Taming A Sea-Horse
Robert B. Parker
Copyright © 1986
Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir:
Notice Neptune though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
Robert Browning,
'My Last Duchess'
1
I hadn't had lunch with Patricia Utley since the last time the Red Sox won the pennant. That seems like another way to say never, but in fact it had been ten years. We were looking at the menu and sipping margaritas (on the rocks, salt) in a restaurant called Bogie's on West 26th Street in Manhattan.
'Veal's awfully good here,' Patricia said.
'So are the margaritas,' I said.
She smiled. 'Margaritas are good everywhere.'
Ten years had made little impression on Patricia Utley. She was still small and blond and fine-boned. She still wore big black-rimmed round glasses. She still looked very good.
The waitress came and took our order and went away. She came back shortly with a second margarita for me. Patricia Utley still had most of hers left. It's hard to make a margarita last and with each sip it becomes harder. I put my glass down, licked a little salt off my upper lip. No problem. I'd just leave it there a while and then I'd have another little sip.
'Have you found April yet?' I said.
'Steven has traced her to another call house on the West Side,' she said. 'Ninety-sixth and Central Park West.' She gave me the address. I turned the margarita glass slowly on the tablecloth with my right hand.
'Decent place?' I said.
'At the moment,' she said. 'But only at the moment. When she gets a little used up she'll be replaced and they'll turn her out into something a little less plush.'
'And when she gets used up there?' I said.
Patricia Utley nodded. 'To something still less plush.'
I drank some of my margarita.
'Down and down I go,' I said. 'Round and round I go.'
'She'll be in a spin,' Patricia Utley said. 'But she won't be enjoying it.'
I had taken a bit larger sip than I'd intended. The margarita was gone. Probably if I had another one, I'd be able to think just what I should do about April Kyle. I nodded at the waitress. She brought me a new drink and one for Patricia Utley.
'Maybe I can talk with her a bit,' I said.
Patricia nodded. 'It might help. Steven talked with her but it did no good. Whether she'll respond to you I don't know. You sent her to me.'
'I know,' I said. 'Seemed like a good idea at the time.'
'I think it was. We made real progress with her. She had learned how to behave, maybe even had started to get some values.'
'And regular medical checks. No clap, no herpes.'
'There's always whores,' Patricia said. 'Always. And someone has always run them. That doesn't mean that same ways aren't better than others.'
The waitress came with our veal.
When she went away, I said, 'I know. That's why I sent her to you. She was going to be a whore, no matter what.'
'And my girls get fairly paid and they are not abused and they are free to leave.' She shrugged. 'I never claimed it was Smith College.'
'No need to be defensive,' I said. 'No one accused you of being Smith College.' Patricia smiled. I finished my margarita before starting the veal. Sequence is important.
