She smiled at him, a little crookedly, and rested her hand on his forearm. “You’re sweet,” she said. “And yes I do. I’ve had no one to talk to, no one. I’ve had to keep it all bottled up inside.”
“That’s no good,” Engel said. He found himself thinking how different this one would be from Dolly, contrasting in imagination their individual styles and responses, and forced his mind away at once from such conjectures. That was pretty low of him, he thought, all things considered.
“Murray was a garment manufacturer,” she said. “In negligees.”
“Uh huh.”
“Evening Mist Negligees? You don’t know the brand name?”
Engel shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Well, of course, women would be more likely to know it.”
“Sure.”
“That’s how I met him. I was a model, and we met at a style show. At first I thought — well, the things people say about the garment business are all true, but — but Murray was different. So sweet, so attentive, so sincere. We were married in seven weeks, and I never regretted it, not for a minute. Of course, there was the age difference, but that didn’t bother us. How could it? We were in love.”
Engel said, “Uh huh,” and pulled at his drink.
Mrs. Kane also worked a bit at her Scotch sour. “We had an apartment in town,” she said, “and a place in the country. Not far from here, near Hunting Ridge. That’s how I happen to know this restaurant, we used to come here so often, so often. And then, of course, Murray had his business, in a loft on West 37th treet. That’s where it happened.”
“Mm hmm?”
“Murray — well, Murray was more than just a businessman. He’d started in the trade as a designer, and he still did many of his own designs for Evening Mist. He liked very often to stay in the plant in the evenings, alone, after everyone else had gone, and work in his office.” She closed her eyes. “I can just see him there, the big fluorescent light on over his head, he bent over his desk, the rest of the loft dark and silent, the bolts of cloth stacked up everywhere.” Abruptly again she opened her eyes. “The way the Fire Department reconstructed it,” she said, “some of the wiring had become frayed and dangerous. It was such an old building. All at once there was a short-circuit, a fire. All that delicate flimsy cloth, bolt after bolt of it, the fire just swept through it. Of course the sprinklers went on, but they weren’t enough. The rest of the building survived, but the interior of the loft was burned to a crisp.”
Engel reached out and took her hand, and found it cold. “If you don’t want to—”
“But I do, I do. Murray was cut off, you see, from both doors. Being in his own little cubicle, separated from the rest of the floor, it protected him a little, but not enough. In that heat, in all that flame—”
Engel said, “Easy. Easy.”
She stopped, held her breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “That’s over,” she said. “I’m sorry I used you this—”
“Think nothing of it.”
“You’re very sweet, and I am sorry, but I had to say it, I had to talk about it just once. Now it’s done, and I’ll never speak of it again.” She smiled bravely, and picked up her drink. “To the future,” she said.
“To the future.”
They got their table shortly after that, and she was true to her word. They talked no more about the late Murray, and concerned themselves once again with lighter and less personal topics. Once when Engel called her Mrs. Kane she insisted that from now on he call her Margo, which after that he did. From time to time she tried to find out gently what he’d been up to at the funeral parlor, but Engel continued for the fun of it to evade her questions. And while she was away to the powder room, he found himself thinking of her in Dolly-like terms once again, and once again he shoved such thoughts down and nailed the lid.
The drive back to the city was as pleasant as the drive up. She drove Engel to his door, and as they shook hands in the car and thanked one another for a lovely evening, it seemed to Engel for one fleet second she expected him to kiss her, but he put the idea down to too much night air and too much Scotch. She did say, “May I come again to see your apartment? All of it this time.”
“Whenever you want,” he said.
“I’ll call you.”
He got out of the car, and she waved and drove away.
Upstairs, he was disappointed to see no note on the door. Had Dolly given up on him? Maybe he shouldn’t have wasted tonight after all, maybe he should have been hard at work clearing up the problem at hand.
Well. Tomorrow.
He unlocked the door and went into his apartment and the lights were on. While he was still reacting to that, two of the boys came walking into view, their hands suspiciously close to their jacket lapels. Engel recognized them as organization muscle, but he didn’t recognize the expression on their faces and couldn’t figure out what they were doing here like this.
Then one of them said, “Nick Rovito wants to see you, Engel.”
“Yeah,” said the other one. “He wants to see you in a hurry.”
Engel looked from one of them to the other. Was this any way to get a message from Nick Rovito? Did this make any sense?
There was only one way a scene like this did make sense, and that way was something Engel didn’t even want to think about.
“Come on, Engel,” said the first one, moving closer and taking Engel by the elbow. “Let’s us go for a little ride.”
16
Engel had seen that Chevrolet before. But the last time he’d been driving the damn thing, and this time he was put in the back seat to play passenger. One of the messengers got in with him, his hand staying warily near his jacket lapel. The other one got behind the wheel.
The boy at the wheel was named Gittel and the one next to Engel in back was called Fox. They were good professional muscle, constantly on loan to Pittsburgh or Seattle or Detroit, and Engel had known them both for years.
Gittel started the car and it stalled and he said several things. Engel said, “It’s standard shift. I was just driving this car last night.”
“Shut up,” said Fox conversationally.
Gittel, starting the car again, said through clenched teeth, “When we’re done with Engel, I’m goin round a little bit with that bastard Kenny.”
“He couldn’t do any better for me either,” said Engel. “It isn’t his fault.”
“Shut up,” Fox offered, “or I’ll break your head.”
Engel looked at him. “I thought I was your friend.”
“I got a dog instead.”
Gittel had the car going again. He pulled it cautiously away from the curb and headed uptown, in first.
Engel said to Fox, “Can I tell him he oughta shift gears?”
“That’s it,” said Gittel. “That’s all I can take.” He pulled the car to the curb again, barely two blocks from Engel’s apartment.
Fox said, “Hey! You outa your mind? We’re suppose to take him to Nick Rovito first. Besides, you call this a safe place?”
Gittel got out of the car, opened the back door next to Engel, and said, “Out, you son of a bitch.”
Engel got out, slowly, looking for a chance.
Gittel shoved the car keys in his hand. “You’re so smart,” he said, “you drive the damn thing.”
Engel looked at the keys. Behind him, Fox was saying, “Gittel, that ain’t the way it’s done! The mark don’t drive the car!”
“Shut up,” Gittel told him, “or you get it.” To Engel he said, “Get behind the wheel. We’ll both be in the back seat, and you oughta know better than try something funny.”
“Not anyway till I see Nick,” Engel said. “Where you supposed to take me?”