Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [43]
"A living doll," I assured her.
Michelle jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow. "Pig," she snapped. She held the photos out to Belle. "My boy."
Belle took the pictures. "He is handsome. Does he go to boarding school?"
I laughed. Michelle jabbed me again. "He most certainly does, honey. One of the most exclusive in the country, I might add. And if it wasn't for certain people teaching him bad habits…"
"Don't look at me," I said.
"The Mole does not smoke," Michelle said, ending the discussion.
"How old is he?" Belle asked.
"He's almost twelve."
"He's going to be a heartbreaker when he gets older."
"Just like his mother," Michelle said, ready to talk about her favorite subject for the next few days.
"I can't find the Prof," I told her, bringing her back to the real world.
"Well, honey, you know the Prof. He could be anywhere."
"He was supposed to call in, Michelle. We're working on something."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Will you…?"
"I run on a different track now, baby. But I still have my associates in the right spots. I'll throw out some lines, okay?"
"Tonight?"
"I have a late date—I'll make some calls before I start. If you don't hear by tomorrow, give me a call and I'll take a look myself."
"Thanks, Michelle." She waved it off.
I got up to call Mama again. She answered the same way.
"Anything at all?"
"Nothing. You worried?"
"Yes."
"Call later. Leave number, okay?"
"Okay."
When I got back to the booth, Michelle and Belle were yakking it up like old pals. Michelle had Belle's face in her hand, twisting it different ways to catch the light. The big girl didn't seem to mind. I sat down, lit another smoke, listening to Michelle rattle on.
"You draw the eyeliner away from the center, honey. Separate those eyes. And we use a sharper line here"—drawing her fingernail across Belle's cheekbone—"for an accent. Are you with me so far?"
Belle nodded vigorously, not trying to talk while Michelle was grabbing her face.
"Now the mouth… we use a brush, yes? We paint a thin line just past the lips, then we fill it in with a nice dark shade. Widen that mouth a bit. Then we …Oh, come on," Michelle said, standing up, dragging Belle by the hand. "We'll be back in a minute," she said to me.
I ignored her. I knew what a minute meant to Michelle. I knew what it meant when the Prof didn't call in.
It was two ginger ales and a half–dozen cigarettes before they came out of the ladies' room, Michelle still leading Belle by the hand. They both sat across from me. I had to look twice. Belle's soft face was sharpened, different. Her eyes looked set farther apart, bigger. Her cheekbones stood out, her tiny mouth was more generous. And her hair was pulled over to one side, tied with Michelle's scarf.
"You look beautiful," I said.
"You really like it?" she asked.
"Honey, face it, you're a traffic–stopper," Michelle told her. "All it takes is a little work."
"Michelle, you're a doll," Belle said.
"They all say that." Michelle smiled. "Don't they, Burke?"
"Among other things."
Michelle was in too good a mood to pay attention to me. "Stripes," she said to Belle. "Vertical stripes. You're big enough to be two showgirls, sweetie. And watch the waist—you cinch it too tight, your hips look huge."
"He likes my hips," Belle said, smiling at me.
"All lower–class men like big hips, honey. Don't pay attention to him."
Belle looked at me. "You've got some family. A little black brother and a big Chinese one. And a gorgeous sister."
Michelle flashed her perfect smile. "It's the truth, girl."
She gave each of us a kiss. "I've got to go to work—my baby needs violin lessons."
Belle kissed her back. "Thanks, Michelle. For everything."
"Fry their brain cells, honey," she said, "and watch the walk."
A quick over–the–shoulder wave and she was gone.
46
I WAS stopped at a light at 43rd and Ninth when Belle's baby voice poked through the mist in my brain.
"Honey …"
"What?"
"We've been driving around for two hours. Around and around. You haven't said a word to me—you mad at me for something?"
I took a breath, glanced at my