Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [137]
I refrained from pointing out that I was in Harlem right now and had seen power outages just a few blocks away from here. I didn’t think my opinion would count for much when the C&P empire was intent on keeping the wheels of production rolling forward. I also didn’t want to get my head bitten off by this stressed-out assistant who, in any case, had no power whatsoever over that decision.
She told me the location crew was currently on their way to the Mount Morris Park neighborhood for tonight’s shoot. I thanked her, apologized for bothering her, and got off the phone.
Then I checked my messages. There was one from Lopez. I dialed my voice mail and listened.
“That mattress is gone? People in this city really will take anything that’s left outside, won’t they?” he said. “And there goes my hope of proving to you there’s a rational explanation for what happened last night. To the bed I mean. There’s never a rational explanation for what happens between us.”
I smiled wryly, realizing I was forgiving him already for last night’s sour parting. I heard him speaking to someone in the background.
Then he said again into the phone, “Sorry, Esther. Things are hopping here. This storm coming in, power outages, traffic snarls, trains stranded, a shooting, some looting . . . What did I want to ask you? Oh, right! What did you mean, you were on your way to teach class? I was serious last night when I told you to stay away from the foundation. Listen to me. Before things got crazy here today, I looked into—What?” He was speaking to someone else now. “Okay. Right now? Yes.” Then he said to my voice mail again, “I’ve got to go. Call me as soon as you get this. If I can’t pick up, leave me a message. And please tell me that you’re not still at that place.”
I called Lopez back. A couple of people who passed me in the hallway glanced at me as I made a sharp sound of frustration when I got his voice mail.
“I am at the foundation,” I said. “I work here. I can’t just not show up.” I frowned as I thought about the possible cause for his concern. Maybe, despite our differences of opinion, we had shared some similar suspicions without realizing it. “Listen, Mambo Celeste calls herself a widow, but other people say her husband left her. I’m wondering what really happened to him. I guess this sounds crazy to you, but . . . Is there any chance he was murdered?”
I decided to leave it at that. If there really was something to discuss, we’d talk about it after Lopez had time to get the facts.
I concluded, “Anyhow, I won’t be here much longer. I have to go to the D-Thirty set soon. Can you believe they’re still planning to film tonight, despite everything that’s happening out there?” I paused for a moment, then said, “Call me back, if you have time.”
I glanced at the clock. I had about an hour before I had to be on the set. Considering that I’d left carnage and wreckage in her foundation building last night, I thought I should probably go upstairs and speak to Catherine about what had happened. I had sort of assumed Max would speak to her, and I preferred that scenario, since I didn’t like her. But since I seemed to be stuck here for a while longer . . .
I turned and started walking toward Catherine’s office. I reached the double doors leading to the main lobby at the same moment as two teenage boys who were coming in the opposite direction. I was preoccupied, and they were so involved in their conversation that they didn’t see me. One of them was gesticulating enthusiastically with his large beverage cup as he pushed his way through the doors—knocking me off my feet and somehow managing to spill the entire contents of his cup on me. It contained a chocolate milk shake.
I gasped at the ice cold sensation seeping through my clothes to chill my skin as I lay on the floor trying to catch my breath. Cold chocolate muck was all over me.
“Oh, my God, miss! Are you okay?”
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