Dear Irene

“Wouldn’t you remember writing a publicity campaign for the college or the zoo?” Frank asked.

“I know I didn’t do anything on the zoo or the college directly. But Kevin knows the clients better than I do.”

“If the connection is through us, it’s very subtle,”

Kevin said. “You don’t have any particular client in mind?”

I shrugged. “No. I don’t even remember half of them, to tell the truth.”

“Let’s see. Greek mythology is a complete dead end, I’m afraid. The only person I’ve known who could quote the Greeks was O’Connor. You know how he was. He also quoted the works of Shakespeare, Eleanor Roosevelt, Yeats, Marx — Groucho, that is — the Bible, the Tao, and anyone and anything else that happened to interest him. No, it must be something else. Perhaps one of the people you dealt with is a big donor to the Alumni Foundation or to the Zoological Society… Hmmm.” He thought for a while longer then said, “I’ll go through the computer files on your work for us. If I see any names that look like they might have some connection, I’ll let you know.”

FRANK AND I ended up taking a cab home. Inside the house we were greeted by Cody, the old reprobate, who bit my newly uncovered ankle. I yelped as he ran off in a gray streak.

“Cody’s waited more than six weeks to have a chance to do that,” Frank said, grinning in a way that made me forgot all about my ankle.

I reached around him. “God, it feels good to hold you with both arms.”

He kissed me, slow and easy; a kiss that had more hello than good night in it. He took me to bed, where I got a chance to try out some of the things I had been waiting more than six weeks to do.

5

I HAD MY HEAD INSIDE the Liberty Bell and someone was striking it repeatedly with a large mallet. I groaned and woke up to hear Frank’s simultaneous groan. The phone was ringing. I fumbled for that instrument of torture and looked at the clock and scowled. Seven o’clock. Who the hell was calling us at this ungodly hour?

“Irene?” the voice on the other end asked from a distance. I flipped the receiver around so that I was no longer holding it upside down.

“Barbara,” I said to my sister, “the next time you call me this early on a Saturday, I will attach you to a twenty-foot bungee cord and push you from a nineteen-foot overpass.”

Frank groaned again and put his pillow over his eyes.

“You’re hungover!” she scolded loudly. I moved the receiver a good six inches from my ear while she prattled incessantly about how ashamed my mother would have been had she lived to see me behaving like this. (I am convinced that Barbara, given a choice between dropping a neutron bomb and invoking my mother’s memory, would still find the latter a more potent weapon.)

Frank groaned louder and rolled onto his stomach. I reached down and unplugged the phone, wondering as I fell back to sleep how long it would take Barbara to realize all her bitching was failing to do more than sear some phone lines.

Sometime around noon, as I lay watching him, Frank pulled the pillow off his head. “I don’t know how you do that without suffocating,” I said.

He managed a smile. “I’m going to tell your sister that we are moving to the Himalayas and can’t be reached by phone.”

“Sooner or later she’ll see my byline in the Express and know she can start calling again.”

“You’ll have to make up a pen name.” The smile broadened to a grin. “How about—”

“Never mind. I can tell from the look on your face that it doesn’t belong in a family newspaper.”

“What did Barbara want?”

“I don’t know. I unplugged her.”

He laughed and pulled me close. “Let’s stay in bed all day.”

“Are you kidding? I just got my cast off. I want to get some exercise.”

“Who said you won’t be getting exercise?”

There was a loud banging at the front door. I heard my name being screeched by a fishwife. The bedroom is at the back of the house, but we could hear her “I know you’re in there!” quite plainly.

“Barbara says I won’t be getting exercise.”

Frank groaned for the fourth time that morning and reached for his jeans. I hurriedly got into a bathrobe, amused briefly by the realization that I could now do something like pull on a bathrobe and run to the front door.

“Hell’s bells, Barbara,” I called out as I made my way down the hallway, “keep your pantyhose on!”

I opened the door and she shot into the house like she had been launched from a catapult.

“Of all the despicable tricks! I can’t believe you were so rude! I had hoped Frank would teach you a few manners but I can see…”

What she could see just then was Frank, coming down the hallway as he buttoned a shirt. It stopped her mid- tirade.

“Good afternoon, Barbara,” he said.

She took in his bare feet and sleep-tousled hair and began to stammer. “Fr-Fr-Frank. I… I only saw Irene’s car. I didn’t know you were home.”