Connor, isn’t it? You’re going to look through his papers and try to figure out who killed him.”

“Guilty,” I said. “But nobody can know.”

“It seems to me somebody already knows, Irene. That somebody who blasted out your window this afternoon.”

“Maybe. But my only chance of not living with the sensation that somebody is following me everywhere I go, or to be ducking under a table every time a car slows down in front of my house, is to find these people and figure out what, if anything, O’Connor had on them.”

We drank in silence for a while.

“You’re right,” she sighed. “But it still scares me.”

“It scares me, too. Are you really okay with my staying here? I mean, I’m obviously some sort of target.”

“Get real. As I said, I’m glad you turned to me, Besides, no one knows you’re here, and no one is going to learn it from me.”

Cody had relaxed and was walking around in the kitchen sniffing in the air. Lydia gave him a little lasagna and he devoured it in nothing flat. I helped her clean up, over protests, and then went back to her guest room to unpack my bag. In the meantime she had actually drawn a hot bubble bath for me.

“Lydia, I can’t stay here if you’re going to play Jeeves the whole time.”

“Don’t expect this treatment every day. But I think you’ll find this will help you sleep better.”

It was too tempting to pass up, so I wished her goodnight. I undressed and studied myself in the mirror before stepping into the tub. Not bad, I decided, and then felt embarrassed at my lack of modesty. The bath was great. Lydia had even put some magazines next to the tub. I picked up a Cosmo for the first time since Lydia and I had bought them in college to take the sex quizzes.

Eventually, fully pruned and getting cold, I made myself get out of the tub. I dried off, put on my pajamas, and crawled under the clean sheets. Lydia used a better fabric softener than I did. Cody climbed up next to me, and fell asleep purring. I felt good, like maybe things would come together from here.

ALL NIGHT I DREAMED of breaking glass and O’Connor picking up packages.