The Guilty - Jason Pinter [41]
weather report said today would be chilly and she could have
easily worn a coat, but found herself caring less whether she
was comfortable and more about getting out of the house.
Last night had been a disaster. She remembered dancing
on tables. She remembered pouring alcohol down her throat
seemingly by the gallon. She remembered going home alone,
and her bloodshot eyes reminded her that she'd cried herself
to sleep. She remembered making a phone call around three
in the morning, but it went right to his voice mail. She woke
up with mascara stains on her pillow, throwing it into the
laundry in a fit of rage. It was then that she remembered her
meeting this morning.
There were three messages on her cell phone. She didn't
even remember it ringing. One was from her friend Shayla
calling to make sure she got home all right. The second was
from her friend Bobby, one of the bazillion gorgeous gay men
of New York City who spent more money on clothing than
the U.N. spent on military aid and seemed to have swept all
the decent straight guys under some giant heterosexual carpet.
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Jason Pinter
Bobby had been positively shattered by Athena Paradis's
murder. He owned an autographed copy of her book, had
preordered her CD, and her image wallpapered his Mac.
Bobby was also checking up on her. She'd gone to the bar
with Bobby and her "friend" Victoria, though neither he nor
Victoria seemed concerned enough to actually leave the bar
to check on her. At least that's the sense she got, considering
there was house music blaring in the background on their
message.
The third was from her mother asking to meet up for
dinner. Her mother sounded sad, even a little scared. She
deleted the message and erased the call from her memory.
She wore dark sunglasses. Not that anybody would recognize her. Recently her jaw had been hurting. She'd seen a
doctor a few weeks ago who said she might need another operation, that the first one might have damaged a nerve. She
drank so much vodka to numb the pain that more than once
she feared having to get her stomach pumped.
She was in no shape for this meeting, but when she remembered the woman's voice, the urgency, the it's about
your father, I just want your side of the story, she knew she
had to keep it.
The diner was just a few blocks from her apartment. She
went there almost every morning, and it had been her suggestion to meet there. On weekdays she ordered a cappuccino to
go, and the owner was always kind. On weekends she would
treat herself to chocolate chip pancakes, then go straight to
the gym to work off the calories.
They wouldn't miss her at the office today. She'd called
in sick. They didn't much care whether she came in or not,
as long as her last name was still Loverne.
Mya walked up to the diner and opened the door. She
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welcomed the smell of frying bacon, sugary syrup and fresh
eggs, felt like ordering all of them to get rid of the awful taste
in her mouth. A bottomless cup of coffee would go a long
way. She had a vague idea of who she was looking for. Then
she saw a woman in the corner waving her hand. The woman
mouthed Mya?
Mya nodded, walked over and slid into the booth. The
woman extended a hand with perfectly manicured nails, and
said, "Mya Loverne?"
Mya nodded.
"Paulina Cole. It's such a pleasure to meet you. Henry used
to talk about you all the time back at the Gazette. " Paulina
looked her over. It made Mya uncomfortable.
Paulina Cole wore a tailored pantsuit. Her jewelry was fine
but not ostentatious. She wore her hair tied back in a ponytail,
a thin string of pearls around her neck. A tape recorder sat on
the table next to two steaming cups of coffee. There was a
smile on Paulina's face, like a friendly aunt pleased to see how
well her niece is doing.
"You're much more elegant in person. I've only seen your
picture in the society pages."
"The lighting always sucks," Mya said. "And the dresses
make me feel like I can't breathe."
"Coming from a well-known family is