Chapter Twenty-One
Stephen
When Nick sent me a stream of photographs from his hotel room in Melbourne on Saturday morning, and asked how things were going in NYC, I was tempted to reply that his girlfriend’s buddy was likely to get me killed.
But the truth was I didn’t blame Elle for the unpleasantness yesterday.
I was just relieved we’d both got out in one piece.
Thinking about how those arse-wipes had tried to touch her had my adrenalin racing again, so I went straight out for an early-morning run to burn it off.
I’d nearly lost my cool and done something stupid.
You didn’t go around threatening women. Obviously decent human beings didn’t threaten to hurt anyone for money but the thought of them putting their hands on her…
I could still feel her body tucked under my arm, trembling, like it was imprinted to my ribs…
That dead end had only seemed to make her more stubborn though and I couldn’t help feeling that I’d started something with her that I didn’t have complete control over anymore. Like I’d programmed a diminutive red-headed terminator and couldn’t cancel the action now.
So, I found myself back in Little Italy, at a restaurant called Bennito’s.
It was double-fronted, painted rusty red around its large windows and we had a table under the dark green canopy out the front.
The smells from inside the restaurant reminded my stomach that all I’d done was shower before heading over to Elle’s apartment to pick her up.
When the waitress came over to take our drinks orders and I just asked for water, Elle kicked me under the table. Possibly she didn’t feel as bad about yesterday as I’d thought. It was surprising how much a sandal could hurt. ‘What?’
‘Are you sure you don’t want something more…y’know? Exciting?’ She lifted one pale freckled shoulder; the thin strap of her top sliding closer to her neck from the movement. ‘How about a glass of wine?’
I blinked. ‘It’s a little early.’ Barely 11am.
‘But it’s excellent for lubrication.’ She raised her eyebrows at me, and it clicked.
She wanted me to spend a decent amount so that the staff felt more happily disposed towards us.
I wish she’d told me before that was her tactic.
It made sense – it was similar to what we did with clients.
And it would have saved me the bruise on my shin.
We both ordered a glass of the most expensive wine on the menu and the waitress left us.
‘First it’s coffees, then fruit – now I’m wining and dining you. I’m beginning to think it would be cheaper to hire a private detective. I could go relax while they were doing their work.’
‘You bring up an interesting point there. Why do you want to do this yourself? Law firms can usually handle tracking down people who have inherited money.’
I squinted out at the street where people were bustling by. ‘It’s expensive.’
‘You can afford it.’
‘Can I now? Tad presumptuous of you.’
‘You’re a stockbroker.’
‘I’m actually an investment banker. And I might be a bad one, for all you know.’
‘You’re not a bad one.’ She laid her menu down and folded her arms over the top of it. ‘You ooze competency.’
‘I think that’s a compliment even if it sounds disgusting.’
‘There is something inherently oozy about bankers – deal with it.’
‘And with the fact that I have to pick up the cheque for all manner of refreshments and bribery? I should deal with that, too?’
‘Yeah.’ She flicked a mischievous look up at me and went back to reading her menu. I watched her for a moment as she was reading. A curl of red hair had escaped her clip and was brushing against the curve of her neck.
‘I suppose,’ I said, clearing my throat as she lifted her head again and caught me studying her, ‘I wanted to do it myself because…it’s my last opportunity to do something for my mum.’
Her eyes were very clear as they regarded me, and a smile touched her lips. ‘Well then, I’m honoured you’ve let me help you.’
The waitress brought our drinks over, saving me from having to think of a response.
She left us to choose our food. My glass was icy cool, and I pressed my thumb and forefinger to the stem, the condensation on the outside running off and pooling against my skin.
Half the tables were full outside. I couldn’t see through the window to my left, the reflections and the golden writing made the people inside nothing but ghosts. I sighed.
‘It’s not probable he’s going to be working here anymore, is it? And how likely is it they’ll remember him, even if he did, once upon a time?’
‘Oh my God. So defeatist, Stephen. I know we hit a bump in the road yesterday, but this is not the attitude I expect from a city high-flyer.’ She took a long drink from the wine and groaned. ‘Wow. You really can taste the difference when you buy the expensive stuff. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ I was tempted to order a full bottle since she liked it so much but who knew what would happen if I kept drinking in this heat, with her groaning like that – I’d most likely end up behaving exactly the way she’d prohibited.
‘Right.’ She spread her hands on the pristine white tablecloth.
‘Here’s the thing. You gotta stop thinking we’re going to find the exact answer you want straight away.
Life isn’t that simple, and you’re right, it’s been a long time.
But New York is the kind of city that is built on gossip.
Millions of people came together with their different heritages, clinging to their stories, and using them as a foundation to judge everyone – why did they trust each other and why they did hate each other?
They needed to know and remember. The city rose up out of that. ’
I nodded. I understood what she was getting at. ‘It’s like that in London, too.’
‘Of course, London is ancient. But the difference here is most Americans like talking. They are just dying to impart their wisdom and God bless them for it. It’s a city of stories.
It’s a goldmine.’ Her eyes suddenly widened.
‘Oh hang on there.’ She dived into her bag and grabbed a notepad scribbling a note down to herself.
‘Right, where was I? What I’m saying is, don’t despair, cynical Englishman.
If this doesn’t work, we’ll find another angle and, in the meantime, we’ve had some lovely wine and a nice meal. Things could be worse.’
‘I haven’t got an endless amount of time to do this, though.’
‘You’re here for another couple months, right?’
‘I go back home at the end of August but ideally, I’d like to get this done before Nick comes out in July.’
‘Yeah.’ She took another sip of wine and raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Why is that?’
How to explain without telling her it was my absconding father we were searching for? That I couldn’t risk that messiness touching my brother.
‘He’s just…it’s been really hard for him…and I’d prefer not to derail that by making him get embroiled in mum’s will.’
Elle tapped her finger gently against her bottom lip as she regarded me. ‘Maybe it’ll help him? Seeing it as a final act of service, the way you are?’
It was only a different way of saying what I had earlier, but somehow hearing it back made me feel cold despite the hot weather.
Was I blocking Nick from doing something that would help him?
Had I done that the whole time when he’d been trying to get a handle on his grief?
Just thinking of myself and how I felt, rather than what was best for him?
I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak. ‘That’s not the impression he’s given me when we’ve talked about it.’ Which was true. He’d said he wanted to help me deal with finding my father, he’d not mentioned mum.
But wasn’t that the whole problem with how he did — or did not — deal with his grief? How he avoided and denied things?
She nodded slowly, like she wasn’t fully convinced but of what, I wasn’t sure.
‘Well, we’re on the case now, so what will be, will be, I suppose.
Pick what you’re gonna eat. We’ll enjoy it.
Make a lot of positive compliments, pay, leave a massive tip for the waitress and then ask to see the owner.
They’ll come out, eager to hear some good feedback – which we’ll obviously give.
In fact, I’ll leave that to you Mr Silver Tongue.
And then we just slide in there with some questions about how long they’ve owned it.
Whether they knew someone who worked here, way back when, et cetera, et cetera.
You can show them your photo. Where did you get that by the way?
You never said.’ She stroked her fingers over the napkin, folded around the cutlery, trying her best to look only mildly interested.
She wasn’t fooling anyone – her curiosity was sparked and the fact it would drive her mad was as much of a reason for me to keep it under wraps as for my privacy.
‘Mum’s best friend had it,’ I lied. ‘This still feels like it’s mainly about you getting a free meal. I’m sure we could’ve approached them more directly.’ I smirked to show her I was joking – for the most part.
She shrugged, that mischievous look back on her face. ‘Hey, a girl’s gotta eat and I hear the food is good here.’