Tell No One
You might argue that I’m nesting myself on an awfully slippery slope. I would agree with you, though I might counter that most of life is lived out there. The problem was, there were repercussions when you lived in the grays—not just theoretical ones that taint your soul, but the brick-and-mortar ones, the unforeseeable destruction that such choices leave behind. I wondered what would have happened if I had told the truth right from the get-go. And it scared the hell out of me.
“Kinda quiet, Doc.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Brutus dropped me off in front of Linda and Shauna’s apartment on Riverside Drive.
“We’ll be around the corner,” Tyrese said. “You need anything, you know my number.”
“Right.”
“You got the Glock?”
“Yes.”
Tyrese put a hand on my shoulder. “Them or you, Doc,” he said. “Just keep pulling the trigger.”
No grays there.
I stepped out of the car. Mothers and nannies ambled by, pushing complicated baby strollers that fold and shift and rock and play songs and lean back and lean forward and hold more than one kid, plus an assortment of diapers, wipes, Gerber snacks, juice boxes (for the older sibling), change of clothing, bottles, even car first-aid kits. I knew all this from my own practice (being on Medicaid did not preclude one from affording the high-end Peg Perego strollers), and I found this spectacle of bland normalcy cohabiting in the same realm as my recent ordeal to be something of an elixir.
I turned back toward the building. Linda and Shauna were already running toward me. Linda got there first. She wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back. It felt nice.
“You’re okay?” Linda said.
“I’m fine,” I said.
My assurances did not stop Linda from repeating the question several more times in several different ways. Shauna stopped a few feet away. I caught her eye over my sister’s shoulder. Shauna wiped tears from her eyes. I smiled at her.
We continued the hugs and kisses through the elevator ride. Shauna was less effusive than usual, staying a bit out of the mix. An outsider might claim that this made sense, that Shauna was giving the sister and brother some space during this tender reunion. That outsider wouldn’t know Shauna from Cher. Shauna was wonderfully consistent. She was prickly, demanding, funny, bighearted, and loyal beyond all reason. She never put on masks or pretenses. If your thesaurus had an antonym section and you looked up the phrase “shrinking violet,” her lush image would stare back at you. Shauna lived life in your face. She wouldn’t take a step back if smacked across the mouth with a lead pipe.
Something inside me started to tingle.
When we reached the apartment, Linda and Shauna exchanged a glance. Linda’s arm slipped off me. “Shauna wants to talk to you alone first,” she said. “I’ll be in the kitchen. You want a sandwich?”
“Thanks,” I said.
Linda kissed me and gave me one more squeeze, as though making sure I was still there and of substance. She hurried out of the room. I looked over at Shauna. She kept her distance. I put out my hands in a “Well?” gesture.
“Why did you run?” Shauna asked.
“I got another email,” I said.
“At that Bigfoot account?”
“Yes.”
“Why did it come in so late?”
“She was using code,” I said. “It just took me time to figure it out.”
“What kind of code?”
I explained about the Bat Lady and the Teenage Sex Poodles.
When I finished, she said, “That’s why you were using the computer at Kinko’s? You figured it out during your walk with Chloe?”
“Yes.”
“What did the email say exactly?”
I couldn’t figure out why Shauna was asking all these questions. On top of what I’ve already said, Shauna was strictly a big-picture person. Details were not her forte; they just muddied and confused. “She wanted me to meet her at Washington Square Park at five yesterday,” I said. “She warned me that I’d be followed. And then she told me that no matter what, she loved me.”
“And that’s why you ran?” she asked. “So you wouldn’t miss the meeting?”
I nodded. “Hester said I wouldn’t get bail until midnight at the earliest.”
“Did you get to the park in time?”
“Yes.”
Shauna took a step closer to me. “And?”
“She never showed.”
“And yet you’re still convinced that Elizabeth sent you that email?”
“There’s no other explanation,” I said.
She smiled when I said that.
“What?” I asked.
“You remember my friend Wendy Petino?”
“Fellow model,” I said. “Flaky as a Greek pastry.”
Shauna smiled at the description. “She took me to dinner once with her”—she made quote marks with her fingers—“spiritual guru. She claimed that he could read minds and tell the future and all that. He was helping her communicate with her dead mother. Wendy’s mother had committed suicide when she was six.”
I let her go on, not interrupting with the obvious “what’s the point?” Shauna was taking her time here, but I knew that she’d get to it eventually.
“So we finish dinner. The waiter serves us coffee. Wendy’s guru—he had some name like Omay—he’s staring at me with these bright, inquisitive eyes, you know the type, and he hands me the bit about how he senses—that’s how he says it, senses—that maybe I’m a skeptic and that I should speak my mind. You know me. I tell him he’s full of shit and I’m tired of him stealing my friend’s money. Omay doesn’t get angry, of course, which really pisses me off. Anyway, he hands me a little card and tells me to write anything I want on it—something significant about my life, a date, a lover’s initials, whatever I wanted. I check the card. It looks like a normal white card, but I still ask if I can use one of my own. He tells me to suit myself. I take out a business card and flip it over. He hands me a pen, but again I decide to use my own—in case it’s a trick pen or something, what do I know, right? He has no problem with that either. So I write down your name. Just Beck. He takes the card. I’m watching his hand for a switch or whatever, but he just passes the card to Wendy. He tells her to hold it. He grabs my hand. He closes his eyes and starts shaking like he’s having a seizure and I swear I feel something course through me. Then Omay opens his eyes and says, ‘Who’s Beck?’ ”