Grace and I have a handful of regular lunchtime meeting places located
roughly halfway between the courthouse and her salon, Lockworks.
Today's pick was the Greek Cusina on Fourth, which I always spot by the
gigantic purple octopus protruding above the door. Don't ask me what
the connection is.
Grace was waiting for me in our favorite corner booth, great for
people-watching. We could peek out, but a potted rubber tree plant
made it unlikely we'd be seen from the street.
She looked terrific, as always. Physically, Grace and I are yin and
yang. I've got dark-brown straight hair; her color changes by the day,
but I know those cute little curls are naturally blond. She's trendy;
my clothes (unless bought by Grace) come in black, gray, charcoal,
slate, and ebony. I'm five-feet-eight, she's five-three. She eats all
she wants, never works out, and can wear stuff from the kids'
department. I eat half of what I want and run at least twenty-five
miles a week, just to maintain a size in the single digits. She's put
together; I'm a mess. Set aside those differences, and we're twins.
'Hey, woman,' she said, standing up to kiss my cheek. 'I've missed
you. I sort of liked being roommates. Maybe we should try it here at
home.'
'Might not be the same without the beach.'
'Or the rum,' she added.
'Don't sell the condo just yet; we could wind up killing each other.
Did you order already?'
'Yeah, I figured it was safe.'
Grace knows I always get the Greek platter: a gyro, a side of
spanikopita, and a little Greek salad. That converts into roughly six
miles.
Once I'd settled in across from her, Grace asked me to tell her all
about my new life in the Major Crimes Unit.
'I promise I will get to it, but, please, not just yet. I need a break
from thinking about the horrible things people do to each other. Tell
me a little bit about your homecoming. Anything good at the salon?'
Grace opened Lockworks, a two-story full-service salon-slash-spa, in
the haute Pearl District a few years ago. Never mind that back then
she was a marketing executive without a beautician's license. What
Grace had was business sense. She managed to swing a loan for an
entire warehouse, which she converted into the first of what are now
many upscale salons targeting the hordes of trendy young professionals
flocking to Portland. Today the building alone is worth millions, and
clients wait weeks to pay Grace a small fortune for a haircut or
highlight.
'I've been swamped. The first vacation I've taken since I opened that
place, but it doesn't keep people from getting pissed off. I've been
on my feet for the last forty-eight hours, com ping cuts for clients
who refused appointments with the girls who were subbing for me.'
'I guess they know you're the best.'
'One way to look at it,' she said.
'Or they're just pricks.'
She clinked her water glass against mine.
For the next fifteen minutes, I sat back and listened to Grace's
stories about beautiful people who aren't as beautiful as they want to
be. The whining, the temper tantrums, the unrepentant displays of
vanity. I had packed away half of my chicken gyro by the time she
finished telling me her latest Hollywood story. Grace has become the
preferred stylist for the film productions that increasingly choose to
go on location in Portland. Apparently, someone with too much money
offered Grace a big wad of dough to do body waxing for an eye-candy
movie being shot in the Columbia Gorge about windsurfers. Fortunately,
Grace had enough money to take a pass.
'In addition to the obvious yuck factor, most of the half-naked
unknowns are teenagers,' she explained.
'I would've thought that was right up your alley, Grace. You're
ripening pretty well into a dirty old woman.' I had teased Grace
endlessly in Hawaii each time her gaze predictably and shamelessly
followed whatever young stud crossed our field of vision. I plowed
through the entire Jack Reacher series during our poolside time; Grace
was still working on the same novel on our flight back to Oregon.
'As tempting as that sounds, there's a little too much Oedipal
potential there. Better stay put in the city for now. Check out men
my own age.' She gave me that cute little wink she somehow manages to
pull off when she's being cheeky. 'Now can we please knock off the
chitchat and get down to business? What have you been working on? I
want every last detail.'
Because of my job, Grace's skin has thickened to violence through
