"I was. I had a baby on TV. Remember? Two years ago." I seemed to recall some mawkish and tasteless coverage of the progress of her pregnancy and final delivery. But I don't watch much TV news, and until now I didn't even realize that this was the same woman. I replied, "I do remember that. TV cameras in the delivery room. Sort of vulgar." She shrugged. "Not for television."
"I also seem to recall a proud father."
"I'm divorced now."
"So no more babies on television."
She smiled. "Not for a while."
We chatted a bit, but I watched my consumption of scotch, in the event I had to rise to the occasion. I can't do it when I'm loaded, which is frustrating because that's usually when I want to do it the most. Alcohol is a cruel drug. I said, "Look, I asked you up here to cover myself with those two goons.
Understand?"
"I think so. Do you want me to fake orgasmic noises, then leave?" "Well… no. I enjoy your company. But… I just wanted you to know why I invited you here."
"So now I know. Do you know why I accepted the invitation?"
"You find me interesting."
"That's right. Very interesting. Intriguing. You intrigue me."
"Well, that's good news. You may not believe this, but I used to be dull."
"That's not possible." She smiled. "When was that?"
"Oh, back in March, April. I was really dull. That's why my wife left me."
"You said you didn't know anything about that."
"Well, I haven't been home in a few days. Maybe I should call my answering service."
But I didn't. We talked about this and that, bantered and teased, but we never talked about Frank Bellarosa. However, it occurred to me that there was more than one way to put a knife into his heart. I mean, I could use this woman as a conduit to the news media. I could remain anonymous, and she would vouch for the reliability of her source. I could feed the media all sorts of things that could put Frank Bellarosa into jail or into the grave. And that would take me off the hook for the perjured alibi, and Bellarosa would be out of my life. I mention this because it did cross my mind. I guess I had been hanging around Bellarosa too long. But I was determined not to let my life become obsessed with vendetta the way his was. Whatever he had done to me, he had to live with it, and perhaps one day, he would answer for it. Vengeance is.mine, saith the Lord. So I dismissed my thoughts of revenge (for the moment) and got back to the business at hand. I said to Jenny Alvarez, "There's no payoff, you know. I mean, even if you spend the night, I'm not telling you anything."
"I told you I'm here because I want to be with you. I don't really give sex for stories and you don't really proposition women who need something from you. That was a game downstairs."
"And it's another game up here. And I'm out of practice." "You're doing fine. I'm still interested. By the way, did you see yourself on TV?"
"Sure did."
"Your hair was messy."
"I know. And my tie looked the wrong colour, but it wasn't. I can show you the tie."
"Oh, I believe you. That happens on TV sometimes."
The phone rang, but I didn't answer it. Jenny made a call to her studio and told them she was through for the night. I had a club soda, and she had another scotch. We both kicked our shoes off at some point. There was a TV in the bedroom and we watched her news show at eleven. The Bellarosa story got a minute, mostly reports about the published stories in the newspapers, including my press statements. Ferragamo, who was good at the ten-second sound bite, said, "We are investigating Mr Bellarosa's alibi for the day in question, and if we find evidence that contradicts that alibi, we will ask that bail be rescinded, and we will take Mr Bellarosa into custody again, and we will consider action against the individual who supplied the alibi."
Ten seconds on the head. The man was a pro.
Ms Alvarez inquired, "He means you, doesn't he?"
I replied, "I think so."
"What sort of action? What can they do to you?"
"Nothing. I was telling the truth."
"So the five other witnesses were lying? No, don't answer. No business. It's a habit. Sorry." She seemed lost in thought, then blurted out, "But it just doesn't make sense, John."
"Does it make sense that Frank Bellarosa would commit murder in broad daylight?"
"No, but… you're sure you saw him?"
"Is this on the record?" '
"No, off the record."
"Okay… I'm positive it was him."
She smiled. "If you're going to keep talking business, I'm leaving." ' "My apologies."
The sports came on, and I was delighted to discover that the Mets trounced Montreal again, nine to three. "They're going all the way," I said. "Maybe. But the Yankees will take the first four of the Series."
"The Yankees? They're lucky if they finish the season."
"Baloney," she said. "Have you seen the Yankees this year?"
"There's nothing to see."
We discussed this for a few minutes, and though I could tell she was knowledgeable, it was obvious that she was very biased. I explained, "They don't have one long-ball hitter on the team."
"Pitching is the name of the game today, buddy, and the Yankees have real depth in the bullpen."
This was very frustrating. I tried to explain the facts of baseball life to her, but she said, "Look, I can get us into the press box at Yankee Stadium. You come and see the Yankees play, then we can discuss this intelligently." "I wouldn't go to the Bronx if you paid me. But I'll watch a Yankee game with you on TV."
"Good. I want you to watch them against Detroit next week." Well, anyway, it was a good night, and we had fun, and the next morning I felt a little better than I had the morning before. Capisce?
CHAPTER 32
We spent a few more days at the Plaza, but neither Frank nor I ever mentioned or alluded to the subject of my wife's being his mistress. But I could tell he was still burdened by the subject, and he could tell I was not. I don't mean to suggest I was playing with him; he was not a man to be played with. But apparently he had some human feelings like the rest of us mortals, and I sensed he felt he'd gone beyond the bounds of even Machiavellian behaviour and crossed into actual sin. Well, Father what's-his-name could issue him a quick absolution over the phone. "Say two Hail Marys, Frank, when you get a chance. See you at Communion."
Anyway, on one of those days at the Plaza, I had lunch with Jack Weinstein, whom I took a liking to. On another day, I called Alphonse Ferragamo, whom I had taken a disliking to. But I was nice to Alphonse, as per my client's orders, and Mr Ferragamo and I agreed to fight fair and clean, but we were both lying. Alphonse – not me – brought up the subject of my client's cooperating in other matters of interest to the Justice Department in exchange for Justice dropping the charge of murder. I replied, "He's not guilty of murder." Mr Ferragamo informed me, "Well, we think he is. But I'll tell you what. I'll talk to Washington about a blanket immunity for Bellarosa if he wants to talk." "How about absolution?"
Ferragamo chuckled. "That's between him and his priest. I'm talking immunity from prosecution for good information."
Good information? What kind of information did the stupid son of a bitch think the don of dons had – the location of a bookie joint in Staten Island? Bellarosa had plenty of good information; he just wasn't going to give it to the Justice Department.
"Immunity on anything he testifies about under oath," said Alphonse, which is not quite the same as blanket immunity in exchange for unsworn information. This guy played it slick. I thought a moment. If, in fact, Frank Bellarosa squealed, the Mafia in New York would be crippled for years, maybe forever. And perhaps for that reason alone, his paesanos wanted him dead. He simply had too much information and he had a good memory.
I said to Alphonse, "Mr Ferragamo, my client knows nothing about organized crime. But if he did, I think he'd rather speak to the State Attorney General than to you."