Dead Ringer

“Merci beaucoup. I couldn’t be happier. I will take my leave.” He rose, bowing at Judy and Anne. “Thank you, ladies, for your assistance.”

“Thank you,” Judy said, and Anne nodded.

“Yes, it was our pleasure.”

Bennie got up. “Let me walk you out,” she offered, taking St. Amien outside her office and into the empty hallway, where he turned.

“You needn’t escort me all the way. Thank you again, for everything. ? bientot.” Suddenly St. Amien leaned over and gave her a deft kiss on the cheek, then turned and left.

“See ya.” Bennie blinked, caught off balance. She’d never had a client kiss her, but she couldn’t say she disliked it. She watched him catch the elevator, feeling vaguely as if they’d begun dating. Then she went back to her office to go holler at the associates. “Girls! The next time you disagree with me in front of-”

“This check is for ten thousand dollars!” Anne squealed, and Judy couldn’t stifle a giggle. They had been joined by Mary DiNunzio, and their young faces were alive with excitement. In their hot little hands was St. Amien’s check.

“Ten grand? Gimme that,” Bennie said, taking the check. The watery ink had barely dried and the lettering was European, but it was made payable to Benedetta Rosato. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen her name on a payee line, and couldn’t. And ten grand was double her usual retainer. It would employ two associates through the next month, and she could keep Murphy with her savings. “Sacre bleu!”

“It sounds like a really interesting case,” Mary said, and Anne nodded.

“St. Amien is hot, for an old dude.”

“And we could really use the work,” Judy blurted out. “Since Caveson and Maytel went belly-up, I don’t have anything to do. I mean, I have no work at all.”

Bennie froze looking at the check, her face flushed. That no new business was coming in was evidently an open secret, but she felt too embarrassed to talk about it with the associates. How could she have let herself get into this position? Had she mismanaged the firm? Why hadn’t she killed Ray Finalil? She let the moment pass, then walked stiffly around her desk for her purse. “Let me get you your seventeen bucks, Murphy. I can’t get these stockings off without a sandblaster.”

Anne waved her off. “Don’t worry about the money, I charged them.”

Mary looked at her with disapproval. “That doesn’t mean they’re free, Murph.”

“For a month it does.”

Judy was shaking her flame-retardant head. “The federal-government school of asset management.”

Gulp. Bennie kept her thoughts to herself. She was in no position to lecture anybody. St. Amien’s check would make a dent, but it wouldn’t solve the problem. She had to keep the firm alive long enough to get to that class-action settlement. She opened her purse, a well-worn Coach barrel bag, and rummaged inside for her wallet. House keys, old Kleenexes, and a silver Motorola tumbled by, but her wallet wasn’t there. She used a black pocket Filofax as a wallet: a chubby little organizer that held her credit cards, cash, and change.

“Bennie, you don’t have to reimburse me,” Anne said. “Buy me a T-shirt next time you go food shopping.”

But Bennie wasn’t listening. She’d reached the bottom of the bag, and her wallet wasn’t in it. She dropped the bag heavily on her desk chair, eyeballing her desk. Marked-up briefs, stacks of correspondence, Xeroxed cases, and a rubber-band gun covered its surface, snowing in a laptop and an empty coffee mug. She moved the stuff aside, searching. “Please tell me I didn’t lose my wallet. I can’t function without that thing.”

“When did you have it last?” Mary asked, but Bennie was already mentally retracing her steps.

“It’s Friday. I walked the dog, then I got dressed and left for work. I stopped off at Dunkin’ Donuts for a coffee. Extra cream, extra sugar.”

“Maybe you left it at the Dunkin’?”

“No.” Bennie shook her head. Usually, she didn’t take her wallet out of her purse at a Dunkin’ run. She would just slide out two bills, so she didn’t have to juggle wallet, purse, and briefcase. Then she’d pay and leave the change in the tip cup. “This is odd. I know it was in my purse. I remember seeing it.”

Mary folded her arms. “Maybe you’re remembering wrong. You were probably thinking about your meeting this morning.”

“Maybe.” Bennie flashed on the scene in the Dunkin’ Donuts. It had been crowded. She’d been preoccupied with thoughts of Ray and money. She’d skimmed the headlines of the newspapers on the metal rack near the counter. MORE BUSINESS DOWNTURNS EXPECTED. LAYOFFS CONTINUE. The news had depressed her. “I must have left it there.”

“I’ll call the store for you,” Murphy offered. “Is it the one near the office?”

“I’d cancel your credit cards too, Bennie,” Mary said.

Judy was studying her boss’s face with care. “You have been kind of forgetful lately, Coach. Is something the matter?”

“Not at all,” Bennie answered. She faked a smile and slipped St. Amien’s check into the side pocket of her purse. “What could be the matter? We just scored a huge class action!”

“Go, us!” Carrier cheered, and the associates all clapped. “Musta been the pink hair, huh, boss?”

“Musta been,” Bennie agreed, and this time her smile was genuine.

3

Bennie had taken her lunchtime run to Dunkin’ Donuts, looking for her wallet. It hadn’t been there, and she’d run back to the office, cooling down along the route she took into work, jogging in the prematurely warm weather past happy crowds, budding trees, and air that was clean, for Philadelphia. She kept scanning the curb in case she’d dropped the wallet, but no dice. She’d have to cancel the credit cards when she got back to her desk.

She ended up at her office building, extracted a promise from the front security guard to keep an eye out for the missing wallet, and scooted inside the elevator. She scanned the empty cab for her wallet, then leaned against the wall as the steel doors slid closed. She bent down to catch her breath, leaning over her ratty tank top, loose Champion gym shorts, and old Sauconys with the curled-up toes. The only sound was her panting until the elevator reached her floor, where there was quite a ruckus. The elevator doors slid open, and fifty people were mobbing the reception area. She prayed they weren’t her creditors.

Bennie stepped off the elevator into the crowd, but it was so thick nobody noticed her. They occupied all of the waiting-room chairs and stood talking and laughing among themselves. They were of all shapes and sizes-young, very old, men and women-and many of them carried tiny synthetic flags of a merry red, white, and green. They sipped coffee from Styrofoam cups and her JAVA DIVA mug while they ate biscotti and pignoli cookies from a huge bakery-style tray on her coffee table. Apparently, Rosato amp; Associates had been transformed into an Italian wedding. The only thing missing was the accordion.

“Uh, hello,” she said as excited faces began to turn toward her. The receptionist wasn’t around, but one muscular young man, wearing a T-shirt that read SOUTH PHILLY ROCKS, broke into a grin when he spotted Bennie.

“You gotta be Bennie Rosato!” he exclaimed. He extended a hand and pumped hers so hard she was glad she was wearing a sports bra. “I’m Art DiNobile. It’s so great to meet ya, and I can’t thank ya enough for helping us out.”

“You can’t?” Bennie asked. She had no idea what he was talking about, she was half naked, and strangers were using her coffee mugs. Other than that, she was completely in control.

“Yo, everybody, this is Bennie! Bennie Rosato’s here!” the young man shouted, turning to the crowd, which reacted instantly. The decibel level skyrocketed and the throng surged forward, pressing Bennie back against the elevator. Women tried to hug her, men offered their handshake, and someone passed her a cup of coffee and a plate of pignoli cookies. South Philly Rocks released her hand long enough to catch the cookies before they slid off the flimsy paper plate. “Have some, Bennie! They’re from my father’s bakery. Also I brought a nice rum cake and some sfogliatelle. It’s the least we can do.”