She increased her speed. Although the sun had gone down, it was still humid, and sweat poured off her. She had hoped a hard run would be cool and cleansing, but she felt sleazy and dirty, haunted by junk food and junk memories. The pizza slices and hot dogs of the past week oozed out of her pores, while her head was filled with unsettling images. She saw Ava pushing lingerie into her briefcase, saw the big head of Michael Abramowitz, floating on top of his tiny body like some unwieldy helium balloon, bouncing across the Renaissance lobby toward his assignation with Ava.
She had been right in her instinctive dislike for Ava, but she found little pleasure in being right. How had she failed to anticipate this moment? For Kitty had seen it all too clearly. From the first Tess had hoped Ava was up to no good and relished the chance to prove it, thinking it would be a good and lucrative deed to break up Rock's engagement. She had imagined what it would be like to trail Ava, and she'd come to enjoy doing it. She had killed long hours thinking about what she would do with the money Rock was paying her. But she had never imagined what it would be like to report back to Rock.
The thought of Rock's face made her run faster still.
She couldn't do it, not for any sum of money. But she didn't want to give up the money. And she wanted Rock to know what she had discovered, just not the responsibility of telling him.
There was only one way. Ava must confess, and Tess would have to trick her into it.
Back in her apartment, showered and dusted with talcum powder, Tess dialed Ava's number. A machine picked up. She started to hang up, then had a quick inspiration. She knew what could get Ava to pick up a telephone, assuming she was there and screening her messages.
"Miss Hill?" she asked in the high, almost too-clear tones of a young college girl, the type of voice that goes higher still at every sentence's end.
"This is Denise at Nordstrom? I waited on you the last time you were in? Well, I wanted you to know we are having a very special sale on Donna Karan, a two-day preview sale for very special customers, and I just wanted to give you the details? We're taking up to seventy-five percent off some of the fall suits?"
Ava picked up. "Yes, I'm here. Do you have many things left in a size four?"
Stunned by the success of her plan, Tess realized she hadn't figured out what to say next. She fell back on the truth.
"I'm not a Nordstrom sales girl. I'm a private investigator-a kind of one, anyway, and I've been following you. I think it would be in your best interest to meet with me."
Ava hung up. Tess called back and got the machine again, but she knew Ava was standing there, listening.
"I have some information, Miss Hill," she said, hoping her voice sounded cool and experienced. "Information about your…lunchtime activities. Information I plan to provide to my client if you don't meet with me."
She could feel Ava waiting, considering, only blocks away. After a week of following her, Tess felt strangely close to her prey. She still didn't like her, but she sensed something sad and fucked-up in her, which made her harder to hate. She wanted to hear Ava's side of the story, even as she doubted she would believe it. But she did not tell her any of this, did not say anything more as she hurtled toward the beep and another disconnection.
Ava picked up just before the tape on the machine ran out. "Sunday," she said. "Eight P.M. I can't meet until then."
"Fine. Meet me at The Point."
"The Point?"
"It's a bar, also known as Spike's Place, out on Franklintown Road, near where I-70 dead-ends."
"I'm sure I can find it. I look forward to meeting you. I've never met a female dick before." And she slammed the phone down again.
Let her have this round, Tess decided. The next one is mine. She sat down at her computer and wrote two short plays, both for two characters. Tess and Rock, Tess and Ava. The only trick would be getting them to follow scripts they didn't know existed.
The next morning, an overcast Saturday, she grabbed Rock's hand as they left Jimmy's.
"Take a walk with me," she said. They had not talked about Ava at breakfast. They had been not talking about Ava for ten days now, which meant they had practically stopped talking. It was the only subject in the world.
"Do you know something?" he asked.
"Yes, but it's hard to tell."
He swallowed hard, pale beneath his tan. Tess led him down the pier to a small bench overlooking the harbor.
"I've been watching Ava off and on for almost a week now. I think I know what's bugging her."
Rock's eyes held hers, but he was incapable of saying anything. He reminded Tess of an old dog, trusting a beloved master not to put him to sleep-unless the master absolutely had to.
"She shoplifts. Little things, things she can't possibly need. I saw her take underwear and camisoles, stuff that wasn't even her size."
As she had expected Rock considered this good news. He sighed, the air escaping from his massive lungs as if he had been holding his breath for several days. It was bad, but it wasn't as bad as he had feared. He could fix this. He could help her. He straightened up, ready to take action.
"I bet there's someone up at Phipps who knows about kleptomania," he said, referring to Johns Hopkins's psychiatric wing. Tess turned her face away so he wouldn't see her smile. He was so predictable. Of course he had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Ava's thefts were a sickness, and therefore curable. She had planned on such a reaction.
"I've already done that. Dr. Hauer is the leading expert on this kind of disorder." The lie stung a little, delivered so smoothly to a trusted friend, but the name was correct, taken from one of the media guides Johns Hopkins distributed to the newspaper every year.
"I've heard of him. He has a great rep."
"Yes, he does. His advice may be difficult for you to follow, though. He says it's important not to confront her about this. I told him what I had observed, and he said it's his opinion she's reaching a crisis point. If you're patient, she'll confide in you soon enough."
"But what if she gets arrested? It could ruin her career. She'd never be admitted to the bar."
Tess had anticipated this question, too. "I don't think she will. Get caught, I mean. I saw her because I was already observing her, Rock. Clerks don't watch her. She dresses well; she looks like a nice young professional woman. They're too busy chasing around the kids playing hooky to watch someone like Ava. But if she is arrested Dr. Hauer said he'd be able to get the charges dropped. He does it all the time."
A preposterous claim. No psychiatrist, no matter how highly regarded, could get charges dropped down at the police station. But Tess counted on Rock's lack of experience with police officers or bail hearings.
Still, he was uncomfortable. She knew Rock would have trouble doing nothing. This was the riskiest part of her plan-trying to keep Rock from confronting Ava until tomorrow night.
She took his left hand in both of hers. The palm thick with calluses. A rower's hand. It was like holding a huge Brillo pad.
"Trust me," she said, knowing she no longer deserved his trust. "Give it a week. If she hasn't come to you by then and told you everything, we'll go to Plan B."
"Plan B?"
"An intervention, like they do for addicts. But give it a week. Promise?"
"Well, if Dr. Hauer thinks this is the right thing… I won't say anything to her, not for a week. You have my word."
And his word, Tess knew, was actually worth something. It was as good as the check he pressed in her hand, made out for $1,080. Her first one-act play had gone off without a hitch. Now all she had to do was mount and produce the second one. Sequels were always tricky.