Spook

22 Tamara

Monday night:

Pop said, “Sweetness, why didn’t you let us know you and Horace are back together?”

“We’re not back together. I was gonna call you—”

“You’re sharing the apartment again. What’s that if not back together?”

“Temporary arrangement. For the holidays.”

“Claudia said—”

“You believe everything she says? Big sister knows all, tells all, can’t do no wrong?”

“Now where’s this anger coming from? You think we favor Claudia?”

“Well, don’t you?”

“Of course not. If that’s why you resent her—”

“Only times I resent her is when she tries to run my life.”

“She helped you make peace with Horace, didn’t she?”

“What I mean, Pop, what I mean! All she did was make things harder on me.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“Looking to make my decisions, thinks she knows what’s best for me. Ever since we were kids.”

“And you’re saying she’s never been right?”

“Sure she has, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point? You haven’t always made the right decisions on your own, you know.”

“You gonna start in on all the crap I put you and Ma through when I was a teenager? My rebellious years?”

“No. Ancient history.”

“Uh-huh. Claudia doesn’t think so. Still harps on it sometimes.”

“Well, she’s not perfect either. Nobody is.”

“Close to it, though, huh? No rebel in that child.”

“Didn’t think there was any left in you. Was I wrong?”

“I’m my own woman, Pop. That’s what I’m trying to get across.”

“I know it. Don’t you think we want you to be independent?”

“Sure, when you approve of what I’m being independent about.”

One of the famous Corbin sighs. “Let’s not go any more rounds tonight, Tamara. I’m tired, you’re tired, we’ll just end up saying things we’ll both regret. It’s almost Christmas, let’s have some peace in the family. You are coming down on Christmas Eve?”

“Tradition. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Horace, too?”

“Both of us. We already talked about it.”

“Okay, good. Just tell me how you want us to handle the situation.”

“What situation?”

“You and Horace. As a couple? Friends? What?”

“Well, we’re still sleeping in the same bed for now.”

“For now. What about next month?”

“He’s leaving for Philly on the fourth.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“I can’t answer it. Not yet.”

“... All right. Promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Good behavior on Christmas Eve. No arguments, no hassles.”

“Me spoil the party? Hey, Pop, don’t worry. I’ll be your sweetness, a perfect little lady. Just like Claudia.”

Monday night.

Claudia said, “Well, what was I supposed to tell Pop? You did move back in with Horace. That’s getting back together in my book.”

“Not mine. Just means we’re fucking again.”

“For God’s sake. I hope you didn’t use that language with Pop.”

“He knows what the word means.”

“Why do you have to be so vulgar?”

“Why do you have to be so tight-assed?”

“You’re twenty-five, an adult — act like it.”

“Yes, Ma. Okay, Ma.”

“Sometimes... I think you actually hate me.”

“Wrong. No hate for anybody in this girl.”

“Resent me, then.”

“That’s what Pop thinks. Told him only when you try to boss my life.”

“I’ve never tried to boss your life.”

“And when you pretend you don’t and never did.”

A Claudia sigh. Little softer, little more drawn out than one of Pop’s. Two of them ought to do a duet, get Horace to play accompaniment on his cello. “Sonata of Sighs in D Flat,” something like that.

“Tammie, you know I care about you—”

“Don’t call me Tammie. I hate that fool name, knamean?”

“Knamean. That’s another thing. Street slang, ebonies... half the time you talk like somebody from the projects.”

“That what you think I am? Ghetto stereotype?”

“I know you’re not. I just wish—”

“What, sistah? That I’d talk white folks’ talk like you?”

“I don’t ‘talk white folks’ talk,’ I speak correct English. There’s a big difference.”

“Is there? Yeah, well, it’s whitey’s world and you just trying to get along.”

“That’s right,” Claudia said, “it is still whitey’s world. But it’s changing, and I’m trying to do what I can to help. By working within the system.”

Lawyer talk now. “And I’m not, that what you’re saying?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I respect you, the way you’ve turned your life around. I just want you to fit in—”

“Turned my life around. Fit in. Whoa, girl. Way over rap. Off da hook!”

Sigh. “Are you going to act like this on Christmas Eve? Spoil the holidays for the rest of us?”

“Just like Pop. Same worry out your mouth.”

“What answer did you give him?”

“Gonna be a perfect little lady, just like you.”

“I hope you mean that. Are you bringing Horace?”

“Are you bringing the oreo?”

“Brian is not an oreo! Stop calling him that. He’s a good man, a brilliant attorney, and you’d better get used to him. You’re going to be seeing the two of us together for a long time.”

“Don’t tell me that silky dude proposed to you?”

“Not yet, but he will. Soon.”

“Thinking on a big wedding, huh? The whole nine yards?”

“I’d like a formal wedding, yes.”

“Whoo. You in a white dress, Brian in a tux — be just like watching a glass of milk and a big old cookie exchanging vows.”

“... God, Tamara, you can be a bitch sometimes!”

“Guess who I learned it from, big sister.”

Monday night.

Horace said, “Why do you act like that with your family?”

“What, you eavesdropping on me now?”

“You were talking loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“Don’t you be ragging on me too.”

“I’m not. I’d just like to know why you can’t get along with your family, why every conversation has to turn into a sniping match.”

“Always my bad, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. Better stay on your own side the bed tonight.”

“So now it’s my turn to get chopped.”

“Tomorrow night, too.”

“Dammit, woman. Did you mean what you said to Claudia and your father?”

“Mean what?”

“We’re not really back together, all we’re doing is sharing a bed for the time being.”

“Well, duh. One day at a time, like you said.”

“I know what I said, but I keep hoping...”

“That I’ll change my mind? Marry you, move back east?”

“Marry me at least. Would that be so bad?”

“Wouldn’t be so good.”

“What about the promise you made me?”

“What promise?”

“At Claudia’s. That you won’t give up on us.”

“If I’d given up, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“But you won’t make any kind of commitment.”

“Like the one you went and made all by yourself?”

“Baby, it wasn’t a choice between you and my music—”

“No? You gonna leave your cello behind when you go?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Same way I feel about my job.”

“It doesn’t have to be us or our careers, one or the other, all or nothing. Why can’t you believe that?”

“ ’Cause I stopped believing in fairy tales when I was six years old.”

Tuesday morning.

Sad and lowdown when she got to the office. Still on edge, too, so it was a good thing the boss man was planning to be out most of the day, business interview and Emily’s school pageant, and Jake Runyon wasn’t back from Mono yet. She might’ve gone off on one of them for no good reason, the way she kept doing lately, make herself feel even worse.

Quiet in there, sitting at her desk. Gave her time to scrape around inside her head, take an objective look at what she found. Didn’t like it much, but there it was and might as well admit it. Person she was really upset with, person who’d needed bitch-slapping all along, was herself.

Pop, Ma, Claudia, Horace, Bill... they all cared about her, wanted good for her. So why did she keep fighting and ragging on them, keep turning into the angry smartmouth like some black-sister Jekyll and Hyde? Oh, they were always so sure they knew what was best, wouldn’t let her be her own woman, live her own life her own way. Only problem was, sometimes she ran a little scared. Felt insecure, vulnerable. Didn’t know what she should do, didn’t feel sure of herself, needed help figuring out what was best for her. Purely hated being dependent on anybody, but those times she just had to reach out. That was why she’d moved in with Claudia when she left Horace, why she’d let him take her to bed last Friday night, why she’d moved back in with him so quick and easy. Why she drove down to Redwood City every few weeks to spend time with the folks. What she partly was, like it or not, was a woman who didn’t want to be alone, needed somebody close to lean on. Only she couldn’t just lean, uh-uh, not her. The more dependent she became, the more she started hating herself, and blaming other people for her insecurity, and before she knew it she’d lapsed right back into her old ’tude.

No big insight here, she thought ruefully. She’d let herself see clearly before, made vows before to own up and change her ways. But just when she’d make a start in the right direction, something would happen and she’d handle it wrong, words coming out her mouth without going through her brain first, closing off and lashing out at the same time. Like the other day when Pop came to the office, Friday night at Claudia’s, the three conversations last night.

Better stop treating everybody like an enemy, girl. Hang on to family, friends, learn self-control, or else you’re really gonna end up independent one of these days — gonna end up all alone.

The little slap-talk with herself made her feel better. When Jake Runyon called a few minutes later, to let her know he was on the road and expected to be in the office around one o’clock, she made an effort to be nice to him. Told him again what a good job he’d done up in Mono County. The stroking didn’t have much effect; all he said was “Thanks” and “See you later.”

She did some work, managed to lose herself in it. But then, around ten, the phone rang a second time. And her mood went sour again.

Breathing. Heavy breathing.

Oh, yeah, that was all she needed now. A perv.

Still breathing. She didn’t wait for any more, didn’t say anything, just slammed the receiver down.

Phone rang again a few seconds later. She ground her teeth, made herself answer it cool and businesslike.

Same jerkoff chump, breathing like a pig at a trough. But then a raspy voice said, “Don’t hang up.”

“Well, don’t be panting in my ear. Something I can do for you?”

She expected an obscene answer and got ready to slam down even harder, bust his eardrum. But he surprised her. He said angrily, spewing the words, “What’s the idea siccing the cops on me?”

“Huh?”

“Can’t leave a man alone, always after him, never a minute’s peace. Everybody, my wife, the IRS, cops, you people, the bastards you’re working for. Who are they? Who hired you?”

Man! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know, all right. Don’t give me that crap, I’m not taking any more bullshit from anybody.”

“Who is this?”

“You know who I am. Sicced the cops on me. All those years, nobody did anything about it, everything went to hell, whose fault is that? Not mine. Goddamn you people, not mine!”

“Robert Lightfoot? Thomas Valjean?”

“Smart bitch, don’t play games with me!”

That made her lose it. She said, “Drop dead, asshole,” and hammered the receiver into its cradle, damn near broke it. Next thing she did was open her purse, find the high-frequency whistle Pop had given her years ago. Chump called a third time, she’d huff and puff and really bust his eardrum for him.

But he didn’t call again. The phone stayed quiet.

Well, all right. Must’ve been Valjean; Lightfoot talked with a slur because of his stroke. Why hadn’t the cops arrested Valjean by now? Insufficient evidence, probably. Report the call? Not much point. He hadn’t said his name; she was just guessing and the police couldn’t act on guesswork. Boss man had drummed that into her head enough times, hadn’t he? But if he called again...

Meanwhile, back to work. She started preliminary work on a skip-trace for Abe Melikian, a hard-luck bondsman who called the agency whenever one of his lowlife clients jumped bail, which seemed often enough to put most bondsmen out of business or at least make them think twice about who they posted bond for. Routine stuff. Interesting when she was in the right mood, boring when she wasn’t. Boring today.

An hour’s worth of the routine was all she could stand. The only good thing about the hour was that the phone stayed silent. For no damn good reason, she surfed Philadelphia on the Net. Fifth largest city in the country, population 5.8 million... too many people in one place. City of Brotherly Love. Yeah, right. Well, they did have an African-American heritage museum, and Philly’s Quakers had been active in the abolitionist movement and the underground railroad, so the brotherly love thing had some history anyway. Liberty Bell and Freedom Hall. University of Pennsylvania. Home of the Eagles, Phillies, 76ers. And the Philly Cheesesteak sandwich, just what she needed to help keep her weight under control. Average winter temperature of 33 degrees... terrific.

Lots of stuff on the plus side, she supposed, but too many minuses if you were a West Coast woman, a San Francisco woman, a snow-and-freezing-cold-sucks woman. Yeah, and a 49er fan like Pop and Bill and everybody else she knew on this side of the Bay. Root for the Eagles? No way.

Horace could adapt to life back there, sure. Horace didn’t care about football or the weather or anything much except classical music. (And me, she thought, don’t forget me.) But this child? Shrivel right up and die in a snowbank the first winter.

She sighed. And then grimaced because the sigh sounded just like one of Pop’s. Wall clock said it was almost noon. She shut down her Mac, put on her coat, locked up, and went out to lunch.

Tommy’s Joint on Van Ness, treated herself to their buffalo burger. Some treat. Tommy’s specialty had always been one of her favorites, but she just wasn’t hungry today, couldn’t even eat half of it. Raining again when she came out, and she’d forgotten to bring her umbrella. Figured. She was dripping by the time she got back to the office.

Inside she hung up her coat, squeezed out her scarf and hung that up too. On her way to her desk, she heard the door open behind her. She thought it was Jake Runyon, took another couple of steps without turning. Next second she heard hard, quick footfalls coming up behind her, metallic objects rattling and clanking together, and that was when she started to turn—

Something cracked against the side of her head, something solid that brought a sunburst of pain and confusion and sent her sprawling headlong across the floor.