Chapter Twenty
Twenty
By the time we got back to Boston, I was already late for dinner at my parents’ house. I called my dad and let him know I’d be there, hopefully within the hour, as I turned onto Avery Street, where the Ritz-Carlton was located.
“I’m sorry. It’s work stuff,” I told Dad.
“Anything I can help with?”
“Not unless you’ve developed an expertise in anonymous online activity.”
“Is your client getting threats?”
“Nope,” I said. “Just a one-star review.”
“Hmph.”
“I’ll explain tonight,” I said. “Oh, and Richie can’t make it.”
“I know,” Dad said. “He called to apologize. I’d just reschedule the whole thing. But your mother insists. She’s made her signature scrod.”
Mom’s scrod. It keeps getting better and better. I told Dad I’d be there as soon as I could. We hung up.
“You sure you don’t want to switch places?” Tony said.
“Don’t tempt me,” I said.
“How bad can dinner with your parents be?”
“With my dad, it’s a joy. With my mother added to the mix, and my sister, Elizabeth…well, let’s just say I’d rather forcibly keep Melanie Joan from further destroying her own life.”
“Wow.”
Rosie was on Tony’s lap. She’d plopped there halfway through the drive home, but Tony hadn’t pushed her away. And when I’d tried to shoo her into the backseat, he’d told me not to worry about it. Getting shed on is the least of my troubles, he’d said, that preternatural calm of his slipping away.
As it turned out, Tony’s business had been on a downturn for a while, and the process had accelerated in the aftermath of the most recent writers’ strike.
Several of his clients’ projects had fallen through.
Some of them had left the movie business for good.
At this point, Melanie Joan’s career was Tony Gault’s one reliable asset.
And now that was in serious danger. This confession had thrown me for a loop.
I hadn’t known how to respond. I’m sorry, I’d tried. I had no idea…
It is what it is, he’d replied. Forget I ever said anything.
For the rest of the ride, he’d been quiet.
I glanced over at him now, staring out the window and petting Rosie as though she were a worry stone.
“We’ll fix this,” I said.
He gave me a tight smile. “I have faith in you.” I didn’t like seeing him like this—thoughtful, concerned. Unbothered by dog fur. Much as I’d lost touch with Tony, his shallowness was one of the few things I could depend on—proof that some things in the world never changed.
I pulled up in front of the Ritz just as Spike was exiting through the revolving doors. Tony lifted Rosie from his lap. “This pooch is very comforting,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Maybe I should get one of my own.”
I gave him a long, appraising glance. “You sure you can handle the commitment?”
“Hmm…” His face relaxed, and he winked at me, the old Tony returning. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Spike jogged up to my car. He looked exhausted and on edge at the same time.
“How is it up there?” Tony asked.
“Harold managed to get her tablet into the safe and lock it,” Spike said. “He also talked her into an in-room IV drip therapy session.”
“So she’s temporarily incapacitated,” Tony said.
Spike nodded.
“Good man, Harold.”
“The guy knows how to strategize.”
Tony said a quick goodbye and headed into the hotel. Spike took his place in the front seat. Rosie bounded into his lap, and we headed toward his restaurant, where I knew the evening rush was just beginning.
I briefed him on the trip to Gloucester, telling him all about Natalie Blythe and how Melanie Joan had inadvertently helped her to find her true calling.
“So she’s obviously not Book Babe,” he said.
“No, but she did give me a lead,” I said. “The head of wardrobe on A Girl and Not a God. I’m going to call her on my way to my parents’.”
Spike nodded slowly. “Speaking of dinner at your parents’…”
“Yeah?”
“When we were on the phone earlier, I heard you telling Tony that Richie can’t make it.”
I sighed. “It’s no big deal.”
“But your mother is involved,” he said. “And Elizabeth.”
“I’m a grown woman,” I said. “I’ve been in therapy for years. This will be a good test of it.”
“Okay, fair enough,” he said. “But is your mother making that scrod?”
“Yes. In fact, she is.”
“I know that scrod. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
I smiled at Spike. “I’ll grab a slice from Regina Pizzeria on my way home.”
I made a left turn and hit a mass of rush-hour traffic. Fortunately, Spike’s restaurant wasn’t that far.
Spike let out a huge sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll go to your folks’ house with you.”
“You have a job,” I said. “Just like Richie. And unlike Richie, you’ve spent a large part of your day helping me with my job.”
“Who cares?”
“I mean it,” I said. And I did. I was lucky enough to have friends in my life like Spike, who routinely dropped everything to help me out—whether that meant beating the crap out of some thug who tried to kill me, scaring a reluctant informant into submission, or, in this most recent case, babysitting a diva author with muscles of steel and a voice that could shatter glass.
But I took advantage of that privilege too often.
Spike had his own troubles. Richie had his, as did my father and my shrink, Susan Silverman, and every other friend and colleague I assumed had nothing truly crucial going on in their lives compared to mine.
I was worried I might have a touch of main character syndrome, and that if I didn’t stop believing that my problems were bigger and deeper and more important than everyone else’s, I was never going to be able to make a successful go at a second marriage to Richie.
I stared out the window. Traffic had barely moved.
Even at the end of the day, the steam-heat was floating off the asphalt in visible waves.
Spike was right. At this time of year, Boston was just as unpleasant as Asbury Park was.
And unlike Asbury Park, half these people probably didn’t even want to be here.
“Busy night at the restaurant?” I asked.
He nodded. “We’ve had big crowds lately.”
“What’s Flynn doing?”
“He’s got a Zoom interview,” he said. “Then he was going to come by and work some magic in the kitchen.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got shepherd’s pie on the menu, and Flynn’s is a lot better than Jorgen’s.”
“Why don’t you get out of the car?” I said. “We’re only about a block away, right? It would be faster if you walked.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come to dinner with you?” he said. “Flynn won’t mind. He’s friends with everybody at the restaurant. And there’s nothing at work that my manager can’t handle.”
“You love your job,” I said. “Your man’s going to be in the kitchen. You should be there.”
He looked surprised, which made me wince.
“Thanks, Sunny.”
Traffic was at such a standstill, I didn’t need to put my hazards on. Spike simply lifted Rosie from his lap and set her down on the seat, slipped out of the car, and closed the door behind him. Nobody even bothered to honk.
After Spike left, Rosie put her paws up on the passenger-side window and stared out after him. She began to whine. “I know, sweetheart,” I said. “But we’re both going to have to stop being so selfish.”