“I told you—see how much you learn by hanging out with a cop?”
“Why?”
“So you’ll lead us to North. You don’t matter; there are a million like you.” Fanny paused to smile at him. “I’m assuming you’re not a Visitor, notice? I hope you appreciate it. Anyway, there are thousands like you and Applewood and the rest. North’s different—different in a way that makes him terribly dangerous, the sort of megalomaniacal leader who appears once in a lifetime. North could wreck everything. I know this sounds crazy, but he could end civilization. He could start the whole human race on the downhill path.”
He nodded and asked, “What does he want?” then answered his own question. “Power—I saw enough to know that. Still, you’re wrong if you think I’m going to lead you to him. I’m not going anywhere near North if I can help it.”
Fanny grinned, her piquant face to one side. “Slaves don’t usually go running back to their masters—but now and then their masters come to fetch them, or send somebody they can trust. We get them up here every so often.”
“Get who?”
“Runaway slaves and people looking for them.”
It would not sink in, or perhaps he did not want it to sink in. “You still have slavery here?”
“Not here—it’s a state option.”
“Black people for slaves?”
Fanny shook her head. “It isn’t really determined by race, it’s a matter of legal status. But most blacks are slaves, yes, and most whites are free.”
He said slowly, “In the world we were talking about, where the Visitors come from, everybody’s free. Or so I’ve heard.”
“That’s the way it is here, in most states. But if a state wants it the other way, it can make slavery legal; then anybody who owns slaves can bring them there without losing them. It’s good for the economy, but it’s a little messy sometimes.”
“The Civil War. You didn’t have the Civil War.”
“No, that was Britain.”
“And men die young here. That’s how it seems.”
Fanny stood up and picked up her purse. “Nature played a dirty trick on the human race, Mr. Pine. She gave you men more strength than most women, and what’s much more important, more drive, more ambition. But when you’ve fulfilled your biological destiny—when either sex has fulfilled its biological destiny, actually—it dies. That means sixty or seventy years for us, sometimes only fifteen for men.”
“I heard once on the news that there are nearly a hundred and fifty women over sixty-five for every man.”
She ground out her cigarette. “Who said that, Ken Rather? It’s not really that bad, lots of men hold out for their entire lives, damn them. Now come on, let’s go get some lunch before I start thinking you really are a Visitor. There’s a nice little Italian joint, Capini’s, a couple of blocks uptown.”
A Table between Worlds
Fanny had slurred the name, saying it quickly and carelessly, and he had thought nothing of it. It was not until they were inside that he realized it was the restaurant where he often ate, the place to which he had brought Lara.
One of Mama Capini’s sullen sons showed them to a window table. He ventured to inquire, “Is your mother here?” but the son turned aside without answering.
Fannie asked, “You’ve been here before?”
“I think so,” he said. For safety’s sake he added, “These storefront spaghetti places all look about the same to me. It was good, though.”
“You said you had money; so we’ll split this, if that’s all right with you.”
“No,” he told her. “I’ll pay.”
“I should warn you, I eat like a fire.”
Looking at her small mouth and slender neck, he doubted it; and when the waitress arrived, Fanny ordered a pasta salad and tea. He asked if the fettuccine Alfredo was good today; assured that it was, he said he would have that.
“And I thought I was hungry.” She lit a cigarette, using the kind of bulky, reliable lighter he recalled from childhood. “Can I ask why you keep staring out the window?”
He had been trying to read the winter-grimed license plates of passing cars, hoping they would betray whether they belonged to his own world or hers. “Just keeping an eye on traffic,” he said.
“See anyone you know?”
He shook his head.
“When you lunch with a good-looking woman, you’re supposed to look at her, even if she’s not so stylishly dressed. You’re even supposed to make conversation, when your mouth’s not full.”
“I think you’re dressed very nicely,” he told her. She was still in the plain black silk frock she had worn in the coffee shop, having removed only the little lace apron and cap. Her serviceable tweed coat was draped over the back of her chair.
“My all-purpose undercover outfit.”
Mama Capini came bustling out of the kitchen and waved as she veered toward them. “Ah! It’s you.” Her smile showed a gold tooth.
Tentatively he said, “It’s been a couple of days, I think.” Did some other version of himself eat here too?
“What you think you say? Maybe a month. You gonna get real skinny.” Mama Capini turned her smile on Fanny. “Look at him! Never eats right but here.”
“I know. He had waffles for breakfast.” Fannie shuddered elaborately.
“That’s right, no good! Maybe I open in the morning, give him omelets and some nice prosciutto, fresh bread. Then I save his life.”
He asked her, “Mama, do you remember Lara? The redhead I brought here?”
“Sure, I know Lara.” The gold tooth flashed again. “Nice girl, too good for you.”
He nodded. “I know, Mama. Has she been in here since she came with me?”
“Oh.” Mama lowered her voice and glanced at the vacant tables around them. “Lara dump you?”
“I’m trying to get undumped. Has she?”
“Last night for dinner, but real late.” Hopelessly, Mama spread plump, clean hands. “We’re all out of tortellini.”
Last night! He asked, “It was Lara? You’re sure?”
“Course. I know her right away.”
Fanny asked, “Was she with anyone?”
“You take him yourself. He don’t look so bad. You make him forget Lara.”
“I’m going to try. But was she?”
“Married couple, new married.” Mama noticed his skeptical expression. “I’m tellin’ you the truth. She’s got rings and everythin’. They hold hands under the table.”
Fanny said, “Describe them, please.” From a corner of his eye, he saw that she had slipped a small notebook and a stub of pencil out of her purse.
“He’s big! Bigger than Amedeo. She’s a little woman like you, real pretty. Both got yellow hair, the man and the woman.”
“How old?”
Mama shrugged. “’Bout the same as you.”
“How were they dressed?”
“Man’s got a blue suit. A tailor made it—he’s too big for Kopplemeyer’s. But all wore out, should have thrown it out last year, you know? I see the suit and I think, bet Lara pays. But I’m wrong. He pays.”
“How was his wife dressed?”
Mama looked thoughtful. “Got a red wool dress, nice dress, but off the rack. Red coat with a fox collar. You know her?”
Fanny shook her head. “How about Lara?”
“Fur coat, a nice one, a real mink, pretty dark. Gown for a ball, you know? Zecchinos all over, like a rainbow. Low in front. Green stones in a necklace, maybe real.” Mama touched her graying hair, then her neck. “I should have seen he’s goin’ to pay, not Lara. Lara knows he’s goin’ to, so she brings them where you took her. Not too high, you know? Nice girl.”
Fanny said, “You’re a good observer.”
“He brought her, then she brings this couple. It’s my business, so I noticed.”
The waitress arrived with their minestrone, and Mama rose. “Anything’s not good, you tell me.”