Honeymoon

Chapter 37

THE AD IN THE Westchester Journal said this apartment had a spectacular view. Of what, I have no idea. The front looked out on a side street in Pleasantville while the back sported a sweeping vista of a parking lot complete with the mother of all Dumpsters.

It got only worse inside.

Vinyl flooring throughout. Faux black leather armchair and a love seat that probably hadn’t seen much love. If running water and electricity constitute an “updated kitchen,” then, by golly, that’s what I had. Otherwise, I doubt that yellow Formica countertops were somehow the rage again.

At least the beer was cold.

I put down the pizza and grabbed one out of the fridge before plopping down on the lumpy couch in the middle of my “spacious living room.” It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from claustrophobia.

I picked up the phone and dialed. I had no doubt that Susan was still in her office.

“Did she follow you?” she asked right off the bat.

“All day long,” I said.

“Did she see you go inside the apartment?”

“Yep.”

“Is she still outside?”

I gave her an exaggerated yawn. “Does that mean I actually have to get off the couch and look?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Take the couch with you.”

I smiled to myself. I’ve always loved a woman who can give as good as she gets.

The window next to the couch had a ratty old roller shade that was drawn all the way. Carefully, I pulled back one of the edges and sneaked a peek.

“Hmmm,” I muttered.

“What is it?”

Nora had parked about a block down the street. Her car was gone.

“I guess she’d seen enough,” I said.

“That’s good. She believes you.”

“You know, I think she still would’ve believed me if I had a decent apartment. Maybe something in Chappaqua?”

“Is someone complaining?”

“It’s more like an observation.”

“You don’t get it. This way she thinks she’s got something on you,” said Susan. “Dressing and driving beyond your means makes you more human.”

“Whatever happened to just being nice?”

“Nora comes across as nice, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. Actually, she does.”

“I rest my case.”

“Did I mention the yellow Formica countertops?”

“C’mon, the place can’t be that bad,” Susan said.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live here.”

“It’s only temporary.”

“My saving grace. Hell, that’s probably the real reason for this apartment,” I said. “It’ll make me work faster.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“Not if I can help it,” she shot back. “Seriously, though, good work today.”

“Thank you.”

Susan gave me an end-of-the-day sigh. “Okay, it’s official. Nora Sinclair has gone backstage on Craig Reynolds. Now what?”

“That’s easy,” I said. “Now it’s my turn.”