He ordered the same for both of them from the elderly waitress as Frankie continued to glare at him through the window.
“That was so terrible about Tito,” Abby said when she returned to their booth, sliding in across from him. “It must feel weird knowing you were the last person on earth to speak to him before he jumped.”
“Actually, that may not be what happened. He may have been murdered.”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?” she demanded breathlessly, her big blue eyes widening. “Please tell me it wasn’t you, Mitch. You’ve just jumped into my town car. You’re notorious. You’re desperate. You’ve got the wounded teddy bear thing going on. Already I have a mad crush on you.”
“It wasn’t me,” Mitch said.
“Oh, thank God.”
The waitress returned now with their shakes, fussing over Abby, who she obviously recognized.
Mitch tasted his. It was frosty and good. “But until they do know how Tito died, I won’t get over this. I need to know if I could have saved him.”
“Mitch, I wouldn’t blame myself, I were you. Tito Molina didn’t know up from down. That was one hurtin’ puppy.”
Mitch gazed at her curiously. “You sound as if you knew him.”
“I did.” She took a gulp of her shake, the tip of her pink tongue flicking at the residue on her upper lip. “We had a brief, a-a thing.”
“Really, when was this?”
“Before I left on my tour. Would you believe I’ve been on the road for over six weeks? I’ve hit twenty-three cities in forty-nine days, not that I’m counting or anything. My face is breaking out for the first time since the Reagan years. I have no life and no one to talk to except for Frankie, who is not exactly Mr. David Halberstam, in case you didn’t notice. These past few nights have been the first nights I’ve slept in my own actual bed since, like, Memorial Day. When I woke up my first morning home, I didn’t recognize my own room. I couldn’t even remember what city I was in. That’s when you know you’ve been on tour too long. And already I’m back on the road again, two nights in Boston and…” She trailed off, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t answered Mitch’s question. “Chrissie brought me by Tito’s hotel for breakfast one morning. He was in New York to meet with some British playwright, and the studio was hoping he’d agree to be the voice of Carleton for the film version of The Codfather. He ended up passing, but he wanted to hear my thoughts about the character before he committed.”
Mitch nodded. The first Carleton movie was a state-of-the-art animated production that had been two years in the making. It was going to be its studio’s big Christmas release. Freddie Prinze Jr. was providing the voice of Carleton.
“I thought he was very sweet,” Abby went on. “And after Crissie took off, I found myself upstairs in his hotel room, naked. Scout’s honor, I boinked Tito Molina-little Abigail Kaminsky from Margate, New Jersey, thunder thighs and all. Honestly, I was so nervous I felt just like I do when I’m at the gynecologist’s office. My little hands and feet were all clammy, and I couldn’t stop shaking. But he was very gentle and considerate.”
The waitress arrived with their sandwiches now. “Miss Kaminsky, my granddaughter ab-so-tootly loves your books,” she said as she set down their plates. “Could I get your autograph?”
“You ab-so-tootly can!” Abby responded sweetly, scribbling her name on a napkin and handing it to her. “Tell her I said hi!”
“Oh, I will.” The waitress scurried off, thrilled.
They dove hungrily into their sandwiches, two chubby people who prized their eats.
“You sure do know your sandwiches, Mitch,” Abby proclaimed after several bites, licking mayonnaise from her manicured fingers. “This is the best BLT I’ve ever had. What’s the secret?”
“The tomatoes are right off of the vine, I think. Makes all the difference.” Mitch sipped his shake distractedly, his mind racing. Could Abby somehow be a player in this? “How long were you and Tito an item?”
“We weren’t,” she said flatly. “It wasn’t that kind of a deal at all. It was strictly a one-shot matinee. The proverbial quickie. Besides, like I told you, I don’t stay involved with anyone for long.”
“Not even Jeff?”
Abby reddened instantly. “Jeffrey Wachtell broke my poor heart into a million pieces. I gained twenty pounds after we split up. I couldn’t write a single word. I couldn’t leave the house. All I could do was eat and cry. I cried and I cried. I still cry myself to sleep every night. Look at me, Mitch-I’m rich, I’m famous, I’m buffed to within an inch of my life. Believe me, this is as fantastically cute as I’m ever going to look. And I can’t remember the last time I went out on an actual date.” She shot a brief, disdainful glance out the window at Frankie, who appeared to have fallen asleep on his feet, rather like a barnyard animal. “What’s wrong with me anyway? Am I that disgusting?”
Mitch went back to work on his sandwich. “You’re just worn down from your tour, that’s all. You’ll meet someone real soon.”
Abby smiled at him coyly. “You really think so?”
“I do. And I’ll tell you something else-Jeff’s out of his mind.”
She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “Come with me to Boston, Mitch. Have dinner with me tonight. Stay over with me.”
“I can’t, Abby,” he said, staring down at her soft little hand.
“Why not?”
“Well, for starters, I’ve known you for less than an hour.”
“Sometimes it happens that way,” she said, squeezing his hand tightly.
“Plus it would not be a good idea for me to leave the state right now.”
“I can vouch for you. I’m famous. I’m credible.”
“Plus I’m involved with someone.”
“Damn, I knew it. The good ones are always taken.” Abby released his hand and took a long gulp of her shake, peering at Mitch over her fountain glass. “So how do you know Jeffrey?”
“We walk together on the beach every morning.”
“How is he?” she asked, her nostrils flaring. “Not that I care.”
“Still in love with you, or so he says.”
Abby let out a shrill, mocking laugh. “Yeah, right,” she said scornfully. “Listen to me, Mitch, the single most important thing to remember in regards to Jeffrey and women is that every single word out of his mouth is a lie. And the little putz gets away with it, too. You know why? Because he happens to be among the world’s greatest swordsmen. You wouldn’t know it look at him, but it’s true. Jeffrey has absolutely spoiled me for other men. That’s my curse. I swear, when I was there in that hotel bed with Tito Molina all I kept thinking was ‘God, if only he were Jeffrey Wachtell.’ That’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not if you still love the little guy.”
“I hate the little guy! The little guy is despicable. The little guy is…” She fell silent, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “I understand he has a mother-daughter tag team thing going on now-he’s boinking Esme Crockett and her old lady at the same time. Chrissie told me all about it. You look surprised, Mitch. Don’t be. That man is the craftiest little pussy hound imaginable. Even beautiful women instinctively get all motherly and protective toward him. They can’t help themselves. Half of the time they seduce him- despite knowing he’s absolutely no good for them. Believe me, I’m the expert. I paid the price in the worst possible way.” Abby sat back in the booth, hugging herself with her bare arms. “I’m the one whowalked in on him boinking my own baby sister, Phyllis, in our own bed in our own apartment. Mitch, you have no idea how violated I felt. How dirty.”
“I’m sorry, Abby.”
“So am I,” she said, shivering. She had goose bumps up and down her bare arms now. “That’s why I won’t give him a nickel of my earnings. He’s not the injured party, I am.”
Mitch got up and fetched her linen jacket for her.
She snuggled back into it gratefully, studying him with her startled blue eyes. “I don’t know what Jeffrey’s told you about our settlement battle…”
“That he’s asking for twenty-five percent of the proceeds from the first book. He claims he was involved early on in the creative process, and therefore should participate in it.”