The Things We Do for Love Page 7

  CHAPTER 15

  Davey was in our room downstairs taking a nap. I’d slogged through the last couple of hours trying to read a book with only half my mind. Putting that aside, I sat, feet up on the coffee table, watching the TV. You can do that with only half a mind and not miss a thing.

  The bedroom door opened and I looked back over my shoulder. Jane emerged and walked over to the bar where she dropped a couple of ice cubes in her glass and started to head back inside.

  She stopped and squinted at me through the drifting haze of her cigarette. “Are you going to stay here all night?”

  “One of us is, yes.”

  “Okay. Just wondering.” With that she disappeared again. Moments later she came back and dropped onto the sofa opposite me. Her knees were pulled up and her red-tipped toes curled over the edge of the coffee table. She had a big pad on her lap, a half-empty drink in one hand and the top of a pen in her mouth.

  I watched her scribble furiously for a couple of minutes, writing things, then scratching them out. There were deep furrows in her forehead.

  “Would you like me to turn the TV off?” I asked.

  “Do you mind? I was getting crazy back there. I went around to open some windows and let in some light. There aren’t any windows in here at all. This is just a ritzy cell, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got a short sentence.”

  “I guess so.” She went back to writing and erasing, frowning and muttering. I went back to the book I was reading. The Big Man. The author, a Scotsman named McIlvanney, had been called “The Raymond Chandler of Glasgow,” but even that appraisal came up short.

  “Crap,” she said and ripped a page off the pad, balled it up and tossed it at the waste basket. “I can’t write like this. Shit. Why don’t I read those letters you’ve got? Do something useful.”

  “Great. That could be very helpful.” I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the letters. “I’d like you to read them one at a time and then write down any associations you have to them. Do the words sound like anyone you know? Has anyone ever said anything like them to you before?”

  “Before we do this, I’m sorry I snapped at you back there. I appreciate what you did to Axel. That isn’t the first time he’s done shit like that to me, but it sure as hell is going to be the last.”

  “Here,” I said, handing her the first letter, “take a deep breath and read it. I’ll write down anything you think of.”

  She took the letter, read it and said, “I don’t know. Somebody thinks I’m arrogant and a fraud and they’re going to expose me. The only people who’ve said that are a few reviewers but they kill you in ink, not in blood.”

  “Here, try this one.” I handed her the second letter.

  “Now I’m greedy! Christ, you can’t win. The group thinks I’m some sort of ascetic lunatic pulling the tit of plenty out of their mouths.”

  “This one’s tough.” I cautioned, handing her the last letter.

  Reading it, I watched her jaw clench and the muscles roil under her cheeks.

  “Jesus, this is stupid. I can’t think of anything I’ve done to anyone to make them this angry.”

  “You’ve recently been put on Morality In Music’s hit list. I understand you had a run in with some picketers at a concert. Have they ever threatened you in any way?”

  “Yeah, they told me that I wouldn’t go to heaven and that they’d pray for me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. They may not like our music, but we’re not much of a menace. I wish we were, but our sales-figures say we aren’t an epidemic. At least not yet. Anyway, those people are so full of shit. If our songs bring something out in our fans, it was already there. The ground was seeded long before we arrived. If my songs overthrow a lifetime of teaching, then they had nothing to say. They don’t want to face their own failures so they have to create a menace to blame it on. If they want that to be me, so be it. I know their kind, and being their enemy suits me just fine.”

  “What about fans? Have you gotten any letters from fans who think they love you and want to start a relationship with you? The person writing these letters could see himself as a spurned suitor, imagining that you’re ‘greedy’ with your feelings and that you’ve ruined his love for you.”

  “I doubt that. I don’t respond to any fan requests. I’ve got an unpublished number and I give it or my address out very rarely. Only a few people know how to find me. Anything for me goes through the fan club and I’d never heard of any threats until these.”

  “Why such a low profile?”

  “Anything I have to say to people, I say in my songs. That’s it. Beginning and end. I owe my audience its money’s worth and I think the fans get that from me, but when the curtain comes down the show’s over. I don’t ask any more of them and they can’t have any more of me.”

  “Axel said you don’t do interviews, either. Is that right?”

  “Yeah. I don’t like to listen to other people rave on about themselves. Why should anyone have to listen to me? The self-tooted horn always blows flat. It makes a very ugly sound. Besides that, I don’t know any more about how to live than anyone else. If you ask me, we need a whole lot fewer heroes. They’re just stand-ins for us because we’re not making the most of our own lives, and I sure as hell don’t want to contribute to that. My songs tell you what I think or feel. If they touch you, you go make something real out of them in your own life. I’m trying the best I can with mine. As you can see I don’t do so hot myself.”

  “How about any rivals or feuds in the business?”

  “None that I can think of.”

  “Any romances that ended badly?”

  “You mean real, not imagined?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. Axel’s been my lover for the last three years. There was nobody serious before him.”

  “What happened with Axel?”

  “Axel found himself a little playmate out in L.A. Nicole something, Nicole Noiret. That’s it. Cute, huh? You can rent names like that in L.A. Month to month. If it doesn’t help you become famous you can turn it in and try another one.”

  “Who left who in this case?”

  “Axel was the one double-dipping, but I ended the relationship. As you can see, we have a mutual hate-hate relationship now. It sucks, but it’s honest.”

  “I have one last question. The first letter said the writer knew who you really were, that you couldn’t hide behind Jane Doe. What did that mean?”

  Jane stood up, shaking her head. “This interview’s over.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “I’m tired of being cooped up here,” Jane said. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  “Any place in particular?”

  “No, just out. Maybe something will come to me. I’m going to go change.” She ran her fingers through her hair, fanning it out from her head. Lacing her fingers behind her neck she arched her back. The T-shirt rose past her navel, my eyes in hot pursuit.

  I rolled up the bodyguard’s code of ethics and rapped myself across the snout. My earpiece crackled.

  “Leo, Davey. I’m coming on up.”

  “Okay. We’ll be going out.”

  “Leo, have you thought about Ballantine as the threat?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t see it. A letter writer maybe, but no follow-through. He’s gutless. I’m amazed he finds the courage to defy gravity and stand up. Besides he has nothing to gain by her death. Without her this group couldn’t fill a phone booth, much less an arena. As horses asses go, he’s a Clydesdale, but that’s it.”

  “Okay. Be right up.”

  Jane came out behind me. She wore a short clingy black dress and heels.

  “Before we go. There’re two things I want to ask you. One, will you wear a bulletproof vest?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. But it’s a good idea.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll think about it. What’s the second thing?�
�

  “I’d like you to wear this transmitter. If we get separated for any reason, Davey or I will be able to find you. It’s a homing signal.”

  “All right. I’ll wear that.” She took it from me and pinned it to the belt of her dress. “I don’t want to wear the vest though. Everybody’s trying to push me into corners. The band, this nut. You said the chances are pretty low about anything happening. I’ll take that chance. I’d like to pretend I’m a normal person.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a knock at the front door. “Davey?” I asked.

  He answered and I let him in.

  “We’re going to go out, Davey.”

  I turned to Jane. “When we go out, I’ll lead. Davey will be behind you. Move quickly but don’t run. In hallways or on the sidewalk we keep to the center. In the elevator stand back from the doors. Stay behind us. In the car sit directly behind me. Got it?”

  “Got it,” she said, smiling wanly.

  “Move out,” I said to Davey.

  We took the elevator down to the secured garage. Forty seconds later the BMW nosed out of its berth. In the rearview mirror I watched the steel door slide down behind us. Davey did the same in the mirror on his side of the car.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s drive around. How about through Rock Creek Park?”

  Davey turned right on to 22nd Street and headed toward the park.

  “Are you sure you want to go through the park? It’s a very bad road security-wise.”

  “Yes. I want to go through the goddamn park, thank you.”

  Through the park we went. The road meandered alongside Rock Creek. The land had once been home to the Algonquins, bison, elk and bears. Now joggers, muggers and birdwatchers prowled the rolling hills. The creek itself is a broad-band toxin and nothing lives in it. It’s still a beautiful place to escape the frenzied pace of life in Washington. You can’t speed through the park, because there’s scarcely a straightaway on its entire four-mile length. On a summer day the dense over-hanging trees appear to trap and hold the sunlight. As it seeps and pours through the leaves, branches, and limbs, the sky overhead seems viscous, thick and heavy. You feel like you could spread it on toast.

  Around the zoo, Jane emerged from her silence. “Let’s get out of here. I’m bored. Let’s go back into the city. Take me to the Lincoln Memorial.”

  We did as we were told and shortly pulled up in front of the memorial. Jane made no move to get out. You couldn’t see Lincoln from where we sat.

  I turned to face her. “Do you want to get out?”

  “No. I guess not. I don’t know why I wanted to come here. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I used to pretend that Lincoln was my father. They looked a lot alike and I’d stand in front of him and tell him all sorts of things, in my mind.”

  “Your father must have been an impressive man,” I said.

  “No, not really. He sat all day in his chair because he was brain-damaged, and he had a beard because my mother got tired of shaving him. He looked kindly because he had no idea what you were saying. No, he wasn’t very impressive at all.”

  “Is your father still around here? Would you like to go see him?”

  “I don’t know where he is. Maybe that’s why I wanted to come here. I heard he died six months ago.”

  After a moment’s awkward silence Jane said with infinite weariness, “Take me back. There’s nowhere I want to be. I’m tired, that’s all.”

  A quarter-turn around the monument and we were heading north on 23rd Street toward George Washington University. Davey went right toward Pennsylvania Avenue then bore left onto the K Street ramp. On K Street we pulled over onto the service road and crept along as if we were looking for an address. I knew better than to ask Davey why we were doing this.

  “Leo,” he said, “I think we’ve got company, but I’m not sure.” Jane started to turn around.

  “Don’t,” I snapped.

  “What do you want to do?” Davey asked.

  “You said you weren’t sure?”

  “No. If they’re back there, they’re very, very good. Possibly multiple cars. Do you want to try to lose’em or flush’em out?”

  “Neither. I don’t want them, if there is a them, to know they’ve been made. Take a leisurely but plausible route back to the hotel. Let’s see if you can confirm the tail. Then we’ll try to make the car and see who it is.”

  “Okay,” Davey said and off we went. Left off of K Street, left onto M, right onto 22nd going north to the hotel. We pulled into the garage and I got out and stuck the keycard into its slot and kept an eye out while the steel door rose. I backed in after the car entered, then waited until the door had locked again before I let Jane out of the car.

  “What do you think, Davey?”

  “I don’t know. They might have gotten cagey after the little runaround and fallen off. Especially if they know where she’s staying. Or I could just be seeing things. I don’t know.”

  “All right. Let’s assume the tail from now on.”

  “Okay. First thing I’m going to do is go over this baby top to bottom, make sure she’s clean,” he said, patting the car. “I don’t know where they could have stuck a homer on her, but I’ll sweep her again. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  “Okay. I’ll take the first shift.” I looked at Jane. “When do you usually get up?”

  “Nine o’clock, usually.”

  “Okay, it’s eleven now. Davey, get up at four, and we’ll switch then.”

  “Fine.”

  We left Davey going over the car. I led the way out of the elevator and into the suite. A brief check and the place seemed clean.

  Jane walked by me toward the bedroom. “Good night.”

  “Uh, wait a minute. I want to show you something first.” I walked into the bedroom. “Next to the bed is a cellular phone, a flashlight and an emergency medical kit. If anyone makes an attempt there should be plenty of noise. Get on the phone to the police, right away. Use 911. Don’t open the door to anyone but me or Davey, or the police. If you’re turning in now, lock the door.”

  “Fine, fine. I can’t wait until this is all over. Good night.”

  I pulled the bedroom door closed behind me, and stood there until I heard the bolt click into place.

  Davey checked in and told me that the car was clean. I left him with Jane and went out to see if we had brought home any unwanted company. It took an hour to convince myself that we were alone.

  CHAPTER 17

  After Davey left I tried reading for a while but abandoned the effort. Movies and tapes were out because they were sound shields. I walked over to the kitchenette and brewed some fresh coffee. I used to carry little pocket games with me for these times: Labyrinth and Hi-Q. I gave that up because I’d get so caught up in the game that I’d miss sounds. One time I was about to score genius on a game when the target, a fat, very nervous Texas businessman, tapped me on the shoulder. I snapped up and around so fast that I butted him under the chin and damned near knocked him out. He wanted to talk, to get things off his chest. He’d been lying in bed sure that he was gonna die. He didn’t want to go out feeling dirty, he said. So we talked. He talked, I listened. Two hours’ worth. He felt much better, he said, thanked me and went back to sleep. When the job was done he took me aside and told me to forget everything I’d heard or else.

  Coffee in hand I thought about making some lists to pass the time: Ten Best-Looking Women Ever Met; Ten Scariest Movies Ever Seen; Ten Best Restaurants Ever Eaten In. Next to the wastebasket was one of Jane’s paper nuggets. I picked it up and tossed it in. Standing there, I felt a warmth rise up my back and prickle my neck. My eyes darted around the room. There was no one there to see me. I bent down retrieved the paper and flattened it out. There were two lyrics on the page. I sat down and read them.

  BROKEN AXLE

  When the onlyness

  in your eyes had died

  I cursed you first />
  and then I cried.

  If the time together

  is like the time apart

  then we’re way overdue

  on making a fresh start.

  So pick up your memories

  and head out the door.

  There’s nothing here

  for us anymore.

  I’d try to call you back

  if I only could,

  for my memories are howling

  but my tongue has turned to wood.

  DESPERATE HARVEST

  I came upon a hanging tree

  awful in its season,

  heavy with fruit

  and holy, beyond reason.

  I cut the body down

  and stripped the rotting meat.

  Gagging on my shame

  the bones I began to eat.

  I brushed away the flies

  and cracked them in my teeth.

  I was starving, you see

  and there was marrow beneath.

  I felt guilty and a bit ashamed. Would I have looked if she weren’t Jane Doe? Not a chance. Now with my little secret I was closer to Jane than most people, but I didn’t feel better for it. I folded the paper up and stuck it in my shirt pocket. I’d give it to her when this was over. She might reconsider using the lyrics.

  I wound up playing solitaire and watching the clock, waiting for daybreak. Sunup we’d be rounding second. Halfway home.

  CHAPTER 18

  Davey took over at four and I went downstairs for four hours of lousy sleep. At eight I rolled out of bed, showered and got dressed. When I walked into Jane’s suite, she and Davey were sitting down to breakfast. Croissants, lemon curd, jams, scrambled eggs, rashers of bacon, a pitcher of orange juice and a pot of coffee.

  Jane smiled and said “Hello.”

  Davey grunted between forkfuls. I sat down and joined in. Midway through the meal my beeper went off. I stood up, excused myself and went to the phone next to the entertainment center. I called my answering service and got my caller’s number.

  The phone was picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello,” a voice said with such hesitation that the word became a question.

  “This is Leo Haggerty speaking.” I couldn’t place the voice.