Lady in the Lake(62)
“‘Five convenient locations in the Baltimore metro area. EZ does it!’” It was one of those commercials that everyone in Baltimore knew, up there with “Mommy, call Hampden” or “More Parks sausages, Mom—pleeeeeeeze.” Ray Parks was Willie Adams’s ticket to respect; Shell Gordon thinks that EZ Taylor can be his.
“People like to keep their money in their neighborhood, when they can. And you know something else, Spike? Names are destiny. I was born Taylor. Taylor—tailor. Get it? I started at Hamburgers, in alterations. But the thing is, a man gets a suit altered only once. He has to get it cleaned over and over again. That’s all I had, one idea, but it was all I needed. Offer the thing that everybody needs, all the time. Opened the first EZ Kleeners six blocks from here right after the war. What’s your one idea, Spike? Maybe it’s in your name. Maybe you should be running a knife store or a security company.”
I smiled because Spike isn’t my name. I’m Thomas Ludlow and I can’t figure out what my destiny is. I see myself as a knight, looking for ladies to save, but my name suggests a person who can’t rise above his station. Ludlow? Laid low.
Yet who was I to argue with EZ Taylor? He’s rich. I’m a kid from Remington who worked for a two-bit criminal who ran up a gambling bill with Shell Gordon, then sold me. Anyway, I liked EZ. Everybody does. Nicest, gentlest guy you ever met. He doesn’t deserve to have some reporter digging in his life. He didn’t do anything, that’s for damn sure. EZ is entitled to coast, not knowing what’s going on beneath the surface of things. That’s one of the best things about being rich. You get to coast.
I still liked EZ even when he started to fall for Cleo Sherwood. Lots of men took a shine to Cleo. I’m one of them. Not that there was ever anything between us. Cleo required one of two things to be interested in a man—good looks or a healthy wallet. I know I don’t have either. Never going to have the first and it’s not looking too good for the second.
But that was okay. Then I saw her falling in love with Mr. Taylor, which I didn’t expect. I mean, really falling, not just taking him for the gifts he handed out. Oh, she didn’t tell me anything, but I could see the shine on her. He took her places she had never been before. Restaurants, trips out of town even. I kept thinking, This has to be for show, she can’t love an older man like that, no matter how much money he has. Soon, the shine on the two of them was so bright that Mr. Gordon couldn’t help noticing. He was not happy.
“That’s gotta stop,” he said to me. I just nodded. I’m not Cupid. I don’t decide who loves who. But we put Cleo behind the bar with me, didn’t let her circulate in the club when Mr. Taylor was there.
Mr. Gordon also had a little talking-to with EZ. He said yes, yes, yes, he understood, he needed to be a happily married man if he was going to help Mr. Gordon realize his dreams. Then Mr. Gordon had a sit-down with Cleo and she promised she would break off with him, gentle like. But all Mr. Gordon achieved was to drive them deeper into hiding, which made it more exciting. Now they were going behind everyone’s backs, not just Mrs. Taylor’s. Cleo’s eyes glowed like emeralds. It was a contest and she was sure she was going to win. She couldn’t have told you what the prize was if you asked her. I know. I asked her. All she wanted was to win. She talked about going to Mrs. Taylor, telling her everything.
Then a day came when Mr. Gordon asked me to do something terrible. I said I couldn’t. He said if I didn’t do it, he’d ask someone else, someone who wouldn’t care how it was done. Cleo had to go. Didn’t care how, didn’t care when, but it had to be me. And if I wasn’t willing to do it, then maybe I wasn’t someone he could depend on. Maybe I needed to go, too. It was crazy, what he wanted. It wasn’t even good business. It wasn’t business, period.
Do I have to paint you a picture?
After I put the reporter lady in the cab, I don’t want to go back to work. My heart is sore and lonely, as it’s been every night since December 31. I remember asking Cleo questions about her clothes. “Whatta you call a coat like that, open in the front? What’s the point of gloves with holes in them?” Because I knew I had to be able to give a very specific description later.
I miss her. I miss her every day. I might miss her more than anyone else in the world. I didn’t mind that she didn’t love me.
The other thing—well, I try not to think about the other thing.
Oh, Tommy.
Oh, Tommy. I was the only one who called you that, remember? Not Spike, never Spike. Tommy. Spike is a dog’s name and you were nobody’s pet. Not even mine. I underestimated you, Tommy. But so did everybody else.
But look at me, apologizing to you. Your life might not be much, but it’s still yours, you still have it. I don’t blame you, but I’m not going to feel sorry for you.
Tommy.
July 1966
July 1966
“They’re very . . . vibrant,” Judith said, looking at the fabrics displayed on the counter at the Store.
“I’ve got my sewing machine back from the house,” Maddie said. “I could run up a summer dress for you, no trouble. That Butterick pattern I used for this shift I’m wearing—I think it would work for you, with just a little alteration.” Judith was broader through the hips than Maddie, narrower in the bust, but not by much and the pattern was a forgiving silhouette.