She dropped the paper on the floor and laced her fingers behind her head, staring at the same ceiling that was there earlier. She wondered if Gail was in, imagined she was out dining with friends and colleagues, kicking up her heels in the Big Apple. She was sure the doc wouldn't be in her room staring at the ceiling. She'd be having fun somewhere, and her ability to play was one of the things Frank loved best about Gail. All Frank knew was drinking and working. Playing was something she'd have to learn about.
Not wanting to bother Gail on her cell phone, Frank called the desk to leave her a message. She scanned the room service menu while waiting for a machine to answer. She was surprised when Gail answered.
'Hey. It's Frank. I, uh, I didn't think you'd be in. I was just going to leave you a message.'
'Well, here I am. I got in about thirty seconds ago.'
'So what do you think about my offer of hot chocolate?'
'I think that'd be lovely.'
'Okay, then.' Frank couldn't believe Gail had said yes. 'Lovely, it is. Uh, how about one?'
'That'd be fine.'
'Okay. How about I meet you in the lobby.'
'Sure. Where are you?'
'Well, actually I'm on the third floor.'
'Here? At the hotel?'
'Yeah. Don't worry, though. I'm not stalking you. I was headed to a Motel Six in Brooklyn and I thought what the hell, why not treat myself? So here I am, about to order a hot fudge sundae from room service.' Frank decided to gamble big. 'I don't suppose you'd care to join me?'
'You're not playing fair. You keep plying me with chocolate.'
'It's my new drug of choice. Better a big bowl of ice cream than a bottle of Scotch.'
'What room are you in?' Frank told her and Gail said, 'Order one for me, too. I'll be down in five minutes.'
'Roger that.'
'With extra chocolate.'
'Roger again.'
CHAPTER 6
Frank opened at Gail's knock and gawked. 'You're running around the Crowne Plaza in pajamas?'
Swishing by in flannel pants and a shirt, Gail scoffed, 'I have more clothes on than three-quarters of the women in the lobby. And in case you haven't noticed, sleepwear has become street wear. I'm sure I'm very fashionable.'
Frank hoisted a brow and closed the door. 'Make a cool
'Since when did you become so priggish?'
'Priggish? Me?'
'Yes.' Gail giggled. 'You.'
'Never. Never a prig. Just surprised, is all. Guess I'm self-conscious in such a fancy place.'
'Then I suggest you not run around in your pajamas.'
'I won't. I don't have any.'
'How long are you staying?'
'Just tonight. I'm going home tomorrow. Sit?' Frank perched on one of the chairs at the small table. Gail took the other. 'So how'd your speech go last night?'
Gail chuckled. 'Oh, God, I was so nervous.' In a quivering voice she said, 'I sounded like I was driving down a bumpy road. But everyone told me I did a good job so I assume I was at least intelligible.'
'I'm sure you were wonderful. Did you present anything else?'
'No. After the opening speech I got to relax and just be an attendee. Thank God.'
'What was the best session so far?'
'Probably the one on forensic tox software. God, there's so much technology out there. Applications I couldn't even have dreamed about twenty years ago.'
'Oh, yeah? Like what?'
Gail cocked her head and squinted at Frank. 'You hate computers. Why do I get the feeling you are oh-so- adroitly deflecting conversation from yourself?'
Guilty as charged, Frank fibbed, 'I don't know. Can't a girl be curious?'
'Not you. Not about software applications.'
Frank had to grin. Gail knew her too well.
'My turn. Can I ask what you came here for?'
Stalling, Frank answered, 'You mean the hotel or New York?'
'New York.'
'Sure. You could ask.'
'And would you tell me?'
Frank sighed. 'I'd have to. That's what I'm supposed to do to stay sober. Tell the truth. Hide nothing.'
'Wow,' Gail said, crossing her long legs, tucking her feet under. 'I shouldn't think that would be an easy task for you.'
'I've had easier. You cold? Want a blanket?'
'No, I'm fine.'
'It's probably gonna be a cold fudge sundae by the time it gets here.'
'Any fudge is good fudge. And you're fudging.'
'Busted,' Frank conceded. 'All right. Guess we should start from the beginning. I told you my mom was dead, right?'
Gail nodded. 'You said she died of heart failure and when I asked from what you got vague on me.'
'Sounds like something I'd do.' Frank sighed again. Seemed that the truth required extra oxygen. 'She died when I was twenty-something. Twenty-three, I think. I came back and took care of all the arrangements but I didn't have a funeral for her, just handled the business of burying her, paid for it and left. Never went to the cemetery where they put her. Never said good-bye. And I ... I figure it's time to do that. I've waited long enough. Time to say good-bye, put an end to her—to us.' She shrugged, wondering where the hell room service was.
'Why now, after all this time?'
'It's just one more thing I've been running from all these years. One more thing I don't want to face. And I have to. I have to put all these ghosts to rest if I want to stay sober.'
When the knock came Frank jumped so quickly she almost tipped the table over. After holding her eye to the peephole she opened the door. A uniformed man smiled, hefting a tray. Frank watched him place the tray on the table and uncover the sundaes.
'Thank you,' Gail gushed.
'You're welcome,' the man chirped in a thick accent. Frank put two bucks in his hand as he passed. 'Thank you, ma'am.'
She closed the door and bolted it. 'How is it?'
'Good. But hurry. It's melting.'
Frank complied. She buried her spoon into the mound of ice cream as Gail asked, 'Why didn't you have a funeral for your mom?'
Around a mouthful of sundae Frank snorted. 'She's lucky I buried her.'
'What did she do that was so awful?'
'She wasn't awful,' Frank admitted. 'She was just sick. She was a manic depressive and wouldn't stay on her meds.'
'Did she have the radical mood swings?'
Frank stared into her bowl. 'Yeah. More toward the end. And to be fair, it wasn't always so awful... When I was little, before my dad died, they'd be getting dressed up to go dancing—they loved dancing—and my dad was shaved and he smelled like Old Spice and Scotch and he'd put me on his feet and dance with me. Sinatra or Benny Goodman. He loved those guys. Then he'd shoo me off and I'd sit in the bathroom on the John, watching my mother
