Tessie (going all Josef Mengele glinty): I know what a theme bar is, Detta, but where does that leave our arrangement?
Me: What arrangement?
Detta: Don’t tell her!
Tessie: Why not?
Detta: Because this isn’t some American film where everything is explained before the end.
Me: Tell me.
Tessie: I’m telling her, Detta.
Detta: You’re only doing it to spite me.
Tessie: Spite you! You nearly got my son killed this afternoon! All right, Weeny Bladder. Detta promised me and Racey that Harry would soon be out of the picture—mind you, she never told us she was going to nearly get Racey killed in the process—and that she was setting up with Colin. The O’Grady family were going to show our support for the new setup, in return for a little renegotiation of boundaries in our favor. Now she’s shafting us.
Detta (annoyed): But what do you care? You must have more money than God!
Tessie: It wasn’t just the money. It was…(wistful pause)…it was a bit of fun. There hasn’t been any proper bloodletting in ages…recarving up Dublin, the thrill of the turf wars…I was looking forward to it…
Me: Will you be my mentor?
Tessie (studying me): You show a small amount of promise. If you’d shot the dogs that time they bit you, I’d be interested.
Me: I nearly did. I was going to. But I was trying to get the job done.
Tessie (making regretful face): I see your point. But the true psychopath wouldn’t care about the job.
Then came sound of footsteps belting up stairs.
Detta: Fuck!
She shot at me and missed by a mile.
Tessie: Behave yourself, Detta.
Then Tessie shot at her.
Took advantage of confusion, ran for stairs, legged it down a flight, and bumped into person coming other way. Colin. Come on, he said, all urgent like. Quickly. Get out!
Starts shoving me in front of him down stairs while hear at least two more shots upstairs.
Me (galloping down stairs): Detta’s trying to kill me.
Him (galloping after me): I know. She gets very jealous since she started the change. It was her who shot out your window.
Me: How did you know where to come tonight?
Him: This is where Detta always takes people to deal with them.
We burst out door, onto deserted street; Austrian-blinds mobile was idling curbside, Bozo behind wheel. Colin shoved me in back and said urgently to Bozo: Take her home.
Me (surprised): Aren’t you coming with me?
Him: No.
Me (even more surprised): Why not?
Him: Ahhhh, you see…I’m leaving.
Me (bad feeling in gut): Going where?
Him: Marbella.
Me: Are you going with Detta?
Him: Yeah. I’m going straight, we’re going to open a bar—
Me: Yes, yes, with a U2 theme, I heard. So do you love her?
Him: Ah, I do. She’s a great woman. A real lady.
Me: Oh. But you and me…?
Him: You and me, Helen, we’ll always have St. Vincent’s Hospital.
Then Bozo drives away.
So what do you think, Anna? Am mortified. Feel right fool. Thought Colin was mad about me but he was in Secret Cahoots with Detta—probably him who took the nudie photos. Thought I was proper private investigator doing stuff like talking way into O’Gradys’ pad, when all along they were making it easy for me. Low moments. War crime.
“See?” I told the screen. “They’re all bastards.”
89
Wearing the more expensive of my two charcoal suits, I returned to work.
“I’m good to go,” I told Franklin.
He wanted to say, “You better be,” but he couldn’t; right now I was too valuable to upset.
He hustled me straight in to Ariella, who brought me up to speed on Formula Twelve: the Devereaux execs wanted a day-by-day schedule of my whispering campaign—when could they expect the brand to break; the jeweler needed to speak to me about my vision for the amber pot; the marketing team wanted my input on label design…
“You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”
“I’ll set up meetings right away.”
“There’s just one thing…,” Ariella said.
I turned and fixed her with an inquiring look, one that bordered on impatience.
“Your clothes,” she said.
“We agreed charcoal,” I said. “Charcoal or I walk.”
“Not that. Your plan is a whispering campaign, right? Rumors of an amazing new product but no details yet, right? Which means you’ve got to be a Candy Grrrl girl until Formula Twelve breaks. Which means Candy Grrrl clothes.”
Openly I glared at her; she was right.
She shrugged happily. “Hey, it was your freaking idea.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“It’s your campaign. How long until you build a buzz? Coupla months anyway.”
“No hats,” I said. “I’m not wearing hats.”
“Yes, hats. You gotta do this the right way. Those beauty editors gotta think you’re still a Candy Grrrl. They find out they’re being set up? It’s all over.”
“If you want hats, you pay me ten grand more. Another ten grand. Making twenty.”
We locked looks: a standoff. Neither of us moved, then she said, “I’ll think about it.”
I swiveled on my heel; the money was mine.
I would rather have chopped my hand off than made the call. But for as long as I didn’t apologize to Angelo, the shame would be with me.
“Angelo, it’s Anna, Rachel’s sis—”
“Hey, little girl, how’re you doing?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“No, Angelo, I’m so sorry, it was a terrible way to treat you. I’m so embarrassed, I could die.”
“Hey, you were in shock, I’ve been there. There is nothing that you could ever do that I haven’t done. And worse. I swear to you.”
“What? You’ve really called around to a total stranger’s place, demanding sex.”
“Sure I have. But anyway, I wasn’t a total stranger to you.”
“Thank you for not…you know, taking me up on my offer.”
“Aw, come on! I’d have been a pretty poor excuse for a man if I had.”
“Thank you for not saying that if things were different that you would have…you know…taken me up on my offer.”