The Deep Blue Alibi

Queen.

'Her Highness hates me, doesn't she?' Steve pried.

'She barely knows you.'

'She thinks I'm not good enough for you.'

'All parents think that about their children.'

'Not my old man.'

'You want to make a better impression on The Queen, stop wearing that stupid T-shirt every time you see her.'

'What shirt?'

'Don't play dumb. The one that says: ' 'If It's Not One Thing, It's Your Mother.' '

'I've tried being nice. She didn't like the watch I gave her.'

'If it had been a real Cartier and not a knockoff, she would have loved it.'

'If it had been a real Cartier, I couldn't have bought it from the valet parker at jai alai.'

'The Queen doesn't hate you, Steve. She just always imagined me with someone. .' How could she put this?'. . different.'

'A Princeton WASP whose Daddy owned an investment bank. Summer in Southampton, winter in Aspen.'

'Actually, she always thought I'd marry Junior.'

Steve made an 'ow' sound and wrapped an arm around Tami. 'I'm beginning to see the benefits of inanimate partners. No mothers-in-law.'

Victoria had never told Steve some of her mother's pithier comments about him:

'For the life of me, Princess, I don't know what you see in that ambulance chaser.'

And just now Victoria decided not to tell Steve something else, too. Her mother's odd reaction last night to the news about Uncle Grif. The Queen never asked about the case. Victoria would have expected her to wonder-Who's dead? Did Grif do it? How badly hurt is he? — but she didn't ask any of those questions. Her first response: 'What did Grif say about me, dear?'

On second thought, maybe that was to be expected. After all, The Queen's egocentricity was as much a trademark as her couture dresses and salon coiffures. But the question wasn't: 'Did he ask about me?' More of a concern, an alarm, about what was said. And then there was: 'Did Grif mention your father?'

Again, it wasn't the question so much as the tone, Victoria reflected. Was there just a hint of fear? It seemed as if The Queen didn't want her talking about the family with Uncle Grif. After all these years of silence, what was she afraid of?

Victoria wondered about the secrets parents keep. Both Steve's father and her mother were hiding things. Was it to protect themselves, or their children? But don't all of us keep secrets from our loved ones? After all, she didn't come clean with Steve about just how shaky their relationship was.

What am I afraid of?

There was fear all around, it seemed to her.

The Queen had ended the phone call with another odd note Victoria was still processing.

'Grif was always envious of your father,' Irene Lord had said.

'I thought they were best friends,' Victoria replied.

'They were. But Nelson had such. . je ne sais quoi . . elegance, such class. Grif always knew he'd be nothing more than. .'

Victoria could picture her mother, in her suite at the Shangri-la Hotel, making a dismissive European gesture, to be followed by a French expression.

'Another nouveau riche builder,' The Queen concluded.

Victoria kept herself from pointing out that, after her father's death, she and her mother were nouveau pauvre. 'I don't get it, Mother. Why are you criticizing Uncle Grif?'

'I'm not, dear. I'm only saying, don't take everything he says at face value. Now, I must ring off, darling. I'm late for my mud bath.'

Victoria imagined her mother, the phone pressed between shoulder and ear, delicate fingers removing a three-carat diamond stud from the other ear, placing it carefully in her black-lacquer traveling jewelry box. There was so much more Victoria wanted to ask. Why had The Queen never told her about Grif's offers of financial support? And why had she refused all his help? Why shut Uncle Grif out of their lives when they needed him the most?

She decided not to share any of this with Steve, at least not until she could figure out some of it. She glanced at him stuffing Tami's overflowing breasts back into place. Wondering if he was taking longer than absolutely necessary to complete the task.

She thought of her father, remembering a handsome man in an old-fashioned, three-piece suit, a barrel- chested man with a deep voice and a mane of salt-andpepper hair. He had seemed so strong. So invincible. But damn him, he'd been weak. He took the coward's way out, abandoning his family. Not even a note, she thought for the thousandth time. How hard would it have been to write of his love for his only child?

Damn him! Damn him for the pain he left in his wake.

A memory came back to her, just a glimpse of her father, scooping her up and swinging her around, her legs nearly parallel to the ground as she shrieked with delight. A merry-go-round of a father. She remembered him as a tall man, but years later, she saw photos of Nelson and Irene Lord together. They were about the same height, and Irene was five-eight. The tricks the mind plays, she thought. What else was distorted in her memory? And what other secrets did her mother keep locked in her black-lacquer jewelry box?

Sixteen

THIS YEAR'S BIGBY

In the span of seven minutes, Judge Alvin Schwartz- eighty-one years old, nearsighted, absentminded, and cantankerous as a hemorrhoid-threatened Steve with contempt, ordered him to put his pants back on, reserved ruling on his motion for summary judgment, tossed all lawyers out of his chambers, but commanded Ms. Tami Stepford and all her silicone charms to remain behind, while His Honor considered the weighty legal precedents concerning injuries suffered while wrestling bikini-clad women in vats of Jell-O.

On the way out of the courthouse, Steve felt elated. Victoria had made the legal arguments, and he'd handled the single-leg takedown and crotch-and-a-half pinning move. Surely Victoria must realize they were a terrific team. 'We're gonna win,' he predicted cheerfully.

'Great,' Victoria said, without enthusiasm. 'We'll get more work from. .' She couldn't bring herself to say it. Even the name sounded dirty. 'That place.'

'Hey, The Beav pays the bills.'

'Not just in lap dance coupons?'

'C'mon, Vic. You know I don't mess around with The Beav Brigade.' Referring to the pole climbers, lap dancers, and bar-top booty shakers.

It was technically true, thanks to his use of the present-tense verb 'don't.' It would have been completely true if he'd added 'anymore.'

From the day he first kissed Victoria-actually, she kissed him on the dock of a yacht club while her fiance was having avocado vichyssoise inside-he had not been with another woman. Had not even lusted after another woman. In the time they'd been together, he had often told Victoria that he loved her-usually amidst various whoops and snorts while her legs were wrapped around his hips-but even so, he figured he meant it.

'So, how 'bout Nemo for dinner?' he asked. 'My treat. You're crazy about their pan-seared yellowtail.'

'Ah. Uhh. Ah,' Victoria said.