'In that case, I hear a bottle of Stoli Raspberry calling my name,' he said. 'And bring your corporate card, of course.
You know, in case I get the munchies.'
Sheffield hung up.
I looked over at Amanda. The book was on her lap. I knew she heard the whole conversation.
'He sounded good,' she said.
'Always does.'
'Are you worried about Paulina?'
I thought for a moment. Paulina had done her absolute best to ruin my reputation last year. I knew she had it out for me, but still wasn't sure if the vitriol was real or just a ploy to boost her career.
'The same way you worry about gum disease or cancer,' I said. 'You can brush your teeth and eat broccoli every day, but if it's going to fuck up your life it's going to fuck up your life.'
'I don't want anyone to do that,' she said.
'Hey,' I said, wrapping my arms around her. She returned the gesture. 'Whatever anyone does to me, you counteract it.
You're my counterbalance, babe.'
I kissed her, but knew her mind was elsewhere.
12
Amanda tucked her hands into her peacoat as she walked down the street. Henry had ordered a half mushroom pie from the pizza joint down the block (the one they probably kept in business). She'd told him she would pick up the pizza while she stepped out to grab some female products. Beautiful thing, those female products, as they could preempt any further questions.
The night was still cool, the remnants of spring still hanging on. Soon summer would come, and New York summers could be brutal. Damn Al Gore, guy was right all along.
Maybe he really did create the Internet, too.
She thought about Henry, their relationship. It was still a relatively new thing, still exciting, but neither of them really knew what lay around the corner. They'd been dating steady for nearly a year, though for the life of her she couldn't remember an official start date, other than the first day Henry introduced her as his girlfriend. It'd been a surprise but a pleasant one. After he was released from the hospital, everything just seemed to happen. Not that she had any problem with it-it felt good introducing him, holding his hand at night, saying the word boyfriend and knowing it meant more than some silly schoolgirl thing.
For years, Amanda didn't trust anybody. Not the nuns who ran the various orphanages she was shuttled between as a little girl, not the boys who claimed they liked her then split when the bra clasp remained fastened. Even Lawrence and Harriet
Stein, the perfectly nice oatmeal couple who finally gave her a home, had a hard time earning any trust from their adopted daughter. And it still hadn't fully come.
She was amazed at the ease in which Henry settled into their relationship. She moved in with him just months after they met and he adapted like a dried fish being put back in water. He was romantic, honest, sincere. Even about the hard things. Mya. His father. He asked questions about her job, her family. He made her feel like she mattered. For Henry, the process seemed purifying. For Amanda, the process was much more difficult.
She'd shared beds with boyfriends, made dinner for special guys and on some lucky nights had it made for her. But she'd never shared a laundry hamper. She'd never gone to work only to come home and see the same person she'd gone to sleep with.
It was a challenge, and some nights, all she wanted was space that their one-bedroom could not provide, all she wanted to do was scream, pull the notebooks from storage and wander the streets taking stock of everyone she came across.
But then she'd look at Henry. Sitting at his desk, reading a book or a newspaper. Writing on a notepad. She'd read his bylines in the Gazette and feel her heart swell with pride. And she would look at her man and smile, and he would smile back, and then Henry would come over and kiss her on the cheek and go right back to work.
Henry had been in a serious relationship. Mya. It was as serious as most college relationships went. It wasn't hard,
Amanda figured, to move from one relationship to another.
The person changes, but the habits carry over. He'd shared a bed. Shared a hamper. Amanda supposed she could be thankful he wasn't awkward. But part of her wished they were both experiencing the doubts and fears for the first time, together.
Amanda's sense of trust seemed to come organically.
Funny, since the very first thing Henry ever did was lie to her.
He lied about his name to save his life, posed as someone else.
But only on the surface. She could tell, from the moment they met, what kind of person he was. Maybe it was years of keeping journals, sizing up people in a quick glance. Because one thing Amanda always had a keen eye for was kindness.
And in Henry she found that.
She knew the last year had eaten away at him. In between recovery from his wounds, the subsequent media frenzy, and then his attempt to settle back into a tenuous routine. Over the last few days, the sanctity of that routine had been threatened. Two horrible murders, one a man who, just twelve months ago, wanted nothing more than to kill him. She knew the guilt he still felt over John Fredrickson's death. Stroked his hair when he had nightmares. Even though Henry hadn't pulled the trigger, a family had been torn apart. That wasn't something you got over in a year.
When she saw that Athena Paradis's murderer had used a line written by Henry, again she feared that his work would endanger his life. Everything pointed to it being a terrible coincidence. Henry didn't want to dwell on it, and except for a brief conversation that night it had been dropped. She couldn't help but sit a little closer to him. Call him a few extra times a day. Just to make sure he was safe.
And now this witch, Paulina Cole, threatening to reenter his life. So she decided to do what any good girlfriend would do. Only she'd get more enjoyment out of it than most.
Amanda picked up a pay phone at the corner. She was twelve blocks away from their apartment. It would do.
She dialed the operator. Asked to be transferred to the main desk at One Police Plaza. When an operator picked up, she asked to be transferred to the press secretary. It rang twice, and was answered by a man with a high-pitched voice and wonderful enunciation.
'I'm calling in regards to the recent murders of Athena
Paradis and Detective Joe Mauser,' Amanda said. 'I'm a reporter, and I'd like to speak to Chief Louis Carruthers for a story I'm writing. It's of the utmost importance, so I'd appreciate if you'd connect me right this instant.'
'Ma'am, all official statements regarding the murders of
Ms. Paradis and Detective Mauser have been released, and are available on our website. If you need further information, you are invited to submit your queries and I will get the appropriate responses for you as soon as possible.'
'Don't you ma'am me,' Amanda said, affecting her best and bitchiest tone. Damn, this was fun. 'You tell whoever your pansy-ass supervisors are, those pussy-eating faggots and butt pirates, and that spic mayor of yours who panders to all the kikes in city hall, you tell them that this is Paulina Cole of the New York Dispatch and I'll be damned if I let some queer tell me what I can and can't have access to. Now connect me to Carruthers or I'll send someone down there to snip your balls from your sack.'
Amanda smiled at the click and dial tone. She checked her watch. The pizza would be ready in less than ten minutes.
Screw it. She still had time to call the mayor's office.
