Vector

Chapter 7

Monday, October 18

6:45 p.m.

Jack scooted across First Avenue at Thirtieth Street just before the light turned green for the traffic heading uptown. He coasted to the medical examiner’s office loading dock and nodded to security as he carried his bike into the building. He waved to Marvin Fletcher, the evening mortuary tech, who was busy in the mortuary office getting ready for the evening’s body pickups.

After locking his bike in its usual spot, Jack got on the elevator and headed up to the second floor toxicology lab. It was later than he’d planned on getting back to the office. Going through all the Corinthian Rug Company’s records had taken much more time than he’d expected.

John DeVries, the chief toxicologist, had already left for the day. Jack was reduced to asking a night tech if the deputy chief had called about putting a rush on David Jefferson’s specimens. David Jefferson was the prisoner-in-custody death Calvin was pressuring Jack about. Unfortunately, the night tech had no idea about the case.

Back in the elevator, Jack went up to the DNA lab on the sixth floor. Ted Lynch, the director, wasn’t available, so Jack left his collection of culture tubes from the Corinthian Rug office with a technician. In the morning he wanted Ted to search for anthrax spores with the PCR.

Taking the stairs to the fifth floor, Jack ducked into the histology lab in hopes of encouraging Maureen O’Conner, the supervisor, to speed up processing Jefferson’s microscopic sections. Jack had a good working relationship with Maureen, one he didn’t share with John DeVries, but it made no difference. Maureen had also left for the day.

En route to his own office, Jack looked into Laurie’s, expecting at the very least to find out the “when and where” for the evening’s long-awaited dinner party. But Laurie’s office was dark and deserted. To make matters worse, her door was locked. Jack knew that was incontrovertible evidence that she, too, had gone home.

“For crissake!” Jack said out loud. Feeling thwarted in all directions, he grumbled under his breath as he walked the rest of the way down the corridor. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of being unavailable for the rest of the evening so that Laurie would not be able to get ahold of him. But he quickly gave up the idea. It wasn’t his style, and besides, he was genuinely curious.

Jack turned into his own office. At least Chet was still there, busily writing on a yellow legal tablet.

“Ah, the adventurer has returned,” Chet commented as he caught sight of Jack. He put down his pencil. “I guess I can cancel the missing persons report I filed.”

“Very funny,” Jack commented as he hung up his bomber jacket.

“At least you arrived back in one piece,” Chet said. “How was it out there in the field? Any attempts on your life? How many fellow civil service workers did you manage to enrage?”

“I’m in no mood to be teased,” Jack stated. He plopped himself down heavily in his desk chair as if his legs had suddenly given out from under him.

“It doesn’t sound like you enjoyed yourself,” Chet remarked.

“It was a bust,” Jack admitted. “Except for the bike ride.”

“I’m not surprised,” Chet said. “It was a doomed mission from the start. Did you learn anything at all?”

“I learned that it takes a long time to go through a company’s records,” Jack said. “Even a small company. And after all the effort, there was no payoff. In a perverted way I was hoping to find that some of the rug company’s latest shipment of Turkish hides had been sent out so I could rub the information in flinty old Clint Abelard’s face. But no soap. The whole shipment is locked up tight in the Queens warehouse.”

“At least you meant well,” Chet said with a self-satisfied chuckle.

“If you so much as whisper I told you so, I’m taking you out of my will,” Jack warned.

“I wouldn’t stoop so low as to say I told you so,” Chet laughed.

“Yeah, but I could hear you thinking it,” Jack said.

“I do have to say you were missed. But not to worry. I covered for you. I used your old quip about that group of nuns you’ve been expecting. I said they’d come to town for a bowling convention, and you’d stepped out to welcome them.”

“Who was asking for me?”

“Laurie for one,” Chet said. “In fact, I was just writing you a note.” Chet tore off the top page of his tablet and balled up the paper. Holding the ball between thumb and index finger, he arced it cleanly into the communal wastebasket.

“What was the message?” Jack demanded.

“I was to tell you that tonight’s dinner is at Elio’s on Second Avenue at eight-thirty.”

“Eight-thirty!” Jack commented irritably. “Why so late?”

“She didn’t say. But eight-thirty doesn’t sound late to me.”

“It’s later than she likes to eat,” Jack commented. He shook his head. The mystery kept deepening. He remembered her making the comment that morning about whether she’d be still on her feet that evening, suggesting she anticipated being tired. Why then would she make plans to meet late?

“Well, she didn’t seem at all concerned,” Chet said. “In fact, she was in a rare, spunky mood if you ask me.”

“Really?” Jack asked.

“I’d even have to say ebullient.”

“She was the same way this morning.”

“She was so ‘up’ I mentioned the possible plan for Thursday evening,” Chet said.

“You mean about the four of us going to the Monet exhibit?”

Chet nodded. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“What was her response?”

“She said she was very appreciative of our thinking of her, but she said she already had plans.”

“She actually used the word ‘appreciative’?”

“A direct quote,” Chet said. “I questioned it, too. It seemed so uncharacteristically formal.”

“Who else was looking for me?” Jack asked. He wanted to get away from talking about Laurie. It was making him even more curious — and anxious.

“Calvin stopped in,” Chet said. “I think he’d been to histology and just stopped in because he was on the floor.”

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to remind you that Jefferson’s case has to be signed out by Thursday.”

Jack made a gesture of dismissal with his hand. “That’s going to be up to the lab, not me.”

“Well, I’m on my way,” Chet said. He stood up, stretched, and then retrieved his coat from behind the door.

“Let me ask you a question,” Jack said. “You’ve lived in New York longer than I. What’s the story with yellow cabs vis-à-vis radio calls?”

“Yellow cabs thrive on people hailing them,” Chet explained. “They generally don’t do radio calls. Among the drivers the expression is, you cruise or you lose. They don’t want to sit around and wait or drive someplace empty. They have to hustle or they lose money.”

“Why do a lot of them have radios?” Jack asked.

“They can do radio calls if they want,” Chet said. “But it doesn’t pay. Generally the radios just keep them informed of where there’s the greatest need, like uptown or downtown or out at the airport. And what areas to stay out of because of traffic congestion, that sort of thing.”

Jack nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Why do you ask?” Chet questioned.

“A cab driver came by the Corinthian Rug Company to pick up Jason Papparis while I was there,” Jack said with a wry smile.

Chet laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve heard of a dead man calling for a cab. It makes you wonder from where he placed the call.”

“Or where he wanted the cab to take him.”

Chet laughed again in an equally hollow manner.

“The driver gave me the number of the dispatcher,” Jack said. “I called them to see if Jason was a frequent customer. I thought that if he was, then maybe the cab company might be a source of information about the last time the man went to his Queens warehouse.”

“What did they say?”

“They were not helpful,” Jack said. “They wouldn’t even tell me when Jason Papparis had called to set up the pickup. They just said they don’t give out any information on their drivers or their clients.”

“That’s being nice and helpful,” Chet said. “It could be subpoenaed, suppose.”

“I can’t imagine it would be worth it,” Jack said.

“It’s still curious,” Chet said. “If someone calls for a cab in New York City, it’s generally not a yellow cab that responds.”

“I’ll tell you something even more curious,” Jack said. “The taxi driver was Russian and he’d grown up in Sverdlovsk.”

“Sverdlovsk!” Chet exclaimed. “That’s the Soviet town that had the anthrax bioweapons accident you pointed out to me in Harrison’s textbook of medicine!”

“Can you believe it?” Jack asked. “I mean that’s a coincidence.”

“Only in New York,” Chet said. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised, because anything and everything happens here.”

“This guy even knew about anthrax,” Jack said.

“No kidding?”

“Well, he didn’t know much,” Jack added. “He just knew it was a disease mainly of cattle. He mentioned cows and sheep.”

“I’d venture to guess that’s more than the average New Yorker knows,” Chet said.

After a bit more small talk about activities over the immediately preceding weekend, Chet said his goodbyes and left. Jack turned to his desk. Without enthusiasm he eyed his ever-burgeoning pile of uncompleted cases lying next to a stack of waiting histology slides. He thought briefly about getting out his microscope until he glanced at his watch. It was after seven. Knowing he had to pedal home, shower and dress, and then pedal back across town all before eight-thirty, Jack decided he didn’t have time for more work.

The traffic on First Avenue had abated somewhat from a half hour earlier, and Jack ran with it beyond the United Nations building. Taking Forty-ninth Street, he crossed to Madison Avenue and then again turned north. He rarely used the same route home until he got to the Grand Army Plaza at the southeastern corner of Central Park. It was there that he took his nightly turn around the Pulitzer fountain to admire the gilded nude statue of Abundance atop it. Then he entered the park and his favorite part of the trip. Over the years he’d figured out the best and most scenic route and used it most nights.

With an eye peeled for other cyclists, joggers, and in-line skaters, Jack cranked up his pace. Although the trees still had most of their leaves, a lot had already fallen, and they swirled in his wake and filled him with the unmistakable scent of fall.

Although Jack immensely enjoyed his rapid transit through the park, it also made him feel edgy. Finding himself paradoxically isolated in the lonely expanse within the confines of the otherwise teeming city never failed to remind him of the night he’d almost been shot and killed here by a hired gang member. There was no doubt danger lurked in the park’s silent shadows.

Jack burst out of the tranquil darkness onto the bustling avenue, Central Park West. It was like returning to civilization. Slowing his speed considerably, he wound his way north among the darting, honking clutch of yellow cabs. At 106th Street he turned west.

Knowing he didn’t have a lot of time to spare, Jack had fully intended on heading directly to his tenement. Instead, he couldn’t resist the siren song of the basketball court. Even though he was unable to play that evening, he couldn’t pass by without at least stopping to check out the action.

The court was part of a larger, mostly cement park featuring swings, monkey bars, and sandboxes for the younger children, as well as benches for the doting mothers. Jack loved to play B-ball. He’d played at Amherst, which had never had a very competitive team. Years later, when he’d first moved to New York City, he’d ventured one day onto the court merely to shoot baskets by himself as a diversion, but by chance the locals had had only nine players. So they’d lowered their standards and asked Jack to play. He’d been immediately hooked by the lively and often rough urban games. Now, weather permitting, it was almost a nightly ritual.

For almost a year, Jack had been the only Caucasian player among the horde of local and considerably younger African-American players. But over the next few years two other white players had ventured into the fray, as well as a number of African-Americans closer to Jack’s age of forty-four.

As a regular and a fanatic, Jack financed new backboards, new outdoor balls, and mercury vapor lighting. He accomplished this combination philanthropic and self-serving gesture through negotiations with the local community leadership. The final deal stipulated that Jack had to pay to refurbish the other park amenities as well. Jack had not minded in the slightest and considered it a small price to pay to be welcomed into the neighborhood.

Jack pedaled his bike up to the massive chain-link fence that separated the B-ball court from the sidewalk. Without taking his feet from his toe clips, he grabbed onto the fence to support himself. As he’d expected, there was a game in progress, with the players sweeping up and down the court.

“Hey, Doc!” a voice called out. “Doc” was Jack’s neighborhood sobriquet. “Where you been? Get your ass out here. You going to run or what?”

Jack glanced to the sidelines to see the heavily muscled Warren Wilson dribbling a ball in and out between his legs. His shaved head gleamed in the glare of the overhead lights. He was standing with a pack of other fellows waiting to get into the game.

“I don’t have time,” Jack called back.

Warren detached himself from the others and started toward Jack. He was joined by Flash, one of the taller players whose level of ability was about on a par with Jack’s. Warren was a quantum leap above both of them.

Jack nodded a greeting to Flash, who returned the gesture. Since their B-ball talent was roughly equivalent, they frequently covered each other when they were on opposing teams. Flash had the irritating knack of scoring on Jack when games were close, often winning the game. The situation had spawned a friendly rivalry.

“What do you mean you ain’t got time?” Warren questioned as he leaned up against the fence. “You weren’t out here much last week. Seems to me you’re getting your priorities screwed up. What are you doing, letting work interfere?” He loved to tease Jack about their differing philosophies as to what was important in life.

“I have to meet Laurie across town at eight-thirty,” Jack said.

“We’ve got winners,” Flash said. He had a particularly deep, rich baritone voice. “It’s going to be me, Warren, Spit, and Ron. We got room for one more if you could get your ass down here in record time. It’d be a killer matchup.”

“You’re tempting me,” Jack admitted.

“We’re going to sweep this team that’s winning at the moment,” Warren said. “It’s going to be a new dynasty. But, hey, we shouldn’t keep you from your shortie.”

Jack glanced at his watch and then over at the game in progress. He was tempted, but there was no way he could do it without arriving late at Elio’s, even if he played only one game. Ultimately he had to shake his head. “Sorry, not tonight.”

“Natalie’s been ragging me about getting together with you and Laurie,” Warren said. “You guys have been making yourselves scarce.”

“I’ll say something to Laurie,” Jack promised, although he couldn’t be Optimistic, not without knowing her current secret, especially if she was moving to someplace like the West Coast. The thought of Laurie leaving made him wince.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Warren asked. He leaned forward and regarded Jack through the fence.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said, yanking himself out of his momentary worry.

“Are you and Laurie cool?” Warren questioned. “I mean, you people aren’t having words, are you?”

“No, we’re cool,” Jack fibbed. The truth of the matter was that he and Laurie had not spent much time together over the last month or so.

“I think you’d better get yourself out here for a run as soon as you can,” Warren said. “You look all wound up to me.”

“You’re right! I need a run,” Jack agreed. “Tomorrow night for sure.”

Jack said his goodbyes and then rode diagonally across the street to his building. Knowing he would be going right back out, he locked his bike to the railing on the building’s front steps. Then he went up to his apartment and climbed into the shower.

After the shower Jack scanned his limited wardrobe for something to wear, only to get mad at himself for such stupid indecision. He couldn’t remember the last time he had trouble deciding about clothes. Ultimately he donned his usual jeans, blue chambray shirt, darker blue knitted tie, and tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. After a quick brush of his short hair to encourage it all to go in the direction it preferred, Jack went back down to the street and retrieved his bicycle.

The ride across the park was uneventful. He went south on Fifth Avenue until Eighty-fourth Street, which he took over to Second. The restaurant was just a few doors up from the corner. With slightly tremulous fingers Jack secured his bike with the requisite number of locks. As he entered the restaurant, he wondered why he was as anxious as he was.

Elio’s was crowded. To Jack’s left the small bar was five people deep. To his right were a group of tables with the usual complement of TV personalities having their dinners. Pushing his way deeper into the restaurant, Jack scanned the other diners for Laurie’s familiar face and burnished auburn hair. He didn’t see her.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked over the din. There was the slightest guttural hint of a German accent.

Jack turned to face the smiling maître d’.

“We’ve a reservation, I assume,” Jack said.

“And the name?”

“Montgomery, I suppose,” Jack said.

The host consulted his list. “Ah, yes, of course. Miss Montgomery is not here yet, but one of the other members of your party is. He’s at the bar. I’ll have your table in a moment.”

Jack worked his way among the standing clientele, heading in the general direction of the bar. He saw Lou sitting on one of the tall stools, clutching a beer and intermittently pulling on a cigarette. Jack touched him on the arm. Lou glanced up at him with a hangdog expression.

“You don’t look happy,” Jack said.

Lou guiltily stubbed out his cigarette. “I’m not. I’m concerned. You got me worried about Laurie when you talked to me this morning. Since I was with her a good part of the day, I couldn’t help but notice that she was acting weird, like she was all gassed up about something. When I finally got up the courage to ask her what was up, she just laughed and said I’d find out tonight. I’m afraid she might be leaving town. I’m thinking she got a job someplace else. You medical examiners are in demand. I know that for a fact.”

Jack couldn’t suppress a smile. Looking at Lou was like looking in a mirror, and the image was pathetic. Obviously, Lou had been torturing himself with the same possibility.

“Go ahead and laugh at me,” Lou said. “I deserve it.”

“Hey, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at us. I had the exact same thought. In fact I even picked a place: the West Coast.”

“Seriously?” Jack nodded.

“I don’t know whether that makes me feel better or worse,” Lou said. “It’s nice to have company, but it probably means we’re right.”

Jack leaned back so he could get a better look at Lou. He was impressed. The detective had shaved to remove his usual five o’clock shadow and had even pomaded his hair so that it still looked wet from the shower along the edges of his knife-sharp part. Gone was the rumpled sport jacket and baggy pants. In their place was a crisply pressed suit, a freshly laundered shirt, and a newly knotted tie. Most astounding of all, he’d polished his shoes.

“I’ve never seen you in a suit before,” Jack commented. “You look like you belong in a magazine, and I’m not talking about True Detective.”

“I usually only wear it to funerals,” Lou said.

“That’s a happy thought,” Jack responded.

“Excuse me,” the maître d’ said at Jack’s elbow. “Your table is ready. Would you men like to sit down or do you want to stay here at the bar?”

“We’ll sit down,” Jack said without hesitation. He was eager to get away from the second-hand cigarette smoke.

The table was in the far back corner and to get there required some deft maneuvers, since as many tables as possible were crowded into the room. No sooner had Jack and Lou wedged themselves into their seats than a waiter appeared with an iced bottle of champagne plus two pricey bottles of Brunello. He immediately proceeded to open the champagne.

“Whoa!” Jack said to the man. “You got the wrong table. We haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Isn’t this the Montgomery party?” the waiter asked. He had a Spanish accent and an old-fashioned handlebar mustache. Even though Elio’s was an Italian restaurant, it had a decidedly cosmopolitan staff.

“Yeah, but...” Jack said.

“Then it’s been ordered,” the waiter said. He popped the cork and nestled the bottle back into its ice bucket. He then uncorked the two bottles of wine.

“This looks like a good wine,” Jack commented as he picked up one of the wine bottles and glanced at the label.

“Oh, very good!” the waiter agreed. “I’ll be back with the glasses.”

Jack looked over at Lou. “This isn’t the jug wine I usually drink.”

“I’m getting more nervous,” Lou said. “Laurie’s the thrifty sort.”

“You got a point,” Jack agreed. Whenever they went out, Laurie always insisted on paying her own way.

As soon as the waiter came back with the glasses, he proceeded to pour some champagne for Jack and Lou. Jack tried to say that they’d wait for Miss Montgomery, but the waiter insisted he was following the lady’s orders.

After the waiter departed Jack picked up his flute. Lou did the same. They touched glasses although neither spoke. Jack tried to think of a toast but nothing appropriate or witty came to mind. Silently they tasted the sparkling wine.

“I suppose it’s good,” Lou said. “But I’ve never been a big fan of champagne. I think of it more as something to squirt around at athletic victories.”

“My feeling exactly,” Jack said. He took another sip and as he did, he caught sight of Laurie over the rim of his long-stemmed glass. She was dressed in a snug black velvet pants suit that outlined her undeniably shapely female form. A triple-stranded pearl necklace was clasped around her neck. To Jack she looked absolutely radiant. So much so that he momentarily choked on his champagne.

Both Jack and Lou struggled to their feet. The quarters were so tight that Lou nudged the table enough to spill his glass of champagne. Luckily Jack was still holding his.

“Oh, what a klutz!” Lou complained.

Laurie laughed, grabbed a napkin, and wiped up the spilled wine. The waiter appeared instantly to lend a hand.

“Thank you both for coming,” Laurie said. She gave each a peck on the cheek.

It was at that point that Jack realized Laurie was not alone. Coming up behind her was a darkly tanned, olive-complected man with thick, wavy hair and a mouth full of startlingly white teeth. He wasn’t too much taller than Laurie’s five feet five inches, but he projected a confident and powerful air. Jack guessed he was close to his own age. He was dressed in a dark silk suit that made Lou’s look as if it had come off a rack in a bargain basement. A bright foulard pocket square ballooned from his breast pocket.

“I want you to meet Paul Sutherland,” Laurie said. Her voice quavered as if she was nervous.

Jack shook hands with the man after Lou. As their eyes met, Jack had trouble telling where the man’s irises stopped and his pupils began. It was like looking into the depths of black marbles. His handshake was firm and resolute.

“Why are we standing?” Laurie asked.

Paul responded by instantly pulling Laurie’s chair out from the table. Once Laurie was sitting the others followed suit. The waiter quickly filled the champagne glasses.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Laurie said. “To friends.”

“Hear, hear!” Paul echoed.

They all touched glasses and drank.

There was a brief uncomfortable silence. Jack and Lou had no idea why Laurie had brought a stranger to their dinner party and were afraid to ask.

“Well,” Laurie said finally. “What a day this has been, wouldn’t you say, Lou?”

“Absolutely,” Lou agreed.

“I hope you don’t mind a little shop talk, Paul,” Laurie said. “That skinhead case I mentioned to you earlier had Lou and me tied up for most of the day.”

“Not at all,” Paul said. “I’m sure I’ll be fascinated. That old TV show about a medical examiner was one of my favorites.”

“Paul is a businessman,” Laurie explained.

Both Jack and Lou nodded in unison. Jack expected more of an explanation of what type of businessman, but Laurie changed the subject: “I learned more today about the violent far right than I wanted to know,” she said. “Particularly about right-wing militias and skinheads.”

“I didn’t know anything about the role of music in the skinhead movement,” Lou said.

“What amazes me and scares me is that this militia movement is nationwide,” Laurie said. “Special Agent Gordon Tyrrell estimates there are some forty thousand armed survivalists spread across the country waiting for God knows what.”

“I think they’re waiting for the government to implode from the weight of its huge bureaucracy,” Paul said. “Sort of like a neutron star. Then the survivalists will be in a position not only to survive but also to take over.”

“They’re not above helping it along,” Laurie said. “Agent Tyrrell said that undermining the government has become the rationale for violence now that the Soviet Union is no longer the archetypal enemy.”

“Revenge is also a rationale,” Lou said. “Consider Timothy McVeigh. He was apparently trying to get back at the government for the raid on the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas.”

“Back then I was under the delusion that Timothy McVeigh was an anomaly,” Laurie said. “But it’s not true, and that’s the terrifying part. There are forty thousand potential Timothy McVeighs out there. No one knows where one will strike next and on what pretense.”

“Or with what,” Jack said. “Remember the lecture we got from Stan Thornton and the office of Emergency Management? It’s not inconceivable for one of those nuts to get his hands on a weapon of mass destruction.”

“God help us if that were ever to happen,” Laurie said.

“Gordon Tyrrell doesn’t think it’s a question of if,” Lou said. “His anti-terrorism department thinks the question is when. Just think of all the nuclear weapons that are not entirely accounted for in what used to be the Soviet Union.”

“Let’s order our dinners,” Laurie said with a dejected shake of her head. “If we talk about this much longer, I’m going to lose my appetite.”

The waiter came over to the table the moment he was summoned. He rattled off an impressive list of specials while divvying up the rest of the champagne. Once everyone had ordered, he disappeared into the kitchen.

“I’ve one last question about your skinhead case,” Jack said to Laurie. “Did you find anything at autopsy that was helpful for the FBI?”

Laurie sighed and glanced at Lou. “Not really. What do you say, Lou?”

“Your impression that the stab wounds were made with a knife with a serrated upper edge might help,” Lou said. “Provided the knife turns up. Also the bullet you took out of the brain might be useful, but it’s hard to say at this point until ballistics looks at it. The fact that the crucifying nails were of Polish manufacture is not going to be any help because I’ve already found out they’re widely distributed.”

“So this PAA or People’s Aryan Army is still a metropolitan unknown?” Jack asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Lou said. “The only reassuring part is that Internet traffic concerning them has suddenly dropped off. We’re hoping that means whatever they’d been planning has been canceled.”

“Let’s hope so,” Jack said.

The appetizers began to arrive and the red wine was poured. The four concentrated on their food and for a time, conversation was minimal. Jack surreptitiously eyed Laurie but was unable to make any eye contact.

“Tell us about your case today,” Laurie said to Jack. “I heard it was another interesting one.”

Jack had to clear his throat. “Surprising yes, interesting... somewhat. It was a case of inhalation anthrax.”

“Anthrax?” Lou questioned with obvious interest. “That’s a potential bioweapon.”

“It is indeed,” Jack agreed. “But fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, this case has a more prosaic origin. The victim had just imported a bunch of rugs from Turkey, where the disease is endemic. He’s apparently the only victim and the rugs are safely locked up in a warehouse in Queens. End of story. I couldn’t even get a rise out of the city epidemiologist.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors,” Laurie said.

“Amen,” Lou added.

The entrées arrived, and while the foursome ate their dinners the conversation stayed on neutral ground. The delay in addressing the real issue, whatever it was, only made Jack’s curiosity and anxiety mount. Adding to his anxiety was the subtle and, he couldn’t help but feel, inappropriate familiarity between Laurie and Paul. He noticed it in the way she touched his arm or the way he dabbed at the corner of her mouth with his napkin. In Jack’s mind these small intimacies were inappropriate because he knew she couldn’t have known the man long.

Finally, over coffee, Laurie cleared her throat and tapped her water glass gently with her fork. Paul assumed a self-satisfied smile and leaned back. It was obvious that from his point of view this was Laurie’s party.

“I guess you guys must wonder why I invited you here tonight,” Laurie began.

No, the thought has never entered my mind, Jack said to himself while his pulse quickened.

“I don’t quite know how to tell you this but...” Laurie looked at Paul, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say he didn’t know either.

Out with it before I barf, Jack said silently.

“First of all, I owe you both an apology,” Laurie said. She looked alternately at Jack and Lou. “I’m sorry I had to call you so early in the morning. At least early for your time.”

Jack blinked. Laurie had lost him. Why was their time different from her time?

“The explanation is that I was calling from Paris, France,” Laurie said. “Paul and I had gone there for the weekend, and we were waiting to board the Concorde to come back to New York.”

Paul nodded, confirming this startling story.

“Paul had business in Paris,” Laurie continued. “He was nice enough to invite me to go along. It was quite a weekend.” She looked over at Paul and extended her right hand. He took it lovingly.

Jack smiled over gritted teeth. He suddenly saw Paul as a snake-in the-grass who’d managed to win Laurie with this grand, gallant gesture: a weekend in Paris.

“One of the things that happened was quite unexpected,” Laurie continued. “At least for me.”

Laurie took her left hand out from under the table where she’d kept it discreetly for the entire dinner. It was balled in a fist as she extended it out over the tablecloth. When her arm was fully extended she dramatically opened her hand and spread her fingers.

Both Jack and Lou blinked. They found themselves looking down at a diamond that seemed to be the size of a golf ball on Laurie’s ring finger. It caught all the light from the room and threw it back with blinding intensity.

“You guys are getting married,” Lou said as if he were describing an upcoming cataclysm.

The couple interpreted his tone as one of awe, not dread.

“It seems that way,” Laurie said with a smile. “I haven’t unconditionally agreed yet, but as you can see Paul has convinced me to take the ring. We haven’t even told our parents. You two are the first to know.”

“We’re flattered,” Jack managed to say while his mind churned for an explanation for this unexpected turn of events. He’d thought of Laurie as being much too mature for what he considered adolescent behavior.

“It’s been a whirlwind,” Laurie said. She looked at Paul for confirmation.

“I’d describe it more as a tempest,” Paul said with a lascivious wink.

Laurie and Paul then launched into an animated description of all the romantic things they’d been able to squeeze into the previous month. Jack and Lou found themselves reduced to nodding at appropriate moments while maintaining forced smiles.

When the stories drew to a close, Paul stood and excused himself. Laurie looked after him as he headed toward the rest rooms. Turning back to her two old friends, she sighed.

“He’s really wonderful, isn’t he?” she asked.

Jack and Lou looked at each other, hoping the other would respond.

“Well?” Laurie questioned.

Both Jack and Lou started speaking at the same time then hastily deferred to the other.

“What is this, a comedy routine?” Laurie demanded. Her beatific smile faded. “What’s the matter with you two?”

“This situation has caught us off guard,” Jack finally admitted. “We’d both guessed you’d gotten a job offer and were going to move out on us. We never thought you’d be getting married.”

“And why not!” Laurie demanded. “That’s almost insulting. What am I, too old?”

“I don’t mean it that way,” Jack said meekly.

“How long have you known this man?” Lou asked.

“A couple of months,” Laurie said defensively. “I know that’s not a lot of time, but I don’t think that’s so important. He’s intelligent, warm, generous, confident, and willing and able to make a commitment. And all those are important characteristics as far as I’m concerned. Particularly the confidence and the ability to make a commitment.”

Both Jack and Lou couldn’t help but feel indicted.

“I don’t believe this,” Laurie said. “You two, of all people I know, I thought would-d be happy for me.”

“What kind of business is he in?” Jack asked.

“What kind of a question is that?” Laurie demanded.

“Just a simple question,” Jack said timidly.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Laurie said. “And I don’t really care. It’s him I’m interested in, not what he does for a living. You men are impossible.”

“Have your parents met him?” Lou asked.

“Of course,” Laurie said. “I met him through my parents.”

“That’s nice,” Lou said.

Laurie let out a mirthless laugh. “This is not how I expected this evening to go.”

Neither Jack nor Lou knew quite what to say. Luckily they were rescued by Paul’s return. He was in an ebullient mood, totally unaware of what had transpired during his brief absence. He started to reclaim his seat, but Laurie stood up.

“I think it’s time we go,” Laurie said.

“No after-dinner drinks at the bar?” Paul asked.

“I think we’ve all had enough,” Laurie said. “And as Jack is wont to say, it is a school night.”

Jack smiled weakly. Sensing that he’d let Laurie down only made him feel worse. He got to his feet. “Congratulations, you guys,” he said with manufactured enthusiasm. “In the spirit of the occasion, Lou and I will take care of the tab.”

“It’s all taken care of already,” Paul said with an air of superiority. “It’s our treat.”

“I’d prefer to pay,” Jack said. “It’s only fair.”

“Hogwash,” Paul said. He reached over and shook Jack’s and Lou’s hand. “I’ve really enjoyed meeting Laurie’s two closest friends. I can’t tell you how highly she talks of you two and how often. It’s enough to make a guy jealous.” He laughed.

“See you tomorrow at the office,” Laurie said. She turned and started across the crowded dining room. Paul gave a final wave and hurried after her.

Jack looked at Lou. “What do you want to do?”

“Go home and shoot myself,” Lou said.

“You want company?” Jack asked.

The two men sank into their chairs. Jack felt shell-shocked. Laurie’s getting married was worse than her going away. Instead of moving to the West Coast, it was more like her going to Venus. The episode startled him into realizing how much he’d been avoiding thoughts about the future. Guilt about his family still made it difficult for him to justify future happiness. That’s why he found making a commitment so difficult.

Lou cradled his head in his hands. He was the picture of dejection. “I’ve worried about Laurie getting married,” he said. “Especially to you.”

“To me?” Jack questioned with surprise. “I actually worried she’d get married to you. I know you two dated before I came on the scene.”

“You shouldn’t have worried,” Lou said. “It wasn’t to be. It never would have worked. During the brief time we went out on a regular basis, I screwed it up. Every time there was the slightest blip, I thought she was breaking up with me, and I acted like an ass. It drove both of us batty, and we ended up having a long talk about it. Tonight when she mentioned about ‘confidence’ being an important personality characteristic for her, she was referring to me.”

“The part about the ability to make a commitment was directed at me,” Jack said.

“Was that the problem between you two?” Lou asked. “I never could figure out what happened. You guys seemed natural for each other. You know, similar backgrounds, fancy schools, and all the rest of that bullshit.”

“It was part of it,” Jack said. “But I’m so screwed up I don’t even know all the reasons.”

“It’s a tragedy!” Lou complained. “For you and for me. At least if she tied the knot with you, I could stay friends with both of you. When she marries this twerp, I’m out the door. I mean, I fantasized about Laurie and me staying friends even when they married. But tonight when I saw that rock on her finger, I instantly knew staying the kind of friends I envisioned was out of the question.”

“I guess I was unrealistically hoping the present would never change,” Jack said.

Lou nodded and thought for a moment before asking, “What did you think of this guy?”

“A snake in the grass,” Jack said without hesitation. “But I don’t know how objective I can be. I’m obviously jealous. It bugged me how they kept touching each other.”

“It rubbed me the wrong way as well,” Lou said with another nod. “Like puppy love. It was disgusting. But I question my objectivity, too. Yet it all seems too quick to me, like the guy’s after her money even though she doesn’t have any. Of course that can be the cynical detective talking.”

Jack shook his head dejectedly. “We can sit here and say nasty things about him, but the fact is, he’s a lot more spontaneous than we are, and he’s got a lot more bucks. I mean, going to Paris for the weekend! There’s no way I could do that. Worrying about how much it was costing would drive me bananas, and I’d be miserable to be with.”

“It makes me mad to think that there are people that can do that sort of thing,” Lou said. “What with my alimony payments and raising two kids, I’m lucky to have two nickels to scrape together.”

“Envious might be a better word than mad,” Jack said.

Lou scraped back his chair and stood up. “I got to get home to bed before I get too depressed. I’ve been up for two straight days.”

“I’m with you,” Jack said.

The two men wormed their way out of the restaurant feeling all the more depressed in light of the festive atmosphere.