19: At The Gym
He held his tongue until they were in the car, then said, “You may want to play dress up, Doreen, but this is no college farce. Believe me, Dirk the Ninja is no French fop. He hurts people.”
“I know that, dear, but what else can we do?”
“We can go home to Monarch Lane and resume our nice, dull, boring and safe retirement.”
She made a face. “I thought we settled that. Jamie and Amanda need us. We can’t let them down.”
“Very well, but you just said the magic word, we. You’re not setting foot inside that place without me.” Again she made a face. “I mean it, Doreen.”
“Is this called putting your foot down? If so I don’t think I like it very much.”
“It’s called being a team, doing things together.”
She patted his cheek. “That sounds a lot better.” He stopped at the curb in front of her shop. “What are you going to do now?”
“Go home and try to come up with a plan so neither of us has to play domestics. It’s called appealing to better natures.”
“Always works with me.”
He dialed, got the machine, said, “Hi, machine, how are you today? This is Walt Byerly. Remember me? I’d appreciate it if you’d have Sid phone me as soon as he comes in. Thanks, you’re a good fellow, machine.” He’d always wanted to do that.
While he waited he forced himself to sit and read. It wouldn’t make the phone ring, but it would pass the time. On the front page of the LA Times he read: “THE METEORIC RISE OF JUSTIN WRIGHT.” Meteors fall don’t they? The sub-head read: “From Political Obscurity to White House Front Runner, Thanks to Well-endowed and Well-placed Backers.” One of them was well-endowed anyway. He read the names. A regular Who’s Who in right- wing politics, among them Karl Kinkaid and, surprise, surprise, Columnist Joy Fielding.
The phone rang and he heard Sid Rankin’s gravelly voice. “Two calls in the same week, perfesser, I may charge you a fee.”
“Think of all I’ve done for you.”
“My mind’s a blank. What’s on yours?”
”Justin Wright.”
“You’ve fixated on him.”
“Maybe with good reason. How do I go about talking to him?”
“Call him up, I’ll give you the number. You can talk to his machine, just as you did mine. Or, I’ll give you another number where you can learn his views on anything from the Supreme Court to harbor seals-he’s for killing both, only one for furs. Still another number will earn you a personal appeal for funds.”
“I want to talk to him privately and confidentially.”
“What about?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I think you’re going to have to.”
“If everyone knows about it, Sid, there’s no point in discussing it with him.”
“Has this anything to do with a certain rumor I told you about?”
The man was sharp all right. “Why would you think that?”
“Answer a question with a question?” He laughed. “Okay, perfesser, you win. You don’t have to tell me, but you’re going to have to tell someone. The great man’s calls are screened. You’re going to have to provide a good reason for speaking to him, otherwise you’re just some goof-off college professor bugging him with oddball ideas. And Wright isn’t counting too heavily on the vote of academe.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed. “If I say what I want to talk to Wright about, how many people will have to know it?”
He said nothing for a moment. “It’s a crapshoot no matter what, but I may be able to whisper in the shell-like ear of someone hopefully close to the great man, who will possibly deliver the right message and-”
“I get the idea, Sid. Whatever I do, chances are it’ll be on the evening news.”
“A lot depends on the initial message. If Wright doesn’t want it known-”
“I hardly think he will.” He paused. “How about you, Sid? How many people do you tell?”
“You wound me, perfesser. Confidences are my life.”
“This is heavy stuff, Sid, lives may be at stake.”
His voice changed, lost its insouciance. “Okay, Walt, I’m impressed. What’s your message for Wright?”
He thought a moment. Say as little as possible, but pique his interest. “Okay, here it is. I can only hope for the best. Say, ’I know where Amanda Sykes is, but I’ll only talk to Wright personally and confidentially.’ Got that, Sid? Don’t write it down and above all don’t ask me any questions. Bye and thanks. I owe you.”
“Do you provide domestic help for the Kinkaid estate?”
“Yes, we do.”
Only her third call. How fortunate. DeeDee glanced at her list, Elite Placements, run by Anita Hockhousen. She’d never heard of Anita Hockhousen, and she’d so hoped to deal with someone she knew. “Is Anita in her office?”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Never mind, I’ll drop around.”
The office was on State Street below Mission. She arrived bearing a bouquet of flowers.
“These are beautiful, DeeDee, but why on earth?”
She was mid-50s, a full-sized woman, but well presented in an ivory-colored suit, her brown hair nicely coiffed. There was a bit of the Hillary Clinton in her. She’d need diplomacy in dealing with both the upstairs and downstairs folk. “I need a favor.” DeeDee smiled. “And I thought flowers might-”
“You’re right about that. Let me find a vase and we’ll talk.” One was produced. “You don’t remember, DeeDee, but we met once, at Bonnie James’ garden party last year.”
“I knew you looked familiar, how could I forget?” She smiled. “I keep having more and more of these senior moments.”
“Middle-aged moments, you mean.” She deposited the arranged vase on a table behind her. “Now what’s the favor?”
“You provide servants for the Kinkaids, don’t you?”
“One of my better accounts.”
“May I ask how many and what types?”
“It varies. If no one is in residence, I send hardly anyone. Right now, with Miss Fielding there, it’s as many as six or eight, mostly kitchen help, maid, cleaning women. On laundry days it may be two or three more. Then there are the outside people, gardeners and such. That, too, varies but usually two or three. Why do you want to know?”
“I want to be hired on.”
“You? Why on earth would you?”
She screwed up her face. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. “I need to get into the house.”
“Then visit. Take her some flowers. It worked with me.”
“I need the run of the place, Anita. I need-” She grimaced. “I need to check on something…look around without…anyone knowing.
“Why would you want to do that, DeeDee?”
She sighed. “Do I have to answer?”
“If you want my help. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk losing a valuable customer.”
She nodded, inhaled, blurted, “I think people are being held in the castle against their will.”
“In the tower?”
Dee-Dee gasped. “You know?”
