entrance at the rear, where the massive moatlike gates of the army’s time had been removed without a trace.
The garage, one flight down a reinforced ramp, had held obsolete army vehicles for many years, but didn’t show it now. At the foot of the ramp, arrowed signs led residential tenants through a locked gate straight ahead, dance studio customers to the left, and Freedman Wholesale Jewels employees not customers through an elaborately alarmed gate to the right.
Henry never parked in the dance studio area. As an Armory Associates partner, he had a right to the electronic box on his visor that opened the simple metal-pole barrier to residents’ parking, which he now used. He left the Infiniti in the visitors’ section, rode the elevator up one flight to the main floor, and emerged into the broad low- ceilinged lobby. No one got up to the residential area without being vetted by the doorman.
Who Henry knew very well. ‘Evening, George,’ he said, striding across the lobby toward the inner door.
George, in his navy blue uniform with golden piping, had been standing flat-footed, hands behind his back, cap squared off on his head as he gazed out at the street through the glass of the front door, but now he said, ‘Evening, Mr Freedman,’ and moved briskly to his wall-mounted control panel, where he buzzed the inner door open just before Henry arrived, hand already out.
Henry was noted for his ‘tours of inspection’ of the Armory, and saw no reason why anyone would think twice about them. He’d been doing the same thing, though not as often, for years before he’d become besotted with Darlene.
The inner lobby was more spacious, with never-used sofas, all in muted tones of gold and avocado. At the left rear, past the second bank of elevators, was an unmarked gold door to which Henry had the credit-card-style key. Now he inserted it, saw the green light, removed the card, and stepped through into Darlene’s private office, all stark silver and white, with accents of an icy blue. But it was empty.
Usually, Darlene was here when he entered, not one to tease by being late, to keep him waiting. Usually, she was right here, either elegant in her businesswoman mode or hot and perspiring in leotard from a private lesson, when she would be girlish and giggly and out of breath, crying, ‘Oh, I’m all sweaty, let me shower, I’m too sweaty!’ And he’d say, ‘I’ll lick it off. Come here, let me help, don’t wriggle so much.’
But today she wasn’t here. The office was actually part of a suite, with a small bedroom and bath and kitchenette, but when he went through they were all empty as well.
He got back to the main office just as she came in from the hall, beyond which were the studios. She looked very different, not her normal self at all. She was still beautiful and desirable, today the businesswoman in a long dark jacket and pantsuit and blue striped blouse, but her manner was troubled, almost angry.
‘Henry,’ she said, and her manner was not at all sexy or kittenish, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
What an odd thing to say. ‘Darlene,’ he reminded her, ‘we have a date.’
She blinked at him, as though trying to make him out through some sort of fog. ‘Yes, of course we do,’ she said. ‘But it’s just I’ve come across something, and I don’t like it.’
Doom! he thought, and his heart contracted like a rubber ball. ‘Come across something? What?’
‘There’s a young woman here,’ Darlene told him, and Henry’s heart and body and mind all relaxed. This was just business, that’s all, it wasn’t exposure. Not yet.
Darlene was saying, ‘She’s in the low-impact class, I wouldn’t have noticed her, except she’s in better shape than most of them when they start in that class; in fact, they start there becausethey need to get in shape’
‘Darlene,’ Henry said, ready to be helpful and reassuring, now that it was merely a business problem, ‘just tell me what’s wrong.’
‘All right,’ Darlene said. ‘Make me a drink.’
She usually didn’t have her scotch-and-water until after they’d been to bed. He said, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ she said, in a tone that asked for no argument.
‘Fine, fine.’ Lifting his hands in amiable surrender, he went over to the credenza behind her desk where the liquor cabinet and glasses and tiny refrigerator were concealed.
While he made her a drink pointedly, nothing for himself she said, ‘I wouldn’t have noticed a thing, but Susanna told me you know, the girl now on the front desk.’
‘Is that her name?’
‘She told me, this new one, Brenda Fawcett, was paying cash because she didn’t want her husband to know she was learning to dance. We get some like that from time to time. I don’t think it usually turns out to be the happy surprise the lady had in mind.’
Henry brought her her drink: ‘Don’t be cynical.’
‘It’s hard not to be.’ She sighed. ‘All right. The first thing I thought, if this Brenda Fawcett is here to learn dancing behind her husband’s back, why is she in the low-impact class? Why isn’t she in ballroom dancing?’
Henry shrugged. ‘Getting in shape, like you said.’
‘She’s inshape.’ Darlene took a healthy swallow of her drink. ‘Then I noticed,’ she said, ‘our Brenda doesn’t wear a wedding ring.’
‘Some people don’t,’ Henry suggested.
‘Some mendon’t,’ Darlene told him. ‘Women wear that band.’
Marriage discussions with Darlene could be a tricky area. ‘Fine,’ Henry said.
‘So,’ Darlene went on, leaving marriage behind, ‘I looked at the card Susanna filled out, when Ms. Fawcett first enrolled, and it’s all false.’
Henry frowned at her. ‘It’s what?’
‘The home address,’ Darlene told him, ‘the phone number, all fake. Andshe’s paying in cash, so she doesn’t have to prove her identity. So what’s she up to?’
