Baltimore Blues

She could feel Ava waiting, considering, only blocks away. After a week of following her, Tess felt strangely close to her prey. She still didn't like her, but she sensed something sad and fucked-up in her, which made her harder to hate. She wanted to hear Ava's side of the story, even as she doubted she would believe it. But she did not tell her any of this, did not say anything more as she hurtled toward the beep and another disconnection.

Ava picked up just before the tape on the machine ran out. 'Sunday,' she said. 'Eight P.M. I can't meet until then.'

'Fine. Meet me at The Point.'

'The Point?'

'It's a bar, also known as Spike's Place, out on Franklintown Road, near where I-70 dead-ends.'

'I'm sure I can find it. I look forward to meeting you. I've never met a female dick before.' And she slammed the phone down again.

Let her have this round, Tess decided. The next one is mine. She sat down at her computer and wrote two short plays, both for two characters. Tess and Rock, Tess and Ava. The only trick would be getting them to follow scripts they didn't know existed.

The next morning, an overcast Saturday, she grabbed Rock's hand as they left Jimmy's.

'Take a walk with me,' she said. They had not talked about Ava at breakfast. They had been not talking about Ava for ten days now, which meant they had practically stopped talking. It was the only subject in the world.

'Do you know something?' he asked.

'Yes, but it's hard to tell.'

He swallowed hard, pale beneath his tan. Tess led him down the pier to a small bench overlooking the harbor.

'I've been watching Ava off and on for almost a week now. I think I know what's bugging her.'

Rock's eyes held hers, but he was incapable of saying anything. He reminded Tess of an old dog, trusting a beloved master not to put him to sleep-unless the master absolutely had to.

'She shoplifts. Little things, things she can't possibly need. I saw her take underwear and camisoles, stuff that wasn't even her size.'

As she had expected Rock considered this good news. He sighed, the air escaping from his massive lungs as if he had been holding his breath for several days. It was bad, but it wasn't as bad as he had feared. He could fix this. He could help her. He straightened up, ready to take action.

'I bet there's someone up at Phipps who knows about kleptomania,' he said, referring to Johns Hopkins's psychiatric wing. Tess turned her face away so he wouldn't see her smile. He was so predictable. Of course he had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Ava's thefts were a sickness, and therefore curable. She had planned on such a reaction.

'I've already done that. Dr. Hauer is the leading expert on this kind of disorder.' The lie stung a little, delivered so smoothly to a trusted friend, but the name was correct, taken from one of the media guides Johns Hopkins distributed to the newspaper every year.

'I've heard of him. He has a great rep.'

'Yes, he does. His advice may be difficult for you to follow, though. He says it's important not to confront her about this. I told him what I had observed, and he said it's his opinion she's reaching a crisis point. If you're patient, she'll confide in you soon enough.'

'But what if she gets arrested? It could ruin her career. She'd never be admitted to the bar.'

Tess had anticipated this question, too. 'I don't think she will. Get caught, I mean. I saw her because I was already observing her, Rock. Clerks don't watch her. She dresses well; she looks like a nice young professional woman. They're too busy chasing around the kids playing hooky to watch someone like Ava. But if she is arrested Dr. Hauer said he'd be able to get the charges dropped. He does it all the time.'

A preposterous claim. No psychiatrist, no matter how highly regarded, could get charges dropped down at the police station. But Tess counted on Rock's lack of experience with police officers or bail hearings.

Still, he was uncomfortable. She knew Rock would have trouble doing nothing. This was the riskiest part of her plan-trying to keep Rock from confronting Ava until tomorrow night.

She took his left hand in both of hers. The palm thick with calluses. A rower's hand. It was like holding a huge Brillo pad.

'Trust me,' she said, knowing she no longer deserved his trust. 'Give it a week. If she hasn't come to you by then and told you everything, we'll go to Plan B.'

'Plan B?'

'An intervention, like they do for addicts. But give it a week. Promise?'

'Well, if Dr. Hauer thinks this is the right thing… I won't say anything to her, not for a week. You have my word.'

And his word, Tess knew, was actually worth something. It was as good as the check he pressed in her hand, made out for $1,080. Her first one-act play had gone off without a hitch. Now all she had to do was mount and produce the second one. Sequels were always tricky.

Tess hadn't been to The Point for months, a fact Spike lost no time reminding her of.

'Hey, Tesser, you finally come to see your old Uncle Spike? You still like mozzarella sticks? I tell you what. For you I'll have Tommy change the oil. And a Rolling Rock, right? In a bottle, no glass. See, I remember, even if you don't come see me so often.'

'You've got a great memory, Uncle Spike. Who do you get that from?'

'I got nothing from nobody, Tesser. You know that.' He turned up the sound on the Orioles game, then disappeared into the kitchen to personally supervise her mozzarella sticks.

Spike was a relative, but no one was sure whose, for neither side of the family would claim him. Tess's father always insisted he was a cousin from some weak branch of the Weinstein family tree. Her mother maintained she had never met him until marrying into the Monaghan clan. Spike himself was closemouthed about the connection, though his looks favored Momma Weinstein's springer spaniels. Pale, with an astonishing array of liver spots, Spike was notable primarily for his bald head, which came to a point. Hence the name of his tavern, decorated throughout with silhouettes of his bald head, cut from black construction paper by the dishwasher.

Tess adored him and his bar. When she was fifteen he had given her an open invitation to The Point, telling her it was important to learn to drink among people one could trust.

'You miscalculate here, the worst that happens maybe you wake up on my sofa, some crumbs on you,' Spike said. 'You drink too much out there-' He pointed with his chin to the world beyond Franklintown Road and didn't bother to explain what could happen to a drunk teenager out there. Accidents, vehicular and sexual.

Spike's plan, while unorthodox, worked well. By the time Tess went off to Washington College, she knew exactly how much she could drink. It was a prodigious amount. Her dates were far more likely to pass out than she. On occasion a few did. A lady, she never took advantage of them.

Tonight she had chosen Spike's Place because she hoped it would throw Ava off balance. She was ready for a second Rolling Rock before Ava arrived, ten minutes late and unapologetically so. She stalked in, wearing a white unitard, a turquoise thong, suede boots, and a leather jacket. Her black hair was pinned up on top of her head in a geyserlike ponytail. It was quite unlike anything ever seen at The Point. One of the older men fell off his bar stool as Ava walked by.

'Don't get too full of yourself,' Tess told her, looking at George on the floor. 'He does that all the time.'

'I know you,' Ava said, but her look told Tess she couldn't place her. They had met only a few times. Rock's life was neatly compartmentalized, and Ava had shown little interest in rowing, which only happened to be his reason for existence.

'Maybe you think you know me because I've been watching you for so long. You've probably seen me several times, yet it never registered until now. I've noticed you don't really pay much attention to the world around you.'

Ava slid into the booth, arranging herself so only a tiny strip of her tiny behind made contact with the smeared and cracked vinyl. She glanced at a menu, shuddered slightly, then put it aside. Tess had planned to recommend the veal chop, eager to watch her try to cut the rubbery meat. She also hoped she would order a Chardonnay. The