Uberreich knocked, then entered. They were in a large, fussy bedroom, with acres of frilly drapes everywhere and a canopied bed large enough for a pair of amorous hippos.
They passed by the foot of it and out on to a sun-drenched terrace.
“Good morning, Mrs. Uberreich, such a lovely day.”
“It certainly is, Miss Fielding.”
Dr. Joy sat at a wrought iron table, painted white, wearing a pink negligee and matching mules. The skirt had parted over her lovely thighs, leaving an eyeful under the glass tabletop.
“Miss Fielding, this is Irene, she’s new today.”
Dr. Joy looked at her but did not see her, showed teeth but did not smile. She delved back into her morning paper while Uberreich laid out her breakfast.
“Where do you want the other breakfast, Miss Fielding?”
“Right here.” She patted the chair to her right. “Mr. Dragon will be along in a moment.”
DeeDee almost dropped her tray. Dr. Joy had never seen her, only Walter, so she had no fear. But Victor Dragon had been in her home and helped snatch a screaming boy out of her arms. Lord! She was finished before she hardly started.
She smelled his cologne even before she heard his voice behind her. “Good morning, darling, I could eat a hippo.” He was dressed, but tieless and coatless.
“You’ll have to settle for bacon and eggs, I’m afraid.”
As much as she wanted to disappear, there was nothing to do but lay out the great man’s breakfast. She tried to keep her head down and her back toward him. No such luck.
“And who have we here this fine morning?”
She ignored him.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Me, sir?”
She looked down at her shoes. “Irene, sir,” she said softly. She even curtsied, sorta.
He looked at her a long moment, squinting a little. Here it comes.
“Irene. That’s a nice name you don’t hear much anymore. Well, I’ll say good morning instead of good night.” He thought that worthy of a good laugh.
“You may take the trays and go now, Irene.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Uberreich.” God was the one to be thanked. She had escaped, but barely.
“Are you sure he didn’t recognize you?” DeeDee tossed the salad while Walter served leftover stroganoff. They ate at the kitchen counter.
“If he did he’s a better actor than I am.” She shrugged. “At least we know he and Dr. Joy are acting out significant positions from The Joy of Sex and don’t care much who knows.”
“Are you sure? He could’ve dropped in for breakfast.”
“She in a diaphanous negligee, he just out of the shower? The bed looked like someone performed River Dance on it.”
“Clogs and all.” He laughed. “There’s somebody living in the tower, Babe, at least the gardener-excuse me, floriculturist-states it as a fact. Did you find a way in?”
“It’s not going to be easy. I talked to Maria Angelo-”
“And how is she?”
“Scared, everybody’s scared. I don’t know why they work there. Money must be good. Anyway, Maria says she thinks the tower’s reached through a locked door off the kitchen. She’s never tried, but she’s seen Uberreich go inside, carrying food.”
“I suppose Uberreich has the only key.”
“They hand them out to all the employees, don’t I wish.”
“Maybe you should take it up with the shop steward.”
She howled with laughter. “Unionized drudgery indeed.”
The phone rang and Walter answered. She heard, “Hi, Sid,” then, “Already? How’d it go?” Finally, “I agree, nothing will probably come of it, but I appreciate your efforts… Sure, I’ll let you know what happens, if anything. Bye.”
“What was that all about?”
“I’m trying to find a better way to help Jamie than planting petunias.”
“I thought it was mums.”
“Asters, actually. I asked Sid Rankin to help me get through to Justin Wright.”
She stared at him. “But why? He’ll go right to the enemy.”
“We don’t know that-not for sure, anyway. He might be a nice guy, a decent guy, eager to know his son, hold him, talk to him and…give him a life.” He swore under his breath, muttered, “When so many people want kids, how can a man…” He sighed deeply, then poured heavily into his wine glass.
She touched his hand, said softly, “I’ve never been big into throwing cold water, hon.”
“It could do some good, you know, he might want to.”
“I’m on your side, love.”
Later he yawned. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with age, only exertion, but I’m pooped, how about you?”
“I thought you’d never admit it. Yes, let’s go to bed sooner than later.”
“How about now?”
“You always had the best ideas, darling, that’s why I let you sweep me off my feet.”
“As I recall I kept suggesting the sack to you regularly, but you needed a piece of paper.”
“The times, dear, the times. And you weren’t enamored of my father’s shotgun any more than I was.”
There was a knock at the door. “Lord, we’re Grand Central Station.” DeeDee went. It was Lupe.
“Where have you guys been? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“We’ve been out at the Kinkaid castle, trying to find some way to rescue Jamie.”
“You went out there like that?”
She giggled. “Yes, this is my maid’s costume. Walter is a gardener. We’re pretty good at it, too. Walter’s already learned somebody is in that tower.”
“We still haven’t figured out how to get up there, though.”
“And Victor is fornicating with Dr. Joy. I saw them together, morning-after eyes and all.”
Lupe glared at them. “You might have told me what you were doing. It’s dangerous.”
“No time,” Walter said, “and the risk is tolerable.”
“Are you sure? The last man to see Harry Gould alive was Victor Dragon.”
21: Dumb Dora
Byerly had stayed close to the tower, hoping to catch a glimpse or hear a voice from above. Nothing. But all the beds marked for transplanting were finished in that area, so he was forced to move his wheelbarrow further afield. Bending and kneeling for more than a few minutes wasn’t his thing, but he had to admit the sunlight was gorgeous and the odors of grass, earth and flowers rapturous.
“I have such good news, darling. You’re going to be so pleased.”
The voice startled him and he looked around.
“We’re going to clear a quarter mil on the dinner, just think of it.”
The subject matter more than the voice made him realize it was Joy Fielding. But where? He saw an open Elizabethan window above and to his right.
“We sold every seat. I just wish we’d taken a bigger hall. The local yokels are delighted to pay ten grand to shake hands with the handsome, debonair-” Pause. “Of course issues are important, but the locals are too star struck for that.”
Too bad he didn’t have a recorder. This would play well on the evening news.
“Of course you can confide in me, Justin. What’s bothering you?”
