it means to be in love.” Tears began to spill out of Esme’s big blue eyes. “I guess you wouldn’t know anything about love, or you wouldn’t ask me anything so lame and insensitive and stupid!”
Des got up and fetched her a tissue. “If I might just ask one quick question…” she interjected, hoping to cool things off.
“Go ahead, Des,” Soave said, nodding his head approvingly.
Yolie just stared across the table at her with her mouth open, clearly taken aback by the interruption.
Des sat back down, flashing a warm smile at Esme. “The other day, you told me that those bruises happened during rough sex,” she reminded her in a slow, soft voice.
Esme dabbed at her eyes, sniffling. “I know I did.”
“So you were lying to me?”
“I was. I’m sorry, Des.”
“And that story about your lip in this morning’s Daily News?”
“Also a lie. I don’t even know how it got there, but it’s a lie.”
“Why did you lie to me about it, Esme? Was it to protect Tito?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I didn’t want you thinking just what she’s thinking.” Meaning Yolie. “That he was a bad person. He wasn’t bad. He was just messed up.”
“Were you ever afraid of him?”
“No.”
“Did he ever threaten to harm you?”
“Never.”
“Okay, good. I just wanted to clear that up,” Des said. “We allknow how hard this is for you, Esme, and we appreciate it. You’re doing great.”
“Really great, sweetie,” Martine agreed, squeezing Esme’s hand.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Des said to Yolie. “She’s all yours.”
“You two were having marital problems?” Yolie asked, her tone a bit less prosecutorial now.
“Yes, we were,” Esme said bleakly.
“Straight up, was Tito seeing someone else?”
Esme’s mouth tightened. “Yes, he was.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. I think it started after we came here.”
“I see,” Yolie said, clicking her pen between her teeth thoughtfully. “Do you know who the woman is, Esme?”
“No, but…” Esme trailed off, twirling her hair around her finger again.
“But what?”
“Tito was never faithful to me. Not ever. That’s just the way he was.”
“And did this bother you?”
Esme shrugged, saying nothing in response.
“What happened after he punched you in the mouth?”
“I told you that already,” she replied coldly. “He left.”
“This was about twelve-thirty?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Did he take anything with him?”
“A bottle of peppermint schnapps.”
“And what did you do after he left?”
Esme glanced over at her mother, reddening, then looked back at Yolie and shrugged once again, saying nothing.
Soave tilted his head at the actress curiously.
So did Yolie, who leaned forward a bit, her breasts jutting out over the table. “Esme, we believe that Tito died sometime between one-thirty and two. Were you at home at the time of his death?”
“Not really,” she answered in a quavering voice.
Now Martine was looking at her curiously, too.
“Esme, where were you?” Yolie persisted.
“Out,” she whispered.
“Out where?”
Esme sat there in pouty silence for a long moment before she turned to Des and said, “Do I have to answer that?”
“I would if I were you,” Des advised. “They’re going to find out eventually. Better all the way around if they hear it from you.”
“Well, okay,” Esme said reluctantly. “I was with a man.”
Martine glared at her with withering disapproval. “You’ve been seeing someone yourself?”
“Yes, Mommy,” she admitted guiltily. “After Tito split, I went to his place.”
“And you stayed there with him how long?” Yolie asked.
“Until maybe four in the morning.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went home.”
“What did you think when you got home and Tito wasn’t there?”
“I didn’t think anything. I took a shower and went to bed.”
“You weren’t worried about where he was?”
“No.”
“Who is this man, Esme?”
Again the actress turned to Des. “Do I have to say?”
“It’s kind of necessary, Esme. Tito’s death is still unexplained, and this man is in a position to vouch for you.”
“Well, if you say so…” Now Esme’s face broke into a naughty little smile. “It’s Jeffrey Wachtell.”
The composed beauty of Martine’s face instantly turned harsh and ugly. “Why, you little whore!” she cried out, smacking her daughter hard in the face.
Des grabbed Martine roughly by the wrists and yanked her to her feet. “Okay, we’re not having any of that in my house!”
“Yo, what the hell is this?” Soave wondered, baffled.
Esme scarcely reacted at all. Just sat there, unfazed, as her split lip started to ooze fresh blood. Clearly, this was someone who was used to getting hit. Des had encountered her share of female punchingbags before, but they were never rich, pretty, and white. In this regard, Esme was a first for her.
“Why did you come back?!” Martine screamed at her daughter, struggling in Des’s grasp. She was a handful, amazingly strong. “You could have gone anywhere in the world-why did you have to come here?!”
“Yolie, want to get her an ice cube and a towel?” Des said as she muscled Martine toward the French doors.
“Got it,” Yolie said, springing into action.
“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?! You wanted to hurt me!”
“What if I did?” Esme shot back, sneering at her.
“You are sick!”
“Well, you ought to know!”
“Okay, let’s take it outside,” ordered Des, hustling Martine out onto the deck.
Soave followed them out there. “So, what, they’re both boinking this guy Jeff?” he asked, stroking his former mustache.
“So it would seem,” Des replied, as Martine began to pace back and forth across the deck, hugging herself, utterly distraught.
“Who is this guy, the stud of the century?”
“Rico, I truly don’t know how to respond to that.”
He went back inside now, shaking his head. Des stayed with Martine. It felt warm and muggy out there after
