Goodnight, Irene

eager. Still, I had to make sure of my position.

“Actually, I had thought of going to work at another paper.”

“The Bee? Oh, yes, I know all about it. I can’t let that happen. Why, O’Connor would come back to haunt me. He would be rolling in his grave if I let you go to work anywhere but the Express.”

The spinning and haunting O’Connor already invoked, I thought I might as well go for broke.

“Well,” I said slowly, as if thinking it all over for the first time, “O’Connor and I were close friends. It would be nice to be back in the old newsroom, near his desk. I’d feel closer to him somehow.”

“Yes, yes!”

“In fact, he always told me all about the stories he was working on — in confidence, of course, seeing how I was really one of the Express family, as you say. Some of his most recent stuff will really turn some heads. Make those snobs at the Times take you seriously.”

“Yes, yes, I can see it will!”

Time to set the hook. “Who did you give his stuff to?”

“Oh, the police have most of it, you know, murder investigation.”

“I mean, who have you assigned the stories to?”

“Why, Irene, that’s what I’ve been trying to say! It’s what I’ve been trying so hard to tell you! You! You’re the one I want for his stories. Couldn’t be anybody else.”

“You’re willing to overlook our last… discussion?”

He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, dipping his sleeve in blue cheese dressing. “Forgive and forget, I always say. Let bygones be bygones, that’s my motto. Isn’t it, Lydia?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling as she lied.

Just then Michael brought our main courses. I noticed Lydia’s portion seemed substantially larger than Wrigley’s or mine. In fact, mine left me no doubt that Crystal did indeed eat here. A piece of reddish-orange chicken, about the size of the sole of a baby’s shoe, graced one side of a white plate, with two halves of a potato too small to have left its mother on the other; they were fenced off from each other by what looked like something that had been weeded from between the bromeliads.

Wrigley’s pasta looked so weird, I was glad there wasn’t too much of it to look at.

Queen Lydia continued to reign as Michael asked her if everything was satisfactory and left right after she told him it was great. I didn’t begrudge her all her fun — she deserved it, and I owed her big time for working Wrigley into such a fervor for me.

As he ate, Wrigley continually dropped bits and pieces of his food on his clothing. In the space of about five minutes, you could have figured out what he ordered by looking at his lapels. Early on he captured a peppercorn between his front teeth, making it very hard not to look at his teeth while he talked.

And talk he did. On and on about how he had visions for the Express and how I was a part of those visions. How the newsroom just wasn’t the same without me.

I told him I’d need a fairly free rein to follow up on O’Connor’s stories.

No problem.

I told him I’d like access to whatever the police hadn’t hauled off from O’Connor’s desk.

No problem.

I told him I wanted more pay.

Problem. These difficult times, the need to stay competitive, and so on.

Michael came by again, insisting that Lydia order dessert. She went for the chocolate-mousse pie. I ordered creme brulee and Wrigley ordered profiteroles. When they came, I realized how this place stayed in business — from now on, people would have to invite me out for dessert if they wanted to meet me here.

Wrigley finally agreed to a very slight increase in my former pay, and I felt that after hoodwinking him into buying us dinner and begging me to do everything I wanted to do, I should be satisfied. We shook on it. I had to wipe sauce off my hand afterward.

Lydia excused herself for a moment and I got a little panicked that with her gone, Wrigley would wax romantic to seal the deal.

“Excuse me,” I said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Lydia, but you have a peppercorn stuck in your front teeth.”

“Why, thanks for letting me know,” he said. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He then took out a slim silver object which I first took to be a cigarette case. He opened it and took out a length of dental floss, and using the polished lid as a mirror, proceeded to floss his teeth at the table.

“Nothing beats good dental hygiene, I always say,” he said between teeth.

Let bygones be bygones, I thought to myself, trying not to watch.

Lydia finally got back. She had missed the demonstration of Wrigley’s table manners completely. Michael brought our check and told Lydia he hoped she had enjoyed her evening and would return soon, and left the check. I was sure Wrigley would stiff him his tip.

AS WE CROSSED the parking lot, I could see that Lydia was dying to tell me something. As soon as we were in the car, she revealed that Michael had asked for her phone number.

“He said he’d call when he got off work tonight, about eleven.” She frowned for a moment. “I suppose I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He’s quite a bit younger than I am. He might not call.”