Hush Money

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

I got a call at my office the next morning from KC Roth inviting me to lunch. I figured I was safe in a public place, so I accepted. We met at the Legal Sea Foods restaurant in Chestnut Hill, and because we were early we didn’t have to wait long.

“I’ve moved back into civilization,” KC said, when she was seated across from me with a glass of white wine.

“Chestnut Hill?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Not enough dollars,” she said. “Place in Auburndale, the first floor of a nice two-family.”

We looked at menus and ordered. KC had another glass of white wine.

“I… I have to say things,” she said.

“Okay.”

“I… I’m sorry about some of the crazy things I did. Calling you up and leaving you notes.”

“No harm,” I said.

“I was just… crazy, I guess. Crazy time, you know?”

“I know.”

“And of course I want to thank you for saving me.”

“Just had to convince you to save yourself. Your ex-husband was more useful than I was.”

“Yes. Burt was there for me. Sometimes I think I made a mistake. I could be there now in a nice house with someone taking care of me.”

“You can take care of yourself,” I said.

“I didn’t do much of a job of it before,” she said.

“Your ex-husband send you money?” I said.

“Alimony.”

“Enough?”

“Enough to be independent,” KC said.

“Or dependent.”

“Sure, men always say things like that. You have no idea what it is like to have been a married housewife forced suddenly to take care of herself.”

“You’re right,” I said.

She sipped her wine. The restaurant was busy. Legal Sea Foods are always busy.

“You think I should get a job?” she said.

“I think if you supported yourself and didn’t take money from your ex-husband, in the long run you’d feel better about things.”

“I wonder if he’s seeing anyone.”

I didn’t say anything.

“He was there for me,” KC said.

“And he urged you not to misunderstand,” I said. “He reminded you that you and he had different lives to live.”

“Of course you’d stick up for him. Men always stick up for each other. The old boys’ network.”

“I’m not so old,” I said.

“Oh pooh,” she said. “You know what I mean.”

The waitress brought chowder for KC and lobster salad for me. KC took the opportunity to order another glass of wine. We each had a taste of our lunch. KC’s wine came and she had some.

“But,” she said, “I didn’t ask you to lunch to complain.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I just wanted the chance to let you know that I understand how much you’ve done for me.”

“My pleasure,” I said.

“Is he-whose-name-shall-not-be-mentioned going to be in jail a long time?”

“Ask me after his trial,” I said.

“What if he doesn’t go to jail?”

“He will.”

“But what if there’s, you know, a miscarriage of justice?”

“Then we’ll take the necessary steps,” I said.

“You’ll still be there for me?”

“It’s sort of what I do, KC.”

“But I haven’t even paid you.”

“I know.”

“What if he comes back and I still can’t pay you?”

“We’ll work it out,” I said.

“I… I just don’t think I can cope if I don’t know you’re there.”

“Where?” I said.

“You know, there for me.”

“As I said, that’s sort of my profession.”

“You mean you’re there for anyone who hires you.”

“More or less,” I said.

She was taking in more wine than chowder, which was a shame because the chowder at Legal was very good. I finished my lobster salad.

“When you were sitting by my bedside,” KC said, “after the… that awful thing happened to me, I thought maybe I might be more than just someone who had hired you to be there.”

I didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

“Part of the service,” I said.

She put her hand out and placed it firmly on top of mine, and stared into my eyes.

“God damn it,” she said, “can’t you see I love you?”

I felt like I’d wandered into a remake of Stella Dallas.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I rescued you from a bad situation. And you need to be in love with someone to feel secure and you don’t have anyone else to love at the moment, and I’m handy and you think I’m it.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” she said.

“Are you still seeing the therapist Susan recommended?”

“Drive all the way to Providence twice a week to talk about my father? I don’t think so.”

“Susan can get you someone up here.”

“You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you need help in figuring out who to love and who to trust and what you need.”

“Talk talk talk. Why can’t men ever simply feel?”

“You need help in not generalizing, too,” I said.

She stood up so suddenly that she knocked over her empty wine glass. She came around the table and threw her arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. I sat stock still feeling like a virgin under siege. Flight seemed unbecoming. KC was pushing the kiss as hard as a kiss can be pushed. I remained calm. When she broke for air she leaned her head back and stared into my eyes some more.

“I love you, you bastard,” she said. “Don’t you understand that I love you.”

“If you don’t let go of me,” I said, “and sit back down, I will hit you.”

She straightened up as if I actually had hit her, and stared at me, and began to cry. Sobbing loudly, she turned and ran from the restaurant. Everyone in the place watched her leave, and then looked at me with either disapproval (almost all of the women, some of the men) or sympathy (several of the men, one woman). My waitress remained unperturbed. She brought me the check.