Out of the Easy(40)
“You may think some things slide by me, Jo, but they don’t. I’ve been in this game a long time, and my mind is like a trap.”
I nodded.
“Stop hiding near the desk. Come here,” she barked. I approached her high bed.
“Here.” She thrust the green box at me. “Open it.”
The top creaked and popped open on its hinges. Wrapped across a white bed of satin was a beautiful gold watch. The words Lady Elgin curved in a soft arc across the face. It was the female companion to Forrest Hearne’s watch.
She knew. This was her way of telling me she knew. I drew a breath. I couldn’t look at her.
“Well?” she commanded.
“It’s beautiful, Willie. Do you want me to put it on you now? I know you hate small clasps.”
“Me? What are you talking about? Don’t you have something to say, idiot?”
The jig was up. “Willie, I’m sorry—”
“Shut up. I don’t need to hear it. Take the watch and say thank you. You think your good-for-nothin’ mother will remember? No. But don’t go expecting something every year. Eighteen is a milestone. And don’t show the girls. They’ll just start whining about a trip to Adler’s, and I need them to be focused tonight. Valentine’s Day is always a doozy. Don’t forget to pull the decorations from the attic. Why are you just standing there? What, you need to hear me say it? Happy birthday. There. Now, get the hell out.”
My birthday. I hadn’t forgotten, just thought others would. I backed up toward the door. “Thank you, Willie. It’s beautiful.”
“Well, take the glasses. Just because you’re eighteen doesn’t mean you can fall down on the job. And remember something else, Jo.”
“What?”
Willie stared at me. “You’re old enough to go to jail now.”
TWENTY-SIX
By the time I finished cleaning and pulled the Valentine decorations from the attic, the girls were in the kitchen having coffee.
“Happy birthday, sugar!” said Dora. “Sweety reminded us last night.”
“You mean happy death day,” said Evangeline. “The madam she’s named after died on Valentine’s Day.”
“Can you imagine dyin’ on Valentine’s Day?” said Dora. She twisted her long red hair on top of her head and stuck a pencil through it. “There’s somethin’ so sad about that. But y’all know I’m gonna kick it on St. Patrick’s Day, ride out in a coffin lined in green satin.”
“Did Willie give you anything for your birthday?” Evangeline asked, rubbing her palms across her thighs.
“Vangie, Willie don’t give birthday gifts—you know that,” said Dora. “You’re just fired up about presents because you think your big man might bring you a Valentine’s gift.”
“A big man? Do you have a new boyfriend, Evangeline?” I asked.
“Mind your own business,” she snapped. She swiped the pencil from Dora’s hair and stomped out of the room.
John Lockwell had Evangeline. I didn’t have my letter.
? ? ?
I shot a quick glance over my shoulder, making sure I was alone. I dialed RAymond 4119. There was a click, then the double ring.
“Good morning, the Lockwell Company.”
“Good morning. Mr. Lockwell, please.” Was my voice shaking? I coughed into my hand. I pictured the receptionist, filing her nails and rolling her eyes.
“Hold the line, please.”
“Mr. Lockwell’s office.”
I took a breath, trying to sound pleasant, calm. “Hello, Dottie. How are you? This is Josephine Moraine phoning for Mr. Lockwell.”
Silence. “Is Mr. Lockwell expecting your call?”
Absolutely not. “Yes, he is, thanks.”
“One moment, please.”
More silence. Sal walked by carrying a king cake. I pointed to the phone and mouthed, “For Willie.” Sal nodded.
The voice on the line swayed deep and thick. “Let me guess—you want me to be your valentine.”
I looked down at the receiver. “No, Mr. Lockwell, this is Josephine Moraine, Charlotte’s friend.”
He laughed, then hacked some late-night cigar miasma from his lungs. “I know exactly who you are. You’re lucky you caught me. I’m not usually in the office this early, especially around Mardi Gras. I had to come in to sign a check. Closed a big deal. Why don’t you come over and make me one of your martinis to celebrate? Hell, I’m still drunk from last night.”
“I’m calling to follow up on the recommendation letter. I’ve got to send in my application soon.” It came out exactly as I had rehearsed it in my apartment.
“Have you gotten some new shoes yet?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got nice ankles, but those beat-up—whatever they were—make your legs look dumpy. You need some heels. High heels.”
My palm tightened around the receiver. “What I need is the letter.”
“Well, come over here in a nice pair of heels, and I’ll give you the letter,” he said. I heard a creak and a tap. I saw him leaning back in his red leather chair, putting his feet on the bureau in front of all the framed pictures.