Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [75]
“No.”
“Does Max know you’re dating him?”
“I’m not dating him,” I said.
“Are you going to tell Biko and Puma you’re involved with this cop?”
“I’m not involved with him!” Since the silence that met my emphatic statement was fraught with skepticism, I added, “I went out with him a few times. In the spring. That’s all.”
“Well, he sure must have been pissed off the other night, then.”
“No, he was very nice to me, actually.” All things considered.
“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in that monosyllable. “I get it.”
“You get what?”
“He dumped you.”
“It was, er . . . a mutual decision,” I lied. Yes, Jeff was right; but his assumption stung my pride.
“Come on, Esther. The guy goes to a precinct house at some ungodly hour, after months of not seeing you, to ask other cops for a favor that had to be a little embarrassing for him.”
“Well . . . yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably on my chair.
“And he wasn’t chewing iron and spitting nails?” Jeff snorted. “Obviously, he feels guilty about dumping you. Why else would he help you out and be nice about it?”
“Maybe he likes me,” I said defensively.
“Then why did he dump you?”
My shoulders slumped. “He thinks I’m deranged.”
“Really? Wow. Who can plumb the depths of that mystery?”
“Is there any other reason you called?” I said. “Or are we done now?”
“One other thing. Do you know if Puma’s dating anyone?”
I sighed. “I met her for the first time when you did, Jeff. How would I know?”
“I’m thinking of asking her out.”
“Whatever.”
“The voodoo stuff’s a little strange, I admit. But I’m pretty open-minded about religion.” He added slyly, “I used to be involved with a Jewish girl, you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyhow, I like Puma. She’s got something. You know what I mean?”
I did, but his comments about Lopez had annoyed me. So all I said was, “Can I hang up now?”
“You’re not jealous are you?”
“Jealous? I dumped you,” I reminded him.
“No regrets?”
“Certainly not since you shaved your head,” I said.
“That’s harsh.”
“I have to go now. I’ve got calls to return. There are other people besides you who want to belittle and abuse me today, Jeff.”
“Hey, how is your mom?”
“Good-bye.”
Jeff had guessed right again. As soon as I ended my call with him, I phoned my mother. I told her I was fine, and that I hadn’t returned her (as she told me) cell phone messages because I’d lost the phone. Then I said that I was on my way out the door and couldn’t talk now. Naturally, this didn’t work.
“How on earth did you manage to lose your cell phone?” Her tone implied it must be my fault.
“I had a fight with a gargoyle,” I said wearily.
“I don’t like ethnic slurs, dear.”
“Did you call for any particular reason, Mom?”
She wanted to know when my episode of D30 would air. “Although I’ve recommended that they not let their children watch it, based on what you’ve told me about your role, some of our friends and relatives would like to see it.”
I explained, as briefly as possible, why the episode was in limbo at the moment. “So I don’t know when it’s going to be on television.”
“Ah! Well, perhaps it’s all working out for the best,” she said.
It was so unlike my mother to see the bright side of a bad situation, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“Presumably you’ll get paid for your work, even though the episode hasn’t been completed?”
“Yes.”
“But since it’s incomplete, maybe it won’t be aired.” Her tone was bright with relief and satisfaction as she concluded, “So you’ll earn a nice paycheck, but you won’t actually appear on TV as a homeless bisexual junkie prostitute.”
“My episode might never air. Gee, I hadn’t thought of that, Mom.” I felt like going back to bed and pulling the covers over my head. “I’m so glad you called.”
“So am I, dear.”
“I have to go.”
“Have you met any nice young men lately?”
“Bye, Mom.”
Next, figuring I might as well get it over with, I called Lopez. To my relief, I got his voice mail. I left a message thanking him for retrieving my purse and asking him, whenever it was convenient for him, to leave it with the receptionist at the Livingston