Compulsion

“Like a gyirlfriend.”

“Good listener?”

“The hand-hold, the listening, the hugs. The little kiss here.” Tapping the tip of her nose. “The business? Nyo.”

She shifted her weight, exposed more thigh.

I said, “Hard to believe he turned you down.”

Her eyes moistened. “You are probably lying but I like it anyway.”

She drank wine, looked up at the ceiling. Her chin quivered. She covered her thigh.

I said, “So you asked if he was gay and he said no.”

“Right away, no.”

“Did the question bother him?”

“Not at all,” she said. “He laughed. Changed the subject.”

“To what topic?”

“‘You are so beautiful, Sonny.’” Deep sigh.

“Was he effeminate?”

“Nyo,” she said. “I’d say nyo.”

“You’re not sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure, definite nyo. Dyale was not girly, just a sensitive guy.”

“Helpful.”

She winked. “Not like a nyormal man, eh?”

I laughed.

“Another way he was different,” she said. “Very neat and clean, always smelled fresh. And no toys. I don’t talk about sex toys, I mean fast car, big watches, big TV, big stereo. Stevie likes the toys.”

“Dale didn’t own any of that.”

“Dyale had nyothing. Futon for sleeping, jeans and sweaters in the closet, nyo real food in the ’frigerator, just juice and water, a backpack, a locker.”

“A locker?”

“A green locker. From the army.”

“Dale told you he was a veteran?”

“Cyaptain, five years.”

“Where’d he serve?”

“Germany. He fixed tanks.”

“Mechanical.”

“Good with his hands,” she said. “One time he fixed my styove, the pilot light. Also, the toilet. Twice, the toilet.”

“We’re talking about your apartment on West Thirty-fifth.”

She flicked a red nail against her goblet. “Ah-lex, I was very, very lonely in the big house, Stevie was working all the time with the little nurses. Roland had a nyew building, I was doing the play, why go back to Long Island every night?”

“You got yourself an apartment, then you got Dale one.”

“I like to help, too.” Smile. “I’m talking to you.”

“I appreciate it. So-”

“How long are you going to be in the city, Ah-lex?”

“Leaving tomorrow.”

She clucked her tongue. “You come back a lot?”

“From time to time.”

“It’s a good city,” she said. “Always excitement.”

“Where was Dale living before he moved into Roland’s building?”

“Hotel.”

“Do you remember a name?”

“Never knyew a name,” she said. “Dyale told me it wasn’t nice. I said, Guess what, I have a solution for you. I talk to Roland, Dyale moves in next to me.”

“What else did he tell you about himself?”

“That’s it.”

“What about his family?”

“He said he didn’t have a family.”

“Why not?”

“The parents died. That’s why he moved to the city.”

“From California.”

“California?” she said. “Washington, D.C.”

“That’s where he told you he was from?”

“He talked about the capital, all the politicians lying all the time. Maybe he was a politician, too, eh?”

“Before moving here, he lived in San Francisco.”

“He never talked about California.”

“Did he mention any sisters or brothers?”

“He said he was an only child.” Smile. “Another tale?”

I nodded.

“Dyale, Dyale, Dyale,” said Sonia Glusevitch. “See what I mean about trusting?”

“What else did he tell you?”

“I just said nothing else, Ah-lex. You didn’t have cheese, it’s good.”

I bit off a corner of the cube. Rubbery and stiff around the edges. “There’s nothing else you can tell me about Dale?”

“Mostly, I talked and Dyale listened. He was a good friend when I needed a good friend. And now maybe he killed someone? Who?”

“Could be several people.”

She flinched. “I was alone with him so many times. He was always nyice.”

“Helpful,” I said.

“So helpful. The most helpful man I ever met.”

She left to go to “the girl’s room,” returned moments later with her jewelry removed, less makeup, hair pinned up.

Looking plainer but younger. “You didn’t move,” she said, remaining on her feet. “Not an inch.”

“Worried I’d steal the silver?”

She laughed. “You are leaving tomorrow? Morning or night?”

“Early-morning flight.”

Eye flicker. “Have a good trip, Ah-lex.”

Extending her hand.

I said, “If you don’t mind, just a few more questions.”

She sighed and sat. “Now you want to talk about the Safrans, right? Roland said you think Dyale killed them.”

“Would that surprise you?”

“Those two,” she said. “Who knows about people like that?”

“People like what?”

“Always like this.” She made a sour face. “Sloppy, messy, like they don’t wash. Dyale said they were like roaches.”

“Pests,” I said.

“Dirtying Roland’s property, not being fair to Roland. The way they treat the dog.”

“They were cruel to their dog?”

“Dyale said they never walked it, the dog made mess inside.”